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The cracking of a whip snapped Baphor Meht to his senses. He opened his eyes slowly, waves of nausea, then pain, flowed in and out with the tides of discomfort racking his body. He tried to move, but found even the slightest of motions send shockwaves of pain through his nervesâ€"and that was nothing to say of the manacles, which kept him chained to the wall.

He wasn't entirely sure how he had arrived at these present circumstances. His memories were a fog, but in that fog he could distinctly remember the tavern. It was warm, inviting, rich in color and smell. He could head the memory echoes of glass striking glass, the soft tumbling of ice cubes, the soft churning of liquor being poured. He remembered drinking. A lot.

Had he been upset? He couldn't remember. Maybe he had been celebrating...something. He glanced about his new surroundings with a dismal frown. He was strung up to the wall of a very small cellâ€"no larger than a closet, at best. A small window filtered fluorescent light onto the straw-laden floorboards. He felt his stomach lurching, and could not fathom whyâ€"until he felt the gentle caress of the breeze outside the box, filtered through the loose wooden slats. He was moving.

His cell was moving.

How and where he had no clue, but those were largely irrelevant questions anyway. He was more concerned with the "what"â€"as in, what had gotten him in this situation. Bar...go back to the bar...he willed his mind to stir, willed his memories to fall into some semblance of order. Slowly, it came...

The bar was crowded that night. Creatures from all corners of the world were on displayâ€"from a meek Vole, sipping daintily at his gin-and-tonic, twitching nervously at the slightest movement; to a buxom Vixen, heavy-lidded eyes and a coy smile promising a whole evening of delights to anyone who could match her confidence. Baphor himself could remember having a distinct desire to approach the female, but something...something had stopped him.

The cell suddenly lurched to a halt. Baphor was tossed about slightly, chains rattling, and he suddenly realized he was all but naked. What might have once been his pants were still on his body, but they were badly torn and covered in mud and grime. His shirt was nowhere to be found. Oh well, he mused. Clothes are fashion accessories only.

The door shook, and then snapped open. A flash of bright light blinded Baphor, and he groaned in irritation, turning away from the open doorway. A shadow stepped onto the threshold and spoke in a deep, rich voice.

"Good morning."

It was a male, that much was certain. Baphor could make out feathers, and a set of piercing amber eyes, just before a taloned fist filled his sight.

* * *

Baphor woke up a few moments later, and was immediately disoriented by the new scenery. He had been taken from his cell, and chained up to a gang of other, even more pitiful furs. One of them, to Baphor's dismay, was that Vole he'd seen. The little creature's glasses had been broken, and the bent, lens-less frame barely clung to the poor rodent's snout. There were about two dozen in all, and Baphor could only count two, maybe three guards. The guards were quite uniformâ€"dressed in dark-green duster jackets, with heavy black boots, their Canine faces were overcast with shadow. Baphor could not tell what breed they were, but their red eyesâ€"which seemed to glow under their capsâ€"gave him reason enough to not want to draw their attention. Each one held a musket in their clawed hands, the bayonets glinting hungrily in the limited light.

The chamber was the size of a small auditorium, made entirely out of stone. On the furthest end there was a sort of makeshift stage, and on that stage there stood another set of Canine guards, as well as two Vultures, all of whom flanked their apparent leaderâ€"a stately Eagle, clad in military dress.

The Eagle was deep in conversation with one of the Vulturesâ€"a particularly ugly specimen, with bulbous tumors growing from his neck and skull, and his plumage mangy, great chunks of feathers missing, revealing the pale, unhealthy skin underneath. Compared to that vulture, the Eagle was like an Adonisâ€"broad shouldered, his body a wall of musclesâ€"thick arms bulging under the heavy material of his coat, talons neatly polished. Baphor immediately hated the man, under the assumption that his incarceration was no doubt the Eagle's fault, but he could not help but admire his physique, albeit briefly.

After a long moment, the avian commander turned to address the gathered prisoners, screeching loudly. Contrary to popular belief, the cry of an Eagle is actually a rather unpleasant sound, neither stately nor noble. It can serve, in a pinch, to scare the ever-living shit out of anything unfortunate enough to be on the menu for the bird, however.

