Point of No Return 11 – The Reckoning

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Hyperlinks in the text are intended as supplemental material, discussing elements of the science behind the science fiction. They are not intended as required reading for the story. Hyperlinks will be provided at the point in the story where it comes up, but all the links will also be collected at the bottom of the post for easy reading.

Thank you for reading! Me and my coauthor Darinost are gradually combining forces and blogs, so the joint comment section for our stories is currently located on discord! Come on in and let us know what you thought, we don’t bite.

Blasting through the dark void on blue-glowing ion thrusters, the Kthid interceptor at last caught up to their prey… the fleeing human ship. Like a telluric hunter happening upon an unexpected cadaver, they slowed down and sought to assess their situation, performing a flawless flip and burn maneuver to bring them to a relative standstill to the vessel, approaching only cautiously… like predators on the stalk.

They had plenty of reason to suspect a trap – this was not the confrontation that the pursuit vessel had expected. The human starship was drifting, coasting on sheer inertia without further thrust from its engines. The vessel seemed lost in the ineffable expanse of the system… the archaic science ship Mistrunner hanging motionless relative to its hunters without even an attempt to evade. The Kthid knew that this metallic hull constituted the last refuge of the Midgar-6’s escapees, but her engines were down and the ship wasn’t broadcasting anything, neither distress signal nor beacon. Unexpectedly, the escaping ship had ceased maneuvering and was now on a ballistic course roughly in the direction of the strange singularity that the humans used as a means of conveyance, alone and helpless within hundreds of thousands of kilometers of empty space in all directions. It was almost as if the Mistrunner was pretending to act dead in hopes that the Kthid would ignore it.

Carefully, the Kthid hunter ship circled the hull… and found a reason for its plight. Towards the back of its superstructure, near the thrusters, a sizable hole had been ripped in the hull… a devastating explosion had ripped the ship open to space by its engines and reactors, possibly crippling it. Further scanning showed the hunters the presence of slumbering Void Tracers deep in hibernation, drifting away from the ship where explosive decompression had hurled them… alongside the brutalized remains of a few human cadavers. The Mistrunner itself had evidently been the scene of a vicious battle.

Even though the ship was apparently ruined, the Kthid weren’t lax… when their vessel slipped up against the Mistrunner’s hull and cut through, the draconian xenos of the warrior class emerged outfitted in their full war armor, magnetic Aegis shields engaged so to counter the expected effects of vacuum. However, hopes for the discovery of survivors were diminished when they realized most of the ship’s atmosphere had been vented to space and hadn’t been replenished since the explosion was triggered – most of the blast doors had apparently failed to close. That was bad news… none of the Kthid warriors, blameless as they were, wished to have to be the one to tell the Huntmaster that his prize hadn’t survived to be captured.

Progressing into the relatively intact corridors, the hulking aliens searched for their bounty, moving surprisingly silently for such huge, powerful forms… stalking forward with the grace of consummate predators on the hunt. Their scans showed that some of the foredecks had pressure still, and cutting through bulkheads and sealing them with magnetic barriers behind them, the Kthid broke into the surviving portions of the ship. The ghosts of battle were everywhere… Laser-fire had burnt the walls and Void Tracer claws had rent its metal. The Terrans had not met their end in disgraceful passivity… they had fought to the end. The Kthid could respect that. Combat-hardened, these sights of brutality otherwise moved the hunters little… It took a lot to worry a Kthid warrior.

As they traveled the halls, the hunters found nothing alive… neither alien predator nor Terran. In engineering, near the site of the explosion, other hunters searched and found some Terran women hanging from webs in a Void Tracer hive, their stomachs ripped open by Void Tracers, their bodies flash frozen from vacuum exposure. Hard vacuum still coated the ship there… no one in there could have survived. Even the ship’s computer systems seemed to have overloaded and been destroyed in the chaos and the carnage.

“By the Dark Star!” one spoke through his communicator. The patrol had happened upon a simply enormous Void Tracer carcass, a fist-sized wound opening upon its skull from where ichor sluggishly oozed. Though the Kthid bred Void Tracers in captivity, growing up in a cage made the beasts stunted and underdeveloped in comparison to their free-ranging brethren… and they never stopped growing. This one was centuries-old, a true behemoth, the kind of kill any Warrior would gladly have hanging from his trophy-wall. Taken by the grandiose size of the beast, it took the patrol a moment to notice that the woman curling up against the nearby wall, half covered by tenebrous shadows in the weakly flickering emergency lights of the dying ship, was alive. Her existence was so motionless, so inconspicuous, that it could very well have appeared as if she was frozen in place. With her head hanging so that the chin was tucked, the woman’s crimson hair lay fanned out across her visage.

She sobbed softly.

All of the heavily-armed Kthid violently turned and traced their cannon-sight upon the figure of Amara Black… but the woman didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to see them. Unfazed by her condition, one of those steel-clad Kthid stomped up to the Captain and clasped her by her dark-red mane, yanking her countenance upright so to get a good look at its features. Having suffered through both the tragedy of losing her crew and being past the point of exhaustion, Amara’s mien was tortured and contorted like that of an agonized corpse.

“…failure…” she whispered in catatonic tenors.

The Kthid punched in some combinations on his wrist-mounted data-slate, and a device embedded within began scanning her upheld face. After analysis, it returned a positive. This was Amara Black. Captain of the Midgar-6. The final holder of the password that could resuscitate one million human colonists.

“What happened to your crew?” he asked her. When she just stared ahead, unseeing, he slapped the woman across the face, the metal-cased hand of his armor creating a dark bruise on her cheek… but her eyes focused on him. “What. Happened. To your crew?” he asked again, growling.

“They… died. I failed them. I failed,” she muttered, though the posture remained unmoving. It was like… she wasn’t even talking to him. Almost like she was barely even aware of him. The words were toneless, mindless… the utterances of a damaged mind repeating the trauma that had been freshly imprinted.   Eyes glossy, she repeated the phrase. “I failed them. I.. Oh Ri’she’a…”

“Mere humans against the might of the Shan-Uruk,” the one in command said. “You must be brave to have survived at all. Blessings of the Dark Star.” The tone of his voice was amazed and reverential. This was unbelievable fortune… that the one female vital to their operation was the last one standing. If he hadn’t seen all the bodies himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. The Warlord had chosen well to want this one for himself… he would honor him greatly for this victory. Much breeding-cattle would be made available to them when the hour of victory arrived.

