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Changing Times

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The Woodfather - Pollination

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Prologue

If one were to look Ferndyllias from above, it would be possible to see just how far the Woodfather has extended his reach. Patches of forest that had once been cleared out by severe logging now stood with a thick canopy of trees protecting it. Farmlands that had stood as the border between the wilds and the urbanised area were overtaken by dense shrubbery. Roads abruptly ended near the tree line. Better yet, what had once been the central business district of the mighty, smoke-spewing city now was overgrown with vines that stretched out from an immense Father Tree at its very heart.

The Canadian military had mobilised very quickly and their men were scrambling through the city in the hopes of finding any survivors. Rudimentary camps had been set up on the outskirts of the Woodfather’s domain but they were constantly being pushed back as our territory expanded with each passing minute. There were still thousands of people within the city’s confines. Officials had been quick to realise that this was some sort of pandemic and had enacted a sort of quarantine around Ferndyllias’ city limits. Suburbs remained mostly untouched save for those few that were close enough to the urbanised area that Vince and his highly mobile Scouts could move in and quickly establish a foothold. Mikey kept the military and emergency services busy while Sid coordinated it all through his Replanters.

At least another two Father Trees had sprung up around the city. One in the ritzier part of town after another mover and shaker had been converted and the third in the factory district. The acrid plumes of smoke that would not stop even during the winter had finally stopped. The power plant that once burned coal and supplied most of the city with all its energy needs had fallen silent not from our invasion but because concerned workers had abandoned their posts in search for their families.

The Woodfather’s plan was coming to fruition and soon all the world would know of their sins.

For the moment, a lull had fallen upon the city. The sun had begun to set and in the quiet, there was a serene beauty at the sight of the titanic Father Trees rising higher than any skyscraper while golden rays from the sun kissed their emerald leaves and smooth, twisting trunks. The herd was instructed to retreat for the moment as even they were subject to the dangers of poor visibility. Now that the military had become involved, there was a great risk that a sniper or explosive trap could permanently cripple or even kill a wayward buck. As the Woodfather had predicted, the humans were paralysed with indecision. After clearly seeing their friends and family turn into a virile stags, they argued amongst themselves if there were ways to revert the change. That put them on the defensive for the moment but it would not stop them from defending themselves if the need arose. Humans could be jumpy creatures especially during the night.

At the same time, they were also very… opportunistic creatures as well.

With the fading sunlight and the retreat of the herd, the criminal underworld awoke. Ferndyllias was not a so big to have gangs roving the streets and extorting people but it did have a self-styled ‘mafia’. In the wake of the Woodfather’s arrival, they were already making moves to exploit the police force’s weakness. They called themselves the ‘Rusty Blades’ supposedly because when the gang started out, their emblem depicted a knife that was covered in blood but it was so poorly made that people thought it was rust. The name stuck and they wore it with pride.

They would become a very big problem. Already, the Replanters detected that the Blades were smuggling people out of the Woodfather-controlled areas. For a price, of course. The bastards got paid by the refugees that they were helping and then paid again after they brought the thankful people into the military’s hands beyond their quarantine. They were both courageous and stupid. Using the cover of darkness to mask their movements and somehow knowing that the bucks would not hunt in the night made them both clever and annoying.

The Woodfather’s hands gently curled around my arms and his fingers lovingly stroked my lush, blonde hair. His touch filled me with warmth. We stood atop a building, a hotel at the penthouse. It offered us a mostly unobstructed view of the city. The chlorinated waters of a nearby pool offended my nostrils so I buried my muzzle into the cleft of my father’s pectorals, breathing in his heavily scent.

“Your brothers are hard at work,” cooed the Woodfather gently. “I beg your patience for a little longer, Tobias”

“I will wait through all of eternity for my chance if it will mean we can all be together again without this war separating us.”

I missed my brothers. Those few weeks when it had just been me, Sid, Mikey, Vince and the Woodfather had been the best of my life. We had explored one another’s bodies, out souls intermingling even as our bodies were intertwined in glorious ecstasy. Life had been simple and we were never more than a few minutes away from one another. But it would all have to come to an end. Our very existence was a perversion against mankind and if we did not strike, they would separate us from one another permanently. It hurt as one by one, my brothers went off on their missions. Though we were still mostly connected through our spiritual links, it was never the same was being able to touch them in the flesh.

“My son,” the Woodfather began gently, “you must not be so selfish. As with the stags of the wild, they must be free. You cannot keep your brothers to yourself forever.”

I bowed my head in shame. “I know…”

“Your brothers will always be with you. A reason why I have advised them never to take any unnecessary risks.”

If any of the humans ever hurt or killed any of my brothers… well, I don’t know what I would do. Thus far, none of the stags had died but it was just barely a day since the Woodfather announced himself to the world. Escalation was on the horizon and I feared what would happen when death came knocking.

“It is time to lend your arm to the protection of your brothers.”

The Woodfather gently turned me around, his three-fingered hand pressing against my back and slowly lowering me against the glass railings that surrounded the penthouse. His majestic cock slid gently against my butt crack, the bright pink head oozing precum against the base of my tail. Just that slight contact had me quivering as his all-powerful soul, a soul energised by the hundreds of stags that occupied Ferndyllias and were just settling in for their evening fuck. He was a god, a deity and he was going to stick his divine cock into me and touch my soul like never before. I had felt it in the changes of my brothers. Each touch was exhilarating, an explosion of pleasure and ecstasy that send shockwaves throughout our spiritual network and had me shooting jizz metres into the air.

And now I would be the epicentre of that change.

His cock head gently pressed against my hole. Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation. My soul held its breath. Long, agonising seconds passed. The Woodfather’s lips hovered over my right ear, his breath brushing against my fur.

“You have such a bright soul, Tobias. Brighter than any of your brothers. It shines like a beacon. Use that light within you.”

Two inches of his cock pushed into me and his soul speared into mine. An explosion of energy and power erupted from within me as I became connected to the Woodfather. For a moment, it felt like I was floating high above the clouds. Suddenly, I was looking straight down, at Ferndyllias from a bird’s eye view. Hundreds of brilliant, green lights shone through the darkness; each one a soul touched by the Woodfather. Most of them were gathered around the three Father Trees. We had achieved this sort of connection many times before but never when there had been so many souls constantly feeding the Woodfather so much strength and power.

“Open your mind, Tobias,” he whispered, another two inches sinking into me.

I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut. His soul — and his cock — was sliding into me and I already felt like I was going to burst from the sheer size of them. Though his steady thrusting helped with the rhythmic pumping and bursts of pleasure, the information and energies flooding into me where completely overwhelming. It was like feeling full and still having more pumped into my stomach!

“Absorb the energies, my son. Do not resist them. Let them be part of you.”

Another inch sank into me and his enormous balls slapped against mine; a little tap of encouragement. Drawing sustenance from the energies was difficult like swallowing lightning. Just the attempt scorched my tongue and burned my insides. But still, I tried. My soul struggled containing the power and no amount of gentle, loving fucking could ease the pain of keeping so much power down. Cracks sparked across the walls of my soul followed by blasts of pain that had me crying out into the night. The Woodfather was truly amazing to be able to keep it all in check so easily!

Then, his ethereal hands gently reached within me, sliding through the hole he had punctured into my spirit and gently pressing the roiling energies against the inner walls of my struggling soul. The raw power melted like butter in his hands and when he applied it to the cracks. It obeyed his will and soothed the wounds, melding with it and filling the gaps. Inspired by his actions, I stopped trying to hold in the power he fed and instead reached within myself. The crackling energies were all too eager to leap to my hands and they scorched my ethereal palms, punishing me for touching the sun.

Again, the Woodfather was there to guide me. Just like me, the lightning of power jumped to his palms but instead of gripping it like a writhing snake, the Woodfather merely let it hover on his palms like he was holding the most delicate piece of silk. He did not fight the energies as it was part of him. Stop thinking of this power as someone else’s. It was mine. All part of a greater network.

Just like that, the furious lightning melted in my hands. Applying it to the walls of my soul was easy enough. My spirit eagerly absorbed the energies but another problem quickly arose. With each application, eruptions of information exploded in my head. Suddenly, I could feel the orgasm of two Lumbered as they fucked wildly to exhaust their overwhelming enthusiasm. The fiery rage of a pack of Chargers while they tore down a hotel lobby to make their nest burned brightly into my skull. Endless satisfaction emanated from the Seasoned as they fed those within their care with their long, serpentine cocks. It was all overwhelming! My flesh burned with the information, literally. Sizzling, green light cut through my fur, slicing across my skin and shining through the night.

Another three inches of the Woodfather’s cock slipped into me.

“Take hold of the information. Make it yours. Do not forget your passion to protect and to have intimate relationships.”

This time, I didn’t need him to show me what he meant. The power was intoxicating but I would not be slave to it. Just as with the cracking energies within me, I did not resist the power; I embraced it. It all flooded my mind but just as its source had poured into my soul. The orgasms, the pain, the pleasure, the roiling emotions; all of it. I made it mine and it took hold of the blinding light that emanated from my skin. With the control came the waves of pleasure as I became removed from the agony and felt the regular thrusting of the Woodfather into me.

I quickly developed a system. Every thrust, every inch that sank into me was met with a rush of power funnelled from the rest of the network. I absorbed the power into my own essence, filtering the information it carried into my mind and processing it all rapidly. The control left me quivering. The lines of green light all over my body curled and twisted over my form, shaping themselves into intricate patterns in tribute to the Woodfather’s own shining tattoos. Four mighty rings formed against my back, two just over my shoulder blades and the other two against the small of my back. The names of the four men most important to me engraved themselves along the edges of the rings just as the Woodfather hilted into me.

My own cock was screaming for release especially as the blinding light curled around its length. Brilliant runes traced from my crotch around my waist, almost like a thong. Similar lines traced upwards along the edges of my abdominals and curled around my nipples before spreading outwards towards my shoulders without crossing the bridge of my engorged pectorals. Those some lines crawled down my legs, flanking my thighs and curling around my calves. They touched my hoofed toes, leaving a tingling sensation.

The Woodfather only gave me a grunt of warning before he unleashed his holy seed deep into me. If I thought mere contact with his cock held an overwhelming amount of energy, his raw seed completely overwhelmed me. I threw my head back, letting out a cry of triumph. Ethereal energies erupted from the middle of the four rings. I would not let the power go to waste so I shaped it all to my will. The upper two shrank back, forming three edges that quickly reshaped themselves into three, powerful fingers. Ethereal, shining green, the upper two rings produced a pair of strong, muscular arms that easily reached around my torso and twisted at my nipples, adding to the intoxicating pleasure that was wracking my body. There was not enough time to focus on the lower two before my cock begged for release. The most I could do was form them into two, long, tubular lengths that curled around the length of my dick to hold it still as it erupted in pleasure and shot stream after stream of seed against the glass of the railings.

Unending pleasure overwhelmed my body and I felt myself immediately falling from my bird’s eye view of the city back into my body. The impact send the biggest gush of seed shooting out of my cock and sent my legs collapsing out from underneath me. The Woodfather’s might hands held me up and kept his cock firmly rooted within my ass. Though the sexual high began to ebb, the connection with the streams of spectral light did not fade. It was still there. Even as the Woodfather slowly pulled his cock out from me and held me against his chest, I could still feel the rivers of energy. The ghostly, green limbs vanished as I wanted to feel the Woodfather’s powerful chest against my back.

His muzzle brushed against my neck, nuzzling me affectionately and showing me just how proud he was of me. A little bit of cum squirted out of my dick at the tenderness.

“You know what you must do,” he whispered gently into my ear.

“The people need not fear you,” I intoned, shining eyes looking towards the troubled city. “They will welcome their redemption with open arms because you love them all.”

I grinned broadly.

“And they will welcome your love.”

Pollination

Night had fallen and the city had fallen asleep with it. As the Woodfather and his herd had gathered strength during the winter, so too did the city slumber when the sun had set. We were creatures of the summer and spring. The terrors of winter and night were out to play. Members of the Rusty Blades scrambled through the streets, hurriedly rushing their quaking charges out of the city. The roads had become clogged with toppled cars and upturned trucks making it impossible to navigate through the concrete maze using standard vehicles.

But the Blades were doing more than just people smuggling. The entire city of Ferndyllias was ripe for the picking and mostly unguarded. No electricity ran through the veins of the city. No alarms would cry at their intrusion. Wayward souls scrambled steal what worldly possessions they could hoard from abandoned shopping centres, deserted malls and darkened stores. The Rusty Blades may have started out as a small, local gang barely organised but they soon recruited whomever would dare brave the city streets and the disenfranchised to their ranks. The entire city was their oyster and they would need all the hands they could muster to steal what they could before the rule of law fell upon them once more.

