################### ## ABYSS DIVERS ### ###################
POV: Faggot
The Merry Men dropped by the massage salon for a light rub, an oiling and a good lotioned fist by thankful noobs. Everybody felt a bit rattled from the outer and inner attack, so the place was packed.
Phuckass got swarmed by his class mates. He remained nonchalant, leaning on a standing table while a semi-muscular noob of his cadre was getting his unplugged hole phantom demolished, on all fours and arching with his ass jiggling under ghost slaps.
Faggot kept the visual feed going, both from Retribution's inner cams he had access to and the lazily circling drones. He had a feeling the teen was going to enrich their channel – and he was easy on the eyes.
Celebrations were cut short since they had to leave on Monkeyman's schedule. Phuckass was coming along to see his father.
The Jamestown's passenger quarters were filled, twenty star rangers on their backs on foam mattresses stacked three bunks tall. Their hoods and harnesses were beside them. Their plugs between their huge legs like third thighs, empty holes gaping.
After minor announcements – making sure everybody was braced for acceleration – the Jamestown rammed the sky at the speed of sound.
After a few minutes of acceleration, the troopers were free to replug and move around the small area.
"Stay like that," Phuckass said, his hand on Faggot's hand which had reached down for the cobra.
"Wanna phuck again?" Faggot asked.
"You know it."
Faggot wasn't used to feeling all that small, despite being on the slender side of muscle-bound. But Phuckass cuddled him and the sweet embrace of Jumbo muscles made Faggot feel like escape was unthinkable – physically and mentally.
Well, it wasn't so much of a cuddle as a supplementary possessive grappling. The virtual ass fuck had Faggot struggle against the restraint, Phuckass' hips slapping into his glutes in an imitation of sex while the psy-cock opened him more than any realistically sized human penis could have.
Their pouches were still off but Phuckass' mini dicklet didn't even make it past his own massive thighs to touch the bottom's striated cheeks.
The teen whispered. "In the orbit high club yet?"
"No sir," Faggot said. "Uh, I mean, nah bro. Only been to two planets outside earth."
"I managed to phuck some slut on every rocket since I enlisted. You're number nine."
"I'll believe it."
"And you can call me `sir' if you want. You'll have to, after officer school. Ughhh fuck, that's a nice rub. Take it slut."
"Yes sir. Thank you s-"
Faggot got phucked in the face, so deep that virtual balls hit his chin. Vision blurry, he struggled to keep the drool off Phuckass massive, rockhard arms.
Fist King rolled over. "Heya, room for one more?"
"What's it look like, dude?" Phuckass said. "Find another bottom or wait."
"No sharing?"
Phuckass held relatively still, the ghost sex continuing just as brutally in Faggot's hole. "Nah man, I don't like the rub of another man's rod on mine. Doesn't feel right."
"Gotcha," Fist King said. "It's an acquired taste."
Candy draped himself over Fist King with all his mass, the pale and the black skin equally oil glinting. "Jealous your Faggot-monopoly got broken? Looks like your twink has a new favorite. But I can unplug if you need to destress anally."
"Ha, like a plug's ever faggin stopped me, kitten."
Fist King and Candy snuggled up to the phucking teen, crowding in the already squeezed Faggot. They mutually nipple pinched and Candy let the tentacle squelch from his ass, rib by rib.
"Never quite got why betas don't like getting phucked," Candy said. "Or alphas for that matter. You got the same mega plugs, Phuckass even has a dildo. What's a little ghost cock?"
"Principle of the matter," Phuckass said. "Or did you want to get your ass demolished by beefcakes before you got your compatibility score and kinda had to?"
"Fair," Candy said. "But some like it. Even some goldenboys I know. Alpha boyfriends tend to phuck each other."
"Yeah," Phuckass said. He ruffled Faggot's blond circle of hair and spun onto his back, `taking' the hugged Faggot from below. "I bet this slut here was hoping for omega. Dreaming of ranger psy-dick all day."
Faggot flipped all three of them off, unable to even think speech into the link with the assgasms Phuckass was gifting him, his tears, snot and drool dripping past his face onto the teen's pecs.
"Reason it's on my mind," Candy said, "I kept in touch with a couple we met in training. Remember those Faggot? They're not really posting anymore."
Faggot remembered – especially the collabs – but he was too ravaged at both ends to respond.
"Plugs shaped like each other's dicks," Candy said. "And always phucking each other silly to boot."
"Oh yeah," Fist King said. "What are those lovebirds up to now? Went to earth, right?"
Monkeyman's voice sounded throughout the bunk layers. "We're reaching orbit in five minutes. Prepare for ten minutes of microgravity during approach and docking."
