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Upon their return to Tlaxtlan, Coatl and Tiacelel were almost immediately sent back out, accompanied by frustrated admonishments from the already stretched-thin mage-priests. How they could leave an entire contingent of beastmen unwatched was beyond his understanding, the slann told them, but at least, they were allowed to gather some supplies. Ixtli was a little more understanding, though his attitude was instead one of grim determination. He told Coatl that they'd fortify the west side of the city, facing where the beastmen had been seen, but that they would have to be observed regardless.

“If they make any movement, you are to report back," he told his saurus protégé. “Any movement. You'll move much faster than an army. Just make sure you're not caught by any of their scouts."

That part was understandable enough. What was less tolerable was that the two had to head back into the jungle without getting as much as a day to rest. Still, dutiful soldiers that they were, neither Coatl nor Tiacelel found too much reason to protest. This was simply their lot in life, it seemed.

So they set off. Watching the might of Tlaxtlan mobilize was awe-inspiring, at least. Around them, the kroxigors were hauling obsnite-bolt ballistas to the western side of the city. The skinks were setting up improvised guard towers in the tallest trees, where they'd welcome the beastmen with a hail of arrows. The saurus brigades were already in formation, working on sharpening the palisades and digging traps with spikes, coating each with toxins so potent they'd ruin even chaos-spawn.

Coatl and Tiacelel wouldn't get to participate in any of it, though. Their destination was back in the jungle, keeping an eye on the warherd they'd spotted. This time, at least, the kroxgior was hauling a bag of supplies, and if the situation got worse quickly, a few dwarven hand grenades, purloined from a merchant ship that once wrecked itself on the nearby shores. They wouldn't do much to stop a herd, but they'd cause enough disruption to buy the two time to get away.

“Typical," Tiacelel grunted, once they were safely out of earshot. He might not have protested against his superiors, but that didn't mean he didn't harbour some level of a grudge. “Why not send the skinks?"

“It's punishment, probably," Coatl replied. “For our egg-birth, I'd imagine."

“They see us as disposable," Tiacelel answered.

“We all are," Coatl replied. That much was true. For lizardmen, any given member was disposable, bar perhaps for the mage-priests and the greatest of heroes. They were simply cogs in the machine of the Great Plan, singular facets of the geometric webs. Nothing more. Except, of course, Coatl and Tiacelel. The taint of chaos had disrupted all of that; granted them a sense of individuality that most of the lizardmen lacked. Even Ixtli only kept Coatl under his wings because he had potential as a warrior; not as a gesture of affection. “Us more than most."

“As I said: typical," the kroxigor grunted.

They made their way back into the jungle. By now, they were rather experienced in navigating the dense undergrowth and circumventing the tight clusters of trees. Not that it was easy. Rather, every step was still paid for in sweat and tears. At some point, though, it became second nature to cut the poison vines so their bountiful toxins wouldn't splatter them, to test every step to avoid a spot of drowning mud, or a nest of angry snakes.

Deeper in they went, retracing their steps. Already, the jungle had begun to cover their, with little in the way of scent or footprints remaining for long.

Still, the beastmen weren't difficult to find. They weren't quiet, nor did they make any attempt to hide their presence. This was, Coatl surmised, simply how their brutish species always behaved. Theirs was not a strategy of knowledge or tactics, simply cunning and brute force.

Soon enough, before the sun had even set, the two lizardmen had arrived back where they'd first spotted the warherd in the valley below. Sure enough, they were still there, quiet at the moment. This was where Coatl and Tiacelel would make their camp, too. No fire and no noise, but they'd dig up the soft mud enough to form a little hole to rest in, lined with moss and ferns.

“How long do we remain?" the kroxigor whispered.

“Until we see them move. Perhaps a few days, if they don't. We don't know if they even know of the city," Coatl replied.

“How could they not? What else would a warherd be doing in the jungle?" Tiacelel countered.

“I know as little about at them as you do," Coatl huffed. “Old ones only know. Maybe they were separated from a larger herd and decided to live here."

There they sat, watching, and doing precious little else. Thankfully, if there was one thing that graced every lizardman, it was patience. They could remain perfectly still for hours upon hours, blending in with the jungle around them, to the point that even a passing scout would struggle to notice their scales against the jungle floor.

As the sun began to set, though, the beastman camp began to wake up in turn. Bonfires were lit as they burned the bones of whatever prey they had caught, and as expected, they began to fight each other, seemingly out of boredom. The camp had two distinct features, beyond the bonfires. A small arena, in which the vegetation had been stomped out by the beasts' hooves, and some kind of currently empty secondary arena next to the former.

