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Chapter 2: Becoming King

_A kingdom enslaved, craving a savior, lays ahead of a warrior who lost his way and that dreams of redemption. _

Killer strolled towards his motorcycle, his head bowed, largely ignoring the 'platoon of honor' that had formed around him. Honor guard? No, not really. This was honor out of fear, but he supposed that was the most he could expect right now from these... soldiers.

Well, he had put on quite a show for them, he supposed, although there was admittedly quite a bit of scorn in those thoughts. He had come back up north looking for more of a challenge than the southern lands had ever provided, thinking about all the pride his own race had always had in combat, in war, in rising to each and every challenge that stood before them, but... ah, look at these little kittens he found instead!

Killer snorted in contempt as his eyes shifted over the soldiers. At least they were good at obeying orders, if nothing else. He had already sent several of them on ahead before leaving the bar to inform the king that he was here to issue a challenge to him... although from what he'd been told, there was a good chance that this Griagas wasn't going to be exactly eager to meet with him.

As far as he was concerned though, this kingdom, Kesteven, was already his. The battle was going to be a mere formality, and he was already irritated that this 'Griagas' wasn't coming out here to meet him as it was...

He wasn't going to pretend there wasn't a... almost a melancholy, though. He thought of the times in the past, when his father, Seth, had taught him how to meet and face challengers for the throne. He had spoken of courtesy and honor, what was almost a ritual from the moment the challenger arrived to the moment of the fight: you welcomed your opponent, you showed grace, and decorum, you invited them in and made them comfortable, because they were supposed to treat each other as equals, as in death, all were made the same.

The massive liger snorted as he mounted his motorcycle, barely giving the soldiers around him a look as they shuffled nervously, their mumbles and excuses and weak wishes going unheard over the sound of the engine roaring to life. He tore back out into the road without so much as a glance at the tigers, heading down the highway towards what would soon all be his.

He didn't like that he had a few misgivings, though. This wasn't what he'd expected to find on his return to the North. Sure, war and combat were a way of life here, but this was different. This was ugly, and rather than protecting the people, the soldiers here seemed intent on enforcing the tyranny of the king. They had become fat and greedy, feeding on the carcass of the state and throwing around their weight, enjoying their new supremacy not just over the lower castes, but over the echelons that had once been their equals.

As the massive liger tore down the highway on his motorcycle, heading into Kendrew from the south, he couldn't help but notice the... desolation. It was like a gray pall descended over the entire world, filtering it in monochrome. It took him a moment to realize what it was: there was no activity. There was an emptiness, all around him, making it cold and lonely, with no company but the bitter wind that tore across him as he drove into the desolate kingdom.

It wasn't very long before he started seeing activity, though, but what he saw was far from pleasant: he saw massive factories and munitions depots, armor rolling into position around them and soldiers who looked strange to his eyes even at a distance moving into tight defensive formations. They looked like they were fortifying and digging in: something told him about the way they were going about it there would be no peaceful transfer of power once Griagas was dead, too.

That was a bizarre thought. He wasn't sure of the last time a kingdom hadn't peacefully transferred power: if warriors or followers felt so strongly about their former king that they could not bear to serve under a new ruler, then they usually went into exile. There were rules to these things. Traditions to be upheld. Laws that...

Ah, but you were always too good for laws, sneered a voice inside his head, and Killer scowled a little as he leaned into the wind. What makes you think they don't feel the same way?

Killer tried to tell himself that was... different, and dismiss that voice from his head. He shook himself briefly out: he was here now, wasn't he? Fulfilling some... archaic destiny that had always been meant for him, or...

Why was he here?

Sure, he had his reasons, but they sounded false and tinny to his ears. He was still wrestling with both what he was doing and why he was here in some way inside of himself.

But that really wasn't something worth thinking too much about right now. He had more important things to take care of, like dragging this 'king' out of hiding and putting things here...

Right?

Killer snorted at this thought, before he slowed with a frown as something else caught his eye. He straightened a bit, broad shoulders tensing slightly, massive frame lifting itself a bit from the bike as he noted something approaching in the distance.

A patrol rumbled towards him: several APCs that were almost comically overburdened with soldiers, the liger wondering how many must be crammed inside if there were that many riding on top. And what was the point of such a show of force, anyway?

Why were there so many military patrols and movements rattling around this territory, even outside of settlements? Sure, the Northlands tended to be in a constant state of flux, but at this struck him less as mobilization and field training, and more as if Griagas cared more about keeping his own kingdom under his thumb rather than protecting it from any threats outside his borders.

Petty tyranny, focused inwards. Fear: tin despots like Griagas were always afraid, which led to them only making their own people suffer, and being manipulated by false promises of safety and security, of a new, bigger weapon that could crush their enemies and keep their slaves in line, of riches and wealth that could never be taken away from them.

But there was no such thing as immortality for cowards.

He passed more patrols, more factories, more fortifications: some of the structures looked old, but a lot of them looked much newer, towering structures of steel and new-age concrete. Where had Griagas found the money to fund all these structures, and how had he acquired the blueprints and plans? And how was he so blind to the fact that the RA troops were clearly using him for their own ends?

Well, he supposed he already had the answer to that.

Killer drove onward, turning his eyes away from the endless succession of patrols and soldiers, away from the countless dominoes of towers, the rambling sprawls of massive factories that jutted towards the sky like crude teeth.

These were the bones of an empire, crawling with maggots and birthing more beasts of metal from within their jagged ribs. Killer had felt a... a tangible difference in the air when he'd first entered the Northlands, and now, he could feel another difference, as the air grew colder and darker, and that feeling of desolation only grew deeper.

He was at least glad to see that so far, the patrols and soldiers were honoring the rules of the challenge he had issued to their king, but for some reason, he didn't anticipate that was going to last forever. A fish rotted from the head, after all, and considering how he'd already seen officers behaving and the stories passed on from Athena and Joy, he suspected that sooner rather than later there was going to be some trouble coming his way.

Still, at least this was going to be interesting, if nothing else. And maybe it was for the best, in a way: he was doing a service, really, for the other kingdoms of the Northlands, toppling this embarrassment's empire and dismantling his army. Besides, he felt a strange sort of responsibility for this Griagas; maybe if he'd been a better example in past days, maybe if he had remained in Kesteven, Kendrew never would have been taken over and reduced to the sorry state it was in now.

He tried to push away those thoughts. They weren't helpful for the situation, he told himself. And he didn't like the stirrings of guilt in his gut.

It was one thing, after all, to be in the South, where they expected him to be a barbarian, where its prejudiced peoples had never really given him a chance to be anything but a brute, and their puny statures, their often lazy, backwards cultures, and the way that they had derided him when he tried to behave but all-but-worshiped him when he had been cruel and strong... well, it was easy to look down at them, as nothing but bugs.

Now he was back among his own people. Seeing his people suffering, and seeing someone who had once been one of their own, likely from his homeland, whom he had perhaps once or twice even passed or fought on the same battlefield as... that hurt in ways that were hard to explain. And it created a twisted mirror for his conscience, which had stirred from its long slumber when he'd looked down at the wolf.

He had tried to be dismissive, even derisive. But it was different, all the same, when you were facing down someone who had grown up in their culture and saw that broken trust in them: after all, the trade between the low castes and the high was that the high was supposed to protect, supposed to maintain law and order, but instead...

Now he was thinking about all those southerners. And not just the meaningless bugs he'd crushed, but all the people he'd abandoned, left behind, used up, and he wondered... had they looked the same as that wolf?

'Doggy.'

He snorted, then frowned as he straightened on his motorcycle, a moue of distaste forming on his lips as he realized there was a roadblock ahead. He released the throttle, allowing the machine to glide over the road and gradually slow until he came to a halt only some thirty feet from the vehicles that had sealed off the road.

"I hope you're here to keep any troublemakers out, not to stop me from getting to the king." Killer noted as he looked critically at the APCs and smaller support vehicles, all of them bristling with armed and armored tigers.

But all of them also looked frightened and confused, too, like they weren't sure what they were doing here. And none of them dared to speak up to answer the liger's question, which he would have found amusing if he didn't know that every moment he wasted here was another that Griagas no doubt took to find a place to hide.

Not that he couldn't tear open any bunker that Kendrew's ruler might retreat into... but there was always the concern that he might be smart enough to flee the country by air, and while there was no way such a cowardly move would see Griagas getting any kind of sanctuary in any other northern kingdom, it would all the same create all kinds of pain in the ass complications for him to deal with.

"Sorry, sir, uh... no, we're not going to get in your way, uh, sir." finally spoke up one nervous tiger near the front.

"Well, that's funny, considering you seem to be... in my way." Killer couldn't help but note, gesturing pointedly at the blockade as he straddled his motorcycle, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Soldiers shifted nervously and gulped, clutching their weapons, looking uncomfortable: the young ones, the brasher ones, they were trying to snarl, but the rest of them were quaking in their armor. Not just because they knew the stories about him, he thought, but also because he had sent those other soldiers ahead to warn Griagas he was coming for him, and he knew there was nothing so contagious as the kind of terror he had put into those unfortunate souls.

There was a shift of hesitation, and then the soldier said finally: "We won't... interfere with the duel, but..."

"But?" Killer said, tapping a foot impatiently, his eyes narrowing further. He really didn't have time for these kinds of games.

"There are RA soldiers ahead, Lord Killer!" blurted another soldier, and Killer frowned as his eyes flicked towards this grunt, who cowed a little under the liger's icy eyes, but he continued anxiously: "They... they've set up blockades and..."

"Ah, I see. So they forced you out of wherever you were and sent you here to stop me. But instead you're going to be good little boys and warn me about what's going on ahead, and not get in my way?" Killer phrased it as a question, but it was clear that really, it was an order.

"There are... rules." said one of the soldiers grudgingly, squeezing his rifle, before he snarled: "But don't think for a minute that if you weren't going to fight the king, we wouldn't try and stop you."

"'Try' is the key word there, kitten." Killer retorted, voice dripping with derision. The soldier snarled at him as several others shifted, both aggressive and fearful, like cornered dogs, and the liger couldn't help but snort and smile wryly.

Maybe he had a few seconds to spare. It wouldn't take more than a minute at most to remind these soldiers of their place.

He flicked down the kickstand of his bike, climbing off and striding towards the blockade. The smarter soldiers scattered as others rose their rifles, and Killer noted with disdain the waver, the fear, the lack of focus as their bravado drained as his titanic shadow fell over them. A hulking menace, he towered far above even the tallest tiger here, and his contempt for them made him seem a hundred feet higher.

He advanced directly on the soldier who had spoken, who lost his nerve, staggering backwards into the narrow gap between two APCs. And, without slowing, Killer calmly followed, reaching a hand out to either side without taking his eyes off the soldier, and he shoved both APCs backwards like toys with a loud screech of grinding gears and rubber tearing against asphalt, soldiers scattering and shouting, a tiger that had been perched in his thought-safe place on one of the vehicles tumbling off.

The kitten that had been dumb enough to mouth off to him fell back on his ass, dragging himself backwards, shaking, shivering, mouthing wordlessly as he stared up at the full might and terror of Killer Huxley, the Prince of Kesteven, and Killer looked down at him for a few moments with distaste before he smiled as he put his hands on his hips and leaned down, saying easily: "Don't look so frightened. I was just helping you move those toys out of my way. If I wanted to hurt you... you would all already be dead."

He paused, then straightened and turned to head back to his motorcycle, remarking as he walked away: "You might want to change your pants, soldier. Otherwise you're never going to be able to wash out that stink of fear-piss."

He drove on, leaving the humiliated troops in his wake, smiling to himself: but he quickly refocused as he assessed what was waiting for him. That only confirmed what he had already suspected, but it was good to know there was trouble ahead: that knowledge might be enough to buy him precious few seconds to react before the RA troops did, once they came into range of each other.

Killer didn't have long to wait: after all, he was kind of a large target, and right now, the only thing moving along the highway towards Kendrew itself: but thankfully, he also had sharp eyes that were used to looking for the regularities of certain shapes even against a dark sky, and the moment he saw the first flash, heard the telltale bang, he knew what was coming.

The explosion lit up the night sky as he roared past, the liger's lip curling: well, at least they were firing a warning shot first. Either that, or they had terrible aim.

He zigzaggged down the highway, leaning his impressive weight into the yielding as he accelerated. Cannonfire began to crash into the road next to him, tearing up the asphalt in great blasts of smoke and force, but his erratic movement was having the intended effect, letting him weave fearlessly between shots as flashes in the distance illuminated his enemy.

This was dishonorable, he thought with contempt. Dishonorable, but perhaps also one of the more intelligent courses of action that the so-called 'King' of Kendrew could take. It wasn't like there was any tiger in the Northlands who could possibly stand against him, after all... and even this was barely a distraction.

The closer he got, the sharper his movements had to become to avoid the cannonfire; he was more concerned that they might damage his motorcycle than him, however, and it showed in his grin, the almost-amused look in his icy blue eyes.

He already knew what they were going to do, as he came closer down the wide highway, even before they did: a lifetime of military experiences had taught him more than they would ever learn, especially if they were so intent on ending their lives here and now.

Killer grinned, his eyes narrowing before he suddenly twisted the handlebars of his bike hard to the side as he roughly jackknifed off the seat of the machine: his huge paws slammed into the concrete with enough force to shatter the road as he launched himself into the air, just a moment before the highway in front of him was blasted apart by centered cannonfire.

The combination of massive strength and momentum launched him as if from a catapult, his motorcycle held over his back by the handlebars with one hand like it weighed less than nothing. He landed with the motorcycle across his shoulders directly in front of one of the tanks, and he immediately reached up and seized it by the barrel of the cannon, before his biceps bulged with tremendous power as he leaned sideways and yanked the war machine sideways to smash it into its fellow.

The machines crashed together with a tremendous bang, the cannon of the tank Killer had swung like a club nearly tearing loose as it crumpled like tin, the treads of the other tank screaming as it skidded to the side and almost tipped off the highway, soldiers scattering with shouts of warning to each other.

One of the tank's mounted machineguns opened fire, swiveling towards him, but Killer leapt upwards, making the tank rock and bounce as he easily surmounted it in two easy steps. He could hear soldiers stumbling into position and opening fire with small arms, but they were confused, clearly taken off guard not just by his strength but his speed, giving him a powerful advantage over the unit that had been left to wait for him.

They were only a small group: a handful of soldiers, two tanks, and an APC behind them. Killer snorted in contempt as he placed a foot on the still-firing tank machinegun, then pushed it ever-so-gently by his standards; a gentility that was enough to shatter the motorized controls and forcibly twist the gun in the direction of soldiers nearby, sending one down in a splatter of blood as others stumbled for cover and opened up against him. He couldn't help but notice the different uniforms, the prominent RA marks on the heavy plates of armour which looked like they were built directly over their bodies, and the fact that they were all much taller and bulkier with muscle than average. Not only that, they appeared to have mechanical exoskeletons enhancing even further the power of their limbs and enabling them to carry oversized weapons with a far greater stopping power.

They appeared surprised by his strength and speed, but not scared, and that was amazing, considering the kind of supernatural power facing them. They were either elite veterans with very good discipline and quite some pride and confidence in their fighting prowess... or they were completely insane and still unable to realize the impossible odds stacked against them.

Killer hopped easily to the top of the other tank, stomping on the machinegun before it could turn towards him and knocking it out of place with a scream of machinery and wiring tearing as it twisted away, firing uselessly into the night sky.

He hopped backwards, landing in front of the war machine before he gave a wry grin as he heard the roar of the engine: the armor lurched towards him, but with one hand he easily halted the advance, with his motorcycle still held over his back with the ease of carrying a jacket over his shoulder.

The cannon tried to turn towards him, but it banged uselessly and harmlessly against his cheek, and he gave a snort of contempt: they didn't even know how to use these new toys they had been given.

With ease, he reached up and seized the cannon with his free hand, and then he twisted it hard, hauling the entire tank sideways; a mere revolution of his wrist, and the whole tank was sent rolling over, crashing and banging to the side.

The soldiers on that side were crushed beneath the roll of the machine, while the ones inside were banged and smashed around like legos inside a plastic shell. Killer snorted as he finally set down his motorcycle, walking over to the battered war machine in a few easy, massive strides before he grasped it firmly by one of its dusty treads.

He rocked it roughly back and forth, making the contents inside the tank bang and bounce, before he hefted it into the air with a roar as he turned, flinging it into the other damaged tank. They smashed together with such force they were both knocked bouncing and rolling, a thunder of metal filling the air as they crashed and banged their way off the highway and smashed their way into the soldiers that remained.

As the dust settled, there were only bodies left behind and two overturned tanks. The APC sat silent: whether it was because the soldiers inside didn't dare pick a fight with him, or because it had only been carrying the troops he'd already dispatched, he didn't know or care.

He approached the vehicle, running his hand over the hull of the APC before he frowned at the unfamiliar RA logo on its side, wondering once more what the hell was going on, and bitterly regretting not paying closer attention to what was going on back home, in all the years he had spent rampaging over enemies too weak to put up a decent fight, who were full of arrogance and nothing more.

The vehicle was highly advanced, even more than anything he had seen fielded by the southern countries, even though Ire and its satellites literally depended on their technological edge to try and balance the tiger's massive advantage in raw strength and toughness. It was heavily armed, with a massive fast-firing gun mounted on a remotely operated, high-elevation turret which also had a coaxial machine gun and a stubby grenade launcher. Whoever was inside was pretending, with quite some effort, to be dead, and the turret made no motion to try and point its weapons against him, even as he traced his finger down the RA mark.

For what he could see, the vehicle was cutting edge, and well built. It was somewhat streamlined in places, but always in intelligent ways. The designers had put quite some effort in making sure these things could be produced quickly and in huge numbers, and that was exactly what was happening. He had driven past vast car parks that were covered end to end in newly produced tanks and armoured vehicles, orderly lined up, row on row, ready to be handed over to equally freshly trained crews. Kendrew was building up a massive RA-marked army, and that could only mean trouble.

He pushed a hand against the metal, then gave a wry smile as he effortlessly shoved the enormous vehicle sideways, ignoring the way the heavy duty tires screamed and smoldered on the asphalt as they ground unnaturally to the side, leaving thick, smelly smears of rubber on the road. Killer knew there were at least a couple of soldiers inside, and probably more, and he was pretty sure he heard fearful cries coming from inside at one point, but they all wisely did their best to stay silent and pretend they were not there, even as the APC tilted violently to one side as it slid off the road and crashed into the deep ditch, almost laying on one side.

Killer smirked and ostensibly dusted his hands off, then walked back to his motorcycle and rode onwards on the now clear road, easily avoiding the ruined, mangled hulks of the tanks that had almost fused together in a pile of scrap metal with the violence of the impact. None of those vehicles should have been in the streets; there was no need for it.

Or better, there would have been no need if the king had been a strong leader, confident both in his strength and in his aims. Oppression like this was what happened when countries were led by weak, spoiled brats who wanted to have more power than they truly possessed, and feared the day in which someone would inexorably put an end to their abuses.

Griagas was just that kind of brat. Everything Joy and Athena had said was proving true already, and Killer was disgusted, and sincerely shocked, that something like this had happened in his beloved northlands, in the land where honor was everything and warriors followed a well coded tradition. This was the kind of cowardly behavior he had come to associate with the southern regions of the world, not with home.

How had the corruption spread so far north? And how deep did the roots already reach?

Very deep, Killer bitterly reflected. The fact that there were two different armies uneasily patrolling the streets was a telltale signal. Kendrew's soldiers were deployed in force in the streets to act as a buffer between the locals and the RA, to try and mask the fact that the RA, whatever the propaganda said, was an invasion armada and already the dominant force in the kingdom.

Killer had traveled the world and seen its share of unlikely alliances and nervous, uneasy cooperation between troops that all too obviously didn't like each other. But he had never come across a climate as poisoned and oppressive as the one he sensed here, in Kendrew, the last place where he expected to find such horror.

The population was terrified, of both their own troops, which should have been their protectors, and even more so of the taciturn, apparently emotionless hulks in RA colors.

Kendrew's soldiers themselves were clearly terrified of their RA "ally".

And it was clear that Griagas feared more than just the coming of a challenger that would defeat him and take away the throne. He feared more than his people revolting and refusing to follow him, as they should have done, considering that he was clearly not fit to be a king, going against everything the Tradition demanded.

Griagas feared the RA, the very "ally" that he had at first enthusiastically invited into Kendrew to cement his power.

Griagas was no king. He was a puppet in the RA's hands. Toys like those tanks and APCs were very expensive, after all, and often cost you more than just money. Griagas had deployed his army in the streets to balance the ever growing RA presence, and hopefully keep it in check... but it was already clear that his calculations had been badly wrong. The RA troops were more numerous, better equipped and made up by larger, bulky hulks of muscle who put most of Kendrew's soldiers to shame. It was already evident who was truly in charge. Griagas was almost literally a prisoner of his own royal palace, already.

Killer made a grimace at the thought, and bitterly grumbled that it served the idiot right. How had he not seen it coming...? The liger rumbled on, guiding his motorbike easily down the wide main avenue of Kendrew south. He knew the place well, and even though the RA had built miles upon miles of new factories and barracks and parking lots and railway heads, one thing hadn't changed: the wide, straight road that went up the narrow peninsula that protruded like a finger into the huge lake, pointing at the fortified island in the middle of the calm, cold waters.

It was the main avenue of Kendrew, a wide, almost monumental open boulevard flanked by shops and restaurants and night clubs, and he remembered it shorter, but full of life and lights. Now it was much longer, thanks to the appearance of a forest of ugly residential towers, all identical, all essential, cold and sad. Those huge condos had been built to host a whole lot of workers that were little more than glorified slaves, working in turns in the new RA factories.

When they weren't working, they were all holed up into those towers, getting some much needed sleep before going back for another endless, exhausting shift spent building weapons for the mysterious organization.

The town had been reduced to little more than a gigantic dormitory adjacent to the sprawling new factories. Even when he reached "old" Kendrew, Killer saw that most of the restaurants and clubs and shops were shut down, silent and dark. There were just a few open pubs and clubs, the strict necessary for Kendrew's soldiers to have somewhere to drown some of their shame and boredom into alcohol and cheap sex, but apart from that there was nothing left. Not a single civilian roaming the streets. It was like all life had been sucked out of Kendrew, and it made Killer grimace in growing fury and disgust.

He had seen urban scenery just as miserable as this one, but only in the south. Ire had quite a few nightmare towns like that, and they were even more frequent in some of the "socialist paradises" he had found in several other southern countries, ruled by tinpot dictators and self-proclaimed "paladins of the people". Gods, he had never thought that such cancerous corruption could make its way so far up north. Especially not with his father ruling over Kesteven.

The RA had to have truly long and scary tentacles to be able to encroach upon Kesteven's borders like that without king Seth Huxley crushing it out of existence.

Why didn't you ask for my help, dad...? Killer bitterly thought... but the true bitterness came from knowing all too well the reason why his family hadn't thought it a good idea to call him back home.

In the distance, he could already see the lights of the fortified city, and their reflection in the lake. He could already tell that the drawbridges that connected the peninsula to the island-fortress had been lifted to shut him out, and he snorted contemptibly at that. They were definitely preparing to resist him, the same way cities in the past would have prepared for an approaching army... and he wasn't sure what offended him more: the way they were spitting on Tradition, on their well codified, ancient Laws; or the fact they believed there was anything they could do to shut him out.

Here he had fought one of the most savage battles in the history of the Northlands. Here he had, almost single-handedly, repealed Dark's armada when it was at the height of its power, when many kings of the North had thought defeat was unavoidable. The fortress snaking its way up the mountains to the west carried his name still, because before that immense castle had been built, he had hauled heavy artillery pieces on top of the mountain, carrying them on his shoulders.

He had been barely 20 at the time, when he had become the "Savior of the North", "Wyvern", the "Scourge of Dark", and a million other titles. Did they really believe they could possibly resist him...? Had they already forgotten the miraculous feats of strength they had witnessed...?

The best part of a decade had passed, sure, but he had not imagined that a mere 10 years away from the Northlands would prove long enough for random soldiers to believe they could defy him. It was as if he had faded into legend, and they had forgotten who he was, what he was capable of, perhaps that he'd even truly existed at all, as if he was nothing but clamor and myth.

The legend of a warrior, he thought wryly. But he was so much more than that, and far more than simply a young prince here to claim a throne.

Gradually, a second barricade came into view: this one wasn't a warning, however. This one had far more vehicles, and far more soldiers, with sandbags and portable walls already set up, and soldiers all standing at the ready. Many, if not most, were massive, heavily armoured RA troopers like the ones he had just crushed out of existence. He had a change to study them a bit better now, and he frowned with interest at the realization of just how complex and heavy the exoskeletons were, incorporating heavy armour plates and electro-mechanic actuators running down the limbs, enabling those already physically imposing soldiers to carry and employ super-sized weapons that made their Kendrew counterparts look like children trying to imitate the real warriors.

There was a disturbing resemblance between those super-sized, mechanically-enhanced hulks and the "super-soldiers" that Ire and other southern countries frantically attempted to produce in the quest for weapons that would be effective against the tigers... and Killer in particular. The liger had taken down a great number of living "prototypes" produced in the nightmarish laboratories of Ire's army, and it was hard not to think that the RA was tinkering with the same kind of dangerous genetic and cybernetic meddling. These RA super-soldiers looked at once more and less advanced than some of the others he had had to deal with in the past, depending on what piece of equipment he focused on. However, they were clearly available in numbers and had one fundamental advantage over Ire's own super-soldiers: the mechanical enhancements were applied not on the frail, small bodies of southern "prey" species, but on bulky, powerful, already-larger-than-average tiger warriors.

He did not expect the RA troops to get out of his way, but there were others standing in front of the checkpoint, visibly less sure of what they were doing, and they were dressed in the uniform of Kendrew. He still hoped that he could get at least those boys to think about their odds and get out of the way. He didn't want to have to kill everyone only to become the king of a graveyard, after all.

Killer allowed his motorcycle to slow, coasting to a gentle halt. Moving slowly and carefully, he climbed off his vehicle. He didn't want to startle them, after all, and this let him get a little closer, into a better position even as he spread his arms.

He was roughly thirty feet away: just a single pounce for him, but they didn't need to know that. Not unless they gave him a lesson to teach them, that was... "Are you going to let me pass?"

For a moment, the question hung in the air. He thought he saw an indecisive shift, and there was a brief second of hope, that maybe fighting could be avoided all together. The soldiers in Kendrew uniforms began to cautiously back away, and one officer signaled to the tanks and APCs to move back as well... but immediately the hulking RA super-soldiers rushed forwards to close the gap, and some of the bulky, mechanically-enhanced warriors roughly smacked the retreating tigers with the bodies of their oversized, enormous guns, pushing them back in line.

"He issued a challenge, he must be allowed to pass!" Someone loudly protested, and other voices added their own protests, but Killer gritted his teeth and made a grimace, already certain that there was going to be no happy ending. He guessed it before even seeing it: a RA super-soldier moving to the front of the checkpoint, shouldering a massive box-launcher. A flash of fire and a cloud of smoke, and not one but two missiles, easily three times the size of a normal anti-tank guided weapon, flew towards Killer.

It all happened in a split second, but the liger had already started swerving out of the way before the bulky warrior fired his weapon. The motorbike roared and the wheels squeaked on the asphalt with the acceleration while Killer dropped to one side and bent the heavy vehicle to shoot into a side street, turning the corner of a large building and looking over his shoulder as the missiles attempted to follow him, violently turning to the side, presumably locked onto his and the bike's thermal signature. They were too fast to make such a sudden, tight turn, and the liger watched with horror as they crashed into the façade of the building on the other side of the street, tearing through the wall and ripping a path of destruction into someone's house, before the impact against the walls eventually triggered the fuzes and they exploded, projecting immense clouds of super-sized shrapnel which shredded the walls of the building like they were made of paper, while three great jets of armor-piercing jets of molten metal drew fiery streaks through the air and splattered onto the ground, melting the asphalt and tearing deep trenches in it.

His ears filled with the painful whistle caused by the wave of pressure, and he felt several large pieces of shrapnel smacking violently into his back, the large metal pieces crumpling against his enormous musculature and mostly bouncing harmlessly off, but he grunted as he was almost smacked off the saddle. As his hearing returned, he heard the shrieks of agony of wounded civilians inside the stricken, burning building, and the screams of fear and confusion coming from a myriad of windows as lights turned on all around... but he also heard the shouts of fury and protest of Kendrew soldiers, mixed with gunfire.

It was immediately clear that the guns firing were not aimed at him. Or at least, not all of them. He stomped one boot down on the asphalt, his steel sole biting into it like it was as soft as flesh, and he made an abrupt about-turn, cursing under his breath: in a clash between Kendrew's soldiers and RA beasts, the former were going to get massacred. He shot back down the street, trying to ignore the flames and carnage and moving past parked cars that had been torn open by the hailstorm of shrapnel, and his eyes narrowed as one of the RA super-soldiers charged in from behind the corner, his already massive arm enhanced by a visible electro-actuator which whirred as the bulky warrior grabbed a parked vehicle and hefted it almost like a toy, hurling it violently against the liger.

Killer stood up on the pedals and reached forwards, catching the car in midair before it could crash into him, and sent it rocking back against the RA super-soldier, who fired a few huge armor-piercing rounds into it, blasting enormous holes right across the car and setting it on fire just before it smashed into him, sweeping him off the ground and sending him crashing into the row of parked cars at the other end of the large boulevard. His heavy body tore through a city car like it was made of paper, turning it into a mangled pile of scrap metal, and he sailed right across it to slam into the building behind, crashing through the closed shutter of an inactive shop. There was a violent, fiery blast as the fuel of multiple vehicles went up in flames, and Killer could feel the tremendous heat on his skin as he launched the motorbike back onto the main boulevard, charging straight at the checkpoint... only to turn sideways with a grunt of shock as something moved in the middle of the burning inferno, and a massive rifle angrily barked at him.

Armor-piercing bullets crashed into him with tremendous force, making him grunt as they smacked into his shoulder and side, nearly knocking him and the motorbike over, but the onlookers got the greatest shock as the large bullets crumpled against Killer's massive muscles, and bounced off almost harmlessly, barely managing to rip shallow wounds in his formidable musculature.

That sight alone should have sent the soldiers facing him running away in a panic, but while Kendrew's warriors stared with wide open eyes, the RA's super soldiers appeared completely unfazed.

Killer let out a grunt of confusion and grimaced at the sight of the soldier he had just hit with a burning car and sent crashing through other vehicles and a building, watching as he somehow limped his way out of the fire, his body mangled and broken and dripping blood yet his hands still squeezing his damaged rifle, yanking on the trigger to emotionlessly blast rounds out against the liger.

His fire-retardant uniform was slowly but surely dissolving, overwhelmed by the roaring flames, and his very flesh and fur were burning away fiercely, and yet that bulky soldier limped onwards, his face showing no hint of emotion. No fear, no pain, no instinct of self-conservation at all. He made no attempt to roll on the ground to extinguish the flames, let out no shriek of agony, didn't turn his back to attempt to flee. He charged forth instead, moving as quickly as he could with his broken bones and ruined, badly wounded body, and Killer stared at that scene with a grimace, wondering what the hell had been done to those... creatures.

He had seen more than his fair share of fanatic and nutters and suicidal bombers, but this was different, and scary: a complete, utter lack of emotion and awareness, even as the soldier's face literally started to melt away due to the fire consuming him.

Killer ducked under the deadly burst of tank-piercing rounds, gritting his fangs as they sailed past him and smacked into parked vehicles with such force that cars were knocked back by the mere impact, before the massive rounds simply sailed through, leaving behind large, smoldering holes and pieces of almost melting metal. The liger accelerated and threw the bike to the side, brushing the curb with the large wheels as he stretched one arm out and grabbed a lamp post, effortlessly ripping the huge steel pole out of the concrete and then throwing it like a spear, grinning with savage satisfaction as it smacked the burning super-soldier straight in the chest, ripping right through him and leaving him impaled several feet off the ground as the pole became lodged deep into the walls of the building behind.

Still the mechanically-enhanced hulk struggled, even as blood foamed out of his mouth and spurted out of his horrific wounds, pulped guts spilling out of him. Finally, his arms lost all their strength and flopped lifelessly, letting the oversized rifle fall heavily down to the ground, but Killer couldn't help but make a grimace at the absurd, fanatic persistence of the fallen.

Right ahead, the checkpoint had erupted into chaos, as he had guessed: the devastated corpses of multiple Kendrew soldiers were strewn on the ground in a grotesque mess of dismembered bodies and spilled insides, their body armour absolutely incapable to defend them from the super-sized bullets of the RA weapons that had fired upon them at point blank range.

Other Kendrew soldiers had quickly ducked behind the portable walls, heavy gabions filled with dirt, and had survived the initial onslaught, but where now pinned by a hurricane of fire from a group of determined, cold, massive RA super-soldiers. There was no hesitation, no second thought at all from there: in the very moment the soldiers of Kendrew had raised an objection, their RA comrades had remorselessly cut them down with a hailstorm of bullets.

Killer gritted his fangs and flattened himself on top of the motorbike, launching it forwards in a straight charge as other RA hulks trailed their fire against him. Fountains of dirt and crumbled asphalt and shrapnel surrounded him as multiple supersized rifles targeted him, and he grunted as blindly reached out with one hand, his fingers ripping through the metal of a parked truck and gripping into it, hefting it clear off the ground as he hurled it ahead with a snarl of rage.

The RA soldiers, acting like machines, switched target and shredded the vehicle in midair with a hailstorm of anti-tank rounds, and one of the tanks in the checkpoint finished it off by adding its own High Explosive shell. It struck the truck and exploded in a massive ball of dirty fire, knocking Killer almost off his bike as the wave of pressure smacked into him like a wall, followed by a hailstorm of pre-fragmented steel shrapnel which stabbed with brutal force into the buildings and parked vehicles on either side of the street. Windows exploded into slivers of glass all along the boulevard, adding to the carnage, yet Killer ignored the painful needles of burning metal that pierced through his skin and charged right through the cloud of fire and black smoke, knowing that his best, and perhaps only chance, was to close the distance quickly and take them down in a melee.

He blindly grabbed another parked vehicle as he went through the thick, acrid smoke, and tossed it ahead of himself, grinning as this time it loudly crashed into something, and when his hand closed on another lamp post, he ripped it up and took it under his arm like a spear, aiming it straight ahead of himself.

The liger emerged from the cloud of smoke like some sort of charging knight of old, the great pole of steel protruding ahead of the bike, but still the RA super-soldiers stood their ground without any fear, only adjusting their aim to take him down.

Killer swung the heavy pole of steel sideways, smacking the first line of super-troopers and knocking those great hulks off their feet, slapping them violently into the parked cars to his left, before he growled and swung the deformed, mangled pole to the right, cutting a RA soldier in half just above the waist, sending pieces of his guts splattering across the road. A second RA super-soldier flexed his machine-enhanced muscles and foolishly squared himself to receive the assault, gripping into the pole with fingers that had been visibly covered in segmented steel parts and a multitude of actuators that gave them supernatural strength. The already deformed pole crumpled like paper in the super-soldier's grip, but Killer only rumbled in dark entertainment as he yanked the lamp post back, ripping the soldier's feet off the ground, and then hurled the oversized javelin against one of the APCs as it ominously adjusted the elevation of its quick-firing cannon.

It managed to fire out a three-round burst just as the deformed lamp post crashed into its side, crushing the RA super-soldier against the armor and tearing right through the vehicle, rocking it on its suspensions. The cannon was well stabilized, but the sudden, violent shock sent the rounds firing high. Killer felt them rip through the air a few feet above his head, and shut his eyes just as they exploded in midair, projecting great clouds of shrapnel which hammered his powerful back and peppered the asphalt and the buildings on either side.

Killer hissed in irritation more than pain, kicking a portable wall out of his way and ramming his way right into the middle of the checkpoint, running over an RA soldier that attempted to aim an oversized rocket-launcher against him. The heavy, honeycomb steel wheels of his military-spec bike crushed down into the muscular body of the enhanced soldier, sending up ugly sprays of blood and guts, but still the maimed hulk not only refused to let out any cry of pain, but did his best to try and grip Killer's boots and ankles, trying to yank him off his bike.

Killer angrily stomped the groping hand down into the bloodstained asphalt, crushing metal-reinforced fingers into wreckage before the heavy, "unbreakable" honeycomb wheel pressed onto the head of the RA super-soldier and made it burst apart like a pimple... before Killer grunted in surprise as a small but powerful explosive charge went off somewhere _inside_the devastated corpse beneath his bike.

It was like he had rolled over a mine, and the explosion nearly unsaddled him, sending the bike rearing up into the air as blood and slivers of metal and bone alike pattered audibly against the jet-black body of the heavy vehicle. Killer somehow managed to stay on top, grunting as he awkwardly counterbalanced, sending the bike crashing heavily back on the ground, keeping his balance by virtue of stomping a foot into the ground. Instinctively, he half-glared, half-stared in disbelief at the ruins of the super soldier smeared on the asphalt, wondering what the hell had just happened, and what the fuck those hulks had on their clearly insane minds, and another nearby hulk thought it was the perfect moment to strike him down, swinging out a massive, heavy sword-mace.

The huge liger looked up with a snarl of irritation at that, catching the heavy, oversized weapon in one hand and stopping it before it could bash his muzzle into pieces, and he yanked violently on the weapon, catapulting the super soldier over his head and sending him crashing on top of several rolls of concertina wire, in which the beast became entangled. The thin but sharp blades cut a myriad wounds into the huge soldier's body, the his limbs becoming ensnared into the solid steel wire, yet he fearlessly struggled on, kicking to his feet and angrily yanking both arms forwards. Some of the thick wires snapped like the strings of a spider's web, but others only wrapped tighter around him, cutting deep into his neck... and even so, the mechanically-enhanced warrior stomped forth, dragging behind him the long coils of concertina wire and the steel "chevaux de fries" they were secured to. He let out no cry of agony and not even a sound of rage. He just rasped his breath out and tried to aim a large handgun against Killer as the liger swung the heavy mace and hammered him into a broken heap of flesh and shattered bones and exoskeletal structures.

There was, once again, a powerful explosion that blew the head and what was left of the upper body of the soldier into bloody shrapnel, and Killer shut his eyes as he was showered in pulped guts. He grunted in surprise and confusion in front of that absurd, suicidal brutality, but his attention had to go to a massive infantry fighting vehicle which hurriedly retreated with a clanging of steel tracks eating up the asphalt. As it moved back, the vehicle trailed its large quick-firing cannon against Killer, while the machine gun on top of the turret also tilted downwards to try and keep him in its sight.

The liger charged straight against the vehicle, knowing that if he could get close enough it wouldn't be able to target him, and the massive IFV replied by indiscriminately firing off a barrage of grenades from the stubby launcher tubes grouped at the base of its turret. They sailed high into the air, fired off at different angles to draw almost a protective circle around the vehicle, and then exploded in midair: some of the grenades were high explosive rounds which fragmented in a vicious hailstorm of shrapnel, while others unleashed great clouds of cold smoke that would hide the vehicle not just from the bare eye but from thermal sights and laser rangefinders as well.

Killer collected himself, instinctively squeezing his head between his solid shoulders as shrapnel hammered into him from all sides, making him hiss in pain even as the burning slivers of steel mostly bounced off his steel-hard musculature, with the larger fragments barely managing to become lodged into his solid flesh. The rain of incandescent metal ripped mercilessly through RA and Kendrew soldiers alike, cutting down everyone who was within range without any distinction of friend and foe, and the shrapnel loudly clanged against the armour of other nearby combat vehicles, while the artificial fog obscured most of the checkpoint, turning the already confused fight into a merciless brawl as RA super soldiers forced their way through the portable walls behind which Kendrew's warriors had sought refuge.

Killer pushed through the thick artificial fog, flattening himself over the body of his powerful motorbike as one of the IFVs fired a angry volley of machinegun fire in his direction, the bullets clanging hellishly into the armoured side of another as Killer speeded past. An RA super-soldier emerged from the fog and aimed his massive rifle straight at the liger, but before he could open fire, Killer leapt off his bike with surprising grace and slammed both of his feet into the side of the massive infantry fighting vehicle, crumpling its armoured hull inwards and sending the huge vehicle skidding loudly sideways, its heavy tracks grinding the asphalt to dust.

Killer held on to the handlebar of his bike as he swung himself forwards and kicked the RA soldier in the face, turning his head into an explosion of red mist and pulped brains, and as the headless body stumbled backwards, it once again exploded. Killer grunted as the shockwave rammed into him, but failed to slow his movements as he slammed his feet into the ground and effortlessly lifted the huge motorbike into the air instead, slamming it into the face of another RA warrior that charged at him with a large sword. The hulking, emotionless warrior crashed back into the damaged IFV, sinking through the armoured flank of the vehicle and nearly ripping inside even as his body basically disintegrated in a splatter of gore and pieces of bone, while Killer shouldered his motorbike in the same fluid motion.

The IFV spun on the spot and attempted to get back so its cannon could get a clear shot, but Killer coldly reached down to grip it just above the tracks, his fingers crumpling the steel like it was paper as, with an idle yank skywards, he sent the enormous vehicle flipping into the air to crash upside down on top of another of the IFVs arrayed out to form the checkpoint.

The crash wrecked both vehicles, creating a confused tower of mangled-together scrap metal, and Killer moved fearlessly forwards, kicking another portable wall out of his way with a contemptible snort and grinning as the heavy gabion full of dirt skidded violently into a couple of RA brutes, crushing them under its mass.

Killer stepped past the breached barrier, emerging into a thick group of RA super-soldiers, some of which were focused on the flank as they smashed their way through the gabions to hunt down the Kendrew warriors desperately trying to hold their ground against the sudden merciless ferocity of those who were supposed to be their allies. Killer saw one RA brute force his hands between two colossal gabions, each weighting multiple tons, and push them apart with a loud whirr of machinery as its exoskeleton magnified his already huge physical might.

Terrified Kendrew soldiers on the other side of the barrier opened fire with their rifles, and a hailstorm of bullets tore into the brute's chest and even his face, but most of the impacts were against the heavy steel plate embedded in his pecs, and failed to do much more than annoy the hulking thing. The brute shoved his way through and managed to grab one of the rifles aimed at him, crushing it into a crumpled wreck and yanking the terrified young tiger forwards, seizing him by the head and effortlessly crushing helmet and skull into a sick burst of crimson mist.

Other RA brutes were quick to exploit the breach, pulling up behind their wounded but emotionless comrade and opening up with massive machine guns that sent a hurricane of burning steel ripping into Kendrew's side, before one of the tigers shouted: "Hit the deck!".

Multiple Kendrew soldiers immediately dropped out of sight, laying down on their bellies and covering their heads as a shoulder-fired rocket shot forth with a small cloud of gas. The rocket engine didn't really have enough distance to cover to even ignite, but the fuze had evidently been tampered with to remove all safety settings, because it exploded on impact with the already wounded brute, vaporizing its upper body in a great blast of fire and molten metal which pierced through another pair of brutes like some sort of supernatural spear, cutting them down like butter.

Once again there was no reaction from the surviving brutes, not even from those splattered by droplets of molten, incandescent plasma, even as it rapidly consumed their flesh, digging to the bone. They carried on like drones, more robots than living beings, and now one of the massive RA tanks moved forwards as well, ramming the weakened bulwark held by Kendrew's soldiers with the dozer blade attached at its front.

Killer grimaced in horror as the tank shoved backwards the whole line of gabions, threatening to squish those terrified soldiers back against the building. The liger sprinted forwards, carrying his motorbike on one shoulder like it was a toy and nonchalantly gripping the rear of the MBT with his other hand, fingers tearing through thick armour like it was made of paper. The tracks sawed into the asphalt, turning it to fine dust as the tank desperately accelerated but failed to move forwards another inch, and Killer grinned coldly before single-handedly dragging the enormous vehicle backwards, even as the engine roared and blasted out thick clouds of smoke.

The tank's turret began to quickly rotate back towards Killer, the enormous vehicle buzzing like an angry insect as the liger grunted and hefted the rear of the MBT clear off the ground, tilting it to such an extent that the long barrel of the cannon smacked into a line of charging RA brutes, knocking them sprawling like pins, before it clanged loudly into the ground and became stuck. Killer contemptuously let go of the tank, grinning as it fell heavily on its rear, bouncing violently on its suspensions, and then he immediately slammed his heavy fist through the grids of the twin radiators of the massive powerpack, crushing through armour and steel engine like they were sculpted in butter. The heavy vehicle's tracks ground to a halt as the engine spluttered and died, but the turret began to turn again, running on the auxiliary power unit. Killer caught the cannon as it swung violently towards him, and he grinned, flexing enormous, godlike muscles as he jerked upwards and ripped the whole turret out of the hull, before swinging it out like an oversized, monstrous warhammer.

He smashed an RA brute into the ground like it was a fly, turning his body into a cloud of crimson mist and a ugly, chunky stain on the ground, before slapping two more of the hulking soldiers out of his way, sending their bodies exploding into pieces that flew like red meteors across the street. Other brutes turned around, emotionlessly and without fear, and opened up with their rifles, but Killer swung the massive, crumpled and deformed turret in front of himself, letting the bullets clang uselessly against the thickly armoured roof of it.

He grunted as a rocket crashed into the turret and exploded, causing him to skid backwards a few feet, boots digging into the asphalt, but he was ready to react when two brutes charged at him from the sides, running past the edges of the turret to get a clean shot... only for Killer to swing his motorcycle out in the face of one, sending him down in a broken heap, and the tank turret slamming into the other, knocking him flying like a baseball until he smashed through the façade of a building at the other end of the street.

The RA brutes assaulting the thin line of Kendrew defenders now all turned around to face Killer, backed by an infantry fighting vehicle and two tanks, and the huge liger squared himself to resist the onslaught, leaning into the tank-turret as a veritable hurricane of bullets clanged against it. The IFV's cannon began to bark in quick, rhythmic succession, sending heavy caliber armor-piercing fins tearing through the turret's roof, and Killer could feel the hits becoming closer as bullets began to rip through his "shield". The RA brutes threw grenades over his shield and he felt them clanging down behind him, the explosions rocking him violently and showering his broad backside in burning shrapnel, but still he resisted, blindly swinging the tank turret out in a vicious uppercut that smacked the front of the IFV and sent it flipping upside down in a broken heap of scrap metal. The cannon, deformed and torn apart, split off the semi-destroyed turret and crashed into a line of brutes, who caught it as best they could and shoved it forwards like a sort of cruel spear, that tore through the damaged tank turret in Killer's hand. The brutes began to wrestle his shield out of his hand, and Killer grunted as he heard the two tanks rolling forwards to get a clear shot at him... before he grunted in surprise as a third tank, bearing Kendrew's colors, retreated at full speed from inside a covered position between gabions and portable walls. It roared down the street in reverse gear, crushing parked cars like they were nuts, and then screeched to a halt in an advantageous spot right behind the two RA tanks, trailing its cannon.

Killer smirked, understanding what was about to happen, and his eyes flashed with dark satisfaction as the Kendrew tank blasted out an armor piercing "fin" round at point blank range against the first of the RA MBTs, piercing the rear of its turret. Flames erupted out of the RA tank's cannon and hatches, which blew violently open as the ammunition carried in the back of the tower caught fire and went off in a veritable eruption of orange flames that rose skywards with a frightening roar.

The remaining RA MBT immediately deployed its smoke grenades to hide from the unseen attacker, and it began to spin on the spot to return fire, but the lone Kendrew vehicle had the advantage of position and only needed to reload its cannon. An operation that a well trained loader could complete within seconds.

The Kendrew tank fired again, and the cold anti-laser mist was of no use at such point blank range: the center of the cloud of white smoke suddenly glowed orange, and tall columns of roaring flame erupted skywards as the ammunition brew up, killing the tank for good.

Killer cautiously studied the movements of the lone Kendrew tank, unsure of whether he could trust it or not: in the confused free-for-all that had erupted in the middle of the checkpoint, there was little certainty about who was the enemy. The massive vehicle carefully kept its weapons trained away from the liger, however, instead unleashing a long burst of coaxial machinegun fire into the RA brutes that were smashing their way through the damaged barriers and cutting Kendrew's soldiers down into pieces. The cannon of the MBT fired once again, making Killer wince as he was hit at close range by the massive wave of pressure and felt the heat clearly on his skin, and a programmable HE shell cracked out of the smoothbore barrel, flying into the thick of the group of RA super-soldiers and exploding in midair, vaporizing some of the brutes and sending several others collapsing in bloody heaps maimed by shrapnel.

