Take Up the Cross – Chapter 77: First Invasion of a False God

(What is a “gentleman’s club”?)

Though using the term in a letter of temptation, Adris’ own introduction to it lacked suitable context when the slayers in the Call brought it up. Interpreted as (A STORE OF MEN’S DREAMS)…

(If it’s a brothel, why worry about drinks and entertainment? If you want drinks, then why engage in debauchery in the area you lounge in? Merging the two?)

Only a “pleasure palace” matches his mental picture; but, as Adris lays on a roof while watching the street below, he laments that he has never truly entered one, merely heard stories from merchants he conned.

(Serras was always more important.)

The light drizzle and evening gloom matches that melancholy thought, until ambition kicks back in as he watches the courier and his pouch arriving at a “reputable” business’ entrance.

A light wave, as if to drive away a stench, from the runner wearing a boyish cap and rain leathers causes Adris’ internal chronometer to start.

(If the slayers want it, I’ll give it, whatever it is. Just as you people will soon give me what I want.)

Adris has limited time before the star of the stage arrives, too. All four girls balked at his assurances of her punctuality, but his harbinger at the Call will bring her flying in on the same night.

(She can’t think about anyone but me, you know?)

Mismatched armor scrapes as a hairy man angles subtly towards a brightly festive stall emblazoned with stars up its timbers. Its provocative owner sits next to a large box, her breasts swaying as fast hands dart within its exposed side.

(Wonder what I’m gonna get?)

Tools pulled from her leather panels exchange mechanisms and parts with clockwork focus.

(Perfect 12/10, zero musk. Bangable butt, zero tail. Beautiful voice, great eyes, tits you can hide a salami between, and most of all…!)

She has zero fur, only medium-length tressed hair that has a slight shine with the fairy light behind it.

(… No hair even down there? Bless you, lord.)

Every time a monstrous-looking beast girl stalks him with a heated look in their inhuman eyes, Biske wants to never drop into the Castillo again.

(If I had the chance, I’d redraw. Just because I work with animals during testing, you think I want to fuck them?)

Quick head shakes go with that mental image being tossed, before Biske sighs.

(Bitch in purple doesn’t want to let me go again? Slash ‘er, do it anyway, no more animal sluts.)

As the man with a dangerous aura and bloodstained gear swaggers up, he flinches when the object of his dreams hastily pulls her hair aside to stare at him. Despite her being leaned over, Biske suddenly feels within range of assault. Gold-speckled-green eyes seem to register a piece of meat, though her expression is neutral.

(… That’s a new thought!? Ravage me!)

“Yo, Rose!” Just like every other day, he opens with a flirtatious tone. “Hey, you got time? I know you do, cause’ what Biske has for you, Perfect Rose, is good…!”

Fragrance that can only be described as a garden of delights with the promise of hidden thorns is what wafts from her skin as he closes to squat beside her.

(What kind of monster are you, anyway? Castile and I have a bet!)

This woman is the creme de la creme: intelligent, physically flexible, charming, and willing to talk before settling on rape.

“Your lil’ bro is dying to share this!”

(The glow you bring to this place ain’t normal. A rich man’s bedroom with gems and gold and shit is where you should be, not hanging around a drab, broken in amphitheater with us bros. Instead, let me fuck yah there—)

As slender hands tighten to rake nails across her mysterious and expensive box, something about her tenseness sets off Biske’s danger senses.

(“Jump away”!? The fuck… huh?)

Only for a moment, though, until her smile like the tainted sun draws him closer, along with the luxurious nails that gently hook into his chin.

Shaking eyes become still, drinking his essence as she relaxes.

“… Biske, when was it decided that you’re my little brother? That’s not a commodity easily claimed~.”

“Oh… oh, well…”

Everything about her is pleasant, save for her voice.

Cold admonishment makes his scalp tingle, causing him to…

“Ah, sorry. But! I’ve got something… I feel like I’m gonna be worth it!”

All his swagger vanishes as he starts gushing about his discovery, bringing brief curiosity from her.

“Oh? You found something to trade…? Maybe later…”

“No! Ain’t no trade, Rose! I got info about who you’re—!”

Distance vanishes, leaving Biske staring into those shaking eyes once more.

Only, inches away this time.

A truly romantic scene where he’s face-to-face with his goddess, with her hunched over and staring into his soul as he kneels on the ground, sends his heart thumping for the wrong reason.

“What information?”

“Ah…”

(Those teasing things are full of an awful power.)

Shining, slit-irised eyes hungrily await his words, as does the surprisingly strong grip on his head. Though his mind’s eye is lighting up with warnings of what’s affecting him, nothing in his brain wants to resist, anyway.

“… Yeah, word is… that kid you’re looking for is… well, being milked by some guys operating out by the stone fountain mid-city.”

“mIlKeD?”

A fierce growl rolls out of her throat, leaving Biske feeling his own anger at the information.

“What I was told, Rose, no matter how bad for ‘em.”

“… By whom?”

“Huh? Another slayer came in, um… no, I can’t remember which? But that kid got picked up in front of him, with the Birchers having some demis talking during the whole thing, right? Apparently, the kid’s some special mission or trigger, ‘cause he ain’t scared of monsters like all the other sissies in town?”

“What was he wearing?”

(The fuck you care about…? God, you’re hot, though.)

Every almost-moaned word of hers is a burning curse, clawing through Biske’s body straight to his overextended junk.

“A mask and a cross? He said silver— FUCKIN’!?”

