Blood Cheese and Thunder

Apr 2nd, 2015
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  1. He looks down at the ephemeral, flickering flame burning before him. Ignited gas seeping from a silver lighter in his blood slickened hands. Thunder roars overhead. A man screams and an arm flies into the crater, splattering fleshily against the other side. Neither react.
  3. He tastes the smoke in the blood dampened cigarette he’s trying to light, and just as he sucks in and finally catches the blasted thing alight, a tail whips out and dashes it from his shaking hands. The little woman glares at him as she nibbles her hard and dried block of cheese. It’s not too bad. The centre could still be called cheese. It has enough of a rubbery texture at the least. “Vic. You know I don’t like you smoking. I thought I threw out your cartons.”
  5. “Fell out of some soldier’s pocket as I was strangling him.”
  7. “You know I don’t like y-“
  11. She gives a startled cry and jumps, her mousy ears falling flat against her hair. He sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Thunder roars again, but the sound of approaching footsteps makes it through all the same. They both scramble to the lip of the crater, and hide, their back flattened up against the wall. As the foot-steps approach, Vic leaps up, grabs the intruder by the face, and pulls them in.
  13. They flip on their way in, and land hard in their back, winding them. It’s a man. The uniform is not the same. The man reaches for his pistol, but Vic is faster, and his hand flashes out for the disembodied arm lying forgotten nearby. Holding its hand as if in a handshake, he swings the meaty club towards the enemy and bats away the gun pointed towards him. It discharges into the crater harmlessly, just above the head of the mouse, sending a tiny shower of dirt to tumble down and land in her hair. Her ears twitch irritatedly.
  15. Vic brings the arm down again and again, coming to stand over the man as he whales on him with the bloody torn end of another man’s arm.
  17. “Oh, for fucks sake.” The mouse gets up and slits the man’s throat.
  19. “Why’d you do that?”
  21. “You’re getting blood all over me.”
  23. He looks down at the limb in his hands, and the mashed face of his victim. “You’re right. I think the smell of blood is getting to me.” He tosses the limb over the crater and looks back down to the corpse. Mira, the mice-girl, is rifling about his body. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and looks at it. A moment of hesitation later, she holds it out to Vic. He looks at it.
  25. “Nah… you’re right. I don’t need it. I’ve just spent too long in this fucking hole.” He picks the body up, and tosses it over, sinking down afterwards, falling with his back against the wall of the crater, and sitting in the mud, legs crossed. “For fuck’s sake. When will they stop this fucking bombardment? It’s already been twelve fucking hours!”
  27. Mira walks over to him and curls up in his lap. His hand comes up to pat her head, and he dusts off the dirt which fell on her. “It’ll end soon.” Her small stern voice cuts through the sound of burnt flesh, the scent of screams. Her tail curls defensively around his arm as she clutches the front of his shirt and snuggles in. “I’m more scared about what comes after.” Vic reaches for his rifle and, being careful not to cut Mira on the bayonet, rests it before his feet.
  29. “Run behind me. You’re small and fast, you should slip into their trenches easy.”
  31. “That’s not what I’m scared of, moron. I’m scared of losing you.”
  33. “Oh.” Vic rests his face against the back of the mouse’s head and begins to nibble at the base of her ears, making the little woman squirm in his lap, her snappy bloodstained uniform bunching up at places, baring her soft tight and shapely belly.
  35. “…D-don-nnh-’t think about it too much. I counted t-twenty steps until we dove into this to escape the b-bombardment and the m-ma-aaah-chineguns. There should only be eighty more, this one didn’t look that far a-an, would you stop that already?”
  37. “It helps calm me. I love the way you wiggle.”
  39. “…Fine then.”
  41. Minutes pass in the silence of screaming guns and roaring cannons with Vic chewing on her head, until he remembers the rectangle in his pocket. “Hey.”
  43. “Yeah?”
  45. “How much do you love me?”
  47. Her ears perk up and her tail tightens around his arm, “W-what are you asking all of the sudden? Idiot, now isn’t the time.”
  49. Vic takes the small rectangle of foil out of his pocket and puts it in her hands, “How much do you love me?”
  51. “What’s this?”
  53. “Open it. And tell me how much you love me.”
  55. Her eyes go as wide as her stomach as she peels back the foil to reveal the delicious gold nugget within. “No,” she utters in a hoarse whisper, “This isn’t…” She turns to him, “Fresh, is it?!”
  57. “Fresh from that bitch officer’s table, haha.” Vic laughs, but Mira scolds him none the less,
  59. “You stole this?! What if you got caught?”
  61. “Taste it.” She’s frowning, and glaring at him, but her cute little tongue peeks out none the less, and her head edges towards the cheese. The instant it touches her tongue, the angelic cries of revelation come to her, and tears form in the corners of her eyes.
  63. “I… Passendale!”
  65. “Bell Age.”
  67. She looks up at him with her big eyes, “You know my favourite cheese!”
  69. Vic chuckles, “Of course I know your favourite cheese. How much do you love me?”
  71. She cranes her head up to place her lips to his cheek, “I love you lots,” And his lips, “and lots,” and his nose, “And lots,” Vic leans his head back as she lavishes affection on him, something rare for her, and something he absolutely knew would happen. It’s almost enough to make him forget the sound of blood.
