Babylon was a nexus of trade. People arrived every day, even with the spreading war in the far south. And some of those people came to commit murder.
The four men who stepped off the Hellenic trade ship the Argos were four such people. Clad in thick robes and walking quickly away from the trade ship, they lost themselves in Babylon. They moved carefully, making sure to avoid any place where the town guard were clustered and watching. Not that they expected to be observed but one never got old being a professional assassin without being paranoid.
Soon, though, they were beyond the initial ring of guards. The guards made watchful by Laurentinus and not yet slackened by the peaceful interior.
They came to the industrial heart of the city. This place had once burned day and night for Syminor, forging bronze weapons for the army of Brax the Golden. Now, it rang to a different sound. There was still hammering and still clanging, but more often, there was the sound of hissing. The cries of ‘water!’ that came soon after. Splashing sounds as buckets were doused over alchemical vats, ruining a load but sparing dozens of lives from accidental explosions.
The murderers walked by.
They came to where crystalwights plied their trade. Here, massive beasts from the deep jungle had been penned in. The miserable creatures looked up from the deep, stone pits that held them, their eyes filled with piteous emotion. Their backs were covered with weeping sores where the crystalwights yanked the crystal that naturally grew along their spines, while their mouths were caked with powdered food.
They didn’t eat on their own, not without handlers jamming the food down their throat.
The murderers walked on by.
They came to the large plaza that sat before the Free Lord’s manor house. The plaza had once merely been a place for discussion and votes from the community leaders of Babylon. Then, later, it had become a slave market by the twisted whims of Sysminor. Now, it had become something stranger and far more marvelous than what it had ever been before. Standing and sitting on the platform, many of them using shades and parasols, were dozens of people. They were all watching and listening to a duo in the center of the plaza debate.
“You cannot simply say that might makes right,” Mary, the Hierophant of Babylon, said. Her palm slapped against her fist as she looked out towards the crowd. “Being strong merely makes things possible. But we know for a fact that being possible does not make something just. A hurricane that destroys a whole city is possible. But can we really say it is just, merely because nature is stronger than we?”
The murderers didn’t even pause to listen.
They, at last, came to their target.
Now came the hard part.
***
Liam looked at the maps unrolled on his table and, not for the first time, thanked God that the curvature of Purgatory and the existence of large numbers of people with astounding eyesight who could also fly meant that said maps were astounding.
In the past of Earth, map making had varied from exquisitely detailed to mere suggestions. While these maps lacked elevation lines and contoured designs to indicate the exact shape of slopes, they were still detailed enough to guide a scout right where you wanted them to be.
Within a few miles at least.
Since they weren’t launching cruise missiles, Liam could live with that error range.
“So, here,” Meg said, tapping another part of the map. “That’s where the other independent valkyrie tribe lives.”
“Why are there independent valks?”
“Well, lets just say, some aren’t as good at dealing with you disgusting landlings as I am,” Meg said, her smile crooking. Liam made a face.
“Really? Disgusting landlings?”
“That’s, ah, the gentle saying,” Meg admitted, coughing. “You never wondered why you’ve met, what, three valkyrie in the past year? And that’s including the ones I convinced to be messengers?”
Liam sighed. He felt a bit guilty, suddenly. All this time with her, he had never asked. But in his defense, they had been on adventures. Riding and flying out through the world of Purgatory. Slaying monsters. Laying each other. There had been a lot of that. And when they had talked, Meg had been endlessly curious about Earth, about the culture. Hell, about the movies and TV shows. She had told him about philosophy and...
And as cheesy as it sounded, she taught him about her in the most basic language there was. How to bring pleasure, joy, laughter, in every little smile and tiny caress.
“Well, when I have the best valkyrie in Purgatory, how could I wonder about the others?” Liam asked.
Meg chuckled. “Good save.” She leaned forward. Their tongues met, their lips fused, and the worries of the war and the world faded. If only for a moment. When Meg drew back, she breathed out a soft sigh. “But no. There are a few good reasons why valks don’t like to mix with others. But there are so many bad that the good get... twisted up. Tainted.” She shook her head. “We’re strong. We can fly. And we recover from almost any wound, if you give us a few weeks.”