"It would be unseemly to wish you a ‘good morning', perhaps because, for you, this morning is hardly good. As I am certain you are aware, you are prisoners. My prisoners. Hold tightly, if you wish, to your memories of free creatures, because from this day forward, you are slaves!"

The Eagle seemed to frown as his steely gaze took in the crowd.

"My name is Commander Kestral. I am the one who is responsible for your enslavement. If you wish, you may now tell me how much this upsets you. It will be your only opportunity."

The crowd immediately exploded into an incoherent cacophony of swears, jeers, insults, and pleas. Kestral closed his eyes impassively, at least looking like he was listening. Baphor didn't say anything. Not much point in it.

After awhile, everyone had shouted themselves hoarse, and the noise stopped. Kestral raised a hand and nodded slowly.

"There. Now, you will be escorted to your holding cells, where you will be kept until auction. As it happens, the next slave auction will be tomorrow morning, so many of you will not have to get used to our hospitality for very long."

He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled humorlessly.

"That is all. I shall not see you again, most likely. Farewell."

He turned sharply and marched off the stage, followed closely by the Vultures. Baphor sighed as he felt tugging on his chains, and the crowd began to shuffle towards an ominous set of iron doors. The guard dogs prodded the slower members of the group with their bayonets, to encourage them. Somebody tried to run, but his chains were connected to everyone else's, and there was no way he could drag everyone with him. He managed three steps before stumbling, his arms stubbornly refusing to go any further. The guards swarmed on him quickly, and stabbed him through the throat without a moment's hesitation. As he lay bleeding on the dusty floor, one of the guard dogs spoke.

"You will now drag him. Anyone else who attempts escape will suffer far worse. Move."

They moved. Down a long, dark corridor, down a winding staircase. The procession was silent, save for the gentle sobbing of some of the more fragile slaves. Every so often, a hellish scream would punctuate the silence from some dark, distant depth of the structure, doing little for morale.

Baphor quickly surmised that wherever he was had to be underground. That wasn't too surprising eitherâ€"the city of Vil Thatos was a layer cake metropolis, built into the great Thatos Plateau. Over its millennial history, the buildings of Vil Thatos had carved the plateau hollow, and expanded their modest city deep underground, where the majority of its citizens now resided. Judging from the lack of humidity, Baphor surmised that they weren't too deep downâ€"certainly a distance from the surface, where he'd started, but nowhere near Rathaven or, further still, the Penumbra Layer.

After half an hour of forced march, the group was split apart, chains cut away, and individual slaves led to their respective cells. Hungry eyes watched Baphor as he was thrust into his cell, and he fell to his knees helplessly as the wrought-iron gates slammed shut behind him, echoing ominously. That echo was a grave reminder to all the prisoners.

They could scream all they wanted.

No one would come to their rescue.

* * *

Baphor had three cell mates. There were no beds, though some damp piles of straw served much the same purpose. One cell mate was a swarthy pigâ€"the fat, corpulent kind more at home behind a desk, perhaps signing writs or stamping things than in a prison. Nobody asked him directly, but it was commonly known that, of all the slaves, he had been here the longest. Never a popular one at auctions, the years of incarceration had peeled away his former self, and left him a scarred, cruel, and utterly merciless swine by the name of Hogar.

His prag, and current partner-in-crime was a weasel named Luchus. Luchus was a walking stereotype, and a general embarrassment to his race. With a nasally voice, sunken eyes and a generally starved, untrustworthy look about him, he was a vermin of the purest extractâ€"vile, repulsive, yet completely accepting of it. He admired the new arrival with a heady eye, licking his lips slowly.

There was one other in that cell. He stayed quiet, stayed out of the way, and stayed hidden. His name was Henry. He was an armadillo, and had a blue-collar look to him. Sturdy, heavily muscled arms, tree-trunk thick legs, and a shell as hard as steel, he was known for his friendly smile and laid-back, easy-going demeanor. He avoided conflict and spoke seldom, his voice always soft, always gentle. He had been passed up at the last auction, but was optimistic that he'd find a good owner this time around.

