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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.
Crude, almost-medieval weapons clanked and clamored against one another as women fought furiously. Groans, cries, frantic footfalls, and the panting of exhausted lungs likewise resounded alongside this harsh banging. The sand beneath Amara’s feet sprayed as she dodged backward in the center of this primal circus, fighting for her life. The former Captain of the Midgar-6 dexterously maneuvered her staff up, the metal tips of it shining in the light as she raised it to block any incoming blows. Hot perspiration streamed down her temples and back, wearing nothing but her piercings and a strip of cloth she had used to bind her breasts as well as possible.
Steel blurred towards her and she gave ground again, managing to follow the sequence with her staff. Clang clang clang, the steel sung on every hacking blow, the impacts causing tiny sparks to flare between the dueling staffs that stung her bare skin. She stepped back again just as Thia stepped forward again, continuing the whirling dervish of metal and sparks as the last hierarch of the Faliran advanced inexorably on Amara.
“Five Akane eggs on the bug!” a Kthid roared from the stand, the individual in question busy chewing upon one of these delicacies.
“Bah! You have the courage of a Nys! Bet more or join the casteless!” his fellow replied with boisterous gestures.
The Death of Hope had docked within the dyson swarm of Maldoror about three weeks ago. Ever since, there had been startlingly little happening. Amara was certain that a great deal of discussion, politicking, and negotiations were taking place out of her sight, but all that the human captain had witnessed was the slow off-boarding of the human colonists, forced to watch helplessly as those she had sacrificed were taken away. The mood on the ship could best be described as “hungry…” the Kthid warriors were eager for what was to come next, and were looking for sport. It was why so many slaves were in the arena the last several days… and Amara was no exception.
When Amara had first seen these things, she had been shocked. Large, circular rings covered with a silica-like sand, they seemed out of place on the ship, much more at home in the ancient arenas of Earth, or possibly a playground. It had taken her until she saw one of her own… children… fighting in these rings several years ago to realize that they served a similar function – training the young to fight. Shortly after, she found’d that they had another use as well. The Kthid preferred warriors in their Heitera, strong and brave and fierce… and they liked proving it by facing them against one another.
The Faliran’s face was locked in a cold, serious, and almost emotionless express as she advanced, trying to overwhelm the human with a non-stop attack as she pressed her advantage. There came an onslaught of slashes and strikes for Amara to deflect. It was likely that any of them would break her bones if struck directly and Amara wasn’t looking forward to spending more time with one of the Kthid “vets.” Thia didn’t need to respect her return blows nearly as much. Unlike a human’s fleshy form, mother nature had unfortunately equipped the Faliran with far stouter natural defenses. Her tall and lanky feminine figure had many of its vital areas shielded by plates of green carapace, and while Sarcand had ripped away parts of it to expose her for his use, it still left her far more protected than Amara was.
“Hahah! I agree! The Terran isn’t her match, she stands not a chance!” a third Kthid injected on behalf of the second.
Right as he said this, Amara proved that years of slavery and the trauma of pregnancy had not dulled her martial instincts. Thia had finally made a sloppy attack. Wielding her staff two-handed, she parried Thia’s less-than-perfect blow with a dramatic twirl of her weapon that sent both of their hands flailing out-of-position before then coming back with the other half of her weapon, aiming it right for her skull. The metal-coated tip flashed straight for Thia’s visage. The insect queen, however, reacted swiftly – with a grimace, she inclined her head, taking the blow on the armored part of her crown-like forehead instead of her unguarded face. The alien was sent staggering backwards, still dazed by that blunt-force impact, and the loud cracking noise made it plain that the carapace had broken there. Amara quickly moved in pursuit, intercepting her nemesis and swinging a blow designed to knock her down to the sand. Her staff swung…
And the air rang as Thia unfolded her double-set of insectoid-wings and launched herself violently into the air. The buzzing flight just barely enabled her to dodge Amara’s attack, the almost-transparent layers of membrane fluttering at immense speeds to make her airborne.