  73. She hides her face into his chest as she nibbles her treasure, sitting in Vic’s lap, with her legs clinging to his back, and Vic brings his bead back down to rest his chin on her crown.
  75. “I love you.”
  77. “Mmh.”
  79. “I’ll get you out of here. We’ll go home. We’ll start that cheese shop you spoke about when we first met. You’ll eat it every day. I’ll make you a queen. My queen.”
  81. Nothing in the world could have torn her from the holy grail resting within her hands, nothing asides from those words, to which she replies with her own.
  83. “I trust you.”
  85. The last bite disappears down her tiny throat at the same moment the barking of the guns and the wailing of shells cease. The roaring silence of grim death hangs over the killing-field like a spectre. It’s time to go.
  87. Vic steps forward, and sinks half a meter into bloody mud, barely noticing those who rise around him like spectres of death. He glares bloody murder at the cannons and machineguns which begin to bark once more, and spit thunder across the killing field, painfully aware of the shadow of his love behind him.
  89. Blood flies and Vic can’t even run, set to wade through corpses half-suspended in mud as fresh cuts open upon his flesh, shrapnel and severed strands of barbed wire. Already, the stretch is lit up. An ill-timed breath has the taste of flesh upon Vic’s lips as shattered slivers of obliterated muscle are thrown through the air by the machinegun fire which sprays across the corpses trapped within the forest of wire. A grenade goes off, and a wave of filth shudders through the ground. Baptized in bloody earth, Vic uses his body to shield Mira from most of it, as the two pound on desperately.
  91. Vis lungs burn as he levels his rifle at whatever appears, a mad dog, biting any and all. The barrel yelps spite and vomits mercy as he turns it to the shell-shocked heads which rise from craters, before splattering their minds upon the earth. Keep your head down low. The sky is clouded in smoke, and silhouettes flit through the clouds. Bile fills his mouth and Vic spits, as the Valkyries call his name, their hollow voices flitting to his ears as bullets whizz past him.
  93. Filthy now, after an eternity, Vic unclips the grenade at his hip, and lobs it a mere meter into the enemy trench before him. He ducks down and grabs the barbed wire in his bare hands, and cries out as he hauls it upward, a gap large enough for Marie to slip through, shredding his hands. The mouse slips through his legs, low down like a shadow, eyes of blood searching through the explosion. A black and bloody blade in one hand, she flits past him as she whips out her Mauser C96, and fires off a shot at a stunned Nekomata who survived the blast, shielded by the corpse of a man.
  95. Vic scrambles over the wire and hops in after Marie, not even bothering to check the catgirl, knowing faithfully, that the bullet pierced between the eyes. A course slumps to the ground behind him as he passes and rounds the corner in the trench, following after his mouse, who he can hear fire off a few more shots. He shoulders his Lee-Enfield and charges after her.
  97. In the next stretch of trench, Marie is hiding behind a corpse, using it as a shield, as the three remaining of the five bodies fire at her. Vic’s angle is perfect and he brings the barrel up and fires a single shot which tears a hole through the throat of the first man, but wings the helmet of the second. Marie fires her last shot at the man Vic fails to kill, as he collects the last on the end of his bayonet. Blood gurgles around the wound in the man’s chest, and Vic stares him in the eye as he pushes the body to the ground by the butt of his gun, watching the light fade.
  99. Finished reloading, Marie tugs on his sleeve, “You shouldn’t do that. C’mon.”
  101. Vic shrugs as he runs after her, “It’s the least I can do.”
  103. “Kill and move on. This isn’t over until the big boys roll their big toys up. You know that. Come on, this should be the last stretch before the command post and the outlook bunker.”
  105. “I know, I know” The barking of the machine gun is deafening now, a sign that they’re the very first. To get this far. Vic swings his gun around. Not quite. A man and a woman in familiar uniform nod a greeting, and the four of them turn their eyes to the bunker. Vic shoulders his rifle, and takes out a knife, following Marie in. They sprint into the enclosed space of the bunker, and each takes a machinegun operator, the two guards shot dead by the couple which follows. The reek of gun power is strong, and the tinge of coppery crimson joins it, as Vic holds his enemy’s head in his hands and runs his knife across his neck, opening the soft flesh. Unshaven beard scratches at his grimy fingers as the figure falls to the ground.
  107. “What now” the woman asks.
  109. Vic nods in a direction, “We take the command pillbox now, you guys head to the other front bunkers along the line. Follow my mouse until I tell you to take a…right I think it is.”
  111. Marie grins, “Oh ho, your mouse is it?”
  113. “I give you the cheese, that makes you my mouse.” The girl just grins smugly before heading off at a jog, leading the party down the trenches towards the end goal, the rest of which no doubt to be flushed out by the fire of their own forces.
  115. “Here it is.” Vic balls his hand into a fist and bumps it with the man and woman, “Take a right here, see ya later.”
  117. They part there, and follow down their stretch of trench, and round a corner and skid to a stop, a massive centipede guarding the bunker, a stretch of fifty meters away. Seeing the enemy, she rears up, and points her gun at Vic, but her immense and ferocious size slows her down a fraction of a second, and Marie fires a shot off. Sparks fly at the bullet smacks into the trigger function of the centipede’s rifle, and minces the girl’s finger. Vic, barely a moment behind, lowers his own rifle, and cracks off a few shots, intercepted by the thick plating of the Oomukade’s body.