Liam brushed his hand along a feathered wing. Not for the first time, he marveled at their beauty.
“But strength became purity,” Meg said, her voice bitter. “Flight became not a blessing – rather, being flightless became a curse. And longevity became a reason to see others as animals. My mother was kicked out of her tribe for, get this, not murdering a man who walked on the ground. Trespassing.” She rolled her eyes.
Liam nodded.
“Of course, I think her family was also unhappy with the fact she rode him until he was raw, married him, and later had his child.” Meg said, rubbing her chin.
“You’re... wait, you’re half human?” Liam asked.
Meg snorted. “Fuck no. You’re either all valkyrie or all something else. If a male valk lays a human or an elf or a goblin lass, and they use the spell that allows cross-species fuckery to lead to more than just fun...” She grinned. “Then that lass will have a goblin or a human or an elf baby. But if a valk woman lays with any of them, they’ll always have a valk baby.”
She patted her thighs. “We’re...” She paused. “Specially equipped.”
Liam looked at her wings.
Looked down at the area hidden by her loincloth.
“The wings do start smaller,” Meg said, sounding amused.
Liam chuckled. “So, our best bet to get an air force are a bunch of racist bigots. Great.”
Meg chuckled. “I think we do have an advantage. Firstly, you are marrying the most beautiful, talented, sensual, erotically pleasing-”
“And humble,” Liam said, grinning.
“-and humble valkyrie in the world!” Meg said, proudly. “And that means you can send me as an ambassador.”
Liam nodded and kept what he felt about that idea from his face.
“Secondly, I know that valks look down on non-valks. But do you know what they’ll look down on even more?” She smiled. “Non-valks trying to conquer the world and subjugate it underneath a false and insane god.”
Liam nodded again.
“You hate this plan, don’t you?” Meg asked.
“Yes,” Liam admitted. “I... we’re not even married yet.”
“I know,” she said, quietly.
“Hell, we haven’t even started talking about what getting married means. We could talk to Mary, but I mean, I might want you to marry me with my priest, but he’s back on Earth and-” Liam cut himself off. “And I... it’s much easier to go out and risk my ass, or to go with you and fight back to back with you. But, let me guess, you can’t just bring a disgusting degenerate landling to one of these tribes.”
Meg sucked in air through her teeth. “Yeah, I don’t see it working out.”
Liam sighed. “Sending you out-”
Meg put her finger on his lips.
“Liam,” she said, her voice gentle. “I was a warrior long before I met you. A messenger and a servant of Apollo. I know you’re just worried about me. But I’m still me. Not just Meg Vanderbilt.”
Liam closed his eyes.
Nodded.
She kissed his forehead, then stepped back.
“I’ll set out when the sun kindles...”
Her breast band hit the floor.
Her eyes glinted.
Liam grinned at her.
“Let's make the night last,” Meg purred.
The door burst inwards.
“Sir!” one of the Cross Guard – a soldier who had served by Liam’s side during the Battle of Babylon – stumbled into the room. He looked like he had sprinted almost two city blocks in his full armor. But whatever he had been about to say was lost in the light of Meg’s exposed tits.
Which, to be fair, were among the most spectacular tits that Liam had ever seen.
And he had seen Mary, Tethis, Neb, and now Loki’s tits.
Not that he was ever going to tell anyone but Meg that he compared them.
“Report,” Liam snapped.
“It’s Loki, sir,” the soldier said.
***
A soft knock came to Tethis’ room. She blinked, looking up from her book – recently found at one of the many small shops in Babylon – and called out. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
The gruff voice made Tethis’ heart flutter slightly. She stood, closing the book, and walked over to the door. Opening it, she smiled at Laurentinus. The tough, scarred goblin who had been a part of Liam’s inner circle for months now looked ill at ease. His ears twitched, his eyes flicked around the room as he stepped inside – following Tethis’ gesture. She smiled slightly at him. Before she had met Liam, Tethis would have been scared silly of a handsome goblin like Laurentinus walking into her room.
She’d have positively melted in excitement and fear and nervousness.
Well.
Now, she could just admire the way that the muscular soldier filled out his uniform, and maybe speculate what had brought him here this late at night.
