################### ## ABYSS DIVERS ### ###################
POV: Saint Sexy
Saint Sexy stood at the tip of the buggy with legs apart and arms crossed, playing figurehead.
It made for a good image to the Hummingbird drones ahead as they crested the hill to see Base Retribution.
Like an oil rig on land, the base was, like all bases along the craters, a platform on narrow 300 foot pillars.
The base itself was a clusterfuck of cylindrical tanks, spherical biodomes, simple habitat blocks and metal spires heavy with equipment. At the edge, on a pad blinking with warning lights, stood a rocket like a slender version of Cypher's plug with added fins and nozzles.
Warlock was doing the radio contact, maximum power beams focusing onto the buggy's radio disc to cut through the psy interference reliably.
"Everybody, make sure your uniform is free of anything water-sensitive. Fist King, they've graciously agreed to push your optimal anal assessment forward to today. Report to the testing clinic on entry."
"Yes sir."
Saint Sexy hopped back into the buggy interior, monkey climbing from beam to beam. Blinking inside a moving vehicle too easily went awry. If he was going to do a banana-peel-level comedy drop he wanted it to be on purpose or at least well timed.
The buggy rolled underneath the base and a giant grav-neut beam pulled them up. As they floated higher, the crater zone became visible – that long ridge of basins that cut the mainland off from the peninsula where one of Sig-3's Yggdrasil roots had dug itself in.
The craters were barren, many half filled with dirty water. Beyond them was a blue-green-pink forest, shuffling in false wind, teeming with exotic life ready to pounce on anything with a psy signature.
The flashes of orbital containment strikes mostly landed behind that rim, with some `strays' finding good targets farther in.
The buggy levitated into the disinfection chamber. As per signs and audio reminders, everything they wore stayed behind in disinfection fluid tubs they wrote their names on – only the plugs remained with them.
The troopers stepped into booths where anti-spore fog sprayed them shiny, while the buggy was lathered in heavy foam.
They got temporary pouches to cover their dicklets and swaggered into Retribution proper.
"Man, always a treat to go naked," Saint Sexy said and hit a few poses at the mirror-shining blast door. "Do you have cam access in here, Faggot?"
"Yes sir, but stop asking that. Nobody likes it when you tap the fourth wall. Now I can't actually put that in."
Saint Sexy pulled Faggot along in a headlock.
In the corridor – a round, evenly lit hallway of blue carpet with the star ranger logo – their welcoming committee consisted of two men in navigator uniform – red star ranger armor instead of black.
Saint Sexy found the carpet weirdly arousing. With a particularly good shiver rumbling from his guts up his spine, he couldn't help find the bare sole rub eye-watering.
"Sir," Warlock said on approach.
Saint Sexy teleported next to his commander and saluted, hoping nobody would comment on him standing with curled toes.
Neither of the navigators had golden irises, their hoods around their necks. One of them wove the faint push of a beta angel into the link, the other the phuckable receptiveness of an omega.
"Commander Warlock," said the `beta', a light brown man with a flat nose who missed Warlock in height by mere inches. "I'm Monkeyman, pilot of the Jamestown on the pad up there."
Monkeyman pointed his thumb at the lean, semi-muscular white guy next to him. "This is Bubba, pilot in training. He knows as much as I do about operations. Phucking his ass right now but feel free to take the face. We'll get you guys and your samples up to Byzantium station when we have refueled the reactor. You'll probably find me at the bar, if not on the pad."
"Understood, navigator Monkeyman," Warlock said. "But... take us up? Aren't you just going to take the samples?"
Monkeyman started leading them along, eight pairs of naked muscle-bulging legs shuffling into the elevator where posters for various base events covered the non-mirrored wall.
Saint Sexy jostled for mirror space with Fist King and Candy and flexed at his image – not enough to disturb the commander, but enough to give Faggot some footage to work with.
"Corrected orders came in five minutes ago," Monkeyman said. "With the... strange integrations you've been experiencing, allegedly, Central wants to run some tests."
Warlock nodded. "The Merry Men squad is ready for transport anytime."
"It'll take only a couple of hours so don't settle in too much, but do enjoy some recreation."
They exited into a multi-story lobby. One third sparse military design, one third old timey coffee shop, one third luxury high-tech space cruise that had seen better days.
Air hockey tables clacked, laser chess tables chirped, minimum intensity blasters sizzled in the shooting gallery above. A dozen virtual chicks gyrated or got fucked on 3D-screens all over the place. The flag of the United Stars Alliance repeated in the spaces between.