Plopping to the ground, only after impacting does Biske realize he was relying on her hands to keep himself aloft.

Biske stares up into her crotch as she leans back with her legs open, her evil eyes tracking something not within the Call.

(Castile, you sure this piece is okay?)

No longer friendly and laughing like always, everyone’s Shining Star isn’t even breathing.

Just flexing muscles, as if getting ready to bolt.

“Hey, Rose. Is this… info any good?”

A dry whisper causes her to blink.

“… What?”

Finally returning to reality, an incredulous look seems to be wondering what to make of Biske.

(You just gonna leave me hanging?)

“Well, there was a reward for that mission, right? If you… if you want, I can help you with gettin’…”

“No, it’s fine…”

A jovial voice pipes up, drowning the woman of mystery’s hateful one.

“Mmm, no! More than fine~! Little brother candidate did an excellent job!”

A thrilling smile is gifted as she runs a hand through his mussed hair, treating him like a kid while her other slithers over her stomach to move down to her exposed crotch.

“Right, I promised a reward for a good job, didn’t I?”

“… Yah did… yeah…”

Kneeling again, the big man relents to a firm hand bringing him nearer as luscious legs open wider. A treasure thinly hidden by silk calls for affection, the front of it growing moist.

“Okay, that’s perfect! Big Sis understands… she pays attention to all her customers, especially the best ones like Biske. I’ll get your crystal after I pick him up.”

(Thanks for the attention! But…)

“I mean, I was kinda… hoping for…”

Fast disappointment brings a pained murmur, causing “Rose” to coo at him after laughing devilishly.

“Honesty is good… but Big Sister Rose doesn’t have time for much now, Bold Biske, so… how about just a kiss?”

Red panties are temptingly dragged aside, leaving exposed lips ready to be tugged on.

Pinkish and inviting where her skin otherwise is deathly pale, Biske finds himself numbly trying to refuse.

(… I ain’t gonna just… munch in plain sight of everyone…!)

“Don’t you want a taste of peach~?” She punctuates the question by running a finger over her lips, letting him watch the digit sink in a bit. “This peach loves those who ‘taste’ it.”

Even the sight of this is drawing a crowd, whispering and hissing at him. The woman that teases him is completely aware of the damage to a prideful Biske this will be to give in before the entire stage of slayers.

(I’m… not feeling it, y’know!? But, I guess.)

When the scent of her mildest arousal is caught by his bestial senses, though, the once-swaggering slayer unwittingly opens his mouth.

(Fuck it! It’s better to be the man that tasted Lycia in front of god and everyone than to be “Beast Fucker Biske”!)

Extending his tongue, he immediately succumbs to the flavor of her glistening juices. Pride melts away like the saliva dripping down his chin when he gets going.

“MMMM!? … Biske… the… ahaha, Beast…! Not a Beast’s tongue, but a man’s? Do you… have a regular practice partner…?”

When she moans, the thuggish hunter sheds a tear.

(No, and I don’t even like this! But she’s human… -ish!? … I’m a man, not a furry? Nice!)

An inviting slit is still a delicious prize, even if he can’t dip into it with his throbbing erection. Biske follows her every motion and command as she smirks at his pitched tent.

“… You’re not little brother skilled, though, sadly. Tell me… umm, more about this group.”

Biske divulges between slurps, sharing all the secrets of the slayers about the hated criminals of the city. The history of a criminal syndicate grows harder to relate as “Rose” traps his head with her thighs.

“… Good… you won’t have to worry about them for long…! Big Sis will handle th—ISSSS…!?”

An evil moan breaks through as she cups one of her large breasts, pulling her shirt open to reveal a single pale nipple. Finally getting into the spirit of slavish work once he finishes talking and starts flicking her growing clit fast, both become aware of spectators stealthily watching.

“Big Sis loves a clever mouth… ♥”

Jealous they are, bickering and whispering insults at the one who takes the place before a Star’s throne that they want to be at, while the goddess sitting at it soaks in the adulation.

“… why didn’t you wait,

lItTlE bRo?”

(Neither Reverend nor Castile have been available. ‘Rev’ was supposed to be reporting days ago!)

When Adris had dared to enter Slayer’s Call to ask about Lycia, Reverend had been missing for some time, while Castile was in talks with Drache stretching into days.

Pacing on the roof beside him pulls away from enjoying his hiding spot, bringing another internal sigh from the boy.

(Sloppy fools. I know I have no aura presence and am difficult to feel, but at least cover all angles of view!)

Smoke curls up through holes in the patchwork wooden roof, though it quickly collapses with the weight of the wet air during this drizzle. The figures within the sweet-smelling room are as languid as the dumb guard on the roof, chatting mindlessly in between sharing written reports as they dodge drops of rain.

A hiding spot filled with draped furniture would garner no attention, save for the motley crew manning it. Under dust cloth is where treasures most likely lie.

Eight figures in all are the core guard of Black Birch’s safe room, which ends up being only a large upper floor beneath the roof used for storage. These unusual figures worry not only Adris, but also the lad with a face-shading cap who stumbles into the room after a complicated knock grants entry.

“Don’t piss yerself, Shanty. Even ‘Lady’ Estrea ain’t gonna bite.”

That ironic comment comes from the tallest foe in the room, a barbaric-looking lizardman whose ceremonial bone armor covers where his scales don’t. Pieces jangle as he chuckles, slapping the leather-clad youth on the back with a broad laugh from his scarred face at the reaction.

