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*After well over a decade since this project started, my english has vastly improved, as have my skills as writer. I have decided to rewrite the early chapters of Legend to better tell the story, correct the atrocious english of those past days and give the characters a better chance to present themselves from early on. *

_A content warning ahead of this chapter: it contains cuckolding, rape, death and cock-abortion. If such content is not your cup of tea, you might not want to read the sex scenes, or the chapter at all. But if you have a taste for the more extreme, i hope you enjoy this greatly. _

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.