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.
Turbulence rocked the spaceship, informing Amara that they had likely docked. She and the other human slaves were flung about lightly inside their metal prison, bumping against each other’s sides and shoulders, but none of them uttered so much as a word in response. Despite the absence of their overseers, the atmosphere amongst them seemed especially moribund, as if they were prisoners being herded off towards some terrible execution or doom… because, of course, they were.
A small armada of shuttles had taken off from the Death of Hope, a few of the still-unfrozen human prisoners crowded into them before they were sent streaking towards one of the statites of the Maldoror swarm. Even after more than a month, Amara still couldn’t get over her initial impression of dreadful awe at the truth of this place… the sheer scope of the Dyson Swarm promised power and numbers almost unthinkable to the former captain. The Kthid had ringed their natal star with innumerable space-stations and void-habitats that were all solar-powered by its tremendous heat, gathering nearly all their home star had to offer and channeling it into their industry and agriculture, and the sheer kind of technological might that entailed left her staggered.
Amara had spent three days with the Kthid veterinarian before Sarcand had come for her again, and the very next day she was brought here. She hadn’t been told anything about the exact import of their visit, of course… but she had still managed to puzzle together a pretty good idea of what was going on. Through eavesdropping on Sarcand’s conversations with other Kthid commanders, she had learned that they were here to meet with the rulers of their Imperium, the so-called Sunbreakers that governed the Kthid people, and to which he had to pay homage.
During her years-long enslavement aboard Sarcand’s battleship, Amara had more than once been struck by how faint a contact Sarcand seemed to have to any form of central command. He acted as an independent Warlord, scourging and plundering any planet he happened upon, free to seek any engagement or war no matter the consequences, the distance from home leaving him free to do as he chose… yet that central command obviously did exist, and he was bound to it. Even over distance, their society stayed unified through the dogmas and traditions of their people, alongside pure entrenched military power, rather than the formal structures of mankind’s more tight-knit civilization. Out among the stars, each Warlord acted as his own king… but within the bounds of cultural rules. As such, the Huntmaster would only be journeying back to the Kthid homeworld for some very grand occasion.
And Amara knew what it was. He was meeting with the Sunbreakers to discuss the conquest of Earth.
The Death of Hope was a formidable vessel… far better armed than any that currently existed in the Terran Federation, faster, and with better shielding and armor. If the Death of Hope turned its attention to a solo conquest of a world like Set III, it would likely be able to vanquish an unprepared human world… but as formidable as it may be, it was matchless against the collected firepower of Earth’s defenses. Even if it could be victorious, one ship would never be able to carry back the cargo of slaves they were hoping to claim… it was a task too big for one warlord. A genuine invasion force, what the Kthid called a Harvest Fleet, was needed. An army of Kthid, not a raiding force. This kind of marshaling of their efforts, she knew, had begun the moment Maldoror learned of Miranda’s capture… and instead of the normal raiding-force. Such a marshaling of these scaly space dragons, the Sunbreakers could provide.
This was the politics, then. Sarcand was making his case for control of the Harvest Fleet. It would explain why Amara Black and other humans were being transported to Maldoror, but no other alien concubines. She had not witnessed a single Faliran or Nys while they were being loaded onto the ship. They were not here primarily to provide sexual entertainment, but rather were going to be shown off to the Sunbreakers, as simple illustration of the kind of breeding-slaves that could be looted from Earth. That being the case, Amara was decked out in her glittering Heitera jewelry in gold and silver chains and rings, and many of the other captives were similarly adorned for the very first time.
Amara looked around, trying to recognize faces. Martina Barzola was here amongst them, the dark-haired Hispanic woman who was intended to be one of the Governors of the colony on Miranda. To her great detriment, the woman was often lusted after by the vicious Kthid on account of her curvaceous physical beauty… even after years, the fallen captain had yet to gain any real understanding of how the Kthid appreciated alien beauty standard. It seemed that the way other humans treated the other beautiful woman clued them in that she was exceptional, and that was enough for them.
Seeing her inside this tightly-packed prison shuttle, it struck Amara that they had apparently loaded only the most beautiful, high ranked, and overall most desirable of the human slaves. It seemed that what she had learned was true… the Sunbreakers needed convincing, and Sarcand’s ascension to leader of the Terran campaign was not a forgone conclusion? Maybe other Kthid Huntmasters wanted their piece of the glory and would try to wrestle it away from him? So, were they here as bribes? Or perhaps as impressive signs of Sarcand’s success?
Amara wouldn’t know for sure until she stood before the Sunbreakers themselves… and the redhaired woman was dismally certain that she wouldn’t enjoy that process at all.
The shuttle finished docking, and its ion-engines hummed a decreasing tone before the shuttle sank into perfect silence and stillness. Soon after, the metal cages and the shuttle’s cargo-door both opened and the humans were made to march out into…
An open field.
Amara and most of the other humans stopped in shock. She had expected some kind of spacecraft hanger outside, pressurized despite its enormous size. Failing that, she had at least expected metal containment, or something like looked like the Kthid architecture she had seen on the ship. Nothing could be further from the truth. As Amara got her first look at the inside of the Maldoror swarm, she had to stop and gawk like a tourist. She could feel most of the other humans doing the same… despite their distress and slavery, the sight was so off that it immediately grabbed their attention.
At first glance, she would have thought she was back on Earth, and if she didn’t recognize the flora it could have believably been Earth plants.
Amara had done some math. From observing the statites of the dyson swarm, these monsters had to have a radius of very nearly 90 kilometers. The Maldoror statites didn’t at all resemble the O’Neill cylinders she had been inside. As vast as those had been, they were small enough where the landscape loomed up like a cliff in two directions, the world warping into a notable curve. Here, the inside of the statite was simply too big for that… the land in the spin direction was just beginning to show the start of a curve at the point where it faded into the distance. The fact that it curved up instead of dropping like a normal horizon was disconcerting, but only after Amara stared long enough to notice, and it looked perfectly natural at a glance. Clouds, actual, genuine clouds, formed in several layers, indicating that there was real weather inside the habitat. The clouds cast shadows on the land below or on lower cloud layers. Amara thought she saw the beginning of a rainstorm in the distance… the clouds looked so much like something from home until she saw the thunderhead. Instead of a horizontal pillar, the cloud formation formed a horizontal cyclonic pattern oriented along the axis of the habitat.
The design of the cylinder made no allowance for natural sunlight. Instead, there was some kind of light shining down from a point suspended in the air. It was red to look at, like the star, but like the star its light was bright enough that to Amara’s eyes there was no difference in how she saw colors inside the habitat… the light was bright enough to simply appear white. Within range of clear sight, rolling hills dominated the terrain, interspersed with valleys and plains and forests… and it was beautiful. A few other ships were landed nearby, decorated Kthid warriors emptying out of their hulls. Amara spotting Sarcand’s towering figure at the head of their group. Few Kthid were in sight beyond those immediately nearby however, but nevertheless the world around them was no sterile diorama. Amara could clearly see herds of… something… moving in the open areas. Slow waves propagated through the herds as some unseen stimulus caused brief mass movements. Vast flocks of bird-like creatures wheeled and darted across the sky, unfazed by issues of the coriolis force or odd horizons. Amara had always imagined the Kthid coming from some barren hellscape. Clearly that wasn’t the case. Surely not every habitat like this – given that the swarm would contain more than three hundred billion square miles of usable land, making it all into the same kind of habitat would take a supreme failure of the imagination – but Amara could immediately tell that this was a representation of the world they had come from, and left behind.
Turning around, Amara was stunned to see that she could see into space. It boggled her mind for a second before she realized that it actually made perfect sense… there was no reason to seal the ends of the cylinder. While the cylinder barely looked like it was moving, that was an illusion caused by its fast size… it would have to be moving about a mile every other second. At that speed, the same rotational force that left her feeling gravity would hold the air in place just fine… the spillage would be less than the Midgar-6 vented per day, she wagered, and it let ships simply fly inside to land.
Once again, the sense of awe went hand in hand with a dawning sense of dread. The sheer power of the civilization that had built something like that… not just one of them, but thousands… The other humans were as baffled as she by this immensity. It was as if their eyes could not comprehend that the vistas they were beholding were not on a world but a habitat in space. One Kthid warrior headed over to them, seemingly irked that he was ordered to watch over the slaves. “Move!” he thundered, raising his fist.
The crowd of prisoners was ushered forward, following after their conquerors as they were lead across the… well, it wasn’t actually grass, but it certainly was a close analogue. They had barely walked for five minutes through the plains and trees, however, before they reached a small, low-slung structure that was almost invisible among the forest as it sank into the ground, and they stepped down a flight of stairs into something that was, at once, far more like the Kthid architecture she knew and something completely different. Like the Death of Hope, it featured the counted corners and cornices, the red lighting and the bleak stone… but unlike the Death of Hope, almost every inch was carved in elaborate murals of stone. It looked unbelievably fancy… and expensive. Artisans had spent years working on these walls, and it only took a few more feet of walking to realize that this was no temple or government center… it was a train station.
And it was busy.
Up above, she hadn’t seen many Kthid. Now she saw thousands of them, moving through the underground station or through the obviously mag-lev trains that made up the underground, blitzing by the station at unbelievable speeds… and always headed in one direction. Everyone was headed the same way they were going. She was amid a nexus of swarming vehicles, moving Kthid, and no small amount of their slaves as they raced by her all around, and it was so chaotic that she almost didn’t realize when Sarcand came to an abrupt stop.