The cinema had just finished a performance, leaving two dozen star ranger hunks spilling out of the dark and heading into the lounge across where heavy troopers in pouches massaged each other's muscles and anal walls.
"I'll make my way to assessment," Fist King said.
"Mind if I go find my brother's quarters?" Cypher asked. "He is scheduled to come back in an hour."
"Arcade time?" Faggot asked Candy.
Warlock waved them all away. He turned to Saint Sexy. "You don't have to come but I'd like to meet Daddy's little fist-sucker brat. Personal curiosity."
Saint Sexy chuckled. "I'm right there with you, sir. I have a feeling we'll take fagging orders from that kid before long."
Asking around lead them to the gym and sports section, where two football fields at the edge of the base – shielded by glass walls – held two football tournaments. To the left, noobs in pink pouches played against black-pouch ranger ensigns, on the right, troopers played with their hoods on – angelic networking on both sides helping out.
"I think I see him," Saint Sexy said. "In the showers. Man, dude looks freaky. The face of a teen on that body? Didn't know they can take Jumbo Juice that young."
Warlock huffed. "Never heard of Talos-5 exporting their few drops to anything but the top league. Betting the sergeant pulled some strings but the kid's gotta have promise. I mean, he's gotta work the fuck out like a possessed cunt at least."
They closed in. The lieutenant stared openly. "I remember Faggot saying something about experimental synthetic Jumbo. If that's it, this kid's going to lead the next gen of roid freaks."
The free standing showers in a row beside the football fields held half a dozen noobs, their pink pouches and masks on hooks as sonic waves flung off grime.
Daddy's boy took after his father in the syrupy chocolate skin, the wide shoulders, the brickhouse eight pack, the large hands and feet rivaling Warlocks even at the teen's height of 6'2'' and lastly in the golden rim of his dark irises.
He was colossally muscular - not so much bigger than the other rangers on omniroids, swellsurge or other enhancements, but the density and quality of his muscles made his teen face seem unreal, despite the sharp jaw.
With his back to the approaching rangers, his muscles from calves, to shoulders rippled like a symphony with every motion. He spread his legs with a light thigh-flex and pulled his ass cheeks apart, arching to let the sonic waves into the crack between the huge glutes.
An omega carrier besides the shower was getting the life ass-phucked out of him. Hands on the sonic boxes, his whole body seemed to be getting violated. He was grunting, moaning, whimpering. Saint Sexy muffled him with a deep, slow oral phuck that left him quietly sputtering.
Warlock slapped the huge noob and fellow alpha carrier on the muscle ass. "Hey, gold noob. You Daddy's boy?"
The teen spun around, the teensy dickhead and balls between his mega-thighs too small to even flop.
"Not what they callin me anymore, sir."
"At ease," Saint Sexy said. "We just wanted to check out our old trainer's kid. If you're in trouble, the Merry Men squad has got you."
The boy rubbed dry power into his hair, a hand-sized circle of inch-long, dense black locks. "Yo, thanks, dude. I keep hearin that. Folks are really lovin the old man, huh? Not here for handouts though. Gonna hit officer academy after noob training."
"How's that going? Your trainer's bro is in our squad so we know Peach Vanilla is a little..."
The boy grinned wide while only moving one corner of his mouth. "We party hard but he's a good coach. Just came from the gym. Every time he's there to coach I hit new maxes. Didn't even break the 350 kilo bench today `n I blame his absence. This sesh was suckin microcock. Cooled down with football after, even though I'm more of a tennis guy, ya know?"
Warlock scoffed. "I didn't break 350 until a year into training. Sounds like you're in great hands, noob."
"Ah," Saint Sexy sighed, full of reminiscence. He put his hand on the teen's wet shoulder. "The times when we hit the gym daily. Now it's just a whenever-treat." He flexed, looking at his biceps with nostalgia. "Almost a shame they discovered Keeper Serum. It's too easy to hold onto these babies."
The teen haphazardly rubbed himself with body oil and the double-phucked bottom next to him assisted, through bloodshot eyes, spittle coughs and quivering thighs.
"Apropos Yggy's gifts to men," Warlock said. "Have you had nutri-pellets yet? We can hit the cantina."
"Yeah, don't worry, brah," Daddy's boy said. "I got used to the densest bio-pellets like it's nothin. Rest of my noob troop is still douchin once a week. We can hit the bar, easy, but I got access to the officer mess. Handout, yeah, but it lets me get my noob boys in."
Cleaned and shiny, the boy put his pink pouch on and grabbed his plug off the rack.
"Whose dick is that?" Saint Sexy asked. "Boyfriend or narcissism?"