Amara’s eyes tracked her as she moved, and as she did her gaze flicked over the watching Kthid. They stood or sat around the corners of the amphitheater, rising upwards along its rims in several tiers… and as always, they were dueling before the ever-watchful gaze of Huntmaster Sarcand. The commander of the dangerous vessel lounged comfortably in the front row, his crimson reptilian eyes following every movement of the battle. The winner would be rewarded. The loser punished. This was done not solely for the Space-Dragons’ savage entertainment. It also was an opportunity to sift away any favorites that may have become weak. Amara didn’t know if all Kthid made their Heitera compete to be allowed the privilege of being knocked up, but Sarcand did – he made them earn it with the violence. It seemed to Amara that all Kthid enjoyed pitting their slaves against one another in ritual combat – she had needed to needed to face a dozen other slaves in combat before she had inevitably come face to face with that damned Faliran queen again.
Thia remained airborne, hovering out of reach of Amara as she gathered herself, looking for an opening. Then, abruptly, she dove, her wings driving her downward like a swooping hawk to attack. Amara didn’t even try to really block that swing, it would knock her weapon right out of her hand… she just barely provided resistance to push it to the side as she lunged the other way. She survived, but by the time she rose again, Thia had used her momentum to rise back up and be free from retaliation, already preparing another swoop. Thia drove down for swing after swing, and the fallen captain attempted to counter the attacks with attacking back at any opening, trying to force her flying foe down by hitting her. On one dive she nearly managed to strike her wings by faking a dodge and then jumping a different direction and attacking after Thia had already committed to her angle for the swing, but unfortunately the Feliran monarch proved as adept at fighting in the air as she did on the ground, catching it on her own staff.
When Amara hit the ground once again it was with an exhausted wheeze, feet sinking into the sand. Exertion was badly taxing her vigor by now to do battle… she could only hope that fluttering those large insect wings was even more fatigue-inducing for Thia. “What are the standings between these two?” an older Kthid spectator queried while stroking his snouted jaw, wanting to speculate on the odds. Neighboring spectators from among the predatory space dragons gave what they thought were the correct numbers. Amara wouldn’t have shared that knowledge even if she bothered to remember the specifics… she only knew she had lost far more times than she had won. To her, this wasn’t a mere sport – it was a struggle for survival. Every loss suffered in their previous duels had brought with it a punishment that felt like dying would be preferable. She had, so far, managed to survive them all… Yet that didn’t bring Amara any confidence that she could survive the next one, sundry as these punishments were. Amara knew that there was a reason for this, that Sarcand wished them to be desperate to remain in his good graces… so desperate they would do anything. As such, to her, every one of these duels arranged for Sarcand’s amusement constituted a final battle, a life-or-death struggle beyond any context or reason.
And it was the same for Thia.
Amara had even come to hate the insectoid woman. She really shouldn’t since they were both prisoners chained to the same boat, suffering the same fate, languishing under the same master… but Thia seemed to hate her so completely. She had been here for so many years… even if she couldn’t be truly broken, she could still learn her lessons in survival. Amara knew that… yet it was difficult not to hate her when she was so reliably pitted against someone who tried to kill her, and so much hung in the balance.
Such was life – or more accurately, survival – onboard the Death of Hope.
After yet another unfruitful mid-air engagement, Amara stumbled upon a plan. She could no longer engage the Faliran in her own realm of warfare. Such tactics would inevitably lead to the alien woman’s upper hand. She needed to down that wretched woman. As she made landfall, Amara sunk into the sand with both fists and knees. She had landed right by an intact skull belonging to a long-dead woman of some unknown race. She cupped the bleached-white cranium in one hand, spun around, and flung it towards the still airborne Faliran as she came about from her swooping pass, throwing as hard as she could.
Her aim was dead-center. Thia was as quick as ever… she caught a glimpse of it for just a second and reacted instantly, spinning around right before it hit… just as Amara had hoped. The former monarch of the Faliran had to dodge before even recognizing what sort of missile was hurling her way. With great desperation and effort she reversed herself and lurched out of her trajectory, clearly unbalanced by the drastic maneuver. The woman’s crimson eyes followed the skull as it smashed into a hundred tiny pieces against the domed roof, shattering to smithereens. When she realized that she had been had and turned her frantic attention back to to Amara, she realized too late that her dodge had brought her down low… and on a predictable path. Amara had hurled her staff like a javelin, the metal-weighted tip sending it flying directly for her, too quick to escape. She attempted to dodge anyways.
