# The legend of a warrior; chapter 2 - Become the alpha male

Author: Killer Tiger
Tags: Bad Language, Deep Penetration, Fighting, Hyperphallic, M/F, M/M, Muscles, Rape, Tiger, Violence

#2 of The legend of a warrior

**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.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/qmyZzPEn
Part of the series The legend of a warrior
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