Vortex Quest

== VORTEX QUEST 5-10 ==

== SWASHBUCKLING SLAVE SLAUGHTER ==

Waking up was disorienting every time.

Goro had perfected the neutral expression of a mindless meathead, which was how he liked to be seen sometimes. But waking up in the abyss meant being instantly hit with horniness beyond what a normal human body was capable of accumulating.

He had a masturbation urge so violent he could barely see.

Goro had slept in a hammock of rugged ropes, letting his cursed cum drip down but still getting totally caked overnight.

His hands grasped his aegis, giving it a few desperate shakes as if that was going to help.

He fingered his nipples on pure instinct. Roaring with pleasure he activated the open signature, ball pain finally... well, it didn't clear his head because nothing could but he was eventually able to have thoughts besides raping his way through the pantheon and a million demons.

Marcus suddenly hovered over him, having dropped from the rafters. Right, they were on a ship. Even more disorienting.

"Morning sleepy head," Marcus said. "Did the Fist of God shake too much?"

"Huh?"

"Oh right, we named our kidnapped vessel. Unless you put in your vote for the second placed choice, Chay's Megacock, it's a sealed deal."

"Fist of God," Goro mumbled. "Fine. Can I get fist of human up the backdoor?"

Marcus spread his arms. "Sorry pal, I'm about to hop off with Xee. You have a bit more to go. See you around."

Their realm liner rose as soon as Marcus had leaped overboard. Goro used a wet towel to rub his skin clean and swaggered to the back where Chay was piloting, walking past a lone green Kobold who was aligning psychoplastic conduits.

Behind the thick-thighed, Thai demigod was Ülldr, the shortest of the Aelves. He wore his sunrise circlet over the orange head-gem, and the woven leather harness with orange trims.

Goro nodded at him. Ülldr grinned and nut-crushed Goro via the signature. The berserker clutched his legs together and groaned, fingers automatically going to the nipples. Cum blubbered from his aegis.

"Fascinating," Ülldr said. "I can't imagine being this vulnerable to abyssal magic. I'm amazed at your ability to keep going."

Goro grunted. "Thanks, I guess? I don't do well with compliments that aren't about my huge-as-fuck muscles. Either of you need to piss?"

He dropped to his knees, opened up and let Ülldr's long, bulbous dick drain into his throat while the Morning Aelf and the umbralist schemed.

===***===

The Middleclaw Passage was a bridge connecting two fairly separate parts of the local crawlway.

Even in abyssal terms it was ancient. Light gray stone, stretching over four immense arches, bordered by huge hollow bones serving as guard towers. Statues of long reborn Daemons lined the bridge, a tribute altar to King Pwen'Gllach marking the center.

Tears to the realm exoteric were rare in Hiwinymb but a massive one ripped through reality right behind the bridge, eerie purple light clashing with the teal shining from the ectoplasm river far below.

To minimize tithes, traders crossed the bridge with their goods in bulk, including slaves.

A veritably army of shades and figments was creeping across the ten foot wide bridge at the pace of bored zombies. A trio of Reapers walked ahead, a dozen Kobolds with whips were toward the back, driving the hundreds of nude hunks forward.

"They'll be getting nervous," Chay said, "as soon as they realize there's a ship coming. Nothing is supposed to fly this far down. Jrrz'kattss, are you ready?"

Their hired Kobold and only crew member took to the steering console. "I'll keep the Fist steady."

"Good," Chay said. "I'm not much of a murder machine, so I'll be the lookout, but we need to kill as many slaves as possible." He started oozing smoke.

"Fuck," Goro said, as the mass of shades dissolved into individuals. "That's a lot of people."

"They're already dead," Chay said. "Remember that. Ülldr, get ready. Jrrz'kattss, is the reactor shielded?"

"Of course," the Kobold said. "I checked every fault line."

Chay put one naked foot on the ship's railing, looking dramatic and fuckable. "Berserker? Go."

Goro jumped off the Fist of God.

On his knuckle was the borrowed Hole.

He kept his expression neutral as his mark of madness grew across his back and magic pumped his muscles bigger and denser.

He levitated until just to the front of the long slave line and dropped straight down.

The first Reaper was simply crushed in the landing. The hooded demon collapsed with a spine fracturing at every other vertebra. Recoverable, for a demon, but Goro wasn't here to put down Reapers.

