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Anthro Sex Squad Story 2 - Winfred's Story

By Killenor

Arc 1 - Origins

Chapter 11

_There! That had to be her!

A glow down a side alley, almost un-noticeable for the stacks of shipping crates in the way. It was the glow of eroticka, plain as daylight to my deity-blessed eyes. Such was the brightness I could not doubt that this was my charge.

A swipe of my blade smashed aside the crates, (Honestly it was the fastest way) clearing the way into a narrow split between two hastily constructed buildings that seemed to have been shoved into place rather than built. Immediately I noticed that just inside, beyond the veil of shadow, an aura of eroticka shone._

"WINFRED!" Wethers shouted, charging into the alley with reckless abandon, "Winfred! What are you doing?!"

She shone with the light of stolen eroticka, sitting astride a terrified snake-man that was as black in aura as he was in scales. Even as she acknowledged the burnt ram's presence she continued to bounce vigorously, both the snake-man's slender phalli penetrating her as she drew in his every mote of pleasure.

Two leaping strides brought Wethers beside the pair. Casting aside his sword, his hands grasped at his charge, one swung about her collar and the other gripped roughly at the nape of her neck. Heaving with divine strength empowering his muscles, he pulled the passion-crazed female clear off the terrified snake-man and tossed her into a nearby pile of spilled packing material. Glancing at her only to confirm that he had done her no harm, he turned to her erstwhile victim to assess the damages done.

The black snake found himself even more terrified of this new figure than his errant target had ever become. Being molested was one thing, but this ram... a burnt figure, bereft of horns and decked in armor, but still ablaze with sacred lights... this ram struck his craven heart with fear and shame. Even as his unwelcome savior began to ask after his condition he could see that those haunting, perfect eyes that shone from under seared brows pierced his heart and knew him well. His every instincts told him to scramble away as quickly as possible.

A second later, he was to receive all the distraction he needed. Behind that haunting ram, from the pile to which he had thrown her, rose an equally chilling figure. She pulsed with his own stolen energy but was also streaked through with the red and black of nigh-unbearable pain and irreconcilable rage. Taking but a moment to get her bearings, the wolverine woman set her sights on the ram and advanced.

Wethers' charred ear-stumps did not miss the unsubtle sound of Winfred rising from the garbage. Neither did they fail to send him the growled warning that preceded her assault. For the second time that day, the screech of powerful claws on blessed metal shattered any notion of quiet. This time, though, it was no errant swipe but a rage-guided series of blows that sought nothing less than blood to quench their heat. Such was the furry of the assault that Wethers fell back several steps, eyes fixed on the mask of unbridled anger that his attacker wore. Her passions burned brighter than fire, pushing him away lest his own life be consumed in the blaze.

In a desperate attempt to save himself without hurting the girl he cast a quick glance about the alley. Instincts saved him as his racial memory re-imagined the scene into one of the many narrow defiles of his old mountain home. A bleat of primal determination leaped to his throat as his first jump placed him several paces back and high upon a stack of masonry. Another bounding leap set him upon a windowsill, his narrow hooves finding purchase that others races would be hard put to keep. A final jump catapulted him over his confused assailant's head, landing genuflected beside his cast-aside blade.

In the moments it took for Winfred to correct herself and resume her onslaught, Wethers had swept up his giant blade. With its great reach and his considerable skill, the blade quickly struck down the enraged wolverine. The weight of the swing bore her into the wall of the alley where she lay in a quiet heap. The momentum of the impact and the enormity of his reactions game Wethers pause. Dropping to his knees, the words of prayer formed at his lips.

Beside his please for clarity and guidance, the only sound that could yet be heard were a few near-silent drips coming from his fallen charge.

***

The rooftops of this city were insane, thought Claret as she leaped across another uneven roof. This one was a home for half a dozen human-sized families, but had been altered through the years to allow for at least as many, if not more, homes for rats, bats, weasels, and probably other "short" races. The process of this secondary construction had left a roof of questionable stability and flatness, the sort of thing that was a symptom of tyranny.