The teen chuckled. "Straight as a high pressure cumshot, so yeah, it's my dick. Well, based on my dick. I'm not gonna pretend I was fourteen inches and thick as two fists before I got mini'd. Once they tell ya your guts are perfect for a dick shaped plug it can't really be someone else's, brah. Gimmi a sec."
He squeezed the cock plug until I started glistening with Python lube from within. He worked it into his hole with eyes rolled back, flexed thighs ballooning with rock hard striations.
The phucked bottom in the showers tipped over, nearly vomiting into Saint Sexy's oral violation while someone demolished his empty hole, the gaping abyss nearly phantom-rubbed into prolapse.
"Aaahhh," Daddy's boy said. "That was a good ghost dick shot."
They walked off and Saint Sexy let the oral phuck fade away. He was so used to plateauing, it didn't matter.
"Warlock," Warlock introduced himself.
"Saint Sexy," the lieutenant said. "You can check us out. We're number sixteen on the star ranger channels network."
The boy grabbed his pink hood and pulled it open to reveal his name. "Phuckass, pleasure to meet ya. It's Phuckass cause I love to phuck ass, not cause I wannna get my ass phucked."
"Did that confuse people?"
Phuckass shrugged. "Yeah, made gooners in the beginning thought I'm a zero-carrier but not anymore since the gold's come in."
The teen stopped over a thin trench, legs apart and squatting a bit. He pissed a ray from the pink pouch. He arched his back to give the stream no chance to splattering onto the ranger duo. One of the omega carrier noobs along the urinal trench flinched, probably tasting the boy's piss-stained phantom cock.
With a shiver, Phuckass continued, "I just like the name so much, bro. I was going for somethin low-key, respectable, casual. But when they hit you with the rainbow dew after the first plug-fitting – and it's not even the real rainbow yet, just low grade synth shit..."
"Gotcha," Saint Sexy said. He spun and pointed his thumbs at the huge cross-dick that stood out among all the tattoos on his back. "It awakens something. Being a star ranger hits different."
Warlock opened the blast door into the interior for them. "What's your golden power?"
Phuckass shook his head. "Not manifested yet. This way, my dudes. We're taking the stairs all the way to the top."
"I'm guessing it wasn't leg day?" Warlock teased.
"Brah, Peach Vanilla would kick me off the base if he catches me in the elevator after that fist suckin gym performance. 300 kilos and I didn't get ten reps in. Plus I loooove how the plug rubs me when I'm climbin, bro."
"Your own dick dildo, you mean," Saint Sexy said.
Phuckass chuckled. "Hey, am I supposed to have someone else's dick up my straight ass? Nah."
He led them into a small but opulent lounge of navy blue glass and warm yellow mood lights, overlooking the inner base yard. "Some suckers with guts perfect for dildo plugs go with a generic and then somebody runs the medical database on them and finds the nearest matching ranger cock."
Saint Sexy hummed. "If someone had a giga version of my cock as his lifeline, I'd take him out for a drink."
"But what if," Warlock said, "you had a dick as a lifeline and you hate the guy?"
"Sounds like fun, too. Rivalry gets clicks. Not something you have to worry about, though, until they bring back cavalry."
POV: Warlock
After a good hour's chat, Phuckass had to head out with his noob gang for simple crater patrol, blasting pustules and spore clusters that had drifted over from the peninsula.
Warlock and his lieutenant went in search for the area where the shuttle pilot Monkeyman had told them to find him. The navigator was nowhere to be seen but they got two rounds of drinks as the other Merry Men found their way to the place.
The Red Hole bar was a ring shaped establishment with moody lighting and slightly fluffier carpets in dark red, ringing a fenced off hole down to the base's little casino.
Noises of winning and losing drifted into the sound dampened bar from below. A different pussy got fucked on every display hanging on bulky pillars, interspersed with the occasional muscle ass getting fist rammed over dicklets too small to even really dangle between quivering legs.
Candy was up on the stage, pole grinding and lap dancing with other attention seeking bottoms and a few angel-beta carriers who liked to get phucked.
Warlock's psy-dick was ballsdeep in one of the unplugged asses jiggling on stage. The bar had a no-oral rule to keep things looking civilized.
A single screen showed a blue eyed twink sucking a real ten inch arab cock, effectively marking the gay table, but the mix of noobs, ensigns and seniors there seemed to ignore the display and amused each other instead. Faggot was among them, getting anally phucked by some daddy whose lap he was cuddling in.
Cypher returned with their hoods and personal pouches. "I put the harnesses in the buggy, sir. Wasn't sure if we're going to Byzantium in uniform or not."