  119. “Vic!”
  121. “I know, go!” Marie throws her gun at Vic, who catches it in a hand before returning to his rifle and firing off the rest of his shots at the monster, as Marie passes, low to the mud, knife in hand. Vic shoots the insect slowly crawling closer despite warding herself from bullets, and as the chamber clicks empty, he grabs his rifle, singeing his fingers on its sheer heat, and throws it like a javelin, the bayonet and the weight of the gun burying it in between the plates of armour. The girl screams as Vic takes the hand gun and pulls out his own, cracking off more shots, his teeth clashing with the dual recoil. Wild, not the most accurate, but they hammer into the hardy carapace, and the girl cries as she feels individual plates cracking.
  123. Amidst the spitting of Vic’s guns, the giant centipede forgets the mouse, who steps off the wall of the trench and leaps for the girl atop the coils of murder. Too late, she reacts, and Marie buries her blade into the hilt, demolishing the thing’s brain. It thrashes around in its death throes, and its legs eviscerate the air like scythes, one cutting Marie deep across the chest, and knocking her back into Vic’s waiting arms.
  125. “Marie! Are you okay?”
  127. “Y-yeah… only shallow. ‘cmon.” Vic retrieves his rifle from the hide of the monster and reloads, returning Marie’s handgun to her. She reloads, too, and ready, the two enter the command bunker. Littered with maps and equipment, they come face to face with a fair haired man, who stands in the middle, bawling his eyes out and shaking, a dark patch running down the leg of his pants as a shaky hand levels an ornate pistol at the two of them. Officer.
  129. “W-where is my wife? I-Is she okay? Did you kill her?”
  131. “Yeah.”
  133. “Vic!”
  135. “What? The centipede, right? The guy deserves to know.”
  137. The officer, not even listening, repeats the same line, his eyes glazed, opaque, “Dead…Dead…Dead…”
  139. “Oh, for fucks sake,” Marie steps out from Vic’s shadow, and squeezes the trigger as she sighs, painting the maps behind the man red and chunky. “You’d think they’d be prepared for war…”
  141. “Maybe he was a rich daddy’s boy? Didn’t count on the war going so bad for them, and so they thought this was a safe posting?”
  143. “Doesn’t matter. Got the flare?”
  145. “Of course I,” He opens the small pack slung to his back “Uh…nope.”
  147. Marie turns on him, glaring. “I fucking know I packed it for you.”
  149. Vic squirms, sweating, “I-uh… lost it? Must have been when we dived into that crater.”
  151. The small woman stares up at him, her harsh features and angry frown gradually softening, “You repacked after me, didn’t you, and put in something unnecessary, and forgot the put the flare back in, didn’t you?”
  153. Vic blushes, and goes to open his mouth, when Marie smiles and puts her finger to his lips, up on the tips of her toes to reach, hushing him, “Don’t worry. I have a flare. I’ll let you surprise me, loverboy.” She reaches into her own pack, and pulls out a small pistol. Leaning out of the window of the bunker, she points it straight up, and shoots the flair high into the sky.
  155. “There. Now we just have to hold this until the reinforcements come, and we can grab a few hours rest.”
  157. “Think they’ll counter-attack?” Vic walks over to a table, and leans against it.
  159. Marie walks up to him, returning the flare pistol to her pack and hops up on the table next to him. “Maybe. They’ve been pretty quick with retaking trenches lately. Show me your hands.”
  161. Vic reveals his torn, blood and dirt stained hands, and Marie pulls out a small flask, her canteen and some pristine white bandage. “You have everything in there, don’t you?”
  163. “Who else is gonna look after you, if not me?”
  165. Vic laughs, “True that.”
  167. “Alright, scoot back.” Vic slides back on the table so there’s enough room for Marie to straddle his lap.
  169. “This’ll burn. I’m no nurse.”
  171. “Cuter than any nurse though. I trust you.” The mouse blushes as she unscrews the canteen and splashes some water into Vic’s cut up hands. With her small delicate fingers, she rubs the water in, and rubs the grime off, wiping his hands clean on a piece of her undershirt. She washes his hands once more to rinse it, before putting the canteen away, and working at the flask lid. She looks at the pewter flask before taking a swig herself.
  173. “Gak! What is this, liquid mustard gas? This stuff is strong. I never did get to ask what you filled this with.”
  175. Vic grins, “Not quite. But it’ll be a bitch on my hands.”
  177. “Want some?” Vic nods, and the mouse grins. She takes another swig of the strong alcohol, and winces at the fumes tearing her sinuses to shreds. She takes Vic’s face in her small hands, as a small trail of it drips down her chin. Her soft lips meet his, and the hands on his face begin to roam about his body, as she pushes her mouthful of spit and alcohol past his lips with her tongue, his own twisting around her own wet, warm muscle. Guns roar around the two of them in their private little bunker as they embrace. Marie shifts her hips just a little, unconsciously dry humping him through their blood-stained clothes, over eager and long due to taste her man.
  179. Vic brings his hands to Marie’s hips, and holds the excitable woman still, as she molests his mouth, her load long since slipped through his mouth into his stomach. She stops only to take another swig, before returning to his lips, and on the fourth mouthful Vic separates. “You’re treating my hands, love, not trying to get me drunk.”
