Mars Time: 15:45, February 18, 2295

  Cargo depot, Section 9-Ananda, Red Rabbit Warren

  The Warren's tunnels smelled of copper and rot.

  Marcus led the way through the cramped passage, his trusty kite shield Bulwark raised at chest height, Justice's blade catching what little light leaked from Fuuka's violet Spirit Lantern behind him. Every footfall echoed against corrugated, decaying walls.

  [+Weapon drawn: Justice, Zephyrium Longsword, Jorvik Viking variant (Manufacturer: New Lister Mills, Zorian Covenant)]

  [+Weapon drawn: Bulwark, Titanium Shield, Hospitaller variant (Manufacturer: Solar Brothers, Jerusalem III, Zorian Covenant)]

  "Zori the True Mother, guide my hand as you guide our path," he murmured in Yorkshire-thick English. "Keep my path righteous. Let no corruption reach us."

  "You've been saying that same prayer for the last two minutes," Jabari said from his right flank, Oya the Kinetic Crossbow raised and tracking. The Maridian man moved with confidence. "Not judging your faith, brother. Just saying Zori might've heard you the first time."

  "Prayer is not negotiation." Marcus didn't look back. "It's discipline."

  "If you say so. What does Zori think about working with a Worm Witch, though?" Jabari asked, his posture loose.

  Fuuka's soft laugh drifted from the rear. "Ara, I can hear you both, you know."

  Marcus's jaw tightened. The witch. Every instinct screamed wrongness: from her unnatural calm, her Proxima Radi-Mons that stank of violated death, her Spirit Lantern Hotaru.

  One quest. Marcus told himself. One quest, then he'd be free to—

  Bulwark's silver rim scraped against something.

  Marcus froze. The tunnel ahead widened into what might've been a cargo depot once. Crates lay scattered, some torn open, contents spilled across stained floor panels. But the crates weren't what made his white amber Nucleus Watch chime against his sword arm.

  [Warning: Elevated Temperature Detected - +8°C Above Normal]

  [Atmospheric Analysis: Pheromone Concentration - EXTREME]

  [Recommendation: Activate Environmental Filters]

  "Ey, you smell that?" Jabari's nose wrinkled. "Like…Venusian flowers? But stronger than I remember them."

  "Fenris psionics," Fuuka observed, her voice clinical. "Mixed with something feminine. How interesting."

  Marcus felt it too: a heat prickling at the back of his neck, an unwelcome tightness low in his gut. His Covenant training had prepared him for temptation.

  Ahead, the sounds started.

  Wet. Rhythmic. Organic. Flesh against flesh, accompanied by moaning that raised every hair on Marcus's arms. Not pain, but something worse: pleasure twisted, unbridled.

  "Sin." Marcus's voice came hard as steel. "That's what corruption sounds like when it feasts."

  He pushed forward, shield first, and the depot revealed itself.

  The chamber stretched perhaps twenty meters across, walls slick with something that glistened. Organic growths. Veins? Roots? They spread across every surface, pulsing with faint bioluminescence.

  The sounds hit Marcus harder now: wet slaps of skin on skin, low moans that twisted between pleasure and something broken. The pheromone stink clawed at him, stirring an unwelcome heat in his belly despite his prayers. "Zori, shield me from this filth," he said, gripping Justice tighter.

  He edged forward, Bulwark raised, the violet light from Fuuka's Spirit Lantern behind casting a way. Something massive shifted in the center—a silhouette at first, towering and undulating. Then the light caught her fully, and Marcus's breath stuck in his throat.

  She was no ordinary Radi-Mon. This was Ysolde H?ggsson, the Thorned Seductress, one of Skarn's lieutenants. A creature whispered about in Covenant archives.

  Towering at two and a half meters, her alabaster skin gleamed like polished bone, stretched over a frame that was all lean muscle and sharp edges. Platinum hair cascaded down her back in thorny tangles, framing pointed ears and backward-curving horns. Her orange eyes burned like hot coals, fixed on the writhing pile of men at her feet. And her body...Zori forgive, it mocked everything human: feminine curves pushed to obscene limits, breasts heaving with thorned tips that dripped a clear, sticky fluid.

  Ysolde straddled two of the men, her claws digging into the shoulders of the one beneath her as he thrust up into her vagina a desperate rhythm. His face was slack with bliss, eyes rolled back, drool mixing with sweat on his chin. Another man drilled into her backside. Her thorns pricked their skin just enough to draw thin lines of blood, injecting whatever twisted high kept them going. Fluids slicked the floor beneath them, the air thick with the musky reek of it all. "Yes, give me your seed. Feed the Fenris Horde." she murmured.

  The other man pressed in from behind, guided by her hand, his hips slamming forward while she purred low in her throat—a sound like poison. But the Draug was not satisfied. Her accented voice became musical and filthy now. "Vuhk-stir! SERVE ME!"

