Xena looked down at the bloated and delirious Yuri, her flaccid cock twitching as cum leaked from all of the former enforcer’s holes. Yuri had stumbled into the fuck-room hours after the orgy began. Despite the late addition, Xena still hadn’t been sated; every last one of her current women, plus some of her mature daughters, had thrown everything they had at the raging dragon and failed.
Rebecca’s succubus traits barely dented the drain. Xena’s regeneration and stacked sexual perks simply outscaled it. A cold spark flickered inside her hollow skull: this could become a problem later. For now, she remained satisfied.
Xena strode out of the room, leaving a trail of groaning women in her wake. Xecate intercepted her with an irate glare. Two drones trailed behind the clone, each cradling a limp crack-whore like discarded laundry.
Xecate folded her smaller arms beneath her heavy chest while the larger pair planted themselves on her hips. Dark nipples jutted stiffly, flushed from the thick sexual heat that pulsed between her and the queens.
“Xena, copy your powers over. I want to break in these seedbeds without catching every strain of gonorrhea, syphilis, and whatever else they’re crawling with. And keep them breathing while I work out my stress.”
Xena’s lips flattened into a thin line at the blunt tone her clone was taking.
“I don’t think twenty perce-”
One of Xecate’s larger hands snapped upward, six fingers splayed in a brutal cut-off gesture, then dragged up to clutch her own crest in raw exasperation.
“Eighty. Percent. Not twenty.” Xecate bit out each word like a whip-crack, voice climbing. “The power hands over eighty percent of the original. Yeah, it’ll scramble my head almost as hard as it scrambled yours. I’ll still take it over nothing.”
Xena’s jaws parted in suprise. “You’re sure?”
Xecate fired back without missing a beat. “Yes, I’m fucking sure. Same way I’m sure the government’s got eyes on that chicken. One Google search from Lisa and her power lights up like a Christmas tree.” Her larger hand lowered to cup her chin. “Which means the bitch’s precognition will scream, because she’s still outside our blind spot. Fuck.”
Her off-hand drifted lower, lazily stroking her cock while she spoke. “Have Rebecca run the search. She’s inside the blind spot. Unless you actually fucked her into a coma. Is she awake enough to type?” Xecate tilted her head at Xena, that insufferable, all-knowing smirk plastered across her face.
Xena flicked a dismissive claw. “Rebecca’s part succubus. She’ll be fine in ten minutes. Give her some air.”
Xecate’s scowl deepened. Lower arms stayed locked under her tits while the upper pair rolled stiff nipples between clawed fingers. “Not my job. Yours. I’m taking my break the second you hand over the copies. Now.”
Xecate thrust one palm forward, claws flexing in a sharp, greedy “gimme” gesture. Xena deflated with a theatrical sigh. “Why are all my clones such bossy bitches?” she muttered, gripping the offered hand and pushing the power copies across.
Xecate’s smug grin split wider as she swaggered past, drones trailing with the two twitching recruits. A lazy claw flicked over her shoulder. “These two skip the full conversion. Milk your tits before you burst.” Xena took two steps, then sagged. Of course. Rebecca was the opposite fucking direction.
~X~X~X~
Xena scooped the cum-berry-shaped Rebecca off the floor. The four-foot-five gremlin, swollen round and teal like that blueberry girl who wouldn’t stop chewing, leaked thick, milky gremlin-slut juices with every tiny breath. Xena tucked the sticky little balloon under one arm, angled wide to avoid the wet screams and rhythmic slapping spilling from Xecate’s wing, snatched her pump, and dropped to all sixes for the crawl to the computer room.
Sixteen feet of xenomorph in human-sized corridors made every turn a puzzle, but stubbornness and laziness tied for first place. Xena dumped the cumflated gremlin onto Yuri’s RGB throne. The impact painted the chair in sweat, cum, and warm breastmilk. She didn’t give a single fuck. Leaning one shoulder against the wall, she slapped the pump cups over her still-dripping nipples. A soft, wet groan bubbled up from the chair.