  181. The mouse blushes, the alcohol already having done its work on her small body, and sent her into tipsiness, “R-right. Sorry. It’s just…been so long.”
  183. Vic grins, “Not a problem at all,” and leans in to kiss her one last time, before the two turn their attention to his hands.
  185. “Ready?”
  187. “Yeah.”
  189. The alcohol burns, and Vic sucks in a hiss through his teeth, but if it’s burning, it must be working. Marie dries his hands off again, and covers them in bandages, before lightly slacking them with her open palms. “Right then. Lets go see what’s going on outside.”
  191. “Right,” He plants a kiss on the girl’s forehead, and pats her head, her mousey little ears wiggling appreciatively, tail swaying from side to side, “Thanks.”
  193. She grins and squirms under the shadow of his hand, “Any time.”
  195. The two leave, and head down the now mostly empty trenches, asides from the odd soldier running past. They come upon the couple from before, building something of a platform to peer over the other side of the trench with. Similar platforms are erected along the side of the trench.
  197. The man greets them first, “Hey. Good job, I saw the flare.”
  199. Vic nods as he comes over to them. He takes his place on the platform and levels his rifle towards enemy lines, “Should only take half an hour to get the reinforcements here, then we can kick off. Carrying the supplies will be a bitch though. We left… a lot of men behind on that hundred meter stretch.” The girl shudders, and Marie is content to just cross her arms and lean against Vic’s leg, too short to see over the trench even if she wanted to. The conversation is only carried between the two men.
  201. “We did. Too many. That was hell and I lost count of all the bullets which barely missed me.”
  203. “Yeah, same here.”
  205. “Once the guns stopped we all rushed it together, but I don’t remember you being there, and we met at different parts of the trench. How’d you get there?”
  207. Vic is quiet for a moment, a silence interspersed by the odd cry of scavenging bullets and deathly crows. “Entered a different part of the trench. Closest part of the trench. Dived into a crater with the first charge nearly…” Vic looks down at his watch. “Thirteen hours ago.”
  209. The man pauses, his jaw agape, “T-that charge?! Holy fuck man, you must have the luck of the devil or something. You gotta be the last two members of that company alive.”
  211. “Had the luck of this cutie here. She pushed us into that crater a mere instant before the first shells fell.”
  213. “I… can’t imagine what it would have been like sitting in that hole for twelve fucking hours man…”
  215. Vic shrugs and looks out across the field, before shouldering his rifle, and pulling a scope out of his pocket. He knocks it into place on the custom rail built in and looks down the sight for a minute. A loud crack rings out, and a tiny splash of red in the distance litters the ground. “I’m here now, living I guess.”
  217. “Hmm…” the man shoulders his own rifle, “They’re awfully active down there. Think they might try and retake this place before our reinforcements come?”
  219. “I sure fucking hope not.”
  221. ***
  223. “Got another?”
  225. Vic pops his head up, then dips back down just as quick as a hail of fire assaults his lingering silhouette “Yeah.” He reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a clip, tossing it to the man next to him. Just as the assault began, a few more heads showed themselves, helping to fill out the freshly taken trench.
  227. Vic’s Enfield empties and he puts another clip in, down to three. He sighs, and springs up, aiming by memory. A familiar helmet pops up, and Vic slams two shots off, one knocking the helmet off, the other piercing the skull. “Got him.” Marie and the other man pop up, cracking off their own shots as the enemy trying to rush into the trenches. A grenade goes off to the side, and the dust rounds the corner, blasting into the three of them. Mari spins, dropping the rifle, and pulling out her 96 and her knife, heading towards the blast, crouching low to the ground and moving quick.
  229. There are a few shots and a gargled scream, followed by Marie’s own voice, “Vic!”
  231. “Coming.” He shoulders his bag, and leaves the other guy a clip, sparing a brief moment to grip the man’s shoulder before heading off. A few more shots split the air, and Vic rounds the corner just to see a half-elf, by the ears, about to skewer a grounded Marie with her bayonet. He swings his rifle up, and squeezes the trigger, knocking the elf’s lunge off kilter as the bullet slams into her chest, the moment that was given to her, all Marie needed to spring up with her blade in a backwards grip, and slit the elf’s throat and strap, the gun falling free as the woman begins to fall.
  233. Marie catches it, and jumps up on a box near the edge of the trench, already firing off shots. Vic hops up next to her, puts his rifle next to hers, firing across the short, sloped stretch towards encroaching soldiers. The mouse’s ears twitch, and she brings the barrel skywards, sending a bullet through the chest of a harpy a few meters up, hidden in a cloud of smoke, about to lob a grenade. The shot stuns her, and she falls from the sky, landing with a meaty thud, the grenade coming a moment after with a metallic click that results in an explosion.
  235. “Every shot counts, Vic.” He slides his second last clip into place, hops down, and props an Enfield from a fallen soldier up next to the mouse, putting next to is his last clip.
  237. “I know.” A bullet spits into the earth before them, and they duck Vic hands Marie his helmet, and she puts it on the spare rife, wrapping her long tail around it and using it to hold it above the trench. Vic springs up as a bullet slams into the helmet, and fires back at the man providing cover fire. The mouse drops the rifle, and gropes around her chest for a grenade, pulling one out and lobbing it at the cluster of soldiers heading up the slope.