For just a second, the Kangansverii considered if he wanted her for his own. Her codes, of course, belonged to the Huntmaster… but he was the one to capture her. If he wanted, he could claim this one for his own… a survivor of an onslaught of the Shan-Uruk. Children from her loins would be something special, he felt certain. Then, with some regret, he relented. She was a prize… but not such a prize as to be worth antagonizing his grandfather over. There would be others to claim, and soon.

“They trusted me…” a crestfallen Amara insentiently emitted. “And I failed them. Ri’she’a. Leila. Evy… Everyone.”

“What chance did you have?” he said harshly. “What chance did any of you have?”

With Amara in their custody, the Kthid completed their sweep of the ship after locking the captured Captain in manacles. They found no one else, but slowly they pieced together what had happened here. Void Tracers had lurked slumbering on this ship, as they often did on stellar objects. Amara had tried to vent the atmosphere to get rid of them, but afterward she had not reached the control-room in time. The others had died from exposure. Even after besting the enormous demon laying dead on the floor of the bridge, her heroics had been for naught. Amara was the only one who had made it… and it seemed like her perceived failure as a leader had broken the woman’s spirit.

Without resistance from their bounty, the Kthid took the Captain back to their ship. With her in their power, the unit headed back towards the interceptor, boarding it. Behind them, they left a empty and lifeless husk, a spaceship destroyed into silence by strife, its corridors a graveyard where the humans had fought and died in hopes of seeing their homeworld once again. The Mistrunner would be allowed to drift through space, perhaps for all eternity – alone amidst the grand nothingness, a tomb for no-one to witness or mourn.

Back onboard the interceptor, the Engineers running the ship began the process of another long burn, redirecting themselves back the way they had come. The ion-thrusters flamed blue once more as the ship began blasting back towards their mothership – the Death of Hope.

Thomas Shale dropped Ki’an’i onto the floor of the escape-pod like a heavy-loaded bag, completely unconcerned with how she landed. The Sethis woman groaned with the pain… Her whole body ached so terribly that any movement whatsoever felt like having hot lava poured onto her rigid muscles. The same could be said for her thoughts… she was more a body than a person at the moment.

There was shame in that. The old Ki’an’i would not have allowed even such debilitating injuries to stop her in pursuit of what she thought was right. She had been a force of nature. Pain was in the mind and it could be ignored when necessary… she had been taught that, trained how to do it. Her shame, however, was crippling… while the attacks on her mind and will that had made her give up her code had cracked her adamantine resolve, it was the shame of having sold out the colonists, of failure, that had broken it wide open. Pain was in the mind… but so was discipline and courage, and right now Ki’an’i felt like anything but a Templar… her mind felt like a dull knife, her gusto vanished. Thomas Shale, the loathsome, back-stabbing, misogynist pig-traitor, had undone both her fealty and honor at the same time he had smashed her sense of self worth. With her own trembling fingers, she had tapped the password into the colonial mainframe, betraying the confidence of those 1,000,000 frozen colonists frozen in cryosleep. What would her husband think of her if he could see her now? She felt like she could still feel the sensation of the keys just below her fingers, the very limbs blazing with shame like a phantom pain as Stark’s far-away eyes watched her. The very physical sense of indignity was more unbearable than the disparaging markings Shale had burnt onto her thigh. She wished to have the entire arm chopped off below the elbow. She wished she had died first. She wished she could die now.

But the Templar had attempted none of that… Shale wouldn’t like it. He would punish her if she tried. As a result of her torturous tribulation, her psychology had been cowed and her agency rendered nil. After nearly being eaten alive from within by Void Tracer younglings, she just… she just could not muster the willpower to resist him anymore. She barely dared to move… and still, the criminal stowaway had seen fit to tie her hands together behind her back, just for the further humiliation of it. Ki’an’i understood that she was deep in shock, her mind still reeling by what had been done to her. She needed time, time to put herself back together, time to find herself again.

Time her captor had no intention of giving her.

“Let’s see…” Shale said with a note of blithe glee as he sat himself down into the cockpit and began manipulating levers and pushing buttons. The Terran escape-vessel hummed to life and its datascreens came online. Rubbing palms together with almost childlike glee, the bald-headed brute began inputting his commands.

Escape-pods on the Midgar-6 were designed to be so user-friendly that it wouldn’t take an engineer to use one… even an idiot should be able to do it. Even so, it still took the impatient Thomas Shale long enough that he punched the dashboard several times before he got the controls set the way he wanted. He was a creature of much low cunning, yet very little higher education… it was astounding he had managed to feign being an engineer for the months they’d traveled. Her flame burning faintly, Ki’an’i hoped for them to be discovered by some stray Kthid patrol and that he, or the both of them, would promptly be executed.

Then, with a violent jerk that brought them both a bout of whiplash, the escape-pod lurched forward rapidly. A second later, the escape pod was ejected out of the Midgar-6’s portside like some fired torpedo. Flashing rapidly by, the pod rapidly left the colony-ship, battle cruiser, and strange planetoid behind.

Nerves tensed, Ki’an’i awaited for some explosion. Some rocket or beam to be fired from the Death of Hope which would bring them assured destruction… Yet nothing came. The escape-pod scuttled rapidly away from that fateful scene. At first, the azure gas-giant around which they had been orbiting was partly visible through the front-view of the cockpit, but soon even this vanished and was replaced with the pitch-black darkness of unbridled space.

Thomas Shale hollered, laughed and clapped his hands in self-congratulations. Ki’an’i’s woebegone visage stiffened into a grimace. He had actually done it. That bastard had managed to spirit away from the Kthid. The Sethis’ heart ached for the reality in which she now found herself. She was isolated and alone with Thomas Shale inside an escape pod the size of a two person apartment. The Kthid were gone. The humans that she had betrayed were gone. There was only the two of them. Her… and the man to which she owed all of her spiritual misfortune.

After making some final adjustments, Shale hopped out of the pilot seat and skipped happily over to Ki’an’i’s recumbent figure. In contrast to his joy she maintained the cadence of a corpse… But she was the only one to whom he could bask in his glory. Wearing an face-splitting grin, the thug squatted so to be able to look Ki’an’i in the eye. “Didn’t expect this, did you, you empty-headed shroom bitch?” he bragged.