The javelin smashed through two of her delicate wings, sending Thia screaming to the ground. The green-chitined alien crashed towards the sandy banks with only one side of her wings still flapping. The other side kept the staff impaled through its translucent membrane as she struck the dueling sands hard enough to spray some of it up into the air. Amara sprinted with fists clenched to finish the job, and spectating Kthid who had bet on her victory rose from their seats and bellowed in jubilant triumph. Princess Thia had only half-risen when Amara reached her figure. The Earthling cocked a kick that would boot in her carapaced skull.
But the other Heitera wasn’t going to go down that easily, and she had tricks of her own. Using her still functioning double-wings, Thia wiped them across Amara’s vision, temporarily blocking it… and as she moved, her other hand scooped up a fistful of sand and hurled it in Amara’s direction. The attack proved just as effective as the ex-Captain’s double throw. Already heaving with breath, Amara breathed the coarse sand in and her lungs immediately screamed at her in pain. Blinded and her chest aflame, the human had to react on instinct alone. She leaped towards the impaled staff, hoping to save some sort of advantage… but the alien Queen had predicted this. While Amara lunged for the weapon, the Faliran leaped for Amara.
“Offff!!” Amara wheezed as Thia’s shoulder was driven directly into her belly. The staff painfully ripped its way free of Thia and the two Heiteras crashed against the sand and entered a grapple. This was one avenue where Amara normally should have an advantage. The woman was far stronger than her lanky frame suggested she should be, but Amara was even more so, and her muscle had on several occasions in the past overpowered the lanky extraterrestrial.
This time, however, grappling while blind made all the difference, as did the lack of air… this time, she could not overcome Thia’s maneuverability. The xeno woman got on top of her, straddling Amara’s belly. A loud gasp rang out from the spectators. Too late did Amara realize that this was because the alien had reached out and managed to pull the staff back to herself… while it might be too far away from a human to reach, Thia’s arms were long enough. The Terran’s vision was just returning as Thia shoved the metal top of the staff against her throat like a saw. Amara’s hands reached up and intercepted it by gripping the length, driving splinters into her palms as she tried to push back enough that she could breathe. Immediately the downwards pressure was upon her… the alien woman was forcing the heavy, blunt tip against her windpipe and pressing. Breath was a struggle, and if she kept pushing she might just crush Amara’s throat and then-
“Enough!” Sarcand’s stentorian voice commanded.
The voice blew across the arena like a gust of wind. All susurration from the crowd ended as quickly as Thia’s and Amara’s struggle ceased. After a moment of hesitation and an unreadable stare into Amara’s eyes, the alien dismounted her stomach. Amara had scarcely even understood that she’d lost. She felt a cold sensation hollow out her stomach. After the pulse-pounding fury of battle, the shock of defeat felt silent and dark.
Sarcand rose from his seat and approached the two Heitera. His heavy footfalls were loud thuds even when placed against the sand. The villainous lizard stepped forward until he towered over Amara’s downed form, gazing down at her with his unsympathetic reptilian face. The coldness of the sweat which sheeted her like a patina suddenly felt all the more arctic. Then he… sighed. “Really. So pathetic.” His voice raised as he addressed the others in the room. “It seems the human is the inferior lifeform today, her will to continue on existing the weaker of the two,” that musclebound monster said with a smirk that Amara would have been certain was mocking if she had not heard his earlier sigh of disappointment.
Feeling as if crushed, Amara did what she had to. The Earthling muscled herself onto her knees and then bowed before him with head bent. In contrast to his hulking size her prostrate form was a pitiful creature. She showed the Kthid that he had complete hegemony over her life.
“For this one… punishment,” Sarcand decreed. “But for this one,” he added, reaching out and clasping the Faliran by the hip as if she was some lowly barmaid at a tavern. “She’ll be rewarded… with me!”
Amara remained bowed, her face down to the sand as the Huntmaster did what he always wanted to do after a duel… fuck. That heavyweight monster clearly intended to take the champion of the ship’s arenas right on the dueling-sands where they had just fought. Thia could but scowl in enmity as he wrestled and pinned her with a much greater ease than what had happened during the duel. The other Kthid laughed and cheered this display of brutal bravado. Thia had indeed won, yet her victory carried with it no great boon. Now she had to suffer the agony of her master’s cock… but it was still likely to be paradise compared to what Amara would endure.