  With a flick of her wrist, the wall behind her tore open with a slick rip, unleashing the Vuhk-stir—the Fenris breeding machine, a bloated sac of pulsing veins and corroded steel that throbbed with a low red light. Tendrils lashed out from its heart, fat and slippery like engorged shafts, coiling tight around the cocks of the four men splayed at her feet. They clamped down with greedy slurps, jerking in harsh rhythms that tugged and squeezed, yanking out thick white-yellow spurts of seed in messy, endless waves. The men bucked wildly, hips thrusting, their grunts turning to howls as faces contorted in that filthy blend of rapture and wreck, their loads surging into the pod's core as it swelled and quivered with every fresh flood.

  Ysolde lifted herself from the two men's penises and parted her thighs even wider, her folds already swollen and slick from the overflow of semen. A heavier tube slithered from the meaty machine's depths, ridged and dripping with clear ooze, nosing toward her like it craved her body.

  The Draug seized it, rubbing the flared tip against her womanhood before it plunged in deep, stretching her wide with a wet squelch, then hammering forward in savage thrusts that made her thorned breasts heave and her thorns scrape bloody trails across the skin beneath her. The tube ballooned inside, flooding her with the milked essence from the men, viscous ropes of cum blasting into her depths until her abdomen rounded out, taut and full like an overloaded vessel. Excess spilled from her stretched lips in creamy rivulets, soaking her thighs and pooling on the floor as she rocked harder, breaths hitching in desperate moans.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A slimmer tube from the Vuhk-stir snaked upward, insistent and slick, forcing its way between her lips and sliding into her mouth in steady, choking pumps. She took it eagerly, sucking and swallowing as more seed gushed across her lips and tongue—bursts she gulped down in hungry waves, her body trembling while thorns vibrated like they fed on the overflow. A third tube slid into her anus pumping. The Breeding Machine worked her, every opening stuffed and overflowing, her pale skin glistening with sweat, smears, and strings of fluid as she writhed in the center, a living altar to excess, her cries muffled around the intrusion like she was lost in endless, depraved release.

  "Zori above…" Marcus breathed. His right hand trembled on Justice's grip: fear mixed with fury so much. "This is how the Fenris Horde sees us!"

  Jabari made a strangled sound. "Anansi's arse. Those men...that fun or pain written on their faces?"

  "They're victims!" Marcus's voice cracked like a whip. "And we're getting them out."

  "How very noble, ne?" Fuuka's tone held dark amusement. "But don't expect my creatures to be... gentle."

  "Jabari, left flank. Keep mobile. Worm Witch—" Marcus signaled.

  "Fuuka," she corrected primly.

  "Witch," Marcus repeated with emphasis, "stay behind me. Use your...things. But if this goes wrong and those men can't be saved—"

  "You'll give them what, the Emperor's mercy?" Jabari's fingers tightened on Oya's stock. "Quick death?"

  "If Zori wills it."

  Ysolde noticed them. Of course she did. Orange eyes lifted from her feast of flesh, narrowing with wicked interest as the tubes pulled free from her body with wet pops—first the one from her mouth, then the thicker one sliding out of her core, and finally a third retracting from her ass. Sticky white-yellow cum dripped from all three holes, thick strands hanging from her lips and thighs, splattering the floor in messy puddles.

  Her smile spread wide enough to show too many teeth. When she spoke, her voice slithered through the air.

  "More nubile humans?" The words accented, musical and obscene. "How thoughtful of you to deliver yourselves."

  Marcus moved forward. Bulwark slammed into the nearest enthralled man with enough force to send him sprawling but not kill. The man's eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, drool mixing with something darker at the corner of his mouth.

  "We've come to deliver you back to hell, Draug." The Stalwart declared as he held back his rage.

  "As if any self-respecting Fenris would want to come to this backwater planet!" Ysolde shook her pale head, hissing. "I was tasked to find Sigrun Fjeld, the runaway princess rumored to operate in a settlement nearby."

  "Somehow, these monsters really want her." Jabari said from behind Marcus, sounding unsurprised. "Met a Kraken that babbled the same stuffs yesterday."

  "Primarch Skarn requires Sigrun as the Ultimate Crucible. None shall hide the Third Daughter." Ysolde licked her lips clean with a slow swipe of her tongue, savoring the overflow.

  "Whoever you're here for, you won't live to have." Marcus stood straighter, his sword Justice poised to strike.

  "Ah, but these men with their meager stamina have been...insufficient. Perhaps strong and able men like yourselves can last longer. I'd so enjoy drying your balls—" The female Draug responded while the Vuhk-stir retreated into the wall like some massive, living organ folding back into the shadows, sealing itself away from any coming fight.

  "FENRIS SCUM! Your vile influence ends here!" Marcus roared and planted his feet, feeling the familiar weight of Zephyrium and Titanium settle into his bones. Metal groaned as his shield's edge bit into the deck plating as he intoned in Ordovox. "Immobilis et Fortis!"

  The psionic technique made him slow, made him vulnerable to flanking.

  "Come meet your end, minion of Skarn!" The Covenant Stalwart declared.

  "But I'd take your seeds instead—" Ysolde's claws came for his face.

  Marcus caught the strike on Bulwark's face, the impact reverberating up his arm like a hammer on anvil. His boots scraped back half an inch, he'd rooted himself but the Radi-Mon woman's strength was horrifying.