  239. She grabs Vic, and pulls him down, as a wave of dirt is blown over the edge, and they both spring back up, guns at the ready, but the other side is silent and still. Hope fares for an instant before a shrill whistle blows, and countless figures vault up the side of the trench, rushing the gap. Vic and Marie fire tirelessly, but the figures keep coming, even as guns click empty. Rifles are abandoned, and side arms fires until the bullets run dry.
  241. Knives are drawn, and the mouse grab’s Vic’s front, pulling him down into a quick kiss. The two crouch low, backs to the trench, ready to perforate the first man to jump in, until their own bodies are run red with holes. But in the couple’s final hour, a great and mighty balloon splits the smoke-streaked sky from behind their lines, like a mountain, or perhaps a monolithic, prehistoric glacier, cracked and falling through the air. Shells split the earth like meteors, and the ground shakes before the heavenly fury. The countless barrels of the veritable citadel below the balloon, the sky-bound gunship swivel, and one of the smaller ones eyes the trench that Vic and Marie hide in. It spits its bile into the soldiers about to charge into it, singlehandedly laying waste to the battlefield in mere moments.
  243. An eerie silence fills the field as the countless black wings of death fall from the gunship, winged soldiers bearing munitions and supplies, fortifying this hard-won ground on the front lines. Vic and Marie slump, shoulder to shoulder, shaking. “L-Looks like we made it.”
  245. “Yeah.” Her hand grabs his, and squeezes it tight, as the black-winged troops storm the trenches. “We made it.”
  247. * * * *
  249. Miriam leans forward and grins, eyes closed, mousy ears twitching furiously as the wind screams past, her beyond-shoulder length light chestnut hair waving behind her like a flag, her black low-cut dress fluttering in the currents, pressed tightly to her form by the wind, emphasising the tight, round and slappable curve of her butt, the strong and thick thighs that only emphasise the width of her breeder’s hips, the slender, almost fat-less waist, the tight and ripped belly, and modest breasts that would just overflow the palm of one’s hand, usually hidden under tight uniform and heavy gear, now allowed to take their perky shape and form, the nipples sitting high on the breast, in this wind erect, and poking into the dress.
  251. Her long thin tail whips around happily, striking Vic’s leg and coiling around it as he steps up behind her, draping his arms over her shoulders. She snuggles into them like a scarf, and rests her head back against his belly, her over all height coming just under his chest.
  253. “I didn’t realize you liked high places to much.”
  255. “I love them. Always have. I just feel so free, you know?” He lets her go, and plants his hands on the rails of the Skithbladnir, the immense empire in the sky, the gunship that saved them. “Besides, I needed a bit of fresh air.”
  257. He traces the lines of muscle on her bare back, revealed by the risqué dress. He reaches down her front, and tickles her belly, her solid abs bunching and twitching as she giggles, “Stop it.”
  259. “You look good in a dress. And those heels…” He wraps his hand around the base of her tail and strokes it, another hand cupping a cheek of her ass, “Do something amazing to this fine piece of work.”
  261. She wiggles into him playfully, “Make you wanna just lift my tail, bend me over and fuck me, right?”
  263. “Mmm.” She twists to face him, and straightens his suit jacket,
  265. “Well that, will have to wait until later tonight… It looks good, but I always felt weird in a dress. You on the other hand, scrub up real nice.”
  267. Vic shrugs, “It feels a bit stiff.” Marie grins lustily, and brings her hand up between his legs, caressing the bulge,
  269. “What does? This?” She gives them a fond squeeze, “It will have to wait ‘till later though.”
  271. She sighs, and wraps her arms around his chest, hugging him, eyes on level with the almost glistening metal badges pinned to the jacket, identical pieces stuck to the front of her dress. “They look silly don’t they? Like they don’t quite acknowledge the terror we waded through.” The pokes one of the badges each reward for a different thing, the bravery of facing the bombardment for a full day, getting up and rushing into enemy trenches right after as night fell, being the sole survivors of their unit, taking the life of an enemy officer and his bodyguard, their part in taking the trenches, the flare, holding the most active stretch of it alone, all things that would look beautiful on paper.
  273. “It’s just metal. I’ll melt it down when we’re on the front lines, low on ammo. Want to head back in?”
  275. “And listen to rich assholes ramble on? Nah, I’ve already eaten, and we’re to head out again tomorrow, and join with another unit. I might just turn in. That is, after we deal with your…” She slips her hand under his shirt an traces circles around his abdomen with her nail, “big.. throbbing…virile… stiff…problem.”
  277. “We can’t forget that. Just let me grab another bottle, and steal some cheese.”
  279. “Flirt.” She twists and begins to walk off, tail slowly slithering off his upper thigh. She turns back as it comes free, a hand on her hip, striking a pose worthy of a pin-up, “I’ll be waiting.”
  281. She heads off, down the outdoors walkway, and Vic turns to the door to the inside, a roll of warm air flowing out as he steps out of the cold. He descends a flight of stairs and enters a hallways, large ornate glass doors up one en heading into the dining hall where they held the award ceremony in honour of he, Marie and a few other outstanding individual. He takes a right, though, and then another, stepping off the luxurious carpet and onto iron grating, descending down into the belly of the sky-bound beast.