Princess Thia shrieked in pain, an uncommon sound coming from the usually stoic woman. Amara raised her gaze just enough to watch what had happened. Sarcand had clutched her injured wing and squeezed, crunching the pierced membrane, and while she could shield herself from despair and misery her master was more than happy to flood the Faliran with physical agony that she couldn’t mask with her social memories. He sneered directly into her grimacing face while he squeezed cruelly. That wing would eventually heal… even if he decided to rip it straight off to keep himself entertained, Sarcand’s favorite vet could make a new one for her.
“Oh, Thia… to be grounded by that one. Are these wings truly your most sensitive parts?” he questioned like an inquisitive lover while directing his scaly, swollen cock towards that cleft in between her legs. Sarcand’s hand simply ripped away at the chitin that had begun to regrow to cover her sensitive parts. His other hand continued holding onto her wings for leverage even as his phallus began pushing inside, making Thia’s mouth purse in excruciating pain as he slowly invaded her with that positively enormous shaft that seemed like it was threatening to bifurcate the alien down the middle. The insides of Thia’s pussy were protected by no carapace or hardness, despite the fact that she was now in desperate need of it.
Momentarily forgotten, Amara remained immobile. Rape by her master was a frequent peril of their slavehood, yet it was such a common spectacle that one could get inured to it. The hulking Huntmaster brutalized their womanly bodies every time he fucked them… Amara’s body tingled with bygone traumas as he began to pump his way into Thia, his huge hips moving violently and the force dispersing the sand underneath her with every inwards plunge. To the Kthid, this kind of conquest was the natural follow-up to fighting, the alien Queen’s callous rape something that no one watching would bat an eye at. For the slaves, the savagery of their ways was overwhelming and monstrous… yet for the Kthid, it was simply second nature.
“Come now, Thia,” Sarcand mocked fondly. “You showed such spirit during the fight. Don’t tell me you now break so easily,” he narrated as he crushed her injured wing in his clawed hand almost like it was a scrap of paper. Thia’s normally serene face malformed in anguish and her mouth bellowed in a cry. Amidst the uproar Amara felt a flash of sympathy despite herself, wanting to get up and do something… but no. What could she do? There was no time for emotions like that. Thia and her kind were but other hazards on board this ship. What Amara needed to care for was herself and her own survival.
A Kthid warrior, the lowest ranked one in the chamber, walked over to her prostrate form and disrespectfully kicked sand in her face. “On your feet, thrall,” he spoke while Sarcand thrust with the abandon of some feral animal, his alacrity a complete contrast to her cold poise.
Amara rose, her nerves tingling. Whatever her punishment was going to be, it would be far worse than this. Still, she followed… because what else could she do?
Guided by the low-ranked Kthid, Amara exited the amphitheater. The moment the double-doors opened and closed behind her, the two of them abruptly stopped. The ex-Captain of the Midgar-6 stood surprised. Normally, losing Heitera were taken to some chamber where a pre-arranged punishment of diabolical design awaited them, oftentimes as intricate as they were painful. Certainly those that Amara had defeated to reach Thia had been quickly taken off, and always in the past she had suffered the same. Sometimes Sarcand would come over himself to administer the punishment and other times he would delegate it as a rarefied reward to his underlings. Now, however, there was a group of Kthid younglings, no doubt the ones who normally trained here, standing around waiting for her… Amara’s tormentors appeared to be staring straight into her face within this very corridor.
“She’s all yours, Shau’lun,” the low-ranked warrior chuckled. Someone slipped something into one of his hands, and he checked it with a grin before he walked away, leaving her with the whelps.
Amara was genuinely surprised by how large the Kthid were. They were still uncasted, which meant they must have been born sometime during the twelve years The Death of Hope had been away from Maldoror, but they looked fully grown… Kthid reached adulthood in just a few years. And despite their youth, they stood head and shoulders taller than her. The one in front of the others smirked wickedly while hefting a single-barreled gun that the Kthid normally would only wield when in battle-armor. “Well well well,” he said, his voice a growl. “I have been waiting for this…”
Amara scrambled her own brain trying to think up a reason why Sarcand would have gifted her punishment to one of the whelps, someone so inexperienced. Before she could reach some insight, however, the fledgling backhanded her across the face. The smack proved harder than any blow Thia could have landed with full force, and Amara Black collapsed to the deck, seeing double while her skull rang like a bell, utterly discombobulated and dazed.