This was the first time Amara had witnessed Kthid outside of the Huntmaster’s crew and they seemed very much akin to what she already knew. Many of them traveled with slaves of their own – her Master was no outlier or radical among these stellar-aged demons, just another enthusiastic servant of imperialistic evil. There were differences, however… most notably of features, and color. Those aboard the Death of Hope were all but uniformly in shades of green – Out here, however, browns and greys abounded, along with pale yellows and blues so dark they tinted towards black. The style of clothing, jewelry, and other adornments were far more diverse as well… doubtlessly because other casts than Warriors and Engineers were represented. Sarcand himself, she noted however, was no less of an anomaly here than he was on his ship… the Kthid Huntmaster was truly enormous, and the other Kthid he stood before made that abundantly clear. Most Kthid that she had seen wore very little if they weren’t going to war, their bodies protecting them sufficiently from the environment not to require clothing. The man who was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp stood wearing some kind of lacquered metal that resembled nothing so much as some kind of fantastic version of medieval plate mail, complete with outrageously ornate filigree and a black and violet cloak that he wore almost like a cape. It covered his head in shadow, but while the cloak hid much of his body it couldn’t hide that he was significantly smaller than the Huntmaster, nor the grey tint of his scales.
“Zrakhal!” Sarcand said, slightly bowing his head as he pushed his fist across his chest. “It is good to see you again. It had been too long.”
“Or not long enough,” the other Kthid said. He bowed his head almost exactly as much, but did not give the salute. “Korgath has not forgiven you, warrior. You are in great danger here.”
The enormous warrior lizard snorted. “Some things never change,” he said shortly. “This is one of them.”
The other Kthid, evidently Zrakhal, shook his head in disbelief. “And you want to drag me into your madness, and sponsor your youngest to the priesthood?” He drew one huge clawed hand across his neck. “Feed myself into Kan’lun’s maw right next to you?”
“I did save your life,” Sarcand growled.
Zrakhal stared at him for a few seconds. Then he started laughing. “And so you did. I was a much younger man then.” He snorted again, then looked past Sarcand at where Amara stood, watching, staring. “Is this the one?” he asked. “The human Sashem that you claimed, that lead these captives?”
Sarcand turned to look at her, the glance dismissive. “It is,” he acknowledged. “She will need to be in the conclave. I will be presenting the others to the Sunbreakers, and as you say… Korgath and his spawn will not be forgiving.”
“You prepare for violence, and wish me to place my body between a slave and danger? You don’t ask for much,” Zrakhal growled. He made a sound deep in his throat that Amara recognized as disgust. “Fine. As you wish. I will see to your… human’s… purification, and protect her until she can be presented with you in the light of Shau’lun.” He nodded, and Amara abruptly realized that dozens of Kthid down here must have been with him… they stepped forward, taking possession of the humans from the other Kthid guards. Group after group, the humans were herded onto trains with their new captors, most of Sarcand’s soldiers dispersing. To her surprise, Sarcand went with them… leaving Amara standing before the new Kthid without her master.
He stared at her in silence for at time. “You don’t look like much,” he said as he looked her up and down. “Pretty enough. Seems strong. But… hardly seem like a challenge for the might of the children of Shau’lun, those who bath in his glorious light. Once, though… once you were. You will be a truly fitting tribute to our Father.”
Amara looked back at him as he raised one hand and traced the claw over her shoulder and down to her breast, lifting it testingly. Shau’lun… that meant the Dark Star, or so she had gathered. At least one of the words they used for it. She had heard Kthid speak of it regularly, swear by it, curse by it… but never had she heard anyone speak of it with the same kind of fanatical tone that this one used. There was something like awe and reverence in his voice as he spoke of both it, and her. That admiration, however, wasn’t for Amara… it was for the idea of her. For what she was to him, for her role. It was like listening to a preacher in an old movie.
He twisted her breast once, then he let it drop, crimson eyes watching as her nipple swayed back and forth. Then he reached up and attached a slender golden chain to the center point of her piercings, turning them into a leash. “You, human. You will follow me. Go where I go. See what I see. Then we will see the glory of Sarcand if the Dark Star wills it.”
Zrakhal pulled on the chain, and Amara hurried to keep up. “Yes, master,” she said, trying to keep her eyes low even while she looked around with her mix of awe and horror. The armored Kthid noticed, but he didn’t stop her from looking as he boarded one of the trains himself, holding onto one of the rails, and Amara had barely done the same before the train began to move. There was no lurch… the acceleration was so smooth that she almost didn’t notice as first, but then the station was gone and they were racing along. The view through the window wasn’t much… it looked like they were skipping down into an area between the outer, stationary frame of the habitat and the inner, spinning frame. They were moving against the spin, doubtless for rotation control, but it meant that the frame was spinning so fast that her eyes could barely process it. It was only when they transitioned back above ground that she could look around and see the massive forest they were zipping through at speeds that boggled the mind… and where they were headed.
At first, Amara didn’t realize what she was looking at. It just looked like a small building nearby, and it was only when she realized how fast she was still moving, and the way it slowly grew larger with every passing heartbeat, that she understood how . To say the building was large gave entirely the wrong scale… this construction wasn’t big on the scale of buildings, it was big on the scale of mountains. The enormous, pyramidal structure stretched more than a mile into the sky, and covered hundreds of square miles at the base… large enough that the angles appeared slightly off in its construction from the curvature of the habitat foundation. The building was enormous, carved with hundreds of engraved scenes so large that Amara was the size of a pixel in their design. From where she was, she could see other train lines emerging from the forest and converging on that mammoth structure.
The track they were flashing along was swallowed whole by the building, sending Amara deep into the darkness. Without being able to see, she almost didn’t feel the deceleration, leaving her actually surprised when they emerged out into an internal structure moving slowly. Then their small train slid to a stop and the doors opened, and Zrakhal stepped outside as casually as if the ride had just been a brief interruption in his walking pace, pulling the redhaired slave behind him.
The first thing she noticed was the sound. It was made faint through echoes and distance and sheer number of voices blending together… but it was unmistakable. The voices of millions of slaves crying out in pain, making the same sounds Amara herself had made on her rapist’s tool a thousand times over. These sounds of agony erupted from so many voices that it became background noise, an echoing chorus of misery and agony that could only have belonged in some kind of biblical hell. So immediate and so visceral was the wall of sound that it took long moments before the visuals of the building even registered to her. As soon as she was outside of the train and free to look around, the ex-captain realized that she was standing within the confines of what she could only call some kind of vast, futuristic techno-gothic temple. This environment was not just one room of a building… it was a true megastructure, seemingly one large open space. Its vaulted ceiling seemed to be built after the dimensions of titans rather than humans or Kthid, and Amara almost felt as if standing within the belly of some immense stellar whale. It was almost a habitat within a habitat, and the dark stone of its walls formed a somber, serious atmosphere around them. Looking up, Amara noticed a painted fresco so large that it belied belief of the Dark Star, covered in violent light and radiation as it bathed down on the temple.
Despite the station being mostly one room, it did sport vast multi-level platforms, like over ruling continents above a waterless ocean-floor. A few grandiose stairways connected these platforms to the station ground down below. In spite of not being able to reach the platform’s edge and get a good gaze down into those lower depths, Amara had enough intuitive understanding of how Kthid society worked by now to realize the reason for this demarcation. If this enormous structure was built for the purposes of the honor and glory of their casted members, then those lower levels were for the casteless.
The stone bridge that Amara was on connected to a main pathway which led off into the distance. This was a proper boulevard… broad as a freeway, crawling with moving people, and interconnected with many other such free-hanging platforms via diverging bridges. Amara thought herself able to spot some sort of building within the building in the distance which undoubtedly was their intended destination. Most of the other Kthid in the cloaks set off towards it, marching at the head of the procession as, befitting their status as biological property, the humans walked behind them. Amara began to follow. Zrakhal, however, pulled on her nipple chains, making her yelp as he pulled her on a different route. “They are being taken to be prepared,” Zrakhal growled by way of explanation. “You are not being presented to the Sunbreakers… you are merely being escorted, and I am not going to miss the festivities on your behalf. Come.”
Amara turned to follow him, hurrying to keep up before he tugged on her sensitive nipples once more. However, as soon as she followed him onto the massive pathway, she could see that the building the rest of her colonists and crew were being sent to was not the only building, nor the largest. There was an enormous, temple like construction in the distance, and other massive constructions loomed much closer to the route Amara walked along. Lining the sides of the boulevard were one statue after another after another of naked, beautiful alien women. They came in sets of two – each pair facing each other like they were forming a gateway to step between. No two pairs were alike… each was seemingly a depiction of a different species, and so lifelike and details that if they weren’t so larger than life Amara would have wondered if they had turned living subjects to stone like the gorgon of old legends. She walked past dozens and dozens of slaves before she realized that the pair that she was walking between were Faliran women, rendered in intricate stone.
Amara would have expected the women in the statues to be on their knees, perhaps, or in chains… cowering in fear, or on their backs with their legs spread. The Kthid, however, were not so gaudy as that. Instead, each statue was a masterwork, so perfectly capturing the features and emotions of its subject. Each one stared onward not in fear or shock or dismay but in a simple, hopeless look of forlorn loss… a realization of their own defeat. Again, Amara Black needed to be no sociologist or art critic to comprehend the cultural context of the decorations – The Kthid sense of aesthetics, while clearly highly skilled, was not particularly subtle, and these depictions were plain enough – These women represented the alien civilizations that the Kthid had found, conquered, enslaved and most likely wiped out in their history.
And the row of statues went on as far as she could see.
What Amara was looking at were historical monuments celebrating genocide beyond imagination, and the sheer number of them staggered her. Each one of these statues represented an entirely unique type of lifeform that had evolved, gained sentience, reached for the stars, and then been snuffed from existence. Death on this scale… it was something that no individual was ever meant to contemplate, let alone see so starkly illustrated before them. Not even Amara was so numb to the totalitarian horror of the Kthid that she was immune to being momentarily struck paralyzed by its implications.