"Probably fine either way," Warlock said. "I'll put mine on before we leave. At least the boots. The floor up there isn't as cozy."
More noises of loss sounded from the casino.
Saint Sexy grinned. Should we grab Fist King before he throws his monthly creds at blackjack?"
"You can try tearing him the fuck away," Warlock said. "I'm about to blow a twenty minute edging load. I'll cum so hard, if it was my real dick I'd rupture the pipe."
Cypher was saying something but Warlock went blind and deaf with the cumshot rush, his knees buckled and he had to support himself on the bar behind him. His long legs ballooned as he flexed every fiber in his thighs, his calves flaring as he instinctively went to his naked tip toes.
Part of him always wished these orgasms came with real relief but the infinite horniness always won. His face probably looked ridiculous but what did he care? His vision blurred with red and blue lights and his ears rang with-
No, the base alarm was active!
"Crater breached," a voice announced as the sirens echoed red and blue. "Xeno-material foray headed toward base Retribution. All mobile personnel report to garage hatch alpha, all on duty men assume battle stations."
Saint Sexy yelled, "grabbing Fist King," and blinked away.
Warlock made sure his other squad mates were in his line of sight and gestured to follow him.
They jostled down the stairs with a dozen other rangers, hooding up, mostly barefoot.
Warlock was first in the buggy and started it up before making sure his equipment was present like Cypher had said. Just when his boots were on, all his men had made it to the vehicle.
"Faggot, get us ready to rock," Warlock said, his post-dickgasmic bliss forgotten, supplanted by his angel's focused and anxious horse cock milking.
They drove into the grav-neut pillar and rapidly descended to the ground. Dominus Rex was adding Yaeger power to the buggy's ailing engines and they hit the rocks running.
POV: Candy
The craters gaped before them.
Candy recalled little of his obligatory cleaning patrols as a noob. He'd struggled getting to grips with the constant anal and oral assaults by his buddies, although only Fist King and Faggot were still from his original squad.
He was cuddling both of them, gripping their pecs tightly as the suspension bumped them up and down.
The buggy raced so fast it kept losing all contact with the ground, skipping like a motorboat. What looked like perfectly smooth crater walls from afar was a ragged mess of geological layers.
"P.V. is out there," Cypher stated into the psychic network. He sounded calm but Candy knew he was on the verge of exploding his rage into some xeno fucks.
"Phuckass, too," Warlock said. "We'll get there just in time. I can see them."
Base Retribution was firing phaser beams into the craters it could reach, scorching away the Yggdrasil root tendrils pushing into the wasteland. Every cut off arm seemed to detonate into a flurry of new biomass from seed cores, bulbous avalanches sloughing bit by bit along the crater lakes' rims.
A buggy was racing away, its Yaeger turned backward and firing Cerberus shots and shredder slugs. Some pink dots seemed to be in the buggy but none of them were using weapons.
The Merry Men and their companions from the base rattled plasma into the approaching foray.
Soon enough, Oni Tempest's buggy crossed their path and rushed past.
"Run! Too many!" Peach Vanilla communicated.
Warlock felt Yggy press down on him. He couldn't get the Question out of his head but it wasn't such a struggle anymore. He still had to think about his rangers, though. Without a good idea how hard the psy attacks hit the others, he couldn't stand and fight.
They turned toward the base, two other buggies following their example.
"P.V.! What's happened?" the commander asked.
"No fucking idea, sir," Peach Vanilla said. "I got Cumbag in the Oni with me, but the boy has got the psy willies. Phuckass, Jinxer and Happy Bronco are in the buggy. I think they're done for. Couldn't grab the rest. Fuck."
"Faggot, gimme visual."
The drone controller grabbed the feed from the other vehicle's internal cams. Three teens in the buggy, on their backs or on all fours, pink hoods pulled down. Frothing at the mouth with dark green sludge, their veins pulsing dangerously with green blood working through their system.
Warlock couldn't spend too much time staring – every shot counted in staving off the tide of forest growing so fast even the solid parts seemed like forward-dripping goo – but those boys were done. Even elites less infected than this were headed for a funeral.
Half-formed clusters dropped into the Merry Men buggy, like caviar trying to rise and fight. Warlock mindkilled each one into melting jelly.
Another problem was even closer. With a combination of angelic perception and reading their behaviors, the commander knew his un-integrated men weren't doing so hot.
Fist King stopped shouting after one "gimmi powaaaah" and struggled to focus on targets, his metal slugs hitting the lake as often as the enemy. Candy still managed to repel the rain of fleshy blobs and spore clusters that made it past Dominus Rex' field but moved as if half asleep. Saint Sexy had gone stiff and needed Faggot's fist along with the plug to keep him functioning.