Only her pupils moved. They gazed up at him under heavy-lidded eyes.

“I managed to scam those crocodiles good!” he said with a laugh. “Dirty fuckers, but I must admit they did have the right ideas about women! Could fuck the shit out of them too! Man their cocks were so big that I was starting to feel a bit under-equipped in comparison!” He laughed outrageously at his own joke. The man was high on the drug of survival. Though accepted into the Kthid’s servitude, his life had still remained imperiled. The Kthid had made their intentions clear well-enough. As a monogendered species, they intended to fuck and breed humanity out of existence, starting with the colonists of the Midgar-6. Within such plans and intentions there was no room for a male member of a competitive race who could himself reproduce and potentially seek to. Thomas was kept around because he could have provided valuable intelligence to the Kthid regarding the colony-ship and human constructions. When the necessity for such a source vanished, so would he. By spiriting away during such clandestine conditions, the maggot had managed to avoid the giant’s boot.

“One-track-minded idiots,” he teased. “It was that Interceptor returning. The one sent out to hunt down Captain Amara and the other escapees. It came back with them, it seems… sparked some major commotion. Every Kthid focused on it. It was the perfect opportunity to bolt, wouldn’t you say?”

Ki’an’i’s throat tightened. The Captain had been captured? Then the Kthid had truly won. The undoing of the civilians and their entire mission was now a gloomy inevitability. Somehow, the Templar was not surprised to see her last ray of hope crushed. It felt to the Sethis woman like there was no hope among the stars… just fear and pain and despair.

“They’ll break her. Make her surrender the last piece of the password. Just like Atalanta did, and Anna, and you,” he malevolently spoke. “And then…” he clapped just inches from her face, making her flinch. “GANG-BANG TIME!” he guffawed. “Man I kinda wish that I could have seen that. It really will be epic,” he said with a rare note of wistfulness. Then, breaking from his sadistic rumination, the thug grasped Ki’an’i by her flower-hair and tugged the Sethis into a seated position. “Guess I’ll just have to settle for you. Get up you stupid piece of kelp!” he vulgarly snarled.

Planted on her butt with her back against the wall, the athletic Sethis sat with legs widely-splayed and her pussy exposed. Her stamp of property was plainly evident upon her thigh. Those letterings had now darkened into ugly yet legible scars which professed Shale’s ownership of her flesh.

“So, potential problem,” he said, pursing his mouth in a false approximation of disapproval. “At the rate this vessel is moving, our ETA back on the nearest Federation world is around… 200 years or so. Oh I don’t think it will take that long. When the Federation figure out that the Midgar-6 never reached its destination they’ll send out a rescue-ship to snuff out what happened. They’ll be on the lookout for shuttles such as ours when they do. I’m guessing that this will take… a year or two. A decade maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe an eternity, who knows. But I for sure know that it’s better than getting slaughtered like some lamb aboard the Midgar-6 like the rest of her male crew.”

His point was inarguable. Out of all the humans that had boarded that doomed vessel, he had been the most fortunate. The Kthid. Shale. Everywhere, evil triumphed.

“But that’s kind of a long time to be alone, don’t you think?” he questioned with a dagger-like voice. “Wouldn’t want to hover around that long in solitude. Shit this pod doesn’t even have a cryo-unit of its own. So, I’m taking you alongside with me as entertainment! Don’t you feel lucky, girl!?” He slapped her on the cheeks lightly in a misogynistic attempt to coerce a smile. When she moved to avert her eyes away from his, they followed. The thug wanted to revel in his victory. And she was his emotional conduit for doing so. A single tear fell from one eye… Ki’an’i was already well aware of that. The traitor had taken a fancy to her. A mixture of sexual urges and virulent racism which made her desirable in his eyes… And now he would have untold amount of time to spend in pursuit of these sadistic cravings. That mark upon her thigh wasn’t there for nothing… she truly did belong to him.

Thinking was hard, but Ki’an’i forced herself to do it. The escape pod energy budget and its reclamation systems were designed to last for up to a decade… for a crew of twenty five. The energy costs of producing and reclaiming food, water, and oxygen were negligible compared to the energy required by the drive system. She… she really could be here with him for decades.

“Naturally, I had to wait until after you were broken,” he admitted. “Had you not surrendered the password, then that Sarcand would have gone bug-eyed with rage and sent every vessel he had in pursuit. But with your part of the code already given… I wager there’s not a person on that ship who gives a shit what happens to you anymore. You just don’t matter anymore, slut, and I suspect with all the excitement it will be some time before they notice our departure.” He smiled at her. “And by then, they’ll be a bit too busy raping all those chicks to really care what happened to little ‘ol me!”

There was another triumphant cackle delivered headlong towards her downtrodden visage. Somehow, it seemed that the misfortune of everyone else only added to his jubilation. For Thomas Shale, the exclusivity of surviving was a boon in-and-of-itself. Ki’an’i started to cry.

“What’s the problem, shroom?” he questioned, seizing her throat in a tight hold and squeezing. “You don’t look all that happy. Your man is a winner now, bitch! You should be overjoyed.” Ki’an’i felt unable to even part her lips. He tossed her head away dismissively, rising and moving away to the back of the vessel where Thomas had dropped a duffel-bag. Opening this up, he retrieved something within and then headed back towards the Templar. “We should celebrate. But I have no champagne… So let’s commemorate this moment with a new brand for you, instead!”

Gazing up, Ki’an’i saw something so horrific that she was struck from her moribund catalepsy. In his hand the thug held the same soldering iron with which he had marked her thigh. Instantly, shuddering memories of the pain that it had caused her made the bound Sethis squirm and make whimpering noises. Squatting before her, he held the instrument up before her eyes. Its tip was already blazing red-hot. Her inborn terror of fire blasted through her nerves, widening her eyes.

“I’m kind of miffed with how unresponsive you’ve been,” he said with a smirk. “It’s good to get your attention again… but how to fix that…” Shale mused.