Thankfully, Zrakhal didn’t pull, merely smiling at her as she stared down the way of the statues. “That’s right…” he said slowly. “Your people will be the next memorial on the row. Just one more monument to the Dark Star’s glory.” The pathway itself was relatively replete with traffic, though all those who walked seemed to deferentially avoid or step aside from the armored, cloaked figure holding her reins. Amara forced herself to look away from the statues and at those around her, both Kthid and enslaved female aliens. The Kthid ranged in caste, dress, and color, but on the whole the differences between them were unremarkable… their slaves, however, were anything but. They represented a baffling potpourri of previously unknown lifeforms. Just gazing into the crowds traveling the boulevard or outlying platforms, she discovered races of extraterrestrials wholly new to her eyes… and while most on her road moved instead of stopping to abuse their playthings, the outlying platforms appeared very much the opposite. There were so many of these discoveries made in just a few seconds of staring that the ex-captain could not even characterize or memorize them all, merely experience the specimens as an intergalactic encyclopedia, a menagerie of what biological life this vast galaxy contained. It was as if she beheld some phantasmagoria, a confusing dream in terrible lucidity.
Not all of the aliens were new to her… Faliran, like they were on the Death of Hope, were relatively common… no doubt a sign of the scope of their civilization and the relative newness of their conquest. Many of the six-armed Arane moved amidst the crowd, every bit as furtive as her own nameless attendant as they saw to the needs of their master. Amara also thought she might have seen a Nys, but the sight was so fleeting that she couldn’t know for certain. Beyond them, however, there were dozens of new aliens to see.
With such a multiform trove of new life exposed to her, only the most outlandish and eye-catching Aliens truly stood out in her mind. Needless to say, the Kthid’s attitude towards sex was as casual and sadistic as it was on board the Death of Hope. On virtually every platform there was some example of rape being committed for the sake of entertainment. Her ears were absorbed by the din of their lamentations. The sounds of women being raped came as hollers, squawks, baying, wailing, and many inarticulate noises undefined.
The first such fantastical creatures she happened upon were a species of bioluminescent alien women. These were of a standard humanoid appearance, only appearing albino-white and hairless while sporting bulging black eyes which lacked pupils or irises. Amara spotted a pair of them in mid-rape, both being viciously skewered from behind by their oversized Kthid masters, their naturally alabaster skin flashing in multicolored hued of agony like a lightshow. As they screamed, those countenances would shift between azure blue, tyrian purple, and jade green, seemingly at a random interval and usually reverting to albino-white in-between transitions. Sometimes, different parts of their bodies would even turn luminescent with different kinds of colors, turning the alien women into some kind of horrible sexual kaleidoscope. It was very evident that this state of luminescence was not a natural state for the two alien women… the chaos of florescence across their bellowing and grimacing features added to the sense of emotional turmoil, a maddening visualization of their emotional hurt.
More so that even the rape or light show, however, something else ensnared Amara’s eyes. The rape was one of thousands on her eyesight, and the second merely a gaudy accoutrement in a sea of equally noteworthy features. What instead had caught her attention was the large number of Kthid standing around and watching the rape, rather than partaking in it like they normally would. These were separated into two different groups and seemed to cheer for either one of the two Kthid violators, treating the public desecration as some sort of game or a sport. One of the Kthid onlookers even clasped a nearby Arane, held her up above his head, and shook the dark-skinned alien around as if wanting to place a bet. Amara was beholding an ongoing contest, she realized. When she focused, she could hear the shouting voices from that platform, a chorus of Kthid enjoyment. “Red! Red! Red!”
Keeping up their hysterical pummeling which caused the alabaster slaves to be flung about, one of the alien’s glowing effulgence did slowly seem to turn in a reddish direction. This had started off as a deep purple but instead of being switched out, the tinting only intensified until approaching something vaguely crimson. Both Kthid panted and started fucking even harder as if approaching the end-zone, their muscles twitching from being overburdened, all while the audience edged them on like the most rabid fanbase. It was evidently a close race… the other bioluminescent alien was not far behind.
The last Amara saw of the pair of suffering women before Zrakhal began to pull her forward again and out of view was of one of them turning almost cherry red before collapsing into some spasmodic fit. Every part of her visage had not only taken on this unnatural hue but was vibrating as well, the eyes shaking in their sockets, the cheeks undulating. It was an insentient level of physical hurt… yet still the Kthid kept cheering as if the contest was not truly over, and their rapists continued to fuck them. What would come next? How much more could they do to them? It seemed like they were in some kind of fit… it seemed like more would ensure the female aliens a grisly and undignified death. Whatever their captors intended, Amara was sure that it would prove something unthinkably cruel. Without exception, that seemed to be the Kthid way.
And almost as distressing as the glimpse of this rape-sport was how many of the Kthid from other platform looked on with eagerness, interest, and glee, as if looking forward to participating in the event later. The onlooking Kthid bellowed roars and sadistic laughter in the distance. Amara perked her ears for any hint as to the ending, but the malachite demons proved too clamorous for her to be certain. Even the nature of their suffering and possible deaths was secondary to ostentatious Kthid pleasure.
Amara had seen things like this before… during the initial celebration after cracking open the colonists from their stasis. This wasn’t mere rape, or normal domination like had filled the last five years… this was some kind of celebration, a festival to celebrate some grand event where the goal wasn’t mere sex but to get to indulge their cruel urges in a way beyond the sustainable. Amara suspected that it was related to her, and Earth…
Zrakhal took a path onto one of the side platforms, winding between horrible games, competitions, and sexual anguish. The next extraterrestrial lifeforms that caught Amara’s eyes were so unusual that the former captain didn’t even recognize it as such at first… it took until she could distinguish their muted screams to realize that something was there at all, something unlike anything imagined by telluric astrobiologists. On the sparsely populated platform there were placed big glass vats whose translucent interiors billowed with gaseous substances. Surrounding these tubes were comfortable benches that served the same purpose as human sofas for the Kthid anatomy, allowing them to sit and admire these vats akin to some superlative artwork. Many had their personal Heitera with them, providing blowjobs and massages while the Kthid reclined.
As Amara grew near to those vats she realized that the vapor therein was not merely a chaotic swirl, but vaguely formed into repeated patterns… patterns that suggested the shape of a bipedal person. These were no mere clouds of gas but semi-distinguishable beings, svelte and feminine figured, curves and limbs briefly announcing themselves depending on how the flickering vapors ebbed and flowed. It was as if they were constructed out of the thinness of ether, like djinns or phantasmal ghosts. Something solid floated within the clouds, small bits of it visible within the mist forming what Amara could think of as eyes, and likely forming some kind of nervous system and brain. Amara was genuinely stunned at the sight of them… What sort of strange and ultramundane environment could have enabled their existence? Undeniably some titan of a planet made up entirely out of gas, such as Jupiter or Saturn, or possibly merely a thick-atmosphered one like Venus? How did they hold themselves together? More pressingly… what use could they be to the Kthid? If these truly were mostly-gaseous beings, then rape would be impossible. After all, they were not corporal, merely the building-blocks of life joined in an extremely stretched-out configuration. A collection of cells communing by some means while surfing upon the billowing gas.
Amara’s green eyes searched for purpose. If her theory was correct, then these mist-aliens would surely die if released from their vats and removed from the pressure of their native environment, scattered without the gases which constituted their skeleton. However, these translucent tubes did not merely seem to function as lifeboats. Their configuration was quite complex, with many pipes and conduits leading into the main vat. More revealingly, the creatures within seemed terrified to be there. They swirled around, attempting to pound against the glass-made walls with fists that dissolved into mist upon connection. They would rather prefer death to whatever insidious torment the stellar-aged demons were planning to inflict upon them.
Amara could relate to the feeling.
One of those reclining Kthid start pressing buttons on a remote he held. His snouted face twisted into a grin while observing the effects. Despite being entities without strict form or substance, the mist-aliens could still be assailed by elements of a similar nature. The two vats closest to Amara were hit with diametrically opposed forces. In one, wintery gales stormed in from one of the adjoined tubes, blasting the vat with the sort of blizzard which sapped life of all strength to live. The red-haired human captive watched as the gas quickly turned into a snowstorm, big flakes of frost billowing around and ice sheets beginning to form against the glass. She could vividly behold the extraterrestrial shivering within, shaking so terribly that it looked like some motor-driven vibration. In accordance with the laws of thermodynamics, the cells which constituted her sentience contracted in an effort to maintain heat. Due to her low cell count, this significantly reduced her volume. She was diminished from something a little large than a human female into the stature of a pygmy and threatened to downsize even further than that. In the end, she did not even look humanoid, more like an oval ball of frostiness which appeared likely to implode at any second, though Amara’s vision was greatly hampered by the glacial white which blurred out the sight of the vat’s interiors.
In the sibling vat, the opposite occurred. Instead of freezing gas there came a superheated steam, like water poured upon the heating stones of a sauna. The vat’s tenant was practically boiled alive, her inhabitation turned into a gaseous furnace. It was from this resident that Amara heard the hysterical screaming which first clued her into the fact that these were living beings and not just billowing mist. This alien was evaporated into a state of near extinction, her being dissolved so broadly that she became more mist then humanoid.
For a brief moment, Amara could see handprints forming against the glass, as if pushing to get out. Then these became dotting fingerprints, then nothing at all. She simply did not have any substance with which to interact with the outside world anymore… save for her bellowing screams. Even while muted by the glass they were quite audible. How could such an uncanny life form even produce sound to begin with… she didn’t note anything that could serve as lungs, so it had to be through some other kind of vibration in the gas. Amara’s heart ached for the poor alien woman.