The remaining brutes coldly, emotionlessly switched target, turning around to face the MBT, immediately taking aim at its sights with their monstrously oversized rifles. Even hidden behind thick armoured glass, the sensors remained relatively vulnerable, especially against bullets that big and heavy, and the sparkles and fragments of metal burst in every direction, the glass turning opaque and cracking as the tank rapidly retreated and semi-blindly let rip with the coaxial while the loader inside the turret frantically worked to shove another HE round into the breech.

The tank fired again, and the great explosion sprayed deadly shrapnel in a vast cone straight ahead of the vehicle, but while some brutes were torn apart, several others had already sprinted forwards to outflank the MBT. Killer saw the commander's hatch move ever so slightly as the tank leader attempted to take a peek outside, but the RA super soldiers immediately concentrated vicious bursts of gunfire against him, forcing a hasty retreat. Killer made his decision, stomping forwards and aiming for a brute armed with a massive shoulder-launched rocket: the liger slammed the palm of his free hand against the rear of the launcher tube, knocking it out of the brute's grip and sending it pointing to the earth just as the missile was ejected. It flew out propelled by compressed gas, and smacked violently into the ground, breaking in half before its rocket motor could even ignite, and already Killer had balled up his hand and slammed his first through the brute's helmet, bursting his head into a sick explosion of gore that splattered over another pair of brutes which had been giving covering fire to their comrade.

They spun around without fear, without evident anger, without any discernible emotion, even as the blood of their comrade covered their faces. The closer one let go of his rifle as Killer's hand clamped on it, crushing the barrel completely out of shape, and he reached for a large sword instead, slashing it towards the liger but failing to strike as the huge male slapped him with his motorbike, sending the emotionless drone crashing in a broken heap. The second brute had enough time to fire out a couple of rounds which smacked violently into Killer's chest, making the liger hiss with pain as his massive pecs flexed. The bullets crumpled without managing to tear through that indomitable mass of muscles, and they fell away, crumpled pieces of useless metal which clanged lightly on the ground. Anyone with a thinking brain would have been terrified by that sight, but the brute only insisted in squeezing on the trigger even as Killer lashed out his enormous fist, smacking him in the middle of the chest and breaking apart the armour plate like it was made of biscuit, his knuckles tearing right through the brute's body and out of his back, disintegrating his spine and sending splinters of bone shooting out like shrapnel. The brute twitched and gurgled, blood foaming out of his mouth as it hung limply from the forearm that had torn its way through him from side to side, but even so his eyes were devoid of any emotion. Killer studied the super-soldier with horrified fascination as it attempted to paw at his enormous bicep and drag himself forwards... before something clicked audibly, and the liger angrily swung his arm out, sending the corpse flying away just before it exploded.

Other brutes were charging their way up the solitary Kendrew tank, and it was clear they were going to commit suicide by triggering the explosive charge that seemed to be hidden deep within their very bodies. Killer leapt forwards and swung his bike out to slap two of the brutes off the side of the MBT, sending them crashing into their comrades and bowling them over like pins, just in time for one of them to explode and turn all the group into a disgusting cloud of crimson, chunky aerosol.

Another brute leapt up onto the engine block at the back of the tank, and the liger grunted as he reached up to seize him by one ankle, viciously yanking him off the vehicle and smacking him into the ground with enough force to crack and crater the asphalt. The emotionless creature twitched as electricity crackled out of the shattered mechanical exoskeleton merged to its muscles and bones, and Killer hurriedly, exasperatedly asked: "What the hell are you? Where do you all come from?"

The drone didn't respond, didn't show any worry, didn't even seem to have heard the question at all, instead only struggling to get up from the deep crater he had torn into the ground, arms reaching up to try and wrap around Killer's leg. The liger snarled furiously, all too aware of what was about to happen, and he angrily kicked the brute flying backwards into two others, grimacing as the explosion obliterated all three of them.

The liger would have gladly taken prisoners to interrogate, to torture even, in an attempt to somehow dig some information out of them, but it proved simply impossible: whenever they realized they were short of options, the brute remorselessly killed themselves, turning their bodies into dangerous bombs. It was a surreal, horrible experience, and he was forced to take down every single RA brute, because they also refused to retreat, even when their position became desperate.

When it finally ended, the solitary Kendrew tank was surrounded by the unrecognizable remains of a multitude of brutes who had blown themselves off rather than surrender. The great vehicle idled, the damaged engine spluttering, the turret buzzing as it nervously trailed from side to side still, but the coaxial finally silent. The chain gun had multiple, rotating barrels so it could keep on firing for long periods of time, but even so it now visibly smoldered, all of the barrels glowing orange in the darkness, while spent bullet cases still tinkled as they rolled down the sloped front of the tank and fell to the ground, joining thousands of others.

The terrified Kendrew soldiers who had survived the massacre slowly crept out of the pokey space they had been able to defend, and their bulging eyes and trembling hands starkly demonstrated the difference between them and the RA brutes. They were not only shell-shocked by the ferocity of the fight, but still astonished by how their supposed "allies" had remorselessly turned against them and resorted even to suicide-bombing in an attempt to kill them all. No quarters and no explanations given.

Killer stood in the middle of the ruined checkpoint, shouldering his motorbike still, painted crimson with blood from head to toe, his clothes ripped to shreds by the multitude of shrapnel hits but his muscles undamaged, other than for a few bruises and scratches that were already healing under the disbelieving eyes of the survivors. The liger towered over them all like a divinity, his hulking form easily twice as tall as the tallest among them, and his figure looked even more imposing as the trembling light from burning, wrecked IFVs and tanks cast changing shadows upon his bulging muscles.

Without hesitation, Kendrew's soldiers tossed their rifles to the ground and raised their hands up high as they climbed out from behind the semi-collapsed barrier of gabions. "Lord Huxley! Please, mercy! We had no intention to fight you!" A voice begged, and the other soldiers added their own laments, all saying more or less the exact same thing.

It was at least partially true: it had been their refusal to fire against the liger that had precipitated the RA's furious aggression, but on the other hand they had built up and manned that massive checkpoint cutting the peninsula in half and blocking the only road leading to the castle. Still, Killer didn't want them dead if it could be avoided, so he silently surveyed them, giving a slight nod of approval and reassurance.

The only thing the liger truly craved was an answer as to what the RA was, what was in those insane brute's minds, and where did they all come from. And there wasn't much time to be wasted: they could all hear explosions and gunfire coming from seemingly every direction, every street, as other fights broke out, presumably between RA and Kendrew patrols. Chaos had seemingly erupted all at once, and Killer desperately needed to understand why, and what could be done about it.

"Who is in charge of you lot...?" Killer enquired, and the soldiers hurriedly checked their ranks. Several of the offices had fallen during the fight, and the survivors were mostly only privates. That would have been surprising in a southern army, but in the North, it was pretty normal: in a world dominated by the concept of honor and personal virtue, the officers were the strongest and most valiant of warriors in a Company, and were supposed to always lead from the front.

Unfortunately, that meant that officers also tended to also fall first during a vicious battle.

"I think that honor presently falls upon me, Lord Huxley." Someone finally said, and Killer turned to the side to look at the commander of the damaged tank. "Lieutenant Felix Russel, your Highness. A pleasure to once more be in the presence of Wyvern, the Savior of the North." The officer introduced himself while sharply saluting, half-sticking out of his hatch. Solid with muscle, but not overly bulky, the tiger was notable for his age: he was probably approaching his fifties, Killer judged, which made him quite old to be "just" a lieutenant. Was it because he was a poor officer, or because Griagas was still somewhat traditionalist and looked with disdain at those who fought inside massive metal boxes, "like cowardly southerners"...? The prejudice was still alive and well in some quarters. Tigers had always revered physical power and warrior ethos above everything else, after all, and many still thought that only the weak should use things such as armoured vehicles and long range artillery. It was an outdated vision of warfare that had nearly meant disaster for the tiger kingdoms around a century before Killer was born, and that had again left the Northlands vulnerable to the assault of the highly mechanized armada of Dark just about a decade back, but still it lingered.

The fact that it was almost invariably the "scrawny" recruits, deemed inadequate for leading from the very front of the line and striking fear in the heart of enemies, that were picked to crew armoured vehicles was enough for some of the most traditionalist generals and kings to largely ignore the merits of "tankies" when it was time to distribute honors, riches and ranks.

Killer's father, thankfully, had been an innovator in the field and Kesteven had left behind that kind of nonsensical visions of the world. Killer himself had accelerated his father's reforms, and if one good thing had come out of his time in the south it was his fascination for technology and for how it could enhance the effectiveness of an army while reducing the number of casualties it took to achieve battlefield objectives.

"Do I know you, lieutenant...?" Killer calmly asked, genuinely curious. The age of the officer pretty much ensured he had taken part in Dark's war, either with the Western army under Killer, or the Eastern under princess Alexis Archer, of the kingdom of Glacial. The fact that the older tiger had called Killer with his past nickname, Wyvern, and with the title of "Savior" that had been given him after he had beaten back Dark's invading armada, only reinforced the suspicion.

"Lord Wyvern has no reason to remember my name, but I certainly remember your highness's leadership at the battles of Kendrew and Wycherley." The lieutenant answered, giving a nod of confirmation and ever so slightly puffing out his chest to show the medals on his chest: a gold star, two silver stars and the Dark campaign medal. "I was with the Royal Dragoon Guards, sir."

Killer's lips crested in a little smile as he nodded in acknowledgement. He remembered that highly praised, multi-decorated regiment of tanks very well and very fondly. They had been one of too few and thus very precious heavy armour units Killer had had at his disposal to contain the rapid mechanized thrusts northwards of Dark's armada. Again and again he had hurled those invaluable formations of tanks into battle to fix Dark's columns in place to allow the rest of his army, chiefly moving on foot, to catch up and continue the battle. The Dragoon Guards had been in the lead when Killer had finally broken the siege of Kendrew and started pushing back Dark's armada, and they had again been at the tip of the spear when Killer had unhinged Dark's flank at Wycherley, capturing the local bridge and throwing his heavy armour on the far bank while all of Dark's superior artillery viciously rained destruction over the area.

It had been an extremely dangerous gamble, but it had cut Dark's armada in half, preventing many of the worlf's divisions from retreating to the south bank and ensuring their complete, piecemeal annihilation. Killer's cavalry and tank regiments had ended up stranded on the far bank for close to two days, however, when Dark's artillery and air support had inexorably managed to pulverize the bridge. Killer's other forces, slower on the march or just too busy dealing with the encircled divisions of Dark's army caught on the north bank, had only reached the battlefield when the bridge had already been destroyed, and for many terrible hours the only reinforcements that could reach the southern bank of the river were soldiers carrying out dangerous, heroic crossings of the river upon its iced surface... and then, when the artillery broke up the ice cap, into its roaring, icy waters.

Killer had nothing but respect and admiration for his tank crews who had defended the bridgehead on the south bank for two days, always under constant bombardment and surrounded on three sides. Not only they had resisted, but they had actually managed to slowly but surely push Dark's flank, and rapid cavalry columns had pushed even further ahead to hunt down Dark's artillery batteries, anti-air missile regiments and the logistic echelon. Only on the third day, once Dark's artillery had been weakened by those raids and by careful counterbattery work, it had been possible to launch a major river crossing operation, with the deployment of multiple bridges that had allowed the whole of Killer's army to push forth. The town of Wycherley, or more accurately what little ruins were left of it after days of ceaseless fighting and bombardments, had eventually been captured and what was left of Dark's army had been pinned down around the wolf's very own fortified encampment, built on top of the small hill that dominated the area.

Killer had fought the whole battle on the southern bank, doing his best to protect his tank regiments and to enable the breakout, and on the fourth day he had led the final assault on the encampment itself, and killed Dark in duel.

That had been the end of Dark's armada as a fighting force, but it had been a damn close thing, and the losses over four days of constant, vicious fighting had been grievous. After Wycherley, all that was left to do was chase down the disintegrating, routed units of the armada that dejectedly attempted to flee back into Ire. Little to no organized resistance had ever been met after that complete triumph, and Killer had pushed deep into Ire, almost reaching its capital, before his father had decided that insisting would be counterproductive. To the east, Alexis Archer had achieved her own victory against the other segment of Dark's armada and had led an equally successful exploitation deep into Ire.

Killer often wondered what would have been of his life, and of the world at large, had they pushed onwards into Arkaley and really put the southern countries on their knees. Maybe it would have led to a peace both more sincere and more stable. Maybe it would have prevented him from rampaging like a feral monster for the seven following years... Or maybe, in the hour of such absolute triumph, he would have ended up behaving like an even worse tyrant. He really couldn't be sure.

The huge liger shook his head slowly, pushing those thoughts away for the moment, and instead offered a sincere smile to the nervous lieutenant, saying in a warm voice: "If you were with the Dragoons, then there's no doubt you are a valiant warrior."

It wasn't much, but it was enough to make the older tiger relax visibly, and reveal a queasy, hesitant smile of his own. Killer quietly pointed a hand at the carnage surrounding him; at the terrified young soldiers, at the blood covering almost everything and everyone, at the gorey, pulped remains of suicidal RA brutes and at the burning, destroyed tanks from earlier, and he did his best to keep his voice calm even as he impatiently asked: "Can you explain me what the hell is going on...?"

The officer carefully climbed out of his hatch and crouched on top of the tank's turret, swallowing thickly at the realization that, from that position, he still had to look slightly upwards to meet the giant's eyes. Felix allowed himself to slide down the scarred flank of the turret, and he stood on top of the track, so his relatively diminutive figure wasn't entirely eclipsed by Killer's towering bulk. The lieutenant wasn't a small man, nor did he lack muscle under his black coverall, but like all "tankies" he had been a runt in comparison to the other recruits back in his days. The biggest, strongest warriors almost invariably sought out infantry roles, or even a place in the Special Forces, while the smaller guys were handy for crewing armoured vehicles, where space was always a finite resource. Felix had actually been overjoyed by the chance to work with the tanks, which were still a relatively new thing for the Northerners at the time. He was a firm believer in tanks and a theorist of mechanized warfare, and had spent every day of his long career trying to make other Northerners see the merits of the tanks.

The battles of Kendrew and Wycherley had been pivotal moments in that struggle: the performance that courageous "tankies" put up with their smelly, noisy giants of steel had convinced almost everyone that the future would inexorably have lots of tanks in it. Felix Russel was proud of the role he had played and he remained an enthusiastic tank crewman... even though his legs were currently trembling visibly as the adrenaline levels settled down and the emotions of the fight still raged within his system. It had been terrifying to have his tank swarmed by suicidal bombers, and it had been even worse to see Killer throw the larger and heavier RA tanks around like toys, ripping through their armor like it was paper. Felix had feared that Killer's fist would turn him into jelly by smashing right through the turret of his tank, and being in the shadow of that colossus was a deeply unnerving experience, even when Killer smiled so indulgently.

Felix had very clear memories of young Killer fearlessly standing his ground ahead of the tanks at the battle of Wycherley, ripping through enemy tanks and armored vehicles like a scythe through corn. Killer had been in his early twenties then, and already he appeared to be a living God roaming the earth. Now, a decade on, Killer had, incredibly, grown even taller and greater and stronger, making his past self look small. It wasn't easy to accept that someone could possess that much power.

"I wish I could give you a good answer, Lord Wyvern, but I'm afraid I cannot." Felix cautiously said, shaking his head slowly and making a bit of a grimace. "As you have no doubt noticed, your Highness, the RA personnel are not talkative and do not socialize at all. All I can say is that working alongside them is... scary. And unnerving. Unreal, really. None of them cares about... anything. None of them ever talks about home, family, about any real interest or activity outside of frontline service."

"Yet you all allowed the RA to take root into Kendrew. You have allowed this Griagas guy to just take a piece of my father's lands and declare himself king of the place." Killer coldly remarked, and Felix bowed his head apologetically, in sincere shame as he nervously admitted: "I cannot deny that. We... we should have opposed Griagas's ambitions far more firmly. We are all guilty of allowing him to buy us off with a mix of gold, privileges and fear."

"What were you afraid of...? Was Griagas supported by RA troops right from the start?" Killer enquired, crossing his enormous arms and angrily clenching his fists. He was furious at the thought that a piece of the kingdom, a piece of his father's army, had decided to just go their own way, betraying the Huxley bloodline and turning their back to everything the royal family had done.

"Yes, your highness. RA troops backed Griagas and literally drove trucks full of gold ingots into Killer's battery. It was... an offer that just could not be refused. You saw the size and strength of the RA super-soldiers: they are not something most of us can deal with." Felix said, speaking in a dejected, apologetic tone and sneaking little nervous gazes up towards Killer's dark face, afraid that the hulking prince might in any moment reach out and slap him out of existence like an annoying bug. The officer hesitated, unsure of whether any excuse could possibly improve his tenuous position, but finally he found the courage to babble: "T-technically, Griagas proposed himself as a challenger, as a claimant of the throne. According to Tradition, it was not our task to stop him. T-the King should have done it personally... but Seth never came."

"That's a convenient way to twist the Laws in your favor, isn't it...?" Killer grumbled, making a grimace of disgust. "A challenger has the right to meet the king in duel and the army must never prevent a challenger from getting to the king. But Griagas never tried to get anywhere within five hundred miles of my Father's position. He just carved out his happy enclave and proclaimed himself king of it without any duel taking place. And with the backing of a foreign army! It's a very different thing, lieutenant. A very disloyal and unacceptable behavior that Tradition will always condemn: if we allowed everyone to suddenly declare a new kingdom, the Northlands would end up fractured in a million meaningless little kingdoms, weak and vulnerable."

"T-that's true, your Highness. It was an unforgivable mistake on our parts." Felix said, hastening to agree with the hulking male's observation. The officer kept his head humbly bowed forwards, exposing his neck as if waiting for a blade to swing down and decapitate him... but much as the vindictive side of Killer demanded blood to be spilled for that unprecedented betrayal, the liger knew that killing a valuable veteran officer of the armoured force would do no good to anyone.

"And you don't even know what this RA thing is, or where it comes from!" Killer angrily insisted, eyes burning with fury as he looked down at the other soldiers, who visibly trembled with fear in his shadow, standing at attention and silently praying for the blessing of mercy. "A challenger is one thing: a foreign army moving in is another entirely. You were supposed to stand and fight against the foreigners that moved in. What if the RA was the vanguard of a new armada like Dark's...? You have surrendered the gates of the North to an unknown force, without putting up a fight! It's the lowest moment in the history of the North. An act of cowardice and stupidity which put our entire civilization in danger." Killer's eyes blazed with terrible rage as he delivered his scathing remarks, and Felix visibly shrunk smaller under the weight of those accusations, which he now realized were entirely accurate.

"It's bad enough that young warriors so readily sold themselves for some gold and sugar, but that you and other veterans of the wars of Dark also allowed yourselves to be bought on the cheap, giving up Kendrew to an unknown, foreign force... It's disgusting." Killer hissed, gritting his fangs in furious distaste. "This is not even about my Father, my bloodline, my reign: this is about your own pride, your own dignity! It is about the countless friends you have lost ten years ago fighting Dark's horde back. All those comrades buried here... only to give up the whole region without a fight to the first ambitious asshole who worked up enough guts to declare himself a king."

Felix was unable to reply to those words. He visibly twitched and slumped, crushed under the weight of those accusations, and all he could do was nod in agreement, and in shame. "It's... it's all true. We... we chose the easy option, and pretended not to see the risks... and the consequences."

Killer snorted contemptuously at that, and angrily tore his eyes away from the groveling officer and his younger, scared soldiers. Part of him just wanted them all dead for their crime and their stupidity. Part of him insisted that, if they had allowed themselves to be bought once, they were not going to be of any use.

He stared at the ugly residential towers, full of modern day slaves. Kendrew's population had too readily adapted to that miserable new life under Griagas. From the soldiers to the last civilian, they had all behaved as cowards. Had they...?

The hulking liger huffed in frustration, closing his eyes for a moment. He always had to remember himself that being courageous was much easier for him, from the towering height of his superior body, from the privileged position that his supernatural strength granted him.

He could charge into a hailstorm of RA bullets and punch tanks into scrap metal, but people like Felix could not. The civilians asleep in those dark, ugly towers hadn't any real hope against the RA brutes. Yes, they could rebel, but where would that lead them...? Without external help, their rebellion would have led to nothing.

Killer's Battery and the island fortress could have locked up and resisted the RA, probably, but the gigantic factories he had seen gave a pretty good idea of just how rich and powerful the mysterious organization was. An armada of super-soldiers, backed by technologically superior combat vehicles and superior firepower at all levels.

Could he really blame Felix and the others for taking the easy way...?

Besides, king Seth had failed to make moves of his own against Griagas, and that did not do him any favor. Of course, the RA troops that had been allowed to move into Kendrew unopposed would have clearly made a stand against the king, preventing any duel from taking place. As soon as the RA had been allowed to settle in, Kendrew had been well and truly lost. Seth would have needed to launch a fully fledged military operation to recapture the fortress and get to Griagas to seal the matter with a traditional duel... and if the RA was truly spreading its influence all along the kingdom's borders, Seth was probably busy fighting other usurpers elsewhere.

Felix and the other soldiers of Kendrew could claim that, since the king had failed to react, they didn't feel compelled to make a stand of their own. It was cheap, and disloyal, and very dangerous if such an idea was allowed to take root, but all the same it was an objection that Killer couldn't quite dismiss.

"Had Seth come to punish Griagas, would you have opposed his coming...?" Killer finally asked in a low, half-hearted grumble. Of course Felix and all the others were going to say no, now. Too easy, really. Asking them wasn't a reliable test of whether there was any loyalty and valor in them. But he needed to give himself some kind of reason not to kill them. Even a weak, empty one would suffice, for the moment.

"Of course not, your highness!" Felix loudly proclaimed, emphatically insisting: "We hoped that the king would come. We would have welcomed his intervention... and... and... We welcome your arrival, Lord Wyvern. We didn't want to fight you, and we did not! We... we tried to stop the RA from interfering!"

"True, I suppose... But not all soldiers I've met on the way here have been so welcoming and collaborative as you make it sound." Killer idly rebutted, frowning accusingly down at the trembling soldiers standing at attention before him.

"R-rotten apples, your highness. It... it is to be expected. Some of the younger soldiers haven't really known the pre-Griagas army at all. T-they... well. They kind of like the pay and privileges that have been accorded to them, and t-they... are... well. Probably afraid of... change." Felix offered, nervously gripping into his black coverall, wringing his hands and looking fearfully up at the giant male.

Killer moodily huffed, but had to accept the reality: the past could not be changed, and the garrison of Kendrew had allowed itself to be bought, silenced, and used as pawn in the setting up of a tyrannical military government that threatened to expand its influence further northwards. He could either take the lead and offer those soldiers a chance of redemption, or he could slaughter them all for their crimes. Seeking explanations and excuses was never going to change a thing.

Killer closed his eyes for a moment, and he moodily sentenced: "You are lucky you are a veteran of Wycherley. I have too much respect for everyone who fought with me that day to kill you... but gods know I should just level just whole town and piss on top of the ruins. I can't _believe_you have all bowed your heads like so many meek sheep in front of this RA-thing walking in and installing a puppet king."

Felix swallowed thickly at that, shrinking even smaller and bowing his head even further forwards, and the whole line of young soldiers standing in front of Killer was shaken by a collective, cold shiver of terror. Even those who hadn't witnessed Killer's past exploits directly had already seen enough to know that all the stories were true and that the colossus could probably just shove the biggest building in town over like it was a house of cards, single-handedly and without so much as flexing his huge arm. They all shrunk smaller before his calm but terrible rage, and dropped on their knees, groveling before him and bowing their heads in shame and apology. Their discarded rifles were on the ground, not far from their hands, but none of them thought about picking them up to try and shot the giant Alpha. They had been given ample proof that they could only ever tickle him, at best, considering that even the far larger, more powerful weapons used by the RA brutes had failed to tear through his thick musculature. Running away was also no option at all, because with his huge strides the titan was also incredibly fast and would catch up with them with no effort at all.

Even the youngest of Kendrew's soldiers were beginning to realize exactly why the nickname "Wyvern" was uttered with such reverence and fear and envy and awe. They began to realize why the tales about the young prince's exploits on and off the battlefield had started to be regarded as myth and legend: his strength was godlike, and it was hard to believe to the stories without witnessing that kind of power from up close.

The mind revolted at the notion that someone so impossibly powerful could exist. Their pride refused to accept that they could be so insignificant in front of another warrior... and so they had all sought to downplay, to downgrade the stories to mere works of fantasy and exaggeration and propaganda. It had been a comforting escape from a reality they now could no longer deny.

Killer snorted contemptuously and easily put down his massive, bloodstained motorbike, and the soldiers all shivered as they felt the ground vibrate under them with the weight of that thing settling down. They spied through half-lidded eyes as the giant straightened again, huge muscles bulging with power, and they waited impatiently, helplessly, to hear what fate he would decide for them all.

Killer listened for a moment to the barking of rifles and the growling of machine guns in the distance, as battle raged on in the other streets, and he decided that more than enough people was going to die that night without him adding to the list. He put up a wry little smile on his muzzle as he looked down at Felix and commented: "You are pretty good at fighting the corner of lost causes, lieutenant. I hope you can prove as good at fighting on an actual battlefield, because I am only going to forgive this garrison for its shameful crimes if it now proves its valor."

Felix blinked in a mix of surprise and relief at that, but then his face began to beam up with relief, and Killer thought he saw a sparkle in those eyes, one of true determination. "We are yours to command, Lord Wyvern. We will help you however we can."

"Pick up your weapons, you're gonna need them." Killer said to the younger warriors standing before him, and they quickly picked up the rifles they had discarded earlier, murmuring words of thanks and praise to the colossus, for his mercy and for his power. The liger turned his attention back on the lieutenant, and he jerked his head towards the damaged tank's turret, asking calmly: "What kind of radios do you have in there...? Can you relay orders to the rest of the garrison, and give me a report of what is going on across the town...? Because I suspect the fragile alliance between Kendrew and the RA has well and truly broken."

"I'm afraid you are right." Felix agreed, climbing back up to his hatch and reassuring: "This is a Command tank, so I have the full range of radio and data links. I can reach all other patrols and units on the net."

Felix slipped down the hatch and took position into his seat, easily punching a few commands into one of the touch screens arrayed in front of him and bringing up a map with, in overlay, the last reported positions of other Kendrew units across the capital. Killer took a peek through the open hatch, leaning against the tank, and he immediately noticed that there were no RA callsigns visualized on the map, which confirmed his worst assumptions.

"The RA has logged out of the network. We can no longer see them...!" Felix muttered, noticing the same thing and uselessly refreshing the visualization on the screen, vainly trying to fix what he already knew was not a glitch. He was unsurprised, naturally, but still it hurt to see, because it was a clear signal that the uneasy alliance was truly over. The confirmation was in the multitude of flashing "TIC - Troop In Contact" reports on the map, showing how pretty much every patrol in town was engaged in combat and how the main garrison blocks appeared to be under siege.

They could hear it clearly, coming from every direction at once: the battle raged on in every street. Killer's arrival had acted as a detonator and caused the explosion of the powder keg that the town, and probably the entire kingdom, had turned into.

Killer looked at the map, quickly scanning the position of the nearest patrols in contact, and he realized that the layout of Kendrew did give them some hope: all the streets branched out from the central, vast boulevard, so the patrols could just retreat down the various roads and converge in the centre.

"Call the patrols, and tell them to fall back on this position." The liger urgently commanded, pointing his finger at the screen, and Felix nodded as he reached for the radios, switching on the various frequencies and sub-networks. They were immediately half-deafened by static, by the noise of a dozen firefights coming through, and the shouts of shocked officers reporting that the RA troops had gone berserk. Calls for help came from multiple callsigns, and Felix clutched his headset for a moment, eyes bulging in horror as he listened to the cries and the howls of agony of the casualties in the background. The lieutenant nonetheless began to tap on his screen to send a retreat order by tracing the routes directly on the map, and he began to transmit the same command via voice network before suddenly hissing and clutching the microphone in one gloved hand, turning to look at Killer with horror in his eyes as he warned: "We cannot use the radios to send orders, the RA was hooked into our network. They can listen for sure! They even know our cipher!"

"I know, but there's nothing we can do about it, for now. If we don't concentrate our forces, the RA will defeat every patrol in detail." Killer countered, shaking his head emphatically. Felix looked horrified at the thought that the enemy would be able to listen to their every word, but he nodded after a moment of hesitation, knowing that there was no alternative. He turned on the radio, and spoke clearly, trying to keep his voice controlled and measured. There was already too much confusion and screaming on the network.

"DRAGON 1-A to all DRAGONs: fall back on the main road and pick up all patrols and stragglers along the way. Concentrate on my position. Repeat, concentrate on my position!"

Felix and Killer both nervously looked at the screen and at the radios, waiting nervously to see if and how the other patrols would acknowledge and react... and, thankfully, other DRAGON callsigns, aka other tanks of the regiment out on the streets with the various patrols and checkpoints, finally began to click to confirm.

"DRAGONs, status report." Felix added after a moment, impatient to know how his comrades were doing, and he made a grimace as several of the tanks failed to send clicks in response.

"DRAGON 5-A is burning. 6-A bailed out, they are clinging on to my tank." Callsign 4-A reported, and there other reports followed: of the 14 tanks of A Squadron, 6 had already been destroyed or had had to be abandoned because of battle damage. Many of the crew members had not been able to bail out, because their tanks had been struck at point blank range and the damage had been catastrophic.

Felix and Killer knew all too well what that meant: in most cases, a horrible death in an inferno of fire as fuel and ammunition brewed up. If the blow-out panels failed to lessen the violent eruptions of fire from the burning ammunition, the turrets turned into literal crematoriums, with temperatures so vicious that they could consume a man in seconds. Still too long a time, considering the agony it meant.

"What is your kinglet doing?" Killer asked, snorting in contempt at the thought of Griagas refusing to properly receive him, and Felix made a grimace of his own, blushing in shame at the fact that they had allowed that ambitious officer to proclaim himself the sovereign in the first place. The officer hurriedly searched for confirmation on his tactical screen, and in the meanwhile mumbled: "He is not our king. He is not behaving like one."

"It was pretty predictable..." Killer couldn't help but remark, even though it probably wasn't entirely true. Griagas would have probably accepted, and won, challenges coming from most warriors. That he did not want to end up in an arena, in a one versus one with the hulking liger was understandable: nobody in their sane minds could possibly be happy at the idea of standing on Killer's path.

"Yes, it was." Felix nonetheless admitted, blushing slightly as he sneaked a sideway gaze at the hulking titan that had to lean on the top of the tank's turret to peek into the commander's hatch, such was his height. The mighty battle tank was bent to one side due to Killer's weight idly resting on top of it, and the suspensions of the enormous vehicles creaked and groaned miserably, while Killer's fingers left behind dents and grooves in the thick armour, like the steel was warm, melting butter. The liger didn't even notice it. It wasn't wanted, it just happened due to the liger's impossible strength. It was amazing to witness, and it made it easy to feel some understanding and pity for Griagas. Felix could hardly begin to imagine the terror that had to come from being hunted down by such a titan.

"Griagas is not on the network and has issued no orders or instructions in the last hour." Felix finally said, shaking his head slowly. "He should not have left the castle: for all I know the Royal Guard regiments are still in the fortress and he can't just run away in front of them. He must be hiding somewhere in the royal palace."

"Can the Guards help in tackling the RA...?" Killer calmly asked, turning to look moodily at the fortified island in the distance. Traditionally, the Regiments of the Guard were elite formations containing some of the best warriors, outfitted with the most modern equipment and often enhanced by the assignment of extra artillery. The castle had missile launchers and heavy guns derived from navy systems usually found on warships, so it could have provided them with invaluable fire support... but the RA knew it just as well, and Killer was willing to bet they had taken their countermeasures. The bastions of the island-fortress were illuminated by the muzzle-flashes of a multitude of firing rifles and machineguns, and several of the gun towers had already been blown up: columns of dark smoke climbed skywards from several of the great bulwarks. The RA was clearly making a push to penetrate inside the castle, but the Guards appeared to be resisting.

"No, your highness. The castle is cut off from all communications: the RA has captured the ravelins, lifted up the drawbridges and activated powerful jammers to disturb all communications. The Guards can't hear us, and we can't hear them. Their last message was a warning that both the south and north entrances to the Island are blockaded by RA troops." The lieutenant explained, and Killer made a grimace, making it clear how much that had been expected.

He saw helicopters taking off from the island, however, and Felix looked up as well, half-worried and half-hopeful. Killer stiffened in place, gritting his fangs at the thought that Griagas might be attempting to make a run for It, and he watched coldly on as rockets and shoulder-fired missiles flew up from the top of the ravelin. One of the helicopters performed a desperate evasive spin, deploying chaff and flares that burned brightly in the night, but while one missile was spoofed into following the false targets until it passed through them and crashed into a tower, a second one locked on the heat plume of the engines.

The gunship was broken in two by the explosion, the tail rotor spinning wildly and then crashing into the lake while the burning front of the machine went down like a stone as the main rotor was almost disintegrated by the explosion. Another gunship unleashed a salvo of rockets of its own on the top of the ravelin, turning the small tower in an inferno of flames, smoke and shrapnel that hammered the surface of the lake, raising a multitude of fountains of spray.

Even so, the RA brutes occupying the ravelin didn't cease firing, and tracer rounds drew red and green streaks in the night, targeting the helicopter and hitting it multiple times even as it returned fire with its chin-mounted cannon. It was a short but savage battle, and the gunship crashed down into the fortress's courtyard only moments later, but that in that brief timeframe, another few small helicopters, much more lightly armed but nimble and meant for reconnaissance, managed to sneak out. They flew just high enough to clear the bastions and walls of the castle, then dropped down almost low enough to touch the lake's surface with their skids, and made full speed ahead for the shore. They had all lights turned off, so Killer heard them, more than saw them. He counted four of them when they were briefly revealed by the light of the fires, the tracers or the explosions, and at least two more crashed into the lake as heavy RA gunfire now raged forth from the shore, as well as from the ruined, burning ravelin.

Was Griagas on board of one of those helicopters...? He could well have been. Killer looked nervously up as the small helicopters spread out upon reaching the shore and literally dived in the urban tunnels formed by tall buildings on either side. RA flak fire angrily pursued them, but the pilots were incredibly daring in their maneuver and kept swinging past the corners of the tallest buildings, constantly releasing streaks of chaff and brightly-burning flares in their wake.

One of the small helicopters rushed straight towards them, and Killer and Felix both looked up at that dark figure that flew less than 50 feet from the ground, throwing up a great cloud of dust and debris. It was so low that its flares did most of their burning after hitting the ground, while the chaff, nothing more that strips and strings of metal cut in various lengths and shapes to trick different radar frequencies, danced in the air like carnival streamers and confetti.

Two couples of soldiers sat on small benches, one on either side of the small helicopter, secured by elastic ropes, and they fired their heavy rifles and even shoulder-fired rockets against RA troops further down the boulevard.

"Oh, crap. I don't want them to think we are of the RA too." Felix muttered, eyes widening as he stared at the fast approaching helicopter, and he turned back to make sure his command pennant and a Kendrew flag were still flying from the whip aerials of his tank. They were tattered and half-burned, but they were there, and he hoped the Guards on the helo would see them. The soldiers gathered around the tank prudentially took position behind its solid mass of steel.

Felix reached for the radio, switched channel to the ones he would normally use to speak to friendly aircraft providing air support, and urgently called out: "Here DRAGON 1-A to unidentified STALKERs flying over the peninsula: check your targets! Friendly troops on the ground."

"Affirmative, DRAGON 1-A. STALKER 6 can see you." Came the reassuring reply, and Felix let out a sigh of relief.

"STALKER 6; are you bringing Griagas out?"

The pilot at the other end burst angrily out: "Fuck him! We don't even know where the fucker is. Must have gotten into the bunker. We are out to observe fall of shot and establish communications: the RA is jamming the castle's radios to shit."

Killer and Felix watched as the nimble helicopter flew right above their heads, low enough that Killer was legitly worried it would smack into his head, and followed it with their eyes as it spun around in midair, and cautiously climbed higher so it could get a better view of the surroundings. One of the soldiers leaning out of the side visibly swapped his rifle for a binocular-like laser rangefinder, and looked out over RA troops concentrations at the tip of the peninsula.

Killer smirked slightly, knowing what was going on, and almost on cue, the surviving heavy cannons of the fortress in the center of the lake opened fire, thundering in the night, and their shells began to strike RA troops concentrations along the shore and in the area of the docks. Great clouds of smoke hid the bastions from view as multiple missiles climbed skywards out of their vertical cells, buried in the middle of the thick towers. Streaks of smoke arched high up into the night sky before the missiles came diving back down with a vengeance, rattling Kendrew with enormous explosions. It was a bit of a waste to employ missiles that could fly hundreds, or even thousands of kilometers to hit out not far beyond the shore of the lake, but in an emergency they had to take advantage of everything they had.

"Bless you, STALKER 6. We are going to have a lot of targets for the castle's cannons." Felix replied, with sincere relief. "Stand by for grid references."

"Roger. It seems to be utter carnage out here. Do we even know who is in charge?" STALKER 6 replied, and Felix was about to reply before instead closing his mouth and looking meekly up at Killer.

"I think you should address the troops yourself, Lord Wyvern." Felix quietly but resolutely urged, offering the radio set to Killer. "In this moment we desperately need to know who is in charge, especially because our supposed king is silent."

Killer was tempted to roll his eyes at that, but did his best not to, instead replying: "Introduce me, then. It's better if they hear the news from a voice they know, first."

"Right." Felix agreed, before clicking twice on the network to ask for a moment of silence and attention. He sat a little straighter into his seat, and his expression became more focused, full of new determination as he addressed the rest of his regiment and the other friendly units in town. It was in that moment that Killer understood that Felix, despite the shock of that nightmarish, confusing night, was an excellent leader and a good officer, who knew what he was doing and which, he hoped, would command the attention and respect of his subordinates.

"Help is on the way. Hold your positions and don't lose heart, because prince Killer Huxley is here with me. He has come to bring Kesteven once more under the guidance of the Huxley bloodline. He has come to become our king. You've all heard the stories from the wars of Dark: now Wyvern is here to lead us to victory one more time."

Killer made a little bit of a grimace, thinking bitterly that, in truth, Wyvern was not quite on the scene. He was present, but the huge, formidable, crimson-bladed sword that bore that name and that had been the source of his nickname was not. Wyvern was in Seth's castle, up in Kesteven, protected and revered like a sort of relic. That enormous sword was almost sacred in Kesteven and beyond. It was known far and wide and was the subject of a million tales, only the most recent of which had Killer in them. The sword had been passed down a multitude of generations of Huxley kings, and Killer had carried it into battle only for the duration of the war of Dark, and in a few other memorable occasions.

The hulking male pursed his lips and looked moodily up at the dark night sky, wondering bitterly if he was ever going to pick up that wondrous weapon again. After all he had done, his father was most certainly not eager to let him carry Wyvern again... and that awareness was surprisingly painful. Killer missed that fantastic super-weapon, a sword like no other, a weapon which, coupled with his supernatural strength, could strike with indescribable force and disintegrate pretty much any kind of target.

When Felix offered him the radio, however, Killer shook himself out of those thoughts and picked it up. He had not planned out any speech, and he had admittedly not expected things to get quite so bad, and so fast, so for a moment he hesitated, but then clicked and spoke to troops that he already considered his. For the first time since the wars of Dark, he was in charge of an army of northerner warriors, and he had to admit it felt good. He had missed that privilege and the emotion that came from it, and even the tremendous pressure and anxiety that came from being responsible of the lives of so many. "Soldiers of Kendrew, I am Killer Huxley, prince of Kesteven, and I've come here tonight to challenge your commander and, like our Traditions command, demonstrate that I'm fit to be your king.

I have however found a cowardly kinglet that is hiding deep underground while his capital is shaken by the explosions. While the "ally" that he hushed into the kingdom to secure his power reveals itself for the force of invasion and tyranny that it is, firing into your backs without warning."

Killer paused for a brief instant, licking his lips slowly as he searched the right words. The troops needed to be reassured, first of all, but he couldn't just ignore the fact that Kendrew should never have allowed the RA into its territory and fortresses in the first place. He was going to sting them for it. And it was going to hurt, but if they were true northerners, and warriors worthy of their reputation, that attack on their pride would be the most effective of encouragements. And so he did not hold back from telling every Kendrew soldier the painful, humiliating truth:

"This is a battle that should have been fought years ago, when the RA first came, before it was established, before its roots had ventured deep into the very fabric of the kingdom. Nor their gold nor their threats should have kept you all from standing your ground against them. But that would have been easy, and a warrior of the north doesn't get any satisfaction from an easy fight: we will eradicate the RA now that it is strong! Just as gold stained your honor years ago, blood will wash it clean tonight!

Stand tall, warriors of Kendrew, and fight with me once more. I will lead you to victory and to redemption for the mistake of the past. And before the sun dawns, I will crush the cowardly, corrupt parody of a king that led you all astray, and Kendrew will be my capital, and you will be my army."

Killer released the radio's button. There was no point in saying more, and trying to sugar the pill would just be counterproductive. The soldiers knew that a long night of fighting was ahead of them all, and that many would not be there to see the dawn. And they could all tell that clearing the RA out of the whole of Kendrew was going to take long and bitter fighting in the coming days as well.

But Griagas had abandoned them. Their town, turned into a sleepy, moody hive for slave laborers, now was burning and shaking because of the explosions. The RA had stabbed them in the back.

They were prepared to fight back for as long as it would take.

"Long live king Killer, of the Huxley bloodline, Wyvern and Savior of the North!" Someone loudly proclaimed on the radio, and a multitude of other callsigns returned the cheer, cluttering the network for a moment. All of the callsigns? There was no way to tell, but certainly a lot of them.

"STALKER 6, stick close to my column." Killer commanded, his deep, big-balled, booming voice overcoming even the shouting and cheering on the radio and immediately commanding silence and attention.

"Yes, your highness. STALKER 6, providing overwatch."

The helicopter bobbed its nose slightly for a moment, as if the pilot wanted to visually confirm that they were ready to do their part, and Killer gave a thumb up in their direction before announcing on the radio: "I'm going to storm the Island and drag Griagas out of wherever he is hiding. RA, if you are listening, you know where to find me."

The hulking liger grinned coldly, taunting that monstrous, emotionless, mysterious enemy in the hope that it would detach as many of its troops against him as possible. Killer was not afraid, not even of their tanks and super-brutes: he was going to tear his way through their ranks, no matter how hard they tried to resist. He was more concerned for the fate of Kendrew's soldiers, who were badly overmatched in firepower, if not in overall numbers. Kendrew's troops were also scattered in many small patrols and checkpoints, while entire regiments and thousands of recruits were holding out in their barracks, some of which were at the opposite sides of town. And he had little to no means to influence the fight on the north shore of the lake, too. That was a major concern in his mind.

Yet, they could not afford to take a purely defensive stance. Every isolated unit had to put up a fight to try and reconnect with other formations. "My column is going to move up the peninsula. Fall back on my position, we need to concentrate our forces." Killer commanded, and when an officer reported back on the radio to say he could support the king's assault on the Island, the liger immediately countered: "I don't need help. Leave the Island to me; focus your efforts on breaking through to the nearest friendly unit and concentrate."

There was a moment of silence on the network, probably borne out of sheer amazement at the king's claim that he could assault the island fortress on his own even though the RA controlled the drawbridges and ravelins, but then all units confirmed they had received his command.

Killer looked up, past the island, towards the mountains to the north-west, on the opposite end of the lake. The immense mass of the fortress that carried his name had gone mostly dark, the lights that usually illuminated the bastions and the succession of artillery "terraces" snaking up the steep side of the mountain had either been turned off or blown to bits. Tracer could be seen flying between the bastions, however, and explosions could be seen around both the castle-barracks at the bottom of the mountain and around the fort at the very summit. RA troops had clearly been present into Killer's Battery as well: the fortress was heavily armed with silos full of missiles and with multiple batteries of heavy artillery and was the true key to the possession of the whole valley. As formidable as the island-fortress in the middle of the lake was, it was still a vulnerable trap if Killer's Battery opened fire with its colossal cannons.

"If we lose control of the battery, the RA will blow this entire city to dust." Killer coldly muttered, and Felix could only agree in silence, instinctively looking up at the distant bastions himself. "Can you communicate with them...?"

"Too much jamming, your majesty." The lieutenant sadly replied, shaking his head slowly even as he insisted in switching radio channels and refreshing the tactical picture on his screen. "The RA cut them off, I can't talk to any of the fortress's teams."

Killer was unsurprised. The RA was clearly aware of the fortress's key importance and was going to make every effort to conquer it or, if that proved impossible, to isolate it and reduce its ability to offer fire support to the Kendrew forces down in the valley. The gigantic cannons of the various batteries were still silent, thankfully, but he didn't know the situation up there on the mountain and the thought that they might in any moment hear the rumble of death of the high calibers opening fire was a constant torment.

"What do we know about the RA disposition...? Were there many of their troops up in the Battery?" The liger urgently asked, and Felix picked up a red pencil and a map, beginning to draw symbols on it to show Killer everything he knew and remembered.

"Not many inside the Battery, thankfully." Felix reassured, but at the same time he drew the conventional symbol for "mechanized battalion" on the plateu next to the summit castle. "Not even Griagas was stupid enough to allow a large RA garrison_into_ the castle, but the RA parked a battalion-worth of their latest machines up on top of the mountain, as close as they could get to the fortress."

"What kind of machines?" Killer urgently asked. A battalion could mean anything between 400 and a 1000. A lot of troops, but Killer's Battery was a formidable fortress built to resist assaults on a far greater scale, at least in theory. Especially because it was virtually impossible to manoeuvre tanks and other heavy combat vehicles up there on the rocky, knife-like edge of the mountain. There was no real plateu; the only stretch of flat terrain had been blocked by the castle itself, specifically to ensure that no major assaulting force could bypass Kendrew by going over the mountains. What had the RA managed to haul up on that windy, icy ridge...?

"Powered armors. They also call them Walkers: a super-sized evolution of their exoskeletons, with a cockpit for a single operator. They are like light tanks on two legs. The RA insisted to have a base camp up on the mountain exactly to demonstrate that their new creature can bring tank-like armour and firepower even over the most hostile terrain features."

That was the very last thing that Killer would have wanted to hear. Were those accursed machines strong enough to break through the castle's bastions and walls...? He couldn't afford the risk of losing control of the big guns, but he didn't have many options. His forces were scattered around town and almost invariably already locked in combat, and couldn't readily manoeuvre in any meaningful way. The only "reserve" he had was stranded on the island, in the middle of the lake, with the RA holding the drawbridges, both the south and the north ones.

Killer bit his lower lip, then extended his hand to ask for the radio set again, and ordered: "STALKERs, I need you to get in touch with the Guards. If they have transport helicopters on the island, I need them to fly up to Killer's Battery to help the defenders there. If possible, they need to locate the RA jammers and destroy them. We can't let the RA anywhere near the cannons."

"Here STALKER 4. On it, your Majesty."

Killer looked up to see one of the small helicopters make a daring run towards the island, taking a wide route away from the ravelins to avoid, as much as possible, the vicious fire coming from the RA troops still stubbornly holding the position.

His eyes then moved back down to the map, scanning the various symbols that Felix kept scribbling down on the map. There were RA troops pretty much everywhere elements of Kendrew's military were home-based, a clear signal that the organization had always wanted to establish control of every activity.

Fortunately, that meant that the RA troops were as disaggregated and dispersed as his, and that granted Killer some degree of freedom in picking his priorities. Many of the smaller security detachments were going to be left alone to deal with their RA counterparts, and he was fully aware that losses were going to be grievous for those small units, but he just couldn't afford to throw penny packets of troops at every grid sector.

His attention was focused on the factories, the railway terminals, the major barracks and the airport. Kendrew had a large, modern airport with multiple runways, split evenly between a civilian terminal and, on the eastern side, a military airbase. There were troop transport helicopters and a couple squadron of fighters based there, but the RA had a sizeable concentration of troops in place and, crucially, had deployed a battery of anti-aircraft guns and a battery of long range missiles in the area. No Kendrew aircraft was going to take off or land from there so long as those batteries remained operational.