  283. He ducks a gout of steam, and crosses a narrow walkway, nothing but the metal grating and the chain rails keeping him from the earth, thousands of meters below. He comes to a door with two soldiers standing guard, and nods politely as he passes. They return his gesture, and step back into place as he passes, the sounds of a workshop filing his ears as he enters the armoury.
  285. He keeps walking, dodging personnel and tools, and comes to a stop, saluting before a familiar mad scientist come quartermaster, Karrie, someone Vic and Marie met a few days ago when first picked up to get questioned on what would be the most useful to them in the coming battles. She looks scraggly and deadpan, wearing a lab coat over a shirt, the buttons straining to contain her large bust, a pair of pants and some nice looking shoes, her hair a haywire mess, like she’d electrocuted herself a few too many times. She turns, and shakes his hand, her own ice cold, eyes searching his. They flick down momentarily to his badges.
  287. “Yo.”
  289. “I was told to come here and be equipped before heading out?”
  291. “Yes.” She points and grins wryly, “The boxes over there. Some fancy technology for the heroes on the battlefield.” Victor sees a line of large boxes, each with their own names. He takes his and Marie’s, opening them and taking a look. In his own is a long and thick looking scabbard, with an opening cut diagonally to show a strange looking blade, with a brutal looking spike on the end, and a blunted top edge, and a handle, the handle is situated as through it were a sword that continued down past the handle to form some kind of bladed knuckle-guard. When he grips it, and pulls it out of the leather scabbard, however, the handle reveals itself not to be the hilt of a sword, but the butt of a gun, it and the blunted end of the blade that carries down length of the gun forming a kind of shoulder stock, the other end of the blade sticking out nine inches past the barrel, and going from single-sided to double with a brutal point.
  293. The rifle is engraved silver, ornate carvings down the side, places carved out of the blade for Vic to comfortably slip his fingers into to actually hold the rifle without cutting his fingers off, a very real possibility considering the apparent razor sharpness of the edge. He shoulders it, looks down the sights, gives it an experimental swing, slicing through the air.
  295. “I’m not sure if you’ve any training, but it’s been balanced by a master swordsmith, me, and balanced by a master gunsmith, also me, so no matter how you hold it, it should feel rather nice. You could use it entirely like a sword if you like, or entirely as a rifle, if you like, but I imagine there will be a few instances where you will have to use it like both, in which case your bayonet training may help, and the edge at the back would be particularly painful should you thrust it into some one’s face. Also, the metal is a new alloy, and can withstand the breath of a dragon without warping, so don’t lose it.”
  297. “Nice. What kind of ammo does it take?”
  299. She shrugs, “Any, assuming it’s around the right size. The magazine has a chamber filed with transmutative fluid, but it will only convert ammunition into twelve bullets, an excess matter will be converted into ether energy. Some of it will be released, some stored in a vial to the back as liquid,” She points to an empty glass vial on the side of the rifle, “If ingested it will revitalize muscles and assuming you could use magic, replenish spiritual energies. The only drawback of this being, what is released acts as a beacon for ethereal creatures, ghosts, spirits. The blade has trace amounts of iron and silver in the alloy, so you should be able to deal with it. Don’t give me that look, it was the only way to release excess matter as energy without blinding, deafening, scorching or irradiating you. Just don’t overfill it, too much will strain the transmutative fluids and turn it into sludgy water, making the gun mostly useless, unless you replace it.”
  301. “Nice.” The last thing in Vic’s box is a necklace, “What’s this?”
  303. “A necklace enchanted by a master enchantress, me. This is for Miriam, really. It’ll keep you relatively safe from projectiles. Just don’t stand still infront of a machine gun.”
  305. “Cool.”
  307. “Her box is better though, no pun intended.” Vic slides the lid off, revealing a long rifle, an ornate pistol modelled after her 96 and a knife with a bladed knuckle guard. The first thing Vic pulls out is the lengthy bolt action rifle with a sight attached, a second sight looking more like a telescope sitting in the box.. “This rifle is bolt action, a complex set of enchantments and rune circles actually materialising the bullet as you pull the bolt back, the forty inch barrel houses ten rune circles that amplify velocity after the initial primer charge, firing the bullet fast enough to take a wyvern out of the sky, enough power to put down a charging ushi-oni, and range enough for either of those targets to be two kilometres away.”
  309. Karrie grins wickedly, “But the truly evil thing is the bullet itself. The magic is only temporary, the cartridge will disintegrate immediately after being fired, the bullet will disintegrate around ten seconds after. Plenty of time to put a deep hole in a target, after which the bullet will disintegrate, and the wound will begin to bleed freely, leaving nothing but a gaping hole, and no clues left behind by the bullet. And this magiscopic lens,” she pats the sight affectionately, “Is what will allow your mouse to hit her target accurately. It can clearly pick up on a target two kilometres away, and for those it can’t it has a spirit-vision mode for when you need it. I thought about using heat sources first, but not all things give off heat. There’s a second for you to spot for her.”
