Abyss Divers

By Abra Cadabra

Published on Nov 4, 2024

Gay

################### ## ABYSS DIVERS ### ###################

POV: Fist King

The sparse, dry grass turned to fluff-topped cotton candy stalks and purple-leaved trees showed up more as they journeyed north.

The buggy looked like a trash pile but it was built onto a high-tech base, giving it enough suspension the race across the savanna remained a gentle bounce even at high speed.

The "constellations and bands" of the United Stars Alliance flag snapped in the airstream.

Warlock hyper-focused in the front, Cypher lounged in the open Dominus Rex in the back, the rest of them were huddled in the middle, playing kama sutra poker.

Faggot was half distracted from the cards, going over the comments of last week's video, dealing out messages from premium subs.

In Fist King's opinion, everybody was too vain about praise. He didn't care what they thought in other systems and he wasn't going to contort himself for more views. He just wanted to fuck up some aliens. Well, the bad aliens, not the backwater goodie-no-shoes. Couldn't be caught sounding spacist.

The buggy turned and sped up.

"Got a report from ranger central," Warlock announced, twisting to look. His voice had everyone flinch to attention.

"Bad?" Saint Sexy asked.

"Some flesh nest unburrowed and is sending a foray. We're closest. Sat-images are looking like a small town siege."

Even an hour into the voyage, the sun still hung low. The world of Pretoria Major Sigma 3, aka Sig-3, turned slowly.

Warlock sat on the titanic, lube glinting horse cock like it wasn't even there, only his golden eyes briefly widening. He hit a strong abs vacuum, letting everybody see the thick rod and its flared head dominating his insides. "Gear up, gooners."

Fist King was already getting set up. Grinning blue skull on, his dreadlock bushel falling onto the flexile hood. Angelic awareness replaced sight and sound.

Nova launcher strapped on. The life-sized arm plug smoothly slipped into his ass, rubbing along the gut walls for the perfect battle fuck fenzy.

"Gear ready!" Fist King said, first among them.

Warlock held onto a bar along the buggy's side and hung off it. Toes inside the vehicle, crotch outside, he pissed from his jock pouch. "Empty out, y'all."

Everybody followed suit, jostling for space. They all pissed straight down their jocks, hanging off the buggy in sensible ways except for Saint Sexy who stood wide legged at the tip of the vessel, hitting a bridge pose so he pissed straight forward.

Like that, Redwater Pass came into view.

It was a regular village, surrounded by fields and pastures, a 10 foot wall of brown-gleaming, smooth, packed earth surrounded tall tower houses, mostly wooden.

"That's a siege, all right," Fist King said.

The raisins were everywhere. Not particularly clustered, the dry corpses of lanky humanoids shambled toward the village in no hurry. But the walls were already getting battered and climbed by apes of white fur, hard chitin backs, and self-preservation twisted into combat madness.

In the air above the village were balloons. Gray figures tossed down javelins and arrows at the raisins scaling the wall. For the primitive inhabitants of Sig-3, this whole thing was mostly a zombie apocalypse.

Dominus Rex detached from the buggy and overtook, already blasting Cerberus bolts at ape stragglers.

The buggy rammed a few raisins before entering the shadow of the village wall.

The Gray inside had put up some wooden barricades and earthworks but there were already holes in the defenses.

Warlock barked orders but they had training, they knew what to do. Plasma bolts got the ape's attention, eating into chitinous joints and insectoid faces.

Fist King jumped out of the buggy, his ass milking the plug so hard he was weak on his short but gigantic, omniroided legs.

He laid down static field mines in a line along the wall, inert and far enough away to leave a corridor.

A heat field here to keep his back clear, sentry mines over there if someone rushed past.

"Ready?" he asked toward the Yaeger.

"Fuck it up," Cypher responded.

The static fields switched on, attraction mode. Apes got pulled in – and some raisins, too. Explosive rounds from his Nova sent penetrating fire into furry and hard-shelled beasts.

He became the top threat in the eyes of Yggdrasil.

The Menace bared down on him. He was putting himself out there, so open, so vulnerable, so not in control. If he just let the world tree lift him up to the locus of total domination, he would never have to worry again about-

"Fuuucking aaaaasgaaaasm!" Fist King shouted, all his imagination focused on fisting-arm after fisting-arm punching into him.