The unknown oral attacker deposited thick strings of phantom cum into Faggot's mouth. He gagged on the load. It wasn't just unreal but unrealistic in size, men's desire caring little for verisimilitude.
"So how's Daddy's boy, Faggot?" Fist King asked. "What's the verdict?"
"Perfect," Faggot said. "You could never."
Fist King put his hand on Phuckass shoulder. "Kid, I respect your wish not to touch cocks with me but I cannot let this stand, you catch me?"
The grenadier splashed Python lube on his hand and dug into Faggot's hole. The sensation of the fisting multiplied with the phucking for crazy pleasure.
Candy giggled, his glutes flexing to the rhythm Fist King's ghost anal attacks. "Hehe, for a second I thought you were going to phuck the noob."
"He can try," Phuckass said, flexing casually which worked out to insane striation pop. "This goldenboy can fight back. I'd fold any beta in half and have him beg for more."
"You tops," Candy said. "Always teasing, never delivering."
POV: Warlock
Byzantium glinted in the view port.
A ring within a ring, connected by spokes, only two other rockets docked at the ports along the outer ring at the moment. Byzantium station represented the commercial, military and cultural touchstone of the Sig system.
It hung in the void above planet Sig-3, which wasn't a hub of anything. A new frontier at the edge of U.S. space. Hell, it hadn't receive an official name yet. The human settlement, Upstart, wasn't even old enough for a ranger to have been born there. But the Gray were resilient and reasonably welcoming.
Warlock found the peninsula and the route the squad patrolled. It looked so tiny.
He was mutually nipple rubbing with his lieutenant, the inked Chinese hunk keeping their immense legs entwined in the microgravity, thighs rubbing as they drifted around their common center.
"Those silly kids," Warlock said, only for Saint Sexy to hear.
"Huh?"
Warlock flexed his psy-dick, feeling the pressure of Saint Sexy's rod inside the omega ass they were sharing.
Bubba - lean muscled white pilot in training - was taking care of the passengers with his ass filled by commander and lieutenant. He hovered behind them, his abs and thighs quivering with power phucking as the tops went in alternately. Bubba's tongue swirled around somebody else's phantom crotch.
"The aversion to sharing ass," Warlock clarified. "It's a nice rub on the cockhead. Like edging."
"Like edging?" Saint Sexy mocked. "Bitch, we've not stopped edging since we enlisted."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah yeah. We've all gone through the noob phase. Kid's not even acting as cocky as he thinks, hehe."
An unknown star ranger hovered over, working along the handholds. He was gigantic, muscled beyond what was recommended for optimal performance, maybe 6'6''. His ethnicity was ambiguously Asian, the crown of Seoul Prime and the hammer of New Mars bleeding into each other on a prominent neck tattoo. He wore nothing, his mini package almost impossible to see between the thigh meat.
"Couldn't help notice you guys are doubling up," the new guy said. "Mind one more?"
"Join on in," Warlock said. "I'm Warlock, and this is Saint Sexy."
"Micro," the ultra-big guy said. "Thanks."
The third psy-cock made Bubba's eyes bulge with lust. Altogether they were probably creating a plug-sized intrusion. They had to find a common rhythm now, the alternation no longer working.
"Been a while since I tripled up," Warlock said. "Noob days, I think."
"Oh?" Saint Sexy said. "Never heard that story."
Warlock shrugged. "What's there to say? Once you've touched dick with one guy, why not see how far you can go? The bottom had to tap out, or his angel did. Wouldn't take a sixth."
Micro groaned. They invited him into the nipple-tickling leg tangle. And Bubba, too.
"Wonder if Faggot ever got to five or six," Saint Sexy said. "Maybe on the way back down?"
Warlock shook his head. "Nah, he'll want it on camera."
POV: Saint Sexy
The docking sluice led to a cargo hold on one side and a seemingly infinite corridor of identical apartment airlocks on the other, curving up and away from view.
Twenty passengers and a few red-clad members of Jamestown's crew shuffled toward the elevator to ride up the spoke, bumping their way into lose groups in the tight space. Many stopped at the edge of the path, leaning crotches forward for a quick piss now that their pouches were back on.
Along with the lift came an Eridani, a ball of red and yellow energy, bundling up gaseous matter and metal shards in a three foot radius. Eridani had been the first xenos to join the United Stars - excellent engineers and of little relevance to Yggdrasil.
Since the alien hovered, it took up none of the precious space in the capsule.
The ride began and a stunning view presented itself. The elevator wasn't actually glass – that was impossible - but the screens were so good it felt like being out in space.
Faggot rode Fist King piggyback, faintly napping. Candy had taken over drone duty and gawked like he hadn't seen Sig-3 from above before.
