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Mirth.

Celebration.

Joy.

These things... did not have a place in a tomb.

Its visitors cared nothing for the solemness expected of them. They offered no respect. No silence, in the halls of the unbreathing. No silence to let the sleeping dead lie.

They gathered, here, to watch and mock their latest prey. The remnants of such prey, at least. Chests of gold, silk, goods, and sundries were all that remained of the caravan they seized her from.

Those chests... and the meals for carrion left on the road.

She struggled. Of course. Did any exist, who simply resigned themselves to whatever may come, in sight of and seizure by oppressors?

Soon, perhaps.

For now, though, she struggled. And they laughed. They jeered and whistled.

"My father will see you all put to death!" she hissed with a raised chin and clenched teeth. The blazing defiance and hate in her eyes; matched-well the sanguine of her hair, which fell in disturbed tresses past her sandy-furred shoulders. Golden, though her eyes were.

"Your father isn't here, doll," a dastard declared, boasting his cruel smile. "It's just you."

"And us," another added -- just as he clamped his thick arms around her. "And damn, do you smell good."

Twisting and writhing in his grip, the feline captive yelled out.

"Whoa there, kitty!" he merely laughed.

Determined to rend that glee from his fetid face, she swore on his name -- a name she knew not -- and elbowed him in the side. As he reeled, she stomped on his foot. He howled. Then staggered away. Opportunity! She turned and snatched the khopesh from his hip, brandishing it before herself.

Rather than be threatened by her violent coquettishness, the gathered laughed once more.

"Whoo," a wolf cheered, "She's got fire in her, that one!"

Another praised the humiliated bandit she stole from, "Better look out for her, she's already shown she can take you. Take your head, too! Haha!"

Seated away from the rest, observant in the shadows, a behemothian form stirred. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Then gruffed with gravelly voice: "Little fire-cat's made it clear... who gets to fuck her first." The bandits looked towards their leader's great silhouette. His horned form dwarfed theirs, easily. A giant. And in the cramped hall of the dead, he seemed all the larger.

"Boss?"

"Who? Who gets her first?"

His snout twisted. His lips curled. Yellowing teeth bared to firelight, he told them what was so clear. "Whoever puts her on her ass."

Grins spread amongst the men like a malicious plague. A wildfire of wicked intent, crossing every face.

Their boss gestured a great hand. "Show her... what her place is, lads."

"Hahaha..." the first and most serpentine of them cackled. As he stepped in, nearer, his tongue flicked out. It caressed his teeth and then swept over his lips. "You'll be fun, you will," he proclaimed to the waiting feline. "Not a lotta girls who can use one of those. Why don't you just put it down. Then come over here. I've got a lotta dick for you to slurp on, kitty-cat."

She spat in the sand. "A lot more than you need. Why don't you come and get it chopped off, then!"

"Ooh hoo-hoo!" squeaked another, in musteline tone.

The rat dashed. The cat slashed. Bronze met bronze, in a ringing clash! The audience cheered. Their leader leered.

Another twist. She leaned in, turned her shoulder, and let the rat stumble forward. His blade sang against hers. He cried out in shock. She brought hers up. And caressed his filthy skin with honed edge.

Blood wept from the fresh wound. Spilling about his feet. He howled out. Turned. And the light soon left his eyes, whilst next -- came the second kiss of metal. Across his throat. He choked. Sputtered. And sank to his knees.

Full of scorn. Confidence. And many parts disgust, the victorious feline regarded the others. "I know how to fight," she assured them, "Go to Nys. Or be sent."

The bandits were silent.

"Fucking... idiot," one of them broke the silence. But only scarcely, with his whisper.

Truly their lord and commander, the bovine beast in the dark laughed. His shoulders shook like mountains, his chest rose and fell like a quaking continent. Though she grimaced, the feline stared at him. "You lads still underestimate her. Aren't you men? Then don't fight like children." He stomped. The deep thunder of his hoof echoed within the chamber. "Put her on her ass, I said!" he bellowed, flinging spit.