More bug-apes streamed into the attraction field, forming a cluster, almost a hallway next to the wall. Their acid drool burned their own furs as they smooshed together, foot-long claws flailing.

"Close enough," Cypher said.

Mode switch, field mines flipping to repulsion. The apes were pushed together, trapped between field and wall.

"Get down!" Cypher yelled a reminder. "Cover me."

The short black hunk dropped to his knees, sitting on his own massive legs, and shoved a metal block into his Nova's physical ammo slot. Steel rounds rattled from the weapon and shredded the raisins shamble-rushing at their position.

These weren't the half-baked zombies form before, these were perfect imitations of sig-3 natives, stealing faces and voices from dead Gray. Seeing them burst into the purple-black goop and still advance was grotesque.

Dominus Rex fired into the mass of apes, burning gore rising to the heavens as he tunneled into the corpse wall.

Maggots burst from the fallen raisins, requiring the kneeling Fist King to shred the zombie wall again and again.

The warrior's voice trembled against the metal hose. "Gimmi powaaaaah!"

POV: Cypher

Cypher was in lounging position, the naked feet operating peddles almost as high as his shoulders. The smooth, simple plug was pumping halfway in and out thanks to his fuck machine of a seat.

Each Cerberus shot thumped a vibration from plug to guts to the rest of his body. He expressed the sensation with a never-ending litany.

"Fuck yes! Fuck me! Fuck yes! Fuck me! Fuck that ass up, holy fuck yes!"

He was alone and isolated in his cushy coffin of a capsule. The most brutal, noisy music was blaring into him, porn played on every monitor, pussies getting ravaged, dicks getting milked, asses getting fisted, cum spraying everywhere.

His skin-brown swirl mask kept it out. His angel-1 filtered just enough into his awareness to let him stay on top of what was happening around Dominus Rex while getting flamed by sound and porn.

The Silence was weighing down. He could have the quiet he craved if he just allowed Yggdrasil in. Wasn't he being disruptive to his friends? The world around him? Wasn't he the source of his own lack of harmony? It would take almost nothing and he could make it all shut up. He could have utter stillness.

Two weapons helped Cypher in his mental fight.

For one, he was getting his ass demolished in ways he could barely have fathomed when enlisting, despite the testimonials and his experiments.

And secondly, he had a gift. Where others struggled against their vices, Cypher tapped into his. A lifetime of rage kept him screaming. Once he let the anger bubble up, he didn't even want to chill out anymore, as much as he was the chillest ranger outside his Yaeger.

"Fuck it up! Fuck it up!" –inarticulate grunts- "Hell fucking yes! Wreck alien ass, fuck me!"

And frankly, he was shutting everybody up. He was gunning down infected fuckers. Take that Yggy, Cypher was making his own quiet.

"Excellent job," Warlock spoke into the link.

There was the issue with tapping into rage. He had to stop shooting on command, but the genie was out of the bottle. His angel helped, more porn seeping in, the music's bass overtaking the high tones.

Rage transformed – slowly – onto the excitement of assgasms. The battle frenzy ebbing in the face of a sex tide.

Jellyfish floated above the village walls. Had they already taken the inside? No, those were just domesticated wildlife. Gray in leather armor stood in small baskets that hung off the harnessed jellyfish, wiggling spears in their lanky arms.

The Gray warriors were engaging raisins with bat-wings who generated just enough lift to get them onto the walls. They seemed to be doing okay.

"We got a problem," Warlock announced. "Faggot found a nest inside this place. Get to the gate."

POV: Saint Sexy

The Sig-3 Gray were a mix of cute and ugly. Big bug eyes, small fish mouths, limbs like sticks but a head that gave them more of a toddler vibe.

They scrambled in the narrow roads of Redwater Pass, their flowy clothes aflutter. Stronger ones were dragging comatose friends and family onto wagons pulled by bulky goose-zebras. Psy-Stasis chips on the hibernating Gray's foreheads saved them from Yggy's mind-rape but left them physically vulnerable.

The villagers parted like plowed snow as Warlock was leading the troopers toward the center where a sinkhole had taken down a building.