Looking up towards her head, the bald-headed criminal laid eyes upon the flowers coming out of her scalp. These held multi-colored blooms that created a beautiful contrast against her otherwise grass-green hair. “I’ve always fucking hated these stupid flowers,” he commented, reaching out with his free hand to grasp the petal of one of them. “Tell you what,” Shale began. “Let’s make your latest tattoo into a game. If I win, I’ll brand you wherever I want. If you win, though… well, I’ll let you pick where I mark you for the rest of your pathetic life. Isn’t that generous of me?”

Ki’an’i shuddered with fright.

“Got that, bitch!?” he snarled, kicking her.

“Yes, master!” she whimpered in absolute horror… hating how weak her voice was, how pathetic she felt. This man was a coward, a weakling, an idiot, and pure scum… and she was beneath him. What did that make her?

Before she could react further, he started. With a violent tug, Shale yanked that petal straight off her scalp. She screamed at the sudden cranial pain. Thomas countered her scream with a simple sentence. “Shroom picks.”

Then he moved to the next petal in line and repeated the motion, instead saying, “I pick.”

And with that, Ki’an’i realized to her horror that it was already decided. There was no purpose to continuing. She had no idea how many flowers she had… but she knew they all had four petal. An even number.

“Shroom picks.”

The casual cruelty of it made her weep… she already knew how it was going to end, and so did he. He could have just ripped off her flowers for no reason if he wanted. He could have just given her the brand wherever he wanted. Instead, he made a game of her suffering… a rigged one.

“I pick,” he spoke and yanked another petal out. It initially refused to snap off, which forced him to crank and tug violently until it was uprooted. For the Templar, it felt as if he was tearing her brain out  by the root.

Months alone with this monsters. Years. Perhaps even decades. Ki’an’i began to long for the comfort of death.

“Shroom picks.”

“I pick.”

“Shroom picks.”

“I pick.”

“Shroom picks.”

“I pick.”

“Shroom picks.”

“I pick.”

“Shroom picks.”

“I pick.”

Each sentence was accompanied by pain and humiliation as her hair was future destroyed for his pleasure, another petal fluttering to the deck. On and on it went, denuding her head one pluck at a time. Distantly, she was aware that in the dismal past some humans had shaved the heads of slaves, a way to disgrace them. That was about what he was doing now, she realized… and she understood the humiliation of it as she could do nothing but sit bound and suffer. Petals littered the ground around them, a thin carpet of color ripped from her body.

“Aaaaand Shroom picks,” he said before quick-snapping another petal off, more than an hour later. “Congratulations.”

But… she had won? How was that… He opened his hand and Ki’an’i saw not one but two petals flutter down together from his fingers. He had… he had ripped out multiples at once! “Well I guess this is your lucky day, swampie! Where do you want it?”

Ki’an’i hadn’t been thinking about it, certain she was going to lose… she had just sat there, suffering. Teeth chattering, Ki’an’i had to consider her options, and quickly… before he got bored. Instead of having noble reactions like righteous anger or a promise of vengeance as would be befitting a warrior, the fallen officer was ashamed to say that she caved to the impulse of experiencing as little suffering as possible… to her disgrace, she really didn’t believe anymore that she would ever get vengeance on him or the Kthid. Instead, she started thinking of where to beg for herself to be burned.

She had to be smart about her decision. If she elected to have whatever disparaging remark he had in mind pyrographed onto an area that he found non-exciting, then she had little doubt the thug would beat her viciously and most probably perform something even worse instead. She had to think of a body part that wasn’t super-sensitive, like her breasts, but was still alluring enough to catch his interest. The brute’s tyranny had taken such a hold of her that she was now forced to assess how her very own figure should be mutilated.

“M-My thigh,” she stuttered. “Please Master, g-give me a matching brand… on the other one. They’ll look great together. I-I want it.” The stoic, iron-willed Templar felt like she’d become a terrified waif. Were she a human, she would have been full-blown sobbing. Instead, she lacked the ability to do so… only tears streamed down her cheeks, her human Master beholding with great glee the immense fear in the tremble of her eyes.

Shale cocked his head to the side, mimicking the cadence of someone deep in thought. “Alright!” he then exclaimed. “That seems good enough to me! Smile bitch… I’m about to improve that ugly green hue of yours”

Ki’an’i’s visage transformed into a mask of pain even before the soldering iron touched the delicate skin of her inside thigh. She remembered its burning touch with a insentient level of anxiety. Were she in any condition to act otherwise, she would have squirmed and sprawled in desperation to break free. As it was, Thomas could simply grasp her leg by the knee with one hand so to pin it in place as his blazing instrument commenced its sadistic etchings.

“Iiiaaaahh!!!” she bellowed, extreme pain forcing her haggard face and throat to twist again with painful emotion.

“Hah! You scream louder during this then when my cock is in that plant-pussy of yours! Maybe you like this better?” he blithely jeered, invigorated by the opportunity to hurt her as he kept writing. Since her leftwards thigh already read “Property of Thomas Shale,” this scarification needed an equally disparaging twin. To achieve this, the heartless criminal slowly carved in the phrase “Stupid Shroom Slut” on its parallel side. Every line that needed to be incinerated into her felt like a hot knife wound… but having already suffered the extremes of what a biological organism could endure, the Templar woman lay there and took it like a submissive toy, believing there to be no way possible to protect herself from this tragedy.

“Now the T,” he jeered upon finishing the last letter. This vertical stripe followed by a horizontal counterpart made Ki’an’i whole figure fitfully jitter and her mien to go through excruciated expressions. “There!” Shale exclaimed upon finishing. “Man, my penmanship sure has gotten steadier with all this practice.”

Doubly mutilated, Ki’an’i’s trembling lips tried not to scream. Was this supposed to be the rest of her life? For a Sethis, merely coming into contact with smoldering fire birthed the sort of pain that made it feel like she was going to shake right off the mortal coil.  Under Shale’s ownership, this suffering would be never ending.

Maybe she deserved it for betraying her friends.

Still seated upon his knees, Shale’s pupils darted between the twin brands. One was blackly scarred, the other shaded with fresh purple burns. A thin smile of indecision creased his face. “Nah… this just won’t do it,” he announced, seizing her throat in a super-swift stranglehold.