"Sir," Faggot said. "I have an idea."
"Huh?"
"The gold juice. If we managed to integrate because we had it inside us..."
Warlock grunted. "Fuck it, worth a shot. Peach Vanilla, stay close. We need to try something the moment we're back."
Base Retribution was pulling the pillars up. Steel, plastic and more exotic material telescoped up or down, the pillars separating in the middle. Grav-neut blasted down from all four corners, massive engines keeping the base impossible to reach for anything that couldn't fly.
Point defense started hammering the air, dropping the xeno spawn with wings that rose above the craters. Orbital containment intensified, lighting the basins like a way-too-close sunrise.
The miscellaneous `buggy force' made it back and was lifted up to the hovering fortress.
Warlock rushed through the docking procedures. "Faggot, prep a sample."
"Yes sir."
POV: Fist King
Their vehicles rattled into the base's garage, chaotically clanking into parking spots as the Yaegers detached, shouts echoing from the walls and psy messages cluttering the connections.
P.V. handed Cumbag's trembling but uninfected body to others and sat back in his mecha.
Fist King had done his best and allowed himself to feel proud.
Also, his ass was getting an extra spread with his brand new, slightly longer plug, the fake arm's fingers pushing deeper, the wrist a bit thicker.
He stood by as Faggot pulled the massive fake dick out of Phuckass's hole, Python lube squirting from between the ultra-muscled glutes.
The teen's greenish skin was sweat slick, his veins throbbing with dangerous toxins. He seemed barely conscious.
"You cannot stop it," Phuckass growled with a voice barely his own. "The world tree takes root, all grows to one end."
"Fuck off, Yggy," Faggot said and slathered his arm in the golden goo they'd taken from the brood pocket.
Phuckass got fisted with the glistening gunk while star rangers all around started disinfecting to participate in the base defense.
"Let me," Fist King said. "Gimmi some of that shiny stuff. Prep his dildo."
Faggot complied, leaving Fist King to do what he did second best – after killing xeno spawn. His much bigger hands and thicker arms dug into the warm, slick anal envelope.
"You're in good hands now, kiddo," Fist King mumbled. "Don't bite it yet. Focus on the Threat – whatever it is to you. Then tell it to fist off real good."
Phuckass puked green sludge.
Fist King let the teen twist to the side for easier evacuation but kept sliding smoothly in and out.
An unreal dick entered his mouth. Phuckass was trying to anchor himself. Fist King took a massive hard rod down the throat once, then passed it onto Faggot who dutifully sucked psy-cock.
The dildo was ready, a massive replica of Phuckass' pre-minimization dick entering his hole slathered in amniotic and Python lube.
"Somehow this shit is working," Fist King said. "Haha, fight it, noob, fucking fight it."
An avalanche of green sludge shot from Phuckass' mouth. He convulsed, inhaled deeply and met Fist King's eye with clarity.
"I..."
"Uh... noob? You with us?"
Phuckass rose onto his forearms. "I... I just integrated so hard, dude."
In the general uproar, a few shouts stood out to Fist King.
"That's Cocky Bronco, hold him!"
A massive beefcake was being pushed back by three other troopers, trying to break through to Happy Bronco's buggy. "Bro! Bro! Let me fucking get to him! Bro!"
The other victims looked much worse by now, contorting unnaturally. Seedlings sprouted from their skin.
"I think... we should get out of here." Fist King helped Phuckass onto shaky legs.
Happy Bronco ruptured. He split in the middle, his corpse turning into minor components of a green-black sunflower hydra, dripping with ever more sludge. It consumed the equally cracking Jinxer.
Chaos everywhere.
"Get out, get out!" "Where's the flamers!" "Stand your ground!" "Fire!" "Where's the Major!" "Hold fire! Evac!" "What the fuck is this!" "Yes sir!"
A forest bloomed, the buggy creaking under the new weight distribution, the suspension tilting it. Fist King tried to rush Phuckass along. He couldn't tell if all his mates were ahead of him. He almost crashed into Oni Tempest who was backing into a corner.
The Menace returned. He was so not in control. If he stood on the other side of this, it would be like watching puppies go nuts over a dangling slice of bacon. He'd be the one in charge here, if only he let Yggy put him on the pedestal he deserved.
Needing to feel like he was accomplishing a mission he kept dragging Phuckass.
Faggot stumbled ahead, running backward and blasting tendrils blooming into existence like water from a hose.
It wasn't enough.
Slippery but rough ropes ensnared Fist King's thick, short calves and tore him to the ground. He gave Phuckass a final push out the clogged blast doors.