Dominus Rex made them part even faster as the grav-neut engines let the Yaeger thunder from plaza to plaza, the paths too narrow for the tin box.

Saint Sexy stuck to the roofs. His alpha angel let the maroon haired Chinese skip gaps with just a blink. It took some juice, yes, but getting his guts enlightened by the plug molded to his exact anal nerve locations recharged him like thunder bolts.

The sinkhole led to more structures, older, sturdier designs, with flowing ornamentation. Faggot wasted time reading inscriptions.

With the Gray's medieval society barely holding up under their apocalypse, new towns had been built on the ruins of older ones as they retook their homeworld alongside the star rangers.

Saint Sexy teleported to the side of his commander. "'sup warhorse? Threat level?"

The leader gestured at the man-high, green blobs along pillars, walls and the floor, many of the pulsating.

"Cocoons. Probably ready to hatch or they wouldn't be sieging as a distraction right now."

"Catacombs," Faggot said. "On record but not mapped. Spear-feud era or older, so they could be huge."

"Fist King, get us in."

Saint Sexy blinked down, the light of the drones amplifying his angelic "night vision". The ceilings were tall enough to let Dominus Rex maneuver down there.

The grenadier's grav-neut clanked onto the ground and the men floated down safely.

"It's here," Saint Sexy said. "Already feeling it."

The Gaze was intensifying with each moment. Yggdrasil saw him, it would always see him. The others were ignorant, losing sight anytime he blinked across the room. If only he met Yggdrasil's gaze, he would always be seen.

They opened fire.

Cocoons ruptured. Half formed beasts dropped out, snake bugs slithering into a plasma hail. Fist King set up chokepoints of sentry mines and static fields. Deadly vapors poured in, the mines' sparks lighting the fog up in flashes.

Saint Sexy blinked into the mess, boots down on the malformed creatures. His psy-radiance kept the vapors from seeping in.

He checked if one of the drones had him in view – look at me look at me look at me – and turning on his axis in a most-muscular pose, the plasma blaster held with both hands.

His solo stunt was disrupting the singular tide of bugs, now more matured six-leggers flooding his way. He blinked back into his team's middle.

His voice wouldn't have made it over the rattle of Dominus Rex' metal slugger. He connected only through the angels.

"Saw bane sacks, that way."

The sacks already neared as reddish, mutated bubbles, barely knee high, wobble-rolling in. Trapped between static fields and sentry mines, the sacks popped before they got close.

Miasma leaked out as pink and purple mist. A problem for any Gray getting close to the sinkhole but the star rangers' resistance and body oil neutralized the effect.

The room was filled with gas, which did nothing to slow down the rangers, humidity simply sliding off their muscle-bulging bodies in sweat rivers.

More cocoons opened.

"Can't find any spawners," Faggot said. "Looking for lower matter concentration now."

"Ge-getting overwhelmed," Warlock communicated.

"Numbers wise?" Saint Sexy asked.

"Yggy... E-everybody, work with me."

Faggot was busy scanning, Fist King had to manage the chokepoints, Cypher was piloting.

Saint Sexy recruited Candy with a mere glance. No eye contact passed from Asian ahegao face to pastel pink kitty mask, but a goldenboy could sneak ideas into a receptive omega just fine.

The lieutenant kneeled down, firing with his right hand, and ripped Warlocks horse cock plug out with the left. Candy punched a fist in, also firing with the other hand.

Saint Sexy dropped the horse cock and joined in for a double fisting.

Rained on by purple fog, splattered with green honey from bursting bugs, drenched in their own sweat, the rangers assgasmed their leader back into a battle frenzy.

"I can do it," Warlock whimpered. "I can do it, I can do it."

"Yeah babe," Saint Sexy said, pulled his fist out and reached for the horse cock. A stick tape on the base, attached to the jock pouch, and Saint Sexy had a third leg.

He rose and gripped the commander's harness. Candy replaced him with a second hand.

Saint Sexy pushed the dildo head in, past Candy's thick arms. "Here comes the centaur. Don't neigh now, prancer."

"I can do it... I can fucking... do this."