“I’ve been thinking about the fall of Wodan,” he said.
Tethis blinked. Her mind skittered, trying to come back on track. “Wodan?” She coughed. “Well, uh, we don’t have many details, but it sounded like treason.”
Laurentinus shook his head.
“Loki was here.”
Tethis’ brow furrowed.
“It’d take a special kind of traitor to get through Odin’s security. He’s a god of wisdom, secrets. His ravens see all, right?” Laurentinus said, sounding slightly hesitant at her expression. But seeing her nod, he continued, gaining in confidence. “Anyone else would get caught. They didn’t. They got in, they got Odin, they got Thor, they got Sif. They got the city. Not treason. Right?”
Tethis nodded again.
“How did you and Liam get here? And Meg too?” Laurentinus pointed at her.
“We used a teleport shrine,” Tethis said. “They’re shrines built by the Ancients...”
She trailed off, her eyes widening.
Laurentinus must have heard something that tipped him off. He grabbed Tethis and shoved her backwards moments before the door burst inwards in a spray of splinters. Standing there, knives in their hands, were four rough, human men.
They advanced, wordlessly.
***
Liam emerged out front to find a large crowd gathered in-front of his manor house. This was not unusual. But the crowd being armed was. Loki stood before them, holding up her hands, looking like she was torn between being amused, annoyed and afraid.
“Traitor!”
“Balder killer!”
“Kin slayer!”
The crowd, Liam noticed, were all Aesir. There was a good chunk of Aesir in the Babylonian community – their blond and red hair making them stand out among the more swarthy Coptics and Hellenes. And currently, they were being led by…
“Amund of Thor,” Liam said, making sure to pitch his voice loud enough to be heard over the angry babble, but still quiet enough that he sounded like he wasn’t trying to shout. “I see you’ve decided that debate requires weapons again.”
Amund of Thor was not exactly as hideous as Mary had sometimes described him. In fact, though Liam wasn’t a perfect judge of such things, he actually would have been fairly handsome, had it not been for the seemingly perpetual sneer smeared across his face. He was tall and strong looking and his beard was combined and pleated with no small skill. His long hair was tied back behind his head in a ponytail that gave him a somewhat rakish look. His robes were simple, and the holy symbol of Thor that hung around his neck gave him an almost Christian air. His arms were crossed over his chest.
“We’re here for the betrayer,” he said, his voice lofty.
Loki scowled. “I am a god,” she said, her voice matching and then exceeding Amund’s level of arrogance. Liam honestly didn’t like it. Loki had been approachable. Likable. Human, even. Seeing this side of her made her seem…
Smaller.
“All right,” Liam said, lifting up his hands. “There is no way that Loki could have done anything to betray Odin. The attack came while she was here. Or do you think that her magic could override Odin and Thor and Sif from halfway around Purgatory?” He shook his head. “Loki came here to help us and to get help for her people – not to betray anyone.”
The crowd murmured. He could see several people starting to lower their weapons. Amund of Thor looked sour.
Then-
A vice grip closed around his wrist. Loki hissed. “Tethis! Go! Now!” She pointed.
Liam blinked in confusion. But the look in Loki’s eyes filled him with dread. He turned and ran, no words. He just ran.
***
Tethis flung out her wrist. The bolt of energy was rapidly coalesced and still had enough punch to send one of the men sprawling backwards. He groaned and started to try to get to his feet. But the other three were already in the room. Laurentinus drew his sword. He stepped forward and his blade darted out. One of the assassins parried. But faster than Tethis could see, Laurentinus stepped closer, then slashed the other way, canceling one attack and making the other in the same fluid motion.
The assassin hit the ground, clutching at his leg.
The other, though, came at Laurentinus from the side. His sword crashed into the goblin’s side and sent Laurentinus staggering. By then, Tethis had worked up another bolt. This one took an assasin’s head off. His blood misted the wall. The one she had knocked over was back on his feet.
The fourth was over her.
Pain.
Tethis staggered.
And then the one who had come back to his feet was down.
Liam.
Tethis’ heart surged as she saw the assassin’s head lolling backwards off his head, his spine almost completely severed by Liam’s blow. Liam wasn’t even using his longsword, Delenn. He had just grabbed a sword from one of the Cross Guard.