“Is that their leader?" Kroxigor whispered, nudging his snout to indicate a particularly large minotaur.

“I don't know," Coatl replied. “The minotaurs usually are. But that one looks like a veteran at most. I see nobody who could command a larger herd."

The two continued doing their duty and simply observed what the foul beasts were doing. Two entered the arena each time, and fought, like brutes, until one fell. Then, the loser was dragged to the other arena, and the rest of the beastmen would mount him with bestial eagerness and vigor, loudly bellowing and braying as they rutted, mated and filled the fallen, splattering him with their filth.

Once again, watching it was making the two lizardmen feel strange. Like an itch that they really had no possibility of scratching, or a phantom limb demanding to be stretched.

Eventually, though, even Coatl's patience ran dry. “They're not doing anything except mating," he snarled, very quietly.

“Wait," Tiacelel replied. He blinked, starting emptily ahead of himself. “How long have… how long have we even been here?"

“Days, now," Coatl replied. He envied the kroxigor and his ability to fall into that crocodilian hunter-trance, the one where he might've been half asleep but his jaws would still snap the moment he was threatened. Immobile and perfectly patient. The downside was that they always lost track of time doing it, and thus needed a saurus or a skink to guide their ambushes. In the early days, more than once, enemies had walked past kroxigor ambushes by simply appearing non-threatening.

Every time Coatl closed his eyes, he saw beastmen rutting each other in chaotic ecstasy. It'd take him weeks to purge that disgusting – and yet somehow exciting ­– mental image from his mind. In the meantime, the warherd hadn't moved a single inch. They had seemingly made the valley their permanent home, and were in no particular rush to go anywhere. Yet Coatl couldn't quite believe that they just happened to be here, either. He didn't believe in coincidences, no lizardman did. Not when the Great Plan had already preordained everything that would ever happen.

That, in turn, left him with a chilling realization. This small herd was a decoy. They probably knew they'd been seen. And that meant the city would be attacked from the other direction. The two of them set off back through the jungle the moment Coatl reached his conclusion.

Tlaxtlan was burning. The attack had come the moment the lizardmen had finished setting up their fortifications, and indeed, it came from the east. Though the city had put up a valiant defense, it'd fallen quickly, with the beastman hordes flooding in through the scarcely-defended side. Leading them was a doombull, one strong enough in both magic and sword to singlehandedly crush the city's walls into molten dust.

Immediately, those armies had set off to corrupt what they could and destroy what they could not, decapitating as much of the city's leadership as they could and sharing their gift of chaos freely with the rest. In less than a day, the city had fallen.

Yet all was not lost. The slann and a few of the highest command had sealed themselves into the spawning grounds in a desperate last-ditch attempt to prevent the utter corruption of the geomantic webs that held together the great lizardman cities and gave them strength. Already, the beastmen were working on breaking those seals, but their leadership was divided. The leaders of chaotic armies never had singular unified objectives, but for this one, it was doubly true.

The doombull was Kha'Rak Stoneheart, one body possessed by two souls that never fully agreed on anything. One, a calculating and cunning shaman, and the other, the doombull's true soul; in effect, little more than an enraged and lusty brute. Thus, he first commanded his herd to breach the spawning grounds at any cost, and then redirected them to instead continue tainting and corrupting the few lizardmen that remained outside of them. Kha'Rak was immensely powerful, yes, and more than a match for all but the greatest of lizardman warriors, but his incoherent strategies prevented him from focusing his armies effectively.

And so, a bizarre scene unfolded in the great city. The doombull was leisurely rutting those lizardmen who his herd had captured, only to pull out of them and angrily order the herd to work on breaking down the seal, and then forgetting to follow through as he once again got distracted by new bodies to corrupt. Still, inflicting the lizardmen with chaotic taint and lust was a worthwhile goal in itself. Those too distracted by the pleasures of the flesh could hardly mount an effective defense, even if some part of them might've remained pure. Chaos always begot chaos, and in time, those fiery urges would drive them into utter depravity.

It was to that pandemonium that Coatl and Tiacelel arrived. The city, as they saw it, already seemed lost, but that also meant that nobody was guarding it. Instead, already from the outskirts of the city, they saw their mutated brethren only paying attention to each other, mating just as eagerly as the beastmen in the decoy-camp had. They had the equipment to do it, too. Throbbing, eager cocks granted to them by the chaotic taint.