The lieutenant had to go to his tip toes to horse fuck the leader but Warlock arched helpfully. Bugs rained off the ceiling as the commander found it in him to mindkill all that crawled too near.

Saint Sexy felt a psy-dick slide over his lips, slick with phantom precum, intense with masculine scent. He let it pass as Warlock's angel found the inherently receptive Candy instead.

"Found proto-cores," Faggot said. "Deeper in."

POV: Warlock

The double fisting wasn't just for pleasure, if anything it felt too good and made battle seem less real. It was mostly for teamwork. He needed to lead, to get his boys working together.

The horse cock was enough once he'd center himself. No, he wasn't into getting fucked by a horse it just so happened to be the most assgasmic fit for his insides. Okay, Saint Sexy's centaur talk was kinda hot.

He marched on, all big black beefy 7'.

With his gold power mindkilling small fry faster than he could have turned his barrel toward, he advanced, the many-eyed thorn skull fixed straight forward.

Yggdrasil was whispering into his subconscious. What if he failed? Everybody had limits. There was only so much respect he could lose before they gave up on him.

Warlock found a proto-core. A mass of cocoons feeding into a hardened sphere, processing biomass.

He couldn't mindlessly fire – he had to lead. The perimeter wasn't secure.

The catacombs had held many dead – real corpses and imitated mutant zombies - and not all had been fed into the biomass accumulators.

"Raisins," Faggot warned.

"Saw them," Warlock grumbled into the connection. "Fist King, heat the core. The rest, keep the undead off. Dominus Rex, stay back and keep the exit covered."

Saint Sexy was out of sight, blinking around the place.

The freak wasn't defiant, Warlock purposefully reminded himself. The lieutenant was covering his commander's blind spots because he served under him.

It was still hard. The Question whispered to him "worthless, worthless, worthless, are you even accomplishing anything?" His ass shouted back in the vocabulary of pure bliss. His comrades in arms were by his side, telling him he was worth listening to.

The heat field destabilized the unfinished core and a flood of liquid spurted from the assembly of cocoons. Faggot and Fist King – the lightest and the shortest – were swept off their feet. The rest struggled but stood their ground.

A roar thundered through the catacombs.

Saint Sexy appeared in Warlock's awareness before visually blinking in.

"Report?" Warlock asked.

"I found the ass-sucker who was supposed to get the core implanted. It's going up top."

Fist King had fished the heat field projector out of the sludge they were still wading through. "More dakka?"

Warlock slapped the grenadier's shoulder, making pink miasma and green gore splash. "Always, buddy."

POV: Faggot

The catacombs were crumbling. Faggot navigated his drones to the ascent ahead of the rangers. The Hummingbirds weren't getting much out of the miasma laden environment anyway.

The gravity pillar brought them up into pure chaos.

A massive creature had broken through some random building from below and sent the Gray running when they'd done their best to fortify inside the village. Stasis'd hibernators lay in random piles among their caretakers who clutched their big heads as Yggy invaded their brains.

Leading Gray, recognizable by the jade and gems dangling on them, yelped evacuation orders in their blubbery language. The angels translated the gist.

Dominus Rex ascended last, bringing the grav-neut with him.

"It's a god worm," Faggot said, reading his scans. "Hopefully core-less."

"Spread out," Warlock commanded.

The god worm was beige and blue and hella wrinkly. Bigger than most of the slender houses in Redwater Pass, it flopped along the roads, crushing carts full of evacuee's valuables as the Gray rushed aside.

Fist King's thumping launcher stuck sentry mines to the fat worm's skin folds, constant ruptures draining the creature's redundant biomass. Then he switched to metal slivers, shredding approaching small fry. Dominus Rex thumped Cerberus shots overhead.

The rest of them fired plasma into the god worm's opening wounds.

They advanced after the xeno beast, clambering over debris and corpses.

Faggot gave his cobra plug a tug, the flared head deep within him renewing the fuck pleasure that numbed all worries.

He'd gotten isolated but his red, yellow and pink drones were far overhead, giving him positional data.

The god worm flopped his way. Faggot retreated toward Warlock's location.

He ran into a spear wall.