Baphor stood by the wall, leaning against it heavily, mind distant. He was struggling even still to reconnect how he had been kidnapped. So lost in thought, he did not notice Hogar and Luchas approach him. Not until the pig rested his hand upon Baphor's curvy bottom and squeezed it firmly.

"Hey there, new guy."

Hogar's breath was hot against the back of Baphor's neck. The ram stiffened. Oh fuck, he thought, this is it. They're going to rape me.

Hogar continued to squeeze and fondle Baphor's bottom, whilst his weasel companion sidled up beside the ram, leering lecherously at him.

"Hey new guy." He hissed, his hand trailing along Baphor's spine. Baphor himself shivered, and tried to turn around and face the pair, but Hogar had his hips in a tight grip, and kept them there.

"Woah, hold on there, newbie! Yer awful feisty..."

Baphor tried to keep his voice calme.

"L-look fellas, you seem nice and all...b-but I'm really not too inclined to-"

Hogar pressed his hips to the ram's, and Baphor could feel the Pig's growing erection dig into his thighs. Hogar ground into his hips, murmuring huskily as his fingers slipped into the holes in Baphor's pants.

"Mmmm...not inclined, you say? Tha's real funny...'cause...well..."

He wrenched back, and tore long strips of denim from Baphor's hips in the process, the entirety of the ram's pants collapsing to the floor, leaving Baphor completely naked, his perky, curvy bottom exposed to Hogar's hungry eyes and eager hands, which gladly partook in squeezing, fondling, touching and caressing every inch of Baphor's forbidden nethers.

"I don't recall givin' you a choice!"

Hogar had already been naked when he approached, and when he put the full of his bulk behind him, he was easily able to slam Baphor against the wall, holding the smaller male's hips out, his own thick, throbbing cockâ€"squat but girthyâ€"grinding against the Ram's rump cheeks, slipping between them and teasing his tailhole. Baphor groaned and clawed at the wall, struggling to get free. Luchus grabbed Baphor by his wrists and pinned him to the wall.

"Nu-uh, Rammy boi! Hogar needs to bust a nut tonight, and it ain't gonna be me who he does it in! Not tonight!"

Baphor cried out sharply as the swine's thick cock dug against his pucker, the head popping through the thin vice of flesh, entering the ram for the first time. Of course, it wasn't the first time that a male had taken Baphor in such a wayâ€"he was, and had been for as long as he could remember, been decidedly bisexual, favoring both genders with equal favor and disdainâ€"but it was the first time Baphor had been taken without consent. Even though he'd expected it, he wasn't prepared for the bulbous pig to buck his hips, and force half that thick cock inside him.

Baphor groaned hotly, his knees quavering as Hogar began to thrust in and out of him, working his way into the ram's bottom inch by inch, until he was fully hilted inside, his breaths hot and ragged, his fingers clawing down Baphor's naked body. Baphor cried out sharply, his ass unconsciously clenching down around the intruding length.

"UHN! O-oh! Please! Oh god, please, it hurts...! IT hurts! S---stop! I beg you, p-p-please!"

Hogar did not stop; in fact, he sped up his actions, his hips slamming hard into Baphors, balls smacking balls, precum spurting inside the struggling ram, unable to break free from both Hogar and Luchus' iron grips.

"OH~! P-please stop! It...it hurts!"

Yet despite himself, Baphor was getting hard. His dick throbbed anxiously, even as he cried out in pain as Hogar's colossal length split him in two, skewering him deep, every thrust causing waves and waves of pain and pleasure to roll up Baphor's writhing, gasping body.

Luchus gripped his own aching erection, watching the flickering faces of pain and pleasure alternating on Baphor's face. Hogar gasped hotly, his breaths ragged and rough as he rutted the young male, more and more precum coating his tight tailhole as the pig raped him. Sweat glistened down Hogar's naked body, and he began to groan and cry out, whispering hotly to Baphor.

"MM! Ooo...hey...nn...s-slut! I'm...g-gonna cum soon...gonna...f-fill up...your slutty lil rear!"