Claret fluttered her wings, slowing her decent to the next rooftop and landed like a feather on a new, rubble-strewn surface. She stopped momentarily to catch her breath and scan the horizons for signs of lawlessness, passion, or magicks wreaking havoc through the otherwise peaceful quiet of the curfew-silenced night. All across this vast backward metropolis, every form of unsavory activity could be taking place at this very moment. If the Untouched was going to establish a proper philosophical foothold here, the process was going to proceed very slowly.

For now, the greatest perpetrators of this "Soldier Academy" were a top priority. The idea of subjecting females to forced conception, and forcing males into greater heights of carnality, turned Claret's stomach. She tried her best to suppress any passionate outbursts and focus on her mission.

But then, something caught her eye. A flash of magicks in a dark alley... worse still, the magicks most perverse and amoral... eroticka.

A quick quiver of wings took her swiftly over the rooftops to the alley. Claret's sharp eyes caught a movement, black against the shadows, fleeing the alley as she arrived. Peering over the edge of the roof she saw a most horrible sight.

A silver armored ... something... with a giant blade taking a swing at a naked wolverine woman who was at the moment mid-charge. The sword blow connected squarely, catching the wolverine fully in the midriff and flinging her into the wall and dropping her. Claret marveled that the swing hadn't completely bisected the poor woman!

The armored thing dropped to his knees, praying aloud for forgiveness and clarity. Claret was nearly satisfied that this man might be an ally until she heard him call out a cursed name.

"Aaluran will not avail you!" Claret called down, trying with much difficulty to restrain her emotions. "How you can call upon the immoral one, the most perverse deity, after having just slain someone sickens me beyond thought."

Wethers had only a moment to right himself and prepare as a robin in a brilliant white robe descended from the rooftops and landed well out of reach of his blade, blocking the entrance to the alley.

"As a member of the Untouched and crusader of all that is moral, I demand that you lay down arms and submit yourself to legal authority." Claret demanded, "Failure to do so will result in my being forced to arrest you."

Wethers stared at the newcomer incredulously for a long moment...

...and then burst out laughing.

"Dare not mock me, servant of Aaluran the immoral." Claret said firmly, "Though your weapon is great and your arm is strong, it is I who have the advantage with justice and purity at my back."

"Of all the random offal I've dealt with today," Wethers said through deep steadying gasps, "a nearly nude bird squawking of morals arresting me has to be the topper."

Incensed, but trying to stay calm, Claret could not help the glare that crept into her expression.

"Levity will not avail you murderer. By my oaths of duty I shall be sure you come to justice."

In an instant Wethers laughter died and his demeanor turned deadly serious.

"Dare not accuse me of that which I have not done." he said, his tone deep and hard, "No murderer am I, and believe I would not harm anyone who did not mean it for me. Say what you will of my faith and my patron, 'tis your freedom to do so, but know that I have my free thoughts about you and yours." He gestured to the body lying against the wall. "She yet lives, not a scratch befouls her beauty. Also know that I am in the process of saving this one and you will find my blade quite sharp if you intend to interfere with my divine mission."

Claret was unmoved.

"How about I make you a deal." Wethers said, his voice softening, "You see for yourself that Winfred over there is alive and well. Rescind your claim that I murdered her. Know that I stopped two rapes this night and shall keep more from happening. Then you go about whatever business brought you out this night and may the pantheon will that we never meet again."

The robin considered for a moment.

"I am not willing to bargain with an enemy." She said, voice firm as stone despite its high pitch, "If you are on a divine mission from Aaluran, 'tis my duty to interfere."

"I warn you once more little robin, you'll find me more than your match." Wethers said, "I will not obey you, nor will I turn away from my quest. I'll not attack you, thus the first move is yours."

With that, Wethers calmly walked to his fallen charge and lifted her onto his shoulders as easily as one would a sack of tubers. Runnels of sexual juices leaked from between Winfred's legs, shining unnaturally where they dripped upon Wethers' armor. Then, sword in one hand and woman in the other, Wethers strode confidently toward the robin