The situation was very similar in most other towns and bases across the whole kingdom, for all Felix knew, and the RA had posted garrisons into several of the border fortresses as well, which meant there was a bitter campaign ahead that would need to be fought to flush the invader out.

Killer looked up, as did the soldiers crowded around the tank, as heavy vehicles roared down the boulevard, drawing closer, and he was relieved to spot the APCs he had left behind earlier, grouped in a staggered formation to cover each other as they raced towards their position. Soldiers in Kendrew uniforms poked their heads out of the hatches, desperately making hand signals to communicate that they were not hostiles, and all three vehicles had unfurled regimental pennants and small Kendrew flags from the whip aerials, in the hope of avoiding a very possible blue-on-blue mistake.

The soldiers in the APCs looked meekly up at Killer, awkwardly offering apologies and gestures of support, and the hulking giant looked at them flatly, but de facto silently accepted their excuses, with much relief on their part.

Soldiers on foot also began to rush in from the side streets, followed by the tanks and infantry fighting vehicles covering their retreat and regularly firing couples of smoke grenades to fill the streets with thick curtains of white, artificial, cold fog.

In the meanwhile, B, C and D Squadrons also reported in on the network: they were unable to retreat but were defending their position: a whole new barrack, recently built for them and for multiple other tank regiments that still didn't really exist. The barrack was crammed full of recruits at various stages of their formation process, and the parking lots and garages clogged with tanks which still had the smell of new about them. The barracks was close to the docks, so it virtually had its back to the lake, which at least aided their defence somewhat, especially as the Guards' artillery on the island was able to supply supporting fire just with visual observation. Elsewhere, the STALKERs continued to fly back and forth along the shore, spotting RA concentrations and supplying coordinates to the fortress's guns to engage.

Under that deluge of heavy artillery and missiles, Kendrew's troops were recovering from the initial shock and converging into larger and larger groups.

Killer turned towards the soldiers grouped near Felix's tank, and pointed to a couple of sharpshooters and a sniper armed with a massive anti-material rifle. They snapped at attention and walked closer to him, and the liger wasted no time in briefing them: "I'm going to need information about what is going on, and where the RA troops are. I need eyes on top of that building." Killer urgently said, pointing his finger at one of the tallest towers in town. "Can you get up there and establish an OP? Your mission is covert observation: engage only if you cannot avoid it."

"Sir, yes sir!" The sniper said, his face mostly hidden behind a mask and a reinforced visor protecting his eyes. "Permission to bring a Fire Support Team up with us, and a close protection group?"

"If you know where to get a Fire Support Team, and get it now, by all means bring it up on that tower." Killer answered without hesitation. Fire Support Teams were liaison units of 6 to 8 men equipped with laser designators, long range sensors, sometimes man-packable radar sets and other equipment to direct everything from mortar fire to air attacks. If there was one available and it could establish communications with friendly artillery units, that was a blessing. Unfortunately, Killer had little to no idea of what troops he had available, or their disposition. More than ever before in his life, he was going to have to trust his subordinates in the field. "Your callsign will be SHARPEYE. I want you to update the tactical picture with everything you spot, and send reports about anything that moves. I need to know what the RA is up to."

The sniper nodded, snapped at attention and then quickly moved off, followed by his second and by the other sharpshooter. He walked up to one of the APCs, quickly briefed an officer waiting on the lowered rear ramp of the huge vehicle, and within moments assembled a large group which included elements of a Fire Support Team carrying a bulky laser designation kit, plus all the radios they could pack.

In the meanwhile, more tanks, APCs and IFVs emerged from the side streets. All groups were shaken and depleted by the losses suffered in the first, savage moments of battle and in the subsequent effort to break contact with the RA troops, but summed together they were beginning to form a workable battlegroup.

Killer gathered the officers around Felix's tank and briefed them in person, trying to limit, at least for the moment, the use of the radio. Their first objective was going to be the barracks of the Dragoon Guards regiment: they were going to break through the RA siege and get the other tank squadrons out. All recruits who had received at least enough training to know how to operate tanks, even in basic fashion, were going to pick an MBT from those parked. They were going to need all the firepower they could get.

Unfortunately, the tanks in the parking lot had only a partial fuel load and no ammunition on board yet: before beefing up Killer's forces they were going to have to pull back at least up to the proving ground to the south-east of town. There they would find sizeable reserves of fuel and ammo to exploit, since the range was used to put all newly produced tanks to the test to verify the performances of all systems.

From there, a makeshift battlegroup, hopefully comprising a healthy number of tanks, was going to move towards the airport, in order to lift the siege and destroy the RA surface to air artillery. Hopefully some helicopters and jets were still intact and could then be launched to support operations elsewhere in town.

"... ultimately, our aim must be to secure the RA factories at the edge of town, and the depots. We need to capture those plants and all those brand new vehicles intact, because we are going to need them to kick the RA out of the rest of the kingdom." Killer said, leaning on the large paper map of Kendrew that Felix had helpfully produced from inside his tank, unfolding it on the steep armour plates at the front of the huge vehicle.

He looked up at Felix and the other officers, and they nodded with grave faces, taking mental note of their roles in the fight ahead. Killer's plan, made on the fly and with very limited information available, relayed heavily on the tank squadrons of the Dragoon Guards: each Sqn, even though depleted by losses already, would become the core of a separate battlegroup, beefed up with whatever reinforcement they met along the way. Each BG would push down a different street and try to encircle the huge new industrial district that had grown at the edge of town. Felix's A Sqn, with Killer in attendance at least for the first phase of the battle, was going to lead the way and push onwards well past the factories themselves, to capture the railway terminals and the tracks themselves, to prevent the RA from moving precious equipment out, or reinforcements in.

For most, if not all of the time, the Battlegroups were going to have little to no ability to mutually support themselves, because every street was like a canyon walled off by buildings on either side. There was little to no chance to keep line of sight contact, other than through small teams of soldiers with shoulder-fired anti-tank missiles which were going to climb up the tallest buildings along the way.

Everything about the plan was inevitably vague and subject to last second changes. Killer had never had to direct a battle having such a fragmented, vague idea not only of the enemy's forces, but even of his own. It was an unnerving situation, but at least he was reassured by the looks on the faces of his officers: anger was the dominant sentiment. They had been stabbed in the back by the RA and they all wanted vengeance. They wanted Griagas gone, too... and everyone who had seen Killer in person and had a chance to witness his spectacular height and the hulking immensity of his musculature, felt that victory was assured. What could possibly stand up to that godlike titan, after all...?

As if to shake that newfound optimism, however, the roar of fighter bombers flying at max speed and low altitude up the valley filled their ears. They all instinctively looked up, even though they knew that, if they were hearing the noise, the supersonic jets had actually already moved past.

Explosions thundered in the distance, and they turned around to look across the lake, seeing great balls of fire and smoke erupting skywards from several of the island fortress' bastions: the jets clearly belonged to the RA and had come to silence the cannons of the castle. Tracer rounds climbed skywards from the fortress, along with missiles leaving behind great streaks of white smoke, and three large balls of dirty orange fire signaled the end of as many RA bombers.

To the north-west, more jets attempted an attack run against Killer's Battery as well, but the castle's defences, even half-blinded by jamming and electronic warfare, managed to track the incoming enemies and, in a huge white cloud that temporarily hid the great bastion from sight, a salvo of missiles climbed skywards to meet them. A fighter-bomber ended up crashing on the steep flank of the mountain, becoming a flaming wound across the forest, while several other aircraft were caught in midair and disintegrated. The flashes of light briefly illuminated two different ground of helicopters approaching the fortress, flying just above the tip of the trees: one small group of helicopters, flying straight up along the length of the artillery terraces, was carrying reinforcements up, coming from the island. The other, far larger formation, coming in from the south, was clearly an RA air assault. Missiles rained down against the RA helicopters, and all sorts of guns opened up from the top of the bastions, sending multiple troop transports and gunships crashing, but in return rockets and missiles and gunfire smashed into the walls of the castle.

It was an all too clear signal that they were out of time, and needed to act quickly.

Within minutes, "Battlegroup FELIX" was on the move, rolling up the main boulevard towards the lake's shore. Killer was in the lead, driving his motorbike and acting as vanguard. Felix and his depleted A Squadron of tanks, almost halved from 14 to 9 tanks, followed, with the APCs bringing up the rear.

STALKER 6 flew just above their heads, calling in artillery support every time they came across RA elements. It quickly became evident, however, that the RA had essentially pulled back from the boulevard and was making no real attempt to keep Killer from driving towards the lake. Clearly, they had other priorities, and they became evident as soon as the sniper group from earlier managed to climb to the very top of the tallest residential tower. From there they had a good view of most of the suburbs, and a partial view of the centre of town. Some streets were in full view, others were hidden behind other tall buildings, limiting their ability to direct artillery fire.

"WYVERN, here SHARPEYE 1." Came a voice, and Killer reached up one hand to adjust the headset of the radio he had been given by Felix. Like everything else tipically was, the headset was way too small to fit Killer's head properly, so he could basically listen only from one ear while the set hung somewhat precariously. SHARPEYE 1 was the sniper group he had sent up on the skyscraper, which had finally formed the Observation Post (OP) on top of the building. Killer acknowledged, and the sniper on the other side reported: "RA troops are hard at work at the railway heads, loading tanks and equipment on semi-trailers. I can see four trains being loaded right now, and lots of activity in the factories. They don't seem to think they can hold the town, sir: they are trying to carry their stuff away."

Killer bit his lower lip, leaning on the handlebars of his motorbike and looking angrily towards the dark ravelin that stuck out of the cold waters of the lake, with the drawbridges at either end lifted up. The island-fortress laid further back, mostly darkened as all lights had either been turned off or shot to bits. Tracer rounds flew constantly between the bastions and the ravelins, and some firefights seemed to be raging on even in the courtyards and park of the castle, but the RA troops appeared to be mostly confined to the ravelins. The Royal Guards couldn't get out of the island, but the RA seemed unable, or perhaps unwilling, to get in.

The castle was his ultimate target, and he was impatient to just shot up the long road that stretched like a pointed finger through the lake, but instead he swerved to the right, running down the shore and past the docks, towards the barracks of the Dragoons under siege.

Scenes of utter carnage greeted him there, as a multitude of boats burned at their moorings and others laid in smoldering pieces across the street, which was littered with blown-apart APCs, burning tanks and the horrible, gorey remains of RA brutes and Kendrew soldiers alike. The motorbike bounced and rattled violently as he drove into and past deep craters dug by the castle's heavy artillery, and at the same time tried to come up with some brilliant plan to turn that infernal night around.

He didn't have many options to choose from. He had expected the RA would try to get away, and what he was most worried off was the prospect of the RA troops simply blowing the factories into bits before leaving. Ugly and gloomy as those enormous plants were, Killer knew he was going to need them to have a prayer at rapidly equipping his new army for the long fight ahead.

"Any sign of demolition works?" Killer urgently asked, and the sniper on the other side was silent for a few moments, somewhat taken aback by the question. The soldier had, focusing on the short term only, assumed it was good news that the RA was packing rather than digging in for a long slog. It showed they didn't think they could hold the town, didn't it...?

But now he could see exactly what the king was thinking of. "No detonations as of yet, but lots of movements, including trucks carrying explosives. They are probably planting charges on the key structures and machinery."

"Call the fortress and have a couple of missiles fired into the railway tracks." Killer ordered. "Put some craters into them. I don't want those trains slipping away."

The Fire Support Team acted quickly. They lased the tracks in the distance, ran a few quick calculations and then issued a call for fire. They had to repeat the message several times due to the RA jamming that continued to heavily disturb communications with the Guards on the island, even with the STALKER helicopters re-broadcasting the signals, but finally, a couple of missiles emerged from one of the bastions, climbing into the sky and leaving behind great streaks of smoke and fire. The boosters disconnected, and the missiles became pretty much invisible in the darkness as, reached the intended altitude, they unfolded their stub wings and continued their trajectory thanks to their small turbofan engines.

It was a short hop, and they soon came diving down from the night sky. They struck with precision and exploded in the middle of the railway tracks, disintegrating a couple hundred meters of rails and hurling pieces of metal and concrete all around. The missiles had flown for just a handful of kilometers, so they also still carried the near totality of their fuel, which ended up sprayed over a wide area in a deluge of fire that illuminated the downtown area with a sinister, trembling light.

Killer smirked for a fleeting instant when he heard the distant, massive explosions, feeling the buildings around him shaking, and almost at the same time received the sniper's report of two direct hits. It was a short lived satisfaction, however: there were other routes out of town that, while more convoluted, were still viable, and not all of them could be observed from the OP. He was under no illusion: the RA was going to move swiftly and decisively to keep the door open and continue to carry away its treasures. It clearly cared more about its freshly-produced tanks than it cared about its silent, emotionless soldiers.

Killer cursed under his breath as he saw the remains of another checkpoint up ahead: great walls of gabions filled with dirt and topped by concertina wire, with elevated towers and a narrow serpentine of jerseys of reinforced concrete to channel the traffic were it could be checked, vehicle by vehicle. Two Kendrew tanks were burning nearby, surrounded by the maimed bodies of numerous soldiers and by the sinister splatters of gore left behind by suicidal RA brutes that had blown themselves up. Casualties moaned and cried pathetically from where they lay, callously left for dead on the spots where they had fallen, and Killer carefully maneuvered his enormous bike to avoid those crying, broken figures.

"STALKER 6, if you can get in touch with the castle, tell them to send more helicopters and all the medical teams they have. Without CASEVAC, a lot of people is going to die tonight." The hulking liger quietly said into the radio, making a grimace of horror at the sight of the devastation in many of the bodies brokenly strewn on the ground: the RA's oversized weapons were almost anti-armour cannons, more than assault rifles, and the damage they inflicted on normal-sized soldiers was terrifying. Missing limbs, heads pulped, torsos missing as much as half of their original shape.

RA brutes manning the towers opened fire against Killer with heavy machineguns, but the hulking colossus fearlessly drove into the storm of bullets, swerving from side to side and then, when the great barriers were near, neatly jackknifing off his steed, once more idly shouldering the heavy vehicle like it was the most natural thing in the world. The road rattled under his feet as he stomped his way forwards, his weight punching deep footprints in the asphalt as he dropped one shoulder and rammed into the double wall of gabions with impossible force. Those colossal bags of dirt could absorb anti-tank shells with ease and resist the direct impact of trucks turned into bombs, yet they were blown apart like toys as Killer tore through the double barrier, not even slowing down as he swung his arm out and sent enormous gabions flying like pebbles, grinning as they smashed through RA troops and armoured vehicles on the other side, knocking APCs over and turning brutes into nothing more than clouds of crimson mist and metallic wreckage. The whole checkpoint barrier bent out of shape, the middle section of the wall turning into nothing but a gigantic cloud of dirt and debris that rushed down the street like a sandstorm, pelting RA brutes and parked vehicles with a vicious rain of gravel and stones.

An RA tank clanged forwards as if to plug the gap in the barrier, but Killer laughed and plowed straight into it, tearing through the armour like it was wet paper and cutting the enormous vehicle in two ruined, unrecognizable halves that collapsed pathetically out on either side, while the gigantic male single-handedly ripped the entire engine and transmission block out of the back of the tank. Even the emotionless RA brutes in front of him began to scatter, understanding what was about to happen, but Killer threw those multiple tons of solid steel with such terrifying force that several of the RA soldiers were caught and nearly vaporized on the spot were they stood. The powerpack flew with the speed and violence of a meteor, ripping through the ranks of RA soldiers that were surrounding a civilian, multi-storey building that had probably been a shopping mall before the fire of multiple tanks had turned its façade into a smoldering hill of ruins.

The fight at the checkpoint had been quick, sudden, and brutal. Kendrew's soldiers had been mercilessly mown down by the RA brutes that had been serving at their sides up to that point, but the survivors had put up a strenuous resistance and the trail of corpses and destroyed vehicles and blood led into the mall. Kendrew soldiers had retreated into the huge structure and now were resisting the savage assaults of unthinking brutes intent on killing them to the very last one.

The meteor of steel that was the massive powerpack flew for literal miles down the road that ran all around the lake's shore, tearing through armoured vehicles and flesh with the same ease, before it smacked into the ground, digging a deep crater in it, and bounced upwards in pieces that exploded in every direction. Together with the flying gabions and debris and dust, that sudden wave of carnage sent the RA troops into temporary disarray as the brutes scattered and sought cover while they tried to understand what was happening.

Killer rammed his shoulder into a second tank, bending it ludicrously out of shape and knocking it skywards like a plastic toy, sending it spinning twice in the air before it came crashing upside down, squishing a couple of brutes that didn't get out of the way quickly enough.

Other RA soldiers, after a moment of confusion, saw him in the thick of the cloud of debris and immediately opened up with their oversized rifles, taking cover between parked cars that sat upon holed, empty tires, their bodyworks riddled by bullets and shrapnel. One of the brutes fired a stubby, large grenade the size of a large beer can against the liger, but Killer grinned and caught the relatively slow-moving object in midair, spun it and hurled it against a pair of brutes taking aim at him with a rocket launcher. They disappeared in the explosion, and a shower of sticky, incandescently burning white phosphorous rained down upon an APC further behind, which prudentially pulled back further, vainly firing its remotely-operated machine gun.

The parked cars and pick ups crumpled like paper toys as Killer plowed right into them, his heavy feet crushing bonnets and flattening cabins as engines burst apart and tires exploded under his weight, and the RA brutes hiding between the vehicles were crushed between the burning metallic hulks. Killer laughed darkly as he almost idly swung his arm outwards and effortlessly slapped a large truck out of his way, watching with a grin as the deformed, crumpled vehicle flew halfway across the lake before crashing down in the cold waters, and he already had moved on, raking a couple of brutes and sending them to the ground before his feet came down upon them, crushing them into ugly stains in the floor, like they were nothing but gnats.

Another super-soldier came rushing in through the narrow space between two parked cars, and Killer slammed his foot into one, sending it crashing into the other so violently that the brute was squished in the middle, his legs pulped. It trembled without letting out a real lament, eyes full of nothing but hate even as he began to collapse bonelessly forwards, and Killer caught him by the throat, ripping his torso off his maimed lower half like he was a detachable toy and immediately hurling him into another group of brutes, just in time to blow them all up as the usual suicidal explosive charge went off.

Killer laughed in dark delight as his immense musculature flexed and he almost teasingly reached out with his arm, ripping through the side of one tank like it was made of butter and yanking the broken remains of a crew member out, sending them flying like gruesome crimson streamers across the street. Parked cars and trucks shattered under his feet and against his hulking form as he just plowed right through a line of vehicles, and RA "super-soldiers" burst apart like balloons filled with blood as ran straight into them. He slammed into a tank and hefted it skywards with a grunt, sending it flying like a miniature, and smirked as lamp posts, semaphores and other puny obstacles disintegrated at his passage.

The burning, flattened, deformed wreckages of cars and other vehicles flew ahead of him as he rammed into them, and the RA soldiers vainly attempted to scatter away from that almost solid wave of destruction. Burning hulks flew across the street and splashed into the lake, knocking super-soldiers into the cold waters and bringing them to the bottom, and before the troops could react, Killer flexed and leaned forwards with a cruel smirk, stomping one foot down with such tremendous force that the ground cracked and the remaining RA tanks and APCs were knocked flying up into the air, missing their shot as even the massive MBTs were smashed backwards and sent crashing ruinously back down a great distance away, their suspensions breaking apart with the violence of the landings.

The super-soldiers, even enhanced with their advanced exoskeletons, were knocked out of Killer's way with even greater violence and sent crashing like bullets through the walls of buildings far down the street, several of them turning into nothing but splatters of gore as they tore through reinforced concrete.

Killer stormed his way up the semi-destroyed staircase leading into the mall, running into RA soldiers that, too busy firing against the Kendrew survivors defending the first floor, failed to turn around quickly enough. Killer grinned cruelly as his heavy, steel-reinforced boots raked brutes flying ahead of him, knocked them over, sent them sprawling like pins as bones and exoskeleton sections snapped and broke with loud, satisfying cracks. A brute crashed on the steps on his face as he was hit in the back, and before he could even try to push himself back up, Killer's foot crashed down over his back and shattered his spine like a biscuit, at the same time crunching the back of his skull in. The liger swung his motorbike out like it was a massive warhammer of sorts, smashing brutes out of his way before he seized another by the head, effortlessly hefting him up and then tossing him skywards, smirking as he flew high past the roofs of the nearby buildings and vanished in the distance. Killer stomped on another RA trooper, crunching him underfoot as his spine was bent far beyond what was healthy, breaking man and exoskeleton alike, before the liger's enormous fist smashed down through a whole fireteam of four: the first two soldiers disintegrated into crimson mist, the third in line was nearly ripped in half as the huge hand tore right through his chest, and the last one was punched flying across the mall, crashing through a large column and breaking apart in a sick rain of chunky gore. Within instants, an entire assault platoon was wiped out as Killer ran through the formation, spreading his arms wide and simply running over his enemies: he was like a freight train that squished everything on its path into nothing but sprays of gore.

As he reached the vanguard of the assault, Killer paused for a brief instant as a weird, massive machine turned around to face him: it moved on thick mechanical legs and stump triangular "feet" of heavy steel, and had a chunky, heavily armoured body-cabin that contained a single driver, which could see the outside world through cameras and through vision blocks arranged on 360 degrees in the "neck" of the somewhat humanoid-shaped machine. The "head" of the hulking, heavily armoured exoskeleton was a repurposed panoramic sight of the king found commonly atop tanks, while the shoulders of the machine were topped by a couple of anti-tank missile tubes; a multi-shot grenade launcher fed with a long belt of stubby, can-sized ammunition, and a large machine gun. Its "arms" were busy holding up a massive ballistic shield which expanded out to the sides to protect infantry working alongside it.

It was a sort of walking tank, somewhat crude in design yet very effective. This too reminded Killer of the south, of Ire, of what the army of that corrupt country had desperately tried to engineer to have something that could take him down. That could take the whole North down.

The RA had a bit too many things in common with the fuckers that had used a bomb to blow up his friends, his lovers, his "groupies", and with them the chance of building a bridge across ancient mistrust and hate. The main difference was that the RA was making quicker and better progress, and was, at least as far as he could tell, something with roots in the North: its soldiers and its machinery were sized around the hulking figure and massive strength of tigers, rather than puny southern "preys", so it was far more dangerous.

But that didn't mean Ire was not involved, did it...? Now that corruption had spread into the North, who could tell how far Ire's influence could go, and where its ugly tentacles could already have delved into...?

The large machine quickly turned around to face the liger, its steel feet crumbling the marble of the mall's staircase as dozens of electric and hydraulic motors whirred and buzzed to power those bulky limbs clad in thick plates of armour. The machinegun on the powered armour's shoulder immediately barked, beginning to vomit lead against Killer, but its caliber was nowhere near large enough to do more than annoy the colossus. The grenade launcher began to spit out its large rounds next, but Killer had already gotten so close that the large grenades couldn't fly a distance long enough for the fuze to activate, and those heavy "cans" only bounced violently into Killer's chest, hammering into it in an endless succession of punches... that had the liger grinning darkly, because their force was pathetic.

The driver enclosed in the machine's thick torso-cockpit had two choices: try to retreat to a distance that would allow the grenades to arm and explode, or seek a melee. It first attempted to move back a few steps, but immediately the Kendrew soldiers barricaded at the top of the ruined escalators punished it by firing into its now exposed rear. Killer, in any case, had no trouble following the "walker" into the main hall of the shopping centre, and so the machine reversed course of action and sprinted forwards instead, trying to bowl Killer over with its enormous, heavy shield.

The liger snorted in contemptuous amusement and met the charge with a single hand, smacking his palm into the shield and grinning as it crumpled like tin beneath his fingers, while the heavy machine's feet clanged and ground uselessly into the floor, crumbling tiles as they stomped and skidded and moved uselessly, all internal motors and actuators going into overdrive to push back against Killer's overwhelming strength... until the liger balled his hand into a fist and punched right through the ballistic shield, blowing a huge hole in the center of it and then swinging his arm hard upwards, ripping the shield in halves like it was a piece of paper.

Killer smirked cruelly as he ripped the two halves of the shield off the powered armor's "arms", hurling those enormous, thick pieces of steel away with such terrifying strength that the first piece mowed down a group of brutes and the second ended up cutting a tank almost in half, becoming lodged deep through its turret like a sort of oversized, grotesque tombstone.

Killer punched the heavily armoured front of the cockpit, tearing through the thick steel and then gripping into it before he peeled the armour open with the ease of opening a tuna can. The RA driver inside, however, didn't show panic, instead fumbling with the multiple cables that were connected directly to his flesh to try and throw himself out of his seat and against the liger.

Before he could possibly make himself explode, however, Killer had already grabbed him by the head and torn him out of the cockpit, throwing him down onto the floor. With utter contempt, the hulking liger immediately settled one heavy foot down on top of the maggot, and crushed him flat into the ground,

The Kendrew soldiers hidden inside the mall watched on in awe as the hulking giant wiped the RA force out of the way with that terrifying ease, and for a few moments there was only silence as they gaped in shock. They found their voices again when Felix's tank roared in through the breach in the checkpoint barriers, followed by the other MBTs of his Squadron, and then by the APCs and the infantry dismounted, lined up behind the armoured vehicles for cover.

The survivors began to rush out of the damaged, burning mall, and as they walked past Killer they bowed deeply, almost groveling in a mix of fear and disbelief as they quickly moved past the colossus, eyes wide as they took in the full majesty of his over 30-feet of muscles and power.

Felix and his men were no less astonished as they drove onwards along the shore. The tanks trailed their turrets from side to side, unleashing bursts of coaxial machinegun fire into the RA brutes who attempted to get back up to their feet, but the scene was one of utter carnage, for hundreds of meters. The road was crimson with blood and covered in chunky remains of the RA super-soldiers, while overturned, broken, immobilized tanks were scattered like toys hurled around by over excited children. Felix's tank fired out a couple of shells, striking RA MBTs which looked like they could still put up a fight, but that was pretty much the extent of the resistance they met. Everything else was death and ruin.

Felix swallowed thickly, staring in disbelief at his screen, at the images of the destruction outside as his driver carefully maneuvered around the pathetic hulks of broken RA tanks laying atop tracks that had disintegrated and roadwheels that had broken right off, the hulls nearly sunk through the asphalt. That had been a large mechanized force until literal seconds before, and now it was nothing but garbage scattered along the shore.

Felix had never felt so vulnerable before, not even earlier at the checkpoint when his RA allies had suddenly turned hostile and he had found himself assaulted on all sides at point blank range.

Even though the RA had heavier, more advanced weapons, he had felt he could put up a fight and that he had a chance to come out of it alive... but now, staring at that regiment of tanks, IFVs and "brutes" annihilated with little more than a run and a stomp, he felt powerless and insignificant. The thick walls of the tank around him suddenly felt like the tin walls of a can, and he felt like nothing but meat, ready to be devoured by that hulking... god... who had laughed while he annihilated his enemies.

Felix turned to the side, hunching a bit in his seat so he could look across the compartment, over the mass of the cannon, and he met the eyes of his loader and of his gunner. The former was leaning back against the closed armoured hatches of the ammunition compartment, eyes bulging in shock as he peeked out of his few, fixed vision blocks in the roof of the tower. The gunner was still in his seat, and crankily, slowly turned around to meet Felix's shock with his own, giving a queasy smile.

"W-was he always l-like this...?" The loader finally managed to stammer out. He was by far the youngest on board the tank and had no direct memories of what general Wyvern had done on the battlefield during the wars of Dark. Felix, who had been there, produced a little, weird sound that meant everything and nothing at the same time.

Wyvern had been incredibly powerful back in Dark's days. He had charged Dark's tanks and smashed and destroyed and thrown them around like toys already back then... but somehow, his astounding power had increased exponentially during the last ten years. "He was... a one-man armoured division, back then. But he's gotten... stronger. A lot stronger."

"He's like a god...!" The gunner disbelievingly breathed out, and Felix swallowed and nodded. For lack of a better word, he was. That kind of superior force could hardly be described in another way. "He... he just... knocked them out of existence... a stomp... just like that..."

"Yeah..." Felix replied, swallowing thickly and trying to ignore the way his hands trembled around the cloche that allowed him to control the tank's tower and the independent sight turret. They were all shaken out of their stupor as the tank suddenly wobbled on its suspensions, and they all looked up through their vision blocks, expecting to see fountains of dirt rising all around as a heavy artillery bombardment crashed down around them, but instead they saw Killer walking past their tank, his huge strides easily bringing him back at the front of the formation. He was carrying his huge motorbike on one shoulder still, and the earth trembled in time with his steps, the massive vibration reverberating up through the suspensions and making their tanks wobble, and they could only stare as the giant Alpha idly reached out with his free hand and simply shoved a tank to the side, out of his way. The steel tracks ground the asphalt to dust and sparkles flew up from that unnatural grinding, but Killer didn't even seem to take notice. 120 tons of combat weight, without even considering the sheer attrition of pushing it sideways. Might as well have been a blade of grass.

And Killer's hand left a deep print in the side of the turret.

Felix was suddenly incredibly glad that he wasn't in Griagas place and that he had never entertained ambitions of royalty. He couldn't imagine how anyone could even think about getting into a fight against that beast.

It was scary to have him as ally. What was it even like to have him as enemy...?

Killer led the battlegroup towards the Dragoon Guards' barracks, and along the way there they picked up other groups of stragglers and survivors, large and small. Civilians started to peek out of their apartments, hanging flags out of their windows or decorating them with whatever cloth they had available which had the red color of Kesteven's uniforms, or something close to it. Whole families walked out on the streets to cheer on Killer as savior, liberator and king, even though bullets were still flying and the night continued to resound with the thundering of artillery and the cracking of gunfire. The civilians were eager to see change and to watch the RA being kicked out of Kendrew, and they made it clear by lining the streets in celebration. Some of the civilians even picked up arms and joined the actual soldiers in the column, swelling the battlegroup even further.

For everyone, Killer was already the rightful and only king. The whole town seemed to come alive, shaking off the torpor and humiliations of years of slavery and de facto foreign occupation, and the soldiers, in turn, felt their pride returning as, instead of contributing to the repression of their own people, finally they fought for Kendrew's redemption.

The swelling of the battlegroup became so noticeable that the RA troops surrounding the Dragoon Guards's barracks began to detach more and more tanks and soldiers to form up a defensive line on the shore, but STALKER 6, hovering at a safe distance over the lake's waters, saw their movements and reported them back to the heavy artillery on the island. Guns thundered in the distance, the flashes sinisterly illuminating the night to the north, and within seconds shells began raining down with great precision onto the forming RA front. The naval guns of the fortress, in particular, struck with devastating power: hurling projectiles that weighted more than a ton each, they caused absolute mayhem along the shore. Killer saw RA tanks disintegrated in the immense explosions, while others were literally blown off their tracks and sent crashing upside down or on their flanks. Gigantic shrapnel tore through the lighter armoured APCs like they were made of paper, and even with their exoskeletons the "brutes" could not survive the tremendous overpressure of the blasts. The seawall crumbled under the bombardment, falling into the lake along with much of the road and the walls of gabions and razor wire. The extremity of the RA front closer to the shore was quickly turned into a nightmarish collection of smoldering wreckage and chunks of gore, but exactly because of how powerful they were, those larger calibers soon had to go silent again: every shell that had landed on the shore had sent enormous chunks of shrapnel ripping through the facades of the buildings facing the shore, tearing down walls like veils of paper and turning apartments into burning hells, before a couple of buildings all but collapsed, turning into nothing but mountains of rubble. There was no way to pound the rest of the RA front without massacring the civilians hiding into the dark, silent buildings all around, but the devastation opened a gap that "battlegroup Felix" could exploit.

Before the enormous cloud of smoke and dust and debris could dissolve, Killer was upon what was left of the RA hastily assembled defensive line. The hulking male stomped fearlessly into the thick cloud, crushing metal wreckage flat under his boots and ignoring the crackling of glass and other debris as he easily climbed up the tall slope of a pile of ruins. RA brutes well equipped with thermal sights began to take precise shots at him, but Killer only snorted contemptuously and pushed onwards, flexing his huge muscles with a smirk as the large caliber bullets smacked into him but failed to tear through, failed to even stagger him. The RA brutes, unthinking and fearless as always, stupidly stood their ground until Killer was upon them, and the liger almost absent-mindedly slapped them out of his way with a lazy swing of his huge arm.

Felix, following some distance back in his tank, gulped as he suddenly saw three bodies, and pieces of at least a couple others, suddenly explode out of the smoke, flying like rockets into the lake and smacking into the waters with such violence that they bounced several times, breaking apart in the process.

As the dust began to settle, Felix and the others saw Killer single-handedly lift a RA tank and use it as a bulldozer blade, or a broom: the hulking Alpha smacked the tank down onto its side and grabbed the bottom of it, pushing it in front of him and bulldozing every obstacle out of the way.

Killer smashed a breach into the tall piles of ruins, pushing an enormous amount of rubble out of his way and sending it rolling over the RA troops in his way. Several brutes were buried alive under the landslide, and Killer grinned coldly as he swerved to the side to slam into a large infantry fighting vehicle, sweeping it away like it was made of plastic.

The crew inside didn't even try to get out through the main hatches, but Killer saw the emergency trapdoor in the bottom of the tank budge and suddenly open. From inside, someone fired into him with a submachine gun, but the bullets crumpled pathetically against his abs, not even strong enough to tickle him. The liger looked down with a sort of morbid fascination as one of the RA crewmembers then poked his head out of the small hole and all but threw himself against Killer's massive frame, undoubtedly to blow himself up. He didn't manage to, however, because the liger yanked the tank back against himself and leaned forwards to slam his invulnerable abs into it. The RA soldier was caught between cold steel and harder-than-steel muscle and essentially burst apart in a wet, sick squelch of gore, his insides spilling wetly out and splattering onto the ground. The other crewmembers still inside were knocked violently backwards into the fighting compartment of the tank, and somehow their own explosive charges went on regardless: Killer heard, and felt through the metal, the violent explosions inside.

RA tanks retreated from his relentless advance and fired mercilessly into the MBT in the liger's hand, not caring in the slightest about the fate of their comrades still locked inside. The shells tore easily through the relatively thin roof of the turret and nearly tore right through the vehicle: Killer saw the bottom of the tank bulge outwards tellingly, and even saw the ruined, dull tip of the armor-piercing rods poking through before they lost their momentum. Inside the tank, ammunition and fuel began to brew up and tall flames erupted out of the top hatches. The liger hurled the burning wreckage hard in front of himself, grinning in vicious satisfaction as the massive vehicle crashed into another tank and bent the cannon completely out of shape.

The vehicle trapped at the bottom of the pile struggled to retreat, its suspensions violently bottomed out by the tremendous extra weight, and the engine roared and spluttered, coughing out a great cloud of smoke as the tracks sluggishly bit into the asphalt without really getting the MBT to move, and Killer grinned coldly before smashing his foot down into the vehicle, punting it violently across the street, sending both tanks screeching backwards, steamrolling RA brutes into squishes of gore and nearly flattening an approaching IFV as they crashed into it with enough violence that all three deformed metal hulks smashed through the perimeter wall of the barracks, coming to a stop in the middle of the vast courtyard.

Another RA infantry fighting vehicle trailed its turret on him and barked out a burst of large armor piercing rounds, forcing Killer to duck as he threw himself forwards. The IFV's cannon angled downwards to try and keep him in sight, but despite his enormous sizes the liger was incredibly agile: he closed the distance in a second, and grabbed the IFV by a track, grunting as his enormous biceps bulged and he hefted the great vehicle into the sky, sending it flying higher than some of the buildings around and at the same time ripping the track right off, effortlessly swinging that segmented piece of steel weighting a few tons on its own.

A couple of RA brutes that had been dismounting from the rear compartment of the IFV fell down from the sky like stones, but at the last moment flipped with unimaginable, almost unnatural elegance and landed heavily on their feet, their exoskeletons hissing and whirring as the actuators connected to their legs absorbed the violent impact. Both RA warriors sprung forwards in an immediate attack, one of them unleashing a long burst of machinegun fire against Killer while the other drew out a large sword and went for a direct attack, swinging the heavy blade up towards the liger's hip.

Killer easily slung the motorbike down from his shoulder and used the heavy, honeycomb metal-and-composite wheel to meet the blade in a violent crash of metal, and the blade only managed to uselessly dent the metal structure and the sturdy composites that absorbed the impact. The brute looked confused for a moment, recoiling with the violence of that clash, but it immediately lunged forwards as it detected what looked like an opening in Killer's guard. The liger, however, snapped the heavy track band hanging from his other hand like it was a gigantic whip made of sharp segments of steel. It clanged loudly as it swung out and smacked both RA soldiers, cutting their bodies into pieces and sending their remains splattering out in a wide, sick arc of blood and chunky gore. Some segments of the track band snapped loose and flew off, but enough of the heavy band of steel remained for another whiplash which tore through another group of RA troopers that were dismounting from another IFV, still facing in the opposite direction as it laid down fire against the windows of the barracks.

There was a tremendous splatter of crimson mist and broken weapons and exoskeletons as the heavy track tore bodies apart and even ripped a chunk of the IFV out, before Killer swung it hard downwards one last time, striking the armoured vehicle and nearly chopping it in half down the middle, breaking its turret in two before the steel band simply disintegrated.

The driver of the damaged IFV, left alone as all others on board were turned into bloody mist, desperately engaged the reverse and stomped on the gas, bracing as the nearly fifty tons of armoured vehicle violently lurched backwards against the liger. Killer smirked as he caught the back of the IFV in his hand, gripping into the top of the open troop compartment's ramp and grinning as the thick steel crumpled out of shape, as weak as butter in his hold. The engine roared, but in vain as Killer effortlessly shoved the massive vehicle hard forwards instead, forcing it away from him even as the tracks ground the asphalt to dust and debris.

He looked around himself almost idly as he effortlessly hefted the large vehicle clear off the ground and held it aloft like it had no weight at all: the RA had breached the perimeter wall of the barracks in a multitude of places, and tanks and IFVs and even powered armors had rushed into the courtyard beyond, swarming the training ground and surrounding the buildings. All watchtowers had been blown to bits and now were nothing more than silent hills of concrete ruins and maimed corpses, but several RA tanks were wrecked and abandoned just past the breaches, struck by shoulder-fired missiles and rockets.

A ferocious tank battle raged on across the courtyard, with Kendrew's crews jousting valiantly against an enemy that was superior in numbers and in firepower. Several of Kendrew's tanks were burning inside their garages still, struck while they attempted to drive out to join the fight. Burning, smoldering hulks were scattered all around the barracks and the buildings themselves were burning, the façade riddled with bullet holes and ruined by a multitude of great breaches where missiles, rockets and tank-fired shells had struck. Thermobaric rockets had been used by the RA to clear out the resistance of the cadets, and a large part of the building was now an empty, darkened skeleton of smoldering concrete. And yet, the garrison was still fighting on with all it had, and holding up the RA assault teams that moved up behind the great shields of the "walkers" or ducking behind tanks and IFVs.

To the south, in the distance, the battle raged on even in the massive car park, with Kendrew cadets and soldiers locked in firefights against the RA brutes. They were vicious, bloody brawls fought at close range between rows of new, freshly produced tanks parked just a few inches one from the other. Further away, beyond what was left of the southern wall and what had once been the garrison's monumental entrance, Killer could see the first great warehouses of the RA factories, and the trains that were being loaded up with as many tanks and vehicles as they could possibly carry.

STALKER 6 flew in, flying just above the city's power lines, and it spun on a dime to let the snipers on either side let out their accurate shots against the RA assault teams crossing the courtyard. Killer saw several brutes going down, their heads bursting into splatters of gore, and within moments the columns of attackers were hit by the shells of the artillery on the island. Great fountains of dirt and debris exploded skywards as the first salvo struck in the middle of a couple of assault columns, and shrapnel ripped apart the brutes and even tore into the slowly advancing IFVs.

STALKER 6 added to the carnage by making a bold run in across the north corner of the courtyard: an RA IFV had reached the wall of the barrack's main block and had rammed right through it, opening a breach that was being exploited by assault troops to swarm inside. Calling in the artillery would have been too risky for the defenders still holding out inside the building, and so the small helicopter lined itself up and swept in for a rocket salvo. It was armed with two rocket pods and two miniguns under its stub wings, and it opened up with both systems, unleashing a deluge of bullets and some 18 rockets into the RA column, obliterating it in a great succession of fiery explosions.

The RA assault troops seemed taken aback for a brief moment by the sudden appearance of enemy reinforcements coming up from their rear, but as always did not have any emotional reaction. Several of the tanks and IFVs just turned around to form a new front, and Killer saw several of the combat vehicles elevating their quick-firing cannons to target STALKER 6. Immediately, the liger charged into the courtyard and hurled the IFV in his hand with all his force, grinning sharkishly as it struck like a meteor, crushing a pair of combat vehicles into crumpled hulks and knocking a third over as it disintegrated into fragments that spun high up into the sky.

RA brutes that had been just behind the stumps of the perimeter wall attacked him from either side, opening up with their rifles while one particular brute, wearing an enhanced exoskeleton with larger, thicker plates of armor lunged against him with a large sword which probably had been designed to double as a break-in instrument able to cut down even armoured doors, because it had a roaring chainsaw blade with cruel fangs of steel. Killer angrily swatted the closer brutes into the wall, slapping them into it with such force that they burst apart in a spray of crimson gore, their shattered bones tearing right through the wall as it cracked and then fell over, and the hulking male sidestepped away from the noisy chainsaw, gritting his fangs as it sliced neatly through a piece of wall behind him. Killer reached down with terrible speed and caught the outstretched arm of the "samurai", crumpling bone and exoskeleton alike in his grip and causing the chainsaw blade to splutter and slow down as the power to it was disconnected. The weapon nearly fell out of fingers that suddenly spasmed without any residual force and control, but it continued to dangle from the exoskeleton part of the arm, and Killer felt a particular kind of hate mounting for the variety of mechanical enhancements that the RA was recklessly experimenting with. At the same time, Killer hefted the brute skywards and then slammed him down with savage force on top of its companions on the opposite side of him. The impact was so tremendous that numerous brutes burst apart, their guts and insides bursting out in a ugly splatter that painted the ground crimson, leaving only a bloodied, broken leg hanging from Killer's grip.

The hulking alpha tossed this away with a contemptuous snort, immediately charging into the courtyard and bulldozing its way through and over the RA troops that were hastily turning around to face him.

Battlegroup Felix made its entry as well, the tanks and APCs climbing over the piles of rubble and pushing through the breaches in the wall to clear the northern corner of the training ground. Felix's tank and three others, well spaced out and working in perfect timing, knocked out as many RA vehicles in the space of a few seconds.

"It's been years since I last saw this many rounds coming my way." Felix commented, in a strangely peaceful voice, while keeping his eyes fixed on his screen. His vision blocks were cracked and damaged, but fortunately he still had a decent view of the outside world through the various cameras embedded in the armour. He saw a fountain of dirt and debris erupt slightly to the front and to the left of his tank, and guessed, more than saw, the supersonic shockwave of another armor-piercing dart rushing part them, but did his best to stay focused as he used his joystick to turn the tank's turret around. He pressed a button, and a laser sent a light pulse against the target, measuring the distance and allowing the computer to calculate the ballistics... and then he barked the firing command, and the massive, square-ish lump of steel of the cannon's breech recoiled violently at his side as the cannon unleashed an armor piercing dart. Its sabot peeled away as soon as it left the barrel, and the long, thin needle of depleted uranium smacked into an RA tank at highly supersonic speed, ripping straight through the armour in an explosion of sparkles, followed by a great eruption of fire as the blow-off panels in the back of the turret were slammed skywards by the violent brewing of the ammunition.

The RA crew, or at least part of it, survived and, incredibly, continued to fight with the coaxial machine gun, the only weapon system that was still working, unleashing long bursts against the Kendrew soldiers that followed the tanks and IFVs. Felix muttered incredulously at that, once more rattled to the very bone by the complete disregard that the RA soldiers showed for the value of life, starting with their very own. The blown-off panels had gained them some time by venting the violence of the explosion out of the tank, but if they didn't get out quickly they were eventually still going to be consumed by the flames that would inexorably spread.

There was no humanity in those brutes, he bitterly thought. They were more robots than people. For years he had worked in close contact with RA elements, and had even received new equipment and new training from them, but not a single one of them had ever spent a world about home, family, friends. It had quickly grown unnerving to no end, and it had made working with them literally disturbing, but even so, Felix had never imagined that every RA soldier would literally blow himself up, or face any kind of horrendous death, rather than surrender.

He didn't like them and he certainly didn't trust them, but he had never imagined how truly perverse and sick they were. He had thought they were fanatics, but what they were now discovering in that night of sudden, savage carnage was a depth of sickness that could hardly be described by words.

He shook himself out of those thoughts as another armor-piercing round smacked into the ground nearby and ricocheted skywards with enough violence to make his tank wobble. Thankfully, Killer had rammed his shoulder into the RA MBT at the opportune moment, sending the shot off target as the heavy vehicle rolled over like a toy, otherwise it would have been game over. Felix's hand trembled as he hurriedly worked his joystick to trail the gun against another RA tank. He ignored the burning vehicle, even as it insisted in firing its machinegun: it was no immediate threat and either one of the IFVs or simply time itself would eventually silence it for good.

His mind revolted, but he forced himself to focus on the very real deluge of fire that still came from the RA's line. The enemy had been caught in a disadvantageous position, yet it refused to retreat. Every single tank fought to the death where it stood, gaining time for reinforcements to push up and form a second line of defence. Thankfully, Killer was in the lead, more devastating than a wedge of battle tanks, and he quickly charged into the new RA line, smashing tanks and IFVs into crumbled wrecks and flipping other combat vehicles over like they were made of plastic.

The RA was forced to try and take down that unstoppable god of war, and that gave Felix and his comrades a chance. "Tank, 1o'clock! Fin! FIRE!"

The cannon recoiled again, and the smell of the explosive charge filled the fighting compartment while the loader used his knee to press a button that made the armor panels of the ammunition depot slip open. He dug into the bustle and went for another "Fin", shorthand for Armor Piercing, Fin Stabilized, Discharging Sabot (APFSDS) even before Felix mechanically shouted the command. The loader didn't need to have a view on the outside world to know that there were a lot of RA tanks ahead of them still.

Jets roared overhead once more, and Felix shifted anxiously in his seat, catching a flash of light to the right and sneaking a gaze in that direction to see a large bomb exploding halfway between two of his tanks: the nearest one was nearly blown apart by the explosion, while the other ended up shredding a track.

"Alpha 04; mobility kill. Bailing out!" Came the voice on the radio, and Felix saw the hatches opening and, with some relief, saw all four the crewmembers crawling out and rolling down the back of the turret, using their disabled tank as cover as a deluge of bullets clanged against the armour.

There were explosions in the sky above, and an RA fighter bomber fell to the ground like a stone, becoming a ball of burning fuel that splashed over some of the new tanks parked in rows right ahead. Another jet crashed into the façade of a building while the others filled the sky with chaff and flare, maneuvering to try and escape as missiles rushed in from the island fortress to the north.

Then Felix was suddenly faced by a wall of roaring flames as tanks full of napalm rained down from the sky, unleashing hell over and in front of the battlegroup. The thermal camera became useless as the glow filled the screen, and Felix cursed under his breath but made do with the day cameras, urgently ordering: "Drive right through!" The terrible chemical fire was not such a big threat for the tanks, but he was horrified at the thought of the infantry following them: whoever was caught by splatters of the sticky, infernal mixture would be in for a terrible agony.

To the east, the RA jets dropped more bombs and more napalm, and an enormous column of fire rose skywards when at least one of the precious depots of fuel and ammunition at the proving ground were hit and blown to smithereens. In the light coming from the roaring flames, Felix could see cadets and survivors from disabled tanks still running along the dirt road that led to the proving ground, and he even caught sight of a fuel tanker carefully navigating a path past the burning rivers of napalm to try and get to the tank park.