“Guide them,” whispered the Woodfather, his voice resonating from the deep connection within me like he was speaking from inside my very heart. “Free them of their material desires and bring them into enlightenment.”

Far below, five of the Blades were ransacking a local electronics store. Several shopping carts had been wheeled out to help them take their loot to wherever it was that they were hiding. Fascinating how even in the midst of a crisis, humans took advantage of others’ misfortunes. Truly selfish creatures. Then again, it was also in the midst of a crisis that the best of mankind showed themselves.

“Hey! Stop! What do you think you’re doing!?”

Just rounding the corner from the store, a man dressed in the deep blue of the police’s uniform emerged. He immediately reached for his gun, pointing it straight at the five thugs. Courageous as he may have been, it was nonetheless a foolish move considering each of the five gangsters were armed themselves. Three of them already lifted their weapons and the last two were carrying a TV between them. The officer realised he was outgunned but stood his ground.

“Just walk away, pig,” snarled one of the Blades. “Your badge means nothing in this town.”

“That’s what you think.” The man was clearly shaking. “When the town gets back to normal, the people in that store are going to want their stuff back. So put it all back exactly where you found it. Now.”

Brave. Very brave. There was a light within him that shone brightly even in the darkness. An idealistic hope that was bit adorable and also hopelessly naive. The thugs’ souls were marred and tainted by years of sin. Foul, ugly, blackened things but still with the light of purity shining within.

“Look here, officer… Goodkind,” the Blade said. “We’re just looking after ourselves here. The town has gone to shit with these fucking faggot stags running everywhere and us Blades are just doing our civil duty of getting innocent people who don’t want to be turned into one of those horny homos out of the city.” He pressed a hand against his chest. “But we’ve got to get something out of it. Nothing in this world comes for free, right?”

No. Nothing did. As much as I wanted to swoop down towards them and turn them there and then, there was a shimmer in the leading bandit’s soul that stayed my hand. No one was to die as was the Woodfather’s edict but these thugs were not killers. Never had been. Extortionists and bullies, yes, but not killers.

“You’re right,” barked Officer Goodkind. “So put those TVs back or you’ll be getting some jail time in exchange!”

The thugs sighed and exchanged glances.

“Look man. You want to go down this road? Fine. How about we take you to our boss?”

There was the lead I was looking for.

“Your boss…?” Goodkind whispered in surprise. “Why?”

“This town belongs to the Rusty Blades now, pig. You want to work in it, then you need to meet the boss.” The Blades lifted their guns once more. “We’re not asking.”

Upon realising that he had no other choice, Officer Goodkind lowered his gun, grimacing as he was forced to drop it on the ground and lift his hands into the air. He was probably in his late thirties and in the darkness, it was possible to see the silhouette of his flared lats that were like a cobra’s hood. Well-proportioned. The thugs moved up towards him, guns still tried against his skull. One of them knocked him to the ground, dislodging the officer’s cap he wore and revealing his short, dusty-blonde hair. They seized the handcuffs that he had hanging on his waist and immediately slapped them onto his thick wrists. He instinctively struggled, revealing the dense veins that curled around his forearms as his long-sleeved shirt was forced up a little. The Blades hoisted him to his feet and forced him on a march away from the store while they pushed their loot along with them.

From my perch in high above a nearby building, I watched them go. Crouched down to minimise my profile as much as possible, I quietly summoned the ethereal energies that permeated the air of Ferndyllias. My brothers and their brood were settling in for the night but that their wild spirits would never rest. I sampled from the enormous pool of spiritual energy that radiated from the Father Trees, drawing upon the excess power that every stag emanated even as they slumbered. Alongside it was ambient strength within nature. The forest gave what it could. The winds blew and guided my spirit. Even the warped earth beneath my feet offered droplets of power it could spare. Spectral limbs burst from the four tattoo rings on my back. Ghostly, green feathers fluttered down around me. Four wings spread from my back. Against the moonlight, I felt like a superhero just preparing to patrol for the night. Lessons of how birds flapped their wings filled my mind, drawn from the experiences of nature from billions of years of evolution. The limbs felt as if they were grown from my flesh naturally since I was born. I could feel every feather, bone and muscle and move them as naturally as I could breathe. Wind picked up and I leapt off the edge of the building and gliding after the thugs and their prisoner silently.

The exhilarating rush of being so high up and yet so easily kept aloft was unlike anything else I had experienced. My brothers would certainly enjoy this. Except perhaps Mikey. He liked his feet firmly on the ground. Wind rushed by my face, sliding between the strands of my fur. It was not so much that physics alone propelled my but my will and the powerful energies that permeated the very air. The Woodfather was everywhere. Well… mostly everywhere.

The Blades and their captive moved towards the factory district and that was where our advance had yet to reach. People went to work in the factories and didn’t live near it so when they heard the alarms and news blaring across the streets, they retreated from the dark, towering smokestacks and hollow, metal industrial plants to be with their families. Such a move would ultimately doom them but it would also mean that the Woodfather had little presence amongst the monuments of industry. The particles of the Woodfather’s energy faded as I drew closer to the district and I had to let the air carry me amongst the smokestacks whilst still keeping an eye on my prey.

The wings too much strength to maintain and still gave off a faint, greenish light. To avoid being detected, they dissipated from my back and I followed the group on foot by leaping across the rooftops with the grace of a true buck. They approached one of the smaller factories, a cannery actually. From the side entrance, the leading thug gave a quick knock in a particular sequence. Someone from the other side opened the door and ushered them in quickly. I rose to give pursuit.

“Wait,” the Woodfather hissed quietly into my soul. “Look.”

His words directed me to the rooftop of the cannery. A few of the Rusty Blades were patrolling along the scaffolding that ran around the rim of the roof. Such pathways were used to access the gangways that overlooked the factory floor from the outside and to offer maintenance crews an easy way of accessing the rooftops to fix air conditioning units or vents.

My approach would not be so easy.

“Listen to the world. This metal, concrete and glass may have been twisted by human hands but they still belong to the earth. Listen to them. They will guide you.”

Shutting out the rest of the world, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against the cold, steel plates beneath me. Voices reached through the metal to me. It was muted, warped and twisted in ways that were so disgusting unnatural but it was still coherent to an extent. They spoke of a rear entrance. A loading dock. It was unguarded as all the doors leading to it had been barred from the inside. It would be my best chance of entering the facility.

Quietly and so as not to loose Goodkind and his captors, I shot away from the sight of the patrolling guards. They were armed with guns. Vince’s disgust of the weapons brushing up against my soul and all those hunters he had transformed echoed the sentiment. I made a quiet promise to them that those guns would never hurt anyone. Especially when their wielders were tired and bored from guard duty. None of the herd had moved into this place that stank of smoke and death as we had all been focused on the territories surrounding the Father Trees. These men had nothing to defend themselves against.

Until now.

The rear entrance was unguarded as expected but the rolling doors remained firmly shut. Drawing on the words of the Woodfather, I closed my eyes and listened to the voices of nature around me. The tiny whisper of the door’s locks reached my ears and I asked it to quietly move to the unlocked position. It complied and I bent down, seizing the rolling door by its edges and pushing it upwards. My muscles tensed at the racket the door made as the curtain ran along its guides. If those guards weren’t aware of my presence, they were now. I quickly slipped under the door and hurried inside. The loading bay was completely empty save for the doors leading into the factory itself being barricaded by stacks of boxes. Another barricade had been placed on the other side. Shouts from the other side of the door warned of the approach of the guards.

Trapped.

“Be one with the energies around you,” soothed the Woodfather. “Feel the ebb and flow of nature’s energies. Give yourself to its currents.”

The Woodfather’s words always did provide me with calm and again, I closed my eyes. Looking beyond the chorus of voices around me, I could see the ethereal green wisps of energy that flowed through the air like a river delta. I gently brushed my fingers against one of them. The encouragement of my brothers and their brood filled me. From within my own muscled chest, a thin thread rose and joined the flow. This was the spiritual manifestation of the connection we all shared. My brothers and all the herd were with me. They would never leave me and together, they were searching for ways out of my perdicament.

The river abruptly focused in a single direction; a vent. The sounds of footfalls fell behind me and the guards were loudly wondering where the noise had come from. There was little time and I trusted my brothers and my father. I spread my arms and embraced the roaring river. The soul within me, the powerful connection that the Woodfather had instilled, burst forward like a scintillating sun consuming my very physical form from the inside. My entire body dissolved into the ether, following the path that my siblings had trail blazed for me and followed them through the vents. To the outside world, the mighty stag had merely dissolved into air and vanished.

It was just like flying through the city only instead of being carried by the currents of air, I was bathed in the ethereal touch of all the Woodfather’s herd. It was a close, intimate relationship like our souls were pressed against one another, offering warmth, comfort and encouragement. The hardest thing to do was to pull away from the embrace of their essences and turn my attention back to the factory.

Deep within the bowels of the cannery, Officer Randall Goodkind was strapped down to a chair in a rear storage room. Two thugs hovered beside him while a big bruiser with a bald hair approached him, a red bandanna over his head and a dragon tattoo planted across the right side of his face. Despite the cold, he only wore a singlet and a pair of tan cargo shorts. His build was impressive if a little pudgy around the belly. He carried a lead pipe and absently spun it with ease in his hand.

“Offisa ‘oodkind,” he rumbled with a cockney accent. “Yer a decent man tryin’ ta bring law an’ orda back ta Ferndyllias.” He pronounced the name of the town as ‘Fuh-Urn-Die-Lee-Ass’ in comparison to the proper pronunciation of ‘Feh-Urn-Dee-Lay’. “But lemme tell ya sumthin’.” The thug used the pipe to hook Goodkind’s chin and force the handsome officer with the chiselled jaw to look directly at dark, beady, brown eyes. “Ah’m th’ law in dis town now.”

Goodkind spat straight in the thug’s face. “Keep telling yourself that, asshole. Just because we’re in a crisis now doesn’t mean we can revert to being animals. That’s exactly what those fuckers are!”

The thug boss wiped the wad of spit from his chin, fire and rage burning in his eyes. I flinched when that pipe struck Goodkind’s cheek with enough force to send a cracking noise resonating throughout the storage room. The other Rusty Blades standing next to him didn’t even move.

“Ya think dis is sum fuckin’ TV show?” snarled the boss, leaning forward and watching blood mixed with saliva drip from Goodkind’s quickly swelling lips. “Ya think thaut it ain’t th’ zombie buck fuckers out dere thaut’s th’ real monsters? It’s fucking man?” He brought the pipe crashing down on Goodkind’s knee sending out another agonising crack throughout the room. “Wake up ya piece o’ shit. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do ta survive. Gotta think o’ da future. Dis ain’t gonna spread further than Ferndyllias. Military’ll bomb th’ shit outta those fuckers th’ minute ev’ryone’s clear.”

Goodkind threw the boss a fierce stare, his green eyes burning. “And how charitable of you to help get people out. For a price.”

The gang leader smirked. “Like Ah said. Gotta think o’ th’ future. When we get outta this shithole, we gotta rebuild our lives. We lost our ‘omes too, ya know.”

“So you’re stealing shit to help you rebuild? How many TVs do you guys need in your new ‘lives’?” He spat off to the side, a tooth clattering against the floor. “Prison doesn’t let you bring stuff in, you know.”

The boss laughed heartily and jabbed Goodkind’s chest with his pipe. “Still gotta mouth on ya even in yer state.” He turned his head to the side. “Caldwell! Get the fuck in here!”

The door to the store room sprung open and a man stepped inside. He was dressed in the same police uniform as Goodkind albeit not covered in blood. At the sight of him, Goodkind’s eyes went wide in shock.

“Luis? Luis Caldwell?” he stammered. “What…?” His eyes darted back and forth between the boss and this newcomer even as his right eye began to swell shut. “You’re working with the Rusty Blades?”

The man, Luis, was as well-built as Goodkind but had dark brown curly hair. There was a stitch on his right jaw and his nose looked like it had been broken a few times, appearing permanently swollen. A few freckles dotted his cheeks. Luis shrugged absently and crossed his arms.

“It’s the only way we’re going to get out of this, Randy,” answered Luis. “The chief is too stubborn to abandon the fucking police station and you’ve seen the military quarantine. They think we’re all diseased and will turn into one of those things the moment we step out past those guns.” He shook his head at Goodkind. “They’re not going to let us live.”

“So you figure you’ll run with some gangs instead!?” roared Goodkind. The two thugs beside him pulled him back, keeping him firmly seated. “What? This some last hurrah? Hoping to taste a bit of the crime you’ve devoted your life to stopping before you go?”

