Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions-Chapter 356: Oceanmaster VII—Skeleton Army
THYRA ROLLED HER INSANE, colorless eyes. "How much gold is on board?"
Eotigan gulped. Did she just ask that? His mission just became harder. Could he come up with a plan to keep all the treasure and get in Thyra’s tight-ass pants too?
"Shit." He mumbled. "Of course you know about the gold. You saw it, didn’t you?"
He looked to Thyra when he said this. The woman calmly accepted, "yeah I did." And he studied her as she went over to the olives desk in the captains office and balanced her robust glutes on its edge. Her butt was so big it brushed the Bonsai tree seven inches away—this gave Eotigan’s forever dirty mind an inkling on just how far apart he could spread them cheeks. He’d bet a river of fairydust her ass clapped when she farted. This filthy thought made his little brother awaken in girthy might.
Eotigan chanced a look at Percival, hoping to find a dude who enjoyed being pervy over a fat ass as much as he did. Captain van Tuane stood with his arms folded behind her, like a stupid rock.
’Ew! What did these seadogs do to my friend?’ Eotigan did not know how his old friend could go one minute without sneaking a quick look at that prime booty. Perhaps the cunning Captain van Tuane had changed more than just surname over the years they were lost to each other. He was wearing a goddamn pristine white three-piece. Goddamn! He did a doubletake, dialoguing within himself, ’seriously, what did these sea cunts do to my friend? The Percy I know wouldn’t be seen murdered in nothing other than gray or gold. Now he was rocking platinum, in fucking noon?!
Damn. We might’ve just lost a brother.’
Eotigan knew for sure he couldn’t have a first-mate like Thyra without hitting that ass. I mean, he was pounding Inaia on the daily and she was literally his [Subservient]—in the flesh or whatever.
So what the heck was wrong with Captain Percival van Tuane? Why was his eyes not fastened to Thyra’s omnipotent buttocks like he?
’Hhmmm...’
"SERGEANT!" Thyra’s call scolded him back into focus. "Can you not dream of my asshole while we’re conducting business?"
He decided to play with her. "I can try." He offered smugly.
"You dirty devil—" Percival weaved into the middle of it; Thyra thought his words just a metaphor, and read nothing else into it as her Captain pulled off his silver jacket with the frosty emblem of his gang and began to bear witness to his crew’s utter possession of the great Cruiser ship: "as I’m sure you know, Serge, my weapons, fighting men, and sheer will surpass yours. This vessel is one for voyage—and the occasional communal orgies. Those men above us can’t fight," he let his finger point up to the deck above their heads, "...not like you think, or can. Now obviously you are strong, but I am still your old friend. I still remember your powers, skills, runes; all the magics which made you Champion of the [Phoenix Arc] back at the Academy.
I know your tricks, son of Hel. And trust me when I tell you there’s not a better crew of pirates on the Cold Sea more equipped to take on this ship.
You can try to play dumb and steer us away from the loot on this vessel. But I. . ." He exchanged looks with Thyra, correcting, "we know there is gold on this ship. A fortune if it. And by Calypso’s tits! I swear we’re gonna take it all."
"All of it. Mmhmmm." Thyra sent Eotigan a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
He was thinking to slap the shit out of her if she wasn’t so pretty. But he balled his fists, thinking how much better it’d be to reserve those slaps for her ass.
Captain van Tuane crossed the chestnut-colored desk, speaking as he came upfront and closer to Eotigan: "See, old friend, we heard news of a certain massacre of insectoids on an iceland up north. Yes, an island with a weeping well or some shit. Hell! We saw the black smoke ourselves. The ashes of pillage... and gigantic fucking spider corpses, toasted like ham, floating on the cold waters. And we all know the fables of the great treasure lying at the bottom of every a’cursed pit.
"So while every dumb pirate on the coasts was employing the services of cyphers and mystery solvers, I thought to myself, who do I know breathes fire from his goddang mouth. . .YOU!
Ha! Imagine that."
Eotigan snarled. But Percival wasn’t done. His devious grin grew the more he spoke; he looked like a pedo priest in that damn white tux; "anyway, SERGE, Thyra here is the best [Silversaint] in the Colonies. She’s got the rune of Immortals. So even at five leagues from this here vessel, all the gold currently residing in its hull stood out to her like the head of fucking Amün-ra.
So here’s what’s gonna happen: you WILL give us every nickel and ingot of the loot down there, we’ll let the idiot passengers live – but you’re coming with us. And before you ask why, you let Brunhilde die. You, are going to be my prisoner. Lawful captive of the Ice Spears. And we shall have that conversation about Corynthia, no matter how difficult it is for you."
Eotigan was thinking to himself how Captain van Tuane was shit...compared to the noble Percy of Capitol he’d known. This man was not his friend. But a shadow, in the skin of that chivalrous boy.
Percival had now rounded the desk in his splendid white and came upon Thyra where she sat.