Tiacelel ignored them. Coatl couldn't. Even despite the burning urgency of doing something, anything to end the occupation of Tlaxtlan, he was constantly distracted by the sight of his fellow guards joyfully stroking their new, erect cocks, or those of their friends, or those of filthy beastmen. They raised their tails for them, worshipping their swollen shafts with their mouths and hands, and swallowed their seed with blissful, vacant expressions on their faces. Once again, that intrusive fantasy took hold in the saurus' mind. How would it feel? Letting himself grow a cock or taking one under his tail. It looked ecstatic.

If he remained here, though, he knew it wouldn't be long before he was forced to experience it, and somehow, he suspected it wouldn't feel nearly as good as he imagined it did. Yet, if it didn't, why was everyone so eager to surrender to the taint? Even he was, and he hadn't even mutated like the rest yet. The taint he had been born with felt like a gnawing, tingling need inside his belly, in his crotch, a heated and fluttering glow that would roar into an all-consuming flame if he fed it.

At least he wouldn't willingly give in. Ixtli was probably dead or as corrupted as the others by now, but Coatl remembered what he'd been told; don't get distracted.

On the outskirts, they encountered only lizardmen. Some confused and others yet openly corrupted. The closer they got to the central district, though, the stronger the stench of the beastmen grew, until it was an eye-watering and oily musk of raw carnal mating and unwashed fur.

The first of many enemies was delivered to them as if on a silver platter. Cautiously making their way through the streets, Coatl spotted a minotaur on his knees, in an alleyway. His back was turned as his hips moved on a spasmodic rhythm, no doubt mating with one of his victims. Coatl's heart sank when he heard that victim moan, loudly broadcasting his perverse enjoyment of being so treated.

He glanced at Tiacelel, who nodded in turn. They took a few more steps, and then the kroxigor charged. The minotaur heard his heavy footfalls, but by then it was already too late. While the bulls were fearsome opponents, that only applied when prepared. When caught flat-footed, they were as vulnerable as any other creature. Tiacelel grabbed the minotaur's horns and wrenched. With a meaty crack, the beast went limp.

While a triumphant moment, it was his victim's reaction that truly unsettled the two. The saurus that he'd been fucking – one of the guards that Coatl remembered training with – whimpered with frustration, keeping his tail raised as if hoping that Tiacelel mount him instead. Beneath him, a fleshy cock bounced as he begged for it, as if he'd been enjoying getting taken by the beastman.

“What the hell's wrong with him?" Tiacelel grunted. He twisted the minotaur's broken neck a little further in anger, but it seemed the taint wouldn't go away just because the one who had inflicted it was broken.

Coatl's thoughts were racing. How could they fight an enemy that their people wanted to be dominated by? The chaotic lust seemed incredibly strong.

“He's been… corrupted, I think," Coatl replied. “This is what they were afraid would happen to us, since we were born from eggs- shh!"

He heard someone else approaching. Another of the beasts, idly wandering. Coatl pointed towards a side alley, and the two of them ducked into it, tucking themselves into a shadowed nook. He could feel his companion's body shivering with rage, but the kroxigor managed to suppress it.

Another minotaur wandered into the alleyway. It snorted with derision and lust when it saw the needy saurus and its dead kind next to it. Rather than any kind of concern for the fallen, or the slightest sign of curiosity – even the most cold-blooded of skink assassins would've at least checked one of its kind of signs of life – it approached, its cock already swelling and firming up eagerly at the sight of the lizardman freely offering his body.

Sure enough, Coatl watched the other saurus' nostrils flare as he smelled the other minotaur approaching, and immediately his thick tail hiked out of the way, baring his already relaxed and gaping hole. The minotaur knelt behind the lizardman as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and slid that grotesquely hard, animalistic cock deep into his body with a satisfied grunt. Even knowing what chaos did to his kind, having witnessed it in person, the sound of the saurus' lusty moans and hisses as he was once again mounted seared itself into Coatl's mind. Sooner or later, that'd be him, on all fours with his ass raised high, begging to be taken.

He'd not surrender willingly, though. No matter what kind of depravity they forced on him. If they got him in the end, it'd be at the cost of so many of their own that they gained nothing.

A quick biting slash of his obsinite sword left another beastman corpse to join its kin, and the tainted saurus whimpering helplessly for more. They moved on, though. Neither was sure what they were looking for, but the instinctive need to protect the city remained alive and well in both, drawing them towards the spawning pools from which they'd hatched. It felt like forever ago, now.

With each step, the situation grew more evidently dire. Beastmen preoccupied with their rutting and corruption, only a few opting to attack and those easily dispatched by Coatl and Tiacelel's combined strength. Yet, just outside the temple that housed the pools, they came across the strangest sight.