Felix pushed onwards, with his depleted squadron spreading out in a widely spaced wedge that pushed up in Killer's wake. The hulking alpha punched and smashed great breaches through the attempts of the RA to set up lines of defence, and Felix and his squadron completed the job, widening the breach. Within a few bloody minutes of vicious fighting, battlegroup Felix reached the edge of the vehicle park.

If possible, however, things only got even more dangerous there: the narrow roads between the endless rows of parked tanks only allowed the passage of one or two vehicles at a time, and between the parked vehicles lurked suicidal RA brutes armed with deadly shoulder-fired rockets, heavy caliber machineguns and, of course, their explosive charges. They were all too happy to throw themselves under the tracks of passing Kendrew tanks to act as living mines, so the infantry had to take the lead, climbing over the parked, freshly-produced tanks and clearing the parking lot in a nightmarish, slow and bloody crawl.

The Infantry Fighting Vehicles slowly rolled down the sinister roads between the rows of parked tanks, with infantry teams on either side, and they fired airburst rounds that, exploding in midair and projecting a deadly hail of shrapnel downwards, were perfect for hitting the RA brutes hiding behind cover. Ammunition quickly began to run low, however, and hand-to-hand combat still erupted all over the parking lot as the RA brutes emerged from beneath the parked tanks.

Felix had rarely been more anxious in his life than in those interminable moments as he kept trailing the tank's tower from side to side, unleashing bursts of coaxial machinegun fire while they slowly crawled forwards between rows of parked vehicles. An IFV led the way, slightly ahead and to the right, because its quick-firing cannon was more useful in that specific situation and its airburst ammunition would take down the brutes without destroying the precious parked tanks.

The much bigger cannon of the MBT, with its long barrel, couldn't even turn all the way to the sides without getting caught in the barrels of the parked vehicles, and that only made Felix feel even more naked and vulnerable.

He tried not to even blink, knowing that a single instant of distraction could mean getting blown up by a suicide bomber or a rocket fired from the side, but he also had to lead the rest of his forces. With the siege now broken, what was left of the other squadrons of the regiment could push forwards as well, and Felix ordered B and C Squadron to move quickly down either side of the vehicle park and turn the sides of the RA's front.

His fingers flew on the touchscreen, sending the orders in message format over the data network, and at the same time he gritted his teeth almost painfully as he watched a couple of soldiers climbing over yet another parked tank. They crawled on top of the turret, keeping low to avoid the bullets that whipped past them from seemingly every direction, and one of them leaned forwards just enough to drop a hand grenade down the opposite side of the tank. They ducked back behind cover as the HE-Frag grenade exploded, producing a muted, metallic thud as the explosion was contained in the narrow space between two tanks.

Other soldiers checked beneath the heavy vehicle and hurriedly moved past it, beginning to check out the spaces beneath and around the next vehicle in line. An RA brute was sprawled in the mud, bloodied and broken, and a pair of Kendrew soldiers instinctively walked around the corpse rather than over it. Felix frowned, a shiver running down his spine and telling him that something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what... before the "corpse" suddenly moved, and rolled on a flank to lunge after the two soldiers that had just moved past.

The gunner, sitting on the opposite side of the cannon, was quick in stomping his foot on the pedal that activated the coaxial machinegun, and bullets riddled the RA hulk, sending great sprays of blood up. The Kendrew soldiers didn't immediately understand what had happened, but threw themselves to the ground upon hearing the bullets whipping down so close to them, and that probably saved their lives as the RA brute remorselessly blew himself up.

"Fire into every corpse! Make sure they are fuckin' dead!" Felix barked out, activating both the radio and the loudspeakers that were fitted on the outside of the tower to allow the crew to address crowds.

Further ahead, other suicidal RA brutes emerged from beneath a tank, even though grenades had just been tossed there, and a Kendrew soldier was brutally smashed back into the side of the IFV, the hulking, exoskeleton-empowered brute effortlessly hefting the smaller warrior right off the ground and ripping his spine out with just one metallic hand. Felix grimaced as the brute callously threw away the twitching, dead corpse and then stabbed a large, heavy cleaver-sword through the side of the IFV, slicing its flank open like it was cheap plastic. Bullets smacked into the exoskeleton-armour, but the hulking brute, empowered by multiple pieces of cyberware, refused to go down, ripping his sword back and swinging it hard against the nearest Kendrew rifleman, slicing him in half. Finally, another of Kendrew's warriors managed to aim his rifle at the hulking beast and fired a grenade from the underslung launcher. It smacked into the neck of the RA super-soldier and burst apart in a shower of vicious chemical fire that immediately began to consume flesh and Kevlar vest alike, finally sending the brute into its final, suicidal act. He threw himself against the IFV, which desperately retreated.

"Fuck...!" Felix's driver loudly cursed, hammering in the reverse gear as well and sending the tank lurching backwards, but the IFV was faster and crashed backwards into them, before the brute rammed his shoulder into the flank of the vehicle and exploded in a splatter of gore.

The blast ripped a large hole open in the side of the IFV and caused one track to snap apart and fall off the roadhweels, leaving the IFV smoldering and immobilized, but thankfully not destroyed: the automatic fire extinguisher filled the torn-apart rear compartment with gas to try and choke out the flames, and the driver almost immediately squeezed his way out of his cramped seat and ran out, coughing because of the fire-extinguishing fog. The two men in the turret continued to fight on, the cannon barking another short burst of rounds that exploded further down the road as three more brutes pushed out from beneath parked vehicles and fired their anti-tank rockets.

"Driver, push them out of the way, we need to keep moving!" Felix urged, and the tank lurched forwards, maneuvering behind the IFV and then bumping into it as "gently" as possible. The engine roared, the tracks grinding the asphalt to dust as the tank struggled to move that great mass of smoldering steel, but they insisted until the hulk of the IFV began to loudly grind its way to the side.

An anti-tank missile flew just above them with a whoosh, eventually striking another vehicle a hundred meters further back, and Felix knew that it was only a matter of time before their luck inexorably ran out. He fired off a barrage of smoke grenades that burst apart in midair and surrounded them with a thick cloud of cold fog, and the driver cursed under his breath as he slightly reversed and then pushed forwards again, harder, angling the shove to the right.

It took a few interminable moments of tension to push the IFV out of the way just far enough to squeeze right past, and the painstakingly slow and dangerous advance resumed. Thankfully, B Squadron smashed through the perimeter wall at the other hand of the car park and rolled in, shooting up five RA tanks in a matter of seconds. Battlegroup B then began to push across the car park, from east to west, trying to cut off RA reinforcements from the maze of parked vehicles.

C Squadron, at the end of its own hook maneuver, turned the RA flank once again and advanced directly on the first massive warehouses and factories further ahead. Killer was already there, tearing his way through the RA ranks into one of the enormous forges where the steel hulls of the tanks were fused together in a single, massive piece. The huge male made his way through the factory, nervously checking the colossal, tower-like pillars of concrete for signs of explosive charges emplaced for the demolition of the building: he was just in time to slaughter a couple of RA engineers which were digging small niches into the concrete for the placement of the charges.

Killer dropped his shoulder and smashed his way through a wall to emerge in the courtyard further ahead, where several new railway lines ended against sturdy concrete ramps that allowed the newly produced tanks and armored vehicles to comfortably drive right on. He was unsurprised, but nonetheless amazed, to find that every last railway track had a huge convoy of flat cars parked up against the ramp. The locomotives, colossal custom-made machines meant specifically to tow such oversized payloads, were visible in the distance, hundreds of meters away, and the courtyard was alive with a multitude of vehicles that climbed onto the flat cars one after the other. A great number of brutes were hard at work fixing heavy chains to secure the tanks to the flat cars, while powered armors formed a defensive perimeter and others put their mechanical "muscle" to use by loading containers and crates containing ammunition, spare parts or machinery that was being hastily removed from the factories.

They all seemed shocked to see Killer emerge from a great cloud of debris, and the nearest powered armor was knocked over by a large chunk of wall crashing into it. A second "walker" sharply turned around and fired its two anti-tank missiles against the liger, who instinctively ducked and picked up a large, broken-off slab of reinforced concrete, hurling it upwards with a grunt.

The missiles crashed into it and exploded, disintegrating the concrete in a myriad of fragments and projecting great "spears" of supersonic, incandescent plasma right through, but before the powered armor could even realize what exactly had happened, Killer slapped the remains of the slab out of his way and tackled the robot down to the ground, his heavy hand leaning down on top of the cockpit and flattening it with a great groan of complaint from the deforming metal.

One of the trains ahead began to move, leaving the ramp and gradually picking up speed, loaded with enough tanks to equip the best part of a battalion, and Killer gritted his fangs and sprinted in that direction, while bullets whipped past him and others crashed into his body, crumpling against his solid musculature. He shielded himself as best he could as grenades exploded around him, pelting him with shrapnel, and he focused on running alongside the train, using it for cover as he fixed his gaze on the locomotive in the distance.

The train attempted to accelerate away from him, but even with how powerful the enormous armoured locomotive was, the convoy could only gradually build up speed due to its extraordinary length and weight. Killer couldn't help but smirk as he easily gained ground, and within seconds he reached a speed easily five times greater than the maximum the train was ever possibly going to touch. He effortlessly overtook the massive locomotive, completely ignoring the insisted fire of multiple machine guns that were trailed on him through slits and from little turrets on top of the locomotive. The liger couldn't help but revel in his own tremendous, supernatural power as he fearlessly stepped onto the tracks well ahead of the train and stood his ground, lazily extending his arm, his palm open and aimed at the locomotive that roared and raced forth at the greatest speed it could reach. The hulking alpha was fearless: he knew that he could stop even that titanic machine dead in its tracks, and only grinned as the RA prepared to run him over, no doubt believing they could turn him into liquid gore.

He flexed his enormous musculature and cracked his neck, settling himself for the impact and becoming more immovable than a mountain. He couldn't help but disdainfully snort: "Pathetic."

The locomotive slammed into his hand like a meteor of steel, but Killer wasn't even budged, his arm and his whole, muscular figure tearing through the enormous machine like a blade through butter. Steel crumpled like wet, pulpy paper against him; the armour of the military locomotive tore apart like a cheap plastic sheet and the engines beneath burst apart in a million pieces. The entire convoy recoiled violently and several of the cars ended up skidding off the rails, screeching to awkward stops on either side of Killer.

The liger licked his lips, his thick slabs of pectoral muscle jumping as he flexed slightly, toes curling inside his boots with the delicious feeling of his own absurd potency as he effortlessly stepped forwards, ripping through the locomotive that basically disintegrated around him, until his hand managed to grab something that didn't simply pulverize under his fingers. With a lazy twist of his wrist, he hefted what remained of the gigantic locomotive clear off the tracks, easily lifting it high above his head, and he almost mockingly pulled up one foot to stop the flat cars that still rolled forwards because of inertia. The metal crumpled against his unmovable foot, and the convoy finally ground to a stop just as RA powered armors charged forth against the hulking liger.

Killer grinned and clicked his lips in disapproval, and then hurled the gigantic, wrecked locomotive against them, laughing as the colossal hulk of crumpled metal crashed into them like a meteor, hammering them down into the dirt and sending up a grotesque cloud of crimson fluids and chunky gore, while what was left of the locomotive bounced upwards violently, spinning once, twice, thrice before slamming into the ground again, half-sinking into it before toppling over.

Even the RA's unthinking troops seemed to grind to a shocked halt in front of that display of supernatural power, as if even those cyber-enhanced "zombies" were beginning to question the wisdom of throwing themselves against such unstoppable force. They seemed to stare at him with disbelieving resignation as a second enormous locomotive speeded down the other track, attempting to rush past the hulking male. Killer smirked mockingly towards them and then sprinted after this second train, effortlessly catching up with it before he leapt against the flank of the armoured locomotive, and tore right through it like it was made of paper, emerging out of the opposite side holding one of the massive diesel generator sets in his hand like it was a pencil. Killer threw the enormous piece of machinery towards the stunned powered armors, grinning as the gigantic engine block squished two of them before crashing into three more, flattening them all into streaks of wreckage smeared deep into the dirt.

The gutted locomotive, reduced to a pathetic wreckage on wheels, gutted open like a fish and left without power, rolled powerlessly forwards out of inertia, slower and slower, and before it was even done grinding to a halt, Killer effortlessly grabbed into the side of one of the flat cars loaded with tanks and effortlessly dragged the train back towards the terminal. Killer snorted mockingly as the RA walkers turned their backs to him and rushed away to try and form a front against Felix and his battlegroup instead.

He sprinted in their direction, ready to smash their line to bits and act as the hammer as the advancing battlegroup Felix served as anvil, but heard the infernal whistle of heavy artillery coming in and collected himself instead, instinctively shrinking his head between his shoulders and throwing himself off to the side. Experience made it possible to tell approximately where the shells would land from just their whistle, and Killer had almost certainly been under artillery bombardment for far more time than any other being alive in the world. He hated that his enemies' answer to his overwhelming strength was always invariably to engage him from three dozen kilometers away, but he perfectly understood why they did that.

It made sense. And in this case it also helped explain why the brutes and powered armors suddenly decided to stay far away from him. Heavy shells smacked into the ground all around him, exploding on impact and throwing up enormous fountain of dirt, dust and debris as well as hurling around massive pieces of shrapnel that, at close range, could rip even through the thick skin of tanks.

Other shells exploded in midair, tormenting him with a shower of incandescent shrapnel which smacked into the ground hard enough to pulverize the dirt and lift it up in thick clouds all around as even the hulking liger nearly fell over as he was slammed around by the violent waves of pressure coming from the multiple explosions. He hissed in pain as some of the largest slivers of metal managed to pierce even through his muscles, ripping gashes in his flesh as he blindly charged back towards the terminal.

He shut his eyes tightly as the flashes of light in the darkness threatened to blind him completely, and gritted his fangs as a ceaseless, painful whistle filled his ears, but still he tried to run a few calculations in his mind even as he stumbled through the bombardment. The latest models of self-propelled guns could, depending on range and elevation of the shot, fire up to 6 rounds in a way that ensured they would all crash simultaneously onto the target. Still, between airburst and impact shells, he estimated that a full regimental set of 24 to 32 howitzers had opened up and was adjusting its shots to keep him under unrelenting pressure.

They could be easily 40 kilometers away, and they were probably only the first few batteries the RA would throw into the fight. They might also decide to recklessly target the city itself, just to massacre the civilians: for all he had seen of the RA so far, he could tell that they would gladly "sacrifice" as many civilians as it took to get an adversary to beg for a stop to the slaughter.

The violence of the bombardment was such that he had to rely mostly on instinct to catch up with the powered armors of the RA: he nearly crashed into the back of one before realizing what he was doing. As the machine began to spin to engage him, he punched its sensor-head right off and then slammed his powerful arm in a downwards cut that ripped the cockpit in half and turned the driver hidden inside into an ugly splatter of crimson. The artillery continued to fire remorselessly even as Killer pushed on through the loose frontline of RA powered armors, and he smirked grimly as he saw one of the Walkers obliterated by a direct hit from a shell, and at least two others that collapsed when shrapnel from airburst rounds ripped apart the main power and hydraulic lines in their mechanical limbs.

He caught up with another of the infernal machines, grabbed it by the back of the "head" and yanked it down to slam the walker into the earth in a wrestling move that caused the cockpit to crumple inwards as the weapons on the shoulders of the machine bent out of shape in the impact.

He stomped his way over to the next Walker in line, but turned around with a grunt as he heard, even over the endless bombardment, the noise of an helicopter running in for a strike. He immediately knew, from the noise alone, that it couldn't possibly be STALKER 6 or any of the others, but a much larger gunship, so he grabbed the powered armor and hefted it up high, shielding himself with the machine even as it flailed and kicked and attempted to punch him with its massive, pincer-like steel hands.

A salvo of rockets and at least one anti-tank missile crashed down into the Walker, the explosions blowing Killer backwards, causing his feet to tear deep furrows in the ground as he anchored himself with all of his strength, arms vibrating painfully as the sequence of explosions nearly disintegrated the heavy robot in his grip. He leaned into the storm and threw the heavy lump of smoldering steel hard upwards, and grinned as he caught the gunship straight into the engines and rotor, causing the blades of the rotor to explode into pieces. A second RA gunship swept in low, ready for another assault, but this time STALKER 6 really rolled in as well, exploiting its agility and small size to spin into position onto the flank of the enemy helicopter, miniguns vomiting out a tempest of bullets at close range.

The RA gunship was heavily armoured, but from such distance, the thousands of bullets coming from STALKER 6 were still able to eventually pierce through enough areas of the fuselage that the larger helicopter became largely uncontrollable and just stumbled away as best it could.

There were more RA helicopters sweeping in for the attack, exploiting the artillery bombardment as added cover, but by that point the tide of battle had well and truly turned, at least in that area of town. B and C squadrons pushed up from the flanks, while Felix's A Squadron, having finally pushed through the nightmare of the car park, literally raced up through the factory itself, the tanks and IFVs gunning down the RA brutes that were working to sabotage the machinery and plant mines into the structures. They emerged out of the warehouses and directly onto the platforms where RA personnel was hard at work to load other trains, and as one of the locomotives attempted to move away, three tanks fired at it almost simultaneously, sending armor-piercing darts ripping straight through it.

The IFVs following the tanks elevated their quick-firing cannons and blasted out airburst rounds that filled the sky with shrapnel, tearing the RA gunships apart and forcing those that survived into moving back to a safer distance. The RA artillery was truly giving its all, however, and Kendrew's soldiers had to stick to cover or hurriedly climb back inside the IFVs to have some protection from that infernal rain of burning steel which clanged horribly against the armoured vehicles... and sometimes still managed to tear through their armour, causing horrifying damage. The blasts ripped aerials off the armoured vehicles, pulverized the rucksacks and stores that had been hung on the outside of the infantry carriers, always cramped with sweaty bodies, and the shrapnel damaged optics and vision blocks and other subsystems, but even under that infernal pounding, Felix and his comrades kept pushing onwards.

And suddenly, in the distance, some of the huge cannons of the island fortress and even of Killer's battery thundered out their rage as well. Killer looked up in surprise and horror, fearing that the battery on the mountain might have fallen into enemy hands... but thankfully it was immediately obvious that the fortress was firing at long range, attempting to suppress the RA guns.

Felix's tank, battered and still caked here and there in burning napalm, rumbled closer and Killer hurried over to it, half-ducking beneath its shape to get some respite from the constant hammering of shockwaves and shrapnel. He leaned his back against the tank, and took his breath for a second before picking up his radio set. "SHARPEYE 1, what do you have for me?"

"The RA troops are falling back on the factories further out towards the edge of town. They are continuing to load up trains, and we can see convoys moving down the highway as well. They are retreating, your Highness!" The sniper, understandably so, sounded quite incredulous, considering that the RA was definitely winning the battle until less than an hour earlier, and it fielded far more and better armed troops across most of town.

"Do you have line of sight on a safe route out of town?" Killer urgently enquired, and the sniper confirmed that most streets were emptying of RA presence. Most checkpoints had been vacated as the troops moved toward the factories and car parks.

Felix, even locked inside his tank, guessed that Killer had to be planning out the next phase of the battle and, courageously, pushed up his hatch to poke his head out and confer with him, but Killer winced and immediately pressed the hatch back down as shrapnel still clanged viciously against the armour, ripping gashes in the hard metal like it was butter. "I appreciate the gesture, but you'll better stay in!"

The loudspeakers on the turret came alive, and Felix's voice came from it with a note of incredulity as he quietly said: "I... Wow. I shouldn't be able to hear your voice through all that steel."

"My voice is deep." Killer commented, smirking in entertainment. His growl rattled the tank almost harder than the explosions. "I need you to form another battlegroup with all the troops you can spare, and launch it out of town and straight out to Freedall. SHARPEYE will guide them on the radio; tell them which streets are clear of RA checkpoints. They need to _run._I need them in Freedall ASAP to form a screen across the highway and the railway lines, to keep the RA reinforcements out... and the RA garrisons in."

"We can do that, your majesty." Felix assured, and undoubtedly he immediately began to send out messages on the network because a couple of squadrons of tanks began to move, forming up at the edge of the railway terminal, ready to move southwards. IFVs began to take position as well, and new vehicles, crewed by cadets and survivors, were now rolling in from the proving ground, even though it was still fiercely burning.

"There are elements of at least a couple of company groups of mechanized infantry in and around Freedall." Killer added, running an estimate based on the patrols he had met and dealt with. "Link up with them and put a front across all routes in and out." Killer hoped to be able to prevent the RA garrisons of Kendrew to get out of the capital and link up with other forces across the kingdom. The last thing he wanted was having to fight a second and even more terrible battle against all those troops.

He looked up as the forming battlegroup smashes its way through the wall that surrounded the railway terminal area and roared at full speed down the street beyond. If they managed to avoid further fights along the way, they could get to Freedall quickly, hopefully before even more RA troops could push their way up along the highway.

Killer took a deep breath, and tried to think of what else he should be doing to turn the battle around. Should he accompany Felix and the others onto the next target, or should he go to the Island and take care of Griagas...? Griagas was no longer a factor in the fight, since "his" army had gladly ceased to care about him and accepted Killer's leadership like he already was their king, but on the other hand the RA was blocking communications and, by holding the ways out of the island, it was trapping the valuable regiments of the Guard in the middle of the lake.

It was time to fix that problem.

"I'm going to assault the Island now." Killer announced, and Felix had by now seen more than enough to know there was no reason to question the wisdom of him charging, alone, against troops entrenched in defence. "Once I take the ravelin back, I'm going to send the Guards out to help you mop up the rest of the RA forces in town. Keep pushing onto the factories, and capture them intact: we are going to need them."

"Sir, yes sir." Felix assured, even though he was already thinking ahead to the next break-through battle. Having Killer in the vanguard had made things a lot easier; now it was their turn to truly prove their worth. To say that he looked forwards to having the Guards backing him up was an understatement.

Killer grunted as he finally put down the motorbike that for all that time he had been casually carrying on one shoulder. It bounced heavily on its honeycomb, "unbreakable" wheels, and amazingly, even though shrapnel had pierced and scratched through almost every inch of its sturdy body, it roared back to life as soon as Killer throttled it.

The liger climbed on and shot its way back to the lake's shore, driving through the conquered factory and then emerging on the once beautiful shore street, which was now cratered by artillery fire and littered with corpses and ruins. A couple of helicopters were still flying back and forth from the island, unloading groups of Guards on the way out, and loading up casualties for the return trip.

A long line of corpses, mercifully covered with whatever blanket could be found, had been formed on the sidewalk, with the help of civilians that were coming out of hiding to give their help to the troops. As Killer shot past on his enormous motorbike, they cheered: whatever the cost of that bloody night, and of the days ahead, Kendrew was glad to be awakening from that nightmare-full slumber that had been the joint RA-Griagas reign.

The road was littered with disabled combat vehicles, wreckage and rubble, but what was left of the checkpoints was silent and there were no attempts by RA troops to re-infiltrate behind the hastily formed Kendrew battlegroups. That was a relief, because there were no troops to spare to truly hold the captured ground.

As Killer approached the narrow peninsula that pointed at the island in the center of the vast lake, he was reminded of the previous battle he had fought in that same town, a decade earlier, to stop Dark's armada. The consequences of that battle were evident everywhere, for someone who knew what to look at. The shore road had been elevated several meters, with a massive, sloped shore wall of reinforced concrete erected. Small staircases led down to the docks and to the narrow but beautiful shingle beaches below", but gone was the gently sloping shoreline of the old days: the wall had been built to make it that much more difficult for amphibious armoured vehicles to enter the water to assault the island.

Dark's armada had had an easy time in comparison, as entire battalions of amphibious armoured vehicles had just driven into the lake and swam their way to the island. The lesson had been learned, and now there was no easy way to get in and out of the water, as massive, sloped walls blocked all beaches.

There was no reason why Kendrew shouldn't have been successfully defended against any kind and size of invading army... but of course, Kendrew had been given up to the RA, it had not been conquered. The best fortress in the world still was worth nothing if the troops assigned to it refused to put up a fight. How had it come to this...? How could such corruption have made its way so far up north...?

Killer started to find RA powered armors on his path when he drove his way up the peninsula. There were no brutes here, and very few conventional tanks and armored vehicles: the RA had preferred using a large force of those heavily armed "Walkers" to put the island-fortress under siege, and Killer was forced to admit that it was the right pick, since the Powered Armors could walk up stairs, squeeze through narrow passages, climb walls and negotiate obstacles that conventional tracked or wheeled combat vehicles couldn't possibly deal with.

Even as relatively primitive as they were, those "walking tanks" represented a terrible threat because they could move over a far greater variety of terrains. Killer had to cut down a multitude of Walkers to get to the tip of the peninsula, but once there he was rewarded by the discovery of at least one of the RA jammers that were interdicting the communications.

Hidden in a courtyard between a group of tall buildings to the right of the main street, the jammer was very hard to spot, because even its tall telescopic mast-antennas were mostly hidden just behind the roofs. Killer found it pretty much only thanks to the mild but insistent noise of the large trailer-mounted generator that powered the jammer. He followed the noise and turned the corner to make sure of what it was, and he smirked as he found his prize.

The powerful panoply of jammers was carried into an armoured container secured onto a gigantic 8x8 military truck, and it had several large antennas that could be collapsed down and folded away when the vehicle needed to move. Killer found it all set up and wired, hard at work, and he grinned with vicious satisfaction as he walked in, ripped apart the brutes that dared to put up resistance, and then punched the massive generator into a sizzling, broken piece of scrap metal. He effortlessly ripped the armoured door right off the side of the container and ducked into the small, cramped compartment, his shoulders bending the metal roof out of shape as he still struggled to fit. There were four technicians inside, and for a moment Killer dared hoping that they could be "persuaded" to spill some information on the RA, or at least on that advanced battery of jammers. Unlike the brutes, after all, they weren't bulked up with muscles and strengthened by an advanced exoskeleton. They didn't seem to be trained for combat at all, and the liger hoped that they would prove more reasonable because of it... but his hopes died quickly away when he saw cables going directly from the computers to their necks. They didn't even acknowledge his presence, their eyes glazed over and blind, their minds directly communicating with the electronic systems.

Before he could even think about dragging them out to attempt an interrogation, a violent electric discharge traveled through the cables and all four operators twitched horribly as their nervous systems were fried, their brains shutting down as all screens in front of them also went black.

Killer cursed under his breath and hurriedly reached forwards, grabbing the cables and ripping them right off, ignoring the violent cursing of electricity through his system, and he angrily slammed his arm down over the four smoldering corpses, literally smashing them backwards and out of the vehicle through the armoured wall of the container, which burst open like a sheet of paper as his terrifying strength brutally tore through it. He was just in time to avoid even worse damage to the jammers, because the usual explosive charges went off a moment later, just as what was left of the corpses splattered wetly on the ground outside.

The explosions rattled the heavy vehicle, and Killer cursed under his breath as chunky gore and bone shrapnel splattered against his back, but at least he had saved the vehicle from complete ruination. He hoped to have it analyzed by a team of engineers as soon as possible, to try and find good countermeasures against the RA jamming techniques and, hopefully, to reverse engineer a variant of the system for use by his own troops. He needed to salvage all the technology he could, if his troops had to have a prayer against the RA's superior machines.

He stepped down from the truck and snapped the high telescopic mast-antennas like twigs, to make sure that the RA couldn't just put the jammer back into operation as soon as he left, but he carefully put down the masts for later examination.

And finally, he walked to the very tip of the peninsula, looking ahead to the ravelin that towered over the clear waters of the lake.

To a casual observer, the tower looked medieval, with battlements and drawbridge and all, but the front and sides of the structure were actually reinforced with meters-thick, very modern reinforced concrete that made it very much impervious to enemy offense. Slits in the concrete allowed the defenders to fire anti-tank guns and machine guns against anything coming up along the peninsula, and the drawbridge, as ancient as it was in concept, was still very effective. It was no wooden structure, naturally, but a steel bridge that was drawn up thanks to enormous metallic arms and counterweights. The gap from the shore to the ravelin was so great that the bridge scissored open during the descent, doubling its length to touch down on the reinforced ramp built at the very tip of the peninsula. Even the heaviest tanks could easily move over that bridge, but the RA had obviously drawn it up as soon as they had conquered the ravelin.

The back side of the tower, the one facing towards the castle, was wide open: there was no wall, no protection on that side, specifically to ensure that, if the enemy ever managed to capture the ravelin, it provided them with no shelter, no protected position from which to fire against the bastions. The defenders on the gatehouse, the walls and the nearby bastions all enjoyed clear lines of sight into and over the ravelin... and yet the RA, thanks to its heavily armoured powered armors, was still clinging on to the tower.

Flames roared out from the top of the ravelin, and even pushed out of the pillbox slits as massive flamethrowers firing out of the flanks of the island's bastions unleashed great tongues of fire into the ravelin, as if to cleanse it from an invasion of particularly unwelcome vermin, and machine gun fire and rockets hailed down from the top of the bulwarks, but the heavy powered armours replied with vicious barrages of bullets and grenades, even while they were hosed down in burning chemicals.

Explosions rattled the guardhouse and the top of the bastions as a new salvo of RA missiles struck, and dozens of grenades flew in arches up from the ravelin to crash down onto the battlements above, and large chunks of reinforced concrete fell into the lake, along with rubble and corpses and pieces of light artillery. The second drawbridge, the one which connected the island fortresss' guardhouse to the back of the ravelin, had been drawn up by the Royal Guards and now appeared to also be irremediably damaged by the multiple rockets that had struck it directly. It wasn't immediately clear whether the RA had deliberately damaged it to prevent any attempt of the Guards of breaking out, or if they had tried to hit the arms and the mechanism in the hope of causing the bridge to crash down so they could drive inside.

Whatever the reason, their efforts couldn't keep Killer out: the hulking liger shouldered his motorbike once more, and charged forth along the last stretch of the road, his feet punishing the ground and breaking open deep cracks in the asphalt as his muscles flexed and tensed and he picked up speed, before he leapt forwards with a rumble, grinning as he easily overcame the vast gap and landed on top of the ravelin, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck with a smirk of satisfaction. It was hard to stay humble when he was capable of such feats of supernatural strength, and he grinned widely as both the Guards up on the bastions and the RA powered armors briefly stopped their vicious exchange of fire to stare at him instead, shocked by what they had just witnessed. The Guards were left gaping in even greater disbelief when the hulking male snapped his fingers once, and the sheer force of that idle gesture generated a wave of pressure powerful enough to snuff out the flames that were consuming the ravelin, blowing the sticky chemical fuel off the concrete it clung on to and sending it all falling harmlessly into the lake, together with several powered armors which were knocked flying like toys swept away by hurricane winds.

Killer basked in their shocked stares as he stepped forwards to the edge of the battlement and simply let himself fall, landing on top of another powered armor and crushing it flat under his feet, before he smashed his palm into another machine as it charged forwards swinging a huge cleaver-sword. The impact was so violent that the bulky cockpit seemed to implode even as the heavy machine flew towards the guardhouse in the distance. The driver who had been inside the machine died instantaneously as his body shot through the backside of the armoured Walker and flew across the lake to smack into the guardhouse's solid stone-and-concrete walls, turning into a ugly crimson stain before the wreckage of the Walker also slammed into the wall, breaking into pieces that fell miserably down into the water.

Another powered armor stepped in front of Killer, rotary, multi-barrel machineguns on its shoulders blazing and growling as they vomited thousands of bullets into the hulking male at close range, but they were like small balls of paper and spit that Killer derided before smashing his huge fist right through the machine, his hand pushing out of the back before he sliced the whole Walker in half by swinging his arm skyward. A Walker crawled up behind him and wrapped its mechanical, heavy arms around his torso, trying to restrain him while the suicidal explosive charge inside activated, but Killer flexed his enormous musculature and broke the robot's arms like they were twigs, before he spun on the spot, grabbed the heavy machine and shoved it violently back against two others, grinning sharkishly as the explosion turned all three Walkers into smoldering pieces of wreckage. "You need to go back to the drawing board: these lumps of steel can't stop me!"

One by one, he destroyed all of the Powered Armours, not even putting down the motorbike that he held up on one shoulder, and once he was done kicking the last of the robots down into the cold waters of the lake, just as the Guards watching on from the bastions cheered him, he leapt skywards, landing on top of the guardhouse of the island-fortress as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

Royal Guards stepped slowly back away from the gigantic male as he slowly straightened in his full, majestic height, but when Killer showed no sign of hostility against them, they relaxed visibly.

"W-welcome to Kendrew, your Highness." A corporal offered. He had to shout to make himself heard, which was extra weird to see due to the queasy, hesitant little smile he managed to give the giant, but there was no alternative: the island was one of the noisiest places on earth in that moment, with dozens of combat vehicles idling and with entire artillery batteries letting rip further back, in the royal park and from the bastions. And every now and then, missiles were fired out of their silos, adding to the tremendous cacophony.

Killer gave a small nod of appreciation, trying not to laugh in front of that fearful expression, before looking towards one of the bastions to the west as missiles roared out of their silos once again, climbing into the night sky to chase the RA fighter bombers that continued to come in waves over the capital. "Good work with the artillery, the helicopters and the air defences. They have been key contributions so far."

"Thanks, your Majesty." Another officer replied, bowing deeply, before turning sideways to look down at the courtyard behind the guardhouse. Killer looked down as well, and saw a great traffic jam of tanks with their engines idling and IFVs loaded with impatient soldiers eager to get out and help the comrades that were fighting in the streets. "We would like to do more, but we can't get anywhere until we manage to open the bridge. We are emplacing explosive charges to blow it out of the way, but then we will have to launch a replacement bridge.

Killer nodded in silence, walking up to the parapet facing the courtyard and looking down to see the Guards' very own engineer squadron already hard at work around an enormous bridge-laying truck. They were assembling the bridge element that the launcher-vehicle, thanks to a long boom arm, would then maneuver across the gap that separated the gatehouse from the ravelin.

They were also building a modular pylon that they would have to somehow put in place mid-way, because the gap was too long to be spanned in a single launch. They needed to emplace a pylon in the water, put the first span of bridge carefully in place between the gatehouse and the pylon, reverse the launcher truck over the bridge, and carefully launch a second one to get to the ravelin. The extra wide gap had been deliberately built in to make sure that no enemy could have a easy time crossing over just by driving an armoured bridgelayer to the edge of the waters, but now that defensive feature was an obstacle they too had to contend with.

"Let me take a look at the drawbridge; maybe I can fix the problem in a faster way." Killer proposed, and then he nonchalantly stepped over the parapet and dropped down into the courtyard below, startling the engineers and the soldiers as he landed heavily, half-crouching. They stared at him as he straightened, put down his motorbike and then turned around to examine the enormous, folded drawbridge.

Engineers had climbed up on either side of the enormous portal, secured with ropes, and were laboriously trying to cut off large sections of steel that had been deformed beyond repair and now kept the bridge from deploying. Sawblades and thermal lances were hard at work, sending sparkles and fragments of metal raining down, but the bridge was no closer to opening and a couple of Explosive Ordnanance Disposal specialists were already preparing explosive charges.

"Let me deal with it." Killer said, and the engineers looked at him in disbelief for a moment, but finally obeyed without discussion, quickly sliding down their ropes and getting out of the way. The colossal male stepped forwards and pushed his huge hands against the massive bridge, and carefully pushed against it, biceps bulging explosively as he grunted and smirked at the sudden rain of dust and debris from above as the deformed, jammed arms of the drawbridge broke through the wall.

The Guards assembled behind him could only watch on in awe as the gigantic structure of steel budged, then groaned loudly as the deformed edges ground their way through stone and reinforced concrete, finally breaking free. Killer grunted and grabbed into the bridge now, fingers tearing holes through the steel surface like it was a thin piece of cloth, and he carefully slowed down what threatened to be a ruinous fall forwards of the bridge, which was no longer supported by its broken arms.

The long, oversized ramp loudly clanged and began to ponderously scissor open as gravity did its job, and Killer slowly accompanied the descent until the far end of the drawbridge settled down onto the ravelin. The Guards exploded in loud cheers and roars of satisfaction, the tanks waiting to cross loudly revving up their engines as the crews chomped at the bits to charge into battle, but the engineers near Killer knew that the problems weren't quite solved. The bridge was disconnected on the island side, with its arms and joints broken, so if the vehicles started crossing right away it would just slip off its hinges and crash down into the lake beneath. Military Police was alerted and frantically signaled the roaring tanks and the eager troops behind to wait, while the chief engineer walked up to Killer and extended one hand, shaking his head in quiet awe and saying: "My gods, your highness...! That was incredible! You've saved us much trouble. We should be able to secure the bridge quickly enough..."

"You'll do that in a moment; there's a quicker way to get them across first." Killer said, leaving the engineer stunned. They could only watch on in even greater awe as the huge male carefully moved to the side, back to the jamb of the portal, and spread his legs to gain a solid foothold, squatting to hold the bridge up with his overwhelming physical strength. "Tell them to cross."

"But, your majesty..." The engineer weekly protested, staring at that incredible display of might and running calculations in his mind that made his knees weak. A multitude of tanks and IFVs were waiting to cross, and each MBT weighed 120 tons or more. It was mind boggling to think anyone could sustain that stress with his bare hands, with the force of his muscles alone. The engineer surveyed the vertical step caused by Killer having to push his fingers beneath the bridge: it was no problem for the tanks and IFVs which could negotiate much higher vertical obstacles than that, but surely, at a minimum, Killer's hands were going to be squished and the bridge was going to tilt upwards as he lost his grip, wasn't it...?

Killer gave him a flat look, however, and the engineer bowed his head and stepped out of the way, rushing over to the couple of MP who were struggling to hold back the enthusiasm of the Guards. They too looked shocked at hearing the news, but after sneaking a look towards Killer, retreated and allowed the first battle tank to roll forwards. It flew the colors of the Guards from one of the whip aerials, and a command pennant, and clearly belonged to the commanding officer, who was leaning out of his hatch, standing at attention as Killer looked up.

"Where is Griagas...?" Killer idly asked, fully expecting a non satisfactory answer. The commander of the Guards looked sincerely ashamed on behalf of the man that was supposed to be their king as he replied: "In one of the bunkers beneath the palace, I'm afraid. We haven't heard from him in hours."

Killer snorted in frustration and rolled his eyes, but that was not unexpected. "I took down one of the RA jammers on the way here. Have communications improved any...?"

"Oh, so it was you. Thanks, your highness. They improved a lot, actually! Thanks for that." The officer replied, before happily pointing at the royal park that was illuminated almost like it was full day as every last artillery piece of the Guards Division was lined up and fired in anger. "We are in contact with most of the battlegroups in the lead, and can finally properly support them all. We also managed to establish contact with Killer's Battery and with some of the bases in the rest of the country. We have some air support heading our way."

"Good. The jammer is in a courtyard down the peninsula. You'll see it, I've dragged it towards the main street. Make sure it is sent to the rear for examination." Killer urgently instructed, and the commanding officer of the Guards nodded without a word. In normal times he would have struggled to believe anyone could "drag" a huge 8x8 armoured military truck anywhere, but he had seen enough to know that to the hulking liger the weight of the truck equated at most to that of a crumble.

"Lieutenant Felix Russel is leading the counterattack in town. I've ordered a battlegroup to head for Freedall to put up a screen, and the others are trying to clear the airport and the factories." Killer continued, while taking a look at the ranks on the CO's uniform: he was a colonel, so the leader of one regiment of the Guard, not the whole Division. With the Dragoon Guards' higher ranking officers missing or killed in action and with Felix having adjusted so well to commanding a much larger force than just his Squadron, Killer had no hesitations in adding: "Russel is promoted to Colonel. Please let him know, on my behalf. You will coordinate with him to continue mopping up the RA troops left in town."

"Sir, yes Sir! He will be delighted, Sir." The CO sharply replied, saluting, and then he leaned forwards on the edge of his hatch, trying to take a look at the step the tank would have to clear to climb up onto the bridge. The driver also poked his head out of his own hatch as he carefully maneuvered the tank forwards in baby steps, crawling slowly forth until the tracks began to touch the lip of the bridge. The concern on their face showed clearly, how they feared that the bridge would drop and crush Killer's hands as soon as the enormous vehicle climbed up, but Killer only snorted in entertainment and urged: "Get a move on, Colonel. Drive right up. Not to sound arrogant, but I could bench press your entire regiment without breaking a sweat."

Despite Killer's best intentions, it did sound arrogant as fuck. But when the tank lurched forwards and began to climb up the vertical step, pointing skywards for a moment, Killer smirked and effortlessly held the bridge as steady as a rock. Literally steadier than it had ever been when fully functional and undamaged.

Colonel and driver both looked at him with shocked gapes, as the front of the tank heavily dropped once the vehicle was done climbing up, and Killer winked and pulled one hand off the bridge to playfully wave at them.

The tank roared as it speeded away, and it looked almost like the colonel and his crew were trying to run away from that haunting demonstration of superior, supernatural strength, from Killer remarking how easy it was. The second tank to come up slowed down and stopped in front of the bridge, waiting for the first MBT to reach the ravelin and roll off the ramp, but Killer insistently beckoned for them to go, holding up the bridge single-handedly. Shocked and emasculated by that display of power, the crew pressed on, and Killer urged the other tanks to follow without hesitation. They rolled up onto the bridge at speed, one after the other, and even when five tanks were rolling onto the bridge at once, Killer's huge arm didn't even twitch, that enormous bicep barely flexed, mocking them with its omnipotence.

Thankfully, the second drawbridge, the one going from the ravelin to the tip of the peninsula, deployed without issues, and the Guards pushed right through, driving into town and towards the areas where the battle still raged on.

The crews poked their heads out of their hatches to sneak shocked gazes in Killer's direction and the soldiers on the IFVs leaned out of their ports to stare at him in awe as the long convoy rolled past him, and they all ran shocked calculations in their minds. A thousand tons between the bridge and the vehicles simultaneously rolling down its length. Dozens of soldiers inside the tanks and IFVs. Hundreds of rounds of ammunition. Thousands upon thousands of liters of fuel. And on the other side, a God_who laughed of it all, effortlessly holding the bridge up and steady with just one hand. One hand! One _finger, probably, if balance wasn't an issue. It looked so easy for that colossus. So laughable.

It was a soul-crushing power to witness, especially for proud warriors that considered themselves elite fighters and now discovered that their training, their skills and even their vehicles and weapons were thoroughly overmatched by the crushing physical supremacy of that living god. Every tale they had heard suddenly made sense; everything they had dismissed as exaggeration and myth became very real and undeniable.

It was very much a mixed bag of sensations: on one side, it made them feel like bugs, like their convoy of well over a hundred between tanks and IFVs was nothing more than a procession of ants crawling before a hulking goliath who could, in any moment, crush it out of existence. On the other hand, it cancelled out their fear of the RA and their superior firepower and advanced machinery: Killer was on their side, so what could possibly scare them? Whatever the RA fielded could not possibly stand up to that god of war.

Killer, on his part, was confident that the little demonstration of his strength would dissolve any doubt that might still exist among the troops about the opportunity of following him. If anyone had had any doubts about the opportunity of addressing him as King even while Griagas still lived and formally occupied the throne, now those doubts were well and truly shattered. Killer was confident that his new troops would show themselves very, very loyal to him after getting that hint of his power.

It took several long minutes for the convoy to roll past, and several more for the engineers to secure the bridge into position, welding provisional but sturdy hinges and supporting frames that would allow follow-on movements without Killer having to stay there all night. Yet, the hulking male's bulging muscles didn't strain one bit. Not a drop of sweat rolled down his massive frame, and the engineers were stunned to see the huge male yawn in boredom; apparently the only downside of having to hold up that monstrous amount of weight for that long.

When the bridge was finally declared safe, and a first group of fuel tankers and trucks carrying ammunitions began to cross, Killer left, thanked profusely by the engineers. He climbed once more on his motorbike, and made his way deeper into the island-fortress. Many things had changed from the last time he had been there, and many more fortified buildings and bunkerized depots and garages had been built on either side of the main road, but finding his way wasn't difficult. The road curved to the north-west and proceeded all the way across the island, up to the northern gate and ravelin at the other end of the fortress. It was like driving in a canyon, because the road snaked its way between the outer walls and bastions to one side, and the second, inner curtain of walls and towers which surrounded the entire royal park. Fortified barracks, depots and garages for the tanks of the Guard Cavalry regiments had been built or expanded at the base of the walls, on either side of the street, to house what was clearly a greatly enlarged Division.

Killer drove through multiple intermediate checkpoints and gatehouses without encountering any trouble: with no RA presence in the area, there was no one who had any desire to keep him from digging Griagas out of his hiding hole. Within moments he was curving to the right to pass through the monumental gates leading into the royal park, and as he launched the motorbike at max speed up the long driveway leading to the castle, he saw the artillery batteries of the Guard blasting off barrage after barrage. Towed howitzers had been dragged out of the garages and scattered throughout the park, seeking cover between the ancient, immense trees, and soldiers labored around each piece, the loaders running back and forth from tactical trucks loaded with ammunition, coming straight from the underground depots.

The spent shells were already forming hills of smoldering brass as the gunners hammered the RA troops, and empty crates and pallets were unceremoniously thrown out of the way to make room for new ammunition, which several soldiers were busy fuzing for use.

Even more impressive were the massive self-propelled howitzers, with their tank hulls and their larger, blocky towers ending in those long barrels pointing skywards. Clouds of dust were shaken loose from the huge vehicles whenever the recoil made them bounce visibly on their suspensions, and the huge barrels of the howitzers changed their inclination after each shot as the guns blasted out 6-rounds "Multiple Rounds, Simultaneous Impact" salvos. By adjusting the trajectory, up to six shells fired in succession could crash down on the target almost exactly in the same moment, ensuring maximum damage was inflicted before the enemy could even begin to scatter and seek cover.

The gunners cheered as he roared past their positions, and Killer rose a huge arm to salute them all as aimed straight for the castle. He kind of regretted not asking the commander of the Guards for better instructions about the internal layout of the fortress and indications about the extensive labyrinth of underground chambers, depots and bunkers where Griagas had sought refuge, but he told himself he would figure something out once he was inside.

He was pleased to see that Griagas had funded a great expansion project, probably using the gold the RA had covered him with. There was a whole new residential wing facing east, that had not been there in the days of the war against Dark. In fact, the castle had been a lot more Spartan in those times, because it had not been intended as a royal palace but purely as a formidable fortress. Griagas had radically changed that, and the great arched windows, terraces, statues and decorations now symbolized all of his ambitions and his very high opinion of himself.

There was a great deal of gigantism in the project, with the great arches pushing skywards, ceilings heightened, windows enlarged to gain a great visual over the park, and Killer couldn't help but smirk: it was very nice of his predecessor to have enlarged the rooms to properly fit his godlike frame.

The two Guards flanking the main entrance threw the monumental door wide open for him and bowed deeply as he dismounted from his motorbike and easily climbed the marble staircase, but they could not provide him with any precise information about Griagas's whereabouts. The king had grabbed his queen and had descended into the safe rooms deep beneath the castle without informing anyone of which bunker he would seek refuge into, and there was quite an extensive network of tunnels and chambers down there. Killer was not looking ahead to a night of playing hide and seek with a coward, so he decided to "visit" the new eastern wing of the palace instead, since the Guards confirmed his suspicion: the new apartments were an expansion of the royal harem. On one thing at least, Killer found common ground with his enemy.

After leaving the Guards behind, Killer walked along a corridor decorated by statues and frescos on the walls, which all had common themes: sensuality, sexuality, and fertility. He reached a golden, elaborated gate that was the true entrance to the harem wing of the royal residence, but the two bulky, muscular guardians made no attempt to deny him access. They opened the gate for him and quickly scampered out of the way when Killer walked up to them, bowing deeply as he went right past. The huge male finally emerged in a beautiful cloister surrounding a long, secluded rectangular garden with an artificial lake in the middle and great weeping willows and small forests of luscious flowers and plants.

Every apartment facing out over that serene, private garden was full of concubines and wives of the king, the "Forbidden Ones", females selected for their beauty and fertility and talents and reserved for the king's pleasures and for his superior genetics.

The lights were still all turned off, and none of the girls were out in the garden or even enjoying the night breeze out along the cloister, despite it being relatively warm and fully enjoyable still. It was more than understandable, with fighter bombers roaring in the sky and dropping bombs on the bastions, and with the ceaseless thundering of artillery and the distant crackling of firefights all over town.