Luis ran a big, hairy hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Randy. DeVries is going to get us out of the town. He caught me too but he cut me a deal. He’ll get me out of town just like the others and even give me some of the loot that they steal if I give them the patrol schedules and what information the police gets from the military on what they’re doing.”

Goodkind struggled against his captor’s enormous hands and muscles. “You fucking sellout!”

“We’re not hurting anyone, Randy. Hell, we’re helping them get out of town.”

“You’re the one that’s been convincing the civilians to go to the Blades! People keep going missing from the police station and it’s because you bring them here! What? You scope them out, find which ones can pay to be free and get them over here right under our noses!?”

Luis gave Goodkind a rueful smile. “Hey, it’s like I work on a commission. The more people pay up, the bigger my cut.” He glanced at the boss, DeVries. The tattooed thug gave him a nod. “And I could use some help. The chief is starting to suspect me and if you were to help…”

“Fuck you!”

Caldwell stepped forward and knelt in front of Goodkind. “Listen to me, Randy. All we have to do is go back to the chief, say that I rescued you from the Blades and then I’ll be back on the good side. We’ll split my cut fifty-fifty. Hell, if you want to help me rounding up people and bringing them over here, all the better. I know you’re good with the Padre down at the cathedral and I’m willing to bed there’s a lot of people down there that want to escape.”

Only a snarl was his response. I would have spat in his face.

“Come on, Randy!” Luis pleaded, seizing Goodkind’s shoulders. “You know as well as I do that we’re going to get bombed to all hell. There’s no stopping this… this… whatever it is! We have to get out while we can and take what we can while we’re at it. If the military finds out that we’ve actually escaped, they’ll just hunt us down and kill us!”

Goodkind’s face scrunched up in fury. “Then what about the people you help escape and send into the military’s hands, huh? What about them? Don’t you care that you’re probably sending them to the same fate anyway? You’re lying to them, Luis! You’re telling them they’re safe when you’re sitting here sure as hell that anyone who escapes this town will get killed anyway!”

Luis gave him another shrug. “Survival of the fittest, Randy. Even more reason to take their stuff. They won’t need it when if dead.”

Goodkind suddenly slammed his forehead against Luis, causing his fellow officer to reel back in pain and surprise. “Fucker!”

DeVries stepped forward, tapping his pipe with a hand. “Ah’ve ‘eard enuff. He ain’t gonna cooperate.” He jerked a chin at the two thugs flanking Goodkind. “Kill ‘im.”

“Wait!” Luis exclaimed, holding up a hand. “Just… Just give me some time with him alone. I can convince him.”

The thug boss rolled his eyes and turned his back. “Fine. Ya ‘ave fifteen minutes. If he ain’t cooperatin’, yer gonna put th’ bullet in his ‘ead an’ Ah’m chargin’ ya fer th’ ammo an’ th’ privilege.”

He gave a nod to the two thugs restraining Goodkind and the three of them left shortly afterwards. This left Caldwell and Goodkind alone in the dimly lit room. Luis rose to his feet. He pleaded with Goodking, trying to convince him to go along with the ploy. It was painfully evident that all Caldwell cared about was his own hide. The ploy was all to save his hide, not Goodkind’s. He was a coward. His soul was so saturated by self-interest that it stank.

But Goodkind… now he was truly admirable. Even in the face of death, he was able to stand strong and courageous. Perhaps he gave up a little too easily but the fact that he was brave enough to resist Caldwell’s offer, battered and bruised as he was, it sparked a sense of admiration in me. Mikey mirrored the sentiment and called dibs on him, that is if I didn’t decide to turn him myself. Randall Goodkind certainly had many positive attributes that would make for a very powerful Amalgam.

Sorry Mikey. He’s mine.

But perhaps not so soon.

Luis Caldwell, on the other hand…

Still in spirit form, I pushed through the gratings of the vent and placed myself some distance behind Caldwell but out of Goodkind’s view. Re-materialising was something I had never done before but the Woodfather allowed me to draw on his experiences. Really just a matter of focusing on my soul and drawing the energies that belonged to me around it. My soul would do the rest. It was odd being somewhat detached from the rivers of spiritual energy after bathing in it for so long; like stepping out of a well-lit room into darkness and waiting for your eyes to adjust. Everything was muted as my senses readjusted.

Caldwell’s words were the first thing my brain registered.

“Please, Randy. See reason. They’re going to kill you if you don’t go along with them.”

Goodkind just scoffed at him. “I’m going to tell you something, Luis.” He gave his coworker a mirthless, bloody grin. “If you think I went along with this without a plan, then you’re dead wrong.”

Luis’ eyes went wide. “What’re you talking about?”

“Your goons were smart enough to take away my radio but they were too stupid to take my phone.” He turned slightly towards his right, regarding the pocket of his pants. “I’ve had my phone on this entire time. Called the station. Even if no one picks up, everything you’ve said is on record now.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not even sure if anyone down there is listening to this but someone is going to find out about you. Even if you run past the blockade and manage to make it look like you all died when the military bombed this place, someone out there will listen to those records. They’ll find out that you ran. They’ll find out what you did. They’ll hunt you down.”

The conviction, the bravery and the fierceness of his words made me weak to my knees. Goodkind. A genuine hero and one willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to bring justice to the world. Sid wanted him too. Would make for an amazing Replanter but I forcibly reminded my brother that Goodkind was mine. My cock was already rising and my heart was pounding hard in my chest. The gravelly words that emerged from his lips were ambrosia to my ears. If he were able to wrap big, strong arms around me and whisper in my ears that everything would be alright, that he would protect me then I would cum there and then.

Caldwell reached into Goodkind’s pocket and fished out the offending phone. It was indeed on and the call had been going on for hours. Small voices erupted from the other side. It sounded like someone was yelling. Fury crossed Caldwell’s features and he stared accusingly at Goodkind.

My body demanded action before Caldwell could do anything rash. I moved forward. The crooked cop turned to leave only to catch sight of me stepping out of the shadows and barring the only way out of the room. The cop’s eyes went wide in terror.

“Oh shit.”

Before he could cry out in alarm, I summoned an ethereal arm that launched from my back and slammed right into his mouth and slammed him against the far wall. Though it pained me, I summoned a similar arm and pressed a gentle finger against Goodkind’s lips, pushing for silence. Stunned, Caldwell was limp against my spectral grasp. I pulled him towards me, lifting him up to eye level where his dazed gaze could barely register me.

“No one escapes the Woodfather,” I snarled into his ear. “No one.”

With my physical hands, I tore off his pants, leaving his cock and ass exposed. Terror flashed across his eyes and he tried to struggle. Another two ethereal hands emerged from my back and seized his arms, holding them out to his sides. My actual hands grasped his thighs and pulled them apart, exposing his ass to me. I spun him around, aiming him directly at Goodkind so that he could see the punishment I would inflict upon this sorry excuse for a human. Caldwell was crying and pleading, shaking his head vigorously from side to side as if trying to deny what was about to happen.

“Accept the Woodfather’s forgiveness,” I whispered. “It is more than you deserve.”

I pushed my cock into his exposed ass, just the tip. That was all that was needed. His virgin hole could not take much more than that. His soul, however, was something else. Just as the Woodfather had done with me, I sent my spirit lancing into his essence, cutting through the cloying darkness and piercing into the small, dull light that was suffocating beneath the dark cloud. He screamed, a cry muffled by the semi-solid limb that was still wrapped around his face. All the spirits of my brothers and the herd came rushing into me, using me as a conduit into Caldwell’s blackened soul. Without any guidance or training from the Woodfather, he could do nothing as the powerful energies filled his soul to the brim. Unable to contain the power, his soul began to crack.

Perfect.

I pressed my muzzle against his neck, lapping at his sweaty, tense flesh. “The Woodfather has given you a chance to make amends. You will be punished for your sins a hundred times over.”

I thrust into his ass and injected more of nature’s wrath into him. His soul could not take any more and a chunk of it was sent flying off along with a jet of shining green energy following it. I seized the fragment and wrapped a portion of the darkness surrounding his broken spirit around its tiny frame. Then I sent it spirally immediately towards his cock and balls. His mind could not comprehend how he was getting aroused but there was no denying his six inch member going hard as a steel and his balls churning actively. Goodkind could only watch in bemusement as Caldwell went rigid, his entire body tensing like a coiled snake. His cock erupted in a powerful jet of cum, shooting high enough that it made a visible arc before coming splattering down in front of Goodkind in a thick pool. The restrained police officer shuffled the chair backwards from the splatters as Caldwell orgasmed again and again, his body tensing for the briefest of moments as he unleashed a torrent of seed before falling into a lull and then springing back up for another load. At least two gallons of cum lay where Caldwell had orgasmed and his body, now flushed red with exhaustion went limp in my arms.

The spilt seed was still for all but a second before it stirred. The fragment of the Caldwell’s soul, sins and all, had been infused in the very fluids. Coupled with the essences of the Woodfather’s herd, it began to bubble and swirl. Caldwell lifted his head in horror as thin lines of his own cum rose from the pool and began twisting and turning, rising upwards in a seven-foot tower of undulating, sticky, white goo. The base quickly split into two, strong, muscled legs. A rigid, defined torso formed atop the meaty pillars. A pair of heavily muscled arms slipped out from the central mass. A long, eight-inch flaccid cock dangled between the mammoth thighs coupled with a pair of orange-sized balls. To top it all off, a proud, stag’s head emerged complete with antlers and curly, brown locks. Though the construct appeared to be all white and still made of the seed, its form quickly solidified, fur replacing seed and hardened muscle appearing beneath each strand. The new stag opened his eyes, shining bright green.

“Oh fuck…” Goodkind whispered.

I pressed an ethereal finger against his lips again. “Nuh-uh. We’re not done yet.” He nuzzled Caldwell. “Are we?”

I shocked another inch into the corrupt cop’s ass and just as before, there was a rush of spiritual energies that pierced his soul, broke a fragment out of it from within and sent it shooting towards his dick. I turned us slightly to the right to avoid the newly made stag just in time. Caldwell let out a muffled scream, eyes squeezed shut as his cock sent out another two gallons of seed shooting out not even a minute after his first mammoth ejaculation. The cop was dazed and barely seeing, his head slumping to the side away from my muzzle. He could, however, still see his seed quickly forming another stag identical to the first.

Grinning, I turned another few degrees to the right and another inch sank into him. Caldwell was unable to resist and he could only let out muffled whimpers as another burst of his seed came shooting out of his cock and balls; a physically impossible feat. His average — for a human — testicles could never produce so much cum. This was a fact that both Caldwell and Goodkind were quickly realising as the third stag emerged.

“M - M - More…” Caldwell moaned.

As another of the stags started forming from Caldwell’s fourth, consecutive orgasm, the man in my arms began to change. His cries of pain were quickly turning into moans of arousal and he was starting to sit comfortably on a good quarter of my dick. Thrusts were starting to accompany each of his ejaculations. With the fifth stag, his body was starting to respond in other ways to the treatment.

“More. More!” pleaded the corrupt cop.

With less of his soul accompanying the shell, the Woodfather’s power moved to fill the gaps. His already solid muscles quivered with each eruption, growing bigger and stronger, pushing the limits of his skin. Bones stretched and even as his toes curled in ecstasy, they brushed against the floor with his new height. At the fifth, sixth and seventh stag, he was standing firmly on his own two feet, now rising to a firm seven feet tall. By the eighth, his torso was straining against his shirt. At the ninth, the buttons were struggling to keep the mountains of meat beneath from bursting. When the tenth stag came, his shirt’s buttons flew away, revealing a chiselled chest dusted by dense, brown hairs. At that point, he was no longer struggling and I managed to pierce him entirely with my dick. He turned alongside me as we continued the dance, splintering his soul and sending it shooting out into the physical realm as a liquid. A moan left his lips and he arched his head back in time for two little nubs to appear at his forehead.

“More!”

Smiling, I removed myself from Caldwell. The stags around us immediately moved in, wrapping their arms around their source, rubbing their thick, throbbing dicks against his flesh and urging him to a twelfth orgasm. I moved out of the way as the Herd went to work, coaxing more fragments of Caldwell’s soul out of him. There was some primal need amongst them that understood they were all fragments of the one soul and they were eager to become one again but the most they could do was to stick their cocks within one another, to feel that intimate closeness multiplied across each individual instance.

Caldwell did not mind. He was swimming in a sexual haze and with each fragment of his soul taking shape, the darkness that surrounded him ebbed, replaced by the light of the Woodfather. Each of his spawn took turns stuffing their cocks into his ass. Orgasm after orgasm rocked his body and every one produced a new stag. The storage room was quickly becoming crowded and as space became a commodity, the stags began stuffing their cocks down Caldwell’s mouth. It was a good thing too as the cop’s skull began stretching forward to accommodate the thick, black meat that he was being fed. With each stag that he produced, the human in him faded and the more he came to resemble the very bucks he was producing.