“Uuuhg!” Ki’an’i groaned hoarsely as Shale used his handhold to force her down onto the floor. Supine, he straddled her belly and pinned it with the full mass of his body-weight. It wasn’t much of a struggle against the bound and exhausted woman… he easily pinned her to the floor, sitting on her tits as he looked down at her. Then, once again, he held the blazing-hot smoldering pen up before her green-skinned face. Ki’an’i’s eyes which had been dormant with defeat came alive with fresh terror, and that expression of horror seemed to invigorate her rapist.

“You won… so you got to pick where to get burned,” he said smartly, grinning cruelly. “I never said I wouldn’t do mine too.” He sneered with the most lascivious of leers, truly enjoying the moment. “Don’t move or I might really fuck you up!” Ki’an’i had expected to see that red-glowing instrument travel downward to her stomach, or maybe even have him shift down only so far that he could mutilate her breasts. Instead, it came ever closer, surmounting all the more of her field of vision. With a a start, she realized that he was going to mark-up her face! “Time to make you real pretty, bitch!” Shale snarled.

With the stranglehold keeping her head immobile, the scarring pencil stroked slantwise against her leftwards cheek. The pain proved to be ever-more intense than that which had beset her thighs. Mad with agony, the defeated Guardian became a body of pain. Her legs quivered so hard that they drummed against the floor. She screamed, and she didn’t stop.

Later, when the Sethis’ nerves had become so frazzled with suffering that she couldn’t even convulse anymore, Thomas Shale rose off of the defeated woman with a satisfied grunt. Looking down upon the Guardian’s visage, he couldn’t help but feel a note of pride at what he had accomplished. She had been such a bitch aboard the Midgar-6 while serving as Security Officer. He had been angered each and every time an order was issued . But look at her now… this was quite an attitude adjustment.

Imprinted across Ki’an’i’s cheeks were letters to mark her for what she was. “W-H-R-E.” Her gaping mouth would serve as the “O.” Reveling in his great accomplishment, the criminal unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his stiffened cock. “Now,” he said, slapping his hardening prick against the recent, painful burns on her cheeks. “Thank me for making you less ugly.”

Wordlessly, tears running down the disgraced Templar’s face, Ki’an’i opened her mouth and swallowed her master’s cock.

As the Kthid interceptor returned to where her ship had made its fateful, violent first contact with the Kthid, Amara Black looked listlessly out one of the ship viewports and watched with barely living eyes. From where she sat, the Captain could behold the Midgar-6 where it lay crashed against that enormous space-hulk. Workmen and miniature drone-ships crept over its bulk like flies. Though she lacked any context as to what had happened while she was gone, she could intuit their purpose easily enough… The Kthid were looking to sever off the colonial segment of the ship. This way they could tow away the sleeping people within towards whatever god-forsaken planet they called home.

But that was yet to occur. One last thing was essential… For her to surrender the final parts of the password.

They docked. Her march into slavery was done with all the grandeur of a defeated warrior Queen. Amara Black was stripped of her uniform and forced to walk into the cargo-hold in shameful nudity. Unlike her Officer-colleague who had done the journey previously, she did not marvel or gawk at the alien designs and dimensions of the xenos battlecruiser. Instead, her visage was blank as if shot in monochrome, projecting nothing but a dejected inward focus.

“Masters! You have returned!” an overenthusiastic voice called as Atalanta – a physical body of proud Atalanta! –  scurried up to the returning warriors and promptly abashed herself before their feet. One promptly employed the legendary heroine as his stool to sit on. More copies of the AI rushed over to announce their worship and surrender, not even acknowledging the captured Captain, as if her return was a foregone conclusion.

With an aloofness borne out of great tragedy, Amara took in the scene. Atalanta, the heroine everyone had been certain was invincible, was now a broken servant of the Kthid. When they had lost contact with the copy aboard the ship, Amara had assumed the the distance had simply grown too great for a secure transfer of data… instead, something far worse had happened. They had even somehow managed to replicate her body. Unburdened by shock at this reveal, Amara was swift to realize out the intentions of their alien foes, bringing the Exalted woman here. They showed her this because they wanted to illustrate that their feud was over. If Atalanta was broken, then she had little reason to doubt that both Ki’an’i and Anna had already given up… and only she remained. Soon, she would be made servile too. 

Kicking away the prostrate Atalanta-clones as if they were trash, a guard-team of Kthid lead Amara deeper into the vessel. Right as they were about to pass out of the cargo-hold, the Captain spotted out of the corner of her eye a black-haired feminine figure kneeling with a chained-collar around her neck in the distance. A muscular, young-looking Kthid held possession of that leash. Even while naked, cowed and spotted from afar, Amara could recognize the form of Anna. The Doctor appeared barely less shattered than Amara herself did… but sorrowful emotions still gleamed inside those striking blue pupils as opposed to Amara’s hardened emptiness. They filled with tears at the sight of her Captain, her superior officer brought before the Kthid in chains… another soul realizing that it was finally over as Amara was dragged deeper into the ship.

Amara needed no tale to explain what had happened to the kind-hearted Doctor while in Kthid captivity. She understood well enough.

Gargantuan double-doors opened and Amara Black was shoved inside just before both slammed shut behind her. The Captain required no cultural translator to identify what sort of room she had just entered… alien sensibilities or not. It was a grandiose bedchamber, its many battle-trophies lining the walls confirming the room as the habitat of a warrior.

“So at last,” a gruff, growling reptilian voice spoke out. “The Captain of one million humans… here before me.”

Amara’s head turned rightwards towards an inconspicuous side-entrance. There stood the biggest Kthid she had ever laid eyes on, menace oozing from his flesh like a supernatural aura. Kneeling at his feet was an alien woman, her hands shackled together behind her back. The malachite monster was nude and his engorged cock jutted deep inside the poor, insectile woman’s mouth. He was forcing her to swallow its bulbous tip, the carapaced creature crying and trying to jerk her face away as he committed the oral penetration. Yet the brutish alien didn’t even have to flex his bulging thews to leverage enough muscle-power to keep her head in-position… effortlessly held himself far down the woman’s airway, blocking it with thick cock to the point that it looked like she was about to suffocate.

“Thia,” the humongous green specimen said by way of introduction. He had yet to turn his gaze to address her. “One of my Heitera. My favorite breeding-slaves… just like your sister.”