The Eridani spoke with an ambiguously feminine voice from the translator chip, somewhere in its whirling aura. It assessed who was going where – diplomatic wing, research sector, habitats 1 through 20, commerce desk...
Saint Sexy gave Warlock a poke in the side. "Think she wants you to make her magnets spin, stud?"
"What?"
"The cloud lady."
"I think they gender their voices randomly."
"Yeah, I... It's a joke, dude."
"Greetings," said the Eridani, now directly above them. "Are you Jamie `Warlock' Sullivan?"
"That's me," the commander said.
"I request transfer of the samples. You are being awaited in the star ranger lounge."
"Gotcha."
The canteens of amniotic went to the alien, her ability to control matter within her field letting the containers hover along.
The rangers stepped out into the inner ring, dome windows overlooking Sig-3 and the starry sky.
Much of the inner section was taken up by a park, curated and maintained by Sylvans – nine foot tall, green stickbug creatures with four arm and the ability to interface with vegetation. They hadn't been doing so hot once Yggdrasil had figured out how to turn their own forests against them but the United Stars integration initiative was giving them places to thrive.
The promenade along the parks was leisurely flowing with activity.
Jade-clanking Gray learned human tech or sold cultural products, vendors and diplomats and a sparse few tourists mingled, even the occasional alien from systems away passed by.
Civilian men were wrapped in every possible fashion – neon shimmering leotards, dark full-body veils, ornate tribal loincloths, thongs and sandals.
"Kinda forgot how big real dicks are," Warlock said, unsubtly staring after a guy with a swinging package in formfitting trunks. "Those gooners aren't even fucking caged."
"Man, I was so hoping to spot a chick or two," Saint Sexy said.
"And do what?" Fist King asked.
Saint Sexy flexed. "Impress them into orgasmic delight. With my personality."
Micro's voice came from behind. "They wouldn't be prancing with military passing through, anyway. We're the horniest bastards around."
Saint Sexy turned around for a major shock. Micro had put on his harness and extra tiny jock pouch – in officer white.
"S-sergeant Micro, sir!"
The stupidly big officer wore hood in white, too, with three dark blue bleeding gashes across.
He laughed heartily. "I couldn't miss the opportunity to head the project. You don't have to be so formal when we're not doing business, though. I should have introduced myself, sorry, but we were having fun."
"Project?" Warlock asked.
Micro spread his arms. "Whatever you guys have going on. Normally those brood pockets develop into medium problems, maybe new roots if they're far enough out. But not this one. We're thinking the devil wasn't full of shit when it called the thing an experiment. I'd like to run some tests. Warlock, can I trouble you to follow me to the lab?"
Daddy walked into line of sight just as Micro left, hugging his son.
"Who's bigger?" Candy whispered without using the link. "Daddy or Micro? It's like they're both towering over the other, in different ways."
"Like a fucking optical illusion," Saint Sexy said.
The lieutenant headed into the park areas, being followed by some of his mates.
Finding touristy things to do wasn't hard, yet they ended up choosing sex. Micro was right, they were the horniest bastards around.
Looking out the observation port, Saint Sexy and Cypher sat thigh-on-thigh while phucking civilian twinks.
The young men in loincloths were on all fours, hand in hand, their naked asses shaking, technically looking out the window, too, but rather busy moaning.
They were omegas with big dicks jiggling below their phuck-gaping holes. Outside the danger zone of the planet below, they had done away with their cages – although they seemed uninterested in jerking off.
"Angels are slowly taking over," Cypher remarked. "Seeing more civilian omegas lately."
"`Slowly' being the key word," Saint Sexy said. "Not too many gooners picking a faggin angel once they know they're only omega compatible."
"Aren't you two lucky bastards," Cypher said to the twinks, their pleasure-watering eyes reflected in the viewing port glass.
"Yes sir," the brunet one, Timmy, said. "More of a supply issue, though. I know plenty dudes on the omega wait list."
Saint Sexy grunted. "Never enough angels. Hard to hunt down in the wild, hard to grow in the lab. Why did you get one?"
"Mom's got a biz in high risk zones. I'm her ambassador in ranger camps. Been training with cages, plugs and horny drugs since I was old enough, like the other boys."
"And you?" Saint Sexy asked the other one, Jae-Sang, who Cypher was phantom wrecking.
"Just a happy tagalong," tan twink Jae-Sang said, looking back with a loopy grin. "Ranger fanboy but aiming for a technician post. Getting some experience travelling with my buddy Timmy."
"Getting some experience being horny as fuck," Saint Sexy said, his ghost cumshot approaching.
"Yes sir," Timmy answered for his friend. "So hard not jerking off when I'm uncaged, though."
