The Battle of the Bedroom

>Day 3
>House has become all out trench pillow warfare.
>Had to bust out Great-Grandad's old gasmask to keep your human lungs from being filled with pillow-fluff.
>You crawl through the long line of pillows in the second floor.
>The Girls have taken over the first floor, and now it is only a matter of time before they break the Stalemate of the Stairs and close in upon your capital Bedroom.
>A door can be heard from downstairs, and voices talking.
>Oh dear Hathor they called reinforcements.
>You sit, trembling in the moderate safety of your pillow-trench.
>You had firepower, the largest and fluffiest pillows in the entire household.
>But now, now they have numbers.
>You ready your daughteru's daki, trembling and trying to see through your mask.
>The sound of the enemy's march reverberates through the stairwell and into the hall.
>Your heart beats loudly in your hears, and sweat pours down your forehead, making the mask all the more uncomfortable.
>Like a storm, they descend.
>Those little decorative pillows the waifu likes so much rain around you like deadly, puffy hail.
>Soon, however, a new threat approaches: couch cushion mortar strikes.
>You press as low as you can into the ground, flight winning the battle against fight.
>Fear chills your blood as the absolute torrent of feathered and stuffed murder flies overhead.
>You begin to cry. You don't even notice.
>The barrage lessens as they advance.
>Kikimoras, from the mansion down the street.
>How did they get an ally so powerful? How the hell could you respond to their advances?
>It sets upon you how truly doomed you are.
>You set into full retreat, running away and dodging the many projectiles thrown at you, giving up precious land and ammunition.
>The advancing army immediately sets to work taking down the farthest line of your fortifications for conversion into weaponry.
>You finally work up the courage to counter-attack while their focus is down, the daki impacting an unsuspecting kiki dead in the face, sending her down.
>Their forces begin screaming to get down as you begin your sudden counter-attack.
>You wonder to yourself if this is your last stand.
>But if you are to go down, it will be in a rain of detergent-and-fabric-softener-smelling death.
>The enemy General, your Weresheep waifu, appears from the stairs and crawls to the front lines of the trenches and barks out orders, while her daughteru forces advance.
>You can't handle this, you know you can't. Even as you take down kiki after daughteru on your own, one lone man can't possibly take them down.
>The only thing left to do is to barricade yourself in the capitol and radio for help.
>Hopefully, someone, anyone, will help you.
>You leap from the safety of the trenches, adrenalin and hope from the near-hopeless plan fueling your frenzy of pillows in a mad retreat to safety.
>The kikis immediately press advantage, a march of numerous meidos in a horrifying display of their utter willingness to die by your puffy hail.
>As you approach the door, you grab as much fortifications as you can, trying to both leave the enemy with as little as you can, and at the same time gather up resources.
>You shuffle into the bedroom, slamming the door shut and immediately setting to work on barricading it.
>There's a lot of thumping against the wood. You don't have much time.
>Your lungs hurt from running and breathing through the gasmask, your muscles scream from lying in the trenches, part of your mind begs for the sweet release of a pillow.
>But you hold, for your country, for the Bedroom, and rush to the radio.
>Quickly dialing the number of a friend, you lift the receiver to your ear.
>"BEEEEEEEEEEEEE_"
>The radio drops from your hands.
>They cut the lines.
>This is it.
>This is where you die.
>Some may say that it's morally unethical, but you are against the wall.
>You must do what must be done.
>You must deploy the tactical nuke Mattress.
>Approaching the bed, posture straight and solemn like a good man of high rank, you begin the process of removing the safety-measure sheets.
>The King-sized Mattress is revealed in full, its complete reveal is enough to send a spike of doubt through you.
>Is this really what you should do?
>Is this how you should go down?
>Maybe you should surrender?
>No, that was never an option. Not against them.
>Maybe you should just do it with some pillow-fire.
>But that'd be going down with a whimper.
>This is the only way.
>The only way to go down with a semblance of fight.
>The barricade rattles as the door pounds against it.
>Very soon, Kikimoras and Weresheep will come pouring in.
>The Mattress is already primed, now it is just a matter of deployment.
>You strain to lift it above your head.
>For days, you survived in the trenches.
>You survived onslaughts.
>You bared through fluffed murder.
>You struck fear into your enemies.
>And now, they expect you to roll over.
>To die like the mad weakling they think you are.
>They wish for you to forever become a monument to their superiority, a personified image of their sheer powers in pillow-fort building.
>But you will deny them this.
>Instead, you will give them atrocity.
>You will show them firsthand the horrors of war.
>You lift the Mattress over your head, and stare at the falling barricade.
>The door bursts open, kikis and sheep coming in with pilows primed and ready to destroy you.
>But they were not ready for your response.
>With a loud scream muffled through your gasmask, you charge into their ranks.
>A pillow quickly takes you down, but your momentum keeps the Mattress going.
>The girls scream as their surroundings are turned black by its shadow.
>Their final moments are spent in fear as the weapon of mass destruction descends upon them.
>After the battle, your waifu and the head maid look over the battlefield.
>Your waifu chews down on her chocolate cigar, while the maid merely surveys with cold, calculating eyes.
>The scene is horrible.
>You lay on the floor with numerous pillows covering you.
>All around you, sheep-girls and meidos lay in their fluffy tombs.
>Who knows how many are buried beneath the mattress.
>The Bedroom is in disrepair. It's just a massive mess of feathers, sheets, and discarded wool.
>"So... this is it," your waifu says. "This is what all the fighting was for."
>The maid shrugs. He has been through many a battle, seen many an act of inhumanity, cleaned the worst of messes with her bare, feathery hands.
>She has lost herself long ago.
>Your waifu shakes her head, slowly, and wonders if all of this was really worth it.
>War is hell.