Baphor couldn't speak coherently, but he shouted out his disapproval as the pig went to town on his ass, fucking him faster and faster, cock filling him, stretching him wider than he thought he could go, and even as he despratly clawed at the wall, panting and moaning and crying all at once, tears rolling down his face, Hogar continued to fuck him, humping and thrusting and smacking Baphor's ass until, finally...

Hogar cried out loudly, his guttural bellow echoing throughout the prison. He came deep inside Baphor, spraying a thick stream of hot, gloppy cum deep inside the ram's ass, pulling out swiftly, watching his seed bubble up and dribble out of the ram's swollen sphincter, his harsh breaths thick with satisfaction.

"Mmnn...tha's...wha' hit the spot!"

He struck Baphor in the back of the head, knocking the battered Ram to his knees. Baphor hissed in pain, blood stinging at his eyes, and he fought back tears. Luchus stepped up, his own hard length gripped tightly in his hand, a cruel, yellow smile painted across his maw.

"Nnn...c'mon, lil bitch goat...my turn no-"

A loud cry interrupted the weasel, and some large...thing...hurtled from the shadows. It struck Luchus solidly ‘twixt the shoulder blades and sent him tumbling to his knees, gasping. The looming creature grabbed him by his head and smashed his face into the stone wall, shattering his nose and loosening two teeth. As Luchus sank to the floor, coughing and hacking, Hogar sprung into action, leaping at Baphor's rescuer. Both grappled for awhile, until they stumbled into the dim pool of lit filtered through the cell doors, and Baphor could finally see the face of his rescuer.

He'd never seen an Armadillo before. He'd heard of tribes, mostly scavengers or beetle farmers, down in the southern wastelands, known for their ancient rituals and deep relationship with the world and all its inhabitants. Besides the folklore, though, he wasâ€"as many inhabitants of the layered city wereâ€"completely ignorant of much that lay beyond the city walls. However, as first impressions go, Baphor could not rate the noble Armadillo any higher.

Henry roared angrily at Hogar, pulling back a beefy arm and slamming his fist solidly into the pig's face. The swine's skin contorted to the force of the blow, like a malleable clay. Hogar stumbled away, clutching at his chin, blood dribbling down his chin.

"Urrrgh! Y-you...you shit!"

He lurched forward, only to be rewarded by a solid kick to the middle, knocking him flat on his back. Henry towered over him, dressed only in a tattered loinclothâ€"some makeshift garb, Baphor surmised, made of scavenged leathers. Unlike the Armadillos Baphor had heard of, Henry possessed none of the multi-colored tribal colors. His sunflower toned skin was completely bare of markings. His craggy face, marred more by elements and a hard life than by age, twisted into a cruel scowl.

"Hogar, you are pitiful. I ought to snap your neck."

Hogar whimpered piteously on the floor. The door clicked and clattered, and swung open all at once. Three guards marched inâ€"two hounds and a Vulture. The Vulture seemed to be the commanding officerâ€"he waved a talon towards the fallen Hogar, barking at the dogs.

"Get him cleaned up. He's got to sell tomorrow."

He glanced towards Luchus, who lay senseless against the wall.

"Take that ‘un too."

The Vulture turned his beady, unpleasantly bloodshot eyes on Henry, who stood impassively, his face blank. With a sudden shrill screech, the Vulture raised his cat-o-nine tails and began to viciously flog Henry, each tiny barb tearing deep into his thick skin.

"Stupid stupid stupid land turtle! You damaged the fucking merchandise! Pitiful wretch!"

The Whipmaster kicked out Henry's legs and dropped him easily to the floor. He cawed in irritation and glanced towards his guards, who were unceremoniously dragging the fallen Pig and Weasel out the door. He then turned to Baphor, who was curled up in the corner. He sauntered over to the Ram, crowing in amusement.

"Awww...a first nighter! Enjoying your new home, wretch? Be glad you have sucha pretty faceâ€"you'll sell well tomorrow!"

He cackled shrilly, his shrieking cries echoing about the cells. Baphor glanced up at him, red eyes smoldering with resentment. He spoke, his voice cracked, yet audible.

"Come...tomorrow...bird...I promise...I won't step..."

He coughed.

"I won't step off that block...until...I've wrung your scrawny neck!"