Had Griagas not been a patented, selfish asshole, the girls should all have been gone into the safe underground shelters beneath the palace, instead they all appeared to be in their rooms, all of them awake. Killer could hear their chatting and whispering from several open windows and doors shielded only by tents that fluttered gently in the breeze.

He turned the corner and approached the first of those doors, walking right past the open window and making no attempt to conceal himself. The chatting inside immediately ceased, but thankfully there was no screaming, no panic, and no appeal for help from the Harem guards. He stopped briefly at the light, semi-transparent tent at the door, and heard little gasps inside as the girls saw his enormous frame through the silk, his hulking body standing out in all its grandiosity. He lightly knocked on the jamb with the back of a finger, and asked in a playful, gentle tone: "May I, miladies...?"

Excited, amused voices from the other side of the tent invited him right in, and he could hear, and guess, movement in the nearby rooms as other concubines quickly sneaked to their windows and doors to gaze at the huge male who they could already clearly feel in the air, in the ground, in their very ribcages. His steps were silent, yet sent vibrations through the ground as if the earth itself was both excited and afraid. His sweaty scent was rich, powerful, virile: it spoke of power, masculinity, dominance and triumph. His deep voice meant that even his gentle whisper rattled them all deep in their ribcages.

Killer ducked slightly to fit the arched door frame, and he smirked as he emerged into a great, comfortable bedroom-apartment with four beds. As many beautiful tigresses, wearing only skimpy bikinis and jewels, looked up at him with eyes blazing with curiosity, excitement and awe, their gazes traveling up and down his hulking, immense form. One of them was sitting in front of a mirror, a brush in one hand, her long crimson hair going down past her shoulders, almost to the middle of her toned, faintly muscular back. She had stunning emerald eyes and two of the largest breasts Killer had seen, those glorious, firm swells bulging out of the black bikini top that struggled to contain them. They were currently extra-swollen, admittedly, because she was clearly lactating, and her belly was bulging outwards with a pregnancy that was visibly close to delivery. Apart from thick golden bracelets and multiple necklaces and chains of gold that fell down over her usually toned abdomen, the tigress was also wearing a few punk accessories, including thick laces of black leather studded with steel spikes. Her long, strong legs were clad in stockings riddled with holes and tears, but connected by garters to straps of dark leather tightly clamped around her thighs.

Another tigress, almost flat-chested yet incredibly attractive all the same due to how her slender, beautifully shaped body had been sculpted and trained into firm perfection in the gym, looked up from where she was sitting on her bed, idly curling a large dumbbell. Her hair were a beautiful auburn shade that well complemented her orange and black striped hide. A third concubine had been laying down in her bed, reading a book, and as she looked up at him she now shamelessly licked her lips, even as her cheeks took on a shade of crimson. The last tigress had been crouching between the beds of the other two, chatting, and now she stared at Killer with wide-open eyes, mouthing silent words of shock at his sheer magnificence.

The redhead punk tigress proved she was the boldest of the group as she turned around and sensually crossed her legs, leaning back in her seat and rubbing a hand down her pregnant, bulging belly with a lurid intent that her eyes didn't even try to conceal. She licked her lips shamelessly as she studied the hulking mass of muscles and virile power that composed Killer, and finally exclaimed: "Holy fuck, stud...! I thought those idiots were making things up and exaggerating to make their defeat look less humiliating... but fucking hell! When they said a God was coming, they meant it!"

She was clearly talking about the messengers that Killer had sent out from Freedall to warn the capital of his coming, and let king Griagas know that he had been challenged. Unfortunately, Griagas's reaction had gone very much against the Code and against Tradition, but it sounded like the news had spread like wildfire all the same, and his arrival was very much expected.

"Welcome to Kendrew, Lord Killer Huxley! Our new king!" The "sport" beauty cheerfully said, and the other concubines joined in with their own cheers, while many of the other girls silently sneaked out of their rooms and began to crowd both levels of the cloister, trying to get into a position from where they would get a good look at least at his broad backside.

"The whole castle is talking about you. We've been hearing the most amazing tales since yesterday, and you became stronger and bigger with each version of the story." The redhead explained, teasingly smiling up at him while running the brush through the last few rebellious bangs of her long red mane.

"I hope you are not disappointed." Killer playfully replied, spreading his arms slightly to let them have a good look at how his powerful muscles flexed and bulged with power, and the redhead licked her lips again, eyes flashing as she purred out: "Not at all...! I could feast my eyes on you for days."

"Now I know why those dumbasses are trembling like leaves and crying non-stop. If I was a boy and I saw you, I'd be crying too! And asking myself what the fuck I'm supposed to do when you walking on the same planet." The concubine with the book said, giving him an eloquent look, and "sport" pulled up her huge dumbbell, bicep flexing and bulging into a rock-hard hill of strength as she almost drooled at the sight of him, staring at his arms with what could only be described as pure wonder. "Most males have trouble lifting my weights, but I bet this dumbbell is less than a feather to you, isn't it..."

"Look, I don't want to offend you, but..." Killer began, smirking and shrugging a bit, but the muscular female only smiled wider, tossing the huge lump of steel his way and grinning as he caught it like he was crushing a gnat between index and thumb. "No offence taken. I find it hot as fuck." The young concubine easily and shamelessly replied, giving him a wink, and the huge male couldn't help but let out a playful rumble of approval.

"So, you all know me, but I don't know your names yet." Killer noted, and the redhead beauty was the first to reply, idly rubbing at her pregnant belly while looking up at him with expectant, lustful eyes. "My name is Electra, your Highness."

"Jen, for Jennifer, my king." Sports added, standing up from her bed. He could easily tell that she was the taller of the four, and despite the small size of her breasts she had a shape that was just fire. Her superbly trained legs looked endless, and her ass made up for what she missed at the front. She clearly knew she struck a formidable figure, and her little smirk signaled how much she liked seeing him interested and... bothered.

The other two tigresses, Veronica and Vivian, hurriedly head for the table and cleaned it of everything they had left there from the dinner of the evening before, which had been interrupted by the alarm sirens and by the sudden thundering of explosions and firefights in town, and they invited Killer to join them for a drink.

Electra, however, couldn't help but tease the hulking male as he walked past her, eyes blazing with lust as she teasingly asked: "Is that body really... real... ? All of it?"

"Why don't you find out...?" Killer easily replied, giving her a smirk, and the tigress actually grinned in delight at that and eagerly pushed up to her feet, even though her heavy belly made her movements a bit unsteady. She reached into a nice cabinet of stained glass and hardwood and dug out a large bottle of liquor and the small glasses for its consume... before thinking about it for a moment and picking a large beer glass for the enormous male. "Come right in, stud. Be wary: I only believe to what I can touch."

"That's wise." Killer agreed, with an exaggerated nod of approval. "I'll let you touch to your heart's desire."

Jen gently wrapped her hands around his wrist and guided him towards her bed, realizing that chairs wouldn't really fit him that well. Vivian and Veronica easily moved the table closer to the bed, while shooting a bit of a glare at their muscular friend as her hands impatiently wandered upwards along the goliath's almighty arm, not waiting for them to work up enough courage to touch that living god.

He was covered in blood and battle filth from head to toe, his mane thick and sticky and falling in bloodied bangs, his white and black-striped hide almost entirely dyed red, but without any hesitation Jen had him sitting down on her sheets as she sits at his side, leaning into him, fingers dreamily tracing the thick veins visible in his muscular, powerful arm. "How is the battle going...? We heard rumors about the RA being on the run, and as soon as mobile phones began to work again, we got messages saying the Guards were finally driving out of the island because you held up the bridge for them. Single-handedly." Jen curiously said, looking up at him expectantly and almost hugging his enormous arm against her chest, and Killer flexed slightly, letting her feel the huge muscles bulging and shifting beneath her eager fingers. "The RA is not yet quite as on the run as I'd like them to be, but they are pulling out of town. As for the bridge, that part is true."

"Holy shit..." Jen breathed out, nuzzling his enormous bicep and taking a tiny, reverent lick at the battle sweat visible over the enormous muscle, shuddering in delight at his masculine taste. "You are so strong... so truly, fuckin' strong..."

"I think it's the first time ever that I can't blame our "king" Griagas for something." Electra reinforced, putting the glasses down on the table and filling Killer's one first. "I can't blame him for hiding in a deep hole rather than fighting you. Fuck, I'd want to hide too."

"Do you know where he might be? I remember that the network of underground refuges and depots and tunnels here is a labyrinth, and I don't want to spend hours hunting him down, following the stench of fear to get to him." The huge male quietly asked, but the concubines could only shrug and shaked their heads with apologetic expressions.

"We have no idea. He left no instructions and certainly didn't want to be found easily. He just... ran." Jen said, curling against his side, clutching his enormous arm dreamily as her hands massaged over steel-hard, bulging muscle. Killer made a bit of a grimace at that, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He picked up the large beer glass filled with liquor, and Electra immediately clicked her far smaller glass against it, launching a toast: "To our new king! A glorious king!"

"Long live the king!" Jen and the others cheerfully said, joining in the toast, and many more voices added themselves in as other concubines entered the room or poked their heads in from the window and door. Jen pouted a bit and pushed even closer to Killer, clearly unwilling to share him with the rest of the audience, and Electra also looked flatly at the girls walking in uninvited, but they knew they couldn't really shut the rest of the harem out.

"I'm so terribly envious of Athena and Joy. Not only they managed to sneak out of the castle, but they found you right away... and had the chance to get fucked into coma by you without having to share." Electra remarked, and Killer couldn't help but smirk in entertainment, half-turning around from his position at the end of the bed so he could watch as the room became crowded with smiling, excited tigresses. Their bodies were almost naked, toned and well cared, covered in light sheens of oils and balsams that mixed the perfume of a thousand different flowers to their natural scent and to the fragrance of their excitement and desire. There were athletes like Jen and Electra and tigresses with another, softer kind of thickness about their forms, there were small and huge breasts, pregnant bellies and chiseled abdomens, and every kind of beauty and allure in between, and Killer's eyes glowed with interest as they all walked up to him: anxious, curious, eager.

"Athena and Joy always knew their stuff... but I see that luck has been very generous to them, leading them right on your path." Another of the beautiful females commented, and Killer smiled softly, thinking about it for a brief moment and then admitting, to himself more than to them: "I think luck was generous to me, as well, leading me to them. It was... the nudge I needed to finally take the right direction."

He was starting to really believe he had taken the right path, finally, after years of hedonistic, selfish and monstrous excess, and he thought it wasn't just because of all the loving, reverent hands that reached out to touch his broad back, his shoulders, his arms. It wasn't because of the beautiful females that kept squeezing into the room, surrounding the table, climbing up on the beds, squeezing into every corner. It was because of the bitter struggle in the factory and along the town's streets: for the first time in years he felt he had a worthy purpose, a mission to complete, people who needed his help and not just a moment of his attention and a chance to worship his body and strength. This kingdom needed to be freed from a vicious invader force with no humanity, and its people craved for a leader who could protect them and guide them to greatness.

And in securing Kendrew, he knew he was making his father's kingdom secure as well, at least on the southern flank. In beating the RA back, he felt he was securing the future of all of the Northlands. The task ahead of him was daunting, but having a purpose was making him feel a lot better about himself.

Electra grumbled a bit under her breath, and gulped down another shot of liquor while glaring a bit at the veritable crowd of concubines who had completely fitted up the room, and then she slammed the empty glass on the table and stood up, saying briskly: "Ok bitches, now get your hormones under control for a moment and move back. We can't all fit in here!" She paused, then looked at Killer with a smirk, eyebrows moving suggestively as she dragged the tip of her index down the hulking male's thick chest, picking up battle filth and blood. "With your permission, my king, I would like to show you the room of games and the baths. There's enough space in there so everyone can admire you and worship you like you deserve. Everyone in here would kill for the chance to touch such a god of power and fertility...."

Killer let out a little rumble of amusement and approval at her proposal, and Jen leaned forwards to kiss his enormous bicep, slowly dragging her tongue upwards along the massive muscle, tracing the length of the tube-like vein that pulsed as it pumped seemingly pure power into his arm. The muscular female purred and looked up at him with blazing, suggestive eyes, one hand shamelessly stroking over his powerful chest as she breathed out: "Since Griagas is cowering away in some hole or another while you've had to smash your way through an army to get here, we can at least clean you up and prepare you for your triumph."

"That sounds like you are just rouging up a request to see me naked..." Killer teasingly replied, spreading his legs a bit wider as Jen, Electra and several other daring females hissed in bliss and let their hands slid down his mighty abs all the way to the enormous, barely contained bulge in his pants, their fingers gripping into that firm, unyielding girth as their mouths gaped in awe, cheeks reddening in shock, fear and complete delight as they explored that endless member across the stretched, worn-out fabric of his black pants. "You don't need any elaborate excuse: I'm all too glad to let you see... and touch... and measure."

"I bet you do!" Jen breathed out, both hands gripping into that phenomenal bulge and moving down, handspan by handspan, searching down his leg to find the head of the gargantuan member. "Holy shit, you make the gods cry....!"

"And I used to think the Icons of Fertility in the temple had big dicks...!" Electra commented, hands stroking up and down that lurid bulge as her eyes almost glowed in the dark with her lust, as she naughtily referenced the idealized statues and drawings of the embodiments of Fertility in their religion: males with huge, oversized cocks and heavy, low-hanging balls and females swollen with enormous pregnancies. Killer smirked at that, and nodded as he reached down to undo his belt and the fly of his pants, helped by dozens of hands that reached around his thick waist to tug down his clothes, to brush over his own hands, to scratch into his thick, curly pubes, to reverently touch that monstrous black member, or even just to feel the incredible heat coming from his hypervirility. He stood up from the bed and smirked, letting them complete the job for him as he lazily hefted his arms up, behind his head, looking indulgently down at them as they gasped in shock and awe at the endless unveiling of more and more godcock.

"I was 7 when I entered the temple of Alcana the first time..." Killer recalled, grinning down at the shocked, adoring faces that looked up at him, awestruck and disbelieving. "And I recall how laughable the Icon of Fertility looked. Such small dick, such tiny balls..." He continued, stepping out of his pants and underwear and spreading his powerful legs to let his hypervirility breathe, an almost visible fog of sweaty, hypermasculine musk rolling over the drooling concubines as his clothes were removed. He lazily gripped the skulls of two of the many females kneeling before him, fingers playing idly with their hair, and he smirked as the already monstrous length of godcock visibly swelled and dropped even further, that brutal length seeming to unfurl as if out of a pocket dimension, his already impossible member growing longer and fatter without the constant compression of the clothes. In a moment, his glorious, still entirely flaccid godcock was almost plowing the ground, the brutal flare just inches off the floor, while his colossal testicles visibly engorged even further and audibly dropped lower down between his legs, hanging at the end of a sack of flesh which, alone, seemed to have the thickness and weight of a million males summed together. "I remember pulling out my cock and slamming it down on the altar, so the priestesses had something more worthy of worship." Killer recalled, and his unrivalled godcock flexed, jumping up in a display of pure, excessive vigor, veins pulsing and incredible girth moving with the ponderous majesty of a draft horse rearing up. Except his flaccid cock weighted even more.

"Lucky bitches...!" Electra commented, snorting in amusement and delight, hands squeezing on her pregnant belly with expectation and with a hint of cruelty as she let her eyes travel down that monstrous member, which was deliciously sweaty and filthy with dark, dense cockssludge, the excessive produce of his restless hypervirility. "I'm sorry for all the sweat and grime... Athena and Joy had done a lovely job cleaning me up, but between the battle and my productivity..." Killer teasingly apologized, his eyes half-lidded, relaxed under all the attention from the concubines, slaves and wives clustered around him. He rested his hands carelessly, immodestly over their heads as they fought for the chance to get closer to that glorious thing, to loudly sniff up his hypermasculine reek as that monstrous member hung literally to the floor, thick and veiny, resting over a pair of testicles like boulders that were so immense they also nearly touched the ground.

"We will happily clean you up as many times you need and desire..." Eager, dreamy voices promised, while hands and breasts and tongues reached for the hulking girth, several concubines dropping to their knees and then flattening themselves on the floor to admire the huge, fat, brutal flare and the thickly-foreskinned cockhead, gaping in ecstatic awe at the sight of the vast, yawning cockmaw and the way the cold marble floor fogged up with the sheer heat radiating from the twitching member. Hands tremblingly, reverently gripped his astounding girth, stroking dreamily up and down small fractions of that overwhelming length as the concubines watched on in delight at the plentiful masculine lube-essence that stained the mighty shaft and that stank of testosterone and male supremacy. No matter their experience, the Forbidden Ones ended up shaking in front of that unprecedented virility, their nostrils flaring as they greedily drank of his musk. Even the toughest females, such as muscular Jen and daring Electra were left giggling and sweating, drooling from both mouths as they fought for the chance to get closer to him and touch his superior body.

"Lead me to the baths, then." Killer had to playfully remark, waking the concubines from the ecstatic stupor caused by his scent and his glorious presence. They blushed in shock, realizing that they had completely forgotten about all that, but Electra and Jen were swift to get up, all the same, and pushed their comrade concubines out of the way, even though the giggling tigresses were reluctant to move more than a few steps away from that living, walking god. Killer had to be careful in stepping forwards because as soon as he pulled up one foot, a trio of concubines greedily curled up on the floor beneath him, licking at his dirty boot, tasting the blood and the ruin of the enemies he had stomped out of existence.

He rumbled in entertainment at that, each step welcomed by mouths kissing and licking and polishing his heavy boots while his monstrous godcock smacked into bodies and hands and faces, bowling tigresses over like toys. Killer had to leisurely slid a hand beneath his enormous cock and heft that flaccid monstrosity so that it didn't squish the overeager females like grapes under its calamitous weight, and it didn't rip a trench in the marble floor. Countless hands touched, stroked, brushed, gripped, tugged at his immense leviathan of meat, which only flexed slightly, lazily acknowledging that worship as if it was mundane, due and expected... and gods, for Killer, it really was all of those things.

The harem followed in his wake, the tigresses seemingly shuddering in time with the thunderous clapping of meat versus meat as his monumental black shaft dangled heavily between his muscular legs and slapped heavily into his muscular thighs with every step he moved.

Adoring concubines attempted to heft up his mammoth testicles as if to make it easier for him to haul around that prodigious masculinity. His mega-balls hung low and ponderous, throbbing with power as their masculine reek made the air incandescent and as thick as steak, overpowering enough to command the complete submission of men and women alike.

As Electra led him down the length of the cloister, towards a great porch that led directly into the luxurious steam baths, Killer spotted a multitude of security cameras with blinking red dots, and saw how they obsessively followed him. He idly gave them the finger, smirking at the thought that Griagas himself was probably staring at him through a screen in his hiding hole.

The liger's monstrous black member pulsed powerfully, flaunting its unrivalled superiority, basking in the powerless attention of whoever was controlling the cameras. Electra noticed it, and purred in delight as she reached over to grip his brutal girth in both hands, rubbing them up and down the flanks of the impossibly powerful member and hissing in bliss at how her singers became saturated and glued together by the thick, rich mixture of his hypervirile sweat and precum. "You like making puny boys cry, don't you...?" The tigress sensually teased, grinning up at him and licking her lips as she pulled one hand back only to lean forwards and catch with her mouth the long, thick strings and ropes of black cocksludge that kept her digits tied to his glorious member. "Yes, I can imagine how many poor boys have turned into sissies and faggots after taking a look at this monster of a cock..." The tigress insisted, purring as she pushed her heavily pregnant belly against the gargantuan godcock and slowly ground against it, up and down, then side to side, half-stepping forwards so the unforgiving, brutal weight of the black member caused her swollen belly to cave inwards... and Killer could clearly feel the panicked movements of the life growing within her, as those little unborn sons and daughters of Griagas vainly tried to escape from the weight, the brutal mass and the terrible heat of that colossal cock. "Our coward-in-chief is looking. He is always looking with his goddamned cameras everywhere. He looks more than he acts... so he might even like watching you fuck this trash out of me."

Killer rumbled in dark pleasure at that, idly reaching down to scratch and stroke through his thick pubes, pressing down on the top of that massive, fat cock as it twitched and swelled, growing even more terrifyingly massive. The tigresses around him shuddered and sighed out, clustering all around him and deliberately brushing into his legs, reaching out to touch his enormous member, the back of his balls, to kiss his quads, to lick beneath his heavy tail, nuzzling towards his asshole. They shivered in bliss at the way he so leisurely dominated them all, in full control of both himself and them. Unlike Griagas, who had wanted to expand his harem for reasons of prestige but couldn't keep up with it at all, so that many of the girls felt... shamelessly neglected... Killer was supremely confident and clearly able, willing and eager to make use of everyone of them... and then some. The weight and heat of his mere presence, the sheer power his voice and attitude exuded, made being close to him a thrilling, memorable experience, even disregarding how he towered, massive and utterly overpowered.

The steam baths were right at the far end of the cloister, where another deep pool fed into another, smaller one, containing hot water. A wonderful steam room was located further beyond: it was a forest of thin red marble columns and statues of bodies tangled in intense scenes of combat or sex, and there were rows of large wooden beds where to enjoy a slow, steamy bath and the attention of concubines specifically trained in providing the best possible massages and care.

Even in that moment of the night, the fires were burning and the room full of hot, perfumed fog as green branches were fed over the bracers. Wonderful, sweaty tigresses wearing only tunics wrapped loosely around their chests and waists stepped forth to meet Killer, ready to massage his sore muscles and work the stress of battle right out of him, and they welcomed him like they had never had another king before him. They led him to the largest of the wooden beds, apologizing for how it still was pretty ridiculously small for his titanic sizes. He was a bit worried it would collapse under his weight, but he didn't want to disappoint the eager concubines and, admittedly, he greatly looked forwards to the pleasures of steam, loving tongues and expert hands.

He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, and allowed the concubines to undo the straps of his heavy, armoured boots and help him out of them. He discarded what little remained of his tattered, devastated clothes torn apart by shrapnel, bullets and explosive shockwaves that had shredded everything, and he closed his eyes for a moment, rolling his enormous, powerful shoulders and flexing his almighty musculature. Pieces of metal clanged on the floor at that, as the last bits of shrapnel that had managed to tear into him were pushed out by his bulging muscles, spat away almost with contempt as all of his wounds visibly sealed up and healed at an incredible rate. Within moments, the efforts of the RA's army and the long bombardment of their artillery, which had cost them hundreds upon hundreds of shells, would have been entirely undone, leaving behind almost no sign at all.

That idle demonstration of power elicited a shiver from the assembled harem, but the light sheen of sweat developing over his glorious, bulging musculature was what kept everyone staring at him, as well as his utterly colossal black cock, that tremendous, hanging leviathan of male-meat, and Killer clearly enjoyed the attention, including that of the cameras in the corner of the room. He smiled indulgently at the helpless, almost-drooling concubines who clustered around him, unable to stop themselves from reaching in to touch his prodigious member, to stroke it, to look over it with awe and wonder, all of them able to get at least a hand on that monster, if not an arm, or a chance to grind their entire bodies against it with how much cock the giant male hauled around.

The sturdy wooden bed wobbled visibly under the colossus, and Killer smirked in entertainment at the open space roughly at waist level. Jen caught his amusement and grinned, flexing her muscular arms as she commented: "You are going to need a larger hole, my king..." The muscular female smirked as she gripped into the thick wood staves and easily snapped them apart, yanking several of them out of the way, enlarging the hole in the middle of the bed. Killer watched her work, licking his lips slowly at the sight of her sizeable biceps bulging, at the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing so deliciously under a developing sheen of sweat, and he leisurely stroked his immensity at the same time, oblivious to the stunning glut of dark, hyperpotent precum that was already leaking out of his member and puddling on the floor.

He noticed the shock and the awe in the eyes of Electra, however, and he grinned as he seized his hulking apocalypse of a cock in his hands and hefted that monstrosity up, pumping it slowly, careful not to slap some of the nearest concubines out of existence with it. He allowed them to grind their hot, eager, sweaty bodies into his immense, sweaty, musky balls, letting them sneak beneath his hulking cock. It utterly dwarfed them as he spread his muscular legs and seized his titanic shaft in both hands, laughing as he stroked his member with lazy intent, letting those drooling sluts cower under a growing, swelling, endless rope of black essence that swarmed with utterly monstrous waste-sperms, their muscular tails tangled tightly together as they wrestled their way out, racing for first place as the hulking titan scooped huge handfuls of that impossibly thick and omnipotent sweat and cocksludge, deliberately showering his concubines in his hypervirile filth. He smirked as he rubbed his hand, saturated in his dark, powerful essence down backs that arched and trembled for him, over faces that flushed with need and desire, over hair that became sticky with potent precum and cockslime, and he smiled indulgently as the concubines moaned and breathed out hard, opening their mouths, stretching out their tongues, shoving at each other for a chance to lick between his thick fingers, or to polish his claws.

Gentle hands cupped his heels and wrapped around his thick ankles, and he sat back with a low sigh of pleasure as he pulled up his feet, eyes slipping closed as warm, loving tongues moved over his thick toes, lapped between them, as mouths carefully wrapped around his deadly talons, suckling them clean and polished, while gentle lips planted kisses on the thick, rough black pads of his feet.

Bodies shifted and ground sensually together and against his legs, features grinding against his calves and his bulging leg muscles as the tigresses took turns licking dust, battle grime and blood off his hide, carefully kissing along every inch of wounds that were already sealing back and almost vanishing from sight.

"We are glad to see how little of this blood is actually yours..." Electra playfully whispered as she climbed up on the wooden bed, taking position behind him and allowing him to lean back comfortably, his head resting between her great breasts, his powerful back pushing down on her huge pregnant belly, causing the doomed life inside her to twitch and kick and trash in a panic that only had the tigress smirking in cruel amusement.

"How many puny RA fuckers did you stomp into the ground like bugs...?" Jen excitedly wondered, not really expecting anyone to be able to provide a number, instead smiling as the huge male let out a soft breath of pleasure and appreciation as she quietly kissed down his chiseled abs, tongue licking up sweat and blood and dirt from the deep valleys of power between his bulging muscles, as her fingers scratched into the thick forest of steel-like pubes on his crotch and up to his navel, playfully yanking and tugging as she almost tried to comb the rebellious hair. Veronica nuzzled his neck tenderly, and then kissed her way down his enormous shoulder, wondering in front of those colossal cords of powerful muscle before she half-sneaked, half-pushed her way under his enormous arm, greedily, loudly drinking of his hypermasculine reek as she kissed her way up his almighty obliques until she could bury her muzzle directly into the thick hair in his armpit.

"We are thankful for your arrival, my glorious king." Electra gently said, very seriously, even as she breathed her words out in a pause between long, eager licks up his thick, muscular neck. She pulled back a little and her hands slid up to dig into his mane, beginning to scrape gently against his scalp, working through bangs of thick hair made sticky by blood and sweat, and the huge male let out a soft, content breath of his own, relaxing under the ministrations of the concubines, in the middle of the moaning and breathing and moving of dozens of eager, hot female bodies wet with sweat and with desire that he could clearly smell like a perfume in the air, a fragrance more intense and more delightful than the scents of wood and flowers coming from the bracers.

"Nobody else had the strength to put a stop to the RA's arrogance. Their infernal machinery scared away all other contenders." Electra said, and some of the concubines half-glared at her, as if to silence her, as if fearing that Killer might still reconsider and leave. The huge male caught those looks with a eye lazily half-open, and smirked in entertainment, reaching up to squeeze the breasts of the closest of those tigresses, saying calmly: "Don't fret, girls. Tell me the truth as it is. I'm not walking away from a challenge I've issued. Whatever the RA might throw at me, I'll just crush it and move on."

Electra smiled widely at that, tossing a triumphant look at the other concubines, feeling fully vindicated, and she quietly added: "There's not much else we can add. RA soldiers only rape on command, to punish. None of them seems to have any emotion otherwise. No desires, no needs, no weakness we could exploit. They never gave us any hint about who they are, or where they come from."

"Normally it would be easy to seduce one soldier or another, and learn all kinds of useful information simply by having them talk of home, perhaps of their families... but the RA brutes? They have the same physical drives of a teaspoon." Jen distastefully added, before flushing a bit as she realized that what she had just said sounded, in some ways, like a jab aimed at Killer himself, who hadn't exactly put up a fight against their seduction.

"No offence taken. I know the rules of the game, and I've been playing it for long enough." Killer reassured, smiling softly and winking at her, before playfully concluding: "Besides... you haven't asked me much of anything." Obviously, they didn't need to. There wasn't a single soul in the Northlands who didn't know the Huxley bloodline and hadn't heard tales about prince Killer. Whether people had seen with their own eyes and believed the tales or chose to think that some of the feats of strength in them were fantasies and wild exaggerations was another matter, but his name was universally synonymous with prodigious strength and virility.

There was much he could have said about the RA brutes, or even the guys he had found permanently hooked into the computers on board the mobile jamming station. Had they ever been "true" persons, or had they always been mindless ghouls, used as particularly advanced sentient chips inside a machine...? There were horrible implications either way: if they had been beings with thoughts and sentiments, the RA had somehow brainwashed them completely. If they had never been their own persons, how had they even come to light...? Was the RA able to serially produce and grow unthinking cannon-fodder...?

There were a million comments to be made, many of which would add very little. He decided to stay silent instead, and listen, in the hope that, somehow, someone might have any helpful hint of information to relay. Consciously or not, perhaps some of the RA "zombies" had given away some kind of information. Something. Anything...

"There was only a relatively small contingent at first. Extremely well armed, but it was like a reinforced personal Guard for Griagas. I guess we all underestimated the danger, beginning with Griagas himself." Electra continued, clearly feeling the need to justify herself and her country for what had happened, for how they had ended up pretty much enslaved.

"Nobody was happy with the way Griagas used the backing of that "Guard" to make himself king of this region, but, at the same time, it didn't feel like such an existential threat at first. Griagas made a lot of nice promises, and was able to keep many of them, throwing gold at every problem that could be solved with coin. It felt like a bargain, and I guess we all shrugged and decided it wasn't too bad."

"Depending on someone else's power and money always comes with a hefty price attached." Killer admonished, and Electra nodded quietly, making a grimace as she replied: "That's right. And the RA is an impatient creditor: it soon began to build the factories, and then the condos. It brought in a lot of southerners and other foreigners to beef up the manpower needed to keep the production going, day and night... and within the first year, this entire kingdom had already turned into the cesspit you have seen."

"The initial small contingent of RA troops quickly grew, and Griagas discovered that there were fewer and fewer places he could keep his ally out of." Jen added, taking a break from suckling his hoarse pubes clean. "And the stronger the RA got, and the more our kinglet sulked and attempted to throw his diminishing weight around. Our frustrated kinglet has become more and more of a petty tyrant in step with the RA taking true power away from him... as he couldn't order the RA around, he redoubled his efforts to control everyone else, and to try and keep control of the troops, he handed more and more privileges to the warrior caste as well. Unfortunately, it worked: the soldiers we used to know, the soldiers that are our fathers, brothers, sometime sons, gradually turned into entitled assholes."

"That's what happens when corruption erodes principles and discipline. Power is corruptive... especially for those who don't have it. That's why our Tradition is built around the need to prove your strength before you can lead: weaklings who get a taste of undeserved power tend to abuse of it and go to any lengths to gain more." Killer calmly sentenced, and the concubines shuddered at the indomitable dominance in his deep voice and in his matter-of-fact tone. His word was Law. His use of the term "weakling", definitive: who, after all, was not a weakling in comparison to him...?

There could be no doubts on the fact that Killer would restore discipline and that nobody would dare contest his authority. Whether he would abuse of his overwhelming power or not, they couldn't know. The fact that his voice alone commanded such submission; the fact that his strength was so prodigious to make him a God walking the world of mortals meant that there was going to be no salvation from his rule. If he decided to be a tyrant, nobody could stop him. He was going to be more than just a king: he was going to be the ultimate Owner of their lives.

It was dangerous: the one that came as savior, to free them from the combined tyranny of Griagas and the RA, could potentially become an even worse problem. His past record was mixed: as a leader in the war of Dark he had been greatly appreciated. In the last 7 years, in the South, he had taken any and everything he wanted, with no respect or regard for anything and anyone. There was no way for them to know for sure which version of Killer they were going to get.

Yet, even so, his presence and strength were so stunning and addictive, that they were eager to see him sit in the throne. Having him as king was an intensely exciting prospect, filling them with emotion that went beyond the relief of imagining the RA gone from their lives.

He just was something else. Something superior to anything else any of them had experienced. A predator so majestic as to induce preys like them to willingly accept their destiny and offer themselves to him, rather than seek escape or shelter which both appeared implausible before his power.

They would have been reassured to know that, behind his apparent coldness, the complete confidence and the natural dominance, he was the very first one who wondered what the future was going to be like. He was tormented by the awareness of his past failures and of the weakness of his self-control. He wanted to be a good king, a leader that Athena, Joy and the others could trust and cherish, but he was worried by his dubious ability to stay focused when things became "boring". Now that he had a war to win, an enemy to crush, he knew he was the right man in the right place. But the peacetime that would hopefully follow had him worried. It would require him to be patient, and considerate, and gentle. He was going to have to learn to sacrifice himself for others in new ways, ways that were far more daunting, at least for him, than putting his very body, sweat and blood on the line to win a battle and protect his soldiers.

He was going to have to put his pleasure off, and of course limit his darkest desires. Could he do that...? For how long...?

He kept his worries well hidden, even though he often wished for nothing more than someone who he could be entirely open and sincere with. Someone who would understand, and help him carry that burden. And yet, as he saw Electra and the others welcoming him so enthusiastically, without any reserve or hesitation, he was left idly wondering if somehow they could see through his cold exterior. Perhaps they guesses, or saw in his eyes, the turmoil of his thoughts...?

What Electra and the others saw was a divinity, a titan who deserved worship and who was so used to getting it that he was hardly bothered by the dozens of splendid, eager, bare or mostly bare female bodies clustering around him, revering him, serving him, massaging, kissing, licking him.

Even as dozens of tongues dragged up his feet, his legs, his abs; even as loving muzzles pushed into his armpits in turn, mouths suckling every last bang of curly, thick hair clean by drinking his sweat away like ambrosia; even as dozens of breasts ground lovingly against his twitching godcock and as many hands and tongues labored to clean the almighty shaft and leave it shiny with a gleam of warm drool, his mind remained calm and lucid.

His supreme confidence, which sometimes bordered into arrogance, was on full display as he relaxed through the slow pleasure, completely unconcerned by the uncountable sweaty bodies clustered around him, moving in the steamy fog, working over his body, in a foreign castle, before the rival king was even properly struck down. He was unconcerned by the cameras, and the fact that his enemy was watching. If anything, that made the moment sweeter. Not for a moment he was concerned about someone stabbing him, or sneaking up on him for an assassination. He had no fear, no hesitation, no worries at all about what his enemies might attempt... and it made Electra and the other concubines feel like small, puny bugs crawling all over the body of a colossus. Like mortals blessed with the chance to worship a true divinity, invincible and unconcerned by anything the puny mortals might try.

Anyone else would have been wary, suspicious, nervous... and hard as a rock, putty in the hands of those expert, ravenous females who had pleasure as their purpose and job. The comparison with Griagas was stark: the king had long ceased to expose himself. He hadn't visited the steam baths in more than a year, for example, because he was growing more and more paranoid about assassination attempts. It wasn't clear who he feared the most at that point: the RA, his people, or specifically his Forbidden Ones, his concubines and wives. Electra and a few others were pregnant with Griagas's children, but they were the exceptions, not the rule: Griagas saw his concubines one by one, or at most in pairs, and did so more and more rarely.

And here Killer was, fearless and triumphant, naked and with his eyes closed as they all ground into him in a cloud of steam. While his rival was hidden, still technically king, still dangerous.

He knew no fear. He was all but inviting his enemies to step forth and annoy him, just so he could stretch his powerful arm and crush them out of existence. Jen tugged gently at his wrist until he leisurely opened one eye, and as she pointed at the masseuses as they reached for gold and silver strigils, curved, dull blades used to scrap off dirt, oils and perspiration from the body.

The huge male only gave the concubines a slight smile and a nod in return, allowing them to come forth. He watched them combine the work of their hands and tongues with the gentle scratching of the metallic tools, and then his eyes slid closed again with a content sigh and a twitch of its glorious godcock which, alone, commanded their obedience with its lurid omnipotence. If any of the concubines had had hidden feelings of loyalty towards Griagas, they were dissolved by the undeniable supremacy in this true Alpha's masculine scent, in his confidence, in his overwhelming, excessive power and virility.

In other times, a king with more honor and less fear than Griagas would have welcomed his challenged and would have shared a steam bath with him. Both males would have been scraped with strigils, their muscles washed and massaged and oiled. They would have donned nothing more than loincloths and would have stepped into the arena with nothing but their bare hands, or at most with their hand to hand weapon of choice. They would have behaved almost like friends, right up to the moment in which their fight started. According to Tradition, after all, the role of the king was sacred, and its legitimacy rested upon the male's ability to ensure growth, strength and improvement for its whole bloodline. There was no hate between the contenders: there ideally was respect and the acceptance that the one who could prove to be the strongest deserved to lead. Clearly, Griagas had no intention to comply with Tradition, but his concubines admittedly didn't mind: they were all too eager to give all of their attention and worship to the challenger. They were serving him in ways that obviously went far above and beyond the norm... and all Griagas was doing was watch on through the security cameras.

He felt a bit guilty, enjoying such worshipful tongue bath while outside the battle raged on, but the less merciful part of him told him that Kendrew needed to shed its part of blood and sweat to redeem itself. They had allowed Griagas and the RA to walk in unopposed, and now they were paying the price of that stupidity. He had single-handedly broken the RA's front and put them on the backfoot, turning the tide of battle, but now he expected his army to complete the job without his help. He would be back in the very vanguard as soon as they were ready to pursue the RA through the rest of the kingdom.

Killer let out a low rumble of pleasure as tongues dragged over the thick slabs of muscle of his pecs, mouths taking turns in lovingly licking and suckling and teasing his black nipples, warm drool replacing the blood of his enemies, his sweat and the grime and dust of battle as their hands massaged and stroked over his powerful, bulging muscles. He let his head tilt back further when another concubine began grooming his mane, delicately working out the knots and taking care of every thick bang, hands massaging gently over his scalp. Pleasantly hot water was sprayed on his hair, and sponges were reverently rubbed over his stupendous form, complementing the hard work done by all those eager tongues that lapped up every inch of his glorious form, beginning with the sole of his feet, the arch, the heel, the thick toes.

Strigils scraped over his herculean figure, pleasantly grinding into his hard muscles, moving slowly and reverently, and a multitude of hands labored over the great, massive anaconda of his malehood, peeling back the thick blanket of his foreskin and beginning to scoop off forming cockslime that was sheer, overwhelming, wasted virility beginning to harden up in the dark, hot inferno beneath the thick hood of flesh. Hands slid upwards and beneath the thick foreskin with audible squelches, and fingers ventured in the spaces between his thick, mighty barbs, and then wandered along the underside of his brutal flare. The concubines gasped not in revulsion but in delight and lust as they began to slowly scoop out thick cocksludge, compacted gunk that was a concentrate of pure hypervirility, a mass of hardening precum that they reverently tasted like it was thick, black jam, smearing the dense filth over their breasts and sometimes finding enough heart to share with other impatient concubines that moaned and tugged at them, demanding their taste. Thick splatters of that masculine essence fell down into expectant mouths and over eager faces with sick sounds like a handful of mud smacking down on flesh. It was so stupendously thick that they had to chew the mighty essence before gulping it down, and with abundant helping of their drool it stretched into thick strings and ropes hanging from fingers and breasts and connecting hungry, moaning mouths as the concubines kissed and shared that unmatched, intoxicating gift of hypermasculinity.

Killer grunted lightly and smirked as dozens of eager tigresses spat and drooled over his colossal cockhead, feeling the warm fluids roll down his sensitive flare before he hissed and gave a slight buck as no less than six hands gripped firmly, greedily into the sides of his cockhead and began to stroke up and down, wrapping tightly over the fat helmet of meat, squeezing, kneading, spreading warm drool all over the humongous flare.

The huge male licked his lips with a rumble as four, six, ten fingers greedily pushed at once into the yawning, massive cockmaw, running along its vast circumference, thrusting in and out, pushing down to the knuckle and teasing the inside of his enormous cum channel and vainly attempting to clean it by scooping out great amounts of his inexhaustible supply of dark, slick, omnipotent precum. Eager, intoxicated concubines pushed their muzzles forwards and greedily licked over those frantically working fingers and dived between them, trying to get a taste of the huge male's glorious cock, and other moaning slaves almost fought their way in to get their chance, while others grabbed the wrists of the lucky ones in front and yanked their hands away from his cock just to get a chance to suckle his taste off their fingers.

As if to reward all that hard work, the monstrous godcock flexed and jumped up, swelling arrogantly in their grips, growing in the trembling hold of a dozen concubines, forcing their hands even further apart, spreading out their fingers even more as the already gargantuan member engorged itself, pulsing with power and blasting out a cannonade of black precum which smacked into the floor hard enough they thought it would shot right through the marble. The great rope of hypermasculine gunk bounced, instead, and fired across the entire, vast room: a meteor of virility powerful enough the change the destinies of any planet it struck. The concubines watched it with greedy, shocked eyes, mouths agape, breath getting heavy, nostrils flaring to suck in the rich, powerful musk of the male's essence, shivers running down their spines as their loins burned, feeling like that hypervirile reek alone would make them all pregnant.

Killer smirked as his heavy, dense precum audibly smacked down on the floor and against a distant wall, painting a dark river of masculine essence across the room, but when he opened his mouth to comment, Electra eagerly silenced him by stealing a light kiss. Her tongue gently but insistently demanded access, and he let her enter with a rumble of entertainment, surprised by the expertness and greedy ferocity with which her tongue moved against his own much larger one. The light kiss became passionate, greedy, endless as she leaned down against his broad back, grinding her breasts into him while mouthing his lips and rolling her tongue around his mouth, finally all but licking over his deadly fangs.

Jen exploited the moment to push between his legs and haul herself up to sit gently down in his, on one of his massive thighs. She leaned against his massive chest, breathing in his masculine scent, and her bare feet pushed against his monstrous black shaft, rubbing teasingly into it, grinding slowly up and down along that endless anaconda of black meat.

The force in his body was mind-boggling, the power pulsing in his veins terrifying and intoxicating. Jen's eyes bulged, fixated on the massive slabs of muscle of his chest, hypnotized by their flexing and bulging as they heaved slowly with his breath. Her hands tremblingly massaged his masculine pecs, and her feet slowly ground down against protruding, thick veins that felt as solid as iron pipes as blood and seemingly pure power fed into his hulking cock as twenty different tongues labored to coat his dark meat in warm drool, hands stroking and kneading and massaging the incredible member as it lazily continued to grow longer and fatter and heavier, even more incredible, a monstrous leviathan which now dragged on the floor.

His thick, potent precum was like a slick, dense glue that audibly sucked her feet in, kept them glued to his powerful male-meat as he gently half-wrapped one huge arm around her waist, lightly gripping into her groin, fingers shamelessly grinding over her tight slit and teasing her needy sex, her breath becoming quick and rough as her loins burned and her cheeks flushed. His body was enormous, solid beyond description, hot and full of vigor, and even as he lazily rested back and let his eyes slip closed, his entire body felt like it was full of an explosive, barely restrained, cataclysmic force.

The bicep pushing into her back felt like it could rip her in half if it just flexed and bulged; his arm wrapped around her felt like it could squish her into liquid, the hand gripping into her groin felt like it could make confetti out of her and the two fingers that suddenly hooked inside her pussy literally hefted her up off his leg like she was a sock-puppet. Jen gasped and hugged herself in disbelieving ecstasy as the huge male lifted her body up into the air with his fingers alone, not even noticing he was doing it, as he just twisted and thrust and flicked them inside her sloppy sex, thumb pressing down over her clit as she moaned loudly and burst forth like a broken pipe, squirting warm juice all over his abs and the base of his godcock.

Greedy, eager hands immediately pushed up into the flow of nectar, fingers soaking in the pearly juice and then smearing and massaging it into the black shaft, as other concubines leaned in to add their tribute of drool, or even to add their own nectar to that rain of juices. Awed, delirious tigresses stepped up to him and spread her legs wide, bodies shamelessly put on display and offered to him as they fingered and played with their eager vaginas until they sent their own orgasm raining and dripping down all over that immense shaft, washing it down in their nectars.

The hulking male effortlessly dominated them all, his other hand reaching up to grip Electra's head, fingers twisting into her red mane and jerking her forwards as she whimpered dreamily and worked her tongue hard inside his mouth, trying her hardest to impress.

Electra's eyes fluttered, then closed with a groan as he kissed her hungrily back, his far larger tongue twisting and tugging hers into his maws, encouraging it to dare deeper, harder back into him. Playfully, he responded to her "aggression" now, and as their muzzles locked, he teasingly nipping over her lips, almost delving over her face, his much larger muzzle "eating" hers as his deadly fangs left distinct marks and drew thin streaks of blood. Electra barely twitched, breathing out in pleasure more than pain even as a shudder ran down her spine... and then, when she was breathless, she pulled back, mouth agape, head swimming, eyes burning with desire that was almost intoxication and addiction.

"That was pretty savage, girl..." Killer teasingly praised, before grinning as he added in a low rumble: "You know what they say about redheads down south...?"

"No..." The tigress replied, nuzzling into his powerful shoulder and drooling over his bulging muscle while she caught her breath. The huge male smiled a bit, looking entertained, and then he said: "They say that the kindest redhead threw her mother into a well... rather than share a cock."

"You are making that up." Electra amusedly countered, but Killer shook his head slightly, chuckling as he clarified: "Only the second part. Are you a bad girl, Electra...?"

"I will be as bad as you want me to be." The tigress eagerly replied, smirking at the hulking male as she teasingly shoved her pregnant belly against his back, and then against his hand when he brought it down from her skull. He rumbled in entertainment as she ground her bulging belly against his unmoving palm hard enough to hurt herself and the unborn princes within her, and he felt those poor, frail lives quiver and trash as his strong fingers squeezed in. "They know what's coming... they know their mommy is bad, don't they...?"

"It's their father that is trash..." Electra breathed out, tremblingly caressing his huge hand and adding her own nasty pressure over those terrified creatures as they cruelly played with them. It hurt her, and it made her gasp a bit. And she felt the sting of guilt too, but it was weak, remote, unimportant. There was a cruel, righteous pleasure in thinking that Killer was going to cleanse her of the tyrant's spawn, of Griagas's sons and daughters. There was a merciless, intense excitement and feeling the tykes inside her squirming in fear as she and Killer jointly squeezed on her gravid belly; and there was a vicious ecstasy in knowing that Killer was going to give her more and better children. As big and strong as Griagas's offspring might all have grown up to be, she knew they could only ever be nothing, nothing, compared to just how impressive the spawn of this living, breathing god would be. "I'm doing everybody a favour by letting you destroy his garbage bloodline... and replace his spawn with your endlessly superior one."

"That's right. But first, you all have a job to complete..." Killer agreeably rumbled, before he seized the base of his immense godcock and hefted the prodigious shaft, guiding it to the purposefully enlarged hole in the bed. He slowly moved forwards, carefully beginning to lie down on the wobbly bed and making sure to feed his endless black shaft and his heavy, colossal balls down through the hole, letting both hang in their stupendous weight and immensity, the giant shaft easily reaching all the way down to the floor and dragging on it like a python.

The concubines watched on in delight as he relaxed in the bed, crossing his powerful arms and resting his chin over them, his broad, massive, powerful backside exposed, his legs slightly spread, his thick tail raised to give them access to his muscular ass. It was a wondrous display of masculinity and strength, especially as the huge male's body was covered by a light sheen of sweat that further underlined the perfectly chiselled glory of his musculature, and the concubines stared for several long moments before, as if guided by a hive mind, rushing forth to resume their service right from where it had been interrupted. Tongues dragged over the bulging muscles of his backside, licking up sweat and dust and dirt and blood and gore, cleaning him. Hands massaged his glorious build, relaxing the great cords of power. Breasts pushed into him as other concubines reverently dragged sponges and strigils over his body, washing and scraping away the drool and the cleaning oils.