“Alright, then! Time to test out how tough this Heitera bitch really is, right Askvar?” Shau’lun exclaimed as if putting on some performance for his comrades.
“Certainly,” another of the youths, one slighter smaller than Shau’lun, said, his eyes narrowed hatefully.
Amara tried gathering herself as the two talked and bragged about their dominance over one exhausted, conquered woman to their coevals. Shau’lun had her attention first. Her first impression of the caiman monster was one of complete callous insentience, even for a Kthid. This could be dangerous. Sarcand had gifted her to someone both hot-headed and looking to prove himself. Askvar, though, might be even more dangerous… while his eyes lacked the creative, sadistic delight that the other’s had, they had enough anger to make up for it.
“She hardly looks large enough to survive a proper cock,” one of the Kthid youths said. “Are humans really supposed to be something special?”
“As I’ve always said,” Askvar growled. “The reason why one of these Heitera bitches don’t die more readily is that everyone is looking to get fancy with them.”
“Just so, brother,” the other agreed. “They’re special the fools always say. So everyone overthinks how they would handle them… creativity is valuable, but not if it gets in the way of showing them they mean nothing. Some simple brutality can suffice for that. Observe.” Shau’lun spoke with the boundless eagerness that only a youth could display. He turned towards her, wielding that single-barreled gun like it was his cock. In fact, he was even directing that steel prong towards her crotch, looking like he intended to shoot. Arctic chills reverberated down Amara’s spine. He couldn’t possibly be planning on-
“Here are the rules, bitch. I’m going to use this gun to fuck your pussy with. If you make a sound, even once, that means you want to die. Got that? This will go on until Lord Sarcand emerges from that arena. Any questions?” he said, his mouth twisted in a sadistic smile.
“W-What!?” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, a sound like that,” he said, nodding in agreement. “You make any such noises out of that hole in your face when I’m screwing you the way you’re meant for, I’ll pull the trigger and blow you to bloody mist, pussy first. Understood?”
Askvar sneered at her. “This isn’t one of your fancy games, human whore. Father doesn’t give a shit about you… you’re nothing but a disappointment. He’d probably thank us if we got rid of you,” he said with an unflinching glare.
Amara’s anxiety sped into terror. The youth was completely serious! Some small part of her processed that he had said “father,” but compared to the horror of what else was said, it seemed insignificant. The Kthid youths were presenting her with such an absurd challenge to live without any hint of irony at all… It was some simpleminded barbarity elevated to something psychologically damning by the mental strain of remaining silent. The other unblooded Kthid guffawed as he took his first move towards her, gun held at waist height. Amara’s limbs trembled as her body urged her to scamper and run, even though that went against everything she had learned to survive as a Heitera. With just one hand each, the two young Kthid effortlessly flipped her over onto her hands and knees, shoving her down before their apparent leader went to work. Her flesh all but jerked forwards as the weapon’s steel muzzle pushed against her sex. That gun was so enormous it eclipsed even Sarcand’s manhood in size!
“Don’t try to draw this out to win time, whore!” Shau’lun nastily snarled, forcing that rounded steel barrel against the nexus between her legs. Amara’s body skipped forward again as her pussy refused to split for the metal shaft of the weapon as it shoved forward… these boys were insane! Did he really expect that he would be able to shove that weapon directly into her womanhood no problem? He held so little regard for her body that he did not even care about how it worked!
Askvar rolled his eyes. “Help hold her down, will you? This bitch is skittish!” he instructed his friends.
Amara’s heart drummed as the others stamped forth and seized all four of her limbs, pinning her with overwhelming strength. The grimace on her face turned way worse than anything Thia had emoted as it twisted from the dread alone, even without the pain it was already causing her… Amara knew it was about to get so much worse. With no further preamble, Shau’lun reintroduced his weapon to her pussy and this time she could not slide forward. He applied a blunt, unyielding pressure that stoked the urge within her throat to bellow even while still failing to penetrate. The sweat-covered Earthling redirected all her focus and energies towards not crying out, clenching her teeth… this was going to hurt so very, very badly.