The other vats were made replete with more unusual and difficult-to-identify forms of torture. In one, a lime-green miasma was pumped into its territory, said fumes coming slow-drifting from the bottom towards the top. The alien subjected to this strange mix bolted away from it, trying to push herself against the upper corner of the vat so as to avoid it as long as possible. Her gaseous form shook like a cornered cat as this toxic miasma drifted towards her, and when it finally reached her, the alien exhibited a reaction that Amara could only describe as convulsing. Her thoughts drifted back to teenage years studying pre-Federation history, to the deplorable mustard-gas deployed in World War 1. This seemed quite similar, at least in the terror it instilled.
The other vats were far too unearthly and out of her understanding for the ex-Captain to truly understand what was happening to them. She could distinguish the screams though, and so realized that it was nothing good. One was hit with multicolored rays, like some sort of radiation which mutated away her essence. Another vat sported what looked like a connected trumpet-formed pipe. From this boomed some low-decibel sound which caused all of the gaseous substances to flutter and undulate in an unnatural manner. This strange sound-phenomena made even the alien woman’s screaming seem off and inarticulate. Another was filled with what Amara assumed to be some sort of poisonous rainfall, yellow-colored droplets pouring from the ceiling. The furthest one from her was seemingly emptied of gas, asphyxiating its resident. One vat, however, simply turned into an onyx black. It was an all-consuming oily darkness which proved utterly impenetrable to the eye. Amara had no idea what happened within… nor did she hear any screams. The unknown malignancy of this unnerved her.
What she did not witness, however, was any sexual activity… no rape, no breeding. It was, Amara decided, a glimpse into the darkness of the values and culture of these conquerors… in that they couldn’t impregnate these mysterious aliens, merely see them suffer. Usually anything which they could not breed with was killed on the spot and treated like useless garbage. On a visceral level, it all felt very much the same to Amara. It seemed like so much of their society was dedicated to the violent propagation of their species… perhaps these malachite reavers simply found these mist-aliens so exotic that they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see them suffer?
Zrakhal certainly seemed enraptured by watching them. He put one of his hands on the tank containing the dark void, smiling distantly at it. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
“Decadent slobs,” a casted Kthid from another platform snarled at them. “No better than the casteless. You will…” Zrakhal slowly turned to face the speaker, and he stopped… looking uncomfortable for a moment before he snarled and turned away.
“Their suffering pleased the Dark Star,” the cloaked Kthid said firmly, aware that for the moment all eyes were focused on him. “That they were birthed by the will of Kan’lun is reason enough to take delight in this justice.” He looked around at those on the couch. “Be shamed not by the foolish… and revel in your purpose. Dark Star smile upon you.” He turned and gave Amara a sharp tug despite the fact that the redhead had begun moving barely a heartbeat behind him, making her scream out as her piercings were stretched nearly an inch further from her body. “Glory to the Dark Star.”
He moved on, Amara’s body throbbing in pain as she put one foot in front of the other. The burning agony in her nipples worked towards helping the other scenes of extreme depravity they passed blend together to Amara’s senses. It was only when they reached what was clearly some kind of meal area and Zrakhal stopped again that she realized she was amidst another scene of misery.
Amara was used to Kthid food by now… while the Kthid prepared them very healthy meals to keep their strength up, it was never in the style or seasonings that her stomach was adjusted to. Still, the smell of cooking meat made her stomach growl even before she looked around and saw what was going on in the spectacle of interspecies depravity. While some of the Kthid where busy devouring meat-rich meals, others were busy violating unknown alien lifeforms right out in the open upon the dining tables. Some were even electing to combine the two activates at once. Everywhere Amara’s gaze went, she beheld these green monsters skewering their dicks into slave-women that were clearly unwilling to be their receptacles. It was mass-rape that appeared both incredibly ruthless and incredibly casual at the same time.
The alien women here resembled nothing so much as humanoid squids. The top half of their body was almost entirely humanoid, but beneath the hips they were a mix of cephalopodal tentacles in place of legs. Those tentacles appeared multi-used by the Kthid… in some cases, they flailed in pain, but in others they were used to service their captors, or to embrace them, or in one case to rape another of their number. There were only ten of the squid women here, but their biology meant that each could service many of the diners.
Amara looked around, soaking in the depravity. There were pools in the back of the room that contained a few others, she noted. She saw one of the Kthid walk and plunge his hand down into one of the pool, jerking it around, and then pulling another of the captives up. Blocking passers-by, diners, and rapists made the scene difficult to distinguish for Amara, but she could see enough to see the Kthid’s claws squeezed around the neck of one of the alien beauties while slapping her around. Her skin, the captain noted, seemed to flash and change color slightly with each blow… Looking throughout the scene, it appeared that these aliens shared their Terran counterparts’ chromatographic ability to shift the color of their skin. Though their normal pigmentation appeared to be that of a sky-blue with dispersed patches of a light jade, the torment the Kthid were inflicting upon them made their hue change and alter drastically in a manner that seemed both instinctual and unwilling. Blue occasionally flashed over towards red or purple, or orange upon their screaming faces. Occasionally, they were a stark, pale white, though for the most part they remained within shades of blue. The watching Amara got a good look at their wide-ranging ability to color shift… There wasn’t a single female member of this infernal orgy who didn’t seem to be in excruciating pain.
The women weren’t large… while their tentacles were long, these amphibious aliens were svelte and short-statured in the upper body. Underwater, where they could use their tentacles to full effect, they might be able to overpower their violators… but in the narrow confines and surrounded by dozens of angry Kthid, there was no chance. This, Amara realized, was their home. These tanks couldn’t be so easily moved. These aliens were kept here permanently to be raped, to serve as entertainment sustenance along with the food… more of an installed utility than a person.
Zrakhal was content to stop and eat, and to fuck one of them. “These Cephalians truly are a wonder,” he told Amara as he tugged her close by her chain, pressing her body against that of the squid – the Cephalian – he was raping. “They have by far the most pliable pussies I’ve ever fucked! They, as a species, know their purpose… their very biology is dedicated to the service of Kthid cocks.” To Amara’s horror, it seemed his comment had been very apt. At the woman’s pubic-mound, there was an considerable bulge at Zrakhal thrusts which distorted the entire region. In inserting his scaly reptilian cock, the Kthid had not only penetrated her but also bulged-out the alien’s insides so extensively that it visibly showed from the outside. Scanning across the mess hall, Amara discovered that this was true for virtually all of the Cephalian women. Judging by their pitiful screaming and hurtful grimaces, it was clear that this was not how intercourse was normally done in their species… they just had the misfortune of being able to warp, stretch, and deform their bodies around Kthid cock.
Another sadistic delight that the Kthid heartily partook in concerned the squid-women’s tentacles. These appeared just as bendable as their pussies. Zrakhal busied himself pulling, yanking and tugging at these appendages while he fucked his current entertainment. He would pull them outwards until the entire tentacles went taut and then started slimming down so to stretch even more. Of course, this caused these extraterrestrial unfortunates a great deal of pain, and she went white as she was stretched almost to the tearing point before he laughed and released her, only to move onto the next tentacle. After doing that for some one, he got more creative with the torture he inflicted. Across the room, Amara beheld examples where the green giants had elected to coil these tentacles around their bodies. Some had wrapped these fleshy appendages around their arms while they fucked, akin to the simplistic designs of some tribalistic tattoos.
This one in particular was lying supine against its surface while her violator stood upright and reamed into her on the table. It was clear from Zrakhal’s furious pounding that he was nearing his climax. As her pubic mound was distorted along the outline of his tool, Amara had to watch every frantic thrust that it made into her, his speedy jabbing making him appear like a knife murderer frenziedly stabbing into the body of his victim. The Cephalian’s hue was shifting through all manners of colors like a kaleidoscope. Then, as the great monster finally hilted balls-deep and unloaded his gonads, some apex of pain appeared to befall the amphibious lifeform. Her whole body started shaking with the sudden spasms and jitters that you’d expect out of a dying insect. Then, in one dramatic comedown, her entire being abruptly deadened into a ghastly chalk white as the Kthid seeded her. With pupils rolling within their sockets, her posture went eerie rigid and the squid’s hue seemed to bleach into an ever-deeper form of white. The look was most unnatural in comparison to their normal appearances. And all of this happened within the tumult of the orgy, not even being commented on by the others attending, just a rape reaching its highpoint amidst the crowd.
The offending Kthid pulled his dick out and stepped away from the table. Even when slotting out of her, the tube-like bulge upon her pubic-mound did not fully recede. Sperm came oozing out of that violated cunt and it nearly blended in with the milkiness of her hue. Her pained countenance was now a rictus seemingly frozen in mid-spasm. Then, with terrible casualness, Zrakhal seized the chalk-white Cephalian by one of her tentacles and then, leveraging his vastly superior strength, effortlessly raised her up above his head and started spinning the rape-victim around like one would do with a sling. Upon his release, the poor alien was sent flying across the room, arching above many similar scenes of interspecies savagery. She landed back in the pool with a noisome splash, only partly hitting its edge. The Cephalian commenced sinking towards the bottom like a rock. She showed no signs of being conscious.
His meal and entertainment complete, Zrakhal walked away, leaving the forlorn Amara to follow after him with only a forlorn glance back at the suffering behind her… for what else could she do to save them from such mad cruelty?
Other platforms passed until they reached truly large ones thronging with Kthid casted, watching and cheering at gladiatrix sport much like what Amara was used to being thrown into. These games, however, were far more spectacular, vicious… and more than once in her vision, fatal. In one ring, a huge Faliran the likes of which she had never seen before battled a small, darting, furry alien woman with a tail that looked almost foxlike. She seemed laughably small compared to the monstrously carapaced alien fighting her, but she was armed and the other woman was not. In another ring, a trio of tall, muscular looking aliens with ram horns and long ears fought with pack hunter tactics, trying to wear down a hobbled Void Tracer in hand to hand combat. All three of them looked to be hovering on the very edge of panic despite the prolonged combat, and Amara couldn’t tell if that was the hormonal reaction or just plain, vanilla fear… the dead woman laying on the floor of that arena gave plenty of reason to be frightened. Elsewhere, still other species of lifeform were pitted in battle. Sometimes, the loser died in the struggle. Sometimes, the loser was tossed into the observing monsters to be savagely gangraped by Kthid. Sometimes, the loser was raped by the winner, and judged on her performance… and if her masters found it wanting, her penalty could be just as bad as the loser, so most were vicious.