He yanked Thia’s face backward, the beefy dick exhuming itself from her throat like a sword being pulled from a sheath. The alien woman immediately gasped for oxygen… right before she was hosed down with a series of sperm wads. Porridge-thick bundles of cum befouled her features, one after another, and she breathed it in along with oxygen, coughing in a high-pitched, tinny sounding wail. Her whole face and all its features disappeared underneath that casual proof of masculine virility, only half of one crimson eye peeking out from beneath the seed. 

Panting as if having been brought to the brink of death, the Heitera’s sole uncovered pupil turned Amara’s direction. The insect-woman plaintively sought for some emotion revealing of the Terran’s mettle or character. Amara gave her nothing… focused almost limply forward on the Warlord himself.

Having satisfied himself upon her regal face, Sarcand gave her a smack and then crassly shoved the alien away towards the side-entrance. “Clean yourself up,” he commanded, redirecting his focus towards Amara as he spoke over his shoulder. “You look disgusting.” He leered at Amara’s naked body as he showed off his baleful physicality, the draconian face broadened into a triumphant grin. She recognized him well from their previous encounter over the video call… even as that fateful moment of just a few days ago seemed so long ago now that it might as well have happened in a past life.

“Her whole civilization was exterminated and the remnants of her once glorious race are now our slaves,” Sarcand narrated as he approached Amara slowly. “They’ve brought me many children. Blessed be the Dark Star.”

He advanced further. Amara failed to move. The mere approach of that monster made gooseflesh rise across her skin. She remembered what she had been told about him. This was the male whom had broken her sister… The strongest, most psychologically durable and willfully strong person she had ever heard of. He was her uncontested master. In that, he represented an abomination that she previously didn’t even think existed.

“You puny, soft-fleshed humans will meet the same fate,” Sarcand continued. “The frozen females aboard your vessel will serve as an fitting appetizer for Earth and your other worlds. I will direct the rape of your homeworld myself. The fall of this Terran Federation will bring me great repute among the Kthid war-bands… as well as many progeny.”

Amara tensed. She was terrified in the presence of this beast… That she could not deny. Still, she offered him no reply. After the events which had transpired aboard the Mistrunner, she felt no urgency to counter his word.

“Defeat has made you reticent?” he said with a chuckle. “You’re not the firebrand who promised my death when I took your ship. A classical weakness that one encounters in many inferior races. But no matter. I will break your mind, woman, and rip your password from it. Then we shall see what I’ll do to the rest of your body.”

Though she couldn’t help but feel physically imperiled, especially by the presence of that rigidly jutting scaly member, Amara kept studying him with speechless dejection. The fates had apparently dictated that this was the way it had to be. Sarcand’s dick began twitching with anticipation. Bigger than her forearm, its fitful jolts made her want to take a step back. The red-haired Captain barely stopped herself from gulping. From here on out there was nothing she could do to stop what was to transpire. Amara tried to surrender herself to this fact.

“Enter,” Sarcand spoke, but not to her.

Another side-entrance opened and a statuesque feminine figure strode into the bedchamber, stark naked like the Captain. Though Amara had expected their reunion, she could not brace herself for the reality of its encounter. Smiling slyly, Miranda had only to say two words to shatter Amara’s stoic facade. “Hello, sister.”

“Miranda,” Amara breathed.

Sarcand moved away. The disappearance of his hulking shadow felt like the removal of a mountain. As the fallen heroine stepped in, he seated himself upon his bed and leaned forward with a leer of interest, erection still jutting.

“You accomplished a lot in your escape. You’ve caught the interest of the Huntmaster himself. That’s well done,” Miranda spoke with her usual impeccable sense of poise. “They’ve taken to calling you Kthid-slayer. My, my… not even I received such a grand epithet.”

Amara wondered if the woman was trying to communicate some emotion of pride in her younger sibling. It was the sort of simple praise she had been chasing all her life. Now… it felt hollow, and washed over her like the wind.

“My master has ordered us to fight… with nothing but our legs and fists,” Miranda spoke, holding her chin high as she allowed the importance of those words to hang in-between. “To see which one of his human possessions is the strongest. I suspect that he finds the display erotic.”

Amara looked at her sister. They had done this dance before… On the space-hulk, as well as countless times before across numerous sparring-floors. Her elder sister had always handily won. Now they were to fight for the amusement of a monster. What difference would it make?

“I… suggest that you fight with full intentions of killing me,” Miranda said with the slightest chuckle. “A victory on your end could shape the rest of your existence momentously. One does not get these chances twice with the Kthid.” Stone-still, Amara scarcely listened. She had already understood what was to happen. Then, some minute thought crept at the back of her mind. That chuckle. Had it been mirth? Or did Miranda experience… anxiety?

“I… cannot hold back,” the sister spoke with uncharacteristic paucity. “But I suspect that you know that already, sister. I just can’t. It’s just survival. I have to survive. That’s who I am.”

Sarcand clapped his gigantic palms together. “Begin!” he hollered.

“You have nothing to say to me?” Miranda inquired, cocking one eyebrow.

Amara’s lips parted. Then they resealed. She found that, somehow, she truly didn’t. This was going to be hard enough as it was. No reason to make it worse.

Then before she could blink, Miranda came at her, hands flying. The brilliant woman hit her with the quickest one-two-three combo Amara had ever seen… The Captain brought her forearms up on sheer instinct and shook her shoulder so to deflect the final blow. She wasn’t even sure how the punches had landed before she fired back. Her mind vacant of doubts, she was able to slip into the rhythm of combat without anything holding her back. Miranda ate a hook right on the jaw before she could retain her guard. The hook was half-a-knockout, sending her plummeting onto one knee. Amara saw something she had never before seen in her sister’s eyes… awe! The speed of the punch had rocked her. Cold-blooded, she stepped forward, into the attack herself.

With Miranda on the backfoot, she stalked the heroine with kicks and power-blows meant to send her sprawling. Her sister’s defensive adjustments were immaculate, bobbing and weaving to everything that came at her. When she had regained her footing, the two sisters exchanged again, lighting-fast swings blazing between them. Their connections made loud thudding sounds as fists met forearms or sides, a furious fistfight as they attempted to all but pulverize each other’s bodies.