The voidblade beheaded another. The third one had time to react and threw himself off the bridge, probably having some magic to break his fall. The dense line of catatonic, confused, astonished or fearful hunks was unobstructed.

With his Hole-carrying arm pointing to the side, Goro ran forward. He cut and crushed and swiped. He created a wave of slaves so dense ahead of him that they dissipated before he even touched them, crushed by their compatriots. Others fell off the bridge.

A hundred souls dissolved to freedom – until they ended up in a Reaper web again. Those that rose up would bounce off the Fist's reactor shielding, instead of overloading the soul gem.

It was a massacre beyond anything Goro had done on this quest. Another hundred fell.

He was an arrow, rushing through a wave of flesh that dissolved as he passed, Hole doing as much damage as his unstoppable body.

The black shimmer of Ülldr's gestalt rose on the other side.

The Aelf had to kill the slaves man by man, manifesting hands and blunt force from his ethereal form. But he was an effective wall that prevented retreat.

Aeobold merchants took to the air, non-flying ones crawled to the underside of the bridge. All screeched in fear. For the Goro was a-coming.

Alarm bells rang on the tower-bones on both ends of the bridge. Phaser harpoon emplacements crunched as the guard crews turned them inward. Flaming bolts zipped at the demigod of violence, trailed by slow, cyan lightning.

The orbs were imprecise, singeing gray stone, exploding slaves at the fringes the berserker had missed.

Then a bolt hit him straight in the face.

He went blind and deaf and couldn't breathe anymore.

He continued running in a straight line at the same superhuman speed, Hole stretched to the side.

He brought his other hand to his face, touching his own exposed skull. Creepy, fucked up, but kind of awesome.

His right eye healed back into existence first, letting him see the confused and terrified faces of a dozen men he was crashing into, another dozen, another dozen, another- His eye went blurry from the lack of fluid. A distraction. He ripped it out, willing it to stay gone until the surrounding tissue was back.

With a face restored, shoulder long hair flying behind him, he arrived at the other end, meeting the gestalt of Ülldr.

A huge blob of dark clouds sank to their level.

Goro leaped into it, slipping through arches onto the deck, where Chay waited. Ülldr manifested, his gestalt still surrounding him.

"You were," Chay said, looking at Goro. "You... I never thought of us as gods, really, but you... you are one."

Goro let his mark shrink to a ring around his calve, feeling all the emotion Chay's praise gave him. He didn't know what else to do but flex his magically embiggened muscles. A cumshot exploded along his inner thighs.

"Thanks?"

Chay tore his eyes away. "Let's catch up with the others before they turn the artillery our way."

Goro was the silent type. Mostly by choice. He spoke through action.

As the Fist of God rose and the umbra-clouds dissipated for the shimmer of Limbo behind them and the gleam of rosy bubble clouds above, Goro pulled Chay into a kiss.

It didn't take long for them to be on the ground, elbow deep inside each other.

===***===

Every surface in the tunnel was covered in emerald weeds, humming pleasantly, smelling of cinnamon. They looked incredibly soft to touch, swaying like seaweed.

Marcus had been stupid enough to actually trust something in the abyss, touched grass, and gotten the flesh sucked from his palm. Xane had used a mote to heal it instantly.

As thanks, Marcus had eaten his ass for half an hour. Well, also because eating Xane's ass was a lot of fun and he wanted to enjoy that as long as he was still some amount of gay. His insane homo-attraction to the short demigod was noticeably fading.

Now the two of them levitated in the tunnel of humming green, holding onto each other, getting fucked by a double headed mage-dick.

Their banter had fallen silent, only deep breaths and groans.

Nevöldr returned. The relatively lean, pointy eared guy wore the flimsiest armor among Aelves, consisting largely of black straps held in place by silver crescents. The Moon Aelf's head gem was pale blue, framed by a crescent shape at the center of his circlet.

"The third group," he announced. "They're about to enter the hall."

"Perfect, let's go," Xane said and hovered out of the tunnel into the main crawlway.

They followed the Aelf to an overhang above a cavern where head-sized spiders with crystals growing from their bodies were weaving patterns on the ceiling.

Six Kobolds marched in, leading their twenty slaves. They walked right over the spot where dozens of humans had exploded minutes ago, totally unaware their trade route was compromised.