The huge male didn't need to order them or ask anything: the eager tigresses fought for a spot around his bed, for a chance to half-crawl up between his legs to tend to his perfect, heavy ass. Muzzle after muzzle lovingly ventured under his heavy tail and up his musky crack, tongues dragging over coarse hair and finally over his black tailhole, muscular and thick, lapping it clean, leaving it shiny with their mixed drool. Concubines tongue-washed his firm asscheeks and polished them with oils, massaging the solid muscle while others went down to their knees and crawled beneath the bed to nuzzle his massive balls and tend to his exposed, hanging leviathan of a cock as it dangled heavily and pulsed with godless might, leaving them speechless and struggling for breath.

And at the same time, Killer smirked as he lazily opened one eye to look at Electra, teasing: "You kissed me with such enthusiasm that i thought you wanted to clean my teeth..."

"I will clean every part of your body that you allow me to worship." The pregnant redhead easily replied, looking at him with eyes that burned with lust. The hulking male grinned in entertainment, then opened his mouth and allowed the redhead to grip his shoulders as she took position in front of him and began to kiss his muzzle and face, her hot breath rolling over his features as she reverently licked sweat and dirt and blood off his forehead, and worked her way down to his lips.

He lazily met her mouth in a brief kiss just so he could taste the droplets of blood leaking out of the fang marks he had left in her swollen lips, then he rested, eyes glinting with interest and amusement as she pushed her muzzle between his open jaws and began to lick and suckle at his perfect, deadly fangs. Her cheeks burned not with shame but lust and gratitude for that special, curious honor as her tongue explored across his teeth, as her tongue licked down towards his gums, into his cheeks, against his own thick, much larger black tongue.

Her eyes stared into his, trembling with bliss, with lust, as her hands massaged, squeezed, kneaded, explored those immense shoulders and prodigious biceps, running down his arms, obsessively travelling over that pinnacle of hypermasculinity as if to make sure he was real and not just a dream. Her nostrils flared as she greedily, loudly breathed in that wonderful, rich, potent scent of supreme maleness, and she could only whimper, gasping with painful need as her whole body shuddered, her hips bucked and her nectar suddenly sprayed out of her, raining down all over her trembling thighs as her legs nearly gave out under her.

How blessed she felt, to be witnessing him up close, to be frying her brain and burning her lungs with that unrivalled musk of pure, hypervirile maleness, that ambrosia of shameless power and supremacy. His sweaty, triumphant scent was life-changing: those who managed to savor it in deep breaths became addicted for life. Those who only caught hints of it became tormented by the need to witness the whole thing, eternally depressed and heartbroken by what they had missed.

Electra almost foamed at the mouth, whimpering and moaning as she ground her thighs together, drool dripping from her mouth, hanging in thick strings and ropes between their jaws as she worked hard and he merely tilted his head idly this way and that, giving her access to all his teeth, to differ parts of his mouth, letting her clean them with her tongue.

Jen panted quietly and stared at that strange display of dedication and worship, her breath coming out in small clouds as she carefully climbed up onto the bed and attempted to straddle Killer's massive form as best she could to massage his back... and grind her dripping, needy sex down against his hot, powerful form. She wasn't sure what she thought about Electra's work... part of her was reluctant, part of her envious, and she stared with fascination, along with many other concubines, as the redhead tigress shuddered visibly, hot juices running down her legs in glinting streaks. When the hulking male was satisfied and closed his mouth, smirking at her, Electra breathed out as if she had awakened to the world for the very first time, her tongue lolling out as she clutched at his omnipotent arms for support as her hips buckled and she helplessly squirted her pleasure out, her blossomed, swollen sex quivering and her pregnant belly twitching visibly. It looked like she was about to orgasm her children out of her, right there before him... but he only needed to smirk and poke a huge, strong finger against her bulging stomach to almost freeze her, make her a puppet to his dark desires.

He didn't need to say a word. Electra eagerly nuzzled him, even as her body shuddered visibly, and she slowly kissed her way to his nose, finally sliding her tongue into his nostrils, whimpering quietly as she licked them clean, as she lovingly wrapped her lips over first one, then the other, suckling them and swirling her tongue inside. The fellow concubines watched on in a mix of envy and hesitation, awe and doubt. None of them experienced revulsion, even though they probably should have... none of them would have refused the chance to take her place, even as Killer grinned at her and tilted his head lazily to one side, allowing her to move up to his ear, tongue sliding inside, pushing deep, twisting slowly around, making him laugh softly at the way it tickled. Electra worked slowly and reverently, swallowing visibly, never hesitating, never gagging, her hips bucking quietly as she played with herself with one hand, rubbing and fingering and groping, even as she pulled back from his ear and moved to the other, suckling gently on it as she licked inside it.

Behind him, Jen crawled backwards to plant loving kisses down his immense backside, massaging muscles godlike for size and definition and lapping at them in love, letting her drool leak out over those mountains of raw, brutal strength. She moved all the way down to his tail, guided by an undeniable force, by a need to worship and please, and with a growl she muscled her way between other worshipful concubines to nuzzle into the coarse, thick hair of the underside of his tail, before grabbing the skull of another tigress just as she pulled back from his asshole to take a breath. Jen dug her strong fingers into her skull and guided her face up against hers, kissing her hungrily, licking at her lips to taste his sweat, his masculine superiority, his asshole, nipping at her face and shoving her tongue inside her jaws, digging deep for more of that bitter, powerful taste of male... And finally she tossed her fellow concubine away and shoved the others out of the way to push her muzzle deep into his musky crack. Killer rumbled in entertainment and let his head roll back, eyes closing as he let out a hot breath of content pleasure as she greedily kissed his thick-rimmed asshole, mouthing the black ring of muscle, licking every millimeter of it and greedily, loudly snorting in his potent, hypermasculine stench.

Trembling, worshipful hands continued to dig under his heavy foreskin, sliding teasingly beneath his terrifying flare and digging into the thick cocksludge that his heavy member constantly produced and that endlessly accumulated there, becoming dark smegma, a slime so overloaded with hypervirile power that it made every other male in the world a pathetic, laughable, redundant parody of masculinity. Hands and tongues worked greedily in that hot inferno reeking of male supremacy and dug out shocking handfuls of fuckwax that would impregnate the whole planet countless times over. Trembling hands slathered that thick sludge across breasts, bellies, up necks and backs, up to hungry mouths or down to quivering, crying cunts that begged for a smidge of that omnipotent Alpha waste. Grateful faces ground into hands saturated with the thick stuff, greedy tongues licked across palms caked with the hyperpotent gunk as concubines whimpered and moaned hungrily, needfully.

Killer let them explore and play, enjoying the feel of fingers and of whole hands digging greedily beneath his flare and between its great, curbed barbs. He rumbled in pleasure as eager faces and warm breasts and needy hands pushed against his colossal, heavy balls, smirking as countless tongues sloppily licked along those humongous testicles and myriads of hands tried to encircle his thick, sturdy sack, stroking and kneading and pulling on the thick, wrinkly flesh, almost milking him as the concubines giggled and admired how low those monstrous factories of life hung.

Countless sweaty, hot, shuddering bodies ground into him from all sides, mouths licking his muscles clean, mouths whispering words of awe and worship, hands massaging his omnipotent, hulling form. Young, beautiful, firm breasts dragged across his enormous gigacock as it hung, glorious and unrivalled, all the way to the floor. Hands tugged, stroked, jerked; arms hugged his terrifying girth as the young tigresses used their whole body weight to jerk him off, to get that titanic member to budge. Choking, gagging, swallowing, slobbering jaws worked against his black meat, muzzles, faces, entire bodies grinding against his shaft, against his cockhead, against the yawning maw of his cock, as greedy females twisted their hands and tongues inside that dark abyss, as they buried their muzzles inside, as they dug out handfuls of thick cocksludge festering with Life. Loving tongues sought out his abs and chest through the wooden staves of the bed, and mouths suckled his fingers one by one, polishing his claws. Loving concubines fed tender, tasty morsels into his jaws if he so much as opened his mouth, without him needing to ask, and then the same slaves eagerly licked any crumble and leftover off his teeth and fangs, because nothing could be allowed to diminish the perfection of his hypermasculine divinity.

Mouths kissed his asshole and polished it with drool, hands and tongues dug behind the frightening flare of his beastly cockhead, dived beneath the heavy flesh of his foreskin. Killer rumbled in pleasure as those sweaty, needy bodies arched and huddled beneath his balls, struggling to heft those colossal boulders. Concubines writhed under him, moaning and licking sweat and musk like ambrosia from his omnivirile orbs and from the gargantuan shaft as they hugged it and stroked and pumped and teased it, trembling and bucking as they felt the power pulsing through the immense member as it stirred and grew.

He was a God among mortals. Absolute and supreme, he made the concubines feel lucky to be able to serve him. They felt like they had found the purpose of their very existences: to worship him, to taste his cock, to be ruined and gaped out wide by him, to be ground into lube beneath that prodigious godcock.

Killer almost forgot about his hidden rival, relaxing and letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the ministrations of the eager harem, but then something loudly buzzed, and the huge male leisurely opened one eye, looking up as one of the concubines finally walked through the fog of steam and returned with a large laptop in her hands.

"Must have grown too much for the loser to bear." The tigress teasingly commented, and Killer smirked and gave her a slight nod of thanks as he reached up to take the laptop out of her fingers.

The screen showed a the inside of a rather anonymous office inside a deep bunker. The walls were covered by a very evident layer of Kevlar that was there to prevent spalling of the walls and keep potentially deadly slivers of concrete from bursting across the room if the outside of the bunker was hit by heavy weapons.

A bulky, scarred tiger was standing in front of the camera, half-hunched over keyboards and control panels, and Killer's eyes were curiously attracted not so much by the angry glare of his rival, but rather by a large golden bullet that hang at the end of a golden chain around the king's neck.

Griagas was a bulky, large warrior with a thick musculature and with a large number of scars across his thick hide. Killer could well understand why such a beast would think himself worthy of being a king rather than just an officer in someone else's army and he could tell why other soldiers hadn't been eager to stand in his way, even disregarding the RA troops he had been supported with.

Griagas was clearly a battle hardened veteran with an uncommon strength and a savagery about him that showed clearly in his emerald eyes. He struck an intimidating figure that would have most people cowed, but that was unfortunately just not enough to impress a colossus like Killer. Griagas was well above average, but the liger was a titan, a divinity walking among mortals, so the self-proclaimed king of Kendrew hardly warranted more than a cursory look. No matter what he did, he could not impress Killer... and the fact he was hiding in a bunker deep underground made it clear that he was painfully aware of it.

"Lord Griagas, I suppose." Killer ironically said, smirking slightly. "I trust you have enjoyed the show so far. Why don't you come up and join us...? I'm always happy to have a public. I'll let you take a _real_close look as I take care of these welcoming girls."

The king of Kendrew visibly shivered in fear and revulsion at the thought. Griagas's hands clutched helplessly at the metallic table in front of him, muscles flexing and bulging with power which would have normally been impressive, but which looked like a sad joke in front of the sheer mass of Killer's arms. The scarred warrior, who was visibly older than Killer by at least a couple of decades, did his best to repress his shudder and forced himself to say: "Lord Killer Huxley, the mighty Wyvern. I... I want to... to discuss the terms of my surrender."

Killer closed his eyes for a brief moment, and tilted his head to the side with a little snort of contempt, coldly remarking: "Convenient. First you hide away, hoping that your Army and the RA's troops would be able to stop me from getting to you, and now you try to bargain your way out."

Griagas's face twitched visibly, the older warrior trembling with helpless outrage, but he gritted his teeth together and said nothing. His cheeks contracted visibly as he clenched his jaws shut hard enough that it had to be painful. He had to swallow back down his weak, useless protests and meekly bow his head before the hulking colossus filling the screens before him, and he swallowed thickly before weakly objecting: "It... Lord Huxley, my Army has not... my troops have not fought against you."

"Some idiots kind of did." Killer easily replied, shrugging his enormous shoulders with a little smirk of amusement. "Young, arrogant brats who have been allowed to throw their weight around and treat civilians like slaves for long enough that they started to believe they were really powerful. Didn't take long to get them to see the error of their ways."

"I... I n-never ordered them to interfere, Lord Huxley. I w-would never...!" Griagas insisted, but several of the concubines clicked their lips in distaste and grumbled that he was a liar, until Electra fearlessly countered: "You are lying. You ordered the troops on high alert. Sent out tanks on patrol. Closed down all the checkpoints. As soon as the messenger from Freedall arrived, you tried to have all troops mobilized!"

Killer arched one eyebrow and smirked indulgently, pointing a hand to the redhead and calmly saying: "All evidence is against you, Griagas. You definitely wanted the troops to stop me from getting here. The fact that the troops refused and that they already hail me as their King is purely down to their common sense."

Griagas grumbled something under his breath, glaring at Electra and the other concubines with a mix of hate and disbelief, as if he was genuinely surprised by their "betrayal". He mouthed silent, useless words for a moment, shifting nervously on the spot, then insisted in an unsteady voice: "The RA, Lord Huxley! You saw their numbers and their strength! I could do nothing: I could not let you pass and surrender. They were never going to let go of their factories, of their positions, of their investment into Kendrew without fighting...! Please, you... you have to understand...! Mine was an impossible position!"

"A position that you cornered yourself into! Of course the RA isn't just going to let go of Kendrew without fighting for every meter. Didn't you know when you first let them in? Were you really so stupid and blind not to realize that you'd never be able to control them...?" Killer coldly countered, muscles bulging with destructive, terrifying power as his body tensed with rage, his eyes burning with fury for a moment, before he closed them and snorted in contempt. "I don't think I can show mercy to someone who behaves as cowardly as you. Outside, soldiers are fighting and dying and suffering. A lot of people will die tonight, and in the coming days, or weeks. And it is because of you. And still, instead of meeting me like a King and a Man would, you spy on me with your little cameras while hiding in a hole like a rat."

"It is n-not cowardice to a-avoid a l-l-lost battle." Griagas mumbled, still trying to rationalize its actions. "The Art of War itself teaches that avoiding an enemy that can't be beaten is the only wise course of action."

"Trying to flatter me, now...?" Killer mercilessly taunted, before he slowly, majestically straightened and began to sit up. As Killer's immense, towering, hulking figure rose off the bed, Griagas seemed to shrink smaller, his head sinking between his shoulders as he trembled and stared at the images on the screens, stunned by the sheer omnipotence of the colossus. Killer sat with his legs spread wide, straddling the wobbly, groaning wooden bed as he reached down and grabbed the base of his monstrous godcock, grinning as he hefted it up through the hole in the bed. Griagas could only stare, his eyes twitching, his back hunched as if the cataclysmic weight of that incomparable black cock was being piled up directly on his shoulders. He visibly trembled and almost gasped when that impossible monument of hypervirility was finally allowed to flop down on the bed, bending and cracking the wooden staves under its brutal weight.

Griagas felt like that supreme godcock had been dropped down across his chest. His heart nearly stopped, his breath gurgled out of his mouth with a cry of shock, envy and disbelief that left him breathless and his legs trembling and weak. Somehow, it was a mortification even greater, even more crushing than realizing that Killer was more than twice his height and his immense musculature made him look like a scrawny, helpless child. He stared in horror at the sight of his wives and concubines worshipping that endless shaft, and his mind protested that it was impossible, that no such power could exist. But there was no chance it was a trick, no possibility of the multiple cameras telling lies, no way his eyes were playing tricks on him: every foot of tyrannical superpotency was real and full of vigor, and he could only tremble and whimper as he stared in a mix of awe and terror at the... the sheer masculinity of the alpha, the living god, seated at one end of the bed.

The liger leaned back with a rumble of entertainment, naked, his glorious body entirely tongue-washed and his glory honoured by sacred oil that dozens of eager hands began to massage over his stupendous build. And that cock was arrogantly sprawled from one end of the bed to the other, hanging past the edge and dragging over breasts and faces of worshipful concubines that pushed shoulder to shoulder to support that all-dominating sceptre. Heavy and monstrous, supreme and triumphant, it was larger and more omnipotent than Griagas could have ever imagined. Still mostly flaccid, it made a mockery of the idea that there had ever been another Male in existence. Nothing compared, nothing came close, no other being could pretend to be a male when that pinnacle of masculine perfection existed. The thick blanket of foreskin had barely slurped back from the tip of the fat, monstrous head, and the flare wasn't yet fully engorged but already made Griagas's eyes fill up with tears of fear, panic, horror, envy.

Thick, tar-like cocksludge and steaming precum leaked out of that godcock in ropes thicker that ship lines, and those dense strings of maleness draped around eager, sweaty bodies as the concubines dig their fingers in, mouthed them, suckled, licked, shared the powerful essence in long, sloppy kisses, smeared the end of those thick ropes over their bodies, amazed that they swelled even larger and longer without breaking. Griagas trembled visibly, fingers clutching weakly at the table as he stared with teary eyes at the way his wives smeared the liger's thick precum all over their bodies and features, their faces turning into black masks of thick precum, tears and ruined makeup, while their bodies were slathered in cockslime that visibly pulsed and festered with hordes of enormous, terrifying hypersperms.

"Am I bit too much for you...?" The huge liger taunted, smirking down at the screen as he saw the tears in the king's shocked, bulging eyes. His enormous muscles bulged with barely contained power with every little movement, and his hulking chest swelled and jumped a bit as he leisurely reached down with one huge hand to seize his member just behind its tremendous, divine cockhead, hefting it up and peeling the thick blanket of foreskin back with an audible slurp, revealing thick chunks of dark, hypervirile smegma that the concubines still hadn't been able to dig up. With how much potent male essence he pumped out, even just as precum, he needed to have his monstrous godcock sucked clean very often or those accumulations of sheer, filthy, brutal maleness were unavoidable. Thankfully, he didn't even need to say a word to have a group of concubines nuzzling under the swelling, growing, engorging flare to lick up those dense chunks of hypermasculine slime. "I'll admit it must be pretty shocking to witness something this big..." Killer added, guiding his cockhead down against Electra's features, eclipsing her whole face and then hissing in pleasure as he pushed that thick foreskin back forwards, literally catching much of her muzzle inside it, wrapping her features into it as if it was the easiest and most natural of things. "But it will get much bigger in a moment, so you better prepare."

"Of course it's too fuckin' much...!" Griagas spat, trembling in helpless fear and fury and throwing his head backwards with a sniff that he vainly tried to hide. His chest heaved with the roughness of his broken breathing, but he attempted to calm down as he dejectedly said: "Do you want me to say it out loud...? Do you want to humiliate me...? Do you want me to beg...?"

Griagas closed his eyes and gulped thickly, trying to control his emotions as he trembled visibly and finally admitted in a queasy, trembling voice: "You are invincible. You are like a god, and I can nothing against your strength. I am but a... but a... bug." The older tiger trembled, closing his eyes with a dejected whimper, and then added in a whisper that sounded, in some sick way, almost eager: "I'm a gnat for your boot to obliterate..."

"At least you are not delusional anymore about your place in the world." Killer tauntingly remarked, the hulking beast of a liger rumbling in cruel amusement as he seized Electra by the long red hair, yanking her face up into his enormous cockhead and smearing his Alpha filth over her bloodied, eager lips, then over her eyes, glueing them shut with a generous load of his thick, potent precum. His other huge, strong hand squeezed on the monstrous obelisk of powerful black meat jutting from his groin and slowly stroked it as it loomed over Electra's pregnant belly, murderously massive, apocalyptically heavy, so terrible to make the tiger on the other side of the screen breath out a little lament of fear and shock. Killer let his head tilt to the side with a little hiss of pleasure, his body flexing and muscles bulging with godlike, apocalyptic power as he lazily squeezed into Electra's skull to guide her head's movements, to grind her features against his gigantic cockhead as he added in a hiss: "You are an annoying little fly that I could cock-slap into a stain... and the fact you are hiding behind an army to try and escape reality is only making me angrier." Killer grinned mockingly, his body thrumming with power as he lazily rolled his enormous shoulders and cracked his neck, flexing hulking, omnipotent muscles that filled the screen and made the older tiger shrink visibly, feeling dwarfed and ridiculed by that towering Alpha, even through the screen. "Do you really think there is a wall I can't punch through...? A door I can't rip apart...? You might as well hide behind a biscuit, for all the good your bunker is going to do to you." Killer mocked, and Griagas was horribly, painfully aware of the truth of those words: it was no empty boast, no misplaced arrogance. Griagas had fought in the wars of Dark and had seen young Prince Killer, barely 20 years old at the time, rip battle tanks to shreds like they were nothing but children' drawings on a piece of paper. Now his strength appeared to have grown... tenfold...? Exponentially. There was no refuge that such strength would not crush. No roof that the hulking Alpha couldn't tear right off like the lid of a toy box.

"N-no, your majesty. B-but the underground of Kendrew is a labyrinth of tunnels and depots and safe rooms. Y-you will have to find me first." Griagas babbled, forcing a queasy little smile on his lips, which was supposed to be a challenge but came across as the apologetic, fearful expression of a scaredy kid. "And if you don't find me quickly enough... RA troops are going to arrive, and they will be too much for even you to stop."

"Tonight's score doesn't bode well for them: I scored a thousand points to nill against their troops." Killer fearlessly remarked, grinning in dark entertainment as he added: "The RA has clearly been working hard to build a whole lot of weapons and toys... but for all their effort, they are still frail shit. Let them come to me... saves me the time it would take if I had to hunt them down."

Griagas swallowed thickly at that, shaking his head in weak denial, his mouth opening and closing but failing to produce anything better than weak little whimpers. He desperately tried to think of a way to buy his life, to buy himself time and a chance of survival, but in front of Killer's power, all options appeared like pathetic, empty illusions. And his mind revolted and trembled and cried in envy as his eyes continued to stare at the screen, at the glorious images of that hypermasculine god being worshipped and served by those who, in theory, were his Forbidden Ones, his wives and concubines, his most precious and most faithful females.

Griagas brokenly breathed out, trembling as he looked in shock and terror at the way Electra pushed her face against that hulking, behemoth cockhead, the vast member eclipsing her features from view in a way that made him shiver in a mix of disbelief, horror and guilty, disgusting arousal. The redhead was mere days, maybe mere hours away from giving birth to his children, and yet she was slurping obscenely all over that brutal, colossal godcock which visibly caved her bulging belly inwards with its cataclysmic weight. The lives of his children were on the line, frail and vulnerable as that utterly colossal, monstrous black shaft threatened to crush them all out of existence.

"S-stop it, Electra...! G-get away from him! A-all of you, I... I am your king still...!" Griagas pathetically protested, but he immediately regretted it as Killer threw his head back with a booming, deep laugh. Electra didn't even tear her mouth back from where she was scandalously kissing and making out with the hulking male's vast cockmaw, blowing a raspberry into the thick mixture of precum and drool and blowing bubbles in it as she pointedly pulled up one hand to give the finger to the spying cameras. The other concubines cruelly, mercilessly laughed as well, and those who could eagerly ground into Killer's sides, giggling in delight as the hulking Alpha caught several of them in either arm, cradling them in the crook of each strong limb as they cheerfully curled against him.

"You are nothing." Jen viciously sentenced, emerging from under the bed where she had still been slurping up the sweat from the liger's colossal testicles. "You can never compare to this God. You only exist so we can see just how inferior the average male is compared to this walking God."

Electra arched her back with a moan of delight and approval at that, shoving her belly harder against the murderous, immense cock as her cheeks burned red as if she was drunk. Drunk on that thick, rich stench of hypervirile power. She slowly smacked her lips as she pulled back from the maw of Killer's cock to take a deep lungful of fresh air, marveling at how that thick, hot, hyperpotent precum nearly glued her jaws together, making it hard for her to open her mouth as great, thick strands and ropes clung to her chin, her teeth, her lips as she breathed out in fearful, helpless bliss. Griagas could see her neck bulge and flex as she struggled to gulp down thick, massive mouthfuls of that constant, sloppy deluge of Alpha essence, and he saw her shiver at the delicious, masculine, powerful taste of the ligerbeast's might.

"It's so much ... and so good... so... fucking... powerful...!" Electra almost growled the last word, half-hugging and half-pushing the monstrous black shaft that dwarfed her and pinned her down, and her eyes glinted with a malicious, almost cruel light as she added: "Look how fucking huge he is... how strong... how superior! He is so much bigger than you ... so much stronger... so much more than all you weak, pathetic little sissies. It's like... like he is a God...!" Electra breathed, helplessly staring up into Killer's eyes, barely able to look past the monstrous cockhead looming in front of her face. She extended her hand next to the bulging, hulking cockhead, putting her span in comparison with that monstrous masculine opulence, and she breathed: "Fuckin' look at this...! Look at this! Why should I let your trash come out of me, and pollute the world with more weakness...? I want this garbage gone!"

"I'll replace the trash with a big load of studs that will grow into great warriors... and girls who will love their daddy, just like mommy." Killer teasingly remarked, stroking his leviathan godcock as it hung downwards, dragged down by its own terrifying weight, and Griagas trembled in a mix of horror, awe and rapture, sweat rolling down his flushed face as he found himself hypnotized by that monstrous monument of hypervirility, that commanding scepter of superior power that loomed over his concubines and made them look even more like little baby girls... or fragile porcelain dolls.

Electra visibly shivered in awe and bliss beneath that ungodly obelisk of masculinity, a great godcock hanging heavily from his groin, monstrous and bloodied and brutal, a ruinous mass of potent flesh which throbbed with power as he stroked himself slowly, admiring his own prodigious power. He let the monstrous, shaft smack into her belly, producing a sickening crack that told them all that something inside of her had already broken. It nearly knocked her over, but Jen was quick to leap in with a grin and steady her, other concubines smirking with savage delight as they grabbed Electra by the arms and legs.

"No! N-no, please...! Please, no! I'll pay you! I'll... I'll give you anything you ask!" Griagas desperately screamed, begging, but Killer only growled in cruel amusement as Electra almost drunkenly pushed her face against his immense cockhead, kissing, mouthing, slurping, sucking, choking and spluttering, before her head was punched backwards as an opulent blast of thick black precum and Alpha filth shotgunned right into her open mouth, hard enough to knock her backwards like a to, nearly bowling over Jen and the other concubines half-hugging, half-restraining her.

"There is nothing you can give me that I can't just take away from you." The hulking male easily replied, matter-of-factly, rolling his shoulders slowly, causing his great muscles to bulge and flex and shift, reveling in his own phenomenal power as he rumbled: "Your wife? Mine. Your daughters? My next cockrags. Your estate? Your money? It's all mine already. Your Army already calls me king. Your concubines already kiss my ass. I'm going to fuck your unborn children into pulp, and lube my cock with it before i ram it up your ass until you vomit your pulped insides." The ligerbeast rumbled in his chest, flexing his huge musculature before adding: "At this point, you are just a toy I feel like playing with."

"S-stop, p-please... don't..." Griagas pathetically begged, shaking his head in powerless denial as he stared at the bruised, wrecked face of Electra, at her swollen, almost closed eyes shot with blood and filled with tears and thick, bitter precum and yet full of lust, desire and savage, triumphant ferocity as she gazed up at the cameras as if to look defiantly right into the fallen king's eyes. "Y-you have been... blessed by the Gods. Your power is out of this world. You... you are master and owner of all you survey. You... you don't know what it is like, to be a... a... an average mortal, only ever living at the edge of life, far away from its pleasures. Please, you have to understand... the temptation...! A long life spent dreaming to have... to have a fraction of what you have...!" Griagas cried out, half-begging and half-cursing the sky for the unfairness of that impossible comparison. "I couldn't say no... I couldn't resist... I couldn't spit on such a chance...! You have to show me mercy! Give me a way out of... out of this..."

Killer looked down at the broken king with an indulgent little smile, and for the first time there was some mild sympathy in his voice as he calmly retorted: "I have plenty of sympathy for people who dream to be stronger, and greater. And I have no greater admiration than that for those who manage to better themselves. I would have no problem at all in according the most generous terms of surrender to honorable kings. After all, being weaker than me cannot be a crime in itself..." Killer paused, and couldn't help but grin as he slowly cracked his neck, just to feel the power pulsing inside his entire body as his muscles tensed and flexed and bulged, ever so slightly and lazily, and yet with such terrifying strength. "... if I thought that being weaker than me was a crime, the entire world would be fair game for me to ruin." Killer added that consideration more to admonish himself than for Griagas. After all, for the last several years he had behaved like the weakness of other beings was enough of a justification to walk all over their lives and do what he pleased with them, their riches, their religions, countries, dreams. He had spent seven years pissing on everyone else's rights and bullying the world, if he was honest about it. There was no excuse, no alternative explanation.

There was no one in the world who could hope of restraining him, so it was easy to believe to all the awed compliments he received, and to his own fantasies. It was easy to think he was a God among mortals. His supremacy was clear and unquestionable, after all. The whores and filth he put to use were lucky to be able to serve him; to taste his cock, to be ruined and torn wide by him, to be ground into lube beneath his might. They were honors they didn't even deserve. Surely the only life worth living for these insignificant masses was a life dedicated to his potency, his power, his pleasure.

They were nothing beneath him. Dirt under his boots. The South always pretended to be modern, civilized, democratic and superior, yet it had crumbled before his awesome power, and had bent over backwards to serve and worship him. Their laws had shattered, their religions had been turned upside down, their self esteem had been obliterated, their demographics fucked out of shape, their countries brutalized like gutter trash whores. They had fallen to their knees at the sight of him, turned into primal, moaning, whimpering prey when his musk had fried their brains. They had begged to taste his cock, to touch him, to lick the dirt he walked on. They had showered him in gold and gifts, covered themselves in tattoos and hyper-expensive merchandise, offered their wives and sisters and daughters. Even their males, even their "leaders", even their sport idols and their mighty "jocks" and the very strongest males their weak, pathetic races had been able to generate had ended up turning into eager faggots; sissies that offered up their asses and their mouths, fought with the whores and sluts and fucktoys over the privilege of licking even his ass, of getting to experience a true alpha, a true God's power.

But even the North couldn't resist. Didn't want to. He embodied everything that his culture adored and glorified. He was power, courage, virility. He won battles with a flick of his finger, he impregnated nations of sows with a drop of precum. He could become their God just by telling them to kneel and worship. Here he was, surrounded by females pregnant on his potent musk alone, with orgasm juices streaking down their legs, hips bucking, wombs churning. He was hard as a rock, towering, monumental; and all the concubines trembled before him, looked at him with awe, begged to kiss his ass some more...

It was his call if he wanted to play nice and follow the rules, or not. He could rewrite the rules, if he pleased.

But he could not make his conscience shut up. Much as he enjoyed his hedonistic excess, he knew he had to put hard limits in front of himself. The North was his home. He had to protect at least that part of the world. Keep some order, some balance, after causing so much destruction down south.

"Pretty much any other king, I'd have sympathy for. But you...? You have sated your petty little hungers by inviting a foreign army into Kendrew, with no regard for the consequences. You have not just betrayed your country, your people, and my father, by proclaiming yourself a new king in this region. That part I might perhaps be able to forgive.

You've given up this key defensive position, the door to the whole North, to a foreign army that you couldn't possibly control. An organization you probably know next to nothing about!" Killer glared through the screen into his enemy's fearful eyes, and he venomously asked: "Do you know what the RA's ultimate aims are? Do you know where it even comes from...? Don't even try to lie. You are too broken for your lies not to show clearly for what they are."

Griagas trembled in helpless fury and humiliation at being address as a broken, doomed little toy... but in truth, he was painfully aware that he was exactly that: a frail puppet who no longer had any real control over his fate.

He did his best to steady his trembling limbs, and to steady his cracked voice, and finally admitted: "I never met any of the RA's leaders in person. I... I've only ever talked to them through a satellite link. The rare voice calls use distortion to make the voices unrecognizable. Their forces came from the East, but... by now, they have set up their factories in every kingdom from here to the ocean's coast. Nobody knows where it all started."

"See...? I can't forgive someone who stupidly opens the door of the North to a secret organization that is clearly massing together an armada that puts Dark's old armies to shame. You could have doomed the Northlands whole." Killer coldly countered, making a grimace of distaste. He could only bitterly wonder about how many other kingdoms had already been "infected".

Griagas sniffed, humiliated and furious at the same time, and he clenched his hands into fists, trying to focus on the rage, trying to find some relief in it and the thought that, even if Killer won the night, the RA would pounce on him soon enough, with all of its might. The older tiger attempted to force what was supposed to be a cruel grin on his face and tried to look up into Killer's eyes as he venomously muttered: "At this point, I don't care. You leave me no hope anyway. I wish the RA well: I hope their rising tide will drown you and snuff out your arrogance."

"They can try." Killer disdainfully snorted, before adding with a cruel smirk: "In any case, you won't be there to see me crush the RA into dust."

Just like that, whatever little relief Griagas had hoped to experience was ground out of existence as if a giant meteor had crashed down atop him. As if the liger's gargantuan cock had slapped him down with its terrifying mass.

Killer rumbled in callous delight as he slowly dragged his hulking cock upwards, grinning as other concubines did their best to hug the slimy shaft and help him heft it, squeezing into the behemoth cock and helping him guide it up to Electra's jaws, which were pretty much glued, cemented into a wide opening by all the gunk that was solidifying on them, making her look braindead and lost as her tongue lolled out and she drooled messily on herself, rasping for weak, erratic but terribly eager breaths. He pulled back with a growl, just enough to be able to slap the immense head of his cock against her face, and then he brutally forced the tremendous girth into her jaws before unleashing a thick dark precum as his member flexed and began to truly harden now, to truly, majestically grow towards its full glory, at the same time flooding her mouth. Killer threw his head back with a grin as she choked and moaned, writhing in a mix of delight and agony as the precum filled her up, bloated her stomach, punched down her guts all the way to her ass, squirting out of her other end in a great geyser even as so much of the potent stuff spurted and exploded out of her nostrils and mouth, splattering over her features and breasts and over Jen and the other concubines, so hot and strong that it felt like it would burn the meat off their bones as it cascaded out in thick streams and clogged up even over her eyes as the whole world seemingly became soaked forever in his incredible stench of pure, unmatched masculine power.

Killer grinned as he idly ground his immense cock upon Electra's face, enjoying the way she meekly arched her back to grind herself up against it like a kitten eager for pets. She slurped audibly, slobbering scandalously over the thick black meat as she messily attempted to eat up his thick, virile sweat and cockslime and replace it with her hot drool while the tremendous girth completely smothered her features and the long, infinite shaft pushed over her head, past it and drooped down her back, as he moved his hips ever so slightly to drag his heavy shaft back and forth, smearing musky, almighty cock-slime all over her features, his musk making the air as thick as steak, his virile scent strong enough to cause tears to come up to her eyes as she struggled to breathe, choking on sheer, brutal masculinity.

And still, that colossus grew, throbbing with obscene, unfair, excessive, unbelievable power that made all the concubines shudder, their legs trembling as their hearts seemed to burst in time with every majestic throb of the gargantuan cock. That godcock seemed to mock everything holy as easily two or even four feet of stunning length spilled forth with each majestic flex, the incredible monument of hypermasculinity so terribly strong that it somehow ponderously hefted up its apocalyptic weight, even as the brutal flare swelled larger, larger, larger, and larger still. Griagas could only whimper in shock and awe, almost recoiling away from the screen as a cannonade of dark precum blasted out of that member and fired across the steam baths, past the long pool and across the harem's garden as Killer rumbled in entertainment.

The monstrous godcock, harder than steel, was so powerful that it managed to accomplish the impossible and curve slightly skywards despite its utterly terrifying mass and weight, and Killer hissed in a mix of pleasure and cruel amusement, leisurely stroking his immensity and basking in his own supremacy, in the awareness that his hypervirility set standards that no one else could ever possibly even dream to match.

Griagas's eyes closed and he half-choked, half-sobbed, crushed by the awareness of his insignificance before that utter monster of breeding absoluteness. The veteran warrior felt like less than a petulant child as he stared at that absolute power. He trembled at the sight of the liger, stared at muscles that made his own look puny, cords of veins bulging through a hide that was unperturbed by the RA's attempts to stop him. Griagas was painfully aware that Killer had smashed his way through a literal army to get into the castle. He knew artillery had desperately showered him in shrapnel to try and stop him.

All they had accomplished was dirtying his hide up. Now that he was freshly tongue-washed, he didn't have a scratch on those muscles that defined the very concept of godlike. Everything about him was power and masculinity, and the older tiger gaped in despair in front of that cock, of those impossible balls that were swelling even larger, hanging even further down with their obscene weight as they visibly made the air ripple and steam up with their heat, as they made the concubines around him sweat and leak. He felt like less than a baby, less than a joke of nature as he enviously looked at the forests of thick, rough hair rustling across the liger's chest and from his pits, and he could swear he could literally smell the almost toxic reek of masculine musk even through the cameras and screens.

His knees knocked together as fear-piss flooded his pants, and his tail tucked away like it had never done before, his eyes wide and ears flat as he shook violently, feeling his penis at once almost painfully hard and aroused and at the same time spent, weak, useless. He was hard, but at the same time he was the smallest he had ever been in his life, and his balls felt as small as tiny raisins and as light as thin air as his very body surrendered to that incomparable masculinity and attempted to change into female to please the titan.

Griagas instinctively almost ducked, trying to make sure his waist was well beneath the edge of the table, so the camera wouldn't reveal his shame, but he was starting to think that the liger was a literal God and could see everything and even read the despairing thoughts in his mind, because Killer grinned knowingly, looking down at him with patronizing indulgence.

And then he heard the muffled pants and groans behind him, and he half-turned around with a grimace of horror even before spotting his wife, his queen, leaning her back against the armoured door, her cheeks flushed crimson, her hips bucking, her eyes bulging, her hands vainly trying to satisfy the burning, suicidal desire that was making her loins burn. She was staring at the screens, drunk on the hypermasculine omnipotence that filled all of them, gaping and drooling at the sight of the hulking liger and his impossible godcock. She was drooling like a feral animal, strings of saliva going down to her large breasts as she almost viciously rammed her fingers deep inside her crying hole, vainly attempting to sate a need that called for something far bigger and far stronger... and Griagas trembled, once again emptied of all spirit, robbed of what little hope and fight had sparkled like a last courageous ember deep within. It was like that little ember had just been washed away by the colossal all-male god's piss. A huge, acrid, incandescent jet of golden piss that dissolved everything Griagas was and owned and everything he had thought he could build.

Oh, fuck... such power in just a piss. Who knew what that glorious hypermasculine beat looked and smelled like when he took a piss...

Griagas whimpered, repressing a shiver. Why, oh why, was his mind filling with such thoughts and images...?

Killer's deep, big-balled voice rumbled out in a thunderous laugh, and Griagas shuddered, wondering once again if that colossal Alpha could somehow even read into minds, before his eyes bulged as his queen let out a long, panting, broken moan and her knees almost knocked together, her chest vibrating with the liger's laugh and her hips bucking hard. It was like Griagas was seeing her for the first time ever, and he found himself thinking stupidly that she was pregnant too, that her belly was huge, that her swollen abdomen was so heavy she struggled to stay upright... that his heirs were there, inside of her, and Killer's monstrous flare was going to ram into them like a battering ram, a bulldozer, like a freight train. Killer's laughter seemed to resound even louder in his ears, making his ribcage vibrate almost painfully as he imagined his poor unborn princes and princesses crushed in a sick, wet crunch, compressed together, flattened, ground into pulp, into liquid, into chunky lube by the liger's immense cock.

And, horribly, he knew for sure that the queen's mind was filled with the same visions, with the same noises, with the same destruction, but apparently with none of the horror he felt. Queen Nike let out an even louder moan, eyes slipping closed as she trembled hard and let her head fall backwards, tears rolling down her cheeks as her body tensed up and her hips bucked wildly as she pissed herself in a mix of panic and arousal, trashing violently and flushing at the warm feel of the urine running down her thighs and raining messily down on her feet and on the floor. Her belly visibly clenched, contracted, twitched as the life inside squirmed in panic, as if aware of her thoughts, aware of the brutal, hypermasculine tyrant power that had invaded and conquered the castle and the fate of everyone living within its walls. It looked like the unborn children were trying to escape, to find away out of a body that was suddenly hostile to them, a mind drunk on images of their annihilation, and Griagas let out a weak little lament before mewling out a puny protest: "I... I told you not to come in...!"

"Fuck you...!" The queen drunkenly growled, eyes opening wide as she hissed and wobbled forwards, trying to get closer to the screens from which Killer's grin at once mocked and lured her forwards, called her forth for service to his unrivalled Alpha supremacy.

"Tell me where you are hiding." Killer easily, idly commanded, not even bothering to lift his gaze off Electra's head as he easily held the tigress's fragile skull in his huge, powerful hands and thrust lazily forwards with his muscular hips, ramming that monstrous godcock into a muzzle that threatened to burst apart, crammed as it was with his dark all-male meat. Electra's jaws were jammed in an absurd, painfully wide gape, her teeth grinding powerlessly into the almighty godcock that stretched her maws so much that she could never, never possibly bite him.

"Bunker 23A1, Master." The queen replied in a breath, without any hesitation, and Griagas's eyes bulged with shock and horror, which only grew more debilitating as Nike shamelessly flicked her clit and the soaked, swollen labia of her sex, spraying juice over the table and the screens as she moaned through her teeth, biting her lower lip and watching hungrily to the various screens showing Killer's glory from different angles, unable to pick only one.

"Thanks, Nike." Killer easily said, even though his attention was fixed on Electra as he flexed and used brutal, overwhelming force to overcome the hopeless resistance of the tigress's body, causing her neck to bulge obscenely out of shape as he angled his cock downwards and pile-drove it into her throat, causing her eyes to bulge absurdly, swollen with tears of pain and ecstasy combined. Her cheeks bulged outwards grotesquely, her jaws creaked ominously, her breath whistled weakly out of her flaring nostrils, and her gaze was eternally locked onto the monstrous tower of black meat looming tremendously over her, endless and prodigious, impossible to ever fit, to ever worship as it truly deserved.

Killer didn't need to do anything more than absently say her name to have Nike shudder as if she had just had a seizure. She gasped and went stiff, legs trembling, chest heaving, and then a loud, long, drawn-out, breathless cry surged out of her throat as piss rushed out of her again, washing down onto the floor with her fear... but fading into something else at the same time as her loins bucked harder, faster, differently. Clearer, pearly, hot nectar now rushed out of her in great, uncontrollable squirts as she cried out loudly and frantically played with herself, making the hulking beast laugh as he heard her cries through the laptop and watched with a smirk as the screen was covered in large splatters and droplets from her sick, suicidal orgasm. "Squirt your brains out, whore!"

"Yes! Yes! For you! Only for you!" Nike loudly cried out, hooking her fingers into her quivering sex and pulling her labia open wide to show the flexing hole as it spurted out large fountains of her desire, while her other hand ground crudely, almost ferociously down over her bulging, pregnant belly.

"Again!" Killer commanded, and Nike howled out in blissful, terrified, disbelieving ecstasy as her body responded to his command, even though he wasn't even in the same room. Her legs nearly gave out from under her, and she had to grab the table to tremblingly steady herself, mouth gaping, drool leaking out in ropes as her sex clenched so hard it felt like at any moment it would push the unborn children out of her, rejecting them with scorn.

Griagas stared at the scene in horrified confusion, painfully aware that he could do nothing, short of murdering his own wife right there and then... and while part of him callously demanded it, another, prevalent part of him was now morbidly curious to watch on in awe as more of Killer's tremendous power was revealed.

"You are so done, Griagas..." Killer taunted, grinning viciously and gazing at his helpless "rival" with mocking entertainment. "I only need to ask your wife... my lurid whore... to know where to come "knocking". What are you going to do now...?"

The older tiger didn't reply, only whimpering weakly, shrinking on himself and vainly trying to think, to find a way out of that nightmare. But his mind was so shocked by the power of that beast that it almost turned against him, barking that there was no hope, that there could be no salvation, that the only option in life was to do what the Alpha commanded. His own mind screamed at him to submit, to grovel before that invincible force, as if part of him was already drunk on the thrill of humiliation and defeat. Intoxicated by the awareness that he was of no compare to that hulking hypermasculine tyrant.

Killer smirked indulgently down at him, steam blasting out of his nostrils as his muscles bulged with barely contained destructive power as he petted the heads of two of the many concubines that grabbed at his monstrous godcock, stroking his tremendous length, kneading the thick beast for him, kissing and slobbering and licking and worshipping the impossible length of obsidian shaft that couldn't ram inside Electra without punching out of her ass, skewering her like a morsel of tender meat.

"Your little cuckold mind is already wondering what it would be like if you were in Electra's place, isn't it...?" Killer mockingly snorted, grinning as his colossal balls smacked thunderously in the worshipful faces of the concubines beneath him at the end of each powerful thrust.

King and queen both stared in awe at the way Electra's eyes rolled up in her skull, how drool and ichors bubbled out of her mouth and leaked scandalously out around his brutal girth, struggling to gush out of jaws that couldn't possibly open a millimeter more without exploding into fragments. Her face was ludicrously deformed, her skull threatening to crack open to make room for his godless, brutal flare, and her jaws were blown open in a way that was disgusting and grotesque to look at and yet still so laughably, ludicrously small compared to the godlike monument of hypervirility that bulldozed its way forwards as the behemoth's muscles flexed with murderous power. Jen and the other concubines ground against the immense black shaft like delirious, crazed demons, drooling and slobbering and licking all along that monument, that embodiment of power and smearing saliva and the mixed nectars of their orgasms into the solid, steel-hard meat, dozens of hands working frantically, ceaselessly, dozens of mouths and tongues and muzzled leaning in, nuzzling, kissing, licking, lapping, as Jen and several other of the strongest concubines grabbed Electra by the arms, shoulders and long hair to held her in place as the male's lazy but incredibly powerful thrusts threatened to heft her whole body around.

Griagas wanted to deny, wanted to growl that he was a powerful alpha himself, that he was a king, a breeder, a proud male... but he couldn't. His very mind revolted at the blasphemy of pretending he was a male still. If Killer was Male, then he couldn't possibly be. He could only ever be a pathetic parody of maleness.

The older tiger flushed in humiliation and murmured senseless laments under his breath at the terrible awareness that the visible wet stain in his pants was not just because of fear-piss. He couldn't believe the tremendous, sick arousal that made his heart race and pound in his chest, and he almost squatted under the edge of the table, with just enough self-awareness left to try and hide that new defeat from the monster... but the hulking colossus smirked at him with a cruelty and a visible amusement that told him he knew. He knew he had won. He always won, didn't he...?

"Don't worry, little faggot. It's normal for puny cucks to cream their pants in front of me." Killer mockingly remarked, and Griagas begged the heavens for a way out of that nightmare. He wanted to disappear, to be swallowed by the ground and consigned to oblivion.

But he couldn't even tear his eyes away from the screen. He couldn't even pretend he had the residual dignity not to watch and gawk in awe.

Electra's face was a grotesque mask of slobber, drool, thick black precum, Alpha male sweat, cocksludge, ichors, vomit and blood as that immense godcock sawed in and out of her throat, dragging out explosions of mixed juices and fluids on every backstroke. Thick, shocking ropes of mixed gunk connected her deformed, bloated face and the almighty shaft, even as hungry mouths and tongues slurped them up whenever the huge male yanked his immensity backwards. Somehow, Electra loudly, scandalously slurped and sucked against that monstrous cock, choking, gagging, barely managing to suckle in a tiny bit of air that was thick and rich with the huge male's mighty musk. Her hair were plastered flat on her skull, soaked in the mixed fluids that streaked down her unrecognizable features as she hurked and helplessly vomited as the gargantuan flare visibly punched into her stomach, bulging her chest horrendously out of shape, making her ribs creak audibly and ramming into her pregnant belly from above, looking like he would fuck the unborn lives out of her from fucking her face.