At least before wincing and shaking his now wet hand dry.

“Least tidy up before comin’ in! Just ‘cause I live in water sometimes, don’t mean it ain’t cold… Fuck it, your pack?”

Nodding his head, the lad thrusts his pack at a blond-haired, gentrified man wearing a tight brocade cotehardie and hose. A long nose regards the addition to the drug-addled den of criminals, before he turns and pulls a shaded piece of glass held by silver to place over his eyes. Moaning in displeasure at the rolls of parchment he pulls out, the man begins unfolding them.

“Useless. Useless. Redundant. Pointless, now, after the opportunity is passed. I’m of the opinion I should expect the same from the rest.”

Suddenly, the man strikes the youth in the face with the back of his hand, leaving his target shying away while holding a gloved hand to the spot.

“Tell Reinhaldet that it’s not the quantity of the missives, it’s the quality! This is a pattern! Now, my first-rate talents are spent reading through three-dozen, third-rate observations from a second-rate operative!”

The drinking and smoking crowd murmurs approval at the annoying man’s demand, since they end up sharing the load when he passes out stacks to them.

“Why do any of you care about intelligence from Petripolis? The town is a dead end.” A chilly, female voice sounds from beneath an opened bascinet, before muffling when a candy is popped in. “Just milk what’s left of the businesses and enjoy the quiet with the other organizations distant.”

Unlike the rest, this woman’s fitted plate armor is on the same level as Kol’s, if not greater. Though a crude coat of black paint has been applied to it, the stately piece and her out-of-place elocution marks her as different from the rest.

“In more ways than one, ya might not know.” Grunts the wiry lizardman, while gnawing on a shank of salted meat. “I know the sticks out this way ain’t nothing for a temple knight, but thinking this quiet is ‘peace’ with competition gone is how the real dangers get yah: monsters from the mansion, livin’ and breathin’ behind your back.

Eh, Zerris?”

“… Did anyone report back from the mayor’s watch that was on duty that night?”

That thought brings up an old topic from the noble buzzard, before the lizardman shakes his dreadlocked head.

“Nah. Still wondering about the buzzing, too. Nobody talking about it, not even the ‘white saviors’.”

The two veterans chat about the omens, while the indulgent atmosphere takes a turn toward sobriety with the parchment readers finishing up their hidden game of cards because of jitters on the topic.

“Leave off on mysteries of the night! We’ve more useful business getting ready to press fools like that elf-loving fatman! Only Centennial Street still resists after the mining companies gave in. They care more for Phantom than for us!”

Estrea mentioning that name brings a chuckle from everyone.

“Fair enough, we musn’t lose out to a trickster that exchanges lye for dye to ruin your clothes if it hates you. Shanty, ready to run a missive to the mayor’s new watch. Everyone else, finish your work and get to patrol assignments.”

At that order, more resin is dropped into a smoker with pipes, while the readers lounging on covered chairs sigh and hold up reports to the dim lights.

(I like the mood.)

With the lizardman speaking of the events of Adris’ caper, the entire room becomes lazily worried, as if the night that creeps up to bite the boy’s cloaked back is about to also jump at them.

(You’re about to feel the cold, too, you fools.)

Clouds of wooden debris fall into the candlelight, bringing quizzical looks from a few in the room.

(She’s knocking.)

“Hmm? Is that Hark stomping around up there…?”

“What? No, more than just up there, that was also from—!”

The eagle-nosed leader leaps up, drawing a golden plate with a hand-hold from his table.

Fake aura swirls around it as he points the gem-encrusted tool at the ceiling.

“… the fuckin—?

GYAAAAHHHHHH—!”

A scream pierces through the night, followed by a stampede of footsteps from all directions above.

““““““FOR GREAT ONE! BLACK TIDE, STROOONG!””””””

The spiderhole door of the slanted roof rockets off its hinges, consumed by the gloom beyond so that innumerable small bodies clad in servants’ uniforms and red-black hair can stream through the new opening.

Dark-steel kitchen knives point ahead as they charge. Traps set up deploy the moment the lonesome scouts trip them, resulting in either an outright massacre of darts or a yipping dodge of acid gouts as the rest follow.

Every weak point of the roughly slatted wooden roof over the old building is ripped through in moments by furious blows, allowing glinting wolf eyes from outside to bring black-coated arrows to bear on the inhabitants inside.

“RAID!”

“Brigands are upon us!”

Lizardman and female knight take up the front, leaping into the charging bodies.

A male’s strong fist gathers glowing power from his green scales, sinking a punch into the floor and sending the vanguard flying screaming, before simply bodying the next wave with a charge.

The once-noble knight draws a glowing broadsword from her nearby scabbard and bisects the first salivating male that tries to stab her, while the icy blue eyes peering through her helm’s slit balk the rest from coming all at once when they and their surroundings start frosting.

“Stand clear! ‘Pale watcher that descends from on high, searching for the origin of our sins, becoming only a—!’

… GAHK!”

Despite the screaming horde, Adris can make out the surprised croak of the fop as a curved shortsword with a blade covered in glowing paper slices across his back.

“… What…?”

A flashing shell of transparent diamonds breaks when the paper covering the blade burns into darkness, before his chest spurts a new point straight out of his ribs to the sound of shattering glass.

“… the fuck, Shan… ty…?”

Shaking and collapsing to the floor after turning his head to look back, the sole mystic of the group coats the wood with whitish-red as those behind the two frontliners now regard their ally.