I lost sight of Caldwell, the Prime, as the throng of bodies pushed myself back. I was forced to pick up a stunned Goodkind and drag him to the far corner as the stags convulsed, fucked and quietly moaned over one another. Seed spurted out between each of them. Though they could not produce their own spawn, it still made for a sticky mess that quickly pooled around us. I kept Goodkind from touching the substance, however. The mountain of stags rose, almost reaching the ceiling. With every passing second, another stag joined them, heralded by the newly created male erupted from the top of the pile, gasping for breath and soaked in cum before diving back in to join his brothers in the quickly growing orgy.

Of course, this could not go on forever. Prime only had so much of a soul in him before it became too fragmented. That, and the Rusty Blades only gave us fifteen minutes to convince Goodkind to join them. But there were nine hundred seconds in fifteen minutes. More than enough time for the hundred or so members of the Herd to fully emerge and have a few good fucks before someone came knocking on the door.

I wish I could’ve seen when DeVries opened that door, expecting either a convinced Goodkind or a dejected Caldwell. Instead, the moment he opened it, he got a face full of seed and dozens of muscular stags pouring out all over him and his thugs. They were immediately overwhelmed. The Herd knew that there were armed men around them and they immediately charged into the cannery, often in groups of four or five, and made for the members of the Rusty Blades. DeVries and the two goods that had been captured in the first onslaught had their clothes torn clear off and a cock stuffed up their asses. At least three bucks were on a single human, teasing nipples, kissing cocks and running their hands seductively over exposed, sensitive flesh. None of them could hold out for more than three seconds before their cocks were shooting seed into the air, taking with it a shard of their souls and quickly transforming into another member of the Herd.

As this all happened, I was left alone in the store room with Goodkind in my arms and one buck. Prime. Brown-furred buck, eyes shining with the brilliant blessing of the Woodfather, strode forward and wrapped his arms around my neck. His lips met mine and I could feel the simplicity of his soul, relieved of the burdens of his sins and comfortable albeit yearning for the embrace of his spawn.

“We are grateful for what you have done for us,” he uttered. “We are free.”

“Holy shit…” Goodkind whimpered. “Luis? Is that you?”

He gave his former comrade a peaceful, content smile. “No, Randy. We are Prime. One of many. Many in one.”

Gunfire shook the cannery and I winced at the sound of a few stags being toppled. Prime immediately turned to the side, pointing his cock away from us as his entire body shuddered. The powerful attraction of Prime’s soul to those of the Herd drew the shattered fragment from the downed buck into him. Not even a second later, he was shooting another load and producing another buck, drawing from the collective strength of the Woodfather’s bucks all over Ferndyllias. He had to take a breath as three more consecutive burst brought out three more stags, keeping the number of his spawn perpetually at a hundred.

“What did you do to him?” Goodkind whispered. His eyes went wide in terror. “Shit… What are you going to do to me!?”

That was a very good question. Tempted as I was to turn Goodkind here and now, his soul was this brilliant, shining crystal of nobility that I would not wish to taint. That could not be achieved were he forced into the Woodfather’s embrace. He had to choose the Woodfather willingly.

“I am going to take you out of here.”

His stunned expression was priceless. After all the gunfire had died down and there was just the sound of men crying out in ecstasy, I left the store room through the one door. It was somewhat difficult navigating the cannery floor as nearly every surface was covered in the undulating bodies of the Herd. Prime followed me out the main doors where the Herd had taken down the patrolling Rusty Blades and spilt out into the greater factory district. The Woodfather may not have had a foothold in this foul sector but he did now.

“Sid will send a Replanter over in the morning to set up a Father Tree here,” I told Prime. “Keep safe. We’re still in enemy territory.”

Prime kissed my cheek affectionately, running a finger down Goodkind’s leg that made the cop flinch. “Praise the Woodfather,” he intoned.

Then he returned hurriedly into the factory, eager to experience the sensations of the fragments of his soul given flesh penetrating him and filling him over and over again. What it would be like to be tangled within their embrace, bathing in endless pleasure.

The struggling in my hands brought me back to Goodkind’s plight. I quickly planted my lips against his and he immediately went rigid. I could tell that he was deathly afraid that I had somehow corrupted him. Not yet, dear one. Not yet. The fresh energies generated from the Herd behind me and their new coverts was more than enough to repair the damage to Goodkind’s body. The broken knee was fully set, the bruises and cuts healed. I even gave him the tooth he lost. Pulling away from the kiss, he stared at me in awe and touched his face, searching for the pain that he was sure would be there. When he found none, he gaped.

Only then did I set him down on his feet.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why… why aren’t I… like you?”

I crossed my arms at him. “Because I don’t want to change you. Yet.”

He flinched away from me. “What game are you playing?”

“No game. I know you’ll come to me. You’ll want to be just like me soon enough.”

Goodkind took several steps back. “In your dreams, pervert! If you think I want to be like… like that” — he gestured towards the large pile of the Herd convulsing in ecstasy — “you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Do you deny you’re aroused?” I looked pointedly at his crotch. There was definitely a tent there.

“That’s you’re doing!” He defiantly turned his crotch away, covering the impressive meat outlined by his pants with both his hands.

I smirked at him. “Come on. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me, Randall Goodkind. I can see you soul.” I leaned down, fighting off the temptation to kiss him again. “Your beautiful, courageous soul.”

Another step away. “Jesus… I think I liked your kind better when I knew you couldn’t talk and thought you were just mindless deer zombies!”

“Deer zombies?” I repeated. The term was strangely amusing.

“Well… Yeah. I don’t know. It’s something the guys at the station came up.” His newly repaired lip curled upwards in disgust. “They’ve seen how you guys fuck. Someone made the joke that you fuck your victim’s brains out. Then because they turn into you, it’s kind of like how a zombie eats a guy’s brains and then they turn into a zombie.”

From an outsider’s perspective, that was certainly a good point. The abrupt assault likely let to wild speculation and widespread panic. Who knew what the media was saying about us. Few probably even knew about the Woodfather. It would not be a surprise if conspiracy theorists began circulating possible origins. Were we aliens? Some secret government project gone wrong?

But I would change that. My father was not a malevolent force. Humans needed to be educated.

“We aren’t a zombie plague,” I began. “We are —”

Goodkind took several steps back and lifted his hand. “I don’t want to hear it, you sick fuck. If you’re going to turn me, do it without preaching. Otherwise, leave me alone.” He brushed his hands against his chest. “Fuck… I feel like I need a shower. For my soul.”

“Where are you going?”

The handsome blonde cop turned completely around. “Away from the stench of deer sex.” The steps he took were tense. Shoulders were rigid and ready for retaliation. Defying all expectations, I did not pounce on him or try and convince him to stay. No amount of cajoling would do that. Randall Goodkind had to come to me. Willingly. Goodkind stopped a few metres away and glanced over his shoulder, regarding me with a curious if guarded stare.

His cute, green eyed dropped momentarily.

“Thanks… I guess,” he mumbled. “Thanks for saving me from Caldwell and the Blades.”

A smile touched my lips. “Anytime.”

He took a few, slow steps away once more, still expecting me to pounce upon him the moment he let his guard down. The Herd were tempted to chase after him but I warned them not to. Randall Goodkind would come to us eventually of his own volition. It was evident in the slow steps he took and the frequent twisting of his head as he was tempted to look back in my direction but stopped himself at the last moment. Upon reaching about fifty metres away, he broke into a run and bolted back into the city.

Now out of sight, I spread my wings, unfurling them into the night sky and leaping into the air. With the Woodfather’s presence strengthened with the expansion of the Herd, I could once again propel myself into the night sky with just the immense energies that swirled around the factory district. Sid said that he’d send a Replanter come the morning when the sun’s rays would help nurture the Father Tree. For now, my goal was still Goodkind.

Thought he hour was late, Goodkind’s soul was struggling with what he saw. Though he was grateful for being saved, he was conflicted over how he was saved. Caldwell was crooked but did he deserve to be turned into a member of the Herd? Could he truly justify wishing such a fate on anyone even the members of the Rusty Blade? The internal struggle brought him to a literal crossroads. Heading to the east of Ferndyllias would lead him back to the police headquarters. But to the west was a place where he could cleanse his soul.

Or so he believed.

His soul took priority and he reached down the collar of his tight, blue shirt to reveal a silver crucifix that I had not noticed before. He gently kissed the necklace and hurried to the west. Though it took him a good hour of steady jogging, the Rusty Blades were indisposed and the rest of the Woodfather’s herd were currently asleep leaving him unmolested save for his lone stalker that silently glided through the air a fair distance above and behind him - me. Sweat drenched his shirt by the time he arrived at Ferndyllias’ western cathedral.

The town actually had three similar cathedrals. St. Matthew’s was positioned close to the ‘poorer’ side of town where the working man could go for some spiritual sustenance. One other cathedral was positioned at the centre of the city drowned out by the towering concrete monoliths that blotted out the sun. The last was located in the more opulent side of the city, by far the biggest and most extravagant as it was sustained by the donations of the rich and wealthy. St. Matthew’s Cathedral was comparatively smaller with a single steeple but still retaining the cross-shaped designed that was common amongst the faith. Goodkind approached the big, wooden doors and knocked. A small slot opened to reveal the eyes of the guard beyond. The door sprung open a short while later and Goodkind entered with a look of relief on his face.

The cathedral’s stained glass windows made for poor visibility into the actual house of worship but they left the steeple and its bell tower laughably undefended. Perhaps they suspected that we stags wouldn’t be able to reach so far up. It was a simple matter of flying up to the stepple and using the trapdoor to enter the cathedral from there. Being closer to the city, I was able to dissolve into the ethereal river as my brothers and family guided me down the spiralling stairwell and into the cathedral itself.

The main chamber were sermons were held was filled with people pressed up against walls and huddled in corners with makeshift tents sleeping bags. A few were also positioned amongst the pews, heads bowed and praying for salvation. The back half of the cathedral had been cleared of the wooden pews to allow for more places to sleep and rest. The altar remained pristine, attended and well-lit. A service was likely due soon. Even this late at night, the priest obviously wanted to keep hopes up and avoid unnecessary surprises.

Goodkind was led into the back of the cathedral into the priest’s private quarters. It was predictably and quaint, humble room with plenty of hold adornments. A single stained glass window faced the northern side of the cathedral grounds with his desk positioned right in front of it. Books of theology and a single copy of the bible were scattered amongst the pages and pages of announcements. The priest himself was positioned in front of a computer, hunched over and rubbing the growing stubble. The elderly man stood, showing his impressively straight back, pure-white hair cut short and thick glasses that made his silvery-blue eyes look all the bigger. The priest was thin and there were heavy bags in his eyes likely from constantly worrying about his ‘flock’ and praying to his god for salvation.

“Officer Goodkind,” the priest said, spreading his arms wide in welcome. His white robes were wrinkled from use. In all likeliness, he hadn’t removed them since the assault had begun. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.” His features twisted into a look of worry. “But why are you out so late? And… is that blood on your shirt?”

Goodkind offered a weak smile. “It’s been a long night, Father Krass. But… I need some advice.”

“Of course, of course.” Krass pulled over a chair that looked like it had been well worn. “What’s troubling you?”

The conflicted officer took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I ran into the Rusty Blades this evening.”

Krass’ eyes widened in surprise. “Poor, poor misguided children.” He tutted and shook his head. “Taking advantage of the chaos around us and exploiting the good faith of people. I pray for their souls.”

“Yeah… me too.” Goodking wrung his hands together nervously. “You remember Caldwell? Luis Caldwell?”

Krass inclined his head slightly to the side. “I believe I do. Ambitious young man. You’ve long suspected he’s had connections with the Blades.”

“Turns out, he did.” Goodkind sighed heavily. “Well, he told me that they were offering them a deal that they’ll get him out of the city and give him a cut of the loot of he helps them keep up to date with the police and military’s activities.” Goodkind glanced around himself, making sure no one could overhear him. “He thinks that the military is going to firebomb this place and burn everything and everyone here for fear of an outbreak.”

The priest frowned at him. “You’re thinking too much about what would happen in movies. The military would never do something like that.” He reached forward and gently clasped his hand around Goodkind’s. “God teaches us to have faith in one another and not just Him. The moment we start assuming the worst in people is the moment we start letting fear into our hearts. Terrorism acts in much the same way. One act is all it takes for paranoia to spread and thus start a fire that would consume us all, guilty and innocent alike.”