  Behind him, Jabari's Lunar-enhanced bolt struck Ysolde's shoulder with the sound of meat tearing. She shrieked, more rage than pain, and three of the enthralled men lurched to their feet like puppets on strings.

  "The men!" Marcus shouted. "They'll defend her! Non-lethal!"

  "Easy for you to say!" Jabari danced back from a wild swing, the enthralled man moving with unnatural speed. "You've got the shield!"

  Purple light flared. Fuuka's voice cut through the chaos, cold Sanskrit syllables that made reality shudder: "?ava Grāsaka!"

  The portal that opened beside her Spirit Lantern stank of death and Proxima Centauri's alien soil. Three Corpse Gorgers shambled through—hunched, skeletal violet hounds with too many limbs and single burning eyes. They hit the enthralled men like a pack of wolves, dragging two down, jaws careful not to tear throats but immobilizing limbs.

  Marcus had no time to be grateful or disgusted. Ysolde pressed her advantage, claws raking across Bulwark in a flurry that sent sparks flying. Each impact registered through his shield arm—sixty percent damage reduction meant he still felt forty percent, and she hit like a cargo hauler.

  "You smell of chastity," Ysolde purred, circling just outside Justice's reach. "Untouched. Uncorrupted. Primarch Skarn would make such beautiful things from your genetic code—"

  "Shut. Your. Mouth."

  Marcus surged forward, breaking out of his root, shield-bashing with his considerable power. Ysolde tried to dodge but Jabari's second bolt caught her leg, silver-wreathed and burning. She stumbled just enough.

  Justice, his Zephyrium Sword, came down in an overhead arc, blessed Solar energy channeling through the steel. "Ictus Solis!"

  [Melee weapon (Justice, Zephyrium Sword) imbued: Solar energy]

  The blade met corrupted flesh and burned. Ysolde's shriek could've shattered glass—a sound of pain and fear. Dark fluid sprayed from the wound across her ribs, smoking where Justice's Zephyrium edge had scratched her mutated hide.

  "Aye, you don't like that!" Marcus pressed forward, grinning, shield raised. "The True Mother's judgment burns! What you deserve, abomination!"

  But Ysolde was faster than anything her size had right to be. She vaulted backward, landing on the far wall in defiance of gravity, claws digging into metal like it was soft clay. Her orange eyes blazed with fury.

  Two more Corpse Gorgers poured through Fuuka's portal. The Worm Witch stood perfectly still, one hand extended, Spirit Lantern hovering at her shoulder like a violet star. Her lips moved in continuous prayer-chant, Devavā?ī mixing with what might've been some Imperial language Marcus could not make out. The creatures swarmed, overwhelming the remaining enthralled men through sheer numbers.

  "Jabari!" Marcus shifted, angling Bulwark to cover his companion's flank. "How many bolts left?"

  "Eight in the current quiver!" The Maridian ducked an enthralled man's lunge, then brought Oya's stock around in a measured strike that sent the attacker sprawling. "But my Aether's low. Moon-enchanted shots cost a lot!"

  Movement above. Marcus looked up just as Ysolde launched herself from the ceiling, claws extended, aiming for his exposed neck.

  Time slowed—that split-second of combat clarity where everything crystallized. Too far to dodge. Shield already extended. Justice on the wrong side to parry.

  "M?ttikā Jinki!" A feminine voice, silky but LOUD, echoed through the space around them. Fuuka's incantation.

  Something massive materialized between Marcus and death.

  The construct stood a meter tall on two thick legs, but its presence filled the space like a titan. Hardened clay—not smooth but textured like ancient pottery left to bake under alien suns—formed a body that resembled a giant mutant turtle. A domed shell covered its back, segmented with ridges that looked carved by wind and time. But the head made Marcus's breath catch.

  A skull. Clay shaped into the approximation of something reptilian and dead, with empty sockets that blazed with pale amber light. Its jaw hung open, revealing rows of teeth that had no right existing on something made of dirt and sand—sharp, jagged, each one violent. Thick arms ended in clawed hands that dug into the deck plating with the sound of stone grinding metal.

  The thing turned its skull-face toward Ysolde and roared a deep and primal sound.

  Ysolde's claws struck the shell and stuck, organic corruption meeting inorganic matter in a screech that set Marcus's teeth on edge. The Radi-Mon shrieked, pulling, but the Clay Jinki's glowing eyes never wavered from her.

  "The new Clay Jinki summon I'd just picked up today." Fuuka murmured, and Marcus caught the satisfaction in her tone. "Ara, it seems to like her. How fortunate."

  The Clay Jinki's glowing eyes locked onto Ysolde. The Fenris Radi-Mon shrieked frustration, trying to disengage, but something in the construct's presence demanded her focus. She clawed at it, tore chunks of hardened earth away. But the Jinki held its ground, immovable as Marcus himself.

  Marcus didn't waste the opening. He felt mobility return to his legs like ice thawing. Three steps forward. Justice raised high.

  "For those you've violated! Ictus Solis!"