Tethis looked down at herself.
A blade stuck from her leg.
Ah.
That was what hurt. She’d fix that.
Liam seemed to be moving in slow motion. Reaching for her. His lips forming a word. The translation spell seemed to take forever to turn it from English to Coptic.
“No!”
Tethis yanked the blade out. It felt heavy in her hand. She looked down and saw blood spurting from her leg. A lot.
She felt...
Oddly sleepy.
She closed her eyes.
***
Tethis hit the floor. Liam scrambled forward, forgetting the last assassin, not even hearing him as Laurentinus tackled him to the ground. His hand grabbed onto Tethis’ thigh, squeezing, desperately pinching. He screamed at the top of his lungs, his vision blurring. “Healer! Healer! Healer!”
The best healer was in his hands.
Tethis looked oddly peaceful, her head lolling to the side. But it was all marred by the blood. So much blood.
Too much blood.
Liam kept his hand on the wound, his body shaking. He kept his hand on the wound when the blood stopped. He kept his hand on the wound when the healer came. He kept his hand there until Meg gently took him and dragged him back and the healers carried the wrapped body away.
He didn’t speak as Meg led him back to their chambers.
She gently wiped his hands. Her hands shook. Her eyes were filled with tears.
Liam saw clearly.
“Liam,” Meg croaked.
Liam slowly closed his hands. He felt her hands. His fingers touched her skin. He ducked his head forward. The first thing he wanted to say felt wrong. It couldn’t be right. None of this could be right. Earlier today, Tethis had been telling him about her ideas for speeding musket production. Earlier today, he was admiring her... her all of her. Her intellect, her body, her ideas. Her endless need to read.
Liam looked away from Meg and at the door.
He expected Tethis to come walking in.
“Liam,” Meg whispered.
Liam closed his eyes. He leaned into her. Quietly, he whispered. “I...”
A single word. It was too much. His throat clenched. Meg’s wing closed around him. Then her other.
And together, they grieved.
***
“It’s done.”
Liv kept her eyes closed and remained still beneath the blankets that were set out in the tent. Any general she knew would have spent the last week celebrating. Sacking a town could bring wealth and rape enough to keep a certain kind of man entertained but not Brax. Part of her felt a warm glow at that knowledge. But a bigger part, part that could look past the moment, was deeply uncertain.
The army had set out almost immediately after the fall of Wotan. Brax had left behind guards at the city, Sysminor had forged cages of solid crystal, shaped in the same way as nulldarts, and they had set off along the coast on the part of the Aesir navy that had bent their knee.
The first town they had run into hadn’t even been aware that Wotan had fallen. They hadn’t had defenses up. The boats had sailed into dock and the lizardfolk sprang from the decks of the ships. Their spears had flashed and they had rushed through the city streets. It had been over in less than an hour, with only a few casualties on Brax’s side. Those casualties had recovered in a few hours.
They moved only slightly slower than the warning and even those towns that had been warned were barely able to resist. Huscrals had started to answer the call as well. Liv had watched as the first ranked mass of heavy infantry arrived to bend the knee to Brax and Sysminor. The false god had preened as if he had kindled the sun.
Brax slept poorly that night. Groping at the air, his claws had flashed in the dim light seeping through the edges of the tent and Liv had laid there, unable to help him.
Asura. Asura.
That name from his past.
“I see.” The tent flap swung shut again and Brax stepped back to where he had been sitting. Liv watched as he sat. His back was stiff enough that she could count the ridges of his spine.
“What happened now, oh glorious general?” Liv asked. She hadn’t taken a tone like that for a while.
Brax’s shoulders bunched further. “Shut up,” he growled.
Liv shook her head. “So. You’ve taken half a dozen towns in under a week. That’s two major cities.” She frowned. “Stretching yourself thin.”
“Huscrals will fix that,” Brax said, his voice dull. “With the right mixture of forces, we can take Olimurias.”
Liv’s brow furrowed.
“With Olimurias, we have scribes and mages. We have a place to base our navy to attack the enemy. We remove some more gods from the war.”