A chakram raced down and butterflies slammed into the center of the group. Slaves burst into fading ectoplasm, Kobolds dropped.

Nevöldr floated down to collect spears and other tools the Aelves could use. The demigods joined him, dragging Kobold corpses behind the rocks where a pile of them was already waiting. Xane dissolved a bunch with a chaos sphere.

Marcus did a somersault into a handstand with some flourish. "So that's one to go, yeah?"

"If the intel is right," Xane said and glanced at his wrist where a watch appeared, "they're showing up in ten, then we go rendezvous with the Fist of God."

Marcus grabbed Xane's hand and pulled the wrist closer. "Wait, does that thing actually show you the time?"

The watch face poked out a human tongue.

"Bitch," Xane said, "it's an illusion. I have no idea what time even means in this place. You're so fucking cu-stupid."

"You were going to say cute."

"No, fuck you."

"You totally were."

"Maybe, fuck you."

"You think I'm cute."

"Well uh... you are... sometimes. Fuck you."

"By the Elders," Nevöldr said, one hand on his gem, "humans or Aelves, I'm always surrounded by idiots."

"Cute idiots, though," Marcus said.

"Oh," Xane made, oversized sunglasses sinking onto his nose, "so you think I'm cute, too."

"Of course," Marcus said with arms crossed. "I've been an influence on you long enough."

The Moon Aelf pointed up. "Back into your hiding hole, I'll spy ahead." He drew his gestalts from his blue gem. "Don't get too cute or idiotic while I'm gone."

===***===

A large floating island a half mile above an orange, swirling plasma lake served as wholesale complex. Multiple white domes sat on it, some precariously tilted.

Inside, all manner of wares got stored, collected and bundled for bulk transport at the barge ports that grew from the island like spokes.

Chay had simply flown far above it and told them to go, so the tag team of two had dropped the long way down, landing on one of the domes. The white stone wasn't as smooth as it looked, offering many cracks and breaks to slip through.

Unseen by all, two muscle bound demigods were crouching atop Dome 7-Jr'a, holding onto the rugged surface with their toes, every leg muscle flexed, in a way no mere human could have held for a whole minute.

Through a five foot crack, Goro watched a hundred slaves from different sources being collected in a holding area by a Wraith, where a trough of ectoplasm mixed with nectar served to make them kneel in blissful silence. Goblins walked around the perimeter, applying whips and unicorn dust to Figments who wouldn't stop babbling, praying or screaming in terror.

Goro felt his cursed cum shoot from his body so forcefully it made the fundoshi bulge pulse. He had to cover his aegis to avoid giving their presence away – there were a few Reapers, Wretchers and other minor demons on this hovering rock.

Xane was focused at the scene below, not noticing that his own cum was dripping past his bulge. Usually he thaum-cleaned it instantly.

"How are you doing?"

Xane looked up, confused and shocked. "I'm... fine? Uh, you never ask that."

"I do," Goro insisted. "The time you hit a new squat max and went straight to the trash bin to puke. I asked."

"Okay," Xane rolled his eyes. "But you don't... I don't wanna say you don't care but you keep your care to yourself."

"Maybe getting flipped has made me more emotional for a time, maybe I'm growing as a person. Stop laughing, asshole."

Xane raised his hands. Even his butterfly swarm bounced off him. "I exhaled. That was a light chuckle at most. I just had a mental image of you being as girly as I was during my flip, is all. But sure, we've been through a lot. You get to start caring out loud."

Goro grunted. "Just using the stake out for a heart to heart among team cumshot."

"Team cumshot, huh?" Xane said and magicked away their jizz ropes.

"It's what Marcus called us."

Xane smiled with eyes closed, looking insanely ravage-able. "Of course he does. Well, how are you doing?"

"Good," Goro said.

"Okay... great talk."

Goro sighed. "I'm a little haunted by the mass murder. I know it wasn't, technically..."

"Technically," Xane said with a nod.

"...but I also got to be a living weapon like I never dared to dream of. I have purpose like never before." He creamed his black panties again. "Fuck, I still really wish those came with orgasms. But yeah, that's what up."

"Sweet. So... ready for more technically not mass murder?"

"Sure," Goro said. "They're starting to move. That's as many as we'll get."