He got a few nasty lashes for his trouble, and a solid kick to the gut before the Vulture tired of it and shuffled to the door, his shoulders stooped, ruffling his feathers.

"Caaaw...now go to sleep, slaves...we want you looking fresh and healthy fer the sale!"

He slammed the gate closed and locked it, cawing and laughing obnoxiously as he sauntered down the hallway. Henry crawled beside Baphor, wheezing a bit, blood rolling down his face. Baphor glanced at him, his heart swelling with sympathy. He gently reached out and cradled the Armadillo's head, licking a few trickles of blood away from his eyes, before whispering gently.

"Thank you."

Henry silently wrapped an arm around the Ram's shoulder, and Baphor rested his head against his broad chest, fatigue rushing over him, swallowing his senses and casting him into dream.

* * *

The noonday sun shone brightly, a golden disc in a blue sky. Baphor stared up at it, neatly framed in the long, narrow, and incredibly long skylight built into the ceiling of the plaza.

Baphor, along with the rest of the slaves, stood upon a large wooden scaffold. Slave auctions were mandated by law to only be held in one of three places, so that they could be easily observedâ€"ensure that everyone got a fair deal. The Slave Wardens stood at the edge of the bazaar, concealed under the bulky suits of armor and heavy red cloaks that they wore. Baphor couldn't tell just what the Wardens wereâ€"though it didn't matter that much, since Wardens rarely, if ever, directly involved themselves in slave auctions. Even if things went badly, a Warden would only move if it was given a direct order.

The Helios Bazaar was the largest of the three auction blocks. A gargantuan plaza, built roughly in the center of the sprawling Sun Cityâ€"an ironically named town, considering that the only sunlight ever visible in it came from the skylight in the center of the plaza. Sun City was mostly low-income, but its convenient location at the nexus of several layers in the underground portions of Vil Thatos made its bazaar and marketplaces amongst the most diverse and populous in the whole of the city. They say you could find anything in the Helios Bazaarâ€"anything at all.

The Whipmaster and another Vulture marched up onto the scaffold, crowing at the swiftly assembling crowd. The rules were establishedâ€"each person could only buy two slaves at any one time, only Vil Thatos currency was accepted, no barters, no refunds, etc. By the time the formalities had been established, the crowd of auction-goers had grown twice in size, and Baphor was astounded by the sheer number of them.

"Henry..."

He spoke softly, barely moving his lips. The Armadillo next to him glanced at him.

"Henry, whatever happens...follow my lead."

"Baph, wait...don't do anything stu-"

"Ladies and Gentleman! Welcome to the 33rd Bi-Annual Kestral Slave Auction!"

A swarthy toad was bellowing, his throat sac expanded, his voice reverberating about the plaza like a war drum.

"We will begin, as we usually do, with our lovely ladies of the slave pits! These fine females are good for cooking, cleaning, andâ€"of courseâ€"all were chosen as ideal partners for..."

The toad snickered theatrically.

"...breeding. So! Without further ado, let's start the bidding now!"

The first female up for bid was familiar to Baphor. His heart fell a bit as he saw the once-alluring, heavy-lidded, buxom Vixen he'd met in that bar, a lifetime ago. Her air of confident allure was completely gone. Her hair was askew, her eyes were red from fresh tears, and she barely even reacted as the Vulture grabbed her tattered dress and ripped it off her, exposing her bouncing breasts. For all females, the guards would lift their legs, spreading their vaginal lips wide open for prospective buyers to inspect them for quality. Two of the girls were virginsâ€"a claim hastily proven by a similar display.

The women were sold quickly. A fat Panther, dressed in the flowing robes and opulent riches of a merchant, took the Vixen with him, as well as one of the virginsâ€"a Churchmouse who could not have been older than 14. Baphor watched them go, their leashes held in the Panther's pudgy claws. He tugged at them and called them pet names as they vanished around the corner.

The males came next. They, too, would be stripped, if they hadn't been already.

"And here's a fine specimen! A Weasel, poorly endowed, but certainly quick and strong and capable of cleaning and helping with accounts. Plus, certainly one could see the..."