  311. He puts the rifle back down, and pulls out the pistol, engraved and silver with a black leather grip. “Ah, I call it the Mouser D69. Again, rune circles to amplify velocity but that’s about it for the magic. I just swapped in some parts made from the same alloy as your blade, the handle is demon boar leather, over all it’s just slightly improved. I cleaned out the insides and adjusted a few things here and there, less likely to overheat, less likely to jam. I considered putting a blade on it, but she seemed to have her own style, using a gun and knife separately. Speaking of,”
  313. She picks up the knife, and puts her four fingers through the four holes “Marie is going to love this. Made from the same metal as your blade, the knife is nine inches long, three of which are in the handle, leaving six inches of bared blade.” She grips the knife, and makes some slashing motions, “There’s a mechanism inside that will, at will,” She opens her hand, fingers sill in the knuckle guard, and the blade flicks backwards, “Reverse the direction the blade is pointing in, for a quick reverse grip. For easier slashing, stabbing, anything you can do with a knife and still keep your knuckles safe. Plus I think she has a penchant for punching people. So she should enjoy the guard regardless.”
  315. She puts the knife back away, closes the lid and stacks one atop the other, “And that should be it. Ah! Nearly forgot.” She reaches under her desk, and pulls out a bottle of red wine, and a block of cheese wrapped in foil, grinning slyly, “The most important gift. Congratulations on the ceremony.” She rolls her eyes, “I’m sure it was a blast.”
  317. “Yeah. It was thrilling. Well, thanks for all this. I better get back to her before she gets impatient.”
  319. Karrie winks, “Good night.” Vic grins back as he puts the wine and cheese in his box, and picks them up,
  321. “Good night.” He carries the boxes away, his steps heavy with eager purpose, passing by the two soldiers, and climbing back up the grating, choosing to walk on the inside as not to drop anything, ignoring for the most part, the people who pass. Finally, he makes it to his room, and presses down on the door’s handle with his elbow, closing it behind him with his hip. Stepping into a comfortably warm room, a crooning feminine voice dripping out of the radio.
  323. He puts the boxes down, takes out the wine and cheese, and turns to face Marie, still in her dress, sitting on the edge of the bed with a half-amused half-irritated look. “What took you so long?”
  325. “I was grabbing gear. You’re grumpy now, but you’ll love me later.” Vic shrugs his jacket off, undoes his tie and opens his shirt. He pulls a chair by the dresser out, and kicks off his shoes and socks, taking his belt off, then sighing in relief.
  327. “Oh, is that so?” He stalks towards her, bottle and foil clump in hand, the little mouse scooting back in the bed, the soft mattress dipping as he puts his weight on it, crawling up to her. Grinning, she shrinks into herself and curls up under him. He leans low, and gives her a kiss on her forehead, one of his hands playing with her ear,
  329. “Yeah. You’re gonna love your new toys. Two words.” His voice lowers to a conspiratory whisper, “Knuckle. Guards.”
  331. A shiver runs its way down the miniature powerhouse’s spine at the promise of unadulterated violence. She wraps her powerful thighs around his hips, and twists, spinning Vic onto his back, the little woman straddling him. He holds his hands up in suppliance. Her playful predatory eyes flick from hand to hand, locking first on the cork of the bottle, then on the sliver of brilliant gold revealed by the corner of foil that had been flicked up in the course of the scuffle.
  333. She takes it, and crushes it in her fist, crumbling the cheese in the foil, then opens it slightly, picking out tiny pieces. She pops some into Vic’s mouth, then lies down on his belly, the crown of her head coming to rest under his chin, the foil crinkling every now and then as her deft fingers reach in for a piece of crumbled, mouth-melting cheese. Vic wraps his arms around her, content to just hold her for the moment, but as she silently relished her delicacy, his hands begin to wander, stroking her sides, fingers curving over her solid muscles.
  335. He reaches up to where the dress cuts away, and slips under the fabric to run a hand down the middle of her abs, which rise with the relaxed even breath of the mouse, and twitch as he hits a sensitive spot. While his hand goes lower, his other traces lines to her breasts, going under the fabric and tracing circles around her hardening nipples, the flesh tender and smooth, and oh-so gropeable. He gives the nipple a light pinch, and the mouse’s tail whips as she gives a soft squeak.
  337. He can almost feel her hot little body increase in temperature twofold as she blushes and munches on her meal. With a hand securely wrapped around her perky breast, roling and massagin it, the other snakes lower, a bulge travelling under her black dress, down to between her legs, fingertips dancing across her raised mons pubis, and paying with her puffy vulva, parting her lips and sinking a finger into her delta, making her butt twitch as he enters her.
  339. He feels her pacing of her breath quicken the more aroused she gets, and her works his finger inside of her. She was extraordinarily tight by experience, so a little preparation never hurt. Her abs bunch as she moans, and moves her foot to his crotch, to rub at his hardening cock with the sole of her foot, flicking tail sliding into his pants to wrap around his balls.
  341. She finishes her cheese, and scrunches the foil into a tight metallic ball, before throwing it off to the side. She sits up, and reaches for the bottle of wine, biting the cork off, and taking a swig from the bottle, gulping the liquid down. She slides down into his lap, and Vic sits up, his hands still all over the short mouse. She takes another mouthful, and takes Vic by the back of the neck, pulling him down and kissing him, the drink passing from her to him. She releases him, and shuffles back to sit on his knees, to pull his pants down, and free his cock. At some point her tail has also curled around the base like some kind of cock ring, and it stands tall, full and throbbing. She takes her dress off, and throws it aside, sitting astride her love in all her muscled, deadly naked glory.