Xane wiggled his fingers in cheerful anticipation. Or maybe he was acting playful to distract. Goro wished he could look into a mind like Chay did – but that was why talking more to Chay was important.

Three motes went down through the crack in the dome, too tiny and fast even for demonic eyes that weren't paying special attention.

They impacted as lightning. A dozen slaves were ripped to fading shreds in each corner of the triangle. The bolts arched toward each other, combining into a shower of white-violet sparks that formed a Wyrm.

The bright, purple serpent looked like an aquatic Chinese dragon, its body fanning out in lightning haze. It breathed blinding violet force, ripping the mass of slaves apart with the sound of a thousand fires.

Xane sent another mote down, recharging the illusion's deadly blast. Goblins were set alight with violet flame, panic broke loose in the dome, merchandize shattered as workers and sellers rushed to the exits.

"Hm," Xane made. "Didn't leave you any, sorry."

"Holy shit," Goro said. "I feel like I know what Chay meant."

"Meant by what?"

Goro tackled the shorter Asian and they barreled down the dome's slope. Fingers on each other's nipples, Goro forced his tongue into Xane's mouth against the straight man's resistance.

They slowed their fall before crashing onto jagged stone.

Goro sat his elbows on the ground, forearms together, pointing up. "Sit on it."

"Better idea," Xane said and pulled Goro on top of him. "Come here, big guy."

A fist slid into Goro's hole and he could tell Xane was getting one too. It had to be some u-shaped double-headed fist mage-dildo. The mania-beast wasn't going to question the details.

"Do we..." Xane huffed as Goro bit his neck, "do we have time for that? W-we're supposed to set some piers on fire or-"

Xane became incapable of speaking from the intensity of an orgasm only a divinely enhanced body could bare. He looked like he was seizing.

Goro felt the mage-fist grow wider and deeper, then no more coherent thoughts were possible.

===***===

Their Kobold crewman – crewlizardman? – was able to steer the Fist of God alone for now, leaving two demigods to squat next to each other at the very front, enjoying the view of Hiwinymb's wide open caverns.

Marcus pushed in past the wrist.

Chay bucked in pleasure, nearly falling over.

"Stay in," Marcus ordered, clenching his hole around Chay's hand that was equally buried.

"And now?" the leader asked, weakly.

"Now we walk."

With fists in each other's asses, half-crouching, the men turned around and started a leisurely stroll in a circle on the bow. The unoccupied hands of each men were free to pinch nipples.

Chay's face was a joy to watch.

"So that's wisting, huh?" the captain said. "Xane was weirdly cryptic about it."

"Can't you sus out secrets?"

"It's not mindreading," Chay said like he often did. "I could tell he thinks it's something too... intimate to comfortably share."

"Huh?" Marcus made. "We have orgies all the time, how does walking add too much intimacy."

Chay shrugged, digging into Marcus' guts. "More like... because he first experienced it with you."

"Me?"

"Don't act dense, dude," Chay said and rolled his eyes – with annoyance or orgasm. "You like each other."

Marcus chuckled. "Well, I hope I'm not betraying his trust by sharing our intimate technique with you."

Chay grinned with teary eyes. "Oh, I would have never forgiven you for keeping this from me. I would never have come up with wisting. It's like giving yourself an inner massage with someone else's hand. I wonder if unenhanced humans could even do this if it requires walking in a squat."

"Actually, I call it falking. You know, fuck-walking. Wisting was Xee's idea."

"Falking is a lot more fun to say."

"Duh," Marcus made. "Glad to know the boss has some sense."

Ülldr stepped up to them. "We're reaching the shipping route. Get ready."

Marcus sighed and made puppy eyes at Chay. "You don't think..."

"We can't `falk' during a fight, no, sorry."

They straightened their legs, slipping from each other's holes with a slurp, causing one last lightning strike of bliss.

Barely a minute later, they had eyes on the Moss Dripping Tusk – a vessel under the command of the Ssevig-Kye League of Lords, filled to the brim with slaves.

Easily ten times the length of the Fist of God, the trade barge's sails sparked with a whole storm of red lightning, supported by red vapor-oozing wings mounted haphazardly along the sides. Its dark arches covered three decks, mostly cargo areas with Varks – living and butchered – barrels and crates, and an endless mass of bald, kneeling, sweating, moaning, praying hunks who had died many times before and would do so again.