"All right, enough fucking around!" a coyote swore. He lunged in with his sickle.

She leveled her gaze on him and allowed the sharp motion of her hips to do the swinging for her. Again, metal sang against metal. She looped an arm around his and threw him aside.

As he stumbled by, another came from behind. "I've got her!" he drunkenly announced. She stepped back. Her khopesh swung for his neck. Surprise widened his eyes, as his spear sailed past her and the curved edge of the swung weapon sank into his neck.

Wiser, the coyote swung into her back.

She screamed out, "Auuuhn!" And stumbled forward. The attack severed the garment wrapping her breasts. Its ruined form fell free of her chest, to be stomped over by its unbalanced owner.

Seeking another hit, the coyote pressed. He stepped in, swung from another angle. But spent too much time doing it. His intended target ducked and turned. Her blade tore into his calf, splitting muscle. He yowled out, in such pain, as he fell to the ground. The sickle clattered down beside him. He clutched his leg. Moaned and cried. "It huuuurts!" he bawled.

The feline scooted away. Her back burned where cut. She shivered all over, terrified of the potential damage. Her eyes remained fixed on those dozen remaining. Despair began to set in. She huffed. Backed against the wall, making the pain sting even more. Her blood mixed with the muddied sand and smeared behind her. Bare breasts demanded she task an arm to modesty -- disgusted by the prospect of being oogled by vermin. Yet, she tried to steel herself. Through the pain. Through the humiliation. And keep both hands gripping the khopesh, holding it protectively over her form.

"How is one, frail little cunt too much for you to take on ALONE?" the bull demanded. The heat of ire and battle began to bleed out from the air. Angered further by the thickening tension and feebling resolves of his men, the bull demanded a second time.

"She... she ain't so frail, boss."

"Shut your... fucking mouth! Have you all lost your balls?!"

"There's... something about her. She's making the air cold!"

No, not her. Even she recognized that. Her eyes were no longer set alone on the thugs who kidnapped her. They were fixated on the shaft. The one three of theirs went down, earlier.

A rattle of chain.

A suffocating thickness poisoned the air. Fires dimmed. Weakened under the crushing weight, which they all felt on their shoulders... and behind their ribs. An ice which pierced their spines, wrapped their lungs, choked them. They stood still. Staring. Uncertain of whether they saw at all.

A rattle of chain. A scrape of metal on stone.

Together, their ears tuned toward the same shaft which stole-away the feline's gaze. Some trembled. None found the power to move their legs. Tails puffed. Fur rose.

A rattle of chain. Closer yet. A scrape of metal on stone, louder now.

His dark shape began to emerge. First... his fingers: blackened by fire, warped flesh; wrapped in decaying leather; tipped by onyx. They reached forward. They grasped the frame, of the shaft's maw. Obsidian jackal's ears, pointed like aimed spears, into the room. He ducked forth. Silvery hair swayed past his jaw, past his shoulders, tipped red.

All eyes, transfixed, never left his form; though all wanted only to look away. To get away.

He straightened. Free of the shaft. Standing as a tower amongst men. And royalty amongst monsters. His form, was wrapped in chains. Bathed by fresh blood, collected thickest on leather-wrapped arms. Furless, his flesh looked like the perished embers of a pyre -- grayest they'd ever seen. Like iron.

None knew how to react. But he taught them.

With the speed of lightning and the ruthlessness of a demon, he shot his hands forward. Two, he gripped. Two, he pulled forward. They couldn't even swing before he stole the lives from them. His talons scooped behind their jaws and gored them. Their bodies dropped, still clutching their weapons.

And then... they knew. Terror. Panic. But above all else, they understood...He would kill them all.

The feline only looked on. Frozen.

Some tried to fight him. Some tried to flee him. He hounded them all.

His tail, forged of a strange, bone-like metal without luster, speared forward. Its end, a wicked and straight scythe, plunged with absolute ease into the chest of a charging fool. It pierced the other side and flicked liquid life into the sand.

