FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Otherworldly energies rippled around her body, blurring the lines between the real and the unreal. Stepping through portals was a jarring experience for the uninitiated, but Sharrya had gone through hundreds of teleports before, the sensation irking her no more than a random itch in one’s skin. The unpleasant memory of her first portals was something she’d rather leave dead and buried, but foul memories always found a way to worm themselves to the forefront.

She had cried, she remembered. It had been her first instance of weeping, and not her last either. She was weak back then, a fact that had been berated into her mind by her less dispositioned kin. As a prank, one of the other whelps had tossed her through a breach leading into the Burning Abyss. Her sobs had been drowned out by the laughter of those witnessing her plight.

Her fists clenched hard enough she sliced her palms with her claws, but the sting of pain helped to drive the recollections back. She stepped away from the energies forming an aura before her, and the crimson darkness gave way to the atrium basing her cathedral.

She was pleased to see there had been changes in her absence. The acolytes were in their proper places, summoning circles brimming with sinful energies, the chants of her followers forming a comfortable tumult.

The steep, gothic walls of the atrium penned in the yard from three sides, some of the sentries posted along the watchtowers turning to give her looks of astonishment. The steps of her cathedreal took up the fourth side, its surface brimming with spikes buttresses and twisting support spires. She forgot how far it pierced into the sky from the ground, like an eternal vertice of ebony.

Noting she had a gawking audience, she sneered at a group of passing acolytes, turning her fiery eyes on them.

“What are you looking at, festering filth bags?” The startled group pushed each other out of the way as they fled the scene, Sharrya’s mood souring as she watched them go. Andreas wouldn’t have batted an eye at that, he would never have been so apprehensive.

“My Baroness!”

Speaking of which, she spotted her faithful priest making his way down the cathedral steps, pausing before her hooves to offer a breathless welcome.

“You’ve returned,” he said, bowing cordially. “As I always knew you would.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “I see you have not been lacking in my time away.”

“My mistress blesses me with her kindness,” the priest replied. “May she also bless me with news from the front? News has been slow to travel since the link to the nest was severed.”

“It has been more than severed. The nest is lost,” she said, her posture deflating a little. “As is most of the standing forces in the area. A lone human has intruded upon the territory and sowed utter chaos.”

“A… A single soul?” the priest asked, turning away when she scowled at him. “I do not mean to question your findings, my Baroness, but a single, meddlesome human cannot be responsible for such impudence! There must be others.”

“Perhaps, but he is the only one I laid eyes on,” she explained. “His abilities confound me just as much. I’ve not seen a mortal rip and tear into my ranks like he did.”

“I assume my esteemed mistress tortured his soul for his meddling?” the priest asked. “If you wish, I can have his remains serve as a base for a new summoning ritual. An eternity of suffrage would lay in store for him…

The idea of Andreas’ body rotting in a pentagram stirred something inside her, no longer holding the same glee as before.

“He… escaped my clutches,” Sharrya explained. She quickly added: “As in, I let him go of my own accord. In hopes he would lead me to his accomplices in time.”

“A wise course of action!” he replied, switching his demeanour as Sharrya tried not to strangle him. “Offing a mortal so quickly would have sullied our chances of seizing additional souls.”

“Indeed, yes…”

“By the scars on your flawless form I see this mortal has wounded you,” the priest continued. “Do you require my aid? My most accomplished chanters are ready to invigorate you.”

“Keep your insidious enchantments as far from me as possible,” she snapped, making for the cathedral. “I will heal on my own, I simply wish to rest.”

“Of course, my Baroness. I’ve taken the liberty to purge a few dozen of the weak who’d failed to stop the gore nest’s… demise. Their souls are burning on the pyres, you shall find you will regenerate rather quickly during the night’s course.”

The air was thick with lost souls, their energies drawn to her need like moths to flame. While she regretted the losses on her legions, who could blame them for fleeing such a costly battle, they served her better by repairing her corporeal form.

The priest waddled behind her as she mounted the steps, the giant doors parting like toothed lips as she entered the vaulted foyer. Two arch-viles stood guard just inside, the demons bowing their heads as she walked between them.

“My Baroness,” the priest started. “If I may be so bold as to enquire, what do you know of this lonesome mortal? “

“He’s a Seargent,” she explained as she walked. “Male, twenty to thirty years old. Originally from the Romania.”

“That’s… very perceptive of you,” the priest murmured. He was clearly confused by how she knew such things, but of course he didn’t question them. “He seems very capable to have caused you great bodily harm…”

She granted the priest a modicum of her respect. She didn’t think he had the balls to say she was hurt out loud. Today was full of surprises.

“He possesses several heavy armaments,” she said. “And if quite proficient of them. Why do you ask, priest?”

“I have a theory on this mortal’s identity. I have not been part of your retinue for long, but I have studied the history of Hell extensively. I know of very few humans who could be so capable of destroying a nest singlehandedly.”

She paused in her march, making a go on gesture.

“Do you think this mortal is… him?”

“Speak plainly, priest, who is ‘him’?”

“Could you have encountered the…” He glanced about the lobby, as though worried of being overheard. “The Slayer, my Baroness?”