The Moss Dripping Tusk was far from defenseless but still accompanied by what looked like upside-down rafts, labeled Attack Cutter 5-Ts'u and Attack Cutter 3-Orh across their respective cow-catcher-like front beams. Each an assembly of logs and black plates just large enough to hold a dozen armed warriors around a soul stone that powered the sail directly underneath.

The Fist of God flew in the same direction, slowly overtaking.

A dark cloud passed between the vessels' bottoms. Entirely incidental.

The Fist of God gained speed and swung out at the next turn. Nothing about the maneuver was suspicious.

Two humans held onto wooden beams at the flat underside of the Tusk's lower deck, two Aelves hovering near, enveloped by the flittering dark of their gestalts.

"We're good," Chay said. "Step two, get inside unseen. Ülldr, Nevöldr, stay close, react if you see fit to do so."

The Morning and the Moon Aelf dissolved into swirling prismatic shadows.

Chay pointed at planks. "Non-critical weakspot, here and here."

Marcus opened the way in. A few holy burning chops let ancient wood rain to the abyss-scape below. The demigod tag-team entered a dusty crawlspace. Marcus lit his mohawk on whitefire to aid their sight.

Chay went first, leaving Marcus to gaze at the leader's spread legs where a thin fundoshi strip did nothing to cover the hole, which had fully tightened again by the might of umbra-healing.

It would have been so easy to slip his hand in there...

Strange to think of his hands as sex organs. Marcus had practically forgotten he had a dick. That didn't make him a bottom, right? Without the aegis he would have been fucking too much to even think about bottoming, surely. Although why was that even important. If-

Marcus practically kissed Chay's ass, too lost in thought to notice the leader had stopped.

"No convenient tunnel into the generator room," Chay said. "We'll pop out here and sneak forward."

The demigod duo slipped from an access hatch into the lower deck cargo space. They were out of view of bored Hellions who patrolled casually along the crates that kept the slaves in separate chunks, labeled with buyer info.

On their knees, Marcus and Chay made their way toward the stern.

Orange aurora glow and teal plasma reflections fell in filtered rays through the segmented arches that formed the Tusk's hull. Dark flickers traveled along the outside, keeping pace with the creeping demigods - Aelbic backup.

Marcus was out of his mind horny. Of course, he always was these days, but rubbing against drooling, swaying muscle men, gracing their erections where present, breathing fresh sweat... And he was still a little gay, crushing hard on every other hunk like he was eager for a boyfriend.

"Shit," Chay whispered.

Marcus snapped mostly to attention. "Problem?"

The soul stone room was guarded by two Hellions in generic black, spiky armor. Easy to dispatch. The door was barred with crossing chains, meeting at a wheel-cap of silver with runes in the indents.

"Magic lock," Chay said. "The key is..." The leader craned his neck, twisted around to look at the ceiling. "...guard staff room, right above."

"And how do you know this?" Marcus asked.

Chay pulled him back into the mass of squirming or catatonic hunks. "Necessity. Layout of the ship, guard patterns, the practical need to access the reactor quickly but leaving the key in a secure retrieval spot. Ninety percent sure."

"How much of that was umbra-fuckery?"

"Um, unclear. I think I would have checked the staff room first thing anyway."

Marcus gave the skull-pattern a pat. "That's why you're the boss."

Chay flashed a lopsided grin and briefly flexed his biceps.

Marcus chuckled. "How Xane of you."

Chay nodded at the stairs of black wood, spiraling to the middle deck. They crept through the writhing mass of shades, figments and freight that occupied every available space in the Moss Dripping Tusk.

Marcus worked his razor ring over their scalps. If they had to go undercover again, they'd need slavish baldness. Once he and his trusty boss had made it to the middle deck, they could just kneel down between dumbly staring bald hunks, put their hands over their fundoshi and blend in.

The guard room was only separated from its surrounding by chains and fencing between structural pillars, making it easy to spot the key stone container – at least according to Chay.

Five Hellions were relaxing in chairs, a brown Aeobold went over scrolls.

"My plan," the lean Thai man whispered. "I puppet some bitch to grab the key and walk out of sight. We kill him, go down, I puppet a-"

Wood crunched, iron cried. The Tusk trembled.

