Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions-Chapter 357: Oceanmaster [X]—One Shall Reign
• HIGH NOON, LAT. 15°W OF THE COLD SEA
The shrill ringing of clashing swords rent the sea breeze, and the thunderclap of resounding gun charges made the wind wail like ewes at the birthing. Or more likely, a donkey orgasming.
A naval ship of the royal forces passing at this moment caught glimpse of the ongoing fight, but its Captain, a steward of the [Empyrean] took one look at the terrible flying, midnight sails of the Ice Spears and commandeered his vessel away. "Keep us along—" he told his garnished officers in red, "though Her Majesty has decreed we must interfere upon piracy, but that there is a bloody awful battle if I’ve ever seen one. And I have meself a woman on land, sturdy as a hoovers barrel, whose lumber thighs I’ve thus sworn to return to." He shook his beret-wearing head at the roars of cannon-fire in the distance. "—now I ain’t losing me giantess over this shite! Those poor sods are dead anyway."
This was the naval Captain’s flimsy excuse for abandoning his duty to rescue the certain Cruiser from the black jaws of the Ice Spears pirates: ’His sturdy lady’.
What a mighty woman she must be then?
Meanwhile, under the full heat of the undern sun, two great ships were hull to hull, scores of red-faced men colliding in blood and sweat, sword slashes and gunshots ringing into Valhalla.
Inaia stood tall in the fight—thick braids of hers swinging, both red of color and those she’d slain.
Her brows were furrowed and deep perspiration clogged the collars of her shirt; the thing which was no longer crisp nor immaculate but now bore the visceral essence—crimson and yellow, of the eleven pirates she had run through since the first war cry ascended. She licked at the blood spotting her top lip, shouting to the fighting men of the great Cruiser, her men, "AHOY! All of ye! ON ME. ON ME! Right fuckin’ now!"
Most of the cruiser’s upper deck was in splinters and ashes from the rolling balls of destruction spat at them from the enemy’s armored hull. But Inaia defended her lines well. She had men on the stocked barricades behind: makeshift drums really, delivering cover fire for their retreat into a shield unit, as the swordsmen—those still alive—pulled back inward in a closing circle to draw breath and some sort of sanity before the next attack. Several dead littered the gopherwood.
Some, hanging down the climb-ropes. Upside down.
Some gunned to the ship’s sides, the holes in their chests, abdomens and heads bleeding fast, so much that the deck was slippery with rivulets of red. Eager vultures had begun to roam—the promise of a full supper.
While the fighting men of the passenger vessel pulled back in a [Turtle shell] position, Kambili didn’t. Inaia let the girl do her thing, for the girl was no longer Kambili. But her fox demon.
In the riptide of hot, midday battle, dozens of men yet breathing on both sides stared jawless at the creature hurtling about in a flash: a vulpine form. A streak of gossamer fur and metallic skin and pure iron muscles. A blur of feral consequence, taking enemies heads like that—fingersnap fast, gutting out lads in barely a second, leaving entrails to drag out the clasping hands of wide-eyed corpses. This creature’s swarthy skin dripped salt and sanguine. Her bronze hair flowed a deep mane that shook out thickened blood, her legs too quick for the pirates to look twice.
Only covered in strips of her knickers and jacket before her transformation, Suratanï cut down more pirates in her bloodcraze than did the guns of the Cruiser’s captains.
Inaia allowed it. The Ice Spears were fools. They had come against her [Host].
...so she let Kambili’s alter-self rip young men’s limbs asunder and tear out still beating hearts. And she prepared the crew again for the last charge to finish off the pirates.
"Ready yourselves, boys! Rally on me." She held up her hand. "Steady now. Steady..." She waited for the exact time Suratanï crept out behind a flipping sail in the breeze, lunging for the scaredy ass hunks beneath her rippling torment, executing a perfect aerial somersault to come rushing down from the afternoon sky at the stunned faces of pirates, and just as one of the stupid men opened his mouth to gasp, "what the shit is that bitch? A wolverine," Inaia yelled:
"CHAAAAARGE!!! Charge these cunts!"
And the men flew forward like arrows, expanding the defense [Turtleshell] once again to plunge blade and bullet into mortal flesh of their enemies.
—SRRAAAC!
A flung spear caught that dumb man in his open mouth, sticking his voice box shut as his lips overran with blood, him slumping quietly in horrible death.
Inaia’s coastal eyes watched the pirate ranks decimate under the fury of men that were guarding this noon both gold and precious lives. What more incentive than chicks, child, and coin for a lad to fight to the death for? She ducked the bloodied right arm that shot out an exploding man as a fresh cannon blast hit; the cut-off limb missed her face by inches. She just hissed in wrath at the crumbling lines of the Ice Spears, for so little as daring to challenge her Lord [host] to war.
"Useless retards." She cussed out. "—show the weasels no mercy," she encouraged the already boiling crewmen of the whalish frigate.
Then she put two fingers up to her temple and entered the [mind-bridge] with her Host, alerting his psyche first with her telltale pinging:
[Ding!]