Some raisins had made it in and Gray warriors were engaging the zombie horde. They weren't doing well, mentally, with Yggdrasil digging into their subconscious. The natives were in a stand of with each other as much as the undead. The horny ones were doing better, but it wasn't Gray breeding season.

Those primitive militia men were too distracted to make way for a star ranger. Faggot had to evade through trashed buildings. Rough furniture and debris delayed his climb out the narrow back window.

Not fast enough. The Gray started giving in as the god worm neared, psychic attacks mixing with good old panic. The worm was slamming its head down and crunched some fighters between its rows of teeth.

Faggot was surrounded by raisins. Easy enough to dispatch individually but they were enough of an obstacle to keep him slowed down.

He yelled for help into the angel connections.

Faggot felt the enemy's focus land on him.

The worst way to go was getting killed by something random – something not understood. Would he like an explanation? If he took a break, fair Yggdrasil could render him brilliant. Just ask and be answered.

It made him hesitate too much.

The hot acetone breath of the god worm bore down on him.

Faggot only had time to turn around before the maw-

Saint Sexy blinked into existence running and rammed them both out of the way, into a market stall of blue-hued Sig-3 cabbage.

The worm rumbled past, wood splintering as it pressed through the house rows, towers toppling onto the bleeding beast.

"Thank fuck," Faggot said. "I almos-"

The god worm swiped its tail, short and stubby but still the size of a truck.

Both men were catapulted into the air. Saint Sexy escaped the drop with a blink. Faggot fell toward open road.

The worm flopped in the way of his landing, maw open. Faggot was falling right into the vortex of teeth. He pulled the knife from his thigh-strap, the plasma gun aimed forward, both arms flailing helplessly.

He dropped into the maw, teeth digging into him in passing but dulled by his skin's psy-radiance. He was slipping right into the guts of the god worm.

With the blade and the blaster, he managed to ram handholds into the tender gum flesh in the god worm's throat. Boots wide apart, hanging in a spread-eagle crouch, Faggot's angel fed him sensory data.

He was in the creature's head. He could hit the brain stem with a single shot. If he repositioned-

Cerberus thumps rattled the worm and the trooper alike, threatening him to slip farther in. He had to act fast and-

A presence stared at him.

It was like the worm was meeting his eyes, angel to demon. Yggy was making the Promise next level.

Time stood still. Faggot was no longer a human body, inside an alien beast. He was a thinking void.

A tender stream passed through him. Molecules, enzymes, structural data. He was able to grasp the functioning of the god worm like scientists could only dream of. And the catacombs? Yggdrasil was old enough to remember their purpose, each inhabitant, each millimeter and nanosecond.

What was stopping him from taking the plunge?

He was an incompetent nobody, he was just guessing wildly and none of the others took him seriously. They'd stuck him with the call sign Faggot for fuck's sake, like he wasn't the highest IQ dude in the entire sector.

There were two Faggots. One bright, superhuman figure dissolving in idyllic omniscience. Another constantly withering into ignorance and dust. The choice was so easy.

Back in reality, the crouching pose and brutal tension holding him up made the cobra plug shoot halfway out of his ass.

For a split second, his ability to think was knocked out by pure sexual perception. He clenched his inner holes with the assistance of his omega angel and the cobra's head shot back into the perfect spot to render him incoherently orgasmic.

He made his choice, not with a rational brain but with a blissed out ass.

By muscle memory, Faggot's fingers found the trigger and he adjusted his blaster angle. It made him slip down but a single shot severed the main brain-body connection.

The god worm unfolded as if space-time were splitting.

The shot had landed at the most structurally vulnerable spot possible. It had been the very last spark of insight Yggdrasil had unwittingly granted, a final enticement – backfiring.

POV: Cypher

Cypher stopped the heavy shots when the worm zipped in two. Automatic target finders kept shredding winged-zombies that dropped off roofs by the dozen in haphazard ambushes on villagers. His smooth plug kept ramming into him, feeding the fuck rage.

"He's out!" Saint Sexy yelled from the rooftops.

The Yaeger was the fastest to reach the steaming worm corpse.

Cypher had prepared for the worst, but Faggot seemed not just unharmed but in good spirits. Relief washed through Cypher's nerves so hard, he could almost switch the anger off for once. He dismissed half the on-screen porn as he arrived on site.