“C’mon! Open up!” Shau’lun growled with frustration as he pushed his makeshift erection dead center against her slit. Her taut folds distended and stretched outward, yet could not fully encompass its girth. In response the youth began screwing the gunhead inwards, rotating it around so to better dig into the tissue. The feeling this caused was agonizing… Yet Amara’s true hell arrived as something in her body finally gave up and the barrel suddenly socketed itself inside, crashing through her vaginal-tract in one fell swipe until all his strength has shoved it directly against the entrance to her womb.
“Huuu-!” she gasped, mouth going O-shaped as her eyes bulged and tears flooded out. The blinding pain had nearly made her bellow, yet she had stymied the outcry in the very last second, biting down on her tongue hard enough that she could taste nothing but blood, thinning the cry of agony into just a shocked whimper. Amara’s nerves trembled as if electrocuted as the young Kthid held the barrel firm… in the pulsing vein of an instant she had nearly died!
“Did that count?” Askvar asked his brother.
“Nah! A proper scream, you promised us!” one of their friends quickly countered.
“Yeah! We want a real explosion!” a third laughed.
Shau’lun was in agreement with this, nodding along. “Weak bitch,” he snarled. “She’ll never hold out.” Amara steeled herself with every fiber of will to live she had as he prepared to pummel her cunt with that tremendous gun. Its circular barrel was very long, extending far enough to occupy the entirety of her pussy while leaving more than halfway left outside. Her outstretched pinkness now slavishly hugged that unyielding steel as if it was a cock, utterly mashed aside by its hardness. Using both hands, Shau’lun dragged that weapon backwards so that he could screw it into Amara’s cunt with full-force again, hammering forward once more. “Ugh it’s like sawing through a really tough piece of wood!” he mercilessly quipped while rocking the fallen captain’s pussy, making sure that every plunge impacted directly against her cervix. While this happened his coevals held her extremities outstretched and distended, immobilizing her in the position of an X, even as Amara began to worry she might be about to bite her tongue off.
“Huuu-!” the Captain once again airily gasped, impulses and fears flaring like fireworks going off in her brain. Every flaring neuron and synapse begged for her to do anything to make the pain stop, to primally screech out her anguish at the top of her lungs… yet that instinct could do nothing to help her. No one would come to her aid if she shouted, or show mercy to her… screaming was the very last thing Amara could do! Screaming was one privilege that Sarcand had always bequeathed her. She had no experience in keeping them stymied. The fight against her own instincts was maddening, and the cruel Kthid youths had scarcely begun their cruel game!
Shau’lun continued mercilessly clobbering her cunt. Blunt force was directed against the very thing which made her valuable to these monsters, and there was nothing she could do to brace against the thrusts. The softness of her insides had to content with the merciless hardness of that pounding, hammering, buffeting steel, all of it bearing down onto her womb. Amara had to cling to a single instinct, to survive – blackening out her entire mind save this one solitary flame of endurance. With every second, though, the pain grew, building until it was so extreme that that darkly seemed all-consuming. Vicious power stabs of the weapon were being essentially delivered right against her bones and flesh both, making her cervix and uterus both ache with the rocking thrusts.
“Give in, slave!” the youth lecherously mocked her. “We both know you can’t take it. You will not humiliate me a second time, usurper… just give up. I know you want my ejaculation, weak whore! Just scream once and you’ll get it!”
Amara tried to ignore him. This unholy violation transpired right out in the open, in a public corridor through which other Kthid moved through… and did, along with slaves. No one stopped them, no one seemed to care if she died. If they provided any comment at all on her circumstance, it was a small glance from the slave or a laugh or catcall at Amara’s peril. Everyone was able to see her getting raped by a Kthid firearm, see that barrel skewering deep inside her outstretched pussy, and no one did a thing to protect her. The potential death of Amara could transpire as if it was an event of no importance at all, just another daily desecration occurring onboard the Death of Hope. Most damning of all was that she was stuck hoping for Sarcand, of all people, to come and save her. The monster that had broken her in, had violated her sister, was trying to doom her people, was the only one that seemed to give a solitary shit whether she lived or died. “Uuh-uhh-ffww-” Amara wheezed despite her attempts to keep her lips pursed and sealed as tightly as possible. Any slam into her felt like it could be the last one, the one that would overload the dam holding back her agony and spill it all out at full falsetto. Amara desperately wished that she now possessed a templar’s zen-like ability to focus and meditate, to block out any sensation from their mind, yet she wondered if even that would have been able to hold back this overwhelming hurt… her only hope was to hold out just long enough for Sarcand to come…
The reckless hammering had turned Amara’s pussy into a hotspot of pain. It always did when the Huntmaster fucked her, yet this was different. The metal texture of that barrel chaffed her membrane worse than even his scales did, and as hard and unyielding as her master’s cock was it couldn’t compare to the steel rod that punched into her with even greater force. This shaft, though, wasn’t looking to impregnate her… merely to blast killing force into that chalice which normally enabled her to bequeath life. In her spiraling crescendo of agony, Amara thought that that muzzle even began to blaze, as if announcing its red-hot hatred with pulsating energy. She wondered if Shau’lun held his finger against the trigger. Maybe in his excitement and rage he would even fire out of mistake…
“Damnit!” Askvar growled. “Why won’t she scream already?”