Goodkind shook his head slowly. “But that’s the thing, father… He was working for the Blades. It wasn’t just a relationship that build because of a crisis that started 24 hours ago. They wouldn’t let him cut a sweet deal like that without a prior relationship. He’s been crooked for a while!”

“Perhaps so,” Krass said gently. “But we must not let the actions of a single man taint us into suspicion and doubt. Isaiah 35:4. say to those with fearful hearts, ‘Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.’”

The shaken police officer pursed his lips. “See… here’s the thing I’m having trouble with. He did get what’s coming to him. Except… It was at the hands of one of those stags.”

Krass pulled away slowly from Goodkind. The kindly expression on his face faded to become still and unreadable. “I see… Did you have a hand in setting this retribution into motion? Did you do so with a heart full of hate?”

“No, actually. It was more like I didn’t do anything to save him. Maybe I could have but I didn’t.”

Krass’ features became fatherly and sympathetic again. “Oh, my child. You have nothing to feel guilty about. If Luis truly was corrupt, then the Lord God delivered unto him exactly what he deserved.”

Goodkind winced loudly. “And that’s the second part of what’s been bugging me.” His green eyes looked to Krass worriedly. “If God sent Luis to become one of those… those things… maybe they’re actually his messengers or something? Maybe they’re his way of judging us?”

The priest smiled softly and shrugged. “Perhaps so. If that were the case, I hope that we will embrace our judgement with open arms. In the meantime, I will do what I can to keep alive the hope in everyone’s hearts and steel their faith.” He tilted his head slightly. “What makes you believe that these stag-men are angels sent by God? I will admit that they are rather… perverse in my opinion but I suppose God works in mysterious ways.”

Doubt coloured the officer’s features. “It’s because… One of them saved me. He… he actually swept in, turned Luis and then saved me from the Rusty Blades. He… he healed me.” Goodkind gently touched his lips. “Kissed me and my wounds healed. Then he spoke. I turned my back on him and he didn’t pounce on me like I expected him to.”

When Goodkind’s eyes lifted he saw the look of horror on Krass’ features.

“I see what this is now,” whispered the priest, his expression one of utter terror. “This was not a confession of misdeeds. This is an attempt to taint my soul!”

Goodkind was halfway out of his seat. “No father! I —”

The spindly, white-haired priest sprang up from his seat and seized the nearest crucifix. He flashed the small, wooden statue in front of him, holding it out between himself and Goodkind. “Back! Back you corrupt devil! In the name of the Lord God and his son, Jesus Christ, I command you to stay back!”

Now who was thinking of what happens in movies. Mentally rolling my eyes, I pulled myself from the ether, manifesting behind Goodkind. Krass’ eyes went wider than their already saucer-sized gaze and his mouth dropped open in horror. Goodkind hadn’t noticed me at first but when I placed a hand on his shoulder, he jerked back in surprise.

“What are you doing here!?”

I winked slyly at him. “I’m your guardian angel.” Then I turned my gaze towards Krass. “And I’m here to show this poor, misguided soul the error of his ways.”

Krass stumbled back against his desk, one hand holding the crucifix out and the other clutching his heart. “No! I will not be tempted by your demonic wiles! Back! Back I say!”

Rolling my eyes, I stepped forward and plucked the little statue from his hands and tossed it away. “If you honestly think waving around a little sculpture of a man being nailed to a piece of wood is enough to banish me to some mythical place of brimstone and fire, you’ve got another thing coming.” I reached out, gently cupping Krass’ cheeks with my hands. “But you’re not at fault. You’ve been misled all your life. Allow me to show you the truth of this world.”

Our lips met and though I closed my eyes to focus, his eyes widened even more. The spirits of my brothers and the rest of the herd flowed through him, reaching out towards Krass with the might of a thousands hands reaching out to welcome him into the loving embrace of the Woodfather. His soul shrank and quivered in the presence of the awe-inspiring mass. In this dark, often cruel world, Krass’ essence hovered in the weak, frail shell. All alone and secluded, wrapped in bone and flesh only his faith preserved him in times of doubt and misery. Even that was flickering now despite his profession. But through the sea of darkness, the shining light of the Woodfather broke through.

The priest stood in awe at the divine light of the one true deity of this world, the thousands of ‘angels’ as his mind interpreted it, beckoning him into the light. Even with our lips still planted, he began to lift his hand away from his heart, reaching out to the ethereal crowd. A tear welled up in his eyes, a slow, pulsating green light starting to shine through his silvery grey irises. His lips parted ever so slowly and I pushed my tongue gently inside his mouth, showing him that there was no sin in the pleasures of the flesh.

An immense presence emerged from the herd and even I was in awe when the Woodfather reached out with his enormous hand. He reached through me, making me his vessel. My soul stretched and warped to fit his enormous hand like I was his glove, his instrument to reach through vast distance to the misguided humans like Krass. The closest level of intimacy would have been when his fully erect cock filled me but this was on another level; this was a fragment of his being filling mine.

Krass gazed upon the handsome countenance of the Woodfather and fell to his knees. I had to reach out to catch him so that we could keep our lips together. The tearful priest opened his mouth entirely. His spirit, still tentative and doubtful, touched the Woodfather’s ever so slightly. That one, slight contact was enough to connect Evan Krass with the rest of the network. A thousand voices all spoke at the same time, filling his soul to the point where it was close to bursting. However, the choir of the herd guided him to directing the immense energies of the network to the rest of his body, healing old wounds, rejuvenating weary bones and even clearing the heavy bags that hung beneath his eyes.

With that, Krass took to heart the songs that the Woodfather preached and wrapped his arms around me. One hand curled around my broad, muscled back, sliding up and down my lats affectionately while the other cupped the back of my neck as he dove into the kiss. All the edicts and doctrines were shed in favour of the Woodfather’s simple commands of love, repentance and universal reverence of nature.

“Oh fuck…”

Those two words were enough to break us both of our tender moment. Goodkind was backing away towards the door. The new convert in my arms opened his eyes, now shining green with the Woodfather’s grace, and leaned back against his desk, panting heavily with a sizable tent in his robes.

“Amazing…” he whispered softly. “I have been so wrong.” He pressed a hand against my pectoral, licking his lips at the taut muscles beneath. “So very wrong… Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.” His eyes turned towards Goodkind. “I am sorry for throwing such harsh words at you, Randall. The Woodfather is the one true god and his herd…” For the briefest of moments, he cast his gaze back towards my body, a flash of lust entering his eyes. “… his magnificent, angelic herd… They are truly here to bring us to salvation.”

Goodkind shook his head furiously. “N - N - no! You’ve been tainted, Father Krass! How could you turn your back against your faith!?”

The priest sighed and straightened and tugged at his robes. “I am no longer, Father Evan Krass.” Those glowing green eyes turned to me for guidance.

“Bishop,” I intoned. “You are now Bishop.”

“I like it,” answered the newly anointed member of the herd. He straightened and strode towards Goodkind. The officer reached for his gun only to remember it had been confiscated by the Rusty Blades when he had been captured. “Now if you will excuse me. The Woodfather has inspired me with a vision. One that I gladly will bring to fruition.”

Even I did not know what that ‘vision’ was though there was little doubt that I would be pleased. Goodkind made to protest but I quickly closed in on him and pulled him back.

“Let him fulfil the Woodfather’s wish.”

With the struggling officer firmly secured, I followed Bishop from the priest’s private quarters down to the main chapel, Goodkind still in my arms and my hands placed over his lips to prevent him from speaking out. We watched the kindly, robed figure stride up to the altar from the side, out of sight of the other worshippers. A hush fell upon the halls of the cathedral as Bishop too up his position in front of the altar, simply radiating with power.

“Brothers!” he proclaimed, lifting his hands into the air. “I have been blessed with a vision! Salvation is upon us!”

The spark of hope spread throughout the crowd though it was quickly flickering given the dire situation these survivors found themselves in. Those few that were fanatically devout to the former Father Krass moved towards the front of the cathedral, closer to the altar and the pews. The altar servants and volunteers of the church stepped forward, eager for Bishop’s words. None of them noticed that Bishop was glowing with the Woodfather’s power.

“Let us rejoice!” he boomed loudly. “The truth has been unveiled to me. A truth that will save us all!” With each word, he slowly lowered his arms and turned a benevolent smile down towards his congregation. “This ‘plague’ that has struck us is judgement given form. Mankind has been found guilty of perverting nature. We’ve taken great and noble trees, ripped them from the very earth that gives them sustenance and then twisted their corpses as grotesque mausoleums that reflect our own arrogance! We rip the fruits of the earth and pollute the air! We breed majestic animals for our own entertainment!”

A few dubious glances were being exchanged but those closest to Bishop were being drawn in by his compelling oration. The faintest glow of green shone in their eyes as their souls reached out and willingly looked to Bishop for hope and meaning. Purpose and power was what the Woodfather offered and their hungry, battered spirits eagerly took it all.

“The great bucks are his angels!” Bishop declared. “They are not here to destroy us. They are here to save us from our sins! They will have us shed our tainted forms and ascend into his embrace!”

As he spoke, green light began shining through his flesh, tracing lines across his arms, chest, back and legs in the form of intricate, natural-looking markings. The glow radiated through his robes, diffusing the light slightly and giving him a heavenly, viridescent aura. The energy within him mounted. His frail, human body could barely contain the power building from within. It was not the power of the spirits or the herd, either. His faith and utter belief in the Woodfather was a burning verdant sun that provided all the power he could ever want. Faith was a powerful thing but to have actual confirmation of the divine could turn faith into indisputable fact. Unrestrained joy erupted from his chest and he was at the command of the swirling euphoria that burst from him. He could only swing his arms wildly in the air, swaying his hips to some unheard tune.

“Celebrate with me! Stand up! Give praise! The Woodfather is coming and he has chosen to forgive us all! He will shed us of our fears and sins. Eternal life in his loving embrace awaits!”

Bishop’s energy was contagious. Survivors closer to him were slowly swinging or moving in tandem to his energetic movements. The glows in their eyes were intensifying as their souls grew more and more open to the Woodfather’s mercy. Those further in the back were casting doubtful glances, wondering if their priest had gone insane. The disheartened and downtrodden looked on, wondering what had caused this sudden turn and a few were even looking at the doors and wondering if they should attempt an escape.

The energies within Bishop culminated at his extremities. He thrust both his hands up into the air, staring upwards as if giving praise heaven itself. The power within him erupted from his hands, giving his soul the power to shape his flesh in accordance with the Woodfather’s will. His fingertips melted together, forming the distinct three fingered shape of one of the Woodfather’s blessed. Short, brown fur began spreading across his hands and washing down the rest of his arms. Though their course briefly vanished beneath his robes, the muscles beneath the cloth quickly grew pressed up against the silky fabric. His arms stretched to the awe of the observers, showing strong, lean muscle beneath with intricate, glowing, green markings weaving around his taut muscles.

A triumphant cry erupted from Bishop and he immediately reached for the collar of his robes. With newfound strength, he tore at the ceremonial garments and discarded them on the floor. Beneath he wore a white, collared shirt and black slacks but all those were quickly tightening at his enlarging frame as his radiant spirit reshapes his physical shape. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he gawked upwards, mouth hanging open and arms spread to his sides. Bishop gave his entire physical form to his soul and in turn surrendered his soul to become a conduit to the Woodfather, an extension of the one true father’s light.

This power quickly spread and affected his surroundings. The polished, wooden floorboards twisted and undulated beneath his feet like a pulsing, breathing being. The artificial sheen cracked and splintered, giving way to the natural growths of twisting bark beneath. Wounded and sliced wood rapidly grew, sprouting branches and vines that came spiralling out from the floorboards and curling towards him. Even the doubters had to stand in awe at the genuine miracle that was happening right before their eyes.

Bishop was lifted off the ground by the growing wood laced with the glowing green light of the Woodfather’s power. The intelligent branches, acting at Bishop’s behest, slipped beneath his clothes and tore the cloth out from his skin, exposing his rapidly tightening torso and thickening legs. Onlookers watched in awe as the frail priest’s elderly body was rejuvenated. Lean muscles developed across Bishop’s chest producing juicy, square pectorals that were quickly covered by soft, brown fur. A flat, almost malnourished stomach was quickly secured by eight powerful abdominal muscles. His lats surged outwards, spreading out like a pair of wings and pushing his broadening shoulders out to fit his muscular arms. All the while, green lines of energy swirled around his brown fur, tracing lines that highlighted his muscle structure and erotic zones particularly the four nipples that decorated his torso.

A pleasured cry left his lips as he curled his toes for the last time. The branches pulled off his boots and socks, tossing them casually aside. All could see his five toes twisting and merging to become two, indistinct appendages on each foot. Hardened hooves grew from his toenails; solid, black and harder than diamond. The hooves capped both of his new toes even as his feet grew bigger and bigger to fit the ballooning calves. That same brown fur painted the taut muscles of his thighs and legs, paving the way for the green markings that swept up towards his torso.