The Whipmaster cracked his eponymous weapon against Luchus' bottom, causing the rodent to yelp loudly, much to the amusement of the crowd.

"...uses...a young vermin could possess. Now, bidding starts at 50, do we have 50, 50 right there, ok, who has 60, 65? 65, 70..."

Hogar found a buyer soon after Luchus was led off stage, into the company of an old woman who was more makeup and silk than flesh and fur, and his dismal expression was an adequate summary of his feelings on the arrangement. Hogar wasn't so luckyâ€"he was bought up by a rough looking Bobcat, the chief builder in a local work crew. A stocky Pig like Hogar was ideal for construction.

Baphor sighed. He was getting hot, despite his nudity, and he had swiftly run out of patience for this affair. He turned to Henry.

"Get ready."

"Baph..."

Baphor grinned wryly and winked at the Armadillo.

"Hey, relax. I have a plan."

He turned back and lifted his manacled arms over his head. He hooked one of the chains through the tip of his horns and began to pull. The chain strained slightly, and a few assuring pops leapt from the binds. The Whipmaster turned slowly, drawn to the sounds. He stared at Baphor in astonishment.

"Hey. Hey! Wretch, what the fuck do you think you are-"

Baphor snapped his head forward, the weak chains snapping in half. The Whipmaster cried out in fear, and it took the crowd a moment to register what was happening. In that moment, Baphor had stepped forward and seized the Whipmaster by the throat. He yanked the feathered fiend up against him, and whispered maliciously into his ear.

"I keep my promises, corpse eater. I always keep my promises."

The stage was stampeded by half a dozen guard dogs. Four had muskets, and they leveled them at the Ram. Two others clutched heavy clubs, warily creeping towards Baphor, growling and barking.

"Let ‘im go, boyo! S'not worth dyin', now is it?"

"Jus' accept it! Fightin' only makes it-ARGH!"

Henry stepped forward as one of the guards came into range. Clutching his fists together, he swung and clobbered the dog square in the nose, knocking it into two musket men. Baphor dragged the Vulture offstage, two bullets whizzing past him. He tightened his grip on the Whipmaster's neck, and turned down a narrow street, just behind the scaffold. There was a soft snapping sound, and the Whipmaster fell to the dusty ground, eyes rolled back into his head, neck bent unnaturally.

Baphor and Henry ran as fast as their legs would will them, careening down narrow alleyways. Distant shouts, cries, and the howling of enraged guard dogs followed their flight. Baphor grinned toothily at his new companion.

"See? Told ya I had a plan!"

* * *

The Blood Hound's nose twitched. He sniffed at the air, then dropped to his knees, brushing his nose along the ground. Behind him, two other guard dogs leaned against their muskets, watching him intently.

"Got a scent yet?" One asked.

The Blood Hound sat up sharply, a wry grin crossing his face.

"Oh aye." He drawled. He jogged a bit, sniffing excitedly, pausing at every turn to sniff the air. His comrades trailed behind him. One stopped in front of a cleared alleyway, producing a capsule of snuff from his jacket. As he raised it to his nose, a pair of strong arms reached out from the shadows and yanked him away. He didn't even have a chance to scream.

Baphor slipped out of the alley and scooped up the fallen musket, passing it to Henry. The Armadillo grunted.

"Clever bit of plan, doin' all those loops, confusing their scent. And for awhile there, I thought we was just lost."

Baphor grinned cheekily.

"Takin' a piss down a random dead end likely helped too. Now, while their trackers are busy, we can get out of here."

"Out of here? And how might we manage that? They've most certainly got all the stairs blocked off."

"Ain't takin' the stairs."

Henry frowned.

"But, how will we get back to the surface?"

"Ain't goin' to the surface."

Henry blinked in confusion. Baphor grinned and lightly stroked the Armadillo's perplexed face.

"We're going down. To Rathaven."

Understanding flashed across Henry's face, and he matched Baphor's grin.

"You are a clever one. And how will we get there? What's our route?"

Baphor stamped a hoof on the ground beneath him, and a hollow metal thud responded. He was standing on a sewer

grate.

"All sewers go to Rathaven. Or, at least, so they say."

Henry furrowed his brow.