Sharrya opened her mouth to retort, then closed it. The one they feared, here, in her domain? She recalled what she knew of him: the Slayer was a human who’d almost brought down the entirety of Hell eons ago, her dimension only spared thanks to a trap that had seen the human sealed within a crypt. A crypt that had gone missing not long ago.

Could the Slayer and Andreas be one and the same? No. If the stories were true, she would have never returned once she’d gone through the portal. One Baron was child’s play to a monster like the Slayer…

“Nonsense,” she eventually said. “This mortal may be just as dangerous, but he is more like… the discount Slayer. He is vicious, but he bleeds and tires like the rest of us.”

“You are right as always,” the priest said. “I was only theorising.”

Twisting ramps and looming archways flanked the aisle she strode across, her hooves rubbing on a crimson carpet that decorated the citadel’s atrium. Eighty-two rooms comprised her fortress, and while she had mapped each one off by heart, she only frequented three or four. The arrays of torturing rooms, ritual chambers, and blood rooms that were crucial to keeping her kind from decaying in this alien dimension were beneath her, literally and figuratively, as most of those deplorable archways led to the underground levels where the possessed where quartered.

The upper levels were for her most trusted legion commanders and the proven elite, and they were accessed by a twisting staircase winding up the cathedral’s black heart. The echoing rattles of chains and screams of scuffling demons slowly diminished with each step risen, until silence reigned and Sharrya could hear her own thoughts.

Usually she would step off on the next floor and proceed to her war room, where should would plan for her next campaign. Her priest, ever the servile specimen, took the liberty of opening the door to said room once they arrived, but she responded to his assumption by continuing her climb.

“My Baroness?” he called after her. “Do we not plan to address the many issues plaguing us? The duty of Hell calls…”

“And I’ll answer,” she said. “after I obtain a shred of rest and quiet. The day has been long and tiresome.”

“Of course. Shall I send a report to your chambers later?”

“I will tolerate no interruptions for the next six hours,” she growled. “If I hear so much as a tap from your overgrown toes, I’ll rip them off.

That was the last thing they said to one another as Sharrya climbed to the next floor. Her cathedral was a hundred storeys tall, it’s inscrutable height designed to impose dread upon any who looked upon it. The only thing ‘imposed’ upon Sharrya in that moment was annoyance that the designers hadn’t seen fit to install a lift.

When she arrived at the appropriate floor, she stepped off, passing by a flickering scone as she moved through a short hallway, ended by a pair of doors built to accommodate her size. She shoved them apart, then snapped them closed behind as she stepped into her chambers.

Her private sanctuary was furnished with upscaled lounges cradled around a gothic desk, its surface strewn with a number of alien curios she’d absconded from the dimensions she’d warred upon. There was a claw made from chitin plates in one display, a green crystal that glowed with an eerie energy in another, and a black scale she’d ripped from a rather savage winged reptile.

There was a mantle reserved for the dimension she was currently occupying, but she’d failed to find a relic worthy of occupying the exhibit. Perhaps Andreas’ helmet could fit the bill?

Huffing, she stalked past the lounge, stepping round a writing desk messed with parchments and ink pots, a couple of its drawers half-opened. She’d been told once that putting her thoughts to paper was a fine way to reflect during her downtime – an event that had become more prevalent as of late. It was proof that not all of the priest’s words were just drivel.

At the far end of the room was a mattress resting on an upraised foundation, cornered with beams that joined the bed to the ceiling. Dark drapes could be drawn between the posts to provide privacy, but Sharrya had never needed them. This room was for her use alone.

Her hooves clicked on the black tiles as Sharrya turned, and plopped onto her bed in a very un-Baron like way, letting all the events of the day pass through her in a breathy sigh. So many clashing emotions battled in her chest. Anger, frustration, dread, confusion, but most of all, relief. Relief that this room was now owned by one who wasn’t twiddling her claws all day, writing nonsense as the war waged on without her input.

She stared at the chandelier suspended over the chamber, placing a hand behind her head and wincing as pain stabbed through her side. Her skin was still matted with scars from Andreas’ many weapons, but they would regenerate quickly now that she was within the unnatural energies surrounding her cathedral. Her wounds weren’t the only casualty of the day. Her gore nest was gone, a significant portion of her operations going with it, plus she’d loose standing with her legions once word spread that she’d been defeated by a mortal, yet she was giddy with excitement all the same. Never since her first journeys into the greater cosmos had she met an alien who could best her, not just once but twice…

“You’ve done irreparable damage to me, my forces, and undid months of corruption in the blink of an eye.” She placed a palm on her belly as tingles swept through her core. “You have made me feel alive.”

Her thoughts turned to their little talk in that office building. It had taken some persuading, but Andreas had listened to her, purely for the sake of wanting to converse, the notion making her heart swell. Was calling it an act of kindness on his part a stretch? Certainly. But regardless, he now knew more about her personal life than any other, mortal or not.

The lines between war and passion were blurred in her mind. The two went hand-in-hand among her kin, and Baron courtship revolved around duelling with your potential interest to ensure they were strong and capable. During her ascent through the demonic ranks, she had drawn the eye of many prospective mates.

She’d been young, full of herself, and had passed from mate to mate just as Hell bounced from dimension to dimension. Good foresight on her part, as there had never been time to court since she’d left Hell for conquest.

That tingly feeling continued its journey