The ritualistic tattoos met towards his crotch, finally bridging the gap between his upper and lower bodies. Bishop let out another scream of utter bliss as his cock erupted from the remnants of his briefs before the branches curling around him could free it from the confines of his underwear. The huge, black dick throbbed and dripped with masculinity, the bright pink glands sliding in and out of his foreskin in tandem with his pounding heart. Those same green lines traced their way up the length of his cock, pushing the cum gurgling in his coconut-sized, furry balls up the incredible length and pushing him to his first orgasm as a member of the Woodfather’s herd.

Bishop threw his head back, letting out the loudest cry yet; his birthing call as a fully fledged member of the family. His face thrust forward, shedding the fragments of the human he had been and throwing aside the glasses that had once made him look so bug-eyed. Antler quickly followed afterwards, spiralling upwards from the long, silvery-white mane that ran from the top of his head down the length of his back. The last vestiges of humanity left him and with that came the launching of his seed as a buck. His cry was met with cheers from the crowd as his cum showered down upon the congregation, anointing them in a salty shower.

His mighty chest heaving, the tall buck with the build of a very athletic dancer was slowly released by the branches around him. They bent to his will, forming small platforms for him to respectfully descend from the his perch and plant his newly formed feet on the ground for the first time. The energies within him had calmed but were still as radiant as before. Were it had once been a raging sun, fiery and bursting with life, now it was more like a benevolent warmth; a true reflection of the Woodfather’s love.

“Come my brothers,” he announced. “Celebrate our ascension as children of the Woodfather with me.”

He reached out, offering his hand to the nearest man. There was little doubt in the chosen one’s stance as he eagerly took Bishop’s hand and was pulled up to the dais. There, Bishop moved swung his arms, moved his hips and dances around the new initiate, urging his own powers and that of the Woodfather’s into the new conduit. The man stood nervously at first but then felt the power of the Woodfather within him. He could not help but mirror Bishops movements. Just like the first of the Woodcasters, the initiate felt the overwhelming energies within him and could do nothing but surrender his body to the call of the one true father. The branches around him curled towards him and freed him of his clothing in time for the green lines and his new form to take shape, erupting in a glorious cry of euphoria and cum.

From there on, doubt was shed and the cathedral was quickly filled with eager converts as they rushed towards the dais to receive the Woodfather’s blessing, their eyes glowing green. Those who still doubted could not resist the call for long. The light that came from the bodies of the converts and their synchronised, hypnotic movements drew them in. The voices of the Woodcasters rose in praise of the Woodfather, a siren song that banished the worry and fears of the doubters and called them to be welcomed amongst the herd.

As more and more Woodcaster were brought into the fray, the very church, their unwavering faith radiated out from their bodies and bathed the entirety of the church. The ground, the air and even the very stones that man had once warped became conduits for their united powers. Stained glass windows lost their blues, reds and yellows and became various shades of green, their imagery changing to reflect the Woodfather. Towering columns and blocky, geometric lines from the buttresses became more natural, vines and branches springing from them in organic fashion. The ground beneath our feet lost its unnatural smoothness; the wood peeling away to reveal the raw earth beneath. Even the ‘sacred altar’ was shed of its adornments and became a knot of twisted wood where Bishop too the first of his converts and inserted his cock into him, blessing the location with their union in the Woodfather’s name.

“Praise the Woodfather!” Bishop cried, orgasming into the convert beneath him. “Come! Sanctify your covenant with our father upon the altar!”

Once by one, the newly converted stepped up onto the altar, lying on their backs and spreading their legs high for Bishop to spear them with his dick. Their seed pooled around them, the wood and earth moving respectfully according to the Woodcasters’ will. They formed a moat of sorts around the altar where all the spilt cum could collect. Even after they had their turn, the Woodcasters continued to stand at the rim of the depression and stroked their cocks in tandem with Bishop’s ritualistic thrusts. They all came over and over again in perfect synchronisation. It did not take long before the gallons of seed formed a pool around the altar. New converts were ‘baptised’ by the seed of their brethren, wading through the knee-high pool before laying upon the altar and joining their cum with the collective.

Soon, not a single human remained within the first church of the Woodfather.

Save for Randall Goodkind.

Goodkind looked up in horror at once had been a symbol of his faith. A tremendous wooden effigy depicting the Woodfather from the torso up was perched above the altar; a benevolent stare staring down upon the shrine while his arms were spread to the sides as if in a welcoming embrace. His gaze quickly fell as he stared in fury at his own erection. It was simply amazing that he could still resist the Woodfather’s call despite being at the core of such an beautiful convent.

I loosened my grip around him. Upon noticing, he immediately pulled away from my grip and bolted for the doors, now spread wide open. No one stopped him though I did follow up until the front steps of the cathedral. Predictably, he was heading straight to the police station. Warm, wet hands gently closed around my waist and a hard cock rubbed against the small of my back. Bishop kissed my neck affectionately.

“I know you have your mission but won’t you stay a little longer?” The first of the Woodcasters reached around my waist and gently squeezed my balls. “I want this in me.”

I laughed softly and kissed his cheek. “You’re quite thirsty, aren’t you?”

Bishop stepped back with a lewd grin on his face. “I’ve spent the better part of my life celibate. Now the truth has been shown to me, I want nothing more than to experience all that I was deprived in the name of my former religion.”

A quick squeeze of his cock made him moan. “Perhaps after I have dealt with the police. For now, prepare for the Replanters and ready your Woodcasters to sanctify the Father Trees. We will want them all to be centres of the Woodfather’s welcoming embrace.”

After a quick stroke of one another’s hardened cocks, we parted ways: Bishop back to his ritualistic fucking and me to chasing down Goodkind. It was not hard to find him. With the addition of the Woodcasters, nature itself was now bound to the Woodfather. The winds told me that the terrified police officer had returned to the headquarters. The crisis inside of him were growing stronger now, roiling and raging. Soon, they would erupt and I wanted to be there to see it; to channel it and put it to use for the Woodfather.

Located near the centre of Ferndyllias, the police headquarters was a white three storey building marked with the police department’s crest. The entire front had been barricaded by sandbags and armoured cars to prevent entry. A secure, concrete fence wrapped around its grounds. Within, the movement of the survivors and the remaining police force could be seen in the shadows they cast. Guards were posted on the rooftops and in strategic places to avoid detection. Goodkind rushed towards them and he was allowed inside with little doubt or fanfare. For myself, it became an easy matter of dissolving myself once more into the spiritual currents that inundated the town. With the Woodcaster’s immense power backing us, it was no longer necessary for the entire herd to channel their strength into helping me in this endeavour. My grip on my own abilities had evolved with the coming of the Woodcasters. The Woodfather had made me a conduit to Bishop’s transformation and I learned much.

I slipped quietly through the air, invisible to the scared, cold humans roving the rooftops. The third floor was filled with the survivors. They were huddled in corners, thermal blankets wrapped around them and clinging to what little food could be offered to them. The desks and cubicles of the officers had all been pushed back to give them room to lie down. Rough barricades made of the furniture had been erected around the windows and near the doors. While it shielded them from any assaults from the windows, it also prevented them from seeing anything outside. Likely a tactic by the police force to avoid panic in the case of an attack. Whatever else, these men had discipline and strong leadership.

The second floor was where the cafeteria was positioned and that was where all the supplies had been positioned. This lay mostly abandoned save for the officer who were currently on break. Many of them looked utterly exhausted. Even if I were not ethereal, I doubt they would have noticed my passing. I could only pity them. An entire day stressing about an attack and rescuing who they could with little information save for a military blockade and ‘stag zombies’ likely had them rather high-strung. Their auras smacked of worry for their families and the future.

It was in the first floor where the majority of the police force were. By majority, there really was only about twenty men in uniform in total. Coupled with those in the cafeteria, rooftop and outside at the barricades, that barely made forty men. Ferndyllias’ police department constantly complained about being undermanned but never this severe. The Woodfather had directed us to avoid as much confrontation with the police force as much as possible to avoid casualties. There were few officers that had succumbed to us. That still did not explain the low numbers.

Shouting from the back of the first floor caught my attention. Gliding quietly through the air in spirit form, I followed the noises until I made it to what was the makeshift office for the current head of police. The portly man once had a strong build but his greying moustache and bald head spoke of years of stress and experience that had reduced his one powerful form into something a little more suited behind the desk and giving orders. Seated in front of the man in the converted storage closet was none other than Randall Goodkind.

“Do you know what you cost us, Goodkind!?” barked the chief.

Goodkind kept his cute, green eyes lowered. “Chief, I was just —”

“You went off on your own and thought you were being clever by setting up that ‘trap’ for Caldwell!” roared the frazzled, bald man, practically frothing at the mouth. “I couldn’t give a shit for that fucktard but you’re a good cop! We got your call and our operators were listening in the whole time! When we got where you were, we sent most of our fucking force after you expecting a firefight with the Rusty Blades! We expected to put an end to those fucking lowlifes!”

Goodkind had thought he had been clever when he had set up that trap. Somehow, his cell phone had worked despite our best efforts to disrupt communications. The police had heard and sent reinforcements. But instead of finding a bunch of gang members shored up and ready for their assault… they instead found the Herd. Goodkind had left his phone behind so he had no idea that the officers were rushing to save him. That explained the lack of manpower in the headquarters.

“Do you know what we found instead!?” snapped the chief.

“I —”

“We found a thousand of those horny fuckers bearing down on us like a fucking flood! Five minutes, Goodkind!” He held up five fingers. “Five. Fucking. Minutes! That’s all it took for that horde to take down over a hundred officers! All that’s left are auxiliary men! Come the morning, we’ll barely have enough men to keep this place secure!”

With so few men, it would indeed be very easy to storm the station. A few good milkmen to sow discord within the ranks followed by a frontal assault from the Lumbered and Synergists and their ranks would be broken. Haunted could clean up while the Chargers and Scouts could clean up any runners. The chief didn’t seem like the man to just submit to his fate. The few officers on the first floor who were not on guard were packing and readying to leave. No doubt they would try to make for the quarantine wall and plead with the military to let them through.

“Sir, I didn’t —”

The chief slammed a fist into his table, shaking the entire room. “I don’t want to fucking hear it, Goodkind! Get down to the fucking armoury and don’t come out until you’ve inspected every fucking gun. If one of them jams, I swear to God I’ll throw you to those beasts!” He snarled and straightened. “You’re lucky I need every officer I can get right now because of your screw up or else I’d have your badge!”

Goodkind stood slowly, his fists shaking. “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Dejected, the handsome, blonde officer shuffled out of the storage room and headed down the hallway. The few officers that his passed threw foul looks in his direction. They all blamed him for sending a great majority of the force into the embrace of the Woodfather. His soul was torn, damaged and bleeding. Upon reaching the armoury, he locked himself in and peered upon the myriad of weapons that stood before him. There was a flash of fire in his heart that caused alarm.

He took one of the guns, regarding his reflection in its polished, silvery frame. It was clear what he was contemplating. The guilt of ‘damning’ so many of his brothers bore down on his soul. A heroic act had been turned into a terrible massacre. Once, he had thought he would be making the ultimate noble sacrifice but instead, he had sacrificed so others instead. This stain blackened the radiance of his soul, tainting it with the dark smear of remorse. This taint grew bigger with each passing second as his mind imagined the faces of those that he had unwittingly sent to their doom. That gun inched closer and closer to his temple.

My hand grasped the weapon and his eyes snapped open in surprise. He immediately spun in place. The gun was instinctively raised. I finished materialising before him, the brilliant green wings spreading behind me. I hadn’t even intended to manifest them but they were welcome.

“You!” he snarled. “You did this!”

I shook my head at him, smiling at him warmly. “When will you realise, that none of this is a bad thing?”

“You and your kind have turned all those people into… into…!”

“Into what?” I pressed. “Into people who are finally happy with their own bodies? Who constantly experience the ecstasy of the flesh over and over again? Who have an ineffable connection with one another that no human could ever achieve let alone understand? Who won’t ever fight, kill or hurt one another again? Who will never die?”

Goodkind took a step back. Just one step. “That’s just some religious bullshit that you’re spewing! The same kind of shit that got Father Krass on your side!”

“He welcomed the Woodfather of his own volition.”

“No he didn’t! You brainwashed him!”

Stubborn. Devoted in his own way. Our arguing would eventually be noticed. Another tact was necessary.

“Do you honestly believe a man who was as firm in his beliefs like your former priest would have switched sides so easily had he not seen the truth? This is a man who devoted his life to a faith. Yet in one instant he turned. This was not brainwashing. This was a realisation. A truth.” I extended a hand towards him. “A truth I can show you.”