“Fucking bitch,” Shau’lun vehemently snarled with real frustration and rage. “Come on, whore! Just accept it! Just a little squeak. A peep. And it’ll be all over…”
Amara had to strangle even these most minute of sounds. Shau’lun and Askvar, for some reason, seemed eager to take any opportunity to see her dead. The only thing holding the youth back from firing out of frustration was probably the presence of his peers who would think less of him if he broke his own rules.
When Shau’lun shoved inside, her immobilized body lurched forward from the force so hard that her arms threatened to pop from their sockets. Yet the youth’s single-mindedness and rage actually worked to Amara’s advantage. In his eagerness to hurt her and growing desperation to rail her as hard as possible, he never varied his tempo or pace. The fervent urge to adherence to his barbarous rhythm meant that Amara was never taken by surprise. Had a Kthid of Sarcand’s serpentine cunning been slamming her like this, Amara had little doubt that she have certainly been made to scream and thus killed. This way, at least, she could brace for each new spike of agony. It was a small thing, though, when each second carried with a new metallic thunderbolt of agony being sent directly into her most vulnerable body parts. Even moment brought her closer to the edge, and the sheer discipline required to hinder her natural inclinations was not something that was sustainable down the line.
“Hehe! C’mon Shau’lun! I thought we would get to see a human thrall reduced into bloody mush!” one of the other Kthid exclaimed, a sneer on his face. “You said that she was garbage compared to your mother. Now I’m thinking maybe she is the better one after all.”
“Shut up!” Askvar snarled. “You know nothing!”
“Fuck you!” Shau’lun echoed. The youth was clearly getting infuriated. He flexed muscles to empower the plunges of his gun. Amara felt that if there was any fairness in the universe her savagely abused womb and womanhood should have turned numb from the abuse, but still they blazed with agony. The desperate exigency to scream was becoming so overwhelming that she wouldn’t be able to hold it back. And then… that pussy-burrowed gun would blast her into mush without a second’s hesitation. She would die in this corridor, shot by some unblooded Kthid youth just to entertain his fiendish friends. Her entire existence, amounting to nothing… save for bloody splatters across the wall.
And then the double-doors to the amphitheater slid opened and Huntmaster Sarcand stepped outside, flanked by two of his officers that he was in mid conversation with. Shau’lun saw this happen and his eyes went wide, his face caught between rage and shock. The punishment was officially over. As Sarcand’s gaze fell over them, the youth’s limbs trembled in rage, and Amara wondered if he might fire out of sheer spite. Then in one fell motion, Shau’lun tugged that metallic barrel outside so that it obscenely popped out of Amara’s skewered vagina.
Amara sighed in relief… and then, without missing a heartbeat, Shau’lun shoved it forward again, pretending to have missed the Huntmaster’s entrance. This time, however, he had altered his aim. That deadly, bloodstained weapon speared not towards Amara’s gaping pussy but her unskewered ass! The sheer surprise of the blood-slick stab gouged her unexpected anus open, penetrating just as far as the pussy-impaling ones so viciously had, with so much brutality that her frail orifice was speared right through and her sphincter nearly ruptured!