The white guy pulled his askew dragon hood straight. "So, I think I just integrated."

"Fuck," Cypher said. "Is it better than an assgasm?"

"It's... different."

"I bet," Warlock said, jogging close. "I'd doubt you but you singlehandedly opened that thing like a bag of chips."

"Hey, I open my chips carefully," Faggot said, then seemed to come off the euphoric high a bit. "Uh, sir."

Warlock gave Faggot a half hug, half slap on the back.

"Everyone in range?" the commander asked. Cypher affirmed with the rest of them. "Gotta clean up so we can call upstairs."

A heavy Yggdrasil presence disrupted radio coms, which was why they didn't bother carrying walkie-talkies. Dominus Rex stomped around the nearly deserted village, single-slugging stray raisins. He played a warning in standard Gray on his outer speakers, so he'd hopefully not gun down any not-yet-undead ones.

It took ten minutes of clean up, then another half hour of waiting outside the walls with the dejected population of a few hundred natives.

Cypher had stepped out of his mech and left it open for Gray kiddies to gawk at, while he'd redone his mohawk and eye brow slits. It had become a habit for him while the rest showered. He didn't need to. Yes, he was sweaty but so were the others within five minutes of clearing the alien gunk.

The masks were pulled down to look less intimidating to the natives but the plugs stayed in.

Saint Sexy put a boot up on Dominus Rex' drive tracks and pissed, not caring he was hitting his own leg along the mech. Tongue out, both middle fingers up.

Anger bubbled up, just as pointless as Saint Sexy's "offence". Cypher gave no reaction this time – to keep things from getting stale.

"Whaddya say?" Saint Sexy asked. "Do we count Redwater Pass as defended? It's a ruin and they gotta evac, so..."

Cypher shrugged – although people told him he wasn't visibly moving his shoulders when he meant to be shrugging. "They'll be back and build on top. It's a war zone."

"Speaking of... You think they'll take Faggot to an MBF?"

Cypher scoffed. The Main Battle Fronts against Yggy across a dozen fringe worlds were home to the celebrated ranger elites.

"We're just patrolling side shows. Worried whoever takes over as editor isn't going to give you priority?"

Saint Sexy swaggered closer in a playful threatening gesture, arms spread. "Fuck's that supposed to mean? Boy's just in love with me." He bumped their pecs together. "Like all the rest of them."

Cypher couldn't keep his grin contained. "Ah yeah, Faggot gives you screentime out of `love', not cause you're a show off."

Their faces almost collided. "Dude, you're in a tin can. If you wanna be on camera you gotta step out more."

"I got internal cams."

"Fucker, all you do it shout `fuck me' and push the fire button."

Their foreheads pressed against each other. As did their nipples. Then their crotches. "Bitch, it makes for great scene transitions."

Neither could take this seriously anymore. Chuckling, they started to wrestle. Saint Sexy blinked inches to the left and pulled Cypher into a headlock.

They were about evenly matched in muscle power. Either was a plausible winner. Cypher lost graciously every time unless Saint Sexy managed to trigger his berserk buttons. They'd gotten better at getting along, though.

Cypher glanced to make sure several drones were turned their way. This time they even had an audience of slightly worried Gray, keeping a respectable distance.

POV: Candy

"What's going on?" Warlock asked.

Candy pulled himself up the buggy's top bars. "Uh, they're on the ground, slapping each other's plug bases. Looks like it's just for fun."

The moment he dropped down, Warlock resumed the phuck, giving Candy a mouthful of unreal cock much, much longer than Warlock's real deal had ever been.

Candy continued his halfhearted lookout duty, while the other omega-carrier got to rest and bask in the commander's attention.

Faggot didn't even need rest. But Warlock seemed able to sense the aftershock of the integration that – hopefully – gave Faggot an edge against psy attacks in the future.

Candy scratched the heart-patch of hair on his head, imagining the attention he'd get if he integrated. Well, if he kept thinking like that he wasn't going to get close. Fuck.

A lull in the eye-wetting throat phuck. Warlock gave an expectant glance.

Candy reported. "They're forcing each other to li- Scratch that. They're seeing who gets to lick the other's armpit more. Saint Sexy is winning."