Bells rang. Shouting. "Boarding!"

The starboard hull was torn apart by massive, hooked nails on chains, tearing an opening wide enough to reveal the ship the hooks were tethered to.

Trolls in bone and leather armor leaped into the Tusk. The biggest one wielded a chainsaw, alight with arcane red.

"You're shitting me," Chay said.

Marcus tried not to grin with excitement.

Every guard rushed at the intruders. The Trolls scattered to make way for a Wyrmling, a quarter the size of a full grown Wyrm. White with a marble texture to its scales, the frilly necked serpent in a black collar opened its mouth.

Marcus' vision was obscured by smoke. Chay was creating cover.

"The key," the umbralist said and dragged Marcus along.

In the guard room, a Hellion in a spiky helmet was banging his head against the key box like he wanted to break both. Blood splattered in arcs from every break in the helmet as he slammed.

He dropped dead with the safe's door twisted out of shape and easily opened. Marcus felt reminded of how scary Chay's puppeteering was.

With the stone in hand, the demigods headed for the stairs. There was enough turmoil among the figments that ambulatory humans didn't stand out anymore.

Marcus looked back.

The serpent was spewing white marbles that rolled in cohesive streams under the feet of Tusk guards, making it nearly impossible for them to stand.

Constantly stumbling, the trade vessel crew was now also fighting an abomination. The base body had been a Croc, perhaps, but the reptile face was flared to a hammerhead shape. It struggled under the weight of its own chitin panzer plates that made it highly defended and whipped with five too-long tails at anyone approaching from behind.

The Trolls, meanwhile, were packing up slaves, relatively careful not to cause the nude men to dissolve from damage.

"We did this," Chay said. "The shortage is skyrocketing prices. Good news I guess but, man, I did not need a raid."

The generator room below was unguarded now. With the key stone, the lock separated, chains clanking but not causing anyone to confront them, and the way was clear.

A soul stone – a sharply cut slab taller than Marcus – was at the center of two dozen cables that lead into pillars and conduits.

"Wreck shop," Chay ordered. "Don't fuck with the gem itself."

"Ay."

A weight hit Marcus from above, like a super heavy blanket dropped over him. Breathing... was impossible. The weight pushed him to his knees.

Then it stopped.

"The fuck was that?"

"I..." Chay started. "Yeah, what the fuck was that? Nevöldr?"

Flickers seeped in along the ceiling from the now open door. "The Trolls upstairs started a fire," a disembodied Aelf-voice said. "I think this was a fire suppression rune."

"Okay," Chay said. "Nothing to do with us."

As the animus-fighter used his chakram and flaming palms, Chay talked to sparkly, faded darkness hovering overhead, making Aelf plans.

Seeing the red lighting burst from cables and zapping around before ripping with sparks was fun and satisfying every time.

The Tusk's bow dipped.

"I think that's it," Chay said and pushed Marcus out of the generator room.

The fight had spread.

White marbles were swarming the floor, jumping over edges, seemingly self-driven. The hammerhead abomination had torn a hole into the ceiling and was snapping at spear-wielding Kobolds below while its tail still warded against the middle deck guards.

The Trolls on the lower deck were chucking weakly resisting slaves through the hole where other Trolls caught them to bring to their vessel.

An explosion outside.

Bright white light with blue streaks shone through arches, chains and hull plates.

An incredibly loud scream... No, it kept going... A horn? Something huge, slowly breaking?

"Hold onto something," Ülldr's voice said from above.

Marcus was shoved into Chay by the force that hit the Tusk.

It was the ancillary raft, Attack Cutter 3-Orh, slamming into its mothership, snapping the auxiliary wings off the hull, grating splinters and nails out of the wall. The whole portside tore open, decks bucking and bursting.

Human men all around Marcus faded as they got lethally injured.

Aelf hands manifested from nothing and pinned Marcus to the ground and a multi-ton iron beam flew over him, killing a dozen shades, before burying itself in the opposite wall.

"Are they... crashing the trade ship?" Chay asked, half-shouting.

"They may not have intended to," Nevöldr's voice came.

"Why did we even..." Chay looked at Marcus. "Hey, ever feel like life is fucking with you?"

"Every day. What makes you ask?"