Rebecca’s head lolled upward from its pillow of soft teal titflesh, belly a perfect overinflated sphere. One eye focused, the other spun lazy circles. “WhrrrmI?” The slurred question came with floppy ears and a dribble of drool. Xena kept the pump chugging on her own tits. A single taloned hand stretched over, cupped one swollen gremlin breast, and squeezed. A thick jet of blue milk sprayed across the desk; Rebecca melted into a sleepy, blissful moan.
“We’re in the computer room,” Xena said. “Every government on the planet is watching Simmy. Find the bird. I’m picking her up right after I visit the Palanquin and talk Case-53s with Faultline.”
The Omega symbol was barely covered by the pump’s cup, its color muted enough to go unnoticed at a casual glance.
Cognition crept back into the bloated gremlin’s eyes. She stretched awkwardly across the desk, fingers fumbling for the keyboard. A couple of clumsy chair-spins later she finally settled in front of the monitor.
“Well… won’t take long,” Rebecca slurred, fingers crawling over the keys like drunk spiders. “Jus’ gotta type the bitch’s name… aaand boom. There’s your angel.”
Xena idly stroked her cock, content to let the pumps chug and Rebecca work. When the gremlin spoke, she flicked her crest toward the monitor.
“Oh? Where?” Xena’s fists kept their lazy rhythm: one on her cock, the other buried wrist-deep in her cunt. Rebecca’s gaze snapped to the motion. Fingers froze above the keys. Mouth slackened. A silver thread of drool stretched from her lower lip, quivering.
Xena knew exactly what filthy scene was looping behind those glazed gremlin eyes. She pulled one slick hand free and snapped wet talons an inch from Rebecca’s face.
“Earth-Bet to Rebecca, anyone home? Where’s the Simurgh? We just finished that massive orgy where I pumped you full like a literal cream-puff. You’re still stuffed with it. More later, now talk.”
Rebecca puffed her teal cheeks, ears flopping in fake outrage. “You can’t wave that monster in my face and expect me to snap out of it instantly. Gremlins are greedy, horny little fucks.” She stuck her nose in the air, smug grin blooming. “Bird’s over East Asia, heading northwest. Fly that way and the CUI will throw everything they’ve got at you.”
Xena kept stroking, voice a smug, throaty growl. “Mmmph. CUI couldn’t catch me if I flew backwards. Paper tiger, same as last time. Fast enough? Sure. Strong enough to last five seconds? Ha!” Her hips bucked. Thick ropes of cum arced across Yuri’s chair, painted Rebecca’s hair and face in hot stripes, and splattered the desk. One rogue spurt kissed the edge of the tower and slid off harmlessly. By some miracle the rig lived.
Of course the gremlin dove for the cum splattered near her, tongue lapping hungrily. The conversation vanished from her thoughts as Xena’s scent and taste consumed her. Xena let out a satisfied sigh. “CUI can’t touch me. The real problem is satellites. They’ll track my path, intangible or not, and bring non-PRT feds sniffing around Brockton Bay. Which… might actually be useful, all things considered.”
Xena cupped her chin in thought. “Hmm. Should I just say ‘fuck it’ and let things escalate? Why bother with diplomacy and subterfuge when I’m a sixteen-foot-tall xenomorph queen?” She glanced over. Rebecca was full gremlin mode, scavenging the last drops of cum like a possessed creature, utterly lost to the world and definitely deaf to every word.
The breast pump beeped irritably, tank nearly full of her potent, addictive milk. Xena reached out to swap the container, only for the hive to go still. A metallic clang rang out in the distance, echoing through the charcoal-gray interior. Then came a second impact. Its echo was swallowed by the rising chorus of hundreds of hisses and screeches, filling the tunnels like a living alarm.
Some dumbass was poking her hive with a stick. Xena was going to make sure it was the last stupid thing they ever did before she shoved a chestburster into them. Even Rebecca froze her manic licking, ears perking at the hive’s stirring energy.
“Who the hell decided now was a good time to start shit?” Rebecca snapped, spinning rapidly in the chair. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up the CCTV feeds. Dozens of monitors flickered to life, showing every angle of the human sector of the hive, inside and out.