A minotaur – a doombull, one of their strongest leaders – was arguing with himself in two voices, one hoarse and raw and the other almost imperceptible.

“You idiot. We must breach the pools. Otherwise this whole invasion was nothing," the doombull snarled, turning the edge of his axe towards himself.

“Dead bray. You do not command me. I do as I please. And it pleases me to fuck," he then spoke in the deeper voice, planting the head of the axe on the ground with enough force to make the decorative tiles crack.

“Fool, fool, fool. We will all pay for this. The gods will not be pleased if we leave the city to recover," he replied once more, barely gaining control of his hand before it closed around his throat.

“They'll stay in there. Until the end. I don't care," he continued, forcibly bending over a nearby lizardman. Ixtli, Coatl realized, with a clump his throat. His mentor had been corrupted, too, a cock proudly jutting from his crotch. The once-proud saurus made no attempt to get away, but rather flagged with his tail and begged loudly for the doombull's cock to claim him. It was like every ounce of his previous intelligence and composure had been swept away by chaos. Coatl could even see the spilled seed of several more beastmen oozing down his legs, splattered over his muzzle, and his mentor hadn't even bothered trying to clean it up.

And meanwhile the doombull continued to loudly curse at himself, alternating between his two voices and personalities, or perhaps two minds entirely, his body twitching and spasming as they fought for control, one trying to stop fucking the lizardman and the other, currently dominant, forcing his body to do it regardless. Coatl couldn't tell if it was the result of some magical experiment gone wrong, or if the natural result of utter chaotic corruption was that the mind splintered as well.

While the doombull was too busy to notice the two observing him, so fascinating – and disgusting – was the display that Coatl and Tiacelel, in turn, never noticed the regiment of beastmen approaching from behind, having finished their scouring of the city for more prey.

It was only the braying bellow of the gors that alerted them, but by then the beastmen were flooding from every building, some with corrupted lizardmen in tow, the most of them at first visibly agitated from having their revelry interrupted, though they quickly grew excited instead at the sight of two more souls to taint with their filth.

The commotion was enough to distract their leader, too. Tiacelel noticed it immediately. When the “smarter" mind took control, his posture straightened, and a glimmer of intelligence appeared in the dark eyes.

“Well, now. The scouts, are you? The ones who got the whole city to look the other way as we struck from the east? My thanks," he laughed, mockingly. “Did the lack of any kind of preparation not tip you off? Your city has fallen," the doombull spat. “And you two are to blame."

The fact that there was a grain of truth to what he was saying hurt. The fact that Coatl and Tiacelel were surrounded hurt more.

“Not to worry, weaklings. Soon you'll see our point of view and feel good for being so useful to us-“ the leader growled, and then spasmed again, hunching over. “-pin them down and fuck them!" he ordered, in the other voice, and hefted his axe. “I want to see them moan and beg!"

The beastmen descended upon them. Despite their best efforts, and despite naturally guarding each other's backs, it was a short fight, being flanked from all sides. Even Tiacelel's sweeping strikes couldn't fend off every beastman trying to grab onto him, or the ones throwing snares. He managed to dodge one, two, and the third landed around his neck only to immediately tighten as a small group of beasts pulled on it. He stumbled, and then fell, and instantly they were on top of him, the combined weight enough to hold even a mighty kroxigor down. Coatl didn't last much longer with his back left vulnerable, and in mere moments he was forced prone on the ground, despite the burning hatred he felt for these creatures surging in his heart.

Yet more than anything, the two looked mostly at each other. So strong had their bond grown that they wanted to protect the other more than themselves. This didn't go unnoticed by the doombull, or at least, his smarter side.

“Ah," he spoke, approaching leisurely as the squirming lizardmen were safely pinned down by the other beasts. Though he was certainly strong, it seemed like that intelligent half of him still didn't feel confident. “I can sense the taint in them, already. Brothers, are you? Born after the true moon's rise," he grinned, leaning close enough to take in Coatl's scent.

“Then we only need to remind you. I imagine you've already been fantasizing of this moment. When you get to embrace the chaos within you and cast aside all-“ he began, and then clutched his horned head. “No! Let me do this, at least! I will break them, not just- rrrgh!"

This time, he resisted the other side taking control far longer than before, as if the corruption of Coatl and Tiacelel was particularly important. The doombull cut down several of his kin in blind fury as the two sides wrestled for control within him, indiscriminately bringing his axe down on anyone close enough, and almost impaling himself on one of their swords as he fell to the ground, spasming and thrashing.