Tendrils shot past him, infesting the corridor.
Someone outside turned on a flame thrower.
A slug with teeth crawled into Fist King's face and suckered on. His psy radiance kept it from breaking skin but couldn't push it off. His hands dug into the slippery blob. He felt more of them drop onto his body.
The roots pulled him back, away from the door. He heard it slam shut.
Something suckered onto his plug's base and started pulling it free of his ass. He grabbed on with both hands, slowing the plug loss but getting his airflow cut by all the slugs in his face.
So out of control. So beyond saving.
Why did he do this to himself? Day after day, making himself vulnerable, getting violated. Hopeless. Why not join the winning team and stay in power. There was only one being in the galaxy who could "gimmi powaaah". Submitting to the world tree was-
"King, Saint!" Warlock said over the angelic network. "We're retaking the bay from the other side. Hold on, it'll be just a minute."
Saint Sexy hadn't blinked out in time either? Their lives were so phucked.
But if they were all going down here anyway, he'd go fighting.
With the last of his breath, Fist King sacrificed one hand's grip on his plug – now out of his ass to the fake wrist – to unsheathe his knife. He stabbed blindly at the things between his vine-spread legs.
He didn't have a minute to get rescued but fuck all that. He was going to go down fighting. He was in control of that much.
The plug was out to the last inch, that final bit he had only just added, his sphincter barely tickled.
"Sir!" Phuckass' voice came through the link. "We're almost there. Fuck those bitches up for me."
Ears pulsing, lungs burning, head throbbing, ass nearly empty.
There were two men in a psychic void before him, both short, black, omniroided as fuck, with a mop of locks he'd once dyed blue just to annoy Saint Sexy and his maroon mop and that hadn't even worked.
One of those men was pathetically suffocating, accomplishing nothing. The other was the ultimate authority, in charge of everything, winning life itself. Only a small step to-
His swings hit something vital and the plug was released. Feeling the entire arm rush back into him, pulled and massaged by his angel, made Fist King roar for joy with his final breath's exhale.
The slugs got catapulted off him.
The Menace was on break. He knew who he was and nothing was going to put a stop to his battle frenzy.
POV: Cypher
Cypher was uncomfortable outside his mecha cockpit. But the corridors would have barely fit it and several flame throwers in parallel accomplished more.
He advanced next to Faggot who was shredding with a machine gun, aimed away from the walls where projectiles could have bounced back at them.
"Guys," Cypher said. "Did Fist King just integrate, too? I sense a... reverberation."
"Feelin it, too," Phuckass said. He was flaming next to Cypher. "Good fuckin guy. Let's go get him."
Everybody was drenched in sweat, the heat unbearable, but it withered the forest effectively.
"Major Reaper!" Phuckass communicated behind his pink hood. "We're at the gate, sir."
"Lockdown superseded," an automatic voice said. "Door 9B opening."
The mass of bio matter sludge and leaves and unfinished critter took forever to burn, inch by inch. Cypher felt rivers of sweat rushing down the cuts of his tense muscles, guttering into his jock pouch and ass crack and farther down his bulging, caramel thighs or dripping off the base of his plug.
At long last they broke through the wall of dark green and Fist King drew nearer, cutting his way like a madman.
Cypher pulled off the flamethrower strap. "Here you go, little guy."
Their eyes couldn't literally meet – separated by the visages of a blue skull and an otherworldly swirl – but they understood each other. Fist King wanted to go on the offensive.
With the gate cleared for more rangers to stream in, it quickly became a fiery xeno massacre. Since there could be spores in the air, the ventilation had been cut from the garage bay, leaving the place hot and sweltering.
Where was his brother? Cypher hoped the wild growths couldn't make it into Yaeger capsules. He channeled his rage into flaming.
"I'm not much of a sauna guy," Fist King said. "But burning shit always feels fire as fuck, haha."
Warlock hit him on the back. "Excellent job in there. I knew we were going to see you again."
"That's right, sir."
"Now give'em hell. We'll just-"
Saint Sexy blinked out of the thicket, forest-honey dripping off him. Legs wide apart, bent forward, the Chinese goldenboy plug-fucked himself with both hands. His hood was down around his neck, the ahegao worn as an expression instead, crying, drooling, trembling.
Warlock reached out as if to touch his lieutenant but hesitated. "D-did you integrate, too? Holy shit, are we five for six?"
"Yes yes yes," Saint Sexy said with painful despair. "I live to cum. Yggy can suck my ass, holy fistcunt."
"Surreal," Faggot said. "Here's hoping the internal cams... yup, I think I got your integration on vid."