In the final set of rings, however, true masters fought, and it was here that most of the observers watched, making bets with one another. In one ring, a pale, albino woman that looked like a beautiful living gargoyle wielded an overlarge hammer with relative ease as she battled a smaller, grey and violet alien that appeared to have had half of her body replaced with prosthetics, allowing her to match the larger and stronger woman in a vicious, barbaric melee battle back and forth. In another, an avian woman battled a soldier-form Faliran, the dark-winged woman and the insect engaging in a midair duel that tangled them together and slammed them both down to the ground hard, engaging in a brutal grapple. From the people cheering for them, these were the champions of various ships… personal Heitera that were known for their skill and competence, the best of the best.
And in the final ring, the one that Zrakhal stopped beside, she understood why.
One of the snake-like naga aliens, the ones known as Alicians, battled in the ring. She wielded a spear with a glistening tip and plunged it forward over and over again, her powerful coils propelling her forward in a relentless advance. At first glance, Amara thought it might have been one of Sarcand’s Heitera in the ring. It took just a second, however, to remember that wasn’t the case… Rith and Kana, Sarcand’s two Alicians, had still been aboard the Death of Hope when she left it. This was another copy… another clone of Nicia, just like those two were, and ingrained with all the same talent and training that the rest of those warriors had been.
She battled against a red-skinned alien the likes of which Amara had never seen before. The tall, slim alien woman seemed almost frail as she moved around the ring, dancing away from the strikes the Alician sent her way. It looked to Amara like gravity was reduced for her… she almost seemed to float with every step, moving delicately as she danced through the battle. Her long tail was covered in spikes, and more than once she caught the spear on them rather than on her slender sword.
“Fifteen on the Llorian,” Zrakhal said to one of the men taking bets, passing a token to him. “She’ll win.” He snickered, turning to see Amara out of the corner of her eyes. “The way I hear it, you managed to kill a Kangansverii. Very impressive… relatively few slaves can claim such. She, however, killed a dozen of them.” He laughed. “And her ass is the tightest hole I’ve ever had my cock bust open.”
The Alician was bleeding… just barely, just from scratches, but she fought as if she were mortally wounded. The other woman, the Llorian, didn’t even try to attack back… she just kept dancing away, dodging, blocking, parrying. Amara, despite herself, watched the fight, so her attention was diverted and she didn’t see the other Kthid approaching until he stood right up beside them. “Zrakhal, Zrakhal, Zrakhal!” rang out a smooth voice right beside her as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, priest. Always good to see the evidence that even the dregs of the Darkest Night are better than the elites from elsewhere.”
Zrakhal, to Amara’s eyes, seemed to tense somewhat. It didn’t last… he forced his shoulders back to a neutral posture before he adjusted his hood and turned to face the other Kthid. He was far more of a grey-green than any of the monsters from her own ship were, and he looked… bored. That boredom, however, spoke volumes… with the cruelty on display all around him, that disinterest spoke of dark sadism beyond reckoning. “Lord Thron,” Zrakhal said, bowing his head. “I expected you to be with your Huntmaster in the conclave.”
“And so I would have been!” he agreed, his eyes glittering. “But I heard that you were out here, and I wanted to see an old friend. This kind of nursery duty is beneath you.” His gaze turned to Amara and a slight smile – one that showed far, far too many teeth – came onto his face. “And this one of the humans?” he said, delighted and amused. “She looks pathetic. Hardly even a prize worth having.” His finger traced over her chin. “So fragile… one could almost break her by accident.”
“The humans are a worthy sacrifice in the name of the Dark Star,” Zrakhal said evenly, his tone firm. Amara moved her gaze between them, certain that something beyond the normal was happening here. The other Kthid – the priest, Thron had said – was tense. Sarcand had spoken of danger… was that what this was? “I am delighted to do my part in the name of my master.”
A darkness flickered across Thron’s expression. “Sarcand is not your master, priest.” Abruptly, Amara became aware that there were several other Kthid here with Thron… gathered behind him like escorts, or guards maybe. They shifted when he did. “You should remember that.”
Zrakhal, however, did not flinch, even when confronted by multiple warriors facing him down. “I serve Dark Steward Regarog and the will of Shau’lun… and I remember it well. You should do the same.”
Thron laughed. He removed his hands from Amara, but his eyes never left the priest. “I thought better of you, Zrakhal. Foolish of me… I should have known better. Once a casteless, ever a casteless.” He turned to leave, striding away. Zrakhal watched him go, fists clenched, until he and all of his guards had been out of sight for at least a few minutes.
“Kan’lun blighted hedonist,” Zrakhal growled, forcing his attention back to the fight.
That… was interesting. Their exchange had been testy, but not out of the ordinary… on the surface. Amara’s instincts, however, told her that violence had been much closer to that surface than it had appeared. Politics… Miranda had all but told her that Sarcand’s entire mission was about politics. Those politics, and the divide in the Kthid they made evident, was a far sharper chasm than she had expected. Five years among the Kthid of her ship had made it easily to think of them as nearly a monolith… evidently that wasn’t true.
Amara forced her own gaze back to the fight just as the snake woman began to slow down. Poison, Amara realized… the red-skinned champion was venomous, and she was just biding time as, slowly, those scratches took their toll. Then, finally, the other woman collapsed to the outrageous cheers of the crowd. Zrakhal just smiled and collected his winnings, and lead Amara off before she could see what happened to the other Alician, one of the few remaining in the galaxy.
They had by now journeyed more than halfway across this boulevard which led down past the statues towards the vast temple at the end. By now, Amara had grown inured to the many titanic statues lining their path, often seeing them more as boulders blocking her line of sight than grim works of art until she thought about them.
The next platform functioned like some sort of zoo of impregnated aliens. These were all in the late stages of pregnancy and presented on podiums like pieces of art. Kthid ambled through these various presentations, rubbing their chins quizzically while peering closer at some pollinated prisoner, those walking in pairs commenting and making remarks about the slave’s potency as mothers, the qualities of the father, and the health of the child… these discussions invariably pertaining to if said young Kthid could live up to its exalted parentage and gain a caste or not. To Amara, this was just a collection of grotesque swollen bellies that had been bloated with life, but to the Kthid, it was something of much higher importance.
To no surprise whatsoever, the next platform was dedicated to auctioning slaves. To these scaly behemoths, anything female had the sole purpose of slaking base desires and furthering their genetic lineage. No warriors were bidding, Amara noticed… those that were there at all waited in the wings, occasionally making offers to trade slaves with something that had been purchased, but apparently no warrior caste Kthid would lower himself to simply purchasing one.
Having approached near the temple so that its gargantuan front loomed mightily above them, Amara next witnessed what she could only describe as something almost like the Kthid equivalent of a bonsai garden. On a platform to her left, the monsters housed a species that apparently possessed amazing regenerative abilities. These lifeforms lay as enormous vegetable growths, possessing the distorted likeness of the human figure, yet with a more bark-like skin. They were sort of like the Sethis, but more tree-like rather than plant-based, she thought, and seemed far less mobile and anthromorphic.
And they were being shaped by Kthid gardeners.
The process of this “art” was truly horrendous. The Kthid would use quick-corroding acids to frizzle away at the bark-alien’s appendages. Amara descried one such instance where a Kthid applied the acid, watching his screaming victim as her arm dissolved all the way to the elbow-joint, and then observed the woman’s limb begin to grow back again. It did so with the speed of a striding turtle… but the regeneration was undeniable and unmistakable. The process was plainly painful for the bark-alien as her eyes bulged and her buxom chest panted heavily, even though she didn’t scream as loudly as when the acid had been applied.
This space-dragon was apparently new to this process however, for none of the other artists there satisfied themselves with such simple mutilations. Having applied their acid, these Kthid would stop the regrowth through various means and so cause gross disfigurements. With these techniques, they would bifurcate arms and legs, causing a fork where a limb should be. Others settled for a straight-up redirection, making the extremities divert in unnatural directions, so that it looked like the limbs had been struck out of place. Their damage wasn’t limited only to limbs, but this kind of drastic mutilation was only done to the women’s appendages – Amara assumed that any grave mutilation to the head or the torso would be fatal. For these areas, lesser forms of surgery were performed. One Kthid would drip minute amounts of acid over his victim’s skull and then block the regrowth so that dents in regular patterns would come into existence. He made that bark-like surface stubby, filled with regular dips and peaks. Other favored lines which made the mutilations resemble scarifications. Amara had never seen the Kthid so obsessed with tiny details, but she had seen enough completed art to know well that they were capable of it, even if the Death of Hope seemed quite spartan by comparison.
Naturally, after having distorted and deformed their victims, the space-dragons invariably resolved to give them a hard and punishing fuck. Amara witnessed green giants slam their hardened peckers into bark-aliens posted on bifurcated legs, their posture made rickety due to this foul maiming. It was hard to tell which was the more burdensome debility, getting Kthid-fucked or made into a bonsai project. She didn’t care to study their grimacing faces enough to figure that one out. Occasionally, one would make a mistake, and disgusted with themselves they would fuck their victim extra-viciously. Then after having maimed, fucked and orgasmed, the Kthid would pour another goblet of acid over the aliens and thus allowing the extremities to grow back naturally again… only to begin the process all over, dedicating all of their fiendish intelligence into creative hurt.