Liv remained silent for a time. She felt her stomach clench – it was like she had eaten something unsavory. She wanted to let it out, but knew that losing this would take more than voiding herself. It was a poison feeling, not an under-cooked fish. She rolled onto her hands and knees, then pushed herself up. Remaining low, moving with the faint rocking of the ship, she came to Brax and knelt behind him.
“What have you done?” she asked.
“Fizit had an idea,” Brax said. “To ensure we don’t face...” he paused. “Difficulties.”
Liv shook her head. “An abortion?”
“What?” Brax snapped his head around, looking at her.
Liv frowned. “You haven’t noticed?”
Brax turned to face Liv head on. “No. What have you seen?”
Liv sighed. “Fizit’s pregnant. I figured you’d, of all people, would notice.”
Brax shook his head. “I, ah, haven’t had much experience. With. Uh...” He trailed off, his golden nares flushing a bright red – the blush strong enough to be seen through a magical curse. That was impressive, in its own way.
“You are not a virgin,” Liv said, rolling her eyes. Inside, she giggled. So, there were things Brax wasn’t built to handle, huh?
“With mothers,” Brax finished.
“Mm,” Liv sighed. “Well, Fizit is pregnant. How did you not notice her tits?”
Brax shook his head. “Fizit isn’t interested in me in that way.”
“So you ignore her completely?” Liv sounded skeptical.
“It’s remarkably easy,” Brax said, regaining some of his composure. He looked somber. “But...” He paused. “That’s going to be awkward.”
“What?” Liv asked.
Brax told her.
Liv grabbed his head by the frills and slammed her knee into his nose. The crunch was audible. And quite satisfying.
Brax didn’t fight back. He simply slumped to the side, letting the pain fade as he rested his head on the floor. Liv panted, her head hanging forward.
“You bastard,” she growled.
“I know,” he said.
“You fucking bastard.” Liv trembled. She wanted to hit him again and again and again. She was so fucking furious she couldn’t see straight. Her hands clenched on the floor under the tent. Right now, she could barely breathe. She ducked her head forward. Her fingernails bit into the wood.
“I know,” he said again.
“Why?” she hissed.
“Sysminor,” Brax said. “He said we needed to keep the advantage. Imagine if Liam had her and Babylon. He could build a dozen godkillers and drop them in our camp. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“He wouldn’t,” Liv snarled. Her fingernails ached. The wood creaked.
“Sysminor has spoken to me at length about the world Liam came from. He said that his observations...” He spoke the word with some sarcasm. Liv’s hammering heart caught. She slid her hands along the deck, flexing her fingers out. Her knuckles ached from the pressure she had put on them. Brax continued. “Their people drop bombs the size of houses on each other. They slaughter entire cities and burn armies from the inside out with noxious fumes. Liam would in an instant. He would. And so...” He shuddered. “Tethis had to die.”
Liv grabbed his head again, jerking it up as she scrambled over him. Her knees pressed against the ground to either side of him as she loomed overhead. She had been in hundreds – thousands – of fights. A lot ended on the ground. A few started there. Being on the ground and the smaller opponent meant controlling the position and leveraging your weight. But being a demigod had advantages too.
Brax didn’t fight back as she lifted his head, ready to smash it down. His eyes and hers met in the dimness of the tent. The rocking of the boat bumped him against her. She felt his smooth belly, lined with muscle, resting against her sex, separated only by her loincloth.
Liv’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I never even told her I liked her,” Liv hissed. “You know that? Friends for a year and I never even said that.”
Brax’s hands went to her wrists. Holding her. Gently.
Liv didn’t want gentle. She wanted a world where good people didn’t have to do wicked things. She wanted to feel alive. She wanted to forget that people could die at any moment, that they were all a single mistake away from being whisked beyond. And more than anything else, she wanted Brax. She knew it was wrong. She knew she should hate him - but looking down at him, she couldn’t feel it. Instead, what she felt was a burning need. It was a feeling as sudden and intense as a hurricane, rushing through her. Filling her with a wild warmth, buzzing and burning. Fire. She leaned forward and her mouth locked against his muzzle. His tongue didn’t respond to her as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Brax’s hands slid from her wrists.
He didn’t fight her.
He didn’t kiss back.
Liv drew her mouth back, panting.