In front of the scorching walls of plasma fire, the newly sweat slick Saint Sexy let the plug slide fully in and hit a double-biceps abs vacuum, the rod within him pulsing under his abs.
He grunt yelled at the ceiling with a hoarse voice. "Loooook at meeee youuuuu fuuuckaaaaas."
Fist King joined in. "Gimmi powaaaaah!"
"Want a flame thrower, Saint?" Warlock asked and stepped forward.
A wave of psy terror crashed through the room. The warriors who weren't integrated fell to their knees, clutched their head or were otherwise out of the fight instantly.
Warlock seemed to understand the situation. "Fuck. Get everybody out. Phuckass, drag Candy out of here."
Cypher had an inkling. "Sir, is this the real deal? In here?"
"Looks like it. Major Reaper, close the doors again. We got a devil on base."
As if waiting for the dramatic reveal, the gooey jungle parted and a Yaeger-sized pod of biomass opened like a rose. The devil unfurled from the remaining sludge.
Most of the rangers fled. The Merry Men, sans Candy, stayed behind.
The devil was a huge serpent, dripping with birthing fluids. Its unfinished wings were still filigree, its aura of spores and vapors blurred with the seeming fire of extreme psy radiance.
Phuckass rejoined their line.
"Fuck no," Warlock said. "Get the hell out, kid."
"No can do, sir. Door's closed."
"Daddy's gonna kill us," Warlock mumbled but didn't keep fighting.
The devil formed something like a face at its tip, close enough to a mouth and two eyes to give the men a point of reference. Entirely for the humans' benefit, surely.
Cypher had never wished so much to be inside Dominus Rex, even though he knew this wouldn't help in the least against the true power of the enemy.
The devil's voice was loud and quiet at the same time, overwriting all other sound but subtle enough you weren't even sure you heard anything.
"You. Have. Something. Of. Ours."
"Fuck off," Warlock said and fired a plasma bolt. The psy field was so extreme that the heat projectiles fizzled to nothing, the nucleus of metal within simply vaporizing itself.
"You will give it back," the devil said. "It's not for you disgustingly inefficient lifeforms, evolving only a generation at a time. You are lost children in this galaxy we naturally oversee. But even your inferior minds understand negotiation. We will make you kings of kingdoms beyond human reckoning."
The assortment of base defenders who hadn't evacuated in time were on their knees or all fours, worshipping. Their whimpers were incoherent but full of reverence.
"Superior... kings... wonder... galaxy..."
Cypher's mind was suffused with love – a deeply trusting, naïve love that made it hard to keep the very idea of lies in mind. It was, however, a totally sexless sensation. His angel was working his guts to squeeze out one hell of an assgasm.
The serpent moved, keeping its distance from the slowly circling integrated men.
"You call our home Diabola-5, but to us it is a paradise where no wish remains unfulfilled. You must have tasted our Potential so many times, though you call it a Threat. You refuse yourselves the opportunity to be a leaf on the grandest tree in the universe."
"Blablabla," Faggot said and twisted his own nipples. "Not even a good pitch. I'll have to edit this down later."
Cypher couldn't help grin at the bravado, when Faggot was literally pissing himself right now, uncontrolled splatters tracing the deep cuts of his ripped legs.
The warriors assembled, thigh on thigh, their unarmed hands reaching for each other's bodies for reassurance. Cypher put a hand on Phuckass' glutes while Warlock put an arm around his waist.
"What's so special about the gold fluid?" Saint Sex asked. "It's what you're here for, isn't it? Why? You aren't even trying to tell us its super dangerous to humans or some shit. So you know the eggheads are going to figure it out soon enough."
The adoring devil fanboys began to rise. Some had weapons in hand. They weren't puppets, the devils projected desires letting their dull, addled minds slowly draw their own conclusions.
Cypher was hit by a craving to serve superior beings. The snake would have qualified as a deity if he hadn't just started an assgasm so hard he blacked out standing up for a second.
So he worshipped his plug instead, face contorting wildly under the hood. The heat within started matching the one making him sweat without.
"It is merely a failed experiment," the devil said. "There will be no more. We wish to clean up and not bother your ridiculously dismal species with our wild sparks of genius."
"Seems like you failed to grab it while you could," Phuckass said, his voice quivering in a dry throat, clearly fighting with his own emergency-assgasm right now, too.
It was hard work, but so much easier since integrating. Cypher knew he wouldn't have survived a devil encounter before.
Hands pinching his nipples, thighs flexed hard enough to squeeze the plug's base, Cypher mumbled "fuck yes fucking fisting yes holy shit yeah" without sending it into the link.