Amara grimaced in abject disgust. She had now seen more Kthid than ever before – not to mention witnessing more unique lifeforms then she ever imagined existed within the galaxy – and her opinion hadn’t changed one bit about them. There was no nuance to be found, no further analysis which unveiled previously unlearned insight. They cared about beauty, friendship, and partnership… but each of those things still connected to rape, conquest, and veneration of that alien Dark Star. Like automatons, their entire existence solely revolved around seeing these things enforced.
No wonder Miranda had grown to such a fatalist concerning mankind’s ability to resist them. Had she known all along how overwhelming the Kthid truly were? How was Amara to resist falling into the same trap?
When at last they reached the temple, Amara noted that the humans had been gathered outside of it. They had not been allowed to enter… while some of the Kthid she recognized from the Death of Hope passed the threshold, all of the naked and bejeweled captives stood stock-still and pending their purpose. Each of them now wore chains and piercings similar to Amara’s, though in a different style… longer chains, more ornate still than those she or Miranda had worn. Zrakhal and Amara walked up right next to Martina Barzola. Trepidation did not suit the Lieutenant Governor’s nerves well… the Hispanic beauty was so terrified that her left leg involuntarily shook. Fear that their guardsman would notice this and punish her almost made the dark-haired woman piss herself on the spot.
Amara merely focused on trying to center herself. Fear or panic would never help her to survive. She grimaced and shook her head. At least all of these fresh sights and undreamed-of discoveries had momentarily managed to make her take her mind off of Miranda. Now here without any stimulation the ponderings returned. She still did not know if that brief sight onboard the Midgar-6 had been a mere phantasm, a delusion of her haggard psyche, or…
Amara grimaced and shook her head again. NO! That was impossible. She couldn’t lose her mind to such foolish misbeliefs, and… The double-doors opened slowly, revealing the red-lit entrance to the structure. The ex-captain felt her nerves grow taut. “Move you soft-skinned whores!” one of the robed guardman yellowed, kicking at the naked thrall nearest to him. Heads hanging low, they all marched like a collection of herded cattle.
Amara caught something out of the corner of her eye that she hadn’t noticed before. It was the rightwards statue which lay positioned near this spired temple. Having so many flesh-and-bone lifeforms nearby had conditioned her to ignore said monuments for their biological counterparts. It depicted an Arane. Their six-armed frame made them easily identifiable enough. That made them and the Falirans whom she had noticed earlier that she recognized from the Death of Hope. Amara just assumed that the Nys and the Alicians and all the other aliens onboard were present as well in monument-form and that she had just missed them during their walk, or had been skipped over when Zrakhal took her off of the main walkways. After all, she really hadn’t been paying attention.
But given how the Faliran were one of the first statues, it seemed likely that these were in order. If the Arane were this close to the place of honor at the start of the temple… did that mean they among the first races conquered? That seemed a distinct implication, but it also seemed incredible that their species would have been able to survive for so long under the lordship of these genocidal monsters, even being able to reproduce still unlike all of the others. This fresh bout of thought made Amara crane her head further down the path to look at the next statues in line. While moving her legs, she looked them over, her eyes narrowing so to peer at them even more closely. The former captain cocked her head to the side as if thoroughly perplexed, trying to make heads-or-tails of what she was seeing.
The Arane were the third to last statue. The first were horned humanoids with hooves and mats of protective fur and tails. Amara realized that she knew them, though she had never seen one – they were represented in quite a bit of Kthid art. The Dorians had been the other sentient race native to Maldoror, the first prey of the Kthid. They were ancient, and unless there had been some specific effort to keep some of them around Amara had no doubts all of them were long gone by now. The second statue, however…
The second statue was another humanoid… But Amara couldn’t distinguish any way in which its design departed from that of ordinary humans. But that was impossible. Was there some set of features protruding from it that she could not witness, some strange inhuman features somewhere she couldn’t see? Amara rose to her tip-toes and craned her head to look… the sculpture was beautiful and precise, and while it didn’t look like any race of human she had ever seen, it still looked… human.
What in the hell…
The space-dragons herding them forward pushed the espying Heitera so forcefully that Amara stumbled forward and almost fell onto all fours. She was now well within the temple and had lost her vantage-point, the double-doors slamming shut behind them.
The halls of Kthid politics were recognizable to any human schooled in governance… there were only so many ways to arrange people so they could all see and hear one another. The center of the temple-like structure was a massive, doomed amphitheater, rising tiers of seats surrounding a central platform. Sarcand and a small number of other officers whom Amara recognized, including his brother Vakrash, were seated at its bottommost layers. But many other groups of Kthid were here as well, hailing from other war-parties… other ships. The atmosphere between them ran the gauntlet from friendly to frosty to barely-contained hostility at its worst. The moment Amara entered she noticed her Master of course… but Sarcand didn’t seem to notice her. He was too busy glaring at someone down on the opposite end of the platform.
She traced the path of his eyes.
The specimen seated opposite to Sarcand was a beast. Almost as large as Sarcand himself, he was monstrously broad-shouldered and bulky enough that it seemed at a glance like he had almost no neck. What was more eye-catching, however, was the many mutilations and cyberizations of his flesh. His left fist had at some time in the past been severed and replaced with a metal gauntlet. The Kthid had the ability to regrow full body parts – something that Amara knew from dismal experience – but this Kthid didn’t see the need for subtlety… instead, he had replaced his broken limbs with prosthetics designed for power rather than perfect replacement. He had lost his corresponding eye at some point as well – where that thin slit once was there now bulged an artificial replacement. This false-eye resembled their natural organ not even in the slightest – its enormous pupil was azure-blue and unblinking, so big that it took up almost all of its front. This disparity gave him an especially maniacal and off-kilter look, a sort of maddened balefulness that must be unnerving even to other Kthid. Doubtless it provided all kinds of augmented capabilities. Deep scarring, almost like winding canyons, were also engraved all over his otherwise chiseled torso. His body was undeniably a monument of brutal conflict, and he seemed proud of each and every scar. The Kthid from earlier, Thron, stood beside him, and instantaneously Amara understood that this black-hearted villain had to be another Huntmaster as well.
Kneeling beside him in the stands was what could only be the Huntmaster’s personal Heitera… and instantly Amara recognized her. It was the red-skinned, sharp tailed combatant from the rings. The creature knelt with dignity, perfectly rigid and in position for her master. Her countenance was as poised as her posture, and an aura of menace exuded from it, like some royal guard whom had to appear neutral but also deadly and pernicious at the same time. Now that she was closer, Amara could see the short mop of hair, thickly grown and alabaster white forming a mane for the Llorian, and out of her scalp emerged several long, thin antennae-like protrusions. The mysterious alien looked down at the assembly with hard, emotionless eyes of violet, their low-key energy just as restrained and menacing as the rest of her.
Behind this floor-level seating, above all of them, sat the Sunbreakers.
Amara didn’t need any confirmation of that… didn’t need anyone to tell her who they were, or that they were in command. They radiated it, perfectly assured that this universe was there and waiting to be plucked from a tree like an overripe fruit. They hung over everyone like emperors, each of them wearing just a simple sash with the emblem of the Dark Star upon it over whatever else they were wearing. These were the men that constituted the aldermen of the Kthid empire, the custodians of its customs, edicts and decrees. What sort of legendary career would a stellar-aged demon need to end up within these halls?
The Sunbreakers were discussing, their voices carrying over the sound of Amara’s entrance… completely ignoring the humans as they continued a discussion that had begun long before Amara had arrived. She was coming in mid conversation, but she picked up enough to quickly gather that she had been correct… the Sunbreakers were arguing over the invasion of Earth. From this political banter, Amara could discern a few critical details which better helped her illuminate where things stood. The sticking point in their aggressive discussions concerned the leadership of the joined armada which would lay waste to this newly discovered blue planet. Only two candidates were mentioned. Sarcand… and the behemoth into whose artificial eye he currently glared.
The Kthid with the cybernetic hand and eye was named Voerash… and he, and his allies, did not like Sarcand. It seemed to stand out well above mere political rivalry, as well… every time a supporter of one spoke of the other, it was always in plainly acrimonious terms. The baleful commander was apparently the son and protégé of one of the august Sunbreaker Korgath, his father vehemently championing the Huntmaster’s cause. A long list of important-sounding victories at Voerash’s command was vocalized, some even uttered twice to drive home how glorious they were. Under Voerash’s leadership the Earth would surrender after less than a solar day’s worth of fighting, it was proclaimed.
For the first time in a long while, and completely despite herself, Amara smirked. It appeared that even within Kthid society, political capital was a thing.
“My Lords,” Zrakhal announced from the center of the room, the priest’s words bringing even the Sunbreakers momentarily to silence. “Huntsmaster Sarcand brings an offering to this august chamber. The bounty of the womb of Earth.” The naked women, mostly human with a few Sethis, were herded up into the central stage and made to stand there as objects of lust for the Kthid to glare at. Reptilian eyes scanned their breasts, buttocks and childbearing hips with puerile intent. Amara could palpably sense how they wanted to skewer her after ogling her bountiful breasts and heart-shaped ass, having judged her fertility well. It was a familiar experience for all of them, but the tense political backdrop lent the occasion an air of intangible menace.
Sarcand straightened his back and clapped together his massive green palms all but once.
Everyone knew how to interpret the ambiguous instruction… each of them had evidently been instructed by the Kthid who had readied them. Instantly, every single human female placed their arms above their heads, cocked their hips to the side, and arched their backs so to accentuate their well-rounded breasts. They all took on the body-language of libidinous nymphs, presenting themselves as prizes to be won. Some of the women even faced each other and started kissing. All of them but Amara, anyway, whom had been told nothing… still, she took the cue and pushed her chest into that of another close-standing thrall, making their ample breasts sultrily flatten together, hinting at their supple softness for the onlooking malefactors. Buttocks were clasped and curves stroked. The tantalizing sounds of wet mashing lips and light moans were rendered audible. They had practically started having sex before the Sunbreakers even rose from their seats.