Cypher grunted, the only sign he was part of the body-rattling ravaging inflicted on the twinks. "You'll have to minimize it, for safety."
Jae-Sang whimpered. "I know I know, sir. I will, sir."
A blue and pink light fell on them from behind. A generic, dispassionate voice said, "Merry Men?"
Saint Sexy twisted up to see the Eridani. He bit his lips to suppress the whimper of orgasm, his toes painfully tightly curled in his boots. "Y-yeah?"
"One of you may report to Sergeant Micro for examination."
Saint Sexy let himself finish for a few seconds. He slapped the back of the currently orgasming Cypher and headed off, following the glowing alien to a relatively cozy cabin where one wall was taken up by screens and equipment.
He high fived Warlock on the way out.
Micro had one thick-as-fuck forearm buried to the elbow in Phuckass, who lay on his back with legs pulled in. The teen's face carried relaxed bliss.
"Hey Saint Sexy," Micro said. "Unplug and settle in. On your back or all fours, however you're comfortable."
Something about a fisting on his back made Saint Sexy feel too submissive, most of the time, but he wasn't going to avoid eye contact with the `doctor'. Lying next to Phuckass, the lieutenant got his ass deep penetrated at the same time as the teen.
A guy in a green medical onesie put suckers and tapes along his abs, wrists and where the angel slept in the neck.
"You got big hands, sir," Saint Sexy said. "Really, really big."
"I do," Micro said, "and yes, they make me popular. Now I'll try comparing you two. Something about the amniotic made you and your angels interface as if you've been working together for twenty years longer, more in the noob's case. In your file, Saint Sexy, you call your psy threat the Gaze. Focus on that for now. You'll sense an intrusion. Don't worry, that's just my angel saying hi."
"Yes sir."
POV: Fist King
Fist King had been the final one to finish Sergeant Micro's examination. According to the officer he had taken it like a champ. Honor to his call sign and so forth.
He found Candy and Phuckass in a bar on the promenade.
The `Slipstream' was an attempt at bringing art deco to the station. The bartender was a Sylvan. You'd have though double the arms meant double the work done but the stickbugs were rather leisurely.
"Fist King," Candy said and pulled him in hard enough to make him fall onto the bar chair rather than sit down. "I was just introducing the noob to our old training buddies."
Fist King bro-hugged the hunks in dull yellow garrison uniforms.
Raw Dawg and Rusher were lifelong best friends, both alphas, eyes gleaming gold.
Raw Dawg was barely taller than Fist King, similarly heavy and his mohawk was dyed to match the yellow harness and pouch. Rusher was a dark skinned Asian with lithe muscles, the United Stars Alliance coat of arm tattooed on the forehead of his bald-buzzed dome.
"Heard about you taking down a devil," Raw Dawg said. "Felt orgasmic as fuck, I bet."
"Abso-fisting-lutley," Fist King said. "Uh, did we have to pick the most luxurious place to celebrate, though?"
Candy patted him on the shoulder. "I'm paying, don't you worry."
Rusher laughed. "I'll donate a round to the hero. It's a young colony with a contained war front. Every good drink here is going to be imported."
"Gotcha, gotcha," Fist King said and dutifully nursed whatever overly fancy drink Candy had ordered for him.
The bar chairs had stick-strips to make plugs ridable. Fist King gave himself a slow anal edge. Candy was bouncing, Phuckass only rolled his hips.
"Uh so," Phuckass said. He was getting poked in the ribs by an unsubtle Candy. "Are you guys phucking each other right now?"
"Sure as balls are, dude," Rusher said. "If you see us together, ninety percent chance we're mutually phucking."
"Glad I stumbled over y'all," Candy said. "Be a good example for this noob."
Raw Dawg slapped his bestie's glutes. "Got dildo plugs shaped like each other's cocks. Not for use in risky engagements, cause they're not anally optimal. In battle, we're fellow fist enjoyers."
"But shore leave, like this?" Rusher said. "Having each other's tool adds so much to the sex."
"And your wives don't freak?" Phuckass asked. "I see the ring tattoos. Unless you're mutual husbands."
Raw Dawg laughed. "Knew that was coming. Nah, this is more of a thing that you realize. They wives are both chilling down in Upstart."
"That's where you're garrisoned?" the teen asked.
"Yup," Rusher said. "Outreach, mostly. And drilling new golden boys. So we'll see you in officer academy."
"Looking forward to it, trainer."
Fist King leaned into the noob's collar bone for a whisper, loud enough for the others to hear. "So what do you say? Mutual phuck?"
"Since when are you up for that?" Candy asked. "Turning bottom?"
"I was kidding, dude. Tried getting phucked once and I'm telling you it's not my thing. "
Candy scoffed. "I said the same thing but angelic compatibility doesn't care. I stuck to it and it worked out. You can, too!"