A porcelain mask is where their comrade’s face was once half-hidden, with a “Did I do that?” look of impish confusion for a mouth as the boyishly clothed Still twirls her Vigor-splattered sword around.

“… FUCK, FUCK BEHIND!”

“Dice it!”

The addled document tenders swing knives and swords, leaping at her.

(Bad idea.)

Bluish-black streams of energy flow through the body of one writhing assailant as Still leaps over him, dropping him to the floor with a stab to his neck before the bouncing, blinding bomb she leaves behind her explodes.

While her waylayers cough and hack in the smoke, Still runs on the ceiling to backstab the lizardman.

“WRONG WAY!”

A spinning backhand pops the sword thrusting from Still’s hand, sending it to lodge in a wall before his other fist fires a blast of concussive energy through the spot she leaps from.

The new hole added to the ceiling nails a kobold on top, ending one of the archers raining down arrows on the dancing morons below them.

(Shit, he’s no joke! … Am I gonna have to drop in?)

Kobold arrows only inconvenience the unarmored combatants trying to flag down Still, while the lizard and the knight ignore the points ricocheting off of them.

“Aren’t kobolds cowards!? Fall back to the door!”

“… Not a bad idea, that is! But we ain’t leavin’, no matter how brave they are!”

With space limited but defenders refusing to flee, they play to their strengths. Furniture and racks purposefully set up to narrow advance from the spiderhole allow the defenders to control the tide.

Even with the kobolds pelting the defenders with purple-smoke grenades…

“CHARGE! WANT FEMA— BLARGH!?”

“EH!? SWORD IS BEEEAAAM!?”

The knight’s glowing sword removes the concealing fog with a single frigid wave of air. Those revealed balk at the duo’s fending advance.

Fist force and cutting of shining sword mow through kobold ranks, lighting up the room as furniture is shattered to bits and uniforms turn to rags. With them succumbing and flying every time they’re hit, the stabbing kobolds can’t advance, even with arrows and others pushing along behind.

“… What!? I just cut that one down!”

“When did kobolds become less than jobbers, eh!?”

Despite seemingly mounting losses, bleeding wretches in servants’ uniforms cackle as they rise from where they fell to rejoin the rush. Only the ones flung from the pack seem scared, before jumping back in with their friends and going wild once more.

Leaping from the furniture, kobold assassins meet the mystical talents of Zennian fighters, forcing at most three-on-one matchups with the titanic lizard and bitch knight. While Adris was unsure of their potential, Castillo knives are mystical enough to chip wherever they land, eventually stabbing through to the soft flesh beneath; yet, brutal counter attacks punish them for their middling efforts of whittling the enemy down.

Numbers are meaningless to auras that restrict advance, bursts of wind that blow back challengers, and the amusing dancing swordplay of a female knight that creates doppelganger, phantasmal blades which attack from multiple angles to skewer one opponent.

With time given to recover, both experts begin stacking what Adris’ interprets as physical reinforcement techniques on themselves to the accompaniment of varied glows.

(I see. No matter how many, if they can’t surround them then their unskilled weapon handling can’t overcome trained warriors.)

A fight Adris purposefully sits out is proving to be a wonderful teaching tool.

“We can overcome them, Sizzaw!”

“You got it, sweet tooth! Estrea, don’t let a single one of these new slaves escape!”

Punching as he darts in, the fisting lizard clotheslines and tosses indignant wolf-things, leaving explosions of air as he jumps back.

“If they want a fight, give it to ‘em! Nobody leaves this room, except as a bondsman! If they go free after attacking Black Birch, there’s no telling who’ll be after these mangy dogs! Go get help, Reese!”

A man unbolts the door, heading out of the room before Still can fling a dirk at him.

(You’re not gonna get any.)

Forced into a stalemate, the kobolds back up while pulling their wounded. The yipping in the quiet of the two powerhouses regaining their breaths becomes a consensus among the horde.

““““““AGREE!”””””” Yell the “mangy dogs”, revealing their canines as they seem to take enormous offense.

“They understand us!?”

An enormous boom is the answer to that question.

In fact, multiple booms coincide with the entire building shaking.

And with it, a burst of pure darkness from the place that Adris hides in, while maddening whispers announce the call to arms.

(Right on schedule for both, like predicted! One last star shower, right?)

Lycia spoke of only having one more reload, eliminating that powerful weapon from a later equation.

(And the moment these retards agree to an oath, I’m trapped into it!)

A black cross will never allow Adris to forsake a battle with lives tied to him on the line.

Once theirs were committed, as he predicted, his own was staked.

(That’s going to be a problem!)

“Sizzaw, what is this darkness!?”

Where darkness wraps around, the target glows either black or reddish-white, before the room-filling contagion vanishes to the original shadows.

“And what’s happening downstairs!? I can feel the presence of undeath below and behind with my Gift of Grace!”

“It’s a monster pincer, dear! Lay these mongrels out and regroup!”

A smashing sound from the ceiling draws both their eyes to watch a flipping figure land on the ground, pushing away screaming kobolds as the dark presence bearing a cross rises. A dark shadow jumps to his side a moment later, pointing her sword at the lizardman while teasing Adris’ hand with long fingers.

Dusting his cloak off to escape that touch, Adris gives a cynical grin as he looks at the meat puppets about to be dancing to his orders.

“Play time is over. Show me Black Tide’s full power. No holding back.”

“Yeah? ‘Play time’? Cute… kid?” While trying to remain stoic, the tall pugilist can’t shake his apparent concern for the force arriving on the scene. “Nah, Estrea, he’s for real.”