Not all of them rose, Amara noted… The discussions and arguments went on even while said Sunbreakers headed down to that central platform. Amara hoped that their rank and august stations would lessen the Kthid’s natural sexual rapaciousness somewhat… it seemed a faint hope, but it was all she had. The former captain would be most certainly proved wrong.
“Hmm… Just as the records showed. Astounding,” the first one onto the platform remarked, greedily pawing at the sexy buttocks of Martina whom was busy passionately kissing her fellow slave. “Their flesh is suitably soft and toned. And how about their capacity to endure pain?” His pawing hand turned into a fierce clutch, enclosing fingers while holding onto her bun. The Lieutenant Governor’s head jolted skywards and she bellowed with thunderous hurt. Said other slave knew better then to react to this and kept embracing Martina so that their breasts touched, kissing her neck and tonguing its cords. Even when he stuffed a sharp-clawed finger up her ass, Martina kept up the pretenses of a titillating erotic show.
“Huntmaster Sarcand is the one whom not only defeated and captured the first Human of this crop, but also conquered their well-stocked colony ship! By all the precedent of tradition, HE should be the one to lead our armies!” one of the Sunbreaker loudly argued to his peers. But Amara already found it difficult to pay attentions to his words. The Sunbreakers accosting them quickly proved an overwhelming disturbance.
“You would say that, Avrak… but they seem so soft and perishable!” one of the other Sunbreakers said, clasping one woman by the arm and flinging her towards him with such force that her limb almost dislodged from its socket. “How do we know that they do not break apart when giving birth?” As if to underscore his point, the Sunbreaker lifted the woman up and slammed her back down with an arching throw. Amara couldn’t hear any breaking bones, but it wouldn’t have surprised her if some of her ribs had cracked… she certainly cried out breathlessly in pain at the impact. It was now evident to Amara that their defilement would be a political one. Many of these leaders were rivals of Sarcand… no, not of Sarcand. Of each other. They were rivals of each other, and so were using their pupils, or their allies, to score points against one another. Avrak… that was the name of one of Sarcand’s sons, no doubt named for his mentor. He was supporting Sarcand, and others wished to devalue his catch, and thus his political influence.
“And look at this fur! It’s so weak and unhealthy that it looks ready to fall off!” another declared, grasping the trusses of a stately blonde and pulling on it so harshly that said hair was almost ripped from her scalp. Needless to say, the blonde thundered her screams.
“They will not. Fuck them as hard as you want… See if they break!” Sarcand urged from the sidelines, much to the Terrans’ dismay.
The accosting Sunbreakers needed little spurring to do so. Even while the council remained in full negotiating session, their erect cocks were pointed towards the nubile slaves. Everyone seized the Earthling of their fancy and immediately began to put them to the test of their choice. Some women were pulled onto their knees and forced to fellate the leaders. Others were made to lean forward so that the monsters could slam into them from behind. A few were still in a precoital stage, being groped and mauled with fiendish handholds, but that was no mercy… most of those were held by those who preferred to test the ways to hurt them.
Knowing that she would soon be picked up by one of these perverted politicians, Amara stole a quick glance towards Martina. The Planetary Governor had the misfortune of having her feminine partner exchanged for yet another burly Kthid. Two of those ghoulish Sunbreakers were now upon her. One could see insentient fear in her eyes as they planned on double-teaming her. “I like this one! She shivers with fear!” the councilmember said.
“Bah, means she’s weak,” the other said. The two Kthid glared at each other in their obvious rivalry, but it didn’t stop them from being willing to double team a slave between them.
Individual acts of sexual defilement started breaking out into full-tryst all around them. Martina Barzola ended up becoming spit-roasted between her two assailants. One positioned himself at her front and began ramming that red-scaled cock into her throat while the other pried his manhood into her cunt from behind. Despite their status and their no doubt old age, the Sunbreakers took to having new victims with rape with the same zest and vigor of a young Kthid seeking to impress his peers for the first time and with even more sadistic guile. The one violating the Hispanic’s mouth held onto her head and jammed his stiffened prong into her gullet with every lurch. He wanted to feel the contraction of her throat with every plunge, not satisfied with only the mouth. His plum-sized testicles slapped against her chin as it happened. “Pathetic… Lets see how long these humans can hold their breath!” he declared, stating the intentions of his oral rape.
Simultaneously, the other one pounded into her with a strong steady rhythm. The Sunbreaker – despite what Amara assumed to be centuries of intergalactic ravishment – was still enthusiastic like a colt in getting to try out the pussy of a new species. This attack from behind caused Martina’s big juicy tits to quiver underneath her, swinging around from the punting power delivered onto her curvaceous body, even as she gagged and choked helplessly on another malachite prong. Tears were seen to stream down her cheeks like glistening rivulets and many of the Sunbreakers noticed this as something positive, an erotic capacity of pain.
One of those reptilian behemoths stepped up to Amara, his humongous and physically-imposing body making him seem like some dangerous predator. The caiman’s sunken eyes peered at her closely. “This one… the Sachem? You are the Huntmaster’s Heitera?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” Amara replied with a picture-perfect bow of her head.
In reply, the councilor seized her by the neck and flung Amara Black floorwards. “That just means your cunt is out of access. A Huntmaster always has the privilege to impregnate his own top cattle. I’ll test out your other hole instead!” the dark-minded Sunbreaker taunted as he stood over her. Muscle-instincts had made Amara immediately rise into the doggy-position, arching her backside so to accentuate her fit rear. Chills ran down her spine as she comprehended his implications. The ancient marauder grasped her by the hips and aligned his sexual weapon with her puckered, tiny anal opening. As that bulbous shaft pressed with its terrible girth against her backdoor, the orgy around them had gone into full-swing. Kthid and Human and Sethis couplings were happening to her right and to her left, the screams of women in horrid discomfort ringing in both her ears alongside the fleshy sound of constant thudding. Amidst this bacchanal of perversity, Amara was going to be sodomized by a Kthid she did not even know the name of. This creature would be enjoying her anus even while discussing the destruction of her species.
Amara groaned once when her anal ring was horrifically dilated to fit his size, and then unleashed a high-pitched grunt of pain as his scaly shaft slid in. Most of the other ex-colonists bellowed cries of anguish far more dramatic than that… or at least those who didn’t have their mouths plugged with alien hard-ons did. Amara had no idea how these hierarchs could keep up a political argument while swinging their hips with such mettlesome vigor, but the sex or exertion didn’t seem to burden them mentally one bit.
“Hum! These filaments make for excellent reins!” the one riding Amara’s ass said, clasping her crimson-red hair and yanking on it so that the back of her skull was practically buried in between her shoulder blades.
Amara was now under a frenzied anal assault. Despite his age, the Sunbreaker did not compare badly to Sarcand himself… she had little doubt that this one’s warrior body was previously a Huntmaster himself. Either way, the specimen absolutely hate-fucked her rectum. Sex in her asshole was always even more tighter and dilapidating to her psyche then even normal sex with the Kthid was, and he did his best to make it even more so. As he thumped, humped and hammered his breeding-stick into her diminutive, swollen orifice, the fallen captain of the Midgar-6 began to feel unmoored from reality. The spaciousness of the chamber diminished until her entire concept of existence was a singular anal pain. Panting and screaming as that harsh invasion continued unabated, Amara’s pained mind began to be unable to find or think about anything else. The only escape she could find was in flashbacks to the taking of the colony vessel, when hundreds of thousands of human females were awakened out of cryogenic sleep and summarily defiled.
She and her fellow captives had been introduced as a sample, but it quickly became evident that their function here was much more than just an investigation into the sexual desirability of humans. Sarcand kept one attentive eye on the orgy, scanning for the various Sunbreakers’ reactions. Whenever one of these comely human colonists were judged favorable, he was quick to make a statement. Offers like, “Like her? I can have her delivered to your bed! She’ll bring you many strong children!” or “Orgasm inside her! I’ll let you keep her! And then you’ll see the quality offspring these humans can bring!” He was like a horse trader, full on bartering them away like animals… making exchanges and gifts to curry favoritism for Sarcand’s cause. Kthid society apparently had no misgivings towards bribery. On the contrary, the better cattle Sarcand could bring them, the more powerful he appeared.
The Sethis were no left out either. While the humans did seem to get the majority of fascination from the Sunbreakers, the others were almost as interesting. One grey-scaled one was busy coupling with one of the Sethis, absolutely reaming open the vaginal orifice of the recumbent slave, plowing her as if intending to inflict grievous bodily harm. The impaled, green-skinned woman wept as her pussy was mutilated by his cock, gazing horrified at the bloating bulge in her lower stomach. “So these are their pets?” he sneered at her. “Hardly seem worth the effort.”
One Sunbreaker had been fucking with a feral fury that even far exceeded that of his peers. He slammed into the dark haired woman with force enough that she slid along the ground, seeming like he intended to skin her on the rough surface. Sarcand noticed this ferocious coupling instantly, and made the same proposition as usual. “She’ll last much longer than you think, Korgath. These humans can survive Kthid childbirth! Have her! She’s yours!”
Upon hearing this, the Sunbreaker promptly stopped fucking and pulled his now pre-cum coated cock out. The motion had been so instantaneous that it was plainly a planned move, said space-dragon just waiting for Sarcand to say the word. Dick still erect, he grasped the dark haired human by the hair and flung her towards the rim. “AAAAHHHH—” the woman yelled out, her cry stopping abruptly as she crashed dazed into the edge of the seating.
“Stronger than I think,” he said with a sneer. “What do you think, Voerash!?” the Sunbreaker, Korgath, yelled to the Huntmaster. “Are these long-lasting breeders we were promised?”