Candy had also fought the god worm, he just hadn't been swallowed. He wasn't an attention addict like Saint Sexy, he just wanted a pat on the shoulder.

Warlock slapped Candy's ass.

"Good work in there, by the way," the commander said. "I saw you jump from the library to the roof of the smaller hut. Good thinking. And so many zombie headshot take downs."

Candy beamed around the virtual rod in his mouth.

"And you saved those Gray kids. Maybe it'll fagging teach them to keep their stasis pills ready."

The omniroided white could only respond with a double thumbs up. He sucked harder, enough to get a rare grunt out of the men on the horse cock. Normally the alpha angel managed to keep reactions contained, only the bottom being obvious to anyone.

The dashboard bleeped.

Five dark metal boxes, big enough to transport entire houses descended from the heavens. The star ranger emblem resolved on each hull as they closed in, distorted in the air flickering around their drive-pods. The United Stars Alliance flag ran along their entire flank.

The evac ships touched down and opened. Announcements in regional standard Gray echoed across the planes, bouncing off the cracked walls of the abandoned Redwater Pass.

Only one human stepped out - huge, ripped and with muscles insanely hard from precious drops of Jumbo Juice. Where omniroids could be synthesized by the gallon nowadays, Jumbo Juice could still only be harvested from rare Yggy mutants.

The ultra-ripped muscle hunk swaggered toward them. Dark brown skin, freshly glistening with body oil.

"Daddy!" Candy yelled out and didn't wait for Warlock to clear the encounter. He looked back once to make sure the commander wasn't mad about it.

Daddy's officer uniform of white jock pouch and harnesses was supplemented by a white cape, heavy enough to flow gracefully. His hood was up, a kaleidoscope of mirror-shining fragments surrounding the head, topped by a messy mohawk of dense, black hair.

Candy dropped to his knees in the man's path.

With zero acknowledgement, Daddy phucked Candy to pieces. The unreal cock rammed down his throat so hard it snapped his head upward, faux balls and thighs grinding on his face.

The psy-dick vanished and hammered into his ass, giving a shiver inducing rub on the walls in spite of the fist-sized tentacle plug with its wonderful ribbing already spreading him. Then mouth again, just enough to make him struggle, then ass, then...

Daddy knew exactly how to keep Candy on the edge between pleasure and outrageous torture.

Candy maneuvered drones black' and white' to get a good shot. He wasn't much of a videographer, but the more Faggot got to work with the better. Viewers liked the Sergeant.

The remaining troopers assembled, saluting. Fellow omega Faggot was on his knees, too.

Warlock stepped forward, meeting the mirror-masked gaze of their former drill instructor.

"Sergeant Daddy, Sir! Merry Men patrol squad reporting in."

Daddy leaned in for a rough hug. His dark voice rumbled into the angel connections. "At ease, kids."

"Sergeant Daddy. We took down a worm, lucky separate from its core."

"We saw the footage," Daddy handed out back slaps and pec gropings to his former trainees. "We have to get the natives out for now. Are your men ready for more action?"

"Yes sir, I think so. Sir... Faggot has integrated."

Daddy was briefly taken aback. "Are you sure?" He turned toward the kneeling warrior. "Ah, maybe I'm getting a sense but integration is no singular breakthrough. We'll have to run tests later. For now it is imperative to find out if this enclave connects to the peninsula. If the front is leaky..."

Warlock nodded with understanding. Planet Sig-3 had to remain a stalemate until the ranger corps could scrape together more resources.

The first full evac ship took off with ear splitting thunder.

Daddy relayed intel but it was mostly speculation – and for the gang to confirm. In all this he gave his plug – a truly thick beast – a good tug and creamed a virtual cumshot into Candy's esophagus.

He ruffled Candy's hair in passing. Daddy had always been good at praising the ones who needed it more.

With the shiver of Daddy's orgasm subsiding, the sergeant instantly phucked Faggot instead. It was more of a scientific examination, though, the elite and thoroughly integrated goldenboy sergeant looking into the angelic links.

One more virtual cumshot later, the final evac ships took off and the six rangers were amongst themselves again.

With the sun halfway to zenith, they could take their time getting ready for the next round of underground exploration.


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