Another leaped at him, swinging their khopesh overhead and letting a wicker shield be the bulwark between them. A worthless one. He bashed aside the shield. The leaping bandit slammed into the wall, tossed like a doll by the impact. As the bandit writhed on the ground, another took his place -- but soon fell nearby with a yawning pit of shattered bone and shredded flesh in his chest.

The crawling bandit's eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth to scream, but was denied. His skull was crushed into the sand-coated stone, by a digitigrade and blackened foot. Crunch! His fragmented skull shot outward, spitting long tongues of blood and mashed brain.

The herald of death strode forward. He flung the limp form of a victim from his tail. Into others. Then, he dashed forward, a black phantom of slaughter.

And upon it all, the leader of the bandits gazed. Shocked. He found his spine. His courage. And his rage spurred him, at last, into action. "You dare!" he roared out, stilling his scattered men and silencing the madness. Bloated eyes, reddened by strain, fixed upon the marauder, as he rose. "I am The Bull. I am The Butcher!" he boasted, sounding unafraid. His men tightened their grips on their weapons. Some of them found the will to suss a cheer for their boss.

The monster assailing them would soon face the monster who led them. Humoring the boasting bovine, he ceased in his slaughter -- becoming still -- and setting his abyssal-eyed gaze on the speaker. He offered the greatest insult, by only looking casually. Disinterested.

"Look upon me, fool, and despair!" the Bull demanded. He hefted up the shaft of his massive axe, spread his arms and reveled in his own presence, brandishing every last scar covering his muddy-hued form. "I am undefeatable, and you, you fuck, have picked the wrong FIGHT!" He took a step, holding his axe before himself. "I will split you from skull. To. AAAAAASS!" he roared out, in all of his fury, then thundered forward. His axe raised. It howled against stone and showered the sand with sparks.

As the axe finally began to drop forward, the jackal retaliated. He dove forward. His frightening speed annihilated the distance between them. He speared a hand upward. His grip closed upon the shaft of the Bull's axe. It stopped dead in its movement. So suddenly, that its wielder choked on a breath in surprise.

A whirl of form.

A blur of dark colors.

The jackal's arm arched upward. Talons dug forward. And buried into the bandit leader's face. Bone cracked. The fingers disappeared into flesh. And then curled. When again, the god of execution tore himself free -- he brought a handful with him. Such force... such brutality... A wing of crimson arched clear across the chamber. It splattered against the far wall and flattened along the ceiling.

The jackal turned. He fully faced the stunned onlookers. And raised his arm... still clutching a handful of lumpy flesh. Splinters of bone poked free of the oozing handful. Behind him, now, the Bull stood motionless. His axe still in his grip. Blood drooled down his face. In ropes along his fur, it cascaded off his snout. The first droplets hit the sand. And then... he began to fall. Soundless, at first.

For them, the world... simply died... in that moment. In that eternal moment, in which it took, for the body to land on its back.

And in the thunder of its crashing form, the living were stirred once more.

They dropped their weapons. The fight snuffed-out from their hearts. Only terror, remained, now. They fell to their knees. Joining their weapons. And together, beseeched.

"Let us live," "don't kill us," "we're nothing against you, be merciful!" they cried meekly for him.

Their pleads were not joined by the feline, who could still do nothing more than gape.

The one they begged, strode, with immaculate indifference, among them. He swept his unfeeling gaze over each. They dared not look into his eyes, scrambling back from his strides like cornered children, sobbing and choking into the sand they all but swallowed. He drew in sharp breath through his nostrils. The rushing air sounded as a serpent's hiss. And then he snarled -- no, to say snarl would not match the noise. He roared with a reptilian rattle to his voice. Even the very air, and all darkness which skulked in the corners, bowed to his will.

No longer amused by the slaughter of his prey, the monster did away with them. Shadows twisted free of their bodies. Ripping outward... spraying blood and stirring sand, with cyclones of both.

Their voices were cut short.

Silenced.

Violently... in an instant.

Broken only by the noise of dripping fluids, and the stuttering breaths of the feline, the stillness in the air consumed everything.