Realizing that she was losing, Miranda redoubled her effort and fought twice as hard. Scarcely having given any ground despite their frantic footwork, both sisters attacked furiously, naked bodies arching as they each tried to land a solid, decisive blow on the other. This was always Miranda’s ineffable talent, the cornerstone of her renowned genius – a seemingly bottomless pool of willpower to win. No matter what happened, she could always tap that well again and again… even conquered, she would not be surmounted. Despite defensive maneuvers, both sisters absorbed a battery from their counterpart that would have made them both back off and reset in a less personal duel. Instead, gritting teeth, Amara attacked again.

One casting punch hooked her arm around the back of Miranda’s head. The elder sister used this tie-up as an opportunity to grapple. Gripping onto her arm, Miranda forced them chest-to-chest… flattening their breasts together during the air-tight clinch. Then she heaved, and Amara soon found herself flung off her feet as if she was a twig. With a herculean effort of strength, the heroine had deployed a slinging tackle, body-slamming Amara into the hard ground behind them, her back-muscles brutalized. Miranda started hammer-fisting her face as if trying to beat it into a bloody pulp and made the captured Captain cry out as her nose broke.

Amara sprawled like a wrestler. Spinning, she managed to get onto all fours and then power-lifted herself up. Midway up, her sibling took the opportunity to nail her midriff with a knee. Instead of buckling from the hammering at her intestines, the Captain took this opportunity to dash forward and fling them both down with a double-legged kick.

Showing off an impossible level of resilience, Miranda swept her younger sister instantly as they writhed on the ground. The older Black sibling grabbed Amara’s neck and used it as leverage to flip her body above and over her own recumbent form. Cat-like, the fallen heroine surged up until she was on top of her prone sister. Amara attempted to post on all fours like she had before but the opponent hooked both her legs around her arm in a crucifix hold while also grasping onto her across her face. Her balance endangered, the redhead’s stand-up attempt was broken and she plummeted face-down onto the ground. The elder human squeezed so hard with her arm-hold that it felt like the Captain’s jaw was about to dislodge.

“You fight so spiritedly!” Miranda wheezed into her ear via a bleeding mouth. “Why now? Why now, when it no longer matters… why couldn’t you do this earlier? Is it because that pretty Sethis girl who rescued you during our last fight’s gone now?”

Amara had been fighting in a thoughtless state. If this was her reckoning with her sister, then so be it. Was this how Miranda usually encountered danger… With a singular focus and instinct-driven will to fight? No time to think about it. So much pressure was being exerted on Amara’s head that it seemed like her brain was about to pop… yet she never made a sound of pain. Instead, she jolted with all three free limbs so that Miranda was flipped, placing the Heitera upon the floor and Amara on-top of her. During this athletic scramble, Amara managed to dislodge her head and the arm soon followed. Both bolted upright, and they were back to slinging fists and feet.

Miranda was panting. The pace was simply brutal. Blows – both delivered straight and curved – impacted against her figure high and low. She did everything possible to dissuade this barrage. Dodging a lancing hand, Miranda spun so to deliver a roundhouse kick directly against the side of Amara’s head. The Captain had her head swung around so ferociously that it looked like the neck should have snapped, and her brain scrambled, her vision dizzy… Yet not even this could stop her from taking on the role of a terminator. This may well be the very last interaction she had with her sister. She had to make it count.

Amara punched her sister in the face. The heroine wobbled on her feet, stumbling backwards until she hit the wall. Her figure was held upwards solely because of it. Hounding after her, Amara came forward with everything she had.

She did not even see the blow that felled her as Miranda lashed out. Suddenly, everything just went dark. A brief flicker of lucidity flashed before her mind as she was half-way down, its blurry gaze definitively ended as the back of her skull struck the floor. She had come so close to beating her sister. The difference between them had been the thinness of a piece of paper. But that was enough. Amara was down. Their duel ended like all others.


She awoke with Miranda towering above her, panting, groggy, bruised and bleeding from several lacerations. The woman was more rattled than Amara had ever seen – and the fact that she was still breathing hard showed clearly that Amara hadn’t been out for long – yet Miranda remained unconquerable. The Captain attempted to move her limbs and rise but there was no response, her mind scrambled. It was as if the mental linkage between her brain and the extremities had been severed as her limbs just vaguely twitched with no coordination. Even holding onto a thought was hard, and wriggling her limbs free of Miranda’s pin was entirely impossible. Merciless, Miranda pinned her down. During the lockdown, she could feel the woman panting against the nape of her neck. That hot-tempered air was the spirit of her existence. It was as if Amara could feel her sister’s soul. Despite all that had happened, she could not blame the woman, even for this. For all of her faults, Miranda had always been entirely truthful with her… she was all but incapable of lying. Her will was just as immutable as she claimed. She could not change. She had to survive. There would be no other way.

Amara knew her sister was who she was.

Huntmaster Sarcand strode over, his footfalls loud on the floor… ominous, heavy stomps as he towered over them. Both sisters were now coated in sweat, still jostling despite the battle being over.

Lying belly-down, the Captain’s firm ass faced him and wiggled enticingly as they fought. The Kthid gave his dick a few predatory pumps and smiled at the exquisite pleasure he was about to receive. “Keep her pinned as I fuck her,” Sarcand spoke.

“Y-yes, Master…” an exhausted Miranda responded.

“I will use nothing but her rear for now,” he declared. “I’ll only breed her after she has broken and surrendered the password… only after she’s earned it. Such a wildcat deserves nothing less.”

“Yes… Master,” Miranda grunted. She show no sign of her concern, but Amara imagined she could see it anyway… a sympathetic wince. She herself must have immense trouble taking Sarcand’s organ into her ass. For someone who had never had anything there…

Still, the elder sister held Amara down as Sarcand squatted and aligned his enormous cock with the cleft of Amara’s ass. He pushed forwards, parting the ass-globes so that his member could poke against her anus. A jolt of fear shot up Amara’s spine upon physically feeling its girth against her skin… It felt less like a dick and more like some wild hooved animal was trampling on her asshole, exerting a force determined to wedge in something too big to ever possibly go in. Sarcand secured his grip of her hips and then pushed, and only then did Amara truly understand how inconceivably strong the Kthid was. It was the lesbian Captain’s first time having any kind of penetrative sex, and the presence of that hardened shaft pushing inside her felt like something that could only have been accomplished by a cruel god! Her ass screamed with pain as he entered her… Sarcand’s dick sliding into her tight, clenching asshole and forcing its way deeper and deeper while her sister held her down. It was… unstoppable.