With Eotigan watching, he took her up with a hand and smacked her sweet behind with the other. He chuckled darkly, his and her golden locks of hair alike, "and yes, devil, I am hitting that."
THAH!
He smacked her butt again.
"Come on, baby! Give him a shake. The poor man is about to lose all his gold."
Thyra did a spin at Percival’s instruction; she put her arms down on the olive desk, bent forward wantonly, raised herself on her heels, she was practically half laid out on the burnished top. And she began to shake that big, fat booty.
And by all the unholiness in the world, she could shake it good! Damn!
The sounds and sight of her clapping ass—
Eotigan lost his shit.
This was what he wanted—since laying eyes on this goddamn woman. But not like this. His old friend was trying to make a cuck out of him. BUT NEVER! Righteous anger rolled to the surface of Eotigan’s golden skin.
"You contemptible creature—"
He rushed to Captain van Tuane—arms open, eager to wring the air out his windpipe.
"Ah-ah!" The captain tutted, "I don’t think so. Hear that. . ?"
Eotigan heard only the growing impatience of enemy crews above at first—mundane guns being cocked and released, swords brandishing—but then the little scratching noises began, chittering against the body of the ship. Eotigan was no anthropologist but it sounded like what one might hear listening in on a tunnel of termites, or an anthill:
C-CRAW! CRAW!! SCRAW!!!
Captain Percival van Tuane lifted both his hands, victorious, "That’s my army. That, is the sound of a thousand reanimated skeletons climbing up this vessel right now to tear apart your sect of precious orgy-loving passengers at my word. You didn’t think I’d bring only cannons and a crew of men to a battle with a half-god, did you, OLD FRIEND?" Percival spat the final word back in his face.
Eotigan fumed but slowly he dropped his bloodthirsty hands.
Inaia and his beautiful new pet, Kambili were among the passengers. Noting how wrong things went with Corazón and Naamah, he figured he wasn’t taking chances. Plus he wasn’t giving up on Thyra just yet. He was getting himself a piece of that ass. His friend sure as shit could not handle all that clasp ’n crack. He made up his mind inwardly. He was going to NTR the fuck out of Captain van Tuane; fuck his bitch, steal his ship, run his shit, and get away with everything.
The captain of the [Ice Spears] was one more fool who’d underestimated him for the last time.
Satisfied in this plan and his ability to achieve it, Eotigan mused ’now, did he just say he’s got a skeleton army?
SYSTEM! Initiate base operations immediately!
THREAT: Skeleton Army.’
[DING!]
Inaia came in faster than a butterfly’s wingflap, like she’d been out there, and in his mind, just waiting on him to ask.
[ Equipments initiated! The Void initiated! Skull of Balthazar! ]
[Ding! Threat Intel processing. . .]
[MONSTER CLASS – Beast [A Rank] | PATRON SAINT: Cancer | SEAL: Yellow Crab]
[The Skeleton Army is Unsullied. Host must find the Boss and neutralize! Host is advised against launching personal attack! System recommends:]
[Best course of action: THE NECRO BOYS]
[Shall System conjure? Y/N?]
Eotigan slid his old friend one last brotherly gaze, right as the office’s door was blown in—by a headless skeleton in a rotting bikini, who walked in after the blast to clasp the rolling skull and plop it back on the stick neck. ’How in the hell is that freakish thing a woman? She’s got no tits! Goddamn!’ As if hearing his thoughts, the skeleton model rushed for him—chattering joints and all. Eotigan had never felt his dick go so flat. His little brother went and hid.
This bitch was bony. Scratch that! She was bones.
Scores of fleshless zombies rushing for him and probably for the other innocents on the Cruiser, Eotigan put one arm forward and one arm up—straight as an arrow. The [Blessed] rune of death on his third ab lit in purple-silver, rising to his conjuring. "Death Arts! Charon the Charred! Iglaus! Zanatga Thurisima! I call forth my army of undead. Heed the call of your Host! Death Arts! Upon brimming fire, INFLAME, THE NECRO BOYS!"
Guuuurrrrrrrlaaaaaccccccckkkkkkkkk!
Bonebitch was reaching for him with her unsexy humerus when a dark, bigger, muscular, colder hand gripped the cluttering wrist; this shadow hand rose from the oakwood floor and kept dumb Bonebitch from clawing out Eotigan’s gilded eyes. The shade slowly ascended up the floors till it was a whisper of dark sorcery no more.
But a substance.
A Necro Boy.
A match for the skeleton army.
SNAP! Necro Boy cut Bonebitch’s arm off just like that. Several Necro Boys were rising out of damp wood, snapping and kicking appearing skeletons to pieces. They smashed through one another, Eotigan’s shadow boys crushing over splinters of the door’s explosion to break ranks with Captain van Tuane’s own ugly skeletons. The three unzombified masters: Thyra, Percival, and Eotigan, watched their forces battle it out. Up above the first gunshots hit the hot noon.
The flame-haired sergeant sighed in his burgundy coat. "Fuck diplomacy."
[To be continued.]