The jackal now turned his attention upon the last who remained. Upon her.

"G-great anu," she stammered out, shakily rising to her feet, and then bowing. Her khopesh, left behind, gleamed at her feet. Without the bandits around anymore, she could dedicate an arm to covering herself. "I am Princess Imho," she introduced herself, "My father is the king, in these lands."

He approached, as she spoke.

Her tension rankled. Her voice threatened to crack. "I am not a thief. I was kidnapped. And brought here against my--" he didn't let her finish.

His hand swept up. Palm rammed her jaw and lifted her from her feet. From her bow. He slammed her into the wall.

She cried out! "Ah-ahn!" Twice. Stuttered by the renewed wave of agony born-out from her wound. An eye shut. The other could look nowhere else, but into the soulless gaze of his own. Of darkness beyond describing, his abyssal orbs shone only with stab-wound shaped slits of shimmering silver. Looking into them amplified everything she felt. Her stomach weighed greater. Churning. Boiling without heat. She felt as if frost flooded her skin in a deluge of cold anticipation.

"Please-ah!" Imho tried to speak through her pain.

She knew she couldn't fight him, so she didn't struggle. And she tried not to beg. She knew too-well what became of those who did.

He curled his fingers around the rim of her sari.

Her ears drooped and shoulders sank. She wanted, more now, to beg, but fought the desire. In another state, she may have glimpsed the truth, but not now. Not here. Not while he oppressed her so. With a swift, harsh jerk, he did-next what she feared he might, and tore off the blood-stained white cloth.

Her legs came together. Aiming to deny him what he sought. She whimpered. Words forgotten. Hope, only, left behind, that he'd let her live. He thrust his hand between her thighs. It hurt. But didn't come unexpected. The rough groping made her squirm against the wall. Pain flared up in her back, again. She whined, but didn't fight.

While his bloody fingers violated her lower lips, he pushed her head upward... exposing her throat. And then he leaned close. His jaws parted... and closed on her throat. She moaned out in agony. Feeling every minuscule advance of his teeth. They were like needles. Serpents' fangs. Punching through flesh. Through muscle. Tendon. Vein. And bone. All, like they were softer than wet sand. Blood trickled down her shoulder. Streaming down upon her breasts and between them. Pooling against his form -- pressed and grinding against hers.

He suckled on the bite: pulling out something more than just blood. Her eyes opened. She breathed out. "Ah-ah... ahh..." A dullness filled into the amber rings of her irises. Taking away the luster she saw in all the world's colors. They became... empty, to her. Robbed of beauty, she didn't even recognize, until their absence made her weep silently.

"No," she moaned, "No..." Imho knew what he took. She knew its importance to her. And how truly damned she became without it. Her world became weightless. Worthless. Cold. And the only warmth: his flesh against hers. Of course. As he now possessed the one thing of infinite importance to her, she could only know its possession again by his will.

Even the pain in her back seemed so far away, now. Inconsequential. That it made her cry out at all, once before, seemed laughable. As he released the hold of his jaws on her throat, she felt distanced from her own body. Her vision swam. Though her eyes registered nothing before them, somehow she looked upon herself, and the dark, muscular shape of the one against her.

Alien, nihilistic lust awoke. She yearned... needed for his use of her. Yet sorrow hollowed her heart and chilled her sides, because she understood -- somewhere deep within -- this was not right. Not what she should feel. Her legs slackened. The strain of her thighs against his hand evaporated, strength bleeding into oblivion. Emptiness gutted her and heat welled within her center, building strongest -- writhing -- in her throat; and fueled by her bowels.

Her lips parted, but released no noise.

In contrast to her revulsion and loss, the fire in her loins roared greater. She wrapped his neck about, with her arms. Their movement seemed forlorn. Dizzying. And it took a moment for feeling to catch up to them. What was she doing? She didn't want this! And yet her body demanded it of her!