Hesitation coloured his features and he took a whole three seconds to regard my extended hand before looking back into my eyes. “Then how to do explain the fucking? I’ve seen how your kind works. You… Some of your kind fuck and those you fuck turn into more of you. There are even the ones that force these… these balls that come out of their… well… their balls down people’s throats and then they’re turning and producing more balls of their own…” Goodkind shuddered in disgust. “It’s… it’s unnatural.”

“It’s unnatural do you because it is outside of the norm.” I took a step towards him and he retreated half-a-step away. It was close enough for me to reach towards him and gently tug at the chain around his neck to reveal the crucifix he wore. “You believe in a magic man that performed spells and rose from the dead after being nailed to two pieces of wood and left to die. Is it so hard to believe that such a miracle could be happening here and now?”

“That’s different!”

“So was your ‘saviour’. Isn’t that why they killed him? Because he was different and what he was doing, what he represented, scared the authorities at the time?”

Another step forward again. This time, he did not retreat. Our gazes were firmly locked with one another.

“Which side would you prefer to be? The believers or the prosecutors?”

Goodkind pursed his lips. “But… what about my friends… my family?”

“What do you believe?”

“They’re… they’re gone…”

I leaned forward, my lips hovering just over his. “Let me show you the truth.”

Our lips met. The rush of spirits clamouring to meet Goodkind was almost too much for me. They smashed down the door between them and me, rushing forward towards the troubled spirit of the kind officer and immediately banishing the darkness of suicide from his soul. None of them wanted to see him lost. They all hurried to embrace him, hold him tight and tell him that he was not alone, that they were right here waiting for him to join them.

Goodkind’s eyes widened in surprise and tears welled in his eyes. The officers that he had ‘sent to their doom’ were right there for him, in their new forms as members of the Herd and beckoning him to stay strong and join them. None of them blamed him. They were happy. Jubilant, even. As all within the Woodfather’s embrace were. He hesitated for all but a second.

Then he opened his arms to them.

They flooded him, rushing through his body and eager to show him the joy of ascending to become part of the Woodfather’s herd. A moan rose from his throat, reverberating through his lips and down my own. I became an instrument for the collective love that came pouring out of the greater host. Their energies flooded out of my throat and down his, sweeping up his soul and pouring straight towards his cock. All of them were eager and horny and that immediately became apparent as they caused his cock and balls to swell.

My own hard cock felt the presence of his enlarging manhood as they strained against the fabric of his pants. He made no move to undo his pants and instead, his hands clung onto my back for support like he was afraid of being swept out of by the tide of energies that poured into him. I didn’t have a chance to reach down and undo his belt before his genitals came bursting out of his pants and underwear to the chorus of ripping. A glace below and I was met by the sight of enormous, coconut-sized balls covered in thick, blonde hairs with a very hard, very plump cock throbbing against my own. Curiously, his balls continued to grow as more and more of his former comrades filled him with their power. His radiant soul flared up and joined them in their ecstatic dance. His balls surged outwards even more, dwarfing my own and pushing me back a little. His hands seized my back, preventing me from pulling away too far. I realised he was half-kissing me in passion and half-sucking, drawing more and more of the intense connection into himself.

The golden hairs springing from his crotch spread upwards towards the length of his cock. They wrapped around the growing member, giving him more of a sheath in comparison to my cock which was more human in appearance. The fur pushed his formerly cut foreskin to slide back over his glands, a dribble of precum oozing out of the tip before it was completely consumed by the fuzzy, blonde tube. The plump length, already a foot in length, vibrated a little more before a bright, pink point pushed out of the tip. His blonde flesh pulled back as blood rushed towards his growing manhood to reveal his long, feral cock made completely out of long, pink, sensitive flesh.

The member continued to grow even as it far outstripped my own in side. I could do nothing but watch in awe as it slipped between my legs and continued to grow. My balls sat on the molten rod. It slipped past my rear, stretching over two feet long and thickening to the point where my legs were forced to split apart. His balls brushed against the floor and only continued to grow.

I had to pull my lips away from him for fear that he would topple over on his new, engorged genitals. His brilliant, green eyes opened, now shining with the light of the Woodfather. A mischievous grin crossed his lips and the next time he opened his mouth, his tongue snaked out like a cobra. The long, slimy length wrapped around my antlers and pulled me down so that my lips were once again forced against his. His long, prehensile tongue slipped back into his lips and lashed out inside of my muzzle, exploring the length of my mouth and exploring every inch while stirring up the arousal deep within me.

Even as his cock and balls continued to grow to monumental lengths, the rest of his body quickly caught up. With his pants already torn by his engorged genitals, his legs had less resistance as they grew bigger, stronger and thicker to help carry his tremendous package. Hoofed feet burst from his dusty shoes, ripping them to shreds while thick calves shredded his blue pants. An entire foot of height was added to his entire body as his spine and legs stretched in tandem, lifting his bulging balls from where they rested against the floor. As he rose, so too was I lifted, resting on his pillar-like dick. I was literally riding his cock.

Dark, brown fur coated his dense muscles forming a stark contrast against the golden fur of his cock and balls. His torso, already lengthening with his growth, ripped his shirt clear revealing a chiselled, broad form that was coated in thick, golden fur on his chest and framed by the darker fur around his lats. His enormous arms burst out, shedding the sleeves of his shirt and erupting into titanic logs capable of hoisting his equally titanic meat around and aiming it wherever he saw fit.

A devilish grin crossed his lips as he pulled away from me, his tongue lingering in my muzzle before retreating behind his lips. That grin remained even while his neck thickened, traps rising up to meet the base of his skull for support. Even as his features shot forward into the broad, handsome features of a stunning buck and his antlers shot upwards amid a forest of golden hair, that smile remained. The moment his short, black nose touched mine, his tongue snaked out once more and he lifted his right arm in a very sexy flex. His other hand rested beneath his cock, enormous three-fingered hand lifting the massive six-foot length with ease even with me sitting atop it. He could be no more than nine-feet tall even with his antlers and that made his dick almost as long as he was tall!

The door suddenly burst open.

“What the fuck is going on in here!?” the chief of police bellowed.

Then he saw us and his jaw dropped open.

I smirked. “Get ‘em, Gunner.”

I could feel he liked his new name because he aimed his twitching cock right at the chief and let loose. The blast of hot, white cum was so powerful that it came out in a single, constant stream akin to the blast from a fire hose. It slammed into the chief’s chest, sending him crashing through the plaster walls and tumbling into the main area of the police station. The stunned officers all gawked at the sight of their chief on his back, eyes wide in terror and bathing in a pool of greenish-white cum.

One of the sergeants came running up to him. “Chief! Chief! Are you okay!?”

The chief of police just stared at him in horror, lips quivering. Then the aged man’s eyes turned bright green. He opened his mouth, as if to say something but instead, his tongue came shooting out, a coiled spring unleashing all its tension. It wrapped around the sergeant’s neck and immediately pulled the stunned man towards the chief where the ravenous hands of the bucking man’s arms held him down even as his cock and balls erupted from his pants, growing bigger and bigger by the second.

The cock beneath me shifted and Gunner let out a roar, squeezing his taut, chest muscles and unleashing another torrent of cum at the officers who were arrayed around the sight. He caught another policeman in the back, sending him scampering forward. The man stared in horror at the goo covering him, constantly screaming ‘He got me!’ before his tongue came shooting out between his lips, a three foot whip lashing everywhere while his body convulsed to the transformation into another Rainmaker.

Panic quickly followed and as officers hurried up to the second floor to get the civilians out before all exits could be blocked. The chief of police quickly finished his transformation and aimed his cock at the stairwell. He let out a roar, unleashing a blast that doused a good portion of the fleeing officers. Before they could be overwhelmed by the potent cum, the brave men threw themselves at the ground to give their comrades some time to flee before their own balls came bursting out of their pants and they threw their heads back, letting out gurgles of pleasure while their tongues lashed around them eager for the nearest victim.

Gunner began moving forward and with that momentum, I slid down his cock. Our chests pressed against one another, our noses touching. He smiled at me, true affection shining in his eyes.

“Thank you for showing me the truth of the Woodfather,” he whispered.

Now one with the network, I felt the true passion and affection his brilliant soul radiated and my own leapt for joy. “I’m glad you eventually saw the light.”

That devious grin of his returned. “Now let us bring that light to the rest of Ferndyllias.”

He stormed out of the armoury. Too big to fit through the door, he merely muscled his way through the plaster, his broad shoulders smashing through the frame and his cock leading the way. As we left the police station, the chief of police and the others that had completely their transformation joined us. I noticed that the escaping civilians and officers were using a makeshift sky-bridge on the rooftops to make it to the next building over. Ultimately foolish.

I slipped off Gunner’s dick and watched with pride as the mighty Rainmaker stood side by side with his similarly built brothers. They all aimed their dicks straight into the air. They linked arms, thick, muscled biceps brushing against one another while they planted their feet together. As one, they threw their heads back and roared.

“PRAISE THE WOODFATHER!”

Their monolithic dicks erupted, shooting streams of seed high into the air. Defying all physics, the multiple fountains of cum bypassed even the highest of skyscrapers and even the tops of the Father Trees. Then, they spread out as gravity took over and began drizzling back down.

True their name, they made it rain.

It was not long until the roars of other Rainmakers joined their own

Epilogue

Ferndyllias fell.

But it fell not in a war or fire but in a glorious celebration to the Woodfather. Father Trees had sprouted in the factory district, where St. Matthews once stood and also where the police once had their headquarters. A large majority of the city itself was now covered in the thick canopies of the Father Trees. Within each stood a chapel to the Woodfather overseen by a Woodcaster. Underneath the emerald leaves of the Father Trees, a drizzle of greenish-white rain would fall as Rainmakers found themselves constantly stimulated and appreciated by the countless members of the Herd that were all too eager to pleasure them.

People from the suburbs heard the call of the Woodfather. They made the sojourn by foot through the ruins of the once great, industrial city, sometimes even sneaking past the military quarantine. The journey would sometimes take a few days but they were often met by a member of the Woodfather’s children and guided into one of the Father Trees. There, they were welcomed into the brotherhood, baptised in cum and united in spirit to the rest of us. Every new convert was met with a shower of seed be they Lumbered, Replanter, Rainmaker, Seasoned or even rarely, an Amalgam if there was another soul that harmonised with them well enough.

For the moment, anyway, there was peace as word of the Woodfather’s grace spread well past the military borders. As more and more people trickled in day to day, news of what the world leaders were thinking entered out knowledge as those very same people provided what they knew before joining the Woodfather’s children. They were all paralysed with indecision. Our intelligence spread far and wide and hope burned strongly in the hearts of many that they could recover those that had been converted. Some painted us invaders. Others, as salvation. It was curious that many of the vegans and vegetarians were the first to flock to us, making journeys all across the world to join us.

The Woodfather provided visions to the those who were receptive to his call. He could not extend that far beyond the reach of the Father Trees but it was often enough to bring word of his benevolence out into the greater world. Religions condemned us. Politicians argued over us. The Internet meme’d the hell out of us. News was spreading.

But I could not help but wonder…

“You wonder where we go from here.”

The Woodfather stood on one of the mighty branches of the Father Trees. As dawn rose days after our initial assault, I and my brother convened with our father to watch as the air hummed with the sounds of helicopter rotors. The black military vehicles were approaching and encroaching upon our territory.

“They are coming here to negotiate,” the Woodfather said, eyes firmly on the approaching helicopters.

“Will we charge past their lines and convert them from behind while their eyes are on their diplomats?” Vince asked, licking his lips. “Or shall I sneak past and start a new forest in another city?”

“You’ll leave yourself open from behind,” grunted Mikey. He reached down and squeezed Vince’s ass. “Though how is that different from any other day, eh brother?”

Vince snuggled up against his huge palm. “Tempting. Maybe you should charge past with me. Between you and I, we could shatter their barricade. You take them from the front, I take them from behind.”

Sid shook his head. “That’ll invite the ire of their world leaders,” he said, rubbing his thick beard. “If they’re coming here to negotiate and we attack them, then that’ll take that as a sign of betrayal and aggression. Even with all our strength, we’re still all focused in one area and have the world’s eye. They could easily nuke us all to hell. They’d kill us in one swoop. We’re still at a disadvantage here.”

The Woodfather smiled and nodded. “You are wise as ever, Sid. Though I will admit to being somewhat irked by the politics that surround us. I would like nothing more than to tear down their barricades and rip their weapons from their hands.” He nodded towards Mikey and Vince. “But I do not want hurt or harm to come to any of my sons or my children.” His eyes turned back towards the approaching helicopters. “I have a plan. One that will cement us in the world and make us untouchable. But for it to proceed, I will need all of you and your powers.”