The herculean Alpha male growled with a snarling grin, muscles bulging with impossible potency as he effortlessly dragged Electra's whole body around, masturbating with her face and grinning in savage pleasure as his dark precum exploded in a geyser out of her asshole as cannonades of the almighty gunk fired through her whole body, filling her up far more than her pregnancy ever had, bloating her body out of proportions, destroying not just her beauty but her very humanity as he pistoned his immense cock in and out of her stretched-out, creaking jaws. The veiny, colossal shaft unforgivingly rammed its way in, dwarfing her battered form and deforming her body, her eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets as they bulged in shock, her neck bulging painfully as the massive cock tore down through her throat and punched her stomach out of shape, the tremendous spiked flare visibly hammering down into her guts, punching into the helpless little lives within her. They could see the destruction, the annihilation of those lives with painful, shocking clarity, almost as if Electra's stretched-out flesh wasn't in the way at all. The crunching and squishing sounds coming from within her, and the way his enormous flare stood out in clear, terrifying definition through her bulging, deformed body made it all too obvious, all too undeniable. Griagas's shocked mind filled in the gaps as he stared with bulging eyes at the way Electra's belly twitched and shuddered and moved with the massacre going on inside her. The little creatures inside her kicked, trashed, quivered, and then simply trembled and twitched as the monstrous flare of the godcock rammed down into them, like an oversized, overpowered, brutal pestle. Their frail lives were destroyed with the first thrust, their residual movements nothing but the twitching of brutally broken bodies, their little forms crushed down against the bottom of her womb, their bones crumbling into dust with a ominous series of wet, sick crunches they all heard very clearly.

Killer threw his head back with a rumble of dark pleasure, gyrating his hips to grind his monstrous flare downwards, like he was truly grinding some ingredients into a kitchen mortar. A grotesque, sick squelch filled the air, and chunky, ugly, dark blood spurted out of Electra's clenching, flexing sex as her hips bucked wildly, legs kicking out at the air even as Jen and a few others held her by the thighs, supporting her for Killer's convenience. The hulking male squeezed into the redhead's skull with one huge hand and reached down to grab the base of her tail, effortlessly lifting her up and out of the other concubines' grip as he let out a low rumble of delight and angled her bulging, deformed body for maximum comfort, using her like a literal toy, like a onahole to ram his immensity into. Electra's orgasm nectar mixed with blood and ichors and pulped gore and piss and sick gunk as he rammed himself down her throat again and again, forcing himself so deep into her sore, abused form to crush her unborn cubs into nothing but a disgusting crimson gunk that spurted messily out of her quivering sex and splattered onto the floor and onto the other concubines like liquid mud.

And throughout it all, amazingly, Griagas could see Electra still attempting to suck, still working her tongue against the unholy girth that threatened to split her skull, her very body in two.

"I'll tell you what your options are, since your mind is too busy thinking about sucking my cock and licking it clean from what's left of your heirs." Killer tauntingly said, while leisurely thrusting with his hips and dragging Electra's whole body up and down his immense shaft at the same time. "I'm going to destroy you, no matter what you do. Your only choice left to be made is whether you want to wait for me to come and drag you out of your rat hole; or go with some dignity. You can come out of your bunker and walk into the arena on your own feet, instead of being dragged into it. In either case, I'm going to beat you to a pulp, lay your queen down on your back and fuck your trash out of her belly, and then fuck your guts out of your mouth. You deserve to die like the cheap whore you are, with how you sold yourself to the RA."

Griagas let out a pathetic little mewl-lament, trembling helplessly on the spot and unable to truly focus on anything other than the shocking, brutal fucking on the screens. His mind struggled to process the "options" he had been given. Somewhere, deep inside him, something burned almost with gratitude at the mention that Killer was going to fuck him to death. To destruction. He was utterly defeated, mind broken by the musk, by the power, by the omnipotence of the god-beast liger.

The part of him that screamed in anguish at that thought, at that complete surrender, was almost inaudible. Inconsequential. Gone with his pride and his ridiculed maleness.

"I will... come to you." Griagas brokenly whispered, bowing his head, and it wasn't even to save whatever hint of dignity he might still pretend to have, but pretty literally to make the hunlking Alpha happy. To make things easier for him. Because he understood now: all things existed to serve the Alpha.

But he didn't move, frozen in place in front of the hulking liger facefucking Electra into a ruined mess, and oblivious to the smell and the heat of Nike's own torturous, sick desire as his pregnant queen fingered herself almost viciously, vainly trying to imagine what Killer's huge cock could do to her body, already enslaved by the liger's power.

The grotesque, sickening cacophony of choking, squelching, gargling, slobbering sounds coming from Electra's abused body were impossible to describe as Killer rumbled in pleasure and rammed deeper forwards into her, yanking her forwards by the back of the skull and her tail, her little feet uselessly kicking at the air as she foamed at the mouth and nostrils, blowing bubbles in vomit and slobber and precum as her whole body rocked helplessly with the liger's thrusts, her whole form pulsing in time with the colossal black cock flexing in her jaws. She vomited helplessly around that hulking girth, trashing as puke, precum, blood, drool and chunky filth forcefully surged up around his murderous cock and burst out of her face, squirting violently out due to the pressure caused by that great tower of meat clogging every last millimeter of space in her, sending the same vile mixture exploding out of her nostrils as well.

The titan let his head fall backwards with a growl of pleasure, grinning predatorily, eyes half-lidding as he savoured the shocking, mind-destroying noises coming from the barely-alive fleshlight stretched taunt around his brutal girth, her tormented gurgling music to his ears as he effortlessly yanked her whole body around, dragging it along a fraction of his utterly gargantuan godcock , smearing the black meat with Electra's blood as his thrusts reshaped her insides and brutally crushed her organs out of the way. Her legs lolled uselessly in the air, weak and lifeless, hanging loosely beneath her stretched-out, unrecognizable body, but he let out a deep rumble of appreciation as her trembling arms still attempted to hug the vast tower of black cock that couldn't possibly fit within her. Her hands shuddered and twitched wildly but still stroked and kneaded and reached out hungrily for him even as he squeezed into her skull and rammed himself into her mouth, picking up speed, grunting as he forced himself even deeper inside her, gyrating his hips and savouring the incredible feelings of grinding the unborn lives within her out of existence by fucking her throat.

The pulped, ugly remains of the sons and daughters of Griagas squelched out of her convulsing, clenching sex, spurting out in squirts of crimson and black, sending pieces of unrecognizable gunk splattering loudly onto the floor, washed down in piss and orgasm juices. Blood and mixed juices ran down her legs in streaks and torrents, dripping from toes that curled and twitched uncontrollably, as her poor vagina nearly ripped itself apart with the force it clenched with, as orgasm after orgasm tore through her form. Killer grinned and snorted steam out of his nostrils as he began to piston faster and harder and deeper, the monstrous member flexing in her throat as he began to smash home rapid, cruel, short thrusts that bounced her limp body like a toy, even as Jen and the others attempted to hold her in place for him to fuck. Her eyes rolled up into her skull, leaving behind only white sclera as tears vainly attempted to push out, unable to roll down tears saturated with sticky slobber, vomit and, above all else, a thick mask of black, omnipotent precum. Electra helplessly shuddered beneath each devastating ram of his monstrous cock, and yet her hands reached forth, gripped into him, squeezing into the mighty expanse of black shaft that was still outside of her, that could never fit inside her... unless he killed her, of course, impaling her. He could easily do that, the decision was his and only his, and it only added to her tormented, insane delight. She couldn't control it, she couldn't deny it, and she craved more of his abuse, more of his power to be unleashed on her. Electra's tears were not because of the horrifying abuse, not because of the life within her belly being crushed into liquid that leaked in a thin cascade from her crying sex, but rather because she feared that it would all soon be over. Her lungs burned, full of omnipotent precum rather than air. Her mind reeled. Her senses were fading away. His cock was crushing her very heart against her ribs, and its beats were faint and weak and puny compared to the powerful pulsing of his immense shaft. She could feel his monstrous flare punching down against her pelvis, having smashed its way through her entire form, and she could swear she could feel her guts wrapped messily around his girth, caught by his barbs, dragged around by his flare. She wasn't even sure how she hadn't burst apart like a balloon yet, but it was clear her body wouldn't resist much longer. She wondered weakly if she was going to drown in his precum first, or if he was going to lose his patience, ram forwards a real thrust and impale her, with his flare ripping its way out of her ass.

Electra let out a moan-gurgle at the thought, easily able to imagine the scene in her mind, and her poor, swollen vagina flexed and clenched almost painfully, spraying out hot juice that mixed with the last streak of blackish-red gore pattering out of her as Killer rumbled and ground his omnipotent flare into her insides, crushing what was left of Griagas's spawn like they were grapes, making blood-wine out of them. She cried because she knew she couldn't keep up with this God, she couldn't serve his cock properly, she was fragile and helpless. She feared that he was going to break her and move on to fresher meat... she was not going to experience his glory again. She was not even good enough to get him to ram inside her gushing cunt... She was just another piece of meat, no different from so many others he had destroyed. It filled her with anguish, but at the same time it made his power even more alluring. He could take and destroy everyone he wanted, do what he pleased with them all. That was the power of a God. It was intoxicating.

Griagas was frozen in place, eyes bulging as he stared at the brutality of that face-rape, shocked by the sight of Killer's gigantic flare bulging in full definition at the height of her groin as it literally crunched, squished, ground, aborted the last spurt of shapeless, pathetic gore-mush out of Electra's cunt, which erupted with great squirts of orgasm nectar with every savage piston of that immense godcock.

Killer rumbled and hissed in delight, his muscles bulging with devastating, incomparable power, and the older tiger whimpered, feeling like the 34-and-more feet tall Alpha was somehow growing even bigger, his enormous frame so overloaded with power that it was like he was ten thousand feet tall. That hulking colossus of oppressive muscle and violence let go of Electra's skull and grabbed her perfect asscheeks instead, bruising her butt, leaving handprints that would linger for weeks as he rammed terrifying thrusts in and out of her bulging, bloated body, and Griagas could only tremble in front of the godless, unholy eruptions of black precum that exploded out of the tigress's flexing asshole, which seemed to yawn mockingly in the direction of the camera. That poor little hole yawned open, gaping obscenely even before it was touched, just because of how Killer's overpowered girth was stretching Electra's whole body out of shape.

Griagas held his breath, trembling in terror, horror, awe and sick, morbid arousal as Killer purposefully squeezed into her ass and spread it out, yanking on her asscheeks to show off how terribly wide her tailhole already gaped, already turned into a ruined crater... and his humongous cockhead was right there, a mere thrust away from ripping completely through her, from destroying her entirely, from bulldozing her insides out of her ass. Blood leaked out of her yawning, winking asshole, and her body bulged grotesquely out of shape, stretched out like a condom over his brutal girth, her flesh pulled so taunt that the blackness of his flesh and precum were starting to show through her hide. Electra's abused body twitched and trashed violently with one last choking rasp and then went limp, eyes rolled up in her skull, little bubbles blown into drool and precum and filth at the corners of her ludicrously stretched-out mouth as she passed out, her bladder helplessly releasing what little urine it hadn't already let out earlier, and Killer let out a rumble that was a mix of amusement and frustration at having to stop just while it was starting to get truly entertaining. He didn't want to kill Electra, and he had already pushed her limits far beyond what was in any way safe and sane, so he slowed down to a stop, snorting contemptuously, and then began to drag his immensity out of her body, which clung to him like a ruined, broken condom stretched taunt over his hard flesh.

Jen and other concubines worked hard to help him, yanking on Electra's weakly twitching form. Jen's large muscles flexed and bulged as she wrestled her friend down along the monstrous shaft, until the terrifying flare, engorged and brutal, ripped out of the tigress's muzzle with a loud, indescribable "pop", followed immediately by an unholy, immense gush of mixed precum and fluids that flooded out of her stretched-out jaws as she convulsed and trashed, vomiting some of that immense load of omnivirility.

Killer's gigantic shaft swung upwards, nearly slapping up into his chest for a moment and sending thick splatters of precum smacking loudly into the ceiling, before the catastrophic weight of the monstrous cock angled it downwards again. Electra's unconscious, broken form, unsupported by his steel-hard shaft, suddenly almost crashed down to the floor, dragging down Jen and the others who were shocked at the discovery of the full, true weight of that bulging, sloshing, precum-filled belly. Jen helped her friend lay down onto the wet floor, over the great lakes of precum and vomit and filth and blood that had spread all over it, and then she, and all other concubines, watched on in awe as the hulking titan stood up from the small wooden bed, grinning and leisurely stroking his immense member as it throbbed powerfully above them all, above their vulnerable forms, a horrific, massive, monstrous monument of hypervirility and utter superiority.

The concubines huddled before him, trying to entice him with their gazes as well as their movements, putting their splendid bodies on display to be picked as his next plaything... but Killer had no doubts at all and easily seized Jen, who blushed happily and let out a little cry of surprise and bliss as the hulking male effortlessly hefted her up into the air to hungrily delve between her muscular thighs, kissing her swollen, soaked, greedy sex. The hulking male greedily slurped up her nectar, suckling on her vagina and mouthing teasingly at her labia, teeth flicking her clit as she hugged herself with a moan of ecstasy. He held her aloft like a ragdoll, one huge hand almost wrapping around her slender but strong waist, and she tremblingly, hesitatingly reached down to play with his mane, pulling teasingly on the thick bangs and resting her knees on his shoulders for a moment, straddling his thick muzzle and bucking her hips hungrily to meet his tongue.

The other girls watched on hungrily, enviously, wishing they were her, and they continued to greedily circle the huge male that loomed above them, licking and kissing his asshole, polishing his immense all-male balls with their drool as he easily put Jen down on the wooden bed.

Jen looked up at her Master with adoration and gratitude, adorably flushing in front of him while she moaned out a succession of "T-thank you, M-master..." between breaths that were already turning into soft pants of mixed ecstasy and fear. Griagas stared at the scene in confusion, some part of him still trying to resist, still telling him that she should have been horrified and disgusted, not eager to serve and moaning in gratitude and awe... and Killer, having heard the puny male's pathetic lament coming from the laptop, turned his head slowly around to look down at the tiger, smirking mockingly and flexing hulking, omnipotent muscles that filled the screen and made the buck shrink visibly, feeling dwarfed and ridiculed by that towering Alpha, even through the screen.

"What's that...? You don't think she should be eager to serve...?" The huge male taunted, smirking cruelly. "Hypocrite. You are still staring at the screen. You keep crying like a baby, but keep gawking on. You keep drooling over my power, over my muscles, over my cock... you could have just turned the cameras off. But you can't, you sick little faggot. You need to see this... you need to see me fucking this whole harem into coma, you pathetic runt."

Griagas let out a ridiculous little sound, half-denial and half-lament, but even as he twitched he still didn't manage to turn away from the screen, or even better to reach for the commands to shut down the cameras, even as his wife moaned and whimpered, playing with her greedy sex right next to him, eyes fixed on the same accursed screen. The hulking liger laughed, stroking his prodigious tower of hypervirile godmeat, flexing hulking muscles that bulged so indomitably to cause his own hide to almost rip apart here and there as his mighty chords of muscle nearly burst through his own skin. He saw the way Griagas blushed and gaped, trembling in awe and rapture and horror as he stared at him, at his bloodied monster of a cock, and grinned mockingly, rumbling: "Yeah, you faggot, fill your eyes with this view and jerk your puny dicklet off at the thought of your own body getting fucked into pieces... your precious wife impaled upon my cock while you drool like the filthy faggot loser you are."

Griagas helplessly nodded, instinctively responding to the Alpha before his mind had even time to offer a weak, puny protest. He trembled when the hulking ligerbeast chuckled and knowingly grinned down at him through the screen, as if able to read into his mind and soul, and the tiger closed his eyes in humiliation as he felt hot piss run down the leg of his pants once again at the sheer power of that gaze, at the cruel superiority in that look that told him that he was just a toy, a piece of meat. They all were.

Jen's legs opened for Killer even before he gently seized her by the ankles and unceremoniously dragged her down the bed, towards the bloodied, brutal, throbbing, titanic flare of his cock, spreading her muscular thighs and running his hands teasingly up her bulging quads as he revealed her glistening, drenched vagina, which winked eagerly at him. It cried out its need, already soaking the wooden stave beneath with pearly desire, and it was further polished with his saliva. It looked beautiful, young and fresh and juicy, ripe for the taking, blossomed and tight. Her labia was spread out welcomingly, her clit hard and eager, her slit visibly clenching in anticipation, her groin freshly shaved. It looked so beautiful that Killer again delved down to quickly drag his tongue over it, savoring her nectar and hungrily licking his lips as he straightened, looming over her like a mountain. He carefully moved forwards, grinning at the way Jen panted and whimpered as his monstrous battering ram of a cock hovered above her, eclipsing the sky, covering her form completely as her eyes bulged in awe and she stared at the golden rings wrapped tightly over the huge, curved barbs at the edge of his unrivalled, unholy flare. "Perfect. Divine. Invincible. Supreme. Alpha. God. Master. Breeder. Destroyer..." She read out some of the adjectives chiseled in those heavy bands of gold, each made out of who-knew-how-many wedding rings, melted and forged together into those tributes to his hypervirile supremacy.

She hurriedly ran her hands down those great barbs, along the edge of that brutal flare, smearing it with oils and balsams that would act as lube, but her chest heaved in fearful anticipation, knowing that nothing could possibly lessen the shock of that tyrant godcock conquering her body and ruining, reshaping her forever. Killer idly reached down with a huge hand, pushing that arrogant pillar of godcock downwards to teasingly slap it down over her, making muscular, strong Jen moan as she felt like a helpless fly, crushed under tons of hypermasculine, pure, violent, hot, throbbing power.

She flushed as each playful slap brought forth a helpless squirt of nectar from her burning loins, sending it spraying up against his shaft, where eager, helping hands quickly smeared it across as many feet of godlike member as they could, attempting to lube it up further while Jen shivered with a weak moan as the girth of the huge member rivaled with her waist, the veiny meat pressing into her thighs and forcing them even further apart while he slowly, teasingly ground his shaft down over her, the enormous flare sitting arrogantly down on her head and yet his colossal testicles smacking like wrecking balls not into her groin, but into the worshipful faces of other concubines that had plenty of room to sit between the bed and his legs, beneath that colossal monument to hypervirility that was literally longer than she was tall.

That cock was a tower, a monument, a womb-shattering leviathan that seemed to never end as he slowly dragged it backwards, letting her stare at the great flare as it rolled heavily down her perky small tits, down her abs, and finally down her groin, until the enormous cockhead loomed right in front of her tiny, soft gate, ludicrously dwarfing it, his cockmaw alone matching the size of her helpless slit.

"Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh MY GODS...!" Jen squeaked, shivering as a sudden cannonade of black precum exploded from Killer's member, smacking directly into her eager sex and firing across her entire body and far beyond her head, out of her field of view, that meteor of virility streaking through the steam baths and smacking down somewhere far away in the garden. It was so thick and dense with life and power that it rammed through her winking sex like someone was raping her with a baseball bat. She felt a cannonball of precum stretch her out like never before, her eyes bulging as she felt it smack into her womb and fill it up, her hands blindly reaching for her belly and feeling it expand and bloat already. Enormous, unrivalled, tyrant hypersperms gang-raped her little slit, making her foam at the mouth, back arching, muscles tensing and bulging as she clawed into the bed and let out a loud lament of ecstasy, awe and pain as she felt like a million males were raping her hole at the same time, their oversized, mighty cocks grinding together as they tried to invade her all at the same time. Only they weren't males and they weren't oversized cocks. They were sperms. His runt sperms. The ones his body dumped and used as lube!

They could only ever be runts in comparison to the gods of fertility that grew inside his titanic balls, but they were hulking monsters, titans of omnivirility to anyone else. They were ravenous, immense beasts, thick with "muscular" forms, armed with spikes, and they each had the power to rewrite the genetics of an entire world. Jen's body trashed on the wooden bed, twitching and pulsing and shuddering as if she was possessed, her eyes rolling up in her skull, drool leaking out of her mouth as her legs spasmed and kicked at the air while her belly visibly shifted and bulged and quivered with the savage movements of those god-beasts as they fought for dominance inside her, as an unholy number of them forced through her tight slit, bulldozing it open as their solid, spiked tails literally whipped her inner thighs, leaving behind visible crimson marks.

Her helpless body bounced on the bed with the force of her spasms as her passage clenched around that writhing, twisting mass of brutal masculinity, both welcoming it and vainly attempting to resist, to push back against that ardour, and somewhere in the middle of that dark cocksludge, her pearly nectar sprayed out in great squirts, invisible only because they were lost in the dense, plentiful precum.

Everyone gasped in a mix of awe and terror as the hulking male leaned forwards and grabbed the edges of the wooden bed, one tree-trunk-like arm on either side of Jen's head as her solid, muscular body suddenly resembled a small, frail porcelain doll, utterly dwarfed by the bulging majesty of his musculature. Killer grinned as even Griagas held his breath, the crowd of concubines tensing as if he was about to penetrate every one of them at once, and he moved his hands to grab Jen by the hair, twisting her mane in one huge hand while the other seized her by the throat, steadying her before he thrust forwards with a rumble.

Jen choked loudly as all air was punched out of her lungs, eyes bulging in shock as his giant flare bulldozed its way forwards into what was an already gaping, stretched-out hole, feeling like a freight train trying to tear its way inside an olive. Her teeth clattered together, her eyes bulged as tears rolled down her cheeks, and Killer smirked and immediately leaned down to lick them up, teasingly rumbling: "Scream all you want. I like it."

Jen breathlessly, hurriedly nodded, messily sucking in some air as her chest heaved out of control, and then she howled out in a mix of triumph and anguish, ecstasy and pain as he rammed forwards with his powerful hips.

It was an impossible fit, and her hips were pushed up off the bed, her spine bending, her whole body bending as she huddled up beneath his overpowering frame, but his hands kept her pinned in position and his cock was harder than steel. Nothing was impossible for his strength, and her body had no other choice than surrender: blood sprayed out of her hole as her tender lips stretched, stretched, stretched in the vain attempt to welcome that monstrous flare that seemed to never end. Her voice shattered into a breathless, silent gasp as her poor vagina finally tore around that unspeakable girth of steel, sending another spray of blood arching up as the monstrous cockhead bulldozed its way inside, rending her body almost in two while he flexed and leaned down with a rumble of delight.

"You will keep watching, won't you...?" You'll keep watching like a good cuck until I'm done filling up all of these beauties. Only then you will come out of your hole to be destroyed..." Killer taunted, knowing that Griagas was still watching, shocked and helpless and broken. Yes... not only was Griagas going to obediently, meekly walk into the arena where he knew he would be not just killed but literally destroyed, but he was going to wait for Killer to be done fucking the whole harem.

And the liger didn't even need to order it. It was a given, at that point. It was in the natural order of things: do what pleases the Alpha. "Poor little bitch-boy... I'm almost sorry for you. Almost."

The brutal flare of the immense cock finally smashed its way in, lubricated by Jen's blood as well as her juices, and Killer licked his lips at the feeling of the warm life fluids leaking out around his behemoth member, as her poor, quivering passage squeezed like a too-tight glove around his tremendous girth, twitching weakly, crying out nectar in orgasms that came in a hot, endless sequence of delirious bliss, sending an unending cascade of warm juices down that terrifying shaft, vainly trying to lube its movements.

Even as the hulking male waited, motionless, for her body to adjust as it could, Jen writhed and whimpered in tormented ecstasy as his restless, enormous hypersperms continued to rampage deep inside her, her mouth opening and closing as she threw her head back and screamed silently, breathlessly. She could also feel every throb, every pulse of the almighty cock that already seemed to be everywhere inside her body, as if he had literally penetrated her all the way into the brain. She felt the heat and the mass of a phenomenal surge of even more precum travel up his member until it exploded into her, blasting a huge geyser of black precum up inside her, flooding her womb with an amount of virile gunk that a million males together wouldn't even begin to replicate. And before she could even begin to recover from that shocking sensation, Killer moved forwards with a slow but powerful thrust, and his monstrous member punched its way deeper into her body.

Her back arched violently as she let out another breathless scream, feet kicking uselessly at the air on either side of his thick waist as she desperately clawed into the wooden staves, then weakly, instinctively brought her feet up and attempted to push back against his muscular, broad, colossal frame... but it was like she was trying to slow down a train with her bare hands. Her eye bulged, foam bubbling out of her gaping jaws before all air left her aching lungs in a shrill, loud shriek as the hulking Alpha slammed forwards again, burying even more of that endless, immense destroyer up her tiny form, even as her pelvis creaked, unable to accommodate the enormous girth of the invader. The resistance of her bone all but made him snort in contemptuous amusement before his glorious member tore even deeper inside her, and everyone saw the electric shudder that rattled her entire body, more violent than if she had been electrocuted. Her legs went limp and crashed uselessly onto the bed as he growled and seized her by the shoulders, yanking her hard downwards and ramming forth at the same time, bulging her body horrendously out of shape as his monstrous godcock ripped through her womb and rammed into the coils f her guts, her whole form trashing and flexing desperately as blood spurted out of her devastated, obliterated groin, before she gasped and shook her head from side to side as he dragged his gigantic shaft backwards, sending out a scandalous gush of thick precum and hot nectar mixed with her blood.

Her devastated sex twisted inside out, her pink inner walls stretching, prolapsing out of her as they helplessly clung to the monstrous girth that had so brutally punched it out of shape, unable to let go, and Jen trashed on the bed, letting out a cry that turned into a scream as her eyes bulged and her entire form burned with the intensity of an orgasm that almost shattered her mind. "I need to see... I need to... to see...!" Jen deliriously moaned, biting her lips to contain the moans that escaped her wildly spasming form as she vainly attempted to prop herself up so she could get a better view of the shocking invasion, of the brutal violation of his immense cock reshaping her poor body. Killer smiled and easily seized the back of her head in a huge hand, effortlessly pushing herself up and rumbling in amusement at the way her eyes bulged, at how she foamed at the mouth and shivered at the indescribable, unholy majesty of the sight of that colossal tower of hypervirility sawing in and out of her.

She gasped and whimpered at the sight of her destroyed womb clinging to his girth like the scraps of a broken condom, staring in disbelief at how far her pink insides stretched out of her on his slow, powerful backstroke, until she shuddered with a gurgle, eyes rolling up in her skull as she nearly lost consciousness when it was all rammed back inside her as he pistoned forwards, bulldozing her prolapsed folds all the way back inside of her as his glorious shaft hefted her clear off the bed, like the toy she was, like she weighted nothing at all.

Jen screamed her ecstasy and shock out, head rocking senselessly from side to side, body spasming as if she was being electrocuted, vagina clenching endlessly, helplessly, weakly and yet with such force and intensity it hurt, as her body attempted to please that titanic personification of power, and his hypervirility, so prodigious, so excessive, something that was Not Supposed to Be, and yet Was.

Her screams died down into a choking lament, and then breathless, struggling silence as the immense godcock buried even deeper inside her, crushing all air out of her lungs as it crushed and pulped and rearranged her insides, forcing her beautiful, muscular body to bulge horribly out of shape. Her eyes looked up into Killer's with an apology, since she couldn't obey his command to scream anymore, but the hulking Alpha gave a reassuring rumble, a sound of pleasure and indulgence as his hands squeezed into her bloated, deformed body, squeezing and kneading his immense cock through a thin layer of her flesh and hide which threatened to burst apart, to rip into shreds as his girth turned her into nothing but an already broken cocksleeve.

Killer spread his legs a bit wider, throwing his head back with a growl of pleasure as his heavy feet settled upon breasts, bodies, faces, mouths eager to please him. Hands stroked and massaged his muscles, tongues licked up his calves and quads, an endless succession of sloppy kisses polishing his thick asshole while he thrust leisurely with his mighty hips, pounding Jen's deliciously tight body, bouncing it up and down his shaft at a savage, brutal rhythm. His impossibly massive balls swung heavily between his legs with each hard piston, smacking into heads and chests, hands and faces that caved under their ponderous, titanic mass, and his immense testicles dripped with the drool and juices of a thousands concubines while he pretty much jerked off with the poor, overwhelmed, bulging body of Jen, towering over her, grinning and delighting in the way her once beautiful body was blown and torn and bulged out of proportion, how his tremendous cock was ruining her forever for any male that wasn't him.

Griagas wanted to look away, wanted to turn the cameras off, wanted to escape that scabrous display of power and omnivirility, but the sight was just too much. Too much to look at, and yet also too much to turn away from. There was no escaping from that power, from that supremacy.

The tiger could only stare helplessly through a stinging mask of tears and sweat, trembling and broken as he listened to the noises of the massacre and to the weak little cries coming from what was left of Jen. No one was forcing him to watch, yet he just couldn't tear his eyes away from the way the young, muscular concubine was being utterly obliterated, her stomach bulging grotesquely, impossibly, while her bones creaked audibly, her ribs visibly pushing outwards as the immense girth of Killer's cock bloated her from inside, punching her form into that of a stretched, ripped condom of flesh... and Griagas sobbed brokenly with the awareness that Killer was merely getting started, that he was thrusting with almost mockingly restrained force up into her, using a fraction of his power and less than half of his monstrous black shaft. The hulking Alpha male was going to fuck every last concubine into ruin. Then he was going to destroy his queen, Nike, who panted eagerly at his side, toying with dripping, clenching sex, impatient to be used and abused like a cheap fucktoy. And then Killer was going to fuck even him. He was going to tear him apart like the worthless, too-tight condom he was...

Killer picked up speed, and he pounded Jen's body, fucked her with savage force, sawing his immensity in and out of her at a shocking rhythm, scarring Griagas's mind with the wet squelching, the sick tattoo of those mighty pistons, accompanied by the blissful, insane, broken, exhausted gurgling of Jen as his monstrous cock battered upwards through her hollowed form. He watched and listened, his mind tormented by horror and excitement at the thought of Killer's cock so easily crushing and fucking the life out of a body as her insides were undoubtedly crushed into pulp...

And what his eyes couldn't see, his mind could. A thousand visions of glorious power and fiendish violence assaulted his brain. Visions of Nike's body bulging with the shape of Killer's cock as the Godbeast buried his immensity inside her, crushing the babies inside into liquid to replace it with his own superior spawn. Visions of his own death, of his own body bursting apart in a splatter of gore as he was skewered upon Killer's cock like a piece of meat. Visions of the whole world cowering in submission and terror as that godbeast claimed whatever he desired, wherever he desired, defiling even the temples of the gods, challenging the old divinities to stop him and hunting them down to crush them like bugs. Visions of defiled priestesses and goddesses turned into broodmothers, cumdumps, urinals and fucktoys. Visions of Killer using and abusing whoever or whatever caught his attention as his almighty hypermasculinity crushed and made a mockery of even the notion that other males had ever existed. He was the One. The Only.

Fantasy? Insanity? No, a vision of the only possible future, because what could ever hope to compete with that beast...?

Jen was nowhere near enough to sate him, obviously. He fucked her to within an inch of her life, then let go of her to move on to other toys. And it was a very literal matter, because as soon as he let go of her bloated, ruined body and rested his hands confidently on his hips, an enormous blast of his precum forced her poor body upwards along his cock and finally fired her off like a cork, sending her crashing into a group of other concubines that did their best to catch her even as his musky, hyperpotent essence bowled them all over like toys.

Jen's body twitched as she vomited thick load all over herself, even more of the musky cocksludge gushing out of her gaping, prolapsed, ruined sex as the thick black essence glued her and the other concubines together, thick ropes of the dark gunk tying them to the floor like they were flies caught on adhesive paper.

The hulking titan idly pumped a last heavy rope of his pre all over their bodies, covering their features in enough hypervirile produce to impregnate a dozen worlds, and then he idly, mockingly stretched, his godlike musculature glistening with a light sheen of sweat as he surveyed the sea of eager bodies ahead of him to pick his next toy. Killer grinned as he idly flexed his all-powerful body, stroking his titanic black shaft and ridiculing his enemiy as Griagas watched on in terrified awe, almost openly cheering the colossus on, almost vocally urging him to show more of his superiority and omnipotence.

Again, and again, and again, it went on and on for hours, and it only "ended" when even the last concubine collapsed helplessly on the floor. All of the Forbidden Ones were cast aside, comatose and broken, to rest upon obscenely bloated bellies, with untold gallons of Killer's hateful and inexhaustible hypersemen overflowing from their savagely ravished wombs.

Griagas, at least as broken as those well used, hyperpregnant females, walked out of the bunker without further protest, knowing that his time was up. He slowly made his way to the arena, a literal coliseum that was part of the ancient core of the fortress: a testimony of the strength of the Tradition that he had tried to escape from.

Nike followed him, naked and soaked in her own need, in her nectar. The musk of her desire was with him at every step, as was the awareness of the happy bounce in her movements, of the anticipation in what had already long ceased to be his queen. She had no word of comfort to him, and certainly didn't wish him good luck when they reached the steam bath area and she left to reach the arena further beyond, impatient to admire Killer in person. There was no one left to serve him, to wash his body, to oil his muscles. The women and girls he passed littered the corridors and the baths were more dead than alive: broken sex-toys cast aside in various states of sexual-devastation, all of them crippled by monumental, oppressive hyperpregnancies, all of them fighting for breath, unconscious, or worse... each completely, grotesquely drenched in black cum and overflowing with even more of that potent, superior essence which was flooding the entire baths area. They were like milestones marking the unstoppable march of Killer, the passing of his endless black lust.

There was no one to ran strigils down his musculature and none willing or able to help him wear the traditional loincloth. The only comfort was that almost none of the girls had any strength left to laugh of him as he stripped and revealed the sad little stump of his dick, caked in his weak, useless, watery semen and painfully hard while, at the same time, shrunken down to a pathetic nub. He was completely emasculated, in body and spirit, but as he prepared for his slaughter he found some sort of strange peace.

Maybe it was resignation to his fate. Acceptance. Maybe it was something else. His breath calmed, his mind cleared somewhat. He was going to put up the best fight he could. It was still going to result in him being squished like a bug, but he could at least grant himself that last... bit of dignity.

Probably his traitorous mind only wanted to fight to amuse the Alpha for a little longer. But he accepted even that. This was his last hour on the planet. His last few moments, rather... and he was finding a strange serenity in the thought.

The tyrannical, overpowering force of the hypervirile musk in the air, after all, made it plenty clear that the world had no need of his parody of masculinity. He was useless, redundant, a waste of oxygen. A speck of dirt, unworthy of soiling the same earth that trembled beneath the Alpha's step.

He made no attempt to fetch his armour. The thought that it would offer him any kind of protection at all from the liger's otherworldly, unholy strength was ludicrous. The possibility of hiding the shame of his emasculation from the world was preposterous: he had no right to conceal his weakness.

He picked up his sword, however. What was he even supposed to do with his bare hands...? Even with the heavy blade in his hands, he was powerless. The great broadsword could, at best, scratch Killer's hide, but it had absolutely no hope of ever cutting through the invulnerable mass of muscle that made the hulking liger almost invulnerable. For a moment he thought he was some kind of poor assistant to a magician, a clown meant to be laughed at. He was going to walk in, swing the sword against Killer's abs, and make the world laugh as the blade snapped in half like a stick of bread.

It would be an insult to the Alpha to walk in unarmed. Griagas took a moment to gaze at the sharp blade, studying his reflection in the polished steel. Gods, he was physically, not just metaphorically, emasculated. He could swear some of his musculature had deflated like he was a balloon full of nothing but air.

He caressed the flat of the blade, repressing a shiver of fear. He didn't feel ready to walk up to that walking god in person. He feared he might break beneath just the patronizing smirk of the titan. He thought, long and hard, about stabbing himself with his own sword, and cutting open his stomach.

Or, well. He could fetch a gun. One bullet to the head, quick and painless... it would have saved him so much pain and humiliation! But he couldn't bring himself to doing it. No, he couldn't take his life. It didn't belong to him anymore. Killer owned him and would dispose of him as he saw fit. The decision was the Alpha's privilege.

And so he finally walked past the baths and into the tunnel leading directly to the sands of the arena, oblivious to the screaming of the assembled public: concubines spent and with little voice for jeers, but with a great hunger to look at that memorable display. Servants. Low caste civilians. The soldiers were out fighting, at least.

Not that he got any real relief from that awareness.

But there was that weird, serene resignation, again. Maybe Killer would truly fuck him to pieces. Maybe he would get to kiss the Alpha's ass and taste his unmatched, superior hypervirility before being crushed out of existence. His mind couldn't think of any greater honor than that.

And no part of him protested anymore.

The crowd on the terraces roared with laughter as Griagas stepped into view, holding a sword that looked almost like a toothpick in front of the hulking colossus that waited patiently in the middle of the coliseum. The ligerbeast smirked in entertainment, looking down at the king almost with indulgence, and gave him the slightest of nods, as if to praise him for not attempting to take his own life.

Why did that little nod fill him with warmth, almost happiness, rather than piss him off...? Griagas's broken mind didn't even try to answer that question. The answer was plenty clear by that point.

Griagas swallowed thickly, his lower jaw almost dropping as he savoured the majesty of that hulking Alpha, towering like a mountain in the middle of the arena, making the coliseum feel small and cramped as the sheer width of his shoulders and the girth of his arms made the columns look like noodles. That hulking chest bulged outwards gloriously, slabs of muscle so thick that they could stop cannonades. He was hypnothized by the sight of them heaving with the liger's breath, which seemed like it would suck away the sand off the arena's floor if the giant wanted. He stared at those spectacular biceps, that made him whimper in awe. His enormous shoulders were power given form. His abs, invincibility given shape.

Killer was naked and glorious, unashamed, unafraid. His heavy, bare feet seemed to bend the world out of shape with their mass, and Griagas found that there was nothing weird in Nike being there, on all fours like a little pet, busy licking the sand off from between the titan's toes.

The colossus had his hands resting idly on his hips, and barely seemed aware of the gurgling, bloated, ludicrously overfilled Electra, who was foaming at the mouth, drooling and groaning helplessly as she remained impaled on his gigantic shaft, grotesquely overstretched and deformed.

Of course, Griagas weakly thought. He had only fucked her face earlier; obviously he wouldn't be sated with just that. Not even after fucking... what? Close to two hundred...? Maybe even more. A lot of concubines he had fucked into hyper-pregnant, utterly-ruined, brain-dead wrecks. After all of that, and with Nike still fresh and unspoiled, eager to have her babies replaced, Killer had fetched Electra and worn her on his cock like a sock. And not just as a decoration, obviously. No, he had fucked her until she was grotesquely hyperpregnant, her limbs hanging limply, her head rolling back and forth and from side to side senselessly as she gurgled sweet nonsense and praises while his thick black cum bubbled out of even her nostrils. And on the terraces of the coliseum there were more needy sluts who knew they only had to wait for their turn, and awed, terrified cuckolds who knew their wives and girlfriends were gone forever, and staring, amazed fanboys and addicted faggots and people of every shape who cheered on that walking god and would follow him all the way to Hell just to see him conquering it too.

"You're finally here." Killer leisurely said, shaking Griagas out of his awed, shocked stasis, right before plunging him into another gaping freeze as he idly reached down and seized Electra, squeezing on her devastated, bloated, deformed body, stretched like a condom over his cock... or better, over the monstrous flare of his cock, bulking her with his cockhead alone. One, two, three idle, slow thrusts into that hot mess, and an unholy, fearsome amount of black hyper-semen spurted and squelched out of that grotesquely bulging figure, flooding out of both ends. Then Killer effortlessly hefted Electra and slid her up along his shaft, unsheathing it from her poor body and finally tossing the groaning, shuddering female aside like she was just a plastic-and-rubber onahole.

Nike shuddered as Electra landed heavily on the soft sand, but she was so eagerly intent on licking and kissing the huge male's foot that Killer nearly had to boot her to get her to scamper out of the way. Griagas stared stupidly at the absurd majesty of that godcock throbbing above him and leaking thick ropes of hypervirile gunk, speechless and frozen on the spot, and the liger smirked before taunting: "Show me what you can do. End your days with some dignity, if you can."

Griagas didn't snarl and didn't protest, only bowing his head politely and then taking a step backwards to get into a ready position. It all looked pathetic, as he didn't even get out of the shadow cast by Killer's monstrous godcock, but for the first time in several years the older warrior felt... weirdly at home.

He was thankful for the chance to leave this life with a sword in his hand. Becoming king with the decisive "help" of the RA had had a grievous cost in terms of dignity, morale, reputation, but Griagas had never been a coward. He had been a strong, capable warrior for all his life, and that, even in his current, impossible situation, was what he wanted to bow out as.

The quality of the warrior he had been was evident in the fluidity of his movement as he moved forwards to try and use Killer's massive sizes against him, ducking between his legs and slashing his sword out to cut the Alpha's scins. Unfortunately for Griagas, Killer was not just a colossus, but an accomplished veteran warrior as well, and so the liger easily swung out of the way, stunning the audience with his agility and speed as well as raw power, before half-spinning around to tauntingly boot Griagas in the back. The older tiger hurriedly drew out of the way, crouching to make himself a smaller target and biting his lower lip as he realized just how much he had to move around just to get out of the liger's massive reach: those huge legs and arms could sweep an amazingly large part of the arena's area with the laziest of swings.

Griagas spun on the spot, legs flexing and launching him forwards in a hard lunge, his sword aiming for the liger's exposed leg, but then Killer's other huge foot kicked him almost playfully and sent his arms painfully snapping skywards, the sword almost flying out of his grip, before the same foot punted him backwards with mocking gentleness, the liger snorting as he deliberately toyed with the far smaller warrior.

Griagas grunted as he shielded himself from that massive foot as best he could, staggering backwards and gritting his teeth as every bone in his body creaked and threatened to break down into dust, even though the colossus was being as gentle as a lamb to him.

He collapsed down on one knee, but then threw himself back with a handspring and landed out of range just in time to avoid being stepped upon and crushed like a bug. As soon as his feet touched the ground he propelled himself into the air with a grunt, focused on nothing more than proving his worth, on demonstrating that, had he not been fighting such a walking god, he could have won any fight. He slashed the sword out in a wide cut aimed at the liger's knee, and when Killer all too easily stepped backwards, easily getting out of reach with one of his huge strides, Griagas landed in the sand and ran forwards with surprising speed, swinging his blade up towards the liger's mastodon balls.

Killer snorted in entertainment at that and simply dropped heavily down on his knees, letting his gigantic, monstrous testicles smash down on top of Griagas like meteors, like entire Moons falling from the sky, and the older warrior ended up crushed into the soft sand, buried into the dusty floor of the arena, pinned and helpless as his chest caved in and all breath was crushed out of his lungs, his sword crushed flat down against his body as a bone inside his arm cracked loudly and even his spine threatened to snap like a twig.

"Careful with that pointy thing..." Killer mocked, grinning as he ground his gigantic balls slowly over the ground, steamrolling the whimpering king and crushing him deeper down into the mercifully soft sand, smearing him in absurdly musky, potent, superior hypermasculine sweat. "Or i'll crush you right under my balls and cut this short."

Griagas whimpered pathetically, pushing uselessly against those impossible, omnivirile orbs that barely seemed to notice his tiny efforts, his puny form hopelessly poking into them for a moment before it was crushed flat into the sand, trapped beneath their tremendous, impossible weight.

Killer grinned down at him from his squat: a towering, herculean incarnation of power, destruction and masculinity who had to angle his hulking godcock to one side to see the helpless bug beneath, and that unholy, unfair omnipotence added even greater importance to the liger's words as the hulk spoke with true indulgence, for the first time. "You are no coward, Griagas. And you are a good fighter, i can tell. I'm sorry that it came to this, you know...? Without the RA making this whole mess so serious, and without you hiding behind your army... i would have gladly spared your life."

"T-thanks." Griagas breathlessly replied, experiencing genuine relief and gratitude. He didn't protest as Killer concluded: "But i can't grant you mercy, with what you have done."

"I understand." Griagas sadly mumbled. Oh, what a pity it was, that his time in the presence of this glorious Alpha was almost over...! This colossal god among mortals was going to accomplish great wonders, and he would not be there to cheer him on and drool at the sight of his triumphs...

Killer squatted a little lower, and those almighty god-balls crushed deep into the earth of the arena, burying Griagas alive under the sand as the immense sperm factories rolled mockingly forwards, ensuring they ground every last inch of him down underground, out of sight. Then the goliath slowly straightened, standing up and idly stroking his immense godcock with one huge hand as the crowd cheered and roared and made fun of Griagas, entombed alive by the weight of Killer's balls alone.

The king dug his way back up out of the sand, spluttering and coughing and trembling as his nostrils and mind were filled with nothing but the hypermasculine musk of the beast, which marked his bare body permanently, indelibly. Such undeserved honor, such blessing bestowed upon him...!

"Show me some more of what you can do." Killer teased, leisurely stroking his goliath cock with one hand while the other rested confidently on his hip. Griagas hurriedly nodded, shifting back into a ready position even though his broken arm throbbed painfully and his entire skeleton seemed to beg for mercy, his bones creaky and damaged from being crushed under the colossus's balls.

Still, he circled the giant, looking for an opening... and even though Killer wasn't even in a ready position, he knew there was none. He suddenly charged forwards, cocking his sword back for a vicious swing, feinting an assault on the giant's left ankle before leaping up high instead as Killer idly backstepped. Griagas swung his blade out, aiming for the giant's prodigious abs, but Killer only smirked, and a moment later the older warrior grunted breathlessly as something heavy, massive, solid and yet liquid smacked into him like a truck, knocking him back through the air.

He did his best to land on his feet, to catch himself in a crouch, but the heavy flood of that geyser crushed him down into the sand and made him skid backwards through it even as he felt his body glued, stuck to the ground, tied down by heavy, thick, elastic ropes of gunk... of black, almighty precum, as the crowd roared and cheered while Killer smirked and idly pumped that enormous cannonade of precum out of his gigantic member.

Griagas was crushed under the flow, heavier and more powerful than a massive firehose aimed straight at him, and all his struggling to try and crawl out of the way was useless. Only when the last of that heavy, unending rope of superior masculinity finally splattered loudly onto the ground, over him and far past him, he managed to laboriously push up, glued to the ground by enormous rope of that slick, dense gunk.

Griagas trembled as he saw and felt the hulking, enormous hypersperms moving all over his body, and he vainly attempted to scrub the sludgy, potent essence off his body, feeling those arrogant, aggressive sperm-beasts already pushing against his tailhole, ramming forwards with merciless force, unconcerned about the drenched fabric of his poor loincloth being in the way.

Griagas whimpered, standing bow-legged and trembling as those hulking tyrants of hypermasculinity rammed their way into his ass, bulging his belly outwards as his poor, pathetic rag of a loincloth ripped loudly while it was carelessly shoved up inside his ass. Blood leaked from his poor hole as it was blown open into a crater, obliterated by the swarming beast-sperms, and he found himself crying tears of awe and despair as he vainly grabbed handfuls of thick, powerful, spiked sperm-tails, attempting to yank those hulking runt sperms away from his rear.

The power in those muscular tails! They whip-lashed into his legs hard enough to leave bruises, to draw blood even as they trashed angrily in his hands, and he cried out in humiliation and disbelief as he found himself swinging his sword almost into his own legs as he cut those tails off. But there were too many, and the beasts were too strong, and more and more and more and even more kept coming from the river of black omniviriliy that had blackened an hellish streak through the arena, almost from end to end.

Griagas whimpered weakly as several of those mighty sperm-tails began to viciously slash into his shrunken, shrivelled up raisins of testicles, tormenting him with indescribable agony, and his eyes bulged with the shocking awareness that those hulking hypersperms were sentient. Vicious tyrants the lot of them! They very deliberately struck him where it hurt the most, and they even coiled their tails around his little sack and his shrivelled, useless dick, choking it, ripping it apart, putting him through indescribable agony.

He stumbled a couple of steps forwards, trying to put some distance between himself and the huge rope of black precum on the ground, but he was drenched in the stuff and his feet were covered in sludgy essence that glued him to the ground and quickly turned his feet into thick blocks of dark mud that felt horribly heavy and impossible to walk upon.

The crowd laughed and jeered loudly as he stumbled miserably around, spasming in agony, back arched and stiff as his asshole was violated by a twisting horde of hypersperms each two to four times larger than what would have easily ranked as a porn star big cock. Being gangraped by his army would have been a less stressing experience.

His eyes rolled up into his skull, making it hard to even see his adversary, and he could only stare as Killer waited patiently, smirking indulgently while his hand stroked, casually, carelessly over his omnipotent member, drawing a concert of whimpers and moans from the sluts on the terraces as they all stared in awe and desire at that massive, burgeoning godcock, drooling and begging to touch that supreme monument to masculinity.

It was an intoxicating sight. It was terrifying and overwhelming, and Griagas felt his strength further sapped and dissolved away by the thick ,rich musk in the air as Killer carelessly sent great ropes of dark precum crashing down onto the ground, immediately replaced by even larger gluts of his essence that leaked sloppily from his terrible flare and swelled larger and larger, dangling tantalizingly as he idly jerked off. The sound of that powerful hand moving up and down the absurd, thick length of god-meat was shocking. It scarred the mind. it was repulsive, and yet it was also awe-inspiring, incredible, and Griagas felt longing at the thought of seeing that hulking god conquer the whole world.