Xena spotted movement on one exterior camera almost instantly. Rebecca caught it too and slammed the feed to the big screen. Xena hissed, irritation slicing through the hive’s ambient hum. “Fucking Merchants.”
The screen showed a ragtag group that could have passed for homeless. Except for the weapons. And the towering golem of trash that could look down on her sixteen-foot frame.
There, center frame: the tattered, stained blue mask of the crack queen herself: Skidmark. Unlike Sherrel, whose body and mind had been reshaped and healed into a loyal member of the hive, Skidmark had truly let herself go. Years of heavy drug abuse, starting with “milder” poisons like tobacco and alcohol before escalating to the hard stuff, had taken their toll. The kind of substances people only turned to when they stopped caring about their own well-being, chasing an escape from miserable lives. The sort of drugs that made you wonder what kind of world would drive anyone to try them, knowing how badly they could ruin a life.
While drug abuse alone wouldn’t account for everything Xena was seeing, there were plenty of ways to hide the signs, if you had enough money. It was the compounding issues that had turned Skidmark into the goblin-looking creature she was now. Not even the kind of goblin you’d see in an attractive Rule 34 sketch. She looked like something straight out of classical fantasy, complete with a pot belly and gangly limbs. Despite the drug kingpin’s staggering income, the British cape led a life of careless degeneracy that ensured she rarely cared for her hygiene or nutrition. Why bother buying groceries when she could have endless fast food? Why bathe when she could do literally anything else? Why maintain her teeth when she could just force people to tolerate her presence?
The pallid black woman scratched at her infected crotch with a skeletal-thin hand adorned with gold jewelry and cracked, filthy nails. Needle tracks and scabs trailed up her twitching arms like gnarls on a birch tree. Her stained tank top hung beneath several gold chains that dangled from her neck. Skidmark’s lips were cracked, her cheeks hollow, her eyes sunken. The dreads falling down her back looked more like a rat’s nest than actual hair. And to make matters worse, it seemed she hadn’t bothered with a bra in years, leaving her chest sagging with neglect. She carried a megaphone in one hand, her gold-plated Desert Eagle tucked into her belt. The cameras were clear enough to show her opening her mouth, revealing teeth that looked alarmingly like shelled pistachios. At least, the ones that were still there.
Hard drugs, not even once! Skidmark yelled into the megaphone, her voice scratchy and grating.
“OPEN THE FUCK UP, BITCH! YOU CAN’T LEAVE THE GANG, YOU BLONDE WHORE! YOU’RE MY BITCH AND YOU’LL STAY MY BITCH! IF YOU OPEN UP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, I WON’T MAKE YOU GARGLE MUSH’S SHIT FOR THE NEXT MONTH!”
Xena curled her fists, secondary jaws grinding tight against the primary set as she glared at the disrespectful piece of human garbage.
Rebecca whipped her head back at the grinding hiss. Her teal fluffy ears flattened as she took in Xena’s face.
Rebecca swallowed hard, aftershocks of mania and raw fear turning each breath ragged. “What do we do, Xena?” she asked, voice small.
Xena’s jaw worked, slow and deliberate. Her fists opened like claws, then closed again. “We go out,” she said, voice low and lethal. “We capture every last merchant out there. The gang’s leaders at the ground-level entrance, the shits peddling whores or drugs in the alleys, anyone tied to them. Make hostages of their supply chain. Make an example of those shitty capes, then pick apart the rest until nothing’s left. We replace the Archer Bridge merchants with what’s ours, and anyone who stands in the way gets a chestburster.”
She spat resin to the side, the motion casual and terrible. “Subtlety is dead. If they try to hide in this city, we will strip it bare until there’s nowhere left for them to go.”
A/N
Sorry for the late chapter my workplace has a “use it or lose it” policy for PTO so I used my remaining PTO before it got reset at the end of the year. I don’t write at home as my ADHD takes over and I play games instead. I always read your guy’s comments so feel free to leave em.
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