[Lord Host, we have obliterated the surface foes. All thine enemies embrace now the hot kiss of Hel.]
[WARCHEST ASSETS increase by 11.08%]
[SYSTEM is awaiting your next command]
[Standing by. . .]
Sooner than she thought, the clear baritone of her Host came in like beating rain.
’Roger that, subserviená. Make a round. Leave no survivors. I shall be up momentarily.’
Eotigan drawled this to her with confidence, even though he was yet pierced with the sight of six hundred clunking skeletons—all of their bony arses eager to make him into one of them.
"Fuck these deadites!" His cold voice echoed in the Iroko of the lower level offices.
The hallway down here was dark; the blighting noon did not seem to reach this place. ’How the freak not?’ he did wonder. It made the Cotta purple drapes appear the more ominous. And just like that, the captains’ office of a ship reminded him of a private section in Lilith’s dungeons he had once visited back in Hel’s province—although in that dungeon people had been fucking.
’Not in this one!’
The only people getting absolutely rammed in this goth office was Captain van Tuane’s skeleton army. Eotigan’s own [Necro Boys]: Shades of the abyss summoned by his sole will to the mortal coil—fucked the shit out of the skeletons bony frames; whatever life remained in the oddities – they picked up the scraggly bastards and brake them, pulling out the skeletons by joints when they wouldn’t fucking die. And a quad of the animate shadows had even turned to kicking some ugly skull around for the fun of it. Eotigan’s necro boys were winning this undead battle, but the skeletons of Captain van Tuane just wouldn’t quit reassembling.
"Shit." Eotigan mumbled. He thought of drawing on his inner [Deathflame] but this he could not use, not without surrendering everything in a twelve-league radius to untimely, scorching death.
The office was a mess and smelled like sulphur and rot.
Despite three layers of cured hardwood and eighteen stairs between their respective positions, Eotigan remembered Inaia’s creamy voice as sweetly as if she’d whispered it in his ear:
’Awaiting your command, Lord host.’
But then his pervert subconscious began to distort her exact words to suit his filthy intent for his milky [Subservient].
’...Awaiting your cum-mand...Lord host.’
’Awaiting your...cum—
Eotigan’s weird recollection was cut short when he felt sudden movement behind him. A bounce of flesh. Reacting purely instinctively, his right hand whipped out and he grabbed ferociously the threat. "Ahhhnn ahh—" he heard immediately. A woman’s cry, but more like a moan. It took him a second to focus beyond his initial fight response. . .and to realize, it was Thyra. It was her whom had made that little provocative sound. And it was her fat boob his right hand grabbed fiercely.
"BOOBS!" He yelled loudly. His nicotine eyes landed and glued on the very impressive papayas.
Thyra by God was a woman. A real thick succubus. She put the ’suck’ in there.
Eotigan was already dreaming of milk, and without realizing it, he had begun to grope the sexy first-mate of the enemy pirates. "Aaahhn...ahhnnn," she groaned. Her fingers stayed as fists at her sides; she was immobilized by how quickly he was making her forget it was a covert attack on him that had started all this. She was amazed at his skill. The readiness and grip of his hold. She wanted to feel the calluses chaff her bare nipples tender. "Ohhahhh!" Her blue eyes rolled.
It was at this point her Captain turned, hearing the very loud moan over the skitter of skeletons.
"WHAT THE FUCK are you doing to my first-mate?!" Percival van Tuane roared. "Let her go, you corrupt fiend. AT ONCE!" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚
Inadvertently, this made Eotigan only clutch harder to the succulent, bouncing mounds.
"Ahhnnn! SERGEANT!" Thyra moaned, balling her fists more.
Captain van Tuane smoked out of his ears. "YOU DEVIL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER!"
Just then the ceiling of the eerie office was torn open—roof lifted up entirely as if by big invisible hands. Inaia, whom was posed with her booted heel over the bodies of the dead pirates—a Hujri conquistador—peered in, down to a fuming, green-faced Captain van Tuane. He reached into his ivory waistcoat for his silver bayonet, but before he could pull it out, she clocked hers, pointed in absolute accuracy at his very blonde head.
Her finger, dead trigger sure.
She petted the bloodied material of her blue naval tunic, her smile prosperous and as the rest of the crew gathered around her to also peer down into the exposed office, she rebutted the pirate Captain, van Tuane’s earlier shrieking assessment of her [Host]: "Nuh uh, ya feeble pirate! Nutin’ go so. He is your Master now. Yah OCEAN master." Her Rastafari accent dripped out harder with her rising emotions. "Now how ’bout you show some fucking respect, man."
She let two gunshots fly, intentionally missing his ears by a half-inch.
"Bang! Bang! Mudafucker!"
[DING!]
[Host has successfully entered 4TH INTRA-VOLUTION!]
[New Rank: OCEAN MASTER]
[ Order of Liquid Lies ]
[Complete MISSION I to gain more gifts. . .]
That the [sunling] pirate in the white suit was once a close friend to her [Host] was meaningless intel to her. She’d sooner kill her mama to protect her Lord—such the devotion of a [Subservient].