Fist King knew from experience this wasn't going anywhere. If he brought up how good topping felt, he'd get into another argument. Taking control of the situation meant redirecting.
He slapped Phuckass on the pink jock pouch. "If you ever get plug-fucked by someone, it means you get dicked down by your own tool."
"Dude, I know," the teen said.
"...so another guy owns your dick. Isn't that bottoming?"
"Wait. Shit. Can't plug fuck ever again." Phuckass said and earned the chuckles he sought.
"Bottoming's an attitude," Raw Dawg said. "And you don't have it, alpha gooner."
"Fuck yeah," Phuckass said and flexed his biceps. He sucked his brickwall abs in, his midsection hugging the dildo plug, revealing just how far it reached into him.
"But I get it," Rusher said. "First time taking a phuck takes trust. Lots of alphas never try. Fist-sucking shame. I bet you'd love it."
Micro showed up. He was too big to be sneaky, even in a crowd of star rangers and tourists beefy enough to weather a mildly risky system. He pulled Candy away with barely an apologetic glance at the others.
Rusher leaned in conspiratorially. "What's that about?"
Fist King pulled Phuckass in by the neck and grinned at the garrison men. "Oh, Candy didn't tell you? Me and this kid integrated today. Well, a couple of earth days, really. Plus all the others in my squad did, spare Candy."
He took a slow sip, letting the phucking goldenboys sit with jaws dropped in awe and jealousy.
Candy returned with interesting news.
POV: Candy
The sun had finally set on Sig-3's long day, followed by equally long darkness. In the last sliver of dusk, in a wide savannah valley, the Merry Men squad stood in loose formation, hammering the circling enemies.
Tripod stalkers led the charge, each as tall as three men stacked, and replaced almost as fast Dominus Rex' Cerberus blasts drove through their singular eye into their bodies.
Fist King's static fields and sparking sentry mine turrets funneled the flood of small fry into kill zones. Birds fell from the air under the leader's mindkill before they could drop their seedpod eggs.
Candy felt the Embrace looming like never before. His ass was empty and his mind reeling, but his crew needed him.
The lifeforms were blanketing the area in toxic fog while frog-poodle hybrids sprayed acid spittle that would eventually eat through the body oil and psy radiance, already beginning to dissolve the boots the creatures were crunched under.
Candy's Sphinx shield should have been the tool for the job, repelling fog and aerosol into zones for with absorption mode hoovering.
But with his hole empty, he barely held onto the angelic links to his mates.
Nobody recognized his sacrifice. He was a tool and the moment he started failing, nobody thought more of it than how much of a nuisance it was to replace worthless failures.
"You're gonna do it, buddy," Warlock shouted, flashes lighting his towering body as he zapped bugs without looking.
Saint Sexy blinked in from of Candy for a firm hug. "We know it's hard but you'll be so happy when you're done. You're always one of us."
"Fuuuuck," Candy whimpered. He jiggled the shield and blaster as if he was going to manage aiming at anything. His perception was jumbled.
The tipped-over tripods with their legs shot off were starting to form a wall around them, sludge oozing into the circle of fighters from the stalker's twitching bodies. The flood of sprayers intensified as the muck made it harder to spot them in time.
Candy sensed Faggot step behind him. The fellow bottom must have pulled up his hood a bit since Candy felt a tongue going up from the sweat dripping small of his back to his neck and down again to his ass crack. He arched in hopes of an entry but no such luck.
It's all fake, Yggdrasil whispered, they only use you as a tool. Would his friends leave him here if he failed? Was he doomed to be the one worthless teammate in the end? True warmth and care lay at the roots of the world tree. If he only took the plunge...
A hand gripped his neck, fingers wrapped over the `Blood Toil Sweat Tear' droplet tattoo.
Daddy's rock hard mega-muscle body was hot behind him, lining up the ribbed tentacle missing from Candy's ass, stuck to the sergeant's jockpouch.
"This is it," Daddy said. "Here's hoping I'm sensing right."
Two paths. One cold and unrecognized, one gentle and cozy and seen. Candy arched his back painfully, hoping for a last chance before Yggy was the only answer left to him.
His optimized plug entered his guts with a smooth slide and Daddy fucked sense into him.
Candy choose assgasmic teamwork over the xeno embrace and his angel zapped his neck for joy.
The flood of little squirting beasties flinched collectively.
Daddy and Candy joined the fight like a four-handed gun turret, continuing to plugfuck for Candy's sanity. The shield carrier felt his psy radiance in overdrive, caked with waxy mutant goo trying to eat his skin.
Faggot took a second to hug the trembling, sobbing beefcake. "Good boy, there you go, integrating like a champ."