The serpent slithered to their old buggy. The compartment where the canteens had been cooled was open and empty. "Bring the amniotic to me," the devil said. "You will receive all you desire. Not measly riches and accolades you creatures hunt for in your short, miserable lives but immortal fulfillment and bliss, peace-"
Something about the mention of peace made Cypher so incredibly angry he had a hard time hearing the rest. If he could get to his Yaeger they stood a chance at killing the beast, but no way would that end without several losses.
"Fist King," Warlock whispered into the link. "Did you..."
"No clue where the samples went, sir."
"Do you love candy?" Phuckass said. "I do. Just so sweet."
The serpent wiggled. "Your heavy-handed attempt at code is pathetic, noob. We are well aware our amniotic was stolen right before this form hatched. You are my bargaining chips. Tell the others I am defeated or conjure some other ruse. Bring it to me."
The worshippers were zombie-shambling in, some crawling. The Merry Men wouldn't get to keep circling without popping some rangers in the head – and some of the zombies targeted their own blasters at them even if the zombies weren't lucid enough to aim well.
"What other plan do you have?" the devil asked. "If you all die in here, oh so heroically, there are no more guns aimed at this form. We can take the time to regather our strength and take the base from within. We are perfect an you- No!"
A Cerberus shot blinded Cypher along with the ear-splitting rattle of a machine gun in overdrive.
The serpent took Oni Tempest's blast to the face, melting just slightly. The psy radiance was busy catching the infinite flood of projectiles.
Fist King activated two flamethrowers, shooting from the hip. "Gimmi powaaaah!"
Phuckass and Warlock joined in.
Worshippers launched uncoordinated but serious attacks. Saint Sexy took on the task of kicking the zombies away, blinking around the place with a knee or foot sole for every hooded face threatening the warriors. A lot of noses would need fixing.
Cypher ran for Dominus Rex.
"P.V.?"
"Sorry it took a bit," Peach Vanilla answered weakly from his capsule.
Cypher hopped into his own mecha and cold started the guns before bothering the close the lid. "Oh, we're so back, baby." The rage was fully in control. With the plug pulsating from the fuck-machine-seat, he let his anger bleed into the levers, keeping the snake occupied with shots that would have removed a bulkhead.
Peach Vanilla sounded like he was getting rattled just as much. "I was praying to Yggy. Fully gone. Managed to hit the contingency button just before snakeface got to me, though."
"The fuck is a contingency button?"
"If I don't turn it off within three minutes, it sets the fuck machine to max. Man, my ass is paying the price."
"That's all?"
Peach Vanilla laughed into the link. "Oh brother. That, plus squirt the cockpit full of rainbow dew."
"What? How do you function if you're high as balls on sex?"
Again, the man in the Oni laughed. "Then some Bullseye Mélange for focus, Quick Blue for the reflexes, Slo'Compound so the Blue doesn't give me jitters and hallucinations, Pig's D for a bit of a high, Nail Muffin to get me down from the Pig's D-"
Cypher almost lost control of the gun levers. "How many fucking drug vapors have you got in there right now, dude?"
"Yes!"
"Holy shit."
"Yeah! It worked."
Warlock shouted, arms spread. "Let me hit it!"
Cypher complied, well-practiced with following orders despite the infinite rage that supplemented his anal lifeline.
Warlock rushed in, his large hand slapping down on the half-dissolved goo that barely held a serpent shape. He balled his hand into a fist and sank in deep.
The mindkill was so strong, Cypher felt his angel flinch. Worshipper zombies staggered. Anything without psy defenses would have been knocked into a coma.
The devil splashed into dead ooze.
Cypher dared to pop his lid, but stayed in the mecha.
Within seconds, Saint Sexy and Phuckass stood hole-to-hole, their plugs sticky taped for a double headed fuck. They both seemed to need it.
Warlock fished an arm-long frilly thing out of the goo, like a long, limp set of fish grates. He pulled his thorn-skull off, a nose bleed running down the contours of his thick lips. He raised the frills up in triumph.
"That would be the devil. Get a good shot, Faggot. They'll hack this beastie up into a hundred demure angels."
"Sir," Faggot said. "That thing wasn't done growing. We got a gestational devil. That'll make a lot more than a hundred."
A voice intruded from the ceiling. "Major Reaper here. Extremely good work, Merry Men squad. Consider yourselves lauded and commended. Please disinfect yourselves before we open the gate and place the devil-core in the secure-"
Candy's voice mixed itself in. "And I helped."
"Y-yes," Major Reaper said, along with the sound of pushing something heavy aside. "See you rangers in a bit."