Amara gave a breathless scream as the sordid head of his cock moved deeper and deeper inside of her, the alien’s menacing dick sinking further in as her eyes popped wide as saucers. She squealed as the hard shaft hilted deep into her dry, unprepared ass. With a grunt of pleasure, the man’s cock throbbed and kicked inside Amara’s tightest hole. She screamed, thrashing as much as she could, the pain almost unbearable as her rectum was forcefully and suddenly stretched around an enormous cock filling her insides, scraping the walls of her rectum, pressing and skewering deeper and deeper into her bowels.

Her whole asshole felt stretched to unbelievable dimensions… a kind of bodily distortion that made a woman’s mind want to snap. Was this what Miranda had been dealing with for her entire existence as the Huntmaster’s slave? How could she have possibly survived it? As always, Amara was in disbelief of her sister. Then Sarcand began thrusting, and all other thought but that vanished.

His strong, violent labors punished her firm ass with monstrous power, slamming himself against her hard enough that Amara thought he would split her in half. She half wished he would… but the Kthid were too cunning to allow such a possibility to jeopardize their possession of the million colonists. Amara felt terrifyingly sure that Sarcand knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh by the Dark Star! Your sister has a tight asshole!” the brutish alien bellowed as he picked up his speed.

“Thank you… Master,” Miranda reverently intoned. “I am glad she pleases you.” The feeling of her sister’s breath was still evident upon Amara’s sweat-drenched neck. Even as Sarcand viciously reamed that asshole it blew against her, mixing hot and cold. Her mind started to go at the fury of this interspecies sodomy.

Sarcand shifted his weight, pinning Amara in place himself as held her down with his hand and his cock. “I think your sister owes you thanks for your welcome to my harem,” the Huntmaster said. “Make her give you one.”

Amara felt it as her sister moved, shifting until she sat before her. She looked on with wide, unseeing eyes, focused on nothing but the pain in her ass until she saw her sister’s pussy just before her face and realized what they had in mind. Then Miranda grabbed onto her lopsided hair and pulled her sister back against her pussy as Sarcand resuming his thrusting, and Amara screamed as her broken nose pressed against her sister’s hip. “Your master commands you to lick,” Miranda ordered. Amara knew that refusing would only lead to more pain, so despite her horror and pain the dark-skinned girl stuck out her tongue and muffled her screams by lavishing attention on every inch of Miranda’s pretty pink slit, licking and caressing her joy button at the top of her slit and kissing Miranda’s inner folds… doing her best to bring her sister pleasure even as she herself was in unthinkable pain. Every moment was as much heaven for Miranda as it was hell for Amara, and soon her beautiful sister’s cunt was glistening with her lust.

Sarcand began thrusting harder, and Amara flinched away… only to have Miranda’s strong hand pull at the back of her head, pushing her hard down into her crotch again. Squishing her broken nose. Amara screamed and struggled, but Miranda just moaned, grinding herself against the other woman’s wriggling face. Amara tried to turn away, but Miranda forced her hips harder upwards, humping and grinding against Amara as if she was just a toy. “Accept it,” she said softly. “Give in. Fighting only makes it worse. Know when you are beaten and survive.”

Sarcand reached beneath her, his grand hands finding her breasts and squeezing them while he fucked her… finding her nipples between two clawed fingers and pinching them between the pointed nails. “You should listen to her,” the Huntmaster said, growling as he squeezed. Amara’s only response was a wail of anguish, eyes screwed up, tears running down her face at all angles as she was pushed between the alien’s rutting dick and her sister’s hips. Her new master’s cock continued to stab into Amara again and again, hollowing out her ass while her face was made sticky and dripping with Miranda’s juices.

Everything about this felt sick and wrong, completely antithetical to who Amara was as a person. It was hard to tell which part bothered the Captain more – taking her first male cock, its hard length sliding in and out of her; or that the pussy she was licking belonged to her sister. She felt dirty inside, corrupted, violated, like alien filth was seeping into her through the throbbing cock that invaded her ass.

Moaning, coughing, and spluttering as Miranda shoved her crotch against her face, Amara licked and suffered as she was raped… shoved forward hard enough against her sister that she couldn’t breathe through her smothered mouth or broken nose. Tears tumbled down her face as her sister’s pussy covered her mouth completely. Struggling to breathe, she hurriedly stuck out her tongue, licking and lapping frantically at any part of Miranda’s slickened vulva she could reach. Her technique was haphazard and desperate, but it got Miranda moving, moaning and rolling her hips, occasionally letting Amara get a gasp of air.

Amara felt the gush of feminine fluids and the spasming of Miranda’s excited pussy against her face, the other woman gasping and moaning in bliss as she humped and ground her way through her orgasm. Never before had giving another woman an orgasm felt like something dirty… Amara hadn’t really understood how such a beautiful thing could be tainted so badly, but her sister cumming on her tongue made her want to die almost as much as the feeling of the alien’s thick cock, hard as steel, pounding her violently – and then swelling up deep, deep inside her stretched asshole.

Amara winced and gulped back tears as she felt every strand the Huntmaster unloaded into her. She felt his hot sticky cum splatter against the walls of her ass, seeping deep into her bowels. She knew she couldn’t possibly feel it for real, but she swore that she felt the wriggling sensation of hundreds of thousands of alien sperm swimming deeper into her where they would never come up, soaking her insides with his sexual filth.

At last, his climax ended, his last spurt trickling lazily out of the end of his cock as he finished using Amara’s tight ass for his own pleasure. Moaning and moving languidly, Miranda rolled lazily off of Amara, her thighs quivering. Her sister had an odd expression on her face, somewhere between guilt and bliss as she panted while Amara sobbed.

But Sarcand didn’t pull his length out of her… and Amara could tell clearly he wasn’t growing any softer. She was going to be raped again.

And again.

And again.

The Captain knew what was happening. It was time for her to break. They would hurt her and hurt her and hurt her until there was nothing left, until she surrendered the colonists that she was supposed to protect to their tender care… As far as they knew, it was just a matter of time until she gave up.

Never. Amara would never give up. Never.

Next Chapter ->

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