Saint Sexy popped up and ruffled Candy's hair. "That's my boy. Love you, buddy. Gonna need you to start pulling your weight there, though, or were gonna drown."
Daddy unstuck his pouch, leaving Candy's newly integrated angel to take over the plug. The sergeant lifted his mini-Cerberus with a grunt, all his strength in the motion, and went to town.
From there, the integration test became a xeno slaughter.
POV: Faggot
One earth month later:
The gestational devil, once purified, spliced and nurtured, had become a constant source of Sig's homegrown angels, enabling much higher recruitment without going through other angel-growing systems.
In fact, other systems were sending their prospect here. Everybody was a trainer these days.
And just in time for Yggy to start pushing past the old borders. The alien menace seemed to know the United Stars forces were fluffing up their ranks and responded by lashing out preemptively.
The forest of dense, purple oak-analogs was abuzz with the real voices and angel-link shouts of pink hooded men, their pink boots trampling crunchy, armored snakes. These noobs had barely made it through a month of training before already needing to be deployed.
Faggot still had a hard time thinking of himself as `elite'. But his noobs looked up to him, many not even as beefy as Faggot himself yet.
He slapped one of his trainees on the ass, a tall one who's dark brown skin was dense with tattoos on every limb. "Krazy Kyle, take over for Munchkin and Cream Puff."
"Yes sir!"
Faggot's drone visuals weren't quite as useful in the storm of wide-winged bird creatures getting shredded by two Yaegers outside the forest. The flying mutants turned to sludge on the way down, feathers rotting before they hit the ground, goop getting caught in the trees.
Faggot moved on to the thinnest, lightest noob in the gang – but he was catching up fast – along with a bald Asian even shorter than Fist King but on his way to equal mass. They stood ass to ass, their plugs stuck together for mutual fucking with their new, customized plugs.
"Munchkin, Cream Puff, shields away. How's the psy Threat?"
"P-pretty fuckin bad, sir," Munchkin said, clearly weak on his thin legs. "Can barely aim."
"I'm... holding... on," Cream Puff said, "with... assgasms."
"Retreat to the third line," Faggot said. "Rainbow Dew if you really need. Minimal dose. I want you back here in ten. The mist sprayers can't get this far in anyway."
"Yes sir."
To make sure he wouldn't eat his words, Faggot slipped into the minty green fog, his long plasma knife aglow and slicing at each snake he felt bite into his radiance-protected calves.
With angelic perception he found the ochre skinned, spoiled son of a conglomerate boss who'd taken to life as a lowly grunt with gusto, plus a constantly panicking ginger-mohawk kid, straight but omega, who seemed surprised by every phuck he got.
"Mini Mate, Pup Seven. Priority on the mist-puking caterpillars if they break the outer line."
"Yes sir."
"I'm checking the other front. Krazy Kyle is lieutenant."
"Yes sir."
Faggot pulled out, grabbed two other noobs by the wrists. They were so slick with xeno sludge that he couldn't get a grip.
"With me."
"Yes sir."
The trainer looked between the legs of the pale Asian, which wasn't easy with thighs already this gigantic. "Shameless, where's your pouch?"
"Dunno sir, lost it somewhere."
"Don't bullshit me or I'm sending you home."
"Sir, I dropped it sir."
"Fuck's sake, Shameless. Just cause you're a goldenboy doesn't let you get away with everything."
"Sir, flicking my senseless nub helps with the Threat, sir."
"Fuck it. Fine, whatever. Just don't spray anyone if you piss."
Faggot turned to the other one, a slim nordic type who'd started getting a real taste for psy-cock at last.
"You're one of Candy's?"
"Yes sir, Lil Dancer," the noob said and wiggled his hips. "Candy's bunch is in reserve."
A quick link into Hummingbirds black and white let Faggot see his fellow bottom on the hill past the forest, his noobs either napping or plug riding within two overflowing buggies where the United Stars Alliance flags fluttered in the breeze. Candy got triple fisted by boys with their pink hoods down, crying from bodygasms.
"Okay, come along. Cam feed says this way. Man, I can't fagging wait till some of you gooners get drone access."
He found Warlock and his noob troop engaging a fifteen foot hog-thing that was shitting out unfinished baby hogs with tusks that took up half their heads.
"Heat scan indicates core close to the neck," Faggot said.
"On it," Warlock said. "Help us with the small fry?"
"Absolutely. Shameless, Lil Dancer, fuck'em up."
While the newcomers mopped up the unfinished spawn, Warlock's gaggle focused the tusk-laden hog's thick neck open until the core ruptured. The forest got flooded in blue liquid. Big, curly bone chunks grew from the ground as the life juices fired one last time.