“Nothing can be felt! … No, he doesn’t even show to my Gift!?”

“Fuck it, juice up, girl!”

Sizzaw bares teeth as he grows slightly, elongating his limbs with a hazy fire wicking off of him.

“If you can do it, do it, you lazy dogs!”

“You heard me, Echo.”

“Ah! Shut up! Echo, heard!”

A dangerous beauty runs up from behind the horde, leaping up to land on the backs of two flustered underlings.

Grinning as she lets them drink her in…

“BLACK TIDE! GET ‘EM ALL, ECHO WANTS TO SEE SPIRIT!”

Gown swings along with silver bell, as Echo begins wildly clanging in place.

Every chime sends perked wolf ears stiffer, as her minions’ eyes begin shaking with hunger.

That hunger locks on Estrea and Sizzaw, with even the kobolds painfully rising from the floor salivating at what they want.

“Rise up and mate! [CLANG GANG]!”

A sexual taint flows through ringing notes, adding to the purple smoke that’s already laced the combatants. Teeth reveal as power deranges brave wolf-things even more.

Powerful chimes crack the room with their intensity, washing over the suddenly struck criminals and stripping away glows that cling to them.

“AH!? THAT BITCH IS NULLIN’ US!”

“Forward, Sizzaw! Before we’re lost!”

“[DIN-DIN]! FREE BREEDERS FOR ALL! COME AND GET IT WHILE IT’S FRESH! KAKAKAKA!”

The last charge of desperate scum is meaningless to the show-stopping bell and its reception.

““““““MINE!””””””

““““““FIRST DIBS!””””””

““““““KAKAKAKAKAKA!””””””

A tidal force of two dozen bodies launches, ripping at each other to be first to have a taste. An aura of pinkish force fills everyone’s sight as the entire pack blazes.

When the slavering throng is about to meet the rampaging lizardman, a shadow slides out from below short legs to point a short-barreled rifle at his liver.

“[Tap and Trap]”

Foul smoke fills the air with a loud crack, failing to obscure the bone armor exploding from the impact of the hunter’s shot.

“GRAAAHHH!!!”

Vigor sprays before and behind Sizzaw to the sound of a gong, before the now dazed juggernaut falls to one knee.

“Counter charge break!?”

A handsome kobold smirks as he runs his free hand on the floor, snapping through something invisible with a claw before turning away with a flutter of his cloak.

Tension explodes elsewhere, with now-visible filaments wrapping around the lady knight, her sword, and multitudes of kobold assailants constricting.

“… EEHHH!?”

As she and those wrapped up scream, the kobolds attached to her collide with the immobile Estrea while her broadsword flies to join Still’s shortsword lodged in the wall.

Each gobsmacked fighter recovers just in time for the horde to crash.

“My [Territory—yyyyyyyyyyy]!?!?”

“Fuck’s sake!”

Several wolf-things leap upon the lizardman’s back after he sends the nearest one yipping through a hole in the ceiling with a seismic uppercut. Stabbing wildly into his scales, these males are paradoxically joined by a female assault on the man’s groin area.

Violence, pain, and humiliation all add up to it rapidly engorging as a wave of erotic energy rushes over him from Echo’s furious clanging.

A slurping frenzy brings him to his knees permanently, completing what a liver blow and yelling savages on his shoulders started.

“GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFFFFFF!”

Plate is of no use as the thirst washes over an ex-knight next, with yowling males knocking her into a reading table as a sturdy body dances around trying to throw them off.

Bending it with all of the strength that the milky-pinkish aura clinging to their bodies can provide, they finally force her over the furniture as steely knives saw at the buckles and ties keeping her mighty armor affixed.

Rabid precision quickly loosens and cuts away the textile protection of her groin, while indelicate ripping of multiple sex-mad males starts on her chest protector. Lacey slip shorts get a hearty slurp, before the cloth is ripped away.

“What the fuck!? No, no, no, not with dirty fuckin’— AAAHHHHH!

OH, OH, OH!? STOOOOP! Oh!? STOP!”

A shocking entry brings a girlish scream from her that Adris wasn’t sure she could make, followed by growing breaths of realization at what’s now lodged inside.

“NO, MOOOAAR!! Best smell, yeah! Sweat and scent, human female that’s gonna break!”

Though difficult to hold on to, the most desperate kobold of the group hooks into her armor and rapidly pumps into a cunt only allowing entry because of the lubricant smeared on his preprepared cock.

Resisting gravity, he looks like a dog humping in mid air.

“Shitty human, great! Tight! Love!”

“‘Love’!? EH!? A… a k-kobold!? AH!

D-D-DIE! KILL MEEEEE—!!

Instead of that mercy, an equally motivated attacker finally cuts away her helmet’s strap, casting it wide and ringing another of his own kind in the head with it.

Squatting and lining up, he slams into a hot mouth.

“OMPH! MMMMPHH!”

“MMM! Strong purr!”

Even if she struggles, her fate is sealed by being spit and put up to cook for the tribe’s pleasure.

(Their “special blow” is just… a stampede of rape?)

Even if Adris is left clinging to Still for safety in the midst of a tribe of suddenly horny dogs, he has to admit their victory, for…

“EH!? They… collapsed that fast?”

Disappointed wolf eyes watching the show turn to the man speaking, growing wild again when they realize that they have more prey further ahead.

Knives raise high.

“… Ah. R-R-Ruuuuuun! Get reinfor— AIEEE!”