While he was thus preoccupied, the other beastmen grew restless, tearing off the little armor Tiacelel was wearing and leaving his featureless body naked. It seemed that the idea of corrupting the enormous kroxigor excited them, and Coatl could smell their arousal filling the air. It was that same musky scent, both foul and captivating at the same time, and try as he might, Coatl couldn't help but breathe it in.

Even though they were all ready, none of the gors dared to actually mount Tiacelel before their master recovered from his fit. Instead they were grinding against him, coating his scales with previously spilled seed and precum, smearing their musk over every inch of him, along his muzzle and under his tail, but never daring to slip inside. Coatl was all but ignored as he watched, wrestling with conflicting emotions of his own.

On one hand, he wanted to save Tiacelel – in any way that he could – to make sure the kroxigor didn't have to suffer through being defiled. On the other, that tingling taint within him told him that he wanted to see it happen. He wanted to see Tiacelel grow a cock of his own and become just like the beasts, eagerly letting himself be mounted, or even mounting him. And on the third hand, he felt jealous that he wasn't the one playing with his kroxigor egg-brother.

Finally, the doombull got up again, shaking his head and grunting. His fingers were bleeding and his neck was bruised from their newest battle for control, but Coatl could tell the brutish side had won out because of how he hunched over as he gathered his bearings, breathing heavily.

“Hold him down," he roared. “I'll be the first to take him."

Though they muttered and grumbled, seemingly displeased, the rest of the beastmen weren't a challenge for their leader. Obligingly, the one that'd been grinding his swollen shaft between Tiacelel's cheeks moved aside, instead grabbing his tail to hold it aside. The sight of Tiacelel's vulnerable ass being exposed like that sent more strange tingles through Coatl's body.

One of the other beastmen, a bray-shaman, and one with a surprisingly good command of the lizardman language at that, leaned over Coatl to talk to him.

“You're looking forward to seeing him change, aren't you?" he coaxed. “Rr. If you had a cock it'd be so hard by now, lizard-slut."

Everything was, effectively, lost. The only solace Coatl had was that they hadn't been able to breach the spawning pools. Likely, they wouldn't be able to. The magic of the slann was incredibly strong and would require a concerted effort. This warherd was even more chaotic and unstructured than the average.

Something about what the gor said rang true, though. Some shameful part of Coatl's mind forced him to focus on what was happening. On the sight of the doombull's massive cock sliding wetly against Tiacelel's pucker. Soon it'd push into him, and after that it was only a matter of time before it sprayed that tainted seed into his best friend's body. It was an incredibly bitter kind of fascination for the saurus, but equally a yearning by now. He wanted to see it, he had to see it, and he would be forced to.

Coatl was acutely aware of the wet slapping of hips around him, now. The musky scent of what he recognized intimately as sex. Everywhere he could crane his neck to look, someone he'd known was getting fucked, or if not that, rubbing and stroking their throbbing cocks in desperate lust, flagging their tails in the vain hope to draw someone, anyone to fill them. Ixtli had his mouth locked tightly around a gor's shaft with a blissful, vacant look on his face. The blacksmith he'd seen Tiacelel learn with was on all fours, with a crowd of beastmen coating him with their disgusting seed. One of the guards who had mocked him for his egg-birth was riding a grunting smaller minotaur eagerly, purely out of his own volition, and from how his cock bounced with each motion, he seemed to be completely lost in the ecstasy of debasing himself further.

Yet he saw none of the slann. That remained a hope within him. Even if he was corrupted, even if he joined the rest in their wanton cocklust and depravity, some hope remained that eventually he'd be free of those chains. Until then, though, he had no choice but to surrender and simply let it happen. Let those wet, throbbing lusts wash through him and make him grow a needy cock of his own.

The sound Tiacelel made when the doombull's flared shaft sank into his tight ass was something Coatl would remember forever. It sounded like pain, lust and fear all at once.

“He's going to rut your friend so full of cum and that stupid krox is going to love it," the shaman on top of Coatl narrated, sounding almost like a demon with how much he seemed to relish the idea. “We're going to make you fuck on the altars of your old ones-“ he spat those two words out like they were poison. “-and smear them with your cum."

Coatl had heard that the bray-shamans took a special delight in befouling anything that was seen as sacred, whether that be the gods of man or the geomantic webs of the lizardmen. With that realization, a chill ran through his spine. It meant that the other soul in the doombull's body probably was one of them, given his singleminded obsession with defiling the pools. That in turn meant that he couldn't allow that one to gain control. And once in the post-orgasmic clarity that simple beasts seemed to gain, there was a real risk of that happening.