The hog-monster dropped, a huge blue splash washing over the area while the torn neck kept fountaining. They had to nearly swim to avoid submersion.
Warlock waded to Faggot's positon. "You think this is revenge?"
"Sir?" Faggot asked.
"Just saying. Yggy's breaking through the main battle fronts all over the systems but the elite's not having it."
Faggot chuckled. "We're not having it either."
The slight shift in Warlock's thorn-skull made it clear he smirked. "Fuck yeah, we're not."
POV: Saint Sexy
Two more earth weeks later:
Saint Sexy was upside down on a purple lounge sofa, his legs hanging over him, jittering as the fuckmachine pumped his plug into him over and over. He was hitting his ahegao face, drawing the occasional amused glance from passersby.
Base Forgeborn felt like a safe haven of dudes in black harnesses, after the long hours of telling pink noobs how to not fucking die while the world tree offered one's heart's desire.
The view out of the lounge windows was cluttered by the naked, plugged asses of muscle-bound hunks, gazing onto the half-dead `whale', the biggest mutant creature so far captured on Sig-3, getting harvested for medicinal goop. It was more like five whales sown together, with claws on its stumpy legs still dripping venom.
A deep orgasm hit his body so hard he pissed a load he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. And with the jockpouch off the beam arced to his face.
He kept making his silly expressions, nipples pinched, tasting his stream, thinking of all the wet pussies that would get stroked to the footage – probably none, but still, he was hot as dick.
His toes curled so hard he was nearly cramping.
It was a really weird time for Sergeants Daddy and Micro to show up.
Saint Sexy considered blinking into a better position but teleporting upside down was usually a bad idea. And anyway, with how horny star rangers were, embarrassment didn't exist. He simply did his best to salute through the heat of bodygasm.
"Sir!"
"At ease," Daddy said. "Shuttle came a little early. We'll do your reexamination as scheduled."
Candy made gargling noises, dropping his salute. He was on all fours, drooling from a face phuck, but mostly getting shoved around from the quad-phuck in the ass. Four of Candy's noobs had invited themselves along, playing a video game with their backs to their trainer while four oversized phantom cocks spread him in a fast rhythm.
Daddy got engaged in small talk by random, naked warriors whose empty holes were dripping with lotion. Micro stepped behind him, a strip of tape on his white pouch, and stuck to Daddy's plug base for a gentle plugfuck as the Jumbo officer chatted.
Saint Sexy was granted enough time to find a satisfying conclusion and turn himself right side up. Something in him felt like he'd stopped too soon - like there was a particularly big climax coming.
He rode his plug on the sofa with rolling hips, subtle enough to be halfway to formal. He flexed his abs for an even tighter grip on the rod.
"Seen the news yet, sirs?" Faggot asked. He looked up from his editing station, three tablets around him to review training footage. Their channel had seen an uptick in interest after the gestational devil fight to say the least.
"Yes we did," Daddy said. "The influx of elites is sorely needed, but the front on Formalhaut-4 is getting most of them for now. As long as we're reliant on stumbling over golden brood pockets, it'll be a slow rise in numbers for us."
"And Yggy seems to have wizened up," Micro said. "Xeno fist sucker's trying to flank at every opportunity."
The `whale' outside ripped apart at a joint, making metal hooks creak. The onlookers gasped as silvery blood spurts blasted the windows.
Faggot rose. "Can we pull my examination ahead, Sergeant? I'm free all day, sir."
"Sure," Micro said. "But don't be so formal when no one's looking. I outrank you but you're the elite here."
Daddy tore himself off the plugfuck. "Don't let them get too comfortable, Micro."
Faggot grinned and saluted. "Will do my best to thread the needle, sir."
Daddy sighed. "Where's Warlock? I was going to ask him if he's decided on any noobs to keep in his squad."
"Don't think he has, sir," Saint Sexy said. "He's strict with these things but mostly, I think, he's afraid about mixing elite and fodder. We had some close calls when we... couldn't tell... Yggy... sir, this ranger is orgasming sir! Ughhhh hoooolyy fuuuu-"
Saint Sexy was hit harder than expected and quivered, dizzily struggling not to slip off the sofa.
"Accessing battle hood tracker," Faggot said. "He's not wearing it. Accessing base internal cams. Searching."
He showed off the tablet. Warlock's immense frame jiggled under double fist punches to the ass by dudes drooling with oral psy-dick assault.
Daddy nodded. "I'll find him later. All right Faggot, sit on Micro's arm. I'll take angel measurements."
"Yes sir."
POV: Phuckass
Another two earth weeks later:
The stacked, hexagonal modules that made up this suburb of Upstart were still lit in the night, but the people had mostly evacuated to the center of the settlement.