Brax opened his mouth to speak. Liv plunged in again. This time, it wasn’t quite a kiss. Her teeth bumped against his lower muzzle. Her hands grabbed his wrists and forced his arms to her back. Her fingernails worked between scales, pinching and squeezing. Brax growled with pain. Frustration. Lust. His fingers squeezed back. Gently, at first. Then harder. His tongue tentatively touched hers.
Liv drew her mouth back again. Panted harder.
“Brax,” she whispered.
“We shouldn’t,” he said.
“Shut the fuck up,” she growled. “You do bad things for good reasons. Now do something fucking bad for a fucking good reason already.” Her hands grabbed her breast band. She didn’t bother tugging it off. It was just cloth. The tatters fell around her as Brax’s hands slipped along her hips, her belly, cupping her breasts. He was strong and rough – and yet, uncertainty kept his touch gentle.
Liv didn’t want gentle.
She pushed herself forward and bit down on his neck. Her teeth went hard, tasting gold and sweat and maleness. His musk filled her nose as she ground against him. The hurricane roaring inside of her – the hurricane born from death, the intense need for new life – made the unwashed scent of a man several weeks into campaign into something as sweet as ambrosia. She grabbed at his hips, jerking and tugging at the ties of his loincloth. She barely needed, his eagerness was starting to tent and push his loincloth aside.
Brax’s hands remained unsure. They slipped along her back, reaching tentatively down to her ass. They caressed her through her loincloth.
Liv snarled. “Are you a man, Brax, or are you just going to fucking lay there?”
Something kindled in those eyes.
“Do you treat all your lovers like this?” he asked, anger rising under his throat.
“I’m not a princess, General,” Liv hissed.
Brax sat up. His hands grabbed her hips, holding her to him as his loincloth-covered cock slipped against her sex. His size made her head spin. She preferred balls. Loved balls, really. But the look in his eyes made her feel just a bit intimidated. The word ‘princess’ had woken something deep and dark. Something that had been chained down and controlled for some time.
Liv had never been wetter in her life.
Those claws scraped at her skin. If she hadn’t been blessed by her father, blood would have gleamed on her skin. As it was, her loincloth fell to the ground and stuck to her flesh in equal measures, sweat keeping the thin fabric glued to her. Her hairless, elven sex was then filled. Not by a cock – two fingers plunged into her, then crooked. She felt his calloused fingertips find her center of pleasure with ease and she bit down on his shoulder to not fill the tent – and the deck of the ship – with her scream of pleasure.
“Insolent slave,” Brax growled.
She gasped and released his shoulder. Her voice was ragged. “Murderer.”
“Bitch.” He bit down on her neck, pushing her backwards. Liv spread her thighs. She needed this so badly she felt like she was about to melt. Her thighs spread wider still and she got her ankles behind her neck.
Those fingers inside of her drew out. Gold glittered under her juices as Brax looked down at her.
“You want a real man’s cock then?” Brax asked, his hand going to his loincloth. His golden member was as exotic as she remembered – ridged and coming to a triangular tip - but it had never quite looked so large as it did now. Liv panted, her body as open and eager as she had ever been. She arched her spine, bringing some attention to her perky breasts.
“I haven’t had a real man’s cock since I fucked Liam,” she hissed.
Brax snorted. “A human?” He asked, his voice filling with disdain and heat. Lust dripped from his words, and it set off a fire between Liv’s legs, intense enough to melt bronze. As if to accentuate his size and his length, Brax slid his palm under his dick and then let it slap down on her belly, the base teasing her clit, the tip dangerously close to her belly button.
Liv shivered, then whispered. “About the same size, General.”
Brax blinked. “Really?”
Liv nodded.
Brax smirked again - regaining his commanding attitude with a single statement. “I’m better.”
She snorted.
She put as much derision and disdain into that one snort as she could.
Better? that snort said.
Prove it.
Brax put his hands on her hips, then slipped them up to her shoulders. He poised himself over her, his tail lashing from side to side as he locked his eyes on hers. Liv trembled.
There were pleasures in moments like this.
She didn’t think of the war.
She didn’t think of dead friends.
She didn’t think of her future.