Maybe that'd be his final sacrifice for the old ones. Coatl would do what he could do force the doombull to take control. No matter how much of the city was torn down, as long as the spawning pools remained, they could rebuild. He barely heard anything that the shaman on top of him said, but he did feel his cock grinding against him as he kept whispering his blasphemies.

A plan – twisted and desperate, but sound – began to form in his mind as he watched their leader thump his hips against Tiacelel's defenseless body. Already, the bull's sack was tightening. Each little throb Coatl could see probably meant more of his precum was flooding into his friend, and sooner or later he'd succumb to the sweet caress of chaos. On some level Coatl desperately wanted to see his friend get seeded and corrupted. In fact, his mouth was dry, feeling like it was full of cotton, as he watched with rapt attention.

It'd look so… erotic, that was the only word for it. There was more than a little forbidden joy in watching his truest friend slowly succumb.

And yet he had to keep his plan in mind, so that he'd at least end his uncorrupted days making one change.

The bull's thrusts grew more frantic, and suddenly he hilted himself deep inside Tiacelel's helpless body. Then, he let out a triumphant, braying growl, and as if he knew that Coatl was staring, raised is tail to let him get a closer look. His balls seemed to swell, if only a little, and then his taint throbbed, pulsating in a rapid rhythm. He was pumping his seed into the kroxigor, ensuring that he'd be corrupted too. That sight was one thing, but seeing his friend's own cock slowly grow out as his body absorbed the chaotic taint was even more fascinating. Bright red and hard as rock from the first moment, it was soon bobbing between Tiaclel's legs, dripping with clear liquid that'd corrupt just as surely as the doombull's own did.

“There. Take it. Love it," the bull grunted, giving a few more firm thrusts to milk himself dry into the kroxigor's clutching ass.

Coatl would've expected some kind of reaction from the kroxigor. A moan, maybe, or bouncing on top of one of the smaller beastmen to fuck them, but instead, he simply collapsed, slumping down on the ground as if passed out. If the experience was that intense, Coatl knew for sure he had no hope. At least not for himself. If he waited for just the right moment, at least Tlaxtlan might outlast them.

The doombull twitched again the moment he withdrew, his softening cock followed by a massive gush of cum from Tiacelel's gaping ass. The kroxigor's pucker seemed puffier and more relaxed, too, already having adapted to its new use. With his urges satisfied, if only briefly, the bull's more intelligent side seized control.

“Finally," he groaned, his voice hoarse from the grunting and groaning his other personality has used it for. “That idiot is… done. Time for the real work to begin."

He turned to face the sealed entrance to the temple that housed the spawning pools, and raised an arm, dark magic swirling around his hand as he prepared some kind of chaotic spell.

Now. Coatl thrust his ass back against the shaman and feigned a lusty moan. That drew the doombull's attention. Immediately, he spun around and hunched over, his eyes darkening with jealous rage as the magic fizzled away into nothingness.

“I told you I will fuck them all first, bray," he growled. “You defy me?"

“I'm not- grrh, he's playing you for a fool," the bray-shaman snarled back in response, but Coatl could feel him shiver with fear as the doombull's attention fell on him.

“Playing me? A lizardman, uncorrupted, making you fuck him?" the doombull roared, his matted fur bristling with fury. “You are the one playing me, weakling."

He raised his axe. Coatl closed his eyes, pressing himself as flush against the ground as he could. He heard a swoosh and felt the rush of air, a wet impact, and then a wet gurgling. The shaman fell off him. Coatl had no desire to see the carnage. He kept his eyes closed until the doombull yanked him up, throwing him on top of the moaning kroxigor like a ragdoll, and then shoving his face against his friend's cum-filled ass while positioning himself for mounting the saurus in turn.

Maybe without the shaman to lead the warherd, they'd be a little less organized, with the doombull fighting himself half the time and lacking the strategic mind of the brays. Coatl could only hope. Still, it was something, one last act of defiance before he was too tainted to fight. And this was it, Coatl realized. At least he'd lose himself knowing that his actions might be what saved the city in the end. It'd be a sacrifice nobody recognized, and he a nameless hero in turn. In the end, only the old ones would know of what he did, and they remained distant. But he'd done his part. And now, there was nothing more he could do, no more reason to fight. The warm mess of the bull's spent cum coated his muzzle with intoxicating scents and flavors, and he had more to give.

Coatl shuddered. The cock trying to force its way into his ass with powerful thrusts hurt. Somehow, he knew that if he just surrendered, it wouldn't. His end would be the same either way.