An un-mannish scream accompanies the mad cackling of airborne invaders, with breeches being ripped off as males and females both cling to the men guarding the door.

Whipping, fur-tipped tails foretell of the horrible pleasures awaiting all of them.

(This isn’t [Battle Pressure]. This is… [Rule in Dark] as used by… them.)

Black Tide belongs to Kol, who belongs to him.

The first minions of his organization are…

(Powered by rape? No, it’s more…)

More than just fearlessness, their knives and uniforms stolen from the Castillo are able to match the quality enhanced weapons of trained knights and strong demi-humans.

With Echo at the core to distribute their strength and Stalker as a trump card, they refuse to fall until all fall before their rush.

(If a large-scale technique hits them, though?)

If not for Still’s massacre of their mystic, this might’ve been a different outcome.

Walking among the orgy to start his own work is a trying experience, for every different scene is a draw to the boy watching others fight from beginning to end for the first time.

A lizardman titan’s dick is fought over by four bitchy females, while possessive males rut them from behind for the lack of available women elsewhere.

“… Stop fuckin’… with me!? I run Petripolis! I’mma split your asses when I— ACK!”

The sharp-mouthed Sizzaw shuts up when a tender cunt is landed on his face, fighting against the appeal until one kobold manages to win the contest with his dick. Fitting the whole thing into her mouth, Adris wonders at the scraping horror he must feel right now.

(Not that you’re getting off any lighter over there.)

Pieces of armor still fly as fast hands strip free a muscular woman being coated in white glaze at regular intervals. Her almost blank eyes stare at nothing, only closing when a dick pulls out of her mouth while still spurting at her.

No longer protesting, she just moans with a resigned expression of forced pleasure as a harem of men project their frustrations either to coat her womb, fit thighs, or glistening face.

“No knots! First male that knots gets dick broken by Echo! Breed later, mate now!”

Kicks to asses are delivered as a smart young woman asserts her authority.

Stalker looks quite contented to sit out the spectacle while eying Echo’s ass, before turning to watch as the females herd the other trapped men into a corner. They decide to play the “who spurts first” game while pulling up their dresses.

“… This is what you intend to do all the time?”

With Stalker as the only sane companionship, Adris grabs him by the shoulder to move to their goal.

“Well… Stalker, actually can do a lot more… but, Echo wanted, show, Great One, how she run things?”

“Show me later. Let’s start clearing out the caches.”

To aid them, the masked backstabber twirls between orgies, pointing out likely important places to the collection crew.

Adris, Stalker, and a few other dissatisfied males fill linen sacks that are then tossed to others finishing up with their first rounds with the captives.

“If you don’t ferry the goods intact, you’ll be getting back what you gave, except worse.”

“HAH! Yes, Great One!”

A black mask and the right stern look accomplishes what Kol needs tortuous history for.

Quickly putting on their trousers, a line of kobolds runs out the spiderhole to begin the great escape, hurling their sacks to the opposite roof while avoiding slipping on fresh spunk on the floor.

“Hmmm!? Great One…”

Three familiar females left out approach Adris as he works, pulling on his cloak and Xin’Reh coat.

(These are… the females that tried to rape me in the Castillo!)

“Hey, not joining~?”

“… Huh?”

The distraction doesn’t register at first with his adrenaline and fear still pumping, but he then notices these three haven’t consorted with anyone, yet.

Pulling his hand to her crotch, the one at the lead with bangs covering her eyes moans when his fingers enter into her tight passage. Hips spread wide and a liquid invitation cause him to gulp, before the other two sniff, smile hungrily, and then lock arms around him.

“… Great One… want seed~!”

“Strongest male, strongest cub!”

(I see the logic.)

Along with that logic is a burning in his loins, amplified by the aphrodisiacs in the air tossed around as grenades earlier to prep for Black Tide’s ultimate assault. This purple haze has joined with the smoke of the drugs left burning in their iron trays, giving an otherworldly aura to the throng of bodies moving around Adris.

“Hot for… Great One! If want…”

Bending over a nearby table, the thick butt of a new conquest appears when her tail lifts up her servant’s dress.

A furred hand opens sloshing lips, with the depths he can see in the dimness of the room constricting on nothing to entice him.

(… I can’t! Ah.)

His loop belt is untied at record speed by the panting girls holding onto him, angling him for his…

A clanging burst of visible sound goes with the banged-covered face of the temptress in front of him disappearing. Rather than enticing him, she’s lying on the floor after Adris opens his eyes and ignores the ringing in his ears.

“Shitty human! Stick to plan! Help Echo, get idiots to leave!”

Adris’ savior shoos the other two with a growl, forcing them to grab their friend and flee out the rooftop.

“Huh, stupid false god. See how Echo runs things? Bell makes all share blow, so everyone stays up until all fall.”

The pose she gives is surprisingly glamorous as she kisses the silver bell she cherishes.

“Black Tide under Echo… way better than Scurry, right~? Hey, say yes, Echo might help a stupid kid…? Kakaka!”

He looks around the room, locking on the source of coldness bleeding from a wall. That cloaked sneak is busy pulling out closed, small boxes, fishing in the locks with her tools to easily open them.

But she still seems to be accusing him, anyway.

(If I’m getting tarnished in your mind anyway, I might as well enjoy it.)

“… Right.”

“HYAH!? … Fuckin’ human…!”

The hand Adris grips Echo’s butt with wakes him up, redirecting his lust to a safe target.