As she clung to him, he swam his hand from her nethers, to slide along her thigh, lifting her leg. Guiding it higher. Parting her limbs for his access. Her body heeded, in defiance of the noiseless screams echoing in her skull. The building... eerily hollow; flames of arousal, within her chest; made it impossible to breathe. Each time her breast rose to invite air into her lungs, they were caught in her throat... struggling to advance, all the way. Her cheeks were hot. Her whole face blazed. Her throat felt empty. Her mouth dry.

He no longer clutched her jaw, so she dared allow herself to look upon him; with half-lidded, heavy eyes. His arm snaked between them. He pushed away that odious leather, separating him from her need.

Soaked, with savage demand, her nethers awaited him. And he answered... plunging inside.

"Hhhnnh!" she whined out. Her toes curled. He spread her virgin folds. Stretched them. Her hips cracked in strain, merely to take him in. The penetration, ruthless, left her reeling. Yearning for more. He pulled back, slowly, agonizingly. Too slowly.

She writhed. She couldn't bare it.

She whined, begging for more. Her body tensed all over... tightest in her stomach. In her chest. He pumped, once more. Ramming inside. She arched her back. Moaning. Crying out for more.

Wordless.

Needy.

And he did not fail her. Again. A fourth! Strong-er. Fast-er. The next, hard-er. She dug her claws into his back. Her body rocked from every thrust. Each plunge shook her. She quaked. Her claws tore across his shoulders. She threw her head aside, screaming. Every incredible thrust: a punch to her stomach. She bucked her hips. Meeting them.

She forgot her name. "Hnh!"

Where she was. "Nnh!"

Her world. "A-ahn!"

Only the stone against her back. The throbbing cock spearing into her. And the inferno, flashing over her body. Nothing else existed for her, in those moments.

He lifted her leg. Higher...

His thrusts:_ stronger. Faster. H__arder. _

...And gripped her throat. His thumb pressed in. Squeezing her windpipe. She couldn't scream. Not properly. The pressure built. She whined and writhed. Squirming against the wall. Hot tears streamed. Dripping from her jaw. Stinging her eyes. Even then, she cared for nothing.

Stronger, faster, harder. Unceasing. Unslowing. Unrelenting!

Her spasming body convulsed. After every thrust. Though virgin, no longer to be.

The ferocity. And abandon with which he beasted her cunt...

Stronger-faster-harder!

...made her milk at him. Quivering. Gripping.

It was too much!

Together, it pushed it beyond her peak. She strained out a scream. Her body shuddered.

And all at once, the heat and euphoria spiked. Her loins exploded.

Then everything left her in a flood of escaping sensation. Out around him.

Lost in lust, she huffed. A few weak whines, while he continued. Though, soon, a rush of fluid into her depths. Her belly, already swollen around his girth, thickened more. She coughed out. And moaned.

Dazed, she didn't even notice when he pulled free and dropped her. Her mind swam, drowning under exhaustion. He curled his rough fingers about her jaw, and summoned shadows from every corner and crevice of the tomb. They wove into her skin, worming through her fur, and seeking her every wound. Her every soreness.

She whined out, pulled from bliss by feel of barbed maggots pulling and biting at her wounds. And sealing them. In the process, she felt as though her back burned-anew once more with the very same slash which split and bled it. Backwards. As though the same weapon and the same strike undid itself. Strained breaths stuttered out her yawning mouth. And when the pain stopped, subsided; a sigh.

Drained of vim, even enough to rouse herself, she lay low. Her arms, unmoving. Her chin fell. Unseeing gaze, eyes glazed, lolled down on the muddy sand. Her every breath loud, hungering, and leaving her longing for the following.

As the jackal's steps distanced them, silence reigned. Broken, only, by heavy breathing. And the noise of still bodies dragged across sand, bitten into, and rended of their souls by a foe far too fearsome.

No hollering, nor laughter, broke the sleep of the dead.

Though, yet-still, they were without rest. The exalted dead, wished now, only to be spared the hunger of their visitor.

Choking solemnness stood supreme.

No face wore mirth.

No soul celebrated.

And none knew joy.