He pressed his lips against Tiacelel's cum-soaked ass firmly, letting the slimy, rich seed drool into his mouth. It wasn't the kind of kiss he'd imagined he'd ever share with his egg-brother, and yet – something about how dirty it was, in a way he couldn't quite describe, never really having experienced sex before – it excited him. His breath quickened as the heat coated his tongue, and the taste was nearly indescribable. A musky, burning kind of sensation that almost made his tongue curl, tasting both awful and amazing at once. Like his body both wanted, or even needed it, and wanted to spit it out.

He didn't spit it out, of course. As degrading as it was, he had to accept it in order to even survive being rutted by the bull's massive cock. Tiacelel was big and capable of handling it. Coatl wasn't. And so, he swallowed, trembling as the globs of cum went down his throat, burning and tingling on the way down. Immediately, warmth radiated from his belly. Not the kind of pleasant, calming heat of a hearth or even a candle, but a sharp, consuming fire that made him squirm. He felt his pucker relax, as if his body suddenly understood what it wanted.

The doombull only grunted with satisfied scorn as Coatl's body allow him entrance. Almost immediately, this thick, burning-hot shaft sunk into the saurus' ass. Coatl didn't even recognize the sound that left his lungs when it happened. A kind of pained moan. Yet there was no pain. He swallowed more of the copious amounts of cum flooding his mouth and with each gulp, the thick breeding rod stretching him to his limits felt better, until it was actually starting to feel good. A gnawing heat was developing deep inside him, and a kind of stiffness and pressure around his groin.

Coatl wasn't a fool. He knew what it meant. But even with Ixtli's advice about how chaos felt good, he would never have guessed it felt this good. Another moan, this one even needier, slipped from his lips. The doombull began to build up a rhythm, a casual and yet brutal pace of claiming the lizardman with each buck of his hips. Every now and then, Coatl felt the length twitch and jerk inside him, followed by wet heat, in turn followed by that need inside him deepening, and the sense of pressure growing more and more unbearable.

The bull's hefty sack slapped against his still featureless crotch, reminding him that soon those heavy orbs would be emptying their contents inside him. He'd beg for it, too. The realization brought about burning shame that left his muzzle a rusty red, but Coatl could no longer deny it. He wasn't special. He was just like the rest of them, a slut needing to be showed his place, thoroughly corrupted and worshipping cocks with each motion of his body, with each lick of his tongue and each clench of his pucker, with every whimpering syllable that left his mouth, until he was so full of their essence that he could take no more.

The pressure relented, suddenly. Wetness spread over his crotch, and he felt something alien and yet incredibly pleasurable slowly push out of his body. A hard cock of his own, already begging to be touched.

Noticing that, the beastmen who was pinning his right arm down let go, with a derisive snort. The other one did too. If Coatl had just pulled away, he could've made a run for it, and yet he didn't. It wasn't the right choice, or even the sane one, but the pleasure building inside him was seductive and intense, and he had to see where it'd lead. Like he couldn't get enough. With his thoughts so hazy with lust, Coatl barely even realized that his tongue had pushed into Tiacelel rather than merely lapping at his hole, in a hungry search for more of the bull's wonderful seed. The kroxigor moaned, too, though he didn't move, still deep in the afterglow of his first orgasm and barely conscious. He wanted, needed more.

And so he began to feverishly rock back against the doombull, not hearing any of the degrading things he said. The saurus only wanted more, wanted to feel that breeding rod do its duty and fill him with corruption.

It didn't last long. Corrupting someone new was like ambrosia to the already chaotic, it seemed. Coatl could barely wait. His scaly fingers were wrapped around his newly formed cock and stroking it as fast as he could manage, his mind unable to even comprehend how something so strange could feel so good. He wanted to slide it inside things, inside Tiacelel most of all, but first he had to be a good slut and earn the doombull's blessing. Moaning like a whore, he clamped down around that masculine firmness as hard as he could. And as he had hoped, he was immediately rewarded.

Coatl felt his cock buck inside him. Heavily. Immediately that movement was followed by the feeling of intense heat spurting into him. It felt heavenly, indeed like a blessing, and Coatl was suddenly soaring high, a new addiction satisfied. The pleasure of his own cock pulsing as it spurted out his very first load of cum, wasting it on the cold tiled streets of Tlaxtlan, was nothing in comparison. He held himself against the doombull as tightly as he could, gasping for breath as more and more tainted seed flooded him, until he was barely aware of anything at all, laying limp on the ground by the time the beastmen's leader pulled out, in a pool of mixed cum. The others descended on him and Tiacelel like vultures, after that point, each taking the opportunity to sink their amazing cocks into his corrupted body, and Coatl, at least, didn't mind. He wanted them all.