Chay smiled a sad smile. "Couldn't tell you."

The Tusk kept dipping forward further, now noticeably losing altitude. Troll raiders and crew were equally panicking, trying to flee onto the boarding vessel.

The hammerhead abomination was in its death throws, spear stumps sticking from its belly. The Marble Wyrmling had gone rogue, now fighting anyone too close with towers of ever-rolling white orbs.

Green fire. Something massive was teleporting in. Right in front of the demigods.

Marcus sent his weapon into the flames before the summoning was even finished. When the Wraith materialized, the chakram were already embedded into its dark flesh and the first arm fell immediately. Dark pulses emanated from the creature as it made rapid spell casting gestures.

The creature of a hundred arms under a huge wheel cap had come in with a dozen Hellions.

Marcus levitated, feet glowing with whitefire.

"Aaaand yoink," Chay said, "Man, this thing has weird controls."

The marble Wyrmling rustled its frilly neck and dashed at the Wraith, biting into the eye on the back of a hand. Its marbles rolled underneath the Hellions and made it impossible for them to take another step.

Marcus' razor wheel kept digging into the floating monster.

He was hit with the familiar Wraith-curse of horniness.

Vaguely aware that his chakram dropped to the floor, Marcus slipped his hands under his fundoshi string and started dry fingering himself. It wasn't getting him deep enough. He needed lube. Nothing else mattered. There was nothing else that could have mattered. He had to cum cum cum now.

Chay was using a surviving slave to fuck his ass, no doubt piloting the pale bodybuilder shade.

Marcus leaped at the nearest group of figments who were cowering in a corner and swiped with divine power.

For every fear-screaming figment he killed he got a minor remnant of their ectoplasm on his hands. Enough to shove his hands into his hole. Not enough to feel relief. He needed... He had to...

His hands were pushed away from his hole and replaced by other hands.

Looking between his spread, squatting legs, Marcus saw the gray arms of an Aelf, manifested from a barely visible gestalt. And those arms dove deep.

Getting double fist punched – alternating or together – was finally enough for a modicum of satisfaction.

Marcus was crying and pissing, stuck in place, but no longer too horny to think, his guts a firework of pleasure.

Chay was frantically puppeteering Hellions and ineffectual shades to attack the Wraith. The Wyrmling was spasming on the ground.

A ring of heavenly metal rose from the floorboards and slammed into the Wraith from below, slices turning black meat into equally black blood fountains.

Chay moved forward with a roar. He was levitating, being shoved ahead by the double arms in his ass, his own right arm outstretched.

The Wraith's cap broke apart as the voidblade moved through it.

The mind-bending horniness vanished but the double-Aelf-fist pleasure remained. Marcus' guts were suddenly empty, the manifestations gone. The sudden disappearance caused one last surge of superhuman orgasm so strong it made the lean, tall animus-fighter fall on his face.

The Aelves coalesced, still enveloped in the dark prismatic sheen of their gestalts. Ülldr dragged Marcus to a stand by the shoulder. "Our work is done. We flee."

"Sure," Marcus said weakly and activated his open signature to keep his beyond-orgasmic plateau with the help of the ball crushing sensation.

Chay and Marcus jumped from the massive gash in the hull, hand in hand, leaving the sinking Tusk behind. The Aelves followed, carrying the limp body of the marble-textured Wyrmling between them.

===***===

"Team Cumshot" had lost their fundoshi in the tumble and not found a suitable replacement before the Fist of God's Kobold pilot came to pick them up.

Soon the vessel parked in a fairly abandoned side-canyon where Hiwinymb's black swirls centered on blobs of autumnal moss.

The Fist hovered over the stone ruins of a small city of temples that had half sunk into a lake of bubbling, green acid.

Clear water ran from the eroded jaws of a trio of horned skulls above, each the size of a block of houses. The water hit a temple roof, combined along water-carved paths and vanished in cracks.

Before it sat two demigods and two Aelves, a white, marble textured Wyrmling coiled beside them. Pie was wrapped around the serpent, her fluffy head resting on the frilly necked Wyrmling's. Marcus had regrown his pure white mohawk, while the leader was still bald.

Goro acknowledged their presence with a nod and a hum. Reuniting with his friends was always a relief. Being apart was the only time he missed the ability to just text or call.