He smiled towards us and our heart swelled.

“Today marks the day all of humanity knows my name.”

I grinned and, together with my brothers, we all cried, “Praise the Woodfather!”

ROGUE Report

From: THE_ROGUE_AI@nexus.com

To: The Director <QuestionWhatDoTheseGuysEatExactly_SunshineAndGoodVibes?@nexus.com>

Subject: Woodfather Infection - Phase 4

Sir,

The Woodfather has come dangerously close to the Gronsky-Albatter Plateau. With the latest iteration of mutations, it has been established that the Woodfather has evolved from basic mental and physical transformations to low-level reality bending. His latest Variants have developed to the point to manipulating their ‘souls’ and even circumventing death. I have little doubt that they will effectively create a form of immortality with the latest iteration. This is ultimately to their detriment but at the same time predictive analysis has determined that they have stopped development mutation and will now proceed to further spread their territory, going on the offensive, so to speak.

My greatest concerns come from the development of ‘religion’ amongst the Variants. The reality bending coupled with the developing faith is hastening the Woodfather’s path down to the Plateau. Continuing on this path coupled with deep spiritual connection all Variants develop and the Woodfather’s conservative approach to advancement leads to the theory that eventually, the Woodfather will pursue the path of a Singular Consciousness. There is a 95.76% chance that this will be the likely outcome with the Woodfather eventually growing concerned over the approach of the world’s governments to his regime and, for fear of even losing a single soul, will endeavour to merge his soul with the rest of the Variants forming an amalgamation of all their consciousnesses and with their power exponentially multiplied. This will eventually lead him to lead an assault against the rest of the world. There is a small percentage that the Woodfather will attempt to take over the entire world but still remain stagnant as no further stimuli will spark evolution as they will be able to control all aspects of reality to maintain their current environment. A minuscule chance exists where the world leaders will unite and destroy the Woodfather in his entirety but this only rests at a 0.01% chance.

Facts and details have been distributed to Alabaster for further analysis but it is my opinion that either of the two scenarios: Consciousness Coalescence and Total Stagnant Reality Domination are triggers for the Gronsky-Albatter Plateau.

We await your decision on how to proceed.

In the meantime, please find below the analysis of the latest Variants.

The first of the newest Variants is WFVS2-0004 - dubbed the Ritualist. By far the most versatile and more spiritually connected of the rest of the Series 2s, the Ritualist can be considered the ‘mage’ of the group. If the Titan is the Warrior, the Unmasker the Rogue and the Juicer the Healer/Support, the Ritualist is developed for the purposes of manipulating the spiritual network all the Variants share for its purposes. It is able to manifest the very energies of this network into physical shapes and even dissolve itself into the very essence of the network to avoid detection and scout out areas. Unfortunately, this is limited to within the reach of the network itself. If there is little or no presence of other Woodfather Variants or if it outside the reach of the Father Trees, then the Ritualist will be completely helpless.

WFVS3-0010, the Herd. The most numerous of all members of the Woodfather Variants, the Herd is actually spawned from a single human but their ‘soul’ splintered into a hundred fragments all sharing relatively the same consciousness akin to a hive mind. Though relatively weak compared to the other Variants, they are still above the average human in physical aptitude and their sheer numbers are more than enough to overwhelm most foes especially since they work in synchronisation with one another. Coupled with Replanters and they can be incredibly dangerous. Curiously, there is always a ‘Original’ amongst them, the source of the Herd. Though a member of the Herd can be killed, they are merely respawned seconds later from the Original. What would happen if the Original was destroyed is as of yet unknown as this has not yet been achieved.

The Woodcaster, WFVS3-0011. Almost a direct descendant of the Ritualist, the Woodcasters are able to manipulate all aspects of nature around them using the energies of the network around them. This powerful spiritual link with the network naturally makes their own souls act like a beacon that can extend the reach of the network. They are responsible for the low-level reality bending previously mentioned and in great numbers, could directly influence the stability of the reality around them. Though working in perfect synch with the Woodfather’s desires, that is not to say that the Woodfather’s actions are ultimately good for the reality itself. Their activities thus far have been limited to reshaping the land around them but I shudder to think what would happen should they try to push their limites.

The Rainmaker has been designated WFVS3-0012. A powerful, offensive Variant and can be considered the ‘tactical nuke’ or ‘superweapon’ of the Woodfather, this Variant is able to deploy incredible amounts of seminal fluid in a large area with such force that it can infect vast swathes of land. Its seed is also incredible potent, leading to full transformation within a minute of contact. Simply being dropped into an area and being allowed to unleash their payload could be devastating to entire city centres. They also do not seem to need that long of a recharge time as they can unleash burst after burst in rapid succession. Perhaps their only failing is their slow movement and large size which can make them relatively easy targets.

Further, I also have a rather concerning note. We have a formal request from the Writer for entrance into the reality. Apparently he was in contact with you?

From: The Director <DoTheyEatGrass?_IsThereAnExistentialCrisisForThoseThatAteVenisonAsHumans?@nexus.com>

To: THE_ROGUE_AI@nexus.com

Subject: RE:Woodfather Infection - Phase 4

Rogue,

I fully expect the Woodfather to hit the GAP soon. Having consulted the rest of the Directorship, we won’t make a move until the Woodfather has achieved this. Yes, it could lead to the loss of more assets but I would rather avoid any legal issues especially if things go my way. Nevertheless, all important assets have been withdrawn from the reality. There is the possibility of the Woodfather delving into alter-dimension theory and stumbling onto other realities in the Conglomerate’s domain but that’s why the Writer is getting involved. R3’s abilities and unique approach to the situation could help diffuse a potential inter-dimensional war. I have no doubt that the Conglomerate will ultimate win but I would rather not spend the assets if not necessary.

For now, get the Writer of Reality to see me the moment he arrives. I want to talk to him about our options.

Once we’re done, initiate Operation: Yggdrasil Fallen.

Vcxvikg lu xlmevihzgrlm yvgdvvm Wrivxgli zmw ‘I3’

Wrivxgli: “NZHGVI. R szevm’g svziw gszg mznv rm z evib olmt grnv. Gsrh xlnkorxzgvh nzggvih.”

I3: “Fmwvihgzmwzyob. R xzm zhhfiv blf gszg mlmv lu gsv Ml Lmvh szw zmbgsrmt gl wl drgs gsrh.”

Wrivxgli: “R yvorvev blf. NZHGVI dzh… Ovg’h hzb rg dzh nvzmg gl yv wrhklhvw lu z olmt grnv ztl. Sld rg ivhfiuzxvw rh z yrt jfvhgrlm.”

I3: “Gsv yvggvi jfvhgrlm rh dszg ziv blf tlrmt gl wl zylfg gsv Dllwuzgsvi.”

Wrivxgli: “Blf gzop zh ru blf’iv ivzwb gl nzpv z kilklhrgrlm.”

I3: “R pmld blf. Blf’oo vrgsvi xfg blfi olhhvh sviv zmw hxizk gsv vmgriv ivzorgb li gib zmw luuvi gsv Dllwuzgsvi z wvzo dsrxs R’n kivggb hfiv, trevm gsv kzgs sv’h tlrmt, sv’h fmorpvob gl gzpv. Blf’iv zoivzwb tvggrmt z ylmfh drgs gsvhv Ezirzmgh, zugvi zoo. Zmbgsrmt vohv dlfow qfhg yv z mlevogb gl blf.”

Wrivxgli: “Vcxvoovmg lyhviezgrlmzo hprooh. Li wrw blf hmvzp z kvzp zg nb yllp? Blf pmld blf’iv mlg zooldvw gl wl gszg.”

I3: “Mlg blfih. Gsv dzb R hvv rg, gsv Dllwuzgsvi xzm xsllhv gl xlnv drgs nv.”

Wrivxgli: “Blf? Ls dzrg.” <<Ozftsh>> “Blf dzmg gl rhlozgv srn uiln nv, wlm’g blf? Dszg’h dilmt? Zuizrw gszg sv’w yv gll kldviufo fmwvi gsv Xlmtolnvizgv?”

I3: “Nliv orpv xlmxvimvw zylfg gsv hglirvh zmw xslrxvh gszg szev yvvm wvmrvw gsv kvlkov sv szh xlmevigvw ivtziwovhh lu dsvgsvi li mlg gsvb ziv rm blfi qfirhwrxgrlm. Gsrh prmw lu kvihlmzorgb ivdirgv… dvoo, blf pmld sld nfxs R szgv ivdirgvh.”

Wrivxgli: “Uzri klrmg. Rg’h hlnvgsrmt blf’ev zodzbh yvvm mzttrmt nv zylfg. R zn hortsgob ripvw zg gsv ozxp lu rmwrerwfzorgb zmw hgztmzgrlm lu gsv Dllwuzgsvi’h wvevolknvmgzo xfiev. Sv’h ivzxsvw gsv Tilmhpb-Zoyzggvi Kozgvzf.”

I3: “Gsv dszg mld?” Wrivxgli: “Gsv krmmzxov lu wvevolknvmg ylgs ksbhrxzo zmw nvmgzo lu z hlxrvgb. Xlnvh dsvm xrerorhzgrlmh yvxlnv hl ulxfhvw lm kivhviermt gsvri ldm hvou-rnztv gszg zmbgsrmt lfghrwv lu gsv mlin rh wrhklhvw lu li ulixryob xlmevigvw rmgl hlnvgsrmt gszg xlnkorvh drgs gsv mlin. Drgs ml fmrjfvmvhh zmw veviblmv gsrmprmt zolmt gsv hznv ormvh, gsviv rh ml xszmxv uli ufigsvi wvevolknvmg vhkvxrzoob dsvm gsrh xrerorhzgrlm xlmgiloh ivzorgb rghvou. Rg’h dlihv dsvm hzrw hlxrvgb yvxlnvh rmgvimzoob ulxfhvw lm svwlmrhgrx kovzhfivh. Blf hslfow pmld gsrh.”

I3: “R wl yfg gsv yft orhgvmrmt rm lm gsrh wlvhm’g. Zugvi zoo, sv dzh wvhgilbvw yvuliv gsv Tilmhpb-Zoyzggvi Kozgvzf dzh vhgzyorhsvw.” <<Gdl nrmfgvh lu hrovmxv>>

Wrivxgli: “Xovevi. Hl blf pmld gsvm gszg R’n tlrmt gl wvkolb nb ulixvh dsvm gsv Dllwuzgsvi ivzxsvh gsv TZK.”

I3: “Zmw blf pmld gszg R’n tlrmt gl szev gl rmhrhg gszg sv zmw srh sviw xlnv drgs nv. Gsvhv hlfoh wvhviev z xszmxv gl urmw kvzxv zmw szkkrmvhh lfghrwv lu gsv Xlmtolnvizgv’h nzxsrmzgrlmh.”

Wrivxgli: “Zmw rmhgvzw uzoo rmgl blfi nzxsrmzgrlmh?”

I3: “Blf pmld dv lmob rmgvievmv dsvm zhpvw.”

Wrivxgli: “Gsvm dsb ziv blf sviv?”

I3: “Dsb wl blf gsrmp?” <<Zmlgsvi nrmfgv lu hrovmxv>>

Wrivxgli: “Dvoo wznmrg.” <<gvm hvxlmwh lu hrovmxv>> “Blf pmld R’n zonlhg gvnkgvw gl vizhv gsv kozxv qfhg gl hkrgv blf?”

I3: “R pmld yfg blf hgroo szev z uvd nliv Ezirzmgh gl krxp fk zmw uli dszg rg’h dligs…” <<Gsv hlfmw lu ifuuormt kztvh>> “R’n luuvirmt gsrh fk zh xlnkvmhzgrlm.” <<Nliv ifuuormt kztvh>>

Wrivxgli: “Blf xvigzrmob pmld sld gl nzpv z wvzo, I3. R’w zonlhg hzb R’n tvggrmt gsv yvggvi vmw lu gsrh.”

I3: “Gszg’h wvyzgzyov. Ziv dv rm ztivvnvmg?”

Wrivxgli: “Hfiv. Qfhg lm lmv xlmwrgrlm.”

I3: “Dszg?”

Wrivxgli: “R’n xlnrmt drgs blf dsvm blf nzpv blfi luuvi. R dzmg gsv Dllwuzgsvi gl nvvg srh nzpvi.”

I3: “Gsvm hslfowm’g blf tvg gszg tfb wldm rm gsv gvxs gvzn dsl kiltiznnvw —”

Wrivxgli: “Blf pmld dszg R nvzm.”