The beastmen kept alternating between attempting to breach the sealed spawning pools, and interrupting their efforts each time the doombull's mind switched, returning to their frenzied mating. No serious progress was made, thusly, with the intelligent side eventually roaring with frustration, weakened by the interruption Coatl had provided, and the warrior kept undoing his progress in favour of mating and then rallying the herd for an attack on another city, already having grown bored with what Tlaxtlan had to offer.

“They'll do it themselves! We have battles to fight, shaman!" he told himself.

The single-minded focus on moving on eventually allowed the brutish side to gain control for long enough to round up his herd and march out, leaving Tlaxtlan mostly in ruins. With them, they brought a few of the lizardmen for entertainment. A few guards, along with Coatl and Tiacelel, who placidly followed. While the doombull initially wanted the entire city to join his destructive campaign, the supplies simply weren't there, and even an army of beastmen ultimately marched on its stomach.

Off they set, with the grand city of Tlaxtlan disappearing into the distance. Though he was furious, the doombull's smarter side scorched a path through the jungle with dark magic, leaving a blackened trail where the undergrowth was too thick to pass, and everywhere else, the beastmen's weapons and hooves did their work. Each time they took a break and set up camp, it was centered around their captives, and at that point, both Coatl and Tiacelel were happy to serve. Something about simply raising their tails and being used felt so wonderfully right. That seed they'd thought of as filthy was now beautiful as it gushed into them with each throb of every cock, one after the other until they were dripping with it, senselessly drooling saliva-mixed cum as their asses got used by as many of the herd as wanted to use them. And many did.

Time blurred like that, with their existence reduced to simply three aspects, much like the beastmen themselves. Marching, mating, and then sleeping. Arduous work all made worth it by the incredible tainted euphoria of the orgies that followed.

But the beastmen were a fickle sort, and their leader most so of them all. Once all traces of resistance had been fucked out of the duo, once they'd served every single member of the herd at least once, there was little thrill left in using them, and the beastmen once again turned to trying to dominate each other, instead. One by one, the captives were tossed aside.

At the end of it all, the beastmen eventually got bored of all of their new playthings, even Coatl and Tiacelel, despite of their strange bond. Somewhere deep in the jungles, in the no-man's land between lizardman cities, where nobody truly held power, they were left behind, discarded as used and broken equipment. Dazed as they were, Coatl and Tiacelel didn't notice that the warherd had moved on from the latest impromptu camp – little more than stamped earth and detritus – before they were long gone.

That left the two of them stranded, unsure even of which direction they were facing with the dense jungle canopy covering the skies. Nor did they have any sense of purpose; both were thoroughly corrupted, but they lacked the beastmen's drive for wanton carnage and wild rutting. Indeed, they'd only been corrupted, not broken, no matter what the doombull thought. Unlike what the rumors said had happened in the other fallen cities, they had never been forced to fully give into that insanity.

What, then, were they do?

“…back towards Tlaxtlan?" Tiacelel asked. His voice was hoarse from all the moaning, and every muscle in his body ached. More than anything, his cock ached, rock-hard as it had been for however long, now, yearning for release. His disorganized thoughts failed to come together into anything coherent, and despite his strength, Tiacelel found himself looking to Coatl for guidance.

“Yes, back… I think," Coatl replied. He squeezed his cock absentmindedly and groaned with pleasure. But merely masturbating would grant him little relief. Their home city was the place they could find without an experienced navigator, but only if they moved quickly. While a warherd left clear tracks, the jungle was quick to reclaim every hoofprint.

Without any clear goals, they set off once more, continuously distracted by their newfound urges. While they left Tiacelel more horny and placid than anything, Coatl's mind was in turmoil as he tried to plan for something, anything. What if they were set upon by a sabrecat or another jungle beast? They were in no shape to fight. The taint had a solution, of course; offer himself for them to use. And yet some part of him still protested that. Taking the edge off the lust with Tiacelel was something he'd have to do to gain any kind of clarity, but each time he took the kroxigor's cock inside him was also a submission, a surrender that'd inevitably lead further down the road to utter dissolute chaos. He had to find a balance, but rather than helping him, his traitorous body was already growing excited at the prospect of being filled with warm cum once again.

One thing was certain. It had been several days since they left Tlaxtlan, and no matter how far away they were, it would take them far longer than that to make it back on their own, if they made it at all.

Thus, reeking of sex and taking frequent breaks to at least scratch that lusty itch possessing them both, Coatl and Tiacelel set off once again, towards whatever awaited them in the darkest depths of the Lustrian jungle.