She just thought of hard muscle and sleek scales.
And the eager need burning between her thighs. The steady drip, drip, drip of her sex, slicking her thighs, puddling and soaking into the planks under her. Then even those thoughts were gone. She had thought the lust roaring through her had been a hurricane. It had nothing on the delight of finally having Brax inside her. She hadn’t quite realized just how deeply she had wanted this moment to come until it was finally here, until she felt his balls resting on her pert ass. Her hands caressed his back as she shuddered under him.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered.
Brax started to work his hips, moving his entire body, sawing his cock backwards and forward. The tip bumped against a deep part of her that set off tiny white flashes inside of Liv. But the ridges were what really made her lose all control. Her back arched as her sex clenched on his shaft like a velvet glove, her fingernails digging between scales as she screamed her pleasure.
Caring about stealth had gone.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck me, Brax! Fuck me with that fucking lance, oh Gods!”
She trembled as Brax growled, “Keep it down, elf!”
“Fuck you!” Liv gasped.
And laughed.
Part of her writhed. How could she laugh, now? But laugh she did – at the tone of aggrieved dignity in Brax’s voice as he tried to keep propriety while fucking her as hard as he possibly could in the middle of a tent city spreading across the deck of a ship.
Brax laughed as well. He kissed her neck, his hands sliding into the small of her back as he sat back on his haunches. His hips continued to work as he bucked her on his lap. She rose and fell with the motion of the ocean, her fingers aching with the pressure of having to hold him so hard. She couldn’t loosen her grip. She couldn’t even imagined doing it.
She looked into his eyes.
He looked into hers.
Then, shuddering, he ducked his head forward. His cock thrust up into her, his balls slapping against her ass, as firm as a palm striking her. Liv’s breath caught and she felt those balls twitch against her. The rush of hot, thick spunk that filled her a moment later simply set another, deeper fire inside of her as she shuddered, then crooned, throwing her head back and filling the tent with her pleasure. She kept rising and falling for a few moments, her belly crunching as she tried to wring every bit of pleasure as she could.
“Fuck,” she hissed.
“Liv,” Brax whispered.
“General,” Liv whispered back. Kissing his forehead. Nuzzling him. Kissing him again, this time on the mouth. This time, there was no hesitation, no delay. His long, flexible tongue plunged into her throat and she sucked on him gently, trembling against him as he felt his cum filling her womb.
Then, slowly he softened. He laid back, his legs stretching out once more. His cock slipped from her sex and Liv laid her head down on his shoulder, her whole body as wrung out as a wet towel.
They lay in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Brax said.
“Shut up, Brax,” Liv whispered.
Then, quieter still.
“I know.”
***
“And that’s the third barrel of water we’ve used this voyage,” Thu said, his quill scritching softly as he scribbled on a piece of paper. He looked up at Vulkis. “Having this many crew on board eats through the supplies like I’ve never seen. Do you think we’ll be ready once we find the enemy?”
Vulkis shook his head. He let, for just a moment, his nerves show. To a wall. The wall saw the uncertainty, the fear. Then, smiling, he turned to his friend and crew-mate.
“We were born ready, Thu,” he said, then started to the stairs leading to the deck of the ironically named Holkos. The ship was Hellenic to the core and had been built around the ram. Hellenes could board like the best Aesir, but their primacy in sea battles, especially on Purgatory, had always been their rams. Vast, bronze-coated, and backed up by teams of experienced rowers and slaves, their ships had eschewed letting marines and valor end the engagement.
Rather, they simply cut enemy ships in half.
Vulkis looked at the crew. The free Aesir that had come to New Athens and Faiyum Falls and other cities that had received the messages – borne at the speed of valks and fast sailing ships – didn’t even try and disguise themselves. They looked like huscrals and Aesir sailors. But behind the shielded walls of the Holkos and on the decks of the four other ships that Athena had managed to part with, they looked like they belonged.
Somewhat.
Vulkis looked out at the curve of the world, then upwards.
“Enemy!” he shouted, pointing outwards. There was a point in the distance where the curvature of Purgatory brought enemies into view. Before that point, they could be hidden by waves or depressions or hills. It was what made naval battles such a nerve wracking affair, from time to time. You couldn’t run and you couldn’t be sure when you’d meet.