"It appears," Xane said and put an illusory wizard cloak of stars and crescents around himself, "that none of you managed to keep their clothes either."

The Aelves pulled their armor closer but made no move to put it back on.

"We dealt with a bit more," Chay said, "than we were prepared for."

He was half draped over Marcus, who raised his arms in triumph. "We had a whole pirate crossover happening. Tell them, boss."

"Sorry," Chay said. "I just got done with Carnal Craving-"

Marcus shouted, "I'm delicious!"

"-and I think the Aelves fucked my ass while I was licking every inch of Marky-boy so-"

Ülldr raised his hand. "I did."

"-I could really use a nap."

Marcus rubbed his chin. "How did you lose the thongs?"

Xane waved his cloak away. "Fucked so hard we fell off a building, naturally. Mission accomplished, though?"

"Absolutely," Chay said. "We may have caused the biggest slave shortage any realm has ever seen."

Xane slammed his fist into his palm with a drum sound effect. "And we'll make it worse."

Goro grunted satisfied. A killing machine's work was never done.

He sat with his friends, a hand on Xane's thigh.

"Sooo," the thaum-mage started, "we're not gonna talk about the snake?"

Nevöldr spoke up first. "A new guardian of the throne perhaps, if Völundr can train it. We must build up a worthy court."

"Call it Marbles," Marcus said, loudly.

Ülldr smiled with a nod but Nevöldr quickly said, "Völundr will choose a name, for it shall be his pet."

"Okay," Marcus said, "but suggest Marbles, yeah? Just a feeling but I think that dude's got my sense of humor."

The animus-fighter leaned toward the newcomers and loudly whispered, "Because it makes marbles."

Chay groaned.

Goro was struck with heart-wrenching fondness for his friends. An emotion that comfortably coexisted with his desire to fuck them to shreds.

"Hey big dude," Marcus said. Goro flashed him a smile - involuntarily. He quickly established a neutral face again. "What happened to the sick style?"

Goro habitually reached for his long hair which was currently buzzed. "Lost the bone that kept it all together, so it was just a floppy knot. Had Xane experiment on my hair on the way, to pass the time."

"And you settled on boring?" Marcus asked.

Goro grinned, voluntarily now, and bowed. Shaved into his buzz cut was a big, blatant cock-and-ball shape.

"Dude!" Marcus shouted. "Fucking nice."

Chay chuckled darkly. "Yeah, I'm not matching with that."

"Coward," Marcus said.

"Regrow it first," Xane said. "Then we talk."

The leader, leaning on his elbows, closed his eyes and focused. Stubble appeared on his scalp.

Goro rose and turned away. He unleashed the many cursed cumshots he'd been holding since their arrival. A hard, destructively thick stream of jizz ripped through his urethra and came out the aegis like a spear. Right at the exit, cum ropes exploded up and down his divine body like whip cracks.

He wiped himself down, licked his hands clean and turned back to the group.

Everybody was staring at him.

He shrugged with a hum.

One by one, they returned to their tasks.

"So Chaychay-boy," Marcus said. "Ready for your cock-and-ball styling?"

"Xee wouldn't dare," Chay said, making it sound like a threat.

"I wouldn't," the wizard and stylist said, now standing with legs apart behind the sitting Chay.

"No cock-and-ball. Ball-and-cock, then," Marcus suggested. "Oh, no balls, double headed cock."

"Not in any quantity or variation," Chay said. "Why don't you get a restyling?"

Marcus set his mohawk on whitefire. "I'm already perfect, thanks. Hey Nevöldr, want to hammer some orgasms into me?"

The Aelf blinked. "Uh, do you have-"

"More dust?" Marcus said, leaped to the tall, gray man and put a ring-wearing foot in his face. "A lifetime supply."

Pie woke up, yawned with a tremble, shedding tiny puffs of cloud, and looked around.

The berserker picked up a pebble to play fetch with her, tossing the stone from one hand to the other as he walked backward, Pie hopping toward him in arcs.

Goro held a hand in front of his dick cage and deflected his next cumshot down between his legs. He watched Xane work, Chay advise and Marcus ride.

He would have killed anyone and anything for those boys. Well, he would have done anything for them, but it turned out killing was in demand and he was fucking good at it. He tossed the pebble and flexed for his own amusement.