He didn't want to keep Killer waiting, so he ignored the laughter and catcalls and stomped his way forwards to attack again, his muscles bulging and straining just to keep him upright, just to overcome the sticky pull of the beast's precum. He slashed his sword hard towards Killer's leg, but his movements were so slowed down that the goliath contemptibly shifted out of the way and then booted him over like a plastic soldier, sending Griagas crashing onto his back, coughing blood.

Still, the warrior turned his fall into a backwards roll and landed in a crouch, taking a deep breath before bringing his blade down against Killer's outstretched foot, trying to chop the toes right off, just for the liger to angle his gargantuan godcock downwards with a snort, swinging that monstrous shaft to the side and smacking Griagas flying across the arena until he crashed ruinously into the wall at the far end.

He didn't hear Killer's mocking comment because his head was full of a deafening, painful whistle as his skull threatened to implode, his chest filled with burning pain as several of his ribs were now stabbing inwards, broken like twigs, and his back screamed in agony from the impact into the wall.

For a long few moments, he remained stuck to the wall in a broken, awkward sprawl, held up by the sticky, dense precum that glued him to the stone like he was a fly, and some of the public on the terrace right ahead leaned over the parapet to look down at him and throw remains of food against him, jeering.

It seemed to take ages to his broken bodies to squelch down the wall and crash into the ground, but when he finally did, Killer had walked up to him, towering and herculean and glorious, and he smirked indulgently down at him, patronizingly offering: "I'll grant you a free swing, otherwise you are never going to hit me..."

The titan rolled his shoulders and flexed, and his muscles bulged with such power and sheer mass that Griagas half expected something to rip to shreds. Reality itself, probably, since the liger was naked and there were no clothes to burst out of. Griagas stared at the thick white hair on those massive, broad slabs of pectorals as the ligerbeast arrogantly tilted his head back, grinning teasingly as he rose his enormous arms and rested his hands behind his head, making his chiseled abs bulge and flex, while the heavy bushes of hair in his armpits filled the air with his manly musk., even though he was freshly washed and he hadn't worked up a single drop of sweat in that "fight".

Griagas could only tremble in the shadow of the colossus, staring at muscles that made his own look puny, eyeing cords of veins bulging over mountains of brutal power that could reshape the world. He struggled up to his feet once more, and cocked his sword back before accomplishing the mission he always knew he had: demonstrating Killer's utter superiority. He leapt up and swung his sword hard into the liger's abs, and as expected the large blade shattered like it was made of brittle glass, leaving Griagas armed with a laughable stump of blunt steel while Killer rumbled in entertainment, and then laughed loudly, making the smaller male whimper and tremble as he clearly felt the vibrations coming from those enormous pectorals.

He clutched his pathetic, childish-looking stump of sword close to his emasculated, by now scrawny chest, and guided by some sort of weird, serene and determined instinct, he attacked again. Killer backstepped and easily avoided him, but he kept pursuing the goliath, stabbing uselessly towards his legs and missing as Killer snickered and easily moved out of the way, before Griagas somehow managed to find enough force left in his broken body to leap skywards, high enough to stab his broken sword against the liger's face.

Killer tilted his head back, arching his back slightly to get out of range, and his eyes instinctively closed for an instant... and, to the amazement of everyone in the arena, which suddenly fell silent, the broken blade actually managed to touch his cheek and nipped upwards through the colossus's eyebrow.

Killer hissed in irritation and surprise, his left vision turning red as his eye snapped open and blood from the cut leaked into it... and he cursed under his breath, wiping his eye clean with the back of one fist while at the same time almost absently slapping Griagas out of the air with the other hand, sending him crashing like a meteor into the ground, hard enough that he bounced thrice, bones loudly shattering with each ruinous impact.

The hulking titan idly rubbed blood off the tip of his fingers, then snorted in amusement that had a slightly bitter taste to it. The bleeding immediately stopped as his usual regeneration healed the insignificant scratch almost in less time than it had taken to cut it open, yet he immediately, instinctively knew that this puny wound, of all things, was going to leave a mark. Killer had been wounded, literally a few hours earlier, by a vicious heavy artillery bombardment and his body had healed perfectly, without any hint left behind of the damage sustained. Even more grievous past wounds had healed up leaving behind only rare scars, most of which weren't immediately apparent on his hide. That puny scratch was a joke in comparison to any of those past wounds, and yet it was the one that was going to leave a scar.

Killer wasn't sure how he knew. Maybe he felt it in the way the wound healed, without fully closing. Maybe it was his mind telling him, maybe even his body telling him, deciding it almost consciously, to leave behind a scar that would admonish him forever not to be such a cocky asshole.

For sure his warrior upbringing, instinct and past experiences all pointed out to him that he deserved to get that scar, because he had allowed his arrogance to run too far. And Killer snorted, shaking his head slowly... before laughing, of and with himself, his booming, deep laugh rattling the walls as he slowly walked towards the crater in which Griagas's sore, broken body was sprawled.

"I've fought in every corner of this world. I've been hit by cannonades, bombarded by jets, shelled by artillery and it all has barely left a mark on me... and I end up getting a scar from this joke of a fight, against a bug I could have squished under my balls." Killer said, and the whole arena was silent, breathless as the crowd listened and waited to see the colossus's reaction. Griagas, on his part, only let out a pathetic lament of agony as every little movement caused his damaged bones to crack audibly, as blood leaked out of his mouth and nostrils and every inch of his form burned with indescribable pain.

"It serves me right." Killer serenely sentenced, smirking a bit. "Serves me right for playing around too much. The old sayings cautions against it, do they not...? The lion uses all its strength even to kill a rabbit, they say... Now, using all of my strength on you would clearly be a war crime, but I should have used at least a little bit."

Griagas trembled at the bottom of the bloodied crater, thinking that the colossus had used more than enough strength as it was... and he looked up, up, up to see the fresh scar over Killer's left eye. If anything, it added to his handsomeness, he found, and made him even more terrifying.

Of-fucking-course. That walking god was only ever going to grow stronger and better and more superior, was he not...? Griagas forced a trembling little smile on his face, spluttering out: "It looks great on you."

It was clearly a sincere statement, not a taunt. It sounded adoring, almost loving. And it made Killer snort in genuine entertainment. "Thank you. In some ways, I owe you. This will remind me that bugs can sting, and sometimes it really hurts." The hulking titan paused, then kicked some dust over the broken king, idly urging: "Get up and try again, if you have it in you. Or I'll crush you like the gnat you are."

Griagas was broken in ways he couldn't even understand, but he couldn't ignore an order of the Alpha, so he laboriously forced himself up once again, biting into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood as the bones in his legs cracked audibly. He wobbled weakly forwards, proving once more the courage and strength that he possessed in the deep, and he held up his childish stump of sword, sluggishly attempting to stab into the colossus's shin.

Killer reached down with a huge hand and grabbed him, hefting him into the air like an helpless, blind puppy, the liger's huge hand clamping over his whole head and much of his chest, making him gargle as blood spurted out of even his ears, his whole torso feeling like it would burst apart in the goliath's grip.

The hulking god rumbled in his chest, flexed his huge musculature and pulled back one massive fist... but then he slowly moved it forwards again, all but leaning his massive knuckles against Griagas's caved-in abs as he growled: "Fuckin' pathetic..."

Killer barely even moved, his immense muscles barely even tensed at all, but to Griagas it was like an entire planet had fallen down from the sky and smacked into his belly. He was smashed flying bonelessly through the arena until he crashed into the perimeter wall, hard enough to dislodge the huge blocks of stone even as his entire skeleton seemed to audibly crumble away to powder, as a fountain of blood and bile burst out of his mouth, eyes bulging open and feet kicked uselessly at the air while he literally sunk into the granite, the liger's tremendous strength cracking the wall and rattling seemingly the whole island.

Griagas collapsed with a breathless wheeze into the crater his back had created in the wall, his muscular limbs twitching helplessly and looking like thin twigs next to the huge, herculean arms of the behemoth male, who growled in a mix of delight and frustration at the same time as he walked leisurely up to him, slowly balling one huge hand into a fist.

Griagas's bloodshot eyes stared at the immense knuckles with something like gratitude, knowing they were the End, an inevitable conclusion not just to his life but to his existence, because that fist would surely cancel even the atoms of his being...

But then fear took over and he instinctively closed his eyes as the immense fist moved forwards... and slammed into the stone wall right next to his head, smashing through granite and concrete like it was sand and rattling the entire arena as Killer rumbled: "This is the problem with meatbags like you... you are too weak. Too frail. I can't even hit you properly without the game coming to an end..." The hulking male let out a growl, steam blasting out of his nostrils as he crushed a large fragment of stone into powder before grabbing his monstrous godcock, stroking his tremendous length, kneading the thick beast as he added: "It's hard to control myself... hard to keep something so fragile in one piece... hard to remember myself that just because I can crush you like ants, it doesn't mean it is right to do so..."

The hulking colossus flexed, and his muscles bulged with... gods, so much power. Griagas couldn't imagine anything that could possibly resist to the strength that filled those swelling mountains of male, and that the liger was trying hard to contain, to restrain within less destructive limits.

That glorious sight dragged him down to the ground harder than gravity itself ever could, and he flopped bonelessly in front of the giant, watching with sick anticipation as Killer beckoned to his wife with a finger, and the queen almost ran forwards, hurrying to him.

Nike collapsed to her knees before the Alpha, turning her back to her defeated husband and almost sitting down on his bloodied, ruined face, sticking her ass out in a cruel tease and giving Griagas a glimpse of her glistening sex, of her dripping, blossomed labia that she had been toying hard with. She smelled of desire, of need, and Griagas felt tears running down his cheeks but, at the same time, felt almost happy for it: a happy fucktoy for that walking god. Could she even aspire to a greater blessing...?

The queen eagerly dived towards the hulking male's toes, but Killer's huge hand seized her by the head before she could get down there, and she whimpered happily as the giant effortlessly hefted her high up into the air until they were eye to eye. Killer smirked and leaned forwards slightly, and Nike eagerly opened her mouth to receive his greedy kiss, happy to choke on his thick tongue as it invaded her jaws and teasingly pushed towards her throat. Killer's other hand grabbed her burning loins, fingers teasingly feeling the wetness and eagerness of her passage, and that little touch was enough to make her shudder as an orgasm squirted out of her, raining hot nectar all over her broken husband.

Killer rumbled in entertainment into the greedy kiss, looking down into her eyes as they bulged with amazement, ecstasy and anticipation, and he mockingly settled one huge foot upon Griagas, compressing his broken form into the sand and making him cry weakly out while desperately trying to peek through Killer's thick toes to look up at the scene.

Killer finally pulled back from the sloppy kiss, licking his lips with a tongue that was almost devilish for dexterity and size, and Nike let out a little whimper of regret, almost chasing after that thick muscle, wanting more attention and abuse from it. "We will have time to know each other better, Nike..." Killer reassured, and gods, his deep voice was so handsome and seductive when he put just that little note of tease into it. "You will be my new alarm clock. Every morning you will crawl to me and suck my cock to wake me up." He added, and the note of playful command in his tone was enough to make Nike's hips buck hard, toes curling as she orgasmed again, nodding as best she could while his thick fingers held her aloft by the skull, like he was holding an orange.

"Y-yes, Master. Everything you desire is Law." The queen assured, and Killer grinned and gave a slight nod of exaggerated agreement, before he grinned as he almost callously buried a thick finger inside her sopping sex, beginning to twist and twirl and thrust it inside of her, making her pant-scream as her legs spasmed, thighs grinding together and hips bucking wildly as he idly drilled orgasm after orgasm out of her cunt.

Griagas shivered beneath the warm rain of her lust, staring with wide open eyes as Killer's finger expertly played inside her clenching passage, making it explode nectar out in great bursts as the tigress's eyes rolled up and her toes curled almost comically, her hips bucking hard. One, two, four, eight, she was wrecked by a succession of squirting orgasms that made it look like her water had broken as she helplessly hugged her big pregnant belly, and the broken king could only stare as Killer effortlessly hefted Nike higher up, tilting his head back and opening his jaws wide to drink down some of that deluge of lust, droplets of pearly nectar rolling down his masculine pecs as he rumbled in pleasure.

Nike moaned in helpless, stunned gratitude, writhing, shuddering, half-curling up in midair as her hands slid down her belly and weakly pushed against his huge hand, begging respite from that succession of wrecking climaxes... and Killer grinned and finally dropped her down on top of her broken husband, who let out a cry of agony as her weight settled upon his shattered form. Killer slowly squatted down over them, casting darkness over their huddled bodies, his hulking mass making it look like the sky was falling, his terrifying godcock a monument, an obelisk, a tower, a skyscraper of hypervirility that dwarfed both of their bodies, leaning slightly, mocking over them and letting them feel a fraction of its calamitous weight. It could have crushed them both out of existence with its hulking mass, and Griagas would have been helpless to prevent it. He wrestled his way out from beneath Nike and grabbed into the barbed flare, struggled to push it off them, his muscles spasming with the effort, his bones crying, and all his strength was barely enough to budge that monstrous cockhead... assuming it was him at all: the monstrous member bulged and flexed, bouncing with supreme vigor as the huge veins pumped omnipotent power through that godly virility.

"I see that asking you to help guide my cock to your wife's cunt would be a waste of time." Killer mocked, as Griagas vainly struggled beneath the apocalyptic weight of that unrivalled cock. Terrified by the thought that the god-king was going to squish them both like gnats under his cock alone, Griagas was struggling to get on all fours, shielding Nike's bulging, twitching belly with his body, sobbing in panic and grunting as he arched his back and attempted to push up with all four of his limbs to forcibly heft those literal tons of black, sweaty male-meat as it rested mockingly across his back. "Come on, push, faggot!" Killer mocked, lowering himself a bit further, balls already dragging heavily on the ground as the throbbing godcock settled some more of its brutal weight upon the two bodies, and Griagas let out a whimpering cry, flushing in humiliation and gasping as his limbs spasmed and gave and he collapsed atop Nike, over her belly, feeling the vulnerable lives moving in terror inside it, before his eyes bulged as one of Killer's huge hands reached down and teasingly squeezed upon that pregnant bulge, his deep voice rumbling: "They know their time is up."

Griagas's eyes filled with tears as he gasped breathlessly as the immense godcock suddenly leaned down harder, making his spine creak ominously... but then Killer shifted onto his knees, legs spread out in a v, huge godcock rising off them as the hulking male leisurely stroked his immensity, blasting out a cannonade of precum that arched high over the terraces of the arena.

Griagas sobbed brokenly under that beast of a cock, trembling as Killer effortlessly shoved him down and then hefted Nike on top of him again, keeping his earlier promise: he would fuck her right on top of him.

Nike panted in anticipation and need, spreading her legs wide as she rested atop her broken husband, her ass on his chest, her blossomed sex right above his face, radiating incredible heat, pulsing visibly, soaked labia bulging out in welcome as juices sprayed out of her in a fountain, washing down Griagas's bloodied, smashed face. He drank of the scent of her lust, shivering at the intensity of that perfume and daring to lick up a couple drops of her nectar, bitterly thinking that she had never gifted him such ambrosia in their years together... and then he nearly choked as everything became darkness and potent masculinity as the liger's sweaty monster of a cock pushed in, blotting out the sky, filling all of Griagas's vision, all of his senses.

"Spread that shit wide!" Killer mockingly commanded, and Griagas nodded, even though the hulking male could not see it as he was completely eclipsed beneath the mass of that tower of cock, so wide and broad that it looked like a freight train positioned in front of an olive. Griagas whimpered pathetically but blindly reached up to push his hands against Nike's inner thighs, spreading her legs wider, his thumbs hooking rudely into her soaked passage and spreading it open, yanking on the walls of her cunt almost viciously.

What a ludicrous effort! In comparison to that brutal battering ram of cunt-destroying sizes, to that glorious flare, that poor mousehole, however stretched, continued to look like a tiny fissure.

Killer leaned forwards, mounting both of their bodies, dwarfing them as he grabbed her ankles and forced her legs back, splaying her like a toy, and the whole arena fell silent as he thrust powerfully forwards, snorting steam from his nostrils as his monstrous cockhead rammed into her gates. Her poor vagina helplessly flexed, gaping wide open thanks to her husband's effort and clenching with desire, wanting him, but at the same time it flinched in terror as that monstrous flare dwarfed her opening and punched into her whole groin. Nike screamed for Killer, eyes bulging as she felt her cunt stretching even wider, forced to open up to unholy, unnatural, unhealthy proportions as her whole body was shoved backwards like a toy.

"Hold her still, you faggot!" Killer rumbled, before a monstrous cannonade of black precum erupted up her stretched-out cunt, cruelly stretching its way into the slut and smacking into her cervix with brutal force, knocking the breath out of her lungs and making her eyes bulge as that unending deluge of hypermasculinity flooded her womb, filling it with monstrous gigasperms that dwarfed the helpless pups inside her.

Griagas whimpered at the shocking sight and at the terrible feeling of trashing, writhing, wrestling inside her rapidly bloating belly as the gargantuan sperms brutalized his unborn heirs. Black, omnipotent cocksludge flooded out of her bloating body, washing back out of her flexing cunt even as it was corked by the monstrous flare of the liger, who only snarled in dark delight and thrust again. That monumental cock was so hard, so firm, and the flex of his member so powerful, that it ripped inside of her, ruthlessly bulldozing its way forwards, cruelly stretching the slut into a cocksleeve.

Blood spurted out into Griagas's gaping mouth and over his face as Nike threw her head back with a breathless scream as she was stretched; and that was just the tip of his colossal cockhead. Killer was merciless and unstoppable and drove forwards with another mighty thrust, and Griagas sobbed while vainly attempting to keep Nike steady, his fingers clawing into her thighs as he yanked her towards him, trying to balance the overwhelming force of the godcock shoving her in the opposite direction. Griagas struggled like he was wrestling a bear, arching his back and gritting his teeth, his eyes shocked by the sight of that huge black obelisk forcing its way into that tiny, bloodied, obliterated hole, vainly trying to keep his wife in place, preventing her slipping away from the monstrous invader godcock.

And in all of that, he knew that Killer was just playing with them both.

"Useless faggot..." Killer mocked, snorting steam from his nostrils, and he reached down with a huge, powerful hand that easily clamped down not only on Nike's neck, but on her ankles at the same time, her feet locked down past her head as she shrieked in a mix of disbelieving ecstasy and agony, her cunt spraying hot nectar mixed with blood high up into the air while she was pinned in place, the colossus's grip more unmovable than a mountain. Killer rammed forwards another thrust, grinning and licking his lips as he drove that steel tower down into Nike, rumbling as he felt her body, now pinned in place, surrendering to his overwhelming power, giving, stretching. He felt her vagina tearing, spreading, stretching horrifically open, blood lubing his girth as he pile drove his immensity inside her deforming body, and finally the hulking flare squelched its way inside, her obliterated hole helplessly closing up around the neck of his immense shaft.

Killer rumbled in delight as he pulled his hips easily backwards, rising a bit higher, and Nike screamed as she literally hung upside down from his godcock, stuck upon the immense flare that sustained her entire body weight like she was just a plastic toy.

"Fuck yeah..." Killer hissed, eyes sliding closed as he savored the spectacular mix of feelings, especially as the head of his cock was teased and massaged and stimulated by a thousand different movements as his own colossal hypersperms whipped and twisted and twirled inside her overfilled womb and what was left of her unborn children trashed in panic and bumped into his cockhead, vainly struggling towards a safety that did not exist. Killer rolled his shoulders in delight, muscles flexing as he reveled in the sensations and basked in his own absurd strength, before he grabbed Nike by the face and smacked her head down into the sand, pinning her down with a growl and yanking his godcock out with a lurid, shocking, terrifying wet pop.

Griagas's mind revolted as blood and precum and ichors and fluids flooded down over his face, his eyes bulging at the shocking sight of Nike's vagina prolapsing out in a broken mess, gaping wide, smashed into a crater that gaped so wide that the broodspawn inside her immediately started to slip out, grotesque, bloodied, broken little dolls strangled and massacred by the muscular tails of sperms much stronger and larger than them. One little arm flopped out, limp and useless, the young bones inside crushed to dust, and Griagas saw an head crumpled like an overripe tomato, and another little body literally crushed into halves by the savagery of long sperm tails that clamped down on it... That grotesque mess was about to tumble out of the gaping crated, but Killer laughed darkly and plunged his cock down, the bloodstained flare crushing that monstrous mess back inside her and corking her stretched-out hole tightly as the liger rammed back inside her, rumbling in delight in time with an horrific cacophony of squelching and crunching as he ground those unborn lives completely out of existence.

A disgusting rain of black and crimson ruin leaked down over Griagas's shocked face as the monster of a liger bulldozed its way in: that godcock smashed its way through her depths and crunched into what little remained of the life that had been growing within her. Killer tilted his head back, baring his fangs in a cruel grin as her body bulged and bloated with the visible shape of his monstrous cock, his flare swelling her womb far larger than her pregnancy ever had, making the queen howl out, delirious and spasming.

Griagas trembled beneath her, crushed, sunken into the sand, broken and staring up at that savage violation, watching with empty eyes as the giant, the god, the monster leaned forwards, growling as he forced more of his cock into his wife, having used just a fraction of his terrifying sizes. Her belly bulged grotesquely, filled not only with his cock but with a sloshing mass of dark precum, blood, ichors and pulped ruins of the destroyed lives, with all that gunk trapped inside her by the liger's brutal girth leaving not even a millimetre for the fluids to streak out... at least until he growled and yanked violently backwards as he began to piston himself in and out, as he started to fuck her, sending out lurid spurts of not only nectar, but blood and ruin out of that obliterated, overstretched, broken cunt, who screamed again and again, howling her broken breath out as she foamed at the mouth and spasmed violently.

Killer flexed and thrust again, beginning to build up his pace as he pistoned his massive member into her, cruelly grinding those frail lives into mush, his hands shifting down to her belly, squeezing into it to feel the spasms and twitches that wrecked her bloated, deformed body, grinning as he felt the crunching and the weak flailing within as what was left of those unborn still vainly struggled, as if trying to hide, as if trying to push back against that gigantic flare. There was no shelter, no salvation, no hope for them as his cock bulged inside her clenching passage, growing even fatter, harder, massive and brutal as it ground those tiny bodies into pulp, ruthlessly scraping and tearing and squishing and mulching them against her inner walls.

The public on the terraces moaned and gasped and occasionally screamed, but the main emotions were shock and awe as concubines and cucks alike stared at the massive, powerful body of the hulking alpha, at his eyes burning with power and dominance and pleasure as he rammed down into her again and again and again. He wasn't even halfway into her, but his monstrous godcock was already bulging her entire body out of shape, his colossal cockhead bulging out in cruel definition through even her bulging belly, ramming up into her chest, into the underside of her large, lactating breasts, bouncing her tits from within as her ribs creaked and were pushed visibly outwards.

Blood and dark ichors and ruin spurted out of Nike's clenching, devastated sex as loud crunches muffled and squelched their way out of the blown-apart womb of the queen as Nike rocked her head helplessly from side to side, jaws gaping as she gasped out shrieks that came out as whispers as his cock crushed the air out of her very lungs.

Griagas cried weakly, trembling and doing his best to suffocate laments of agony as the colossus's mighty thrusts pounded through his wife and into him, crushing him into the ground, punishing his already broken body and threatening to shatter him like a porcelain doll, his whole body spasming and burning with agony. And yet his tiny, emasculated cock throbbed, ached, burned with sick arousal in front of that stunning display, and every few moments Griagas writhed helplessly as his now useless member shamefully sprayed out tiny streaks of watery, impotent cum that were nothing more than a tribute to the hulking Alpha's utter superiority. Thankfully, such pitiful offerings went unnoticed as they vanished into the boiling, steaming, churning bog of thick black precum flooding sloppily out of Nike's destroyed sex. That dense black Alpha gunk glued Griagas and Nike together and stuck them to the ground like flies while it visibly, ominously throbbed with the size and vigor of the liger's huge, mutant spermbeasts.

Griagas could feel those colossal sperms moving inside his bulging belly, sore hands tremblingly touching over a stomach that bulged as those tyrant invaders pushed up from his bleeding, gaping ass, as more and more of those hulking mutant beasts cruelly bulldozed their way inside him, wrestling and wrangling with their siblings.

"Having fun, faggot...?" Killer mockingly asked, and the older tiger mewled pitifully, looking up with reverent, meek eyes as if a leash of invisible but immense force had just squeezed around his neck. "Watch how it's done." Killer teased, and Griagas hurriedly nodded, obedient and submissive, shivering beneath a rain of blood and nectar and precum as the mighty liger continued to jackhammer short but powerful, brutal thrusts in and out of the bulging, gurgling, deformed body of the queen. Griagas could only stare upwards, wincing and crying as blood and chunky ruin splattered down over his face, frantically scooping handfuls of thick black Alpha precum out of his bloodshot eyes, doing his best to keep them open, to prevent his eyelids from being glued closed by that sticky, mighty sludge. Killer seized Nike by the hips as he slammed himself into her over and over again, relentless, unstoppable, powerful, fucking her hard and fast, stretching her whole body out of shape with that massive member as her pregnant belly clenched and twitched visibly, horrifically, as its content was destroyed, obliterated, maimed, ground into liquid waste as the godcock-head of the liger's shaft pushed its way out in cruel definition from her chest, forcing her breasts unnaturally far apart as her rips threatened to rip through her own skin, stretched and forced outwards by his monstrous girth.

Nike's head swung back and forth, bonelessly, bouncing in time with his thrusts as her jaws gaped, her tongue lolled stupidly out, her eyes rolled up in her skull, drool flew in strings and ropes from her maw as she gurgled and spluttered breathless words of awe and praise, and Killer grinned and flexed, leaning forwards as he mercilessly buried his cock a bit deeper inside her, hands greedily squeezing into the sides of his immense member through a thin layer of her stretched-out body, the hulking male using her like a onahole, a toy. Blood spurted thickly out of her clenching, madly-orgasming sex and reached far enough to splatter across Killer's crotch, staining his forest of thick pubes as the last desecrated vestiges of the life that had been inside her pregnant belly were obliterated, ground into chunky lube, into slushy jelly. Splatters of crimson mixed with her lust and amniotic fluids squelched loudly out around his prodigious girth, squeezing laboriously out whenever his gargantuan cock ripped itself backwards out of her as the gigantic alpha-god ravaged the frail life that had been so close to coming into the world.

Life that was weak and puny in comparison to the brutal vigor of his endless horde of god-generating hypersperms, which already swelled her belly larger than it had ever been before, as Killer's mere precum festered with such shocking amounts of vigorous, superior Life. Griagas's erased sons wouldn't have been able to hold a candle to the Alpha-studs that were going to be born now. A superior brood of hulking ligers.

"Say it, bitch!" Killer rumbled, seizing Nike by the neck and steadying her for a moment just so she could watch him in the eyes and immediately gasp out: "Destroy t-them! S-scrape that s-shit out! G-give me your superior, invincible brood"

"That's right!" Killer callously approved, rumbling in delight as he gyrated his hips, grinding his cock inside her, slowly, deliberately ensuring there wasn't a single haven for any of Griagas's ruined lineage to continue soiling her wrecked womb. That huge tower of godcock crushed and crunched and squished the soft helpless meat, and the giant of a ligerbeast let his head fall forwards with a grin as his hands crushed down on her belly and squeezed into his behemoth member, working her poor body like he was squeezing the last bit of toothpaste out of an empty tube.

Killer jerked Nike up and down his giant shaft like she was just a stretched condom his cock had shredded and blown into a new, broken shape, and a rivuled of revolting ruin leaked out of her quivering cunt, washing down over Griagas's shocking face and chest... before Nike gurgled loudly and suddenly vomited a thick gush of the same vile mixture of fluids and pulped gore, before Killer threw his head back with a savage grin and clamped one hand around her stretched-out body, holding her tightly wrapped around his girth as a great load of his precum surged up along his monstrous shaft... and finally erupted inside her, visibly bulging her body, filling it up, and then choking her loudly until thick black gunk exploded out of her nostrils and fired out of her jaws in a glorious geyser, a cannonade, a solid, thick rope of precum that tore through her from end to end and flew across the arena.

Killer stood up now, unfazed by the insignificant weight of the tigress worn like a ripped condom over his shaft, and he snorted and growled like a beast as he began to grind forwards, slamming forth harder, rougher, faster thrusts, pistoning himself mercilessly in and out of that toy of a body as his mastodon member throbbed, flexed within her body, threatening to shred her apart. Her breasts bounced wildly upon her bulging, deformed chest, his huge cock ramming savagely up all the way into her chest, displacing her organs, reshaping her insides, bulldozing its way inside her helpless body as she hung from his cock, limbs dangling limply, jaws wide open as thick precum blasted out of her mouth, forcing her to vomit pulped gore of her unborn litter literally out of her jaws.

The ligerbeast spread his legs wider and snorted steam from his nostrils as he pistoned himself into her harder and faster, eyes glowing with hungeras his cock bulged and thrummed with power, with lust, with savagery as he recklessly pounded her body, jerking her whole form up and down his brutal shaft.

His shocking girth ripped through her, punching her body out of shape, bloating her grotesquely as he thrust furiously up inside her, throwing his head back with a rumble of pleasure and ignoring both her helpless, constant orgasms and her vain, gurgling, choking attempts to scream, as much as he ignored the stunned, terrified awe of the cuck watching up from the ground in which he had been crushed almost to a pulp.

Faster, harder, faster, harder, his rhythm building up in a relentless display of power and savage hunger as he rammed deep into her, hands roughly crushing her bulging, precum-overfilled body down aroung his girth, roaring in furious pleasure as he gritted his fangs and clenched his eyes shut while his pistoning became a vicious jackhammer. It looked like Nike would burst apart like a balloon at any moment as his impossible, prodigious godshaft bulged her from clenching, ruined sex all the way up between her breasts, fucking her boobs from within as his brutal flare visibly rammed up pretty much to her throat, sending precum exploding out of her jaws in glorious, unholy cannonades of black gunk.

And then the Alpha roared, triumphantly, claiming them all as his property, as his toys as the first cataclysmic eruption of his semen blasted inside her, immediately ballooning her body even further as her whole form shock with the force of it, even as unholy, fearsome amounts of thick Alpha gunk burst out of her obliterated cunt, out of her mouth, her nostrils, even her flexing ass.

His hands clamped hard upon her hips, holding her in place, nailing him to his cock as that first, impossible blast of hypermasculine supremacy lasted for an uninterrupted eternity, literally tens of seconds before giving way to a second great cannonade of seed that made Griagas whimper, his eyes bulging at the way Killer's humongous balls visibly churned and swelled and recoiled with each of those luridly excessive, overkill demonstrations of supremacy.

The huge Alpha finally let go of Nike, not a moment too soon, and she was fired away by the next giant blast of cum, sent crashing down to the ground as blast after immense blast followed, as Killer arched his back and leisurely aimed those meteors of hypersperm up across the terraces, washing down his people in his omnipotence, in the opulence of his superior masculinity. Black streaks of omnipotent cum draped themselves across the arena, drenching countless bodies, baptizing his new people in the cult of their new god, and Griagas stared in bashful awe, thinking that there could not be a more glorious and powerful blessing over the future of the kingdom.

That lurid demonstration of power lasted for such an eternity that Griagas was able to brokenly crawl through the sticky, cum-covered sand to where Nike had crashed, and was now resting, coughing and spluttering, vomiting thick, omnipotent load while pinned down under the monstrous weight of a belly that bulged with an unholy fill of superior sperm.

Thick, sticky dark gunk splashed out of her overfilled body, flooding out of her cunt as she trembled, her body spasming out of control, limbs twitching, chest shaking violently. He was shocked by the cascades of dense cum rushing out of her, thick rushes of black, gluey gunk that spread out in bog, a lake, a sea around her broken body. It took a while for that blackness to become mixed with splatters of ugly colors: crimson, and pinkish chunks, and visceral colors that stained that steaming masculinity as her body flexed, her back arching, her sex weakly yet callously pushing out what little remained of the aborted, obliterated life she had carried. A stew of unrecognizable wreckage spilled out of her, finally including some chunky, ugly ruin visible in the great, endless flow of dark, sticky cum.

That was all that remained of his lineage... and as more black cum kept rushing out of the twitching slut, even that little was lost, cancelled forever, buried under thick layers of superior maleness. He felt Killer walking up to them. Felt him in the way the ground trembled and seemed to cower in fear of the giant. Felt it in the way Nike whimpered in time with the god's steps, greeting each one with a little squirt of nectar from her cunt, rejoicing at the coming of her master and divinity... and he shivered violently, then turned to stare weakly up at the liger, shrinking on himself to avoid a massive, dangling rope of black precum and great splotches that pattered heavily to the ground as Killer leisurely stroked his immense member.

That glorious cock, undiminished and unrivaklled, beautifully sweaty, horribly stained with blood and ruin, gloriously drenched in his own potent semen...

God, it was so massive. So immense, so divine. So much larger than should have been possible. A scptre meant to rule and ruin every womb on the planet. Griagas stared, trembling, mouth working helplessly, drool dangling in strings from his mouth as he shivered in the shadow of the colossus. His diminished, sore dick once more betrayed him, throbbing weakly and cumming, spitting out a pitiful splatter of nothing that seemed to literally vaporize before even touching the ground. Ground that had turned black with the omnivirility of the ligerbeast, which continued to wash out of the destroyed, gaping crater of Nike's sex.

"That was refreshing." Killer commented, smirking as he looked down at the helpless "king" with a snort. Griagas didn't even know what to stare at anymore, and kept turning from the masculine glory looming above to the grotesque destruction of his wife's obliterated sex. He drooled in helpless fear and awe at the godly cock, at that titanic, bloodstained tower that was taller than him and that throbbed with savage hunger still, and undiminished power.

And then he stared at the tremendous devastation, the wreckage that the black fleshed goliath, or better, less than half of it! Had left behind: Nike's once beautiful sex now was a grotesque crater, a dam that had been smashed to bits, the entrance to an infernal absyss populated by monsters. Hellish beasts that were Killer's huge hypersperms, twisting and whip-lashing into the dark, gluey, dense cum that continued to pour out of her bloated, overfilled body, streaking down her ass, coating her thighs, streaming out to join the steadily-spreading bog of masculinity that was flooding the arena.

"Ops! I _might_have impregnated your wife...! Quick, cuck, suck that cum out!" Killer mockingly urged, and Griagas stupidly nodded and scurried over to her obliterated cunt, embarking in that ridiculously hopeless enterprise while the public on the terraces of the arena burst into laughter.

He didn't care about Nike anymore. She was just a slut.

No. No, that was not true. She was much better than just "a slut". She was just another one of Killer's sluts. And that made her important. That made her hot. She was just a fucktoy the Alpha might in any moment decide to impale on his cock and completely rip to shreds, and that made her more glorious than she had ever been as queen.

And he was no king, Griagas thought. He was just a faggot, mind-broken by the musk, by the power, by the omnipotence of the hulking liger. He was a cuck who had already been stripped of everything valuable, who had nothing else to gift to his Master. That made him the lowest of vermin. The least valuable form of life on earth.

He whimpered sincere thanks to the titan for still blessing him with some undeserved attention, and then buried his face forwards into that bubbling, throbbing cauldron of thick black cum, kissing the thrumming surface of the bog and crying out his gratitude to his glorious god before plunging his face inside that gaping cunt, into that thick load that was so dense he struggled to push his features in. Thick black floods, gluey and dense, baptized him and streaked down his broken body as he ground eagerly forwards and pushed his head into her prolapsed, obliterated cunt. It fit with ease. Her ravaged walls were nowhere to be felt.

He didn't do it for Nike, but for Killer, and for the pleasure of feeling that unmatched essence of masculinity washing down across his body, even as huge, powerful sperms reacted to his presence with annoyance, slapping at his face with thick, powerful tails that bruised him like whips, as he felt those monsters wriggle against him. What a privilege it was, to feast on that potent gunk, and upon the ruin of the life that Killer had crushed out of existence with his cock alone...!

Killer grinned, leisurely stroking his immense member while the cuckold drank greedily, sucked and licked and slurped, diving his face into the thick, wet mess in the gaping sex of the broken tigress, who lay sprawled in a barely-conscious haze, drooling helplessly, body broken by the liger's powerful thrusts.

Griagas's puny dick throbbed and uncontrollably released its submissive, meek excitement, spraying little, pathetic strings of white that became more and more watery with every go. They failed to even stain the impenetrable blackness of the bog of Killer's black semen, which boiled and throbbed with the hordes of giant sperms inside.

Killer put his hands behind his head and grinned, sweaty muscles gleaming gloriously, as if polished and oiled, and he idly settled one heavy foot on Griagas, crushing his head a bit deeper into the destroyed womb of the queen, ruined and savaged beyond repair, but nonetheless filled with shocking amounts of life by his omnivirile hypersperms. She was ruined for everyone but him: her womb destroyed, her sex ruined and gaping horribly loose... no other man would ever be able to even fuck that broken and gaping crater. To him? She was always going to feel tight and warm. And he would never have any problem filling her with his spawn.

Finally, Killer moved back his foot, allowing Griagas to resurface with a breathless gasp, frantically trying to scoop thick cum out of his mouth and nostrils to take in some desperately needed air... before Killer idly punted him with his foot to make him turn around.

"Lick me clean, faggot." The giant easily commanded, angling his titanic, blood-and-black stained godcock downwards, and the broken king got to work with a happy little cry of gratitude, even as he licked up the ruin of his lineage, the blood of his ruined wife, the bitter, potent masculinity of his conqueror.

Killer looked down at the older tiger with a snort, tilting his head to the side with an amused smirk as, without any need for encouragement, Griagas began to lick up chunky ruin from between the cruel barbs of the liger's mastodon flare, polishing the golden rings with his tongue, and mockingly commented: "Aren't you an eager little cocksucker...?"

Killer seized Griagas by the short hair and roughly guided his worshipful movements, dragging him around the shocking girth of his flare and grinding his features into the bloodied, steel-hard cock... but he quickly tired of wasting time with the faggot, and so let go of his colossal shaft, allowing it to ponderously swing upwards, hard and eager for more. Griagas let out a little whimper, knowing that his time had come, and he went limp as the beast effortlessly hefted him up into the air, turning him around and smacking him face-first into the stone wall.

"Too bad i'm not interested in training another faggot cocksucker. You had potential." Killer taunted, crushing the far smaller male into the wall as he snorted steam, grinding his massive, muscular form against his back, flexing powerfully and making Griagas cry out in agony as his frail, broken body was squished against the cold stone... which felt softer somehow than the godlike muscles bulging like tires behind and all around him.

Killer's monstrous cock pulsated with godlike power as it ground slowly up along Griagas's back, leaving a trail of precum, blood and disgusting ruin across the king's form.

Griagas spasmed helplessly, eyes bulging in horror as his hands vainly clawed at the wall as that huge, monster godcock ground its way down his spine, feeling like it would crush him flat as a pancake with its mass alone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he mouthed silent little words of... praise. Almost of gratitude, despite the fear swelling in his chest.

Killer hauled him higher by the scalp, grinding him against the rough stone as he hefted him up until Griagas found himself literally sitting upon the monstrous, unforgiving flare of the liger's hulking cock, which sustained his entire body weight like it was nothing. Griagas gaped with a soundless cry, eyes bulging in shock as he realized just how truly monstrously massive that flare truly was, and Killer wrapped huge hands around his thighs, making his legs look like thin twigs as the beast growled and yanked him down while ramming upwards mercilessly with his powerful hips.

Griagas shrieked in agony as that immense cock ripped up against his asshole. No matter how much it gaped, how much it had been ripped and stretched open by the hypersperms raping him en masse, it was still just a tiny mousehole while that freight train of a cock bulldozed its way forwards, smashing ruthlessly into his tailhole, savaging his anus, tearing it wide open, obliterating his very groin as it crumpled his buttocks into a caved-in crater. A nightmarish, bloody destruction.

He threw his head back with a shriek of agony that came out as more of a gurgle, his whole body already bulging with the size of his godcock as it purched up inside his body, making him bulge like the helpless cocksleeve he was around that enormity.

Griagas spasmed and cried, drooling helplessly from jaws that gaped in shock, his face and body smacking painfully into the wall as the hulking alpha savagely rammed his tower of cock inside his depths. He attempted to crawl away, claws tearing uselessly at the stone in front of him as he felt himself being fucked into the solid wall like a nail being pounded through soft wood.

Blood, ichor and pulped filth spurted and spewed out around that brutal girth, staining that obelisk of hypervirility as it smashed deeper inside him, and Killer snarled like a beast, grinning in ferocious delight as his hands gripped that frail, bulging, helpless body and grinding it into the wall as his cock pounded upwards inside him with such savage force that that bulge in his belly slammed against the stone wall hard enough to crack it.

Griagas spluttered and coughed in helpless agony, blood spilling out of his mouth as his insides were reshaped, destroyed, rearranged. Killer grabbed the back of his skull in one huge hand and slammed his face hard into the wall, rumbling in entertainment as that beast of a cock pulsed with power, bulging inside that too small, too frail body, tearing through Griagas's organs like they were made of paper, grinding his insides into nothing but hot, ugly jelly that squelched out of his obliterated, overstretched asshole with every savage piston of the monstrous member.

Griagas gasped in awe as Killer's huge hands gripped into the wall like it was made of sand, crumbling granite into powder as the hulking titan flexed, muscles bulging as his towering, endless cock buried some more of its overwhelming immensity into the puny, broken male toy. The king felt more of the liger's thick, slick precum blast violently inside him, feeling as hot as lava and festering with forceful life as that black gunk added to the wamn lube of blood and pulp that helped Killer thrust his wrecking ram of a cock through the tiger's body.

Griagas whimpered pathetically as that obscene girth pulverized his pelvis, leaving his legs lolling uselessly beneath him, his spine creaking and shattering like dry spaghetti as that monstrous godcock ripped up deeper into him, and the tiger panicked at the sight and feel of his stomach and chest bulging further and further outwards, blown out in the shape of the liger's immense flare.

Killer easily reached around him and seized that monstrous bulge, one huge hand squeezing into it, gripping behind the gigantic flare, stroking the neck of that godcock through the ripping, agonizingly shredding hide and flesh of the helpless tiger, as Griagas gasped breathlessly with the agony that came from his ribs as they snapped like twigs and poked through his flesh, sticking out of his body with great spurts of blood.

It was a freight train, a tower, an endless world-crushing leviathan of a cock that was cramming itself into him, leaving him unable to even scream as hisorgans were crushed and pulped, his skin stretched so taunt that the thick, pulsing veins of the liger's godcock were showing clearly through.

The liger towered over him, grinning, immense and unstoppable, delighting in the way his body bulged and tore out of proportion, how he could feel his ribs snapping, crumbling, all his bones grinding to dust as his cock relentlessly pushed forwards with each short, mocking thrust he made.

Griagas's vision became an haze as the pulsing of the immense godcock dwarfed the weak beating of his heart, which was crushed viciously against a crumbled rib... but even through the agony, Griagas felt it with horrible clarity as Killer shifted his grip on him. Huge, hulking arms laced around him, trapping his own scrawny, useless, spasming little limbs, and massive, all-powerful fingers clamped onto his scalp in a full nelson.

The helpless king choked on dark, thick precum that blasted out of his jaws and smacked into the wall, his whole body shaking with every thrust of the goliath, his very life trembling like a candle in the wind, his eyes rolling back in his head... and he helplessly stared as Killer leaned his own head down over his shoulder, just so he could see the cruel grin of pleasure and dominance on the Alpha's face.

Killer effortlessly forced Griagas's head down, folding his body without effort, the king's spine by now little more than powder, and the behemoth began to thrust upwards with even greater force, until, with a monstrous, sickening squelch and a great splatter of blood and precum and gore, his godlike cock shredded the tiger's stomach and ripped right through, tearing through him like he was truly just an overstretched condom. There was a horrific rending of flesh as that hulking cock tore out of the remains of the fallen king, chunks of viscera hailing in all directions as that great, mammoth godshaft emerged like a demon out of hell, as Killer hissed in savage delight and pushed the folded-up, shapeless body further down along his shaft, more of his immensity ripping right through that bloodied wreckage.

The gigantic, bloodstained flared cockhead smacked up into Griagas's face with enough force to crunch his muzzle in, shattering his jaws, sending teeth falling to the ground as one eye sickeningly burst apart, and Killer hooked a thick finger into what little remained of his lower jaw and effortlessly ripped it off, the hulking colossus snarling: "Suck it, bitch!"

The giant, bloodied shaft rammed through his stretched, broken body and up into the back of his throat, enormous flare nearly crunching his skull completely to pieces, and Griagas died tasting nothing but Killer's virile black precum, blood, gore and ruin, while feeling the liger's massive, muscular form thrumming with absolute power behind him.

Killer snorted in contempt as the fallen king almost disintegrated in his grip, and he mockingly hissed: "Worthless failure, even as a fucktoy."

The hulking colossus pounded his massive cock through what was left of him, until the broken, pulped corpse was bisected with a sickening rendition of flesh. He held on to the floppy, boneless chunks of meat as they slid down his black shaft and he thrust his hard cock against the wall, unfazed by the hard, rough stone, cracking it, grinding it down to sand as he mockingly ground those remains out of existence, crushing, crunching the corpse under his cock until there was nothing but bloody putty and chunky lube smeared down the length of his enormous shaft. Miserable, ugly chunks fell down to the ground with wet splats, broken tatters hung from around his pillar of cock, shredded to pieces by his absolute, unquestionable power as a single lazy pump of his sludgy precum smeared the wall black with gallons of dark, omnipotent masculinity... and the liger laughed darkly as the thick, steaming cocksludge completely covered the blood, the gore, the ruin of his victim, erasing its pulped remains from sight, almost like he had never even existed.

Killer finally slowed his movements, relenting, and watching almost with interest at the broken, shapeless remains of Griagas's head, crunched inwards horribly, still in his hand. He was surprised to see the bullet necklace was still there, dripping blood and gore, hanging from the shreds of flesh and broken bone that were all what was left of the king's neck.

He seized the bullet and yanked the necklace free, then flung the remains of Griagas's skull onto the ground, where they landed with a sickening sound of mud striking a wall. He looked down at the mess with a snort of contempt that hid some emerging shame for his own excess.

He had done it again. He had exaggerated. He had allowed his dark lusts to run rampant. He could have ended the traitor in a less brutal way, couldn't he...?

He stepped on that crumpled head with almost as much contempt for himself as for the traitor he had just destroyed, and he made a grimace as he slowly twisted his heel, crushing that ugly wreck out like a cigarette, before dragging his foot backwards, wiping it clean in the sand, to dry away the blood and pulp.

He walked back towards Nike, who stared weakly up at him, with a little, fearful smile. She had seen what he had just done to what had been her husband, but apart from the hint of tears lost into the thick black cum drenching her face and her whole body, she seemed not to case.

Then again, he had fucked her into such a haze that he wondered if she was even truly aware of her surroundings. He looked down at the bloodied bullet pendant, and squatted near her broken form, dangling the necklace above her face.

Like an obedient little slave should, she opened her mouth and allowed him to lower her husband's pendant into her maws, immediately beginning to lick it clean of her king's ruin, her eyes filled with nothing but fearful, reverent worship for her new Master and God. He let her work, idly reaching down with his other hand to stroke her grotesquely huge belly and to seize a large breast, idly playing with her nipple, pinching it lightly between his strong fingers... and when the pendant was finally clean and polished with her drool, he calmly asked: "Do you hate me for what I did...?"

"I could never hate my king and master and god." Nike whispered, and her eyes made it clear she was sincere. "He had it coming."

"Did he, now...?" Killer quietly asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. The hulking colossus didn't insist, and instead snapped his fingers, calling help forwards. She needed it, he had been rough to her.

"Don't worry, Nike. I'll take good care of you... I'll take good care of everyone." Killer quietly promised, almost more to himself than to her.

He was going to keep the bullet pendant. And not just because he liked it, no. Because hopefully it would remind him to be a bit more merciful and controlled.

Just like his new scar would hopefully remind him to be a little less arrogant.