"We really gonna crawl through the sewer naked?"

Baphor grimaced.

"We'll just have to take a long shower when we get to Rathaven. You have any better ideas?"

"Well, no..."

Henry sighed.

"But they say there's plenty bad down in them sewers besides the smell."

"We're armed now."

"A musket is hardy going to count. We can't carry any extra shot."

Baphor rummaged through the fallen guard's clothes, and produced a pair of flintlock pistols, grinning wider.

"Bit better. Here..."

He pulled off the fallen guard's jacket and pulled it on. It didn't fit him too well, but it had plenty of pockets. He pocketed a bag of powder and extra shot, and knelt down to unbuckle his pants. A gunshot rang out of nowhere, and Baphor felt something rush right over his head, ruffling his fur.

At the far end of the alleyway, two guards rushed at them. One discarded his smoking musket, whilst the other stopped halfway down the alley, dropped to one knee, and took aim. Henry swore under his breath and grabbed Baphor, turning his back to the guards. The bullet struck his shell solidly, and he cried out in pain. The second guard was upon them, and he leapt onto Henry's back, snarling as he drew a dagger from his belt. Baphor took the musket from Henry's hands and spun it ‘round his back, grasping it like a spear.

As the dagger dug against Henry's neck, Baphor thrust forward, plunging the shiny sharp bayonet into the guard's eye. Blood flew freely, splattering on Baphor's face. The guard slid lifelessly to the ground, and Henry turned around, snarling at the remaining guard. The dog was busily trying to reload his musket. Baphor grimaced.

"He'll run for help if he misses again."

Henry ran forward, and leapt into the air. To Baphor's immense surprise, the Armadillo's arms and legs retracted into his shell, and he curved into a ball, slamming into the ground and rolling furiously down the alleyway. The guard had just finished reloading, and brought his rifle up to aim, only to cry out in sudden surprise as the charging armadillo ball struck him hard, rolling over him and flattening him to the ground.

Henry spun to a stop and uncurled himself. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment, then knelt down and plucked up the guard's musket.

"C'mon."

He jogged back to Baphor's side and leaned down to pull the sewer grate free.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Aerie...

The penthouse apartments at the very roof of Vil Thatos were every bit as lavish as the stories said they were. Thick rugs, soft pillows, roaring fires and elegantly painted hallways were littered with priceless works of art, vases, sculptures, and plenty more. The Vulture was decidedly out of his element in this lavish place, but he had to make his report.

Most avian city dwellers were half breeds, which explained why they had arms. A full-blooded birdâ€"the majority of whom avoid common civilization except in very rare circumstancesâ€"have their arms and wings integrated. Some don't even have hands. The Vulture was a pure breed, and he felt very uncomfortable in this structure, cut off as he was from the sky above.

A simpering Crane rose from his desk as the Vulture strode past, calling after him.

"W-wait! Stop! The Commander is not to be disturbed right now!"

The Vulture cawed under his breath.

"He'll be disturbed by me, whether he likes it or not."

The Vulture pushed through a heavy set of double doors, into Commander Kestral's personal quarters. The chamber itself was a strange mix of Avian culture and city aesthetic. As lavish as the rest of the building, with all the amenities and decorations expected from a well-to-do member of society, the center of the room, in lieu of a bed, had an enormous next, stitched of high quality fibers and specially imported bits of wood. The nest was incredibly large, and the inside was inlaid with a number of cushions and blankets.

Commander Kestral straddled his mate within their nest, his thick cock plunging deep into her moist womanhood. His naked, muscular body glistened with moisture as he rutted her, his balls loudly smacking against her thighs as the Vulture entered. She let out a shrill cry as he hilted inside her, her powerful legs wrapping around his waist.

"OOOOOH! I'm...cumming!"

She shuddered violently and held onto him for dear life, riding her orgasm out. Kestral cawed sharply, his seed pouring from his mate's swollen pussy. He pulled out, gasping hotly, stroking his slickened shaft. His mate leaned up and nuzzled him, her feathers askew, her face colored a rosy pink.

"Ohhh...my love...that was phenomenal."

Kestral grunted in agreement.

"Do you think you shall conceive now?"