Vulkis could see the distant wakes of five ships sailing between Wotan and Heilemsprigga – their flags were visible as splotches of color. Sysminor’s symbol was brutal and simple and to the point: a blue field with a sky blue edge and a single black circle in the center. Vulkis shook his head.
“We’ll catch them up before the sun winks out,” his helms-woman – the girl from the bar, Eerika – said. She had a wicked grin on her face.
Vulkis nodded, then called out to the crew. “Ready watch! We don’t want to get counter-jumped!”
The crew rushed to their positions. They might have been merchants and civilian sailors. But the memory of serving in the Aesir navy was close enough to the surface for most of them. They might have been slower in some cases, and less spry, but they readied to repel boarders, and set extra men to the oars.
The five ships – the Hykos, Argos, Ladon and the Centaur – plunged into the chop. Their prows broke through the waves. Vulkis had to admit, they punched through waves easier than a longship might. But there was the occasional yelp and shout of curses as oars slipped from unsure grips and smashed about.
The waves parted.
There were the enemy ships, trying to break and scatter.
Humans and elves and goblins glared back at humans and elves and goblins.
“Now! Now! Ram! Ram!” Vulkis bellowed.
The crew at the oars worked desperately.
Eerika yanked at the rudder.
The Hykos moved forward.
The Ladon slipped left as one bank of their oars failed to quite catch the waves. The two ships nearly collided, then both struck one of the enemy merchant ships in the front. The two rams smashed and scraped against one another with an almighty screech and splinters exploded through the air. Vulkis felt as if someone had punched him in the chest, hard enough to send him sprawling. He blinked and saw a chunk of oar was resting on his lap.
Then they were shifting apart. The captain of the Ladon bellowed insults at Vulkis. Eerika screeched insults right back.
The merchant vessel sank, its hold filled with the supplies needed by Brax and his crystalline master.
Vulkis shook himself and started to stand.
“Ware!”
The cry came from the starboard of the Hykos. Looking, Vulkis saw that one of the merchant ships that had broken away from the pack had come around. The deck had half a dozen sailors knocking and readying arrows. They loosed, and the arrows plunged into the water and deck and rattled off shields. Vulkis pointed at them.
“Bring us at them, Eerika!”
He looked back and saw the Aesir woman clutching to the rudder, her feet braced, her back pressed against wood, an arrow sprouting from her shoulder. Her face was white with pain, but she grinned at him as she shoved with all her might. The Hykos turned and the oars bit into water. The crew seemed to have a better handle on it now. They rowed forward.
The merchant ship started rowing as well. They managed to stumble partially out of the way.
The ram and side of the Hykos scraped against the merchant ship. Oars splintered and shattered. The Hykos’ oars snapped as well – but only some. More than a few had been yanked up and out of the way. The enemy ship started to drift away, but at close range, their archers were essentially shooting at free targets. Vulkis threw himself flat and dragged Eerika away from her oar. An arrow thudded into the deck right before his nose.
Now, though, the huscrals had a target they had waited for.
Throwing weapons were a large part of Aesir warfare. Vulkis didn’t know if that was how his ancestors on Earth had fought – but he knew on Purgatory, with nulldarts and throwing spears, the huscral had always relied in part on his throwing arm.
Vulkis was sure that Babylon was a city that made gunpowder by the barrel but Faiyum Falls and that goblin artificer that Sobek kept around had their own uses.
Flasks of gunpowder landed on the side of the merchant ship. Thin wood splintered and men and women alike were sent flying. Pieces, too. Fires spread along the ship and the huscrals sent up a vicious cheer.
The other merchant ships were either burning or sinking.
Not a single Hellenic ship was more than damaged.
“I suppose those thrice damned Hellenes can build ships,” Vulkis said, walking over to Eerika, taking the rudder from her hand. She looked pale as a sheet, but remained standing.
“If we sail them,” she said, her teeth clenched.
Vulkis grinned at her.
The sun winked out.
“Let's head back to Olimurias.”
Eerika, now that the night had fallen and prevented anyone from seeing her feel pain, hissed. “Can you please cut this fucking arrow out of me?”