(It’s not quantity, it’s quality. Fatty scraps steal the finer tastes. Knowing that is how I avoid falling into the madness…)

While she sidles up to him for a moment with blushing cheeks, her teeth chomp with a miss at the other hand coming to feel that softness.

“Echo, hates shitty false god the most when he tries to do things like that!”

A voice only she can hear offers sweet poison.

“Yet, you’d still love for me to thank you for your amazing performance, wouldn’t you?”

“NAH! … Want to… grr…”

Pushing him away, she begins clanging her bell while screaming.

“GRAB YOUR DINNER AND HIT THE ROAD! OUT, OUT!”

““““““Eh?””””””

The tribe rouses from their sex-fueled altered states. Pheromones so dense that Adris feels woozy flood around them, but his words after break their disbelief at the order.

“Something much worse than Kol is about to tear through here… and all of you.”

Another crash sounds closer as they flinch, for the building is groaning now.

“Right. … RUN!”

“EH, GET LEGS! CARRY BIG LIZARD HUNK!”

“Forget lizard, get frosty woman! Best cubs, stiff upper lip!”

“Leave off mating, grab valuables!”

Bickering self-resolves as the most interested begin yanking and dragging their captives. Tied up with terrible knots, those still lucid just blink with non-understanding at their fates as they’re hauled out of their former place of work.

(I don’t feel sorry for scum that bet their lives on stupid terms.)

The moment that declared that no one would leave and the kobolds agreed with their terms, it became a fight of slavery under the cross’ terms.

“Idiots! Don’t forget trousers or knives!”

Tribe mom Echo sighs as her fighting force nearly forgets their own valuables, too busy looting everything not bolted down or too heavy for a kobold to nick.

Crossing his arms menacingly to watch them depart, Adris inspires them with his mask’s patented effect while he identifies the death throes of the building.

Another enormous rumble rocks through it, shaking the very foundations.

“Still, the target is almost here. I’m going to need your touch.”

That disapproving sneer she has causes him to have second thoughts as she walks up to wrap her arm around his waist. For all her great help, Still is too mercurial to hope for…

{No regrets, right, Adris~?}

A blur jumps from the roof, right before a hand with sharp nails plunges through wood to try to grasp its leg.

“AH!?”

Carried like a bundle, Adris watches as a figure with golden hair crawls up through the spider hole they flee from. Reflecting her nature as an inhuman horror, she moves like a spider before assuming a full sprinter’s gait.

(She doesn’t have her box, though! No long-ranged attacks? Will we lose her?)

That chance is dashed when the woman reaches to a leather panel at her thigh, whipping free an object that takes a spinning flight to curl off her fingers.

“[ENEMY CHASER].”

A top hums as soars above them at a speed faster than both parties.

When Still jukes to jump, a shadowy kick smashes through the roof they leave, causing the beauty who lands to fall into the top floor below.

(Just as strong!)

Still runs sideways on an adjoining wall, quickly turning the corner and leaping from wall to wall to escape while followed by a buzzing sound.

(I hope you can outrun her!)

Traveler, which grows brighter and fuller with every night, shines down on their pursuit atop Petripolis, a personal carnival show that takes them further from the fleeing kobolds.

As Still hops divides between roofs and activates hidden traps with tosses dirks, the force hopping behind them deflects the dangers with either unskilled fists and legs, or by simply accepting harm.

A beautiful woman is slightly frayed as she hops, with pieces of her ruffled, armless white shirt missing. Bountiful breasts shake as she moves, drawing him back to their encounter in the Castillo.

Fast hands reach to her leather panels containing “tricks” at times, before Still turns a corner to exit sight every time.

A rooftop expert like her can anticipate the time it takes to act before foiling it.

Adris feels his butt patted, causing his mind to race with what is about to transpire.

One final leap sends both tricksters crashing through live trees.

Sticking her landing, Still hops down flat levels to arrive at the center of a terraced garden. At the outskirts of Petripolis, the bones of a ruined encampment here attest to the downfall of a criminal syndicate during the Week of Woe.

(Here we go!)

Watching behind as a driven woman closes, Adris taps Still’s butt.

“[Pocket Belmont]!”

He flies to the side while Still heads the opposite way. A grinding sound of chains follows her, sending a flaming mace head past the sneak’s face before she jumps into a tree’s shadow.

A wall explodes with the force of the tool’s energies, sending blazing chips into the brush to smoke.

Pretending to be tied up, Adris lays there silently as he listens to soft footsteps.

(I don’t… want to meet you. But I suppose I’ll have to now, after I went to the trouble of drawing you to Black Birch by lacing their interior with my “scent”.)

“… Little… bro… you’re safe!”

A choking voice sounds almost about to cry.

(… But, like with me, it’s not what is presented that matters, but rather what isn’t.)

While she displays her relief at his safety as she closes, arm extended toward him, the way her body is flushed and almost shaking with need reveals that she’s not voicing what truly matters.

“It’s okay! Big Sis is here! She even… beat up the people who took you, okay…!? Big Sis looked… everywhere for you…”

(I’m sure you did. You have to, for some reason.)

A book called Codex Rantilius revealed the depths of her madness.

(This is difficult for me, too, Sis. I remember trusting you and being rewarded for that.)

This emotional scene should be proof of their mutual longing, and oh how he wants for it to be good to see her again. After all, he does feel a bit of irrational closeness at the limited time they shared.

“Big Sis is gonna take care of you, Little Bro! … She’ll help you find your way, even if you don’t have memories. All you have to do is… do things for her that we both like…!”