She paused, thinking, and the shadows of a grin played across the corners of her beak.

"Well...perhaps, just to be safe..."

She shuffled away and turned on her arms and legs, wriggling her bottom at him, her still-wet pussy dribbling cum onto the blanketed nest. Kestral chuckled, his manhood stiffening proudly once more. The Vulture opened his mouth to speak, but the lovers had already begun again, the domineering commander plunging his thick shaft deep into his mate's pussy, grasping her hips firmly.

"UNF!" They cried in unison, hips bucking back and forth into each other, both bodies shuddering from their mutual thrusts. Kestral bent over his mate's writhing form, reaching around to cup her breasts. As she was entering her mating season, her breasts had begun to swell and grow in size, and where once his clawed hands had dwarfed them, now he could barely contain the bouncing bags, his sharp fingers mercilessly pinching her sensitive nipples, erect and visible through her white down.

"OH! Oh yes! Oh my liege! My great leader! OH! Let me...nn...let me know your MIGHT~"

She wailed in satisfaction as he hilted inside her, eight inches of girthy dick stretching her pussy wide. He kneaded her breasts, biting and nipping at her neck earnestly as he sped up his thrusts, hips jackhammering into hers, precum spurting inside her.

The Vulture watched uncomfortably, his own arousal rising under the loose cloth bound around his waist. Being a full-blooded bird, it was extremely difficult for him to pleasure himself, and his own mate was clear across the country, in his dry homeland. So, as usual, he could only watch in growing frustration, his throbbing erection straining painfully between his thighs.

If Kestral was aware of his subordinate's discomfort, he did nothing to cater to it. In fact, his moans and grunts grew even louder and more suggestive, and he whispered hotly into his mate's ear.

"NN...that's right, my little slut, my little bitch, so eager for my seed, so eager to be filled by your commander. You love my cum, don't you?"

"UHHHHN! Yes...oh yes...YES!"

He cried out sharply and tried to steady himself, fucking her even faster than before, balls smacking loudly against her thighs as he rutted into her, claws raking at her naked hips. She was lost in an orgasmic haze, eyes watering as she cried out his name. He hilted himself deep inside her and cawed triumphantly.

His cock erupted inside her, flooding her tender womb with yet another torrent of seed. He kept his cock plugged deep into her, keeping the cum inside, letting it circulate and swirl about her as his hands gently ran along her naked body. They lay with each other for a moment, whispering gentle, soft nothings to one another. After a time, she lay her head down to rest. His dick still inside her, Commander Kestral straightened his back and glanced towards the Vulture.

"Regaw, I assume you've something incredibly important to tell me about."

Regaw shuffled forward, head down low.

"Yes, Commander, I'm afraid we've a situation."

Kestral grimaced.

"Please, don't tell me it's about today's auction."

"It's about today's auction."

"Was it another violent protest by the Emancipators?"

Regaw shook his head.

"No. Nothing like that. Two of the slaves...escaped."

Kestral narrowed his eyes, and his voice was flat, incredulous.

"Two slaves escaped? During the auction?"

"Yes sir. One managed to break his chains on his...um...horns."

Kestral inhaled sharply.

"Horns? Horns? Regaw, what are the names of these slaves?"

Regaw shuffled from foot to foot.

"One is an Armadillo. We don't know his name, but we're working on it. He was known to us as Henry, but we've since

established that this was a fake name on a fake work visa. As for the other...the instigator...he is a Ram. His name is..."

"Meht."

Kestral inhaled sharply, his body quivering with rage, his voice full of vehemence.

"Baphor Meht."

Regaw swallowed nervously.

"Y-yes sir."

"This is unacceptable. Dispatch the Flyers immediately."

"That...um...that won't help, sir."

Kestral closed his eyes, clenching his fists.

"He went underground...clever. To Rathaven, no doubt."

"That's our presumption, yes sir. We have no jurisdiction down there."

"No official jurisdiction. I want you to contact the Moles. Tell them we'll pay, cash on the nail, for them to bring us these

runaway slaves. Alive..."

His eyes hardened into steely slits, and he spoke in a cold, morbid tone.

"...or dead."

TBC