Groggy from that harsh impact, the human thrall didn’t notice as Voerash’s big metal hand enclosed around her skull. There was no hesitation to the Huntmaster’s action. He just kept tightening that hand until his fist was balled. The poor human concubine scarcely even had time to scream as her cranium cracked with a sickly crunching sound… Amara could only stare as the woman was casually murdered to take a point. Her beheaded body fell flat against the stony floor… Voerash had turned her entire noggin into a bloody pulp as easily as a human could have squashed a rotten fruit. “No,” the cybernetic Huntmaster replied and returned his baleful eyes to Sarcand. His Heitera hadn’t even flinched during the mutilation. Those two were as deathly cold as the tomb.
Sarcand’s face darkened with such intensity that he looked ready to launch himself at the other Huntmaster. Amara, however, was too distracted to worry about it overmuch. Throughout all this, Amara had still been enduring her harsh anal sex as the Sunbreaker pounded into her so hard that her face was flattened against the ground. At least she was not bartered away for political aid.
Besides her, she heard the noise of a Kthid cock firing audibly in orgasm. Those scaly green fucksticks had such a forceful ejaculation that the sound was unmistakable, like a water rifle primed to fullest capacity. Gazing, she saw that this orgasm had happened to Martina Barzola, the Sunbreaker having pulled out his prong and climaxed all over her gorgeous countenance. The dark-haired Governor was splattered with thick spunk, and because she was still being flung about due to the Sunbreaker thumping into her pussy, that slimy cum was made to ooze down her face in thick gooey strands. The woman had thought that she would be allowed to guide the development of an entirely new civilization, and now she was enduring the worst calamity that could happen to a member of her sex. Martina squealed as the pussy-fucking lizard behind her upped his tempo to reach a similar climax, making sure that the vile seed which decorated her face would soon also be invading her pussy. “Hahaha!!! Why do you bemoan yourself so much, slave!? Don’t you know getting knocked up by a Sunbreaker is a great honor!?” the aged sadist sardonically laughed, delighting in coercing the Hispanic woman to act as if this was some once-in-a-lifetime privilege.
The politicking and sexual escapades continued in tandem. Deals were struck, favoritism was won, and helpless woman were turned vessels for Kthid seed and children. Amara was forced to endure a shameful rectal creampie before she was handed off to another Sunbreaker who also wanted to try her out. That central platform was made replete with bodily fluids such as sweat, cum and even urine when the Sunbreakers elected to take a piss. Naturally, the Terran women were made to swallow. In human society, hallowed places such as temples or government institutions demanded people to act after more high-minded principles. No such custom existed among the Kthid.
Delegates were shifted between Sarcand and Voerash… or perhaps it was more fair to say between Korgath and Askvar. Some of the fellows were practically pinballing between the two in an effort to elicit more bribes. Buy offs didn’t just include the women present but could also be control of various elements after Earth and its colonies were conquered. Amara could never keep tabs on the count – Staying conscious and sane while being raped over-and-over again took up all of her mental energies.
The ex-Captain of the Midgar-6 only realized that the time for a decision to be sealed had arrived when the orgy suddenly ceased and the Sunbreakers returned to their designated seats. All of the human slaves had been fucked semi-conscious, so deprived of vigor that they were left to lie in a puddle of sperm and piss upon the platform. Many didn’t even realize if they had been bartered away or not. But to most this didn’t even matter. Staying with Sarcand or becoming a pet of one of the Sunbreakers, either way, their existences would be one of endless rape.
Grandiose-sounding words were spoken by one of the ruling potentates. The name of the Dark Star was invoked more than once, often in ritualistic fashion as if swearing an oath. Even while mentally addled from all of the sexual hurt inflicted upon her, Amara realized that they were ready to proclaim the leader of the invasion. She craned her neck up from off the floor, her hair matted with semi-dried sperm which had been ejaculated in her direction. Then, suddenly, Askvar stood. “A point of order,” he growled. “I believe we have a new member to induct. Sponsored by myself and ten others, as is custom, for excellence in achievement. Vakrash, son of Angnamar… Stand.”
Sarcand’s brother rose from his seat, and almost every delegate that had evidently sided with Korgath and Voerash erupted in outrage. “Silence!” Askvar spoke over them all. “Vakrash, of the Engineering caste, has successfully reverse engineered the technology that makes faster than light travel possible. Through his effort, he has sped up our invasion a thousand fold. Over the last several weeks, he has successfully installed the new faster than light drives onto a half dozen ships, and tested them… making the voyage of five years in less than a day.” He threw his gaze over the assembled crowd, his eyes locked in fury, and Amara realized that this had been the main reason for the delay… they were planning exactly this reveal, exactly this coup. “Any who do not believe such an achievement deserves elevation, speak now.”
So bludgeoned with the stark reality of such an achievement, there were mutters throughout the gathered assembly… but no real protests. With a smile, Askvar continued. “Then rise to your proper position. Vakrash, Sunbreaker of Maldoror.”
The green scaled engineer gave his brother a salute, and got a deeper one in return. Then he turned and walked away from the Death of Hope grouping and up the stars into the ranks of the Sunbreakers… on Askvar’s side. That one vote wouldn’t have been enough to change things by itself, Amara though… but more than one person, seeing the potential for such technology and the growth it would represent, switched sides, and Korgath and Voerash were helpless but do more than glare as it happened.
“Then rise in the light of conquest,” Sunbreaker Askvar continued, a smile on his face. “Harvestmaster Sarcand, Son of Angnamar.” Half lucid, Amara felt completely overwhelmed by the resulting roars of celebration. Dizzy-eyed, she gazed towards the bottommost stands. Sarcand was standing upright and behind him his followers were pumping their fists into the air and screaming glorifications to the Dark Star. The malachite giant merely smirked. He would be the Warlord that ended the independence of Earth!
“Casteless filth!” a Kthid angrily cursed and smashed his fist into his stony seat, breaking a big chunk of it off.
Almost all of the Sunbreakers rose from their seats and vehemently reprimanded the utterer. They promised assured destruction of him and all of his lineage if he continued in this attack. All of them had sworn to holy oaths to heed the decision. Sarcand was elected and he would be their leader.
Even while feeling so stricken, Amara did not need to check whom had uttered the curse. It could only be Voerash. The metal-handed Kthid was the first to leave. Him and his posse of grey-hued Warriors and Engineers headed for the doors, fuming with disappointed wrath. Despite the Sunbreakers’ statements, his mechanical eye glared with unmistakable hostility as he passed by Sarcand. Their enmity would not be buried by holy oaths or any promises of annihilation from the Dark Sun itself. His nimble, crimson-hued Heitera stalked his steps like a shadow, that alien unflappable like the Grim Reaper himself.
Amara laid herself horizontal again — wheezing as she attempted to recover. With heavy footsteps, Sarcand ascended the central platform. The Huntmaster walked over towards his designated Heitera, kicking away a few other naked and sperm-besmeared humans which lay in his path. Amara did not even notice his approach until his baleful shadow loomed lordly above her. The ex-captain bolted open her eyes and said: “Master—!”
“Quiet!” he barked back, stroking his semi-flaccid cock into full rigidity.
Amara was experienced enough to know that protesting, even while physically spent, would lead nowhere. Instead, she opened her legs wide for him and allowed the thick-thewed rapist to mount her in front of everyone. She should have seen it comming. The Kthid celebrated virtually everything with sex… and this was special. The Huntmaster… Harvestmaster… pinned her against the ground, rendering Amara unable to even wiggle or squirm. He began a particularly enthusiastic skewering, moving his muscular hips with all the speed and agility of a cracking whip. Amara’s vocal cords were once again taken over by hurtful vocalizations as that massive cockhead slammed against her womb. He wasn’t even being especially sadistic at the moment, thrilling only in his excitement and pleasure, but that palpitating thrill of his triumph in leading his armada felt like it might kill Amara anyway. That would only be fitting… if he had his way, Sarcand would not only spell the end for Amara and for the Midgar-6, but their entire race as well.
“M-Master!” Amara peeped as she was rocked by this heavy fucking. Sarcand seeming like a man on a mission. It almost felt as if he was impatient to finish.
“Feel me inside you slave… focus on it. I’m nearly there to spill my seed… and it’s now been quite a while since you birthed me a son!” the prodigious lizard said with a face-splitting grin upon his snouted visage. Amara’s nerves all tightened with fear at the prospect of getting knocked up with another Kthid offspring. She remembered the labor as the worst of traumas. But she could see upon his countenance that Sarcand was dead-set on making this happen. The malachite sadist wanted to see her pollinated. “Impregnating you now will be timely! I’ll set aside the coming days just so to make sure that it happens. We’ll fuck over and over and every time it’ll end with me cumming inside you to the glory of the Dark Star. Do you understand why I do this, my Heitera?” Sarcand fiendishly asked.
Amara knew, but was too breathless to explain it.
“So that you can give birth to my child amongst the ruins of your conquered lands!” the Huntmaster laughed.
With a few more powerful thrusts, the Kthid leader buried his cock womb-deep and orgasmed directly against her cervix. The flood of sperm was like the foam spurting out of a well-shaken champaign bottle, an army of virility just like the armada which would soon set course towards her homeworld. Amara took the hot seed right against her baby-making chalice. There was no way she could prevent herself from getting knocked up in the coming days… Most likely, this spurt of seminal fluid would even be enough all on its own. Getting impregnated like this seemed wholly unholy, a pure act of genocidal hate, even more so then the last. She hated the emotions flooding through her systems, the sorts of things it made her consider…
While getting skewered atop that central platform, all Amara could imagine was the oncoming birth of her scaly green progeny amidst bombed-out Terran cities, mountain-high pyramids of corpses, and the continents of Earth set aflame wholesale, and all the while Sarcand smiled in his triumph.
Supplimental Material: Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Cephalians Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Coronaptids Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Dorian Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Fanak Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Llorians Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Mirucains Galactic Encyclopedia of Lifeforms: the Umbral
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