  343. She coos happily at the sight, and shimmies her way back up to his hips, her powerful thighs pinning him in place. She moves forwards until her belly is pressed against his cock, its girth already thick as her wrist, its length enough to come up to her belly button. She licks her lips, then chews on the bottom one. “I love how… brutal it looks, in proportion.” She wiggles her hips up, and angled the head of his cock into her lips, sinking down on it, its hardness almost holding her up, as her womanhood slowly stretches around the blunted head, the scent of a mouse in heat filling the room, pervading every last inch of Vic’s mind.
  345. Her cunt begins to stretch though, as it was bound to eventually, and she sinks down on the shaft, her mons pubis already bulging as the head of Vic’s cock spreads her walls thin, forcing her to take him, only her copious wetness making the process a pleasurable one, the vice grip of her muscles alone, crushing. Her soft insides alone are pay off enough as she slowly descends on his rod, but the trip for her is toe curling, her tail flexing subconsciously as she groans.
  347. Grinning almost wickedly, Marie puts her hands on her lover’s hips, and his eyes flash wide in alarm, ‘N-No! You-NNGH!” She slams herself down impaling herself to the hilt, bulging her stomach outward, her ass slapping wetly against his churning balls. The girl screams in pleasure and twitches, ears flicking madly, hands flying to the cock distending her tight stomach, walls spasming madly in orgasm from the immense penetration alone. “E-every single time…”
  349. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pansy and just shoved it in, I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”
  351. “I still don’t get how that isn’t painful.” She lifts her knees up until they dig into his side, and she has the balls of her feet under her. She grabs Vic’s hand, and brings it to her breast, his other falling on her hip, an she starts to bounce, drawing the immense cock out of her small body, the bulge retreating, before letting gravity bring her back down, with Vic’s assistance, her wet snatch smacking into his groin, her tail squeezing his balls and the base of his dick rhythmically.
  353. “Ooooh, fuuck~” She moans and throws her head back, bouncing as fast as her shaky legs will let her, drawing the cock in and out of her walls, the head pulverising her womb on the downstroke. Her tongue hangs out and her jaw goes slack, as she takes his cock to the hilt and grinds in little circles, trying to force the head of his manhood through her cervix and directly into her womb. Her gyrations quicken in pace and she begins to pant as she gets off on the process of being filled, her cunt clenching a second time, wringing another orgasm out of herself before Vic can come to his first.
  355. With a whorish gasp and a low moan, Vic spreads her cervix wide, and buries himself into her womb. “N-Now this…” She strokes her bulging belly, “Is the kinda good fucking I missed.”
  357. “Don’t really want to do this in the bloody muck of the trenches, Marie.”
  359. “I know, I know.” Marie spins, wringing his length, and her tail uncoils from around the base of his dick, and wraps around his neck instead, firmly pulling him up to his knees, as she gets onto her own. “Now fuck me.” Vic grins, and puts both hands on the mouse’s hips, thumbs in the twin dimples just above her muscled and large ass, and pulls his cock out to the head, her pussy partially pulled back with it. Just before he pops out, he thrusts back in, pounding into her stomach, moving his hands to her stomach, holding her close, and feeling his own dick thrusting into her through the hands on her belly.
  361. Marie for her part, slumps, ass wiggling in the air, happy to be fucked like a stretchy onahole. Her fingers claw into the sheets as he ruts into her, feeling her walls try to milk him into cumming balls deep in her womb, and filling her with seed. “Pump me full, Vic. Make me pregnant.” He grits his teeth, and reaches up to her breasts, taking them in hand and lifting her limp form up. Her head rolls as he fucks her insensate, but her unfocussed eyes fall on her own reflection, a slutty mouse in heat being fucked from behind by her lover, her belly bulging obscenely with the impossible insertion, ears flicking to each wet clap as his hips collide with hers.
  363. His width grinds against her walls, stimulating each sensitive spot as his head ploughs through her, and it doesn’t take long to bring her to yet another orgasm, her cunt clenching so tight it arrests his movement as it quivers, and she squirts great arcs over the sheets, shaking so bad, were his cock not rooted so deeply within her, she’d have toppled over. Once she relaxes he begins moving again, and she musters enough strength to hook her powerful arm around his neck and tug him low enough to lock lips with her. Vics cock twitches as her tongue thrusts into his mouth, and invades him with her familiar taste, the fuckmist of her heated pheromones and the shampoo she uses, clouding his mind.
  365. He crosses his arm over her chest, and runs his fingers through her hair, petting her as he thrusts into the hilt one last time and finally cums, bloating her belly further with his load. Protectively he holds her tight, and lies down on his side as he packs her womb with seed, curling around her. Marie shakes in another orgasm as her already stretched belly is cumflated, and it isn’t until he begins to soften in her, that she masters enough of her faculties to open her lips and let our her fucked-hoarse voice.
  367. “I mean it, Vic. I want to be pregnant, with your kids, and go home. I can’t do this anymore. The shellshock, the nightmares, the blood.” She begins to shake, “It has to stop, Vic. Please make it stop.”
  369. He holds her extra tight, and runs his fingers through her hair, “I know, Marie. I know.”
  372. * * * *
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