“AAAGH!” Amara wailed in a longwinded and ambiguously loud cry. The glottal noise reverberated as if vibrating up-and-down, just on the edge of transitioning from a whelp to a scream. Several times it threatened to spiral over. Amara had no idea what enabled her to hold it back, her mind blank and blind to everything but the acute fearfulness of death. This vagueness of decibel nearly proved fatal. Shau’lun’s finger hugged the trigger with a trembling itch to squeeze. He hated her. He hated her he hated her he wanted to kill her and blow her sundered viscera in messy shades of crimson all over the floor…
“What are you doing, fledgling?” Sarcand asked with picture-perfect calm, dominating the entire scene.
Trepidation broke out across Shau’lun’s body at the Huntmaster’s words. His eyes redirected from Amara’s prone form back over to the Huntmaster, as if hypnotized.
For a moment, they stood there in tension… then Shau’lun seemed to sag. “Nothing, father,” he said, head down. It was extremely rare to see a Kthid so unmanned, but Shau’lun and Askvar seemed to shrink. Snorts and sneers from their coevals erupted, and Amara could also see their respect physically deflate upon hearing his submission to their father. They dropped and unpinned Amara’s extremities while Shau’lun unhanded the trigger, abashed with shame and ire.
“Uuu—Uuuuhh-UUAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” the ex-Captain of the Midgar-6 finally let the scream she had been holding go, letting it thunder forth with all the power of her lungs. Having held it back for so long, unleashing it was almost as difficult as holding it back. Merely doing so seemed like it should have imploded her lungs and cracked her ribcage. The gunhead still jutted stiffly into her blazing anus which merely intensified the pain. It felt like she had stored up hours worth of screaming inside the deepest parts of herself, and all of these were now escaping her throat in a madcap escapade of emotion and pain. Tomorrow her hoarse throat would ache almost as agonizingly as her pussy and ass.
The Kthid stood by hearing this like a chorus of angels. All of them smirked while looking down at her. For them her near-death and struggle for survival was but entertainment. When these hellacious cries finally died down, some of them actually pouted with regret that they wouldn’t see the spectacle of the Heitera nastily blown-apart pussy-first. All of them seemed like they were satisfied, though… save Shau’lun and Askvar.
“I had guessed that your blood would give you some special enmity towards this whore,” Sarcand casually stated to the two who had initiated her horror. “I’m glad to see that I was wrong.” The huge Kthid looked down at her with a mix of interest and disdain. “Get her to the vet,” he growled. Then he walked away from the youthful warrior, continuing to speak with his officers as if the event in this hallways were beneath his notice.
The Kthid adolescents remained thronging around her as mirth flared and hot blood flamed. Some laughed; Shau’lun and Askvar did not, instead clenching his fist in barely constrained wrath. The two brothers undoubtedly wanted to stomp in her skull as if it was an overripe melon… yet with the punishment over, any right they had to her body was over. As soon as the Huntmaster was outside hearing range, the youths began babbling freely.
“That was your one chance to avenge your worthless whore of a mother,” one of them stated, barely cloaking his malicious amusement. “Looks like she was discarded rightfully after all.”
“Shut up, Ratham,” Askvar snarled at he looked to his brother. “You know nothing.”
“Blood this. Blood that. Bah!” another opined. “What difference does it make? Aliens are but incubators for Kthid spawn. We don’t share blood with them. That is old superstition… The spawn of one woman is the same as the spawn of any other worthless whore… only the father matters.”
Shau’lun did not respond even though they were evidently talking about him. Still holding back his anger like Amara had lidded her screams, the young whelp exhumed his ass-buried gun in a single, savage pull and promptly began walking away. Others followed him as he stored off, leaving Amara behind like trash… just a piece of failed entertainment. Both of her skewered holes remained gaping open like cavernous orifices, their membrane blackened and bruised like her face usually was after Sarcand smacked her around.
What little remained of Amara’s consciousness and sanity realized, as two Kthid warriors began to drag her off to be seen by one of the cruel Kthid doctors, that she was safe… and slowly, a few pieces fell into place. Blood? Mother? Revenge?
Shau’lun and Askvar were no sons of hers. As a Heitera, she did occasionally meet the children she had borne… and besides, none of her own rape-induced spawn had yet grown that old. They were still in childhood training according to Kthid customs, awaiting their castes and younger than these two. So…
The revelation hit her traumatized mind like an epiphany. It flared like a sun. Even in her exhausted and pain-wrecked state it was shocking.
Miranda. These were Miranda’s children…