This was one of the bigger attacks the capital had seen so far.
Out of the few civilian men who had been lucky to get an angel implanted and gotten their dicks minimized, only a hundred had so far gotten the `aurum drop' of synth-amniotic, and only a quarter of those had integrated. It left enough of a militia to make a fighting retreat feasible.
Phuckass and his fellow officers-in-training covered the last convoy with plasma blasters, their white pouches and harnesses splattered with pink slime from a million pill bugs exploding in the sparks of sentry mine fields.
As one of the youngest officer cadets – rushed into the academy after his magical integration – he felt the weight of expectation on him. Bigger than ever, he stood against the surprise attack on the inland settlement.
Bone-ridge gazelles rushed through the mine perimeter, slightly on fire but uncaring about their own survival.
At least his alpha ability had manifested.
Phuckass focused on one bone-gazelle at the flank as it threated to slip past the defenders. He felt the twang in his neck as he bloodboiled the creature.
The gracile enemy dissolved in smoldering gunk as its superheated innards broke the skin. Five closer ones fell to his flashing gun fire.
Flying enemies, buzzing insects, hard to see in the night sky. Others had the slugger guns to deal with that. Phuckass kept his blaster leveled, but let his angel find bloodboil targets overhead. Smoldering bugs dropped around him. They were bigger than he'd thought.
He and the gang held the ground. Officer Rusher passed in a blur overhead, moving from roof to roof at superspeed to redeploy mines.
"Good job, boys" Rusher yelled into the link. "Barricades North and West are holding. Keep it up, theater kids."
Phuckass had chosen a venetian mask inspiration for his hood, the silver and painted peacock feathers following his sharpening facial contours with subtle black lines. He had to keep it classy. His call sign was perverse enough. It had started a theater theme in his noob officer gang.
Rusher's blurry frame dashed overhead again. "Step aside, boys. I see help incoming."
The gooey forest lit up in plasma fire.
A buggy burst through the approaching jelly forest, blasters ripping through the gigantic flies that had spilled into the horizon.
"Gimmi powaaaaah!"
"Sir!" Warlock said over the link. "Merry Men reporting in."
The squad hopped off the vehicle. Most of them kept a boot on the rim and forcefully pissed with legs wide. Dominus Rex detached and shredded a safe zone around them.
"Glad you could make it," Phuckass said. "Raw Dawg is with the training corps in the north, by the smaller attack."
"Situation here, sir?"
The teen looked at the convoy behind him, putting up the barricades to Upstart's interior on its way to the center. For now still in range of world tree nonsense, if any sudden worshippers got problematic.
"Young boys and females in psy stasis mostly evac'd," Phuckass reported. "Lots of guys caught without cage, needin to be tasered. Or straight up not horny enough. Here's hoping the dickjizzers learn a lesson."
"Do we know if it's a new root?"
"Negatory, just a lotta deep brood pockets," Phuckass confirmed. "The city garrison's fisting their way in there now. We goin down later, I'm guessin. How's the peninsula?"
"Getting real messy, sir," Warlock said. "All the Main Battle Fronts are seeing some weird fuckery. Yggy's not letting us get the upper hand without a fight."
"On the bright side," Faggot said, "with so many devils popping up we're going to double the amount of star rangers by the end of this."
"Going to have to make it out first," Saint Sexy said and blinked a few steps back.
The mass of amorphous green and bug meat gave way to humanoid figures - faceless raisins.
Phuckass and the beefcakes clustered in front of Dominus Rex who covered their backs with static fields and fired over their heads.
"Slow and steady retreat to the barricades," Phuckass said. "Keep them funneling into turret range. The civic militia almost got the folks out of here."
Air support showed up - hover jets dropping heat lances straight down, thinning the herd. Giant flies threw themselves again the crafts' heat fields and started gunking up the engines.
It was a second's reprieve. Phuckass took the last swig from his canteen and dropped the container. With legs wide, he pissed an overfull bladder at the concrete, his bloodboil ability turning a bug overhead into a crunchy comet.
Yggdrasil's threats barely registered anymore. Phuckass was quickly developing into an elite fighter, focused only on the gun in his hands and the dildo in his ass, battle raging without and assgasms within. Each shot landed, center of mass, taking a fake undead down. Every minute a few beasties fell to his bloodboiling golden power.
The raisins screeched from non-mouth slits in their faces, the forest behind them oozing toxic fog. Taller, armored tripods than Phuckass had ever seen rose on the horizon. The barricade turrets behind them rang with Cerberus shots.
"Looks like a second phase," Fist King said. "Can't let them get through."
"Good," the muscle bulging teen said as angelic bliss ripped from his guts into every nerve of his body. "My ass can do this all night."
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