The words don’t match the way she breathes, for it’s throaty and needy.

How she moves, flinching with pleasure as her thighs scrape together.

Most of all, the palpable danger is worse than Adris has ever felt on Zennia, save for the Alchemaster’s smiling greed and Cethran’s rainbow evil.

While the drizzling night continues and cold stiffness assaults every other place, there’s a burdening heat springing from a woman’s curvaceous body. In but a moment, she’ll inflict it on him whether he agrees or not.

“Big Sis… loves her real Little Bro the most… ♥”

(Sorry, but, in the end, I’m betting we’re the same kind of person, Lycia. So here is your welcome.)

“… no matter… what you’ve done to me, boy.”

A whisper meant to be silent and likely in another language can’t escape his preternatural senses.

“… NNN!?”

Lycia scoots back perfectly sideways like a cat, before a bladed polearm shanks through where she once stood.

Thrusting from the ground itself, the cavity revealed by crumbling dirt is vacated by a leaping tin can of terror.

“FACE THE END! BLOOD AND STEEL!”

A wide swing barely misses Lycia’s stomach, deflected by a fast hand.

But, the sudden tornado winds it births draw the shocked ghoul back toward her assailant, negating the distance gained.

“FOR FALSE GOD!”

Kol’s faster return spin brings the polearm back through Lycia’s body.

“HAAA!”

A raspy scream comes when the air-warping blade of the killer kobold sends Golden Vigor spraying out. Staring at her hand after inspecting the wound, the blinking scholar then reveals sharp teeth as she watches a boy dramatically rise from the ground.

“… I… I… I should’ve… guessed. I just knew it couldn’t be true.”

Her cheshire smile marks the unstoppable fraying of their reunion.

Leaning forward, the suddenly inhuman-in-posture beauty lifts hands which grow sharp to become claws.

“AHHH! You were… toying with me a bit, were you, Little Bro? I knew after you could understand Abyssal that… it was never quite right, what you told me.

… Okay, if you want to be that sort of liar, then…”

A howl sends her hair lifting, becoming a bit less refined as her body morphs with the air rushing around her.

“… i’Ll SpAnK yOu LiKe YoU dEsErVe! HUUUH!? BRO!?

AHAHAHAHA!”

(Yes, this is how she actually is.)

The moment her own expectations are dashed, she loses all possible trust and humanity.

The veneer of sultriness tears away, revealing a true Wondrous Works member underneath. One who wipes her own Vigor onto a claw before resting it on her laughing face.

Lycia, like the rest, has no need of a blue overcoat to announce her insanity to the world. With that lack of reason fully on display and her practiced cunning set to be revealed, anything can happen now.

(I’m sorry. I’m not the same Little Brother, anymore. I have…)

No matter how strong Lycia is…

“Huh, not so tough. Still bleed.” Whipping her polearm, the Vigor flies off as Kol resets to charge. “Kakaka! ‘Castillo assassin’? Okay, Kol… show why Kol can’t be stabbed in back. Hey, Boss, watch Kol~!”

A friendly tail whip further fuels the fire, with Lycia grinding her fanged teeth as a death rattle works its way from her throat.

“… sO… So… Sis is replaced already?”

(For that, and that alone, ‘sorry’. I would’ve wanted you.)

But, she spoiled it by being Lycia Vehrose.

“Sorry, Lycia.”

Lifting his cross to stand between them, the dangerous tool Adris offers with a melancholy smile causes Lycia to shy away.

(A man is what he wears.)

Fine clothing from a trusted partner; powerful tools liberated from dangerous foes; a stunning black mask won from an Evil Emperor; and a black cross that answers all desires, even the dangerous ones that bind four souls to him, means that they can never return to their previous relationship.

“I know what I am and who you are. I will never be someone you own.

I am Adris fehl Dain… a false god from another world, and I will never be ruled.”

The madwoman visibly buckles for a moment at the declaration, staring at him with wide eyes as if they’ve met for the first time.

Even Kol seems taken aback by the depth of Adris’ words, before cackling happily and swinging her halberd.

“I will instead [Rule in Dark], dwelling in vanity as I choose to while you are defeated and the Alchemaster loses everything.”

(We can never co-exist if one of us is trying to rule the other. So, you have to…)

“… Okay. Sis misunderstood a lil’ bit.”

A flippant comment ends with Lycia standing up, flicking her chin with a finger before nibbling on the claw. Offering one last womanly twist of hips to him, she agrees to his terms.

Her glowing golden eyes, almost completely absent green, reflect the light of greed instead of the noble violet of the Traveler who stands as their referee above this desecrated terraced garden they’re set to fight in.

“Fine. If you won’t be my delightful, obedient Little Bro… then… I guess you’ll be…!”

Spikes burst through her hand as she grips the rod tightly, bleeding gold as she wildly hurtles a ball and chain.

Stronger than the first shot at Still, this blazing comet crushes into Kol’s wolf-head helm before bursting into a wave of melting flames.

Only the black cross’ outraged whispers divert the flowing death coming for Adris, leaving him gasping as he watches the chainwhip continue to be swung widely around the suddenly composed Castillo monster.

The garden is set alight, giving a new stage of burning terraces to mark the third great incident in Petripolis, with the wildfire currently consuming his favorite kobold.

“Materials, okay? ♥!”

Golden light fills the area as a chain coils around a cackling Lycia, sending steam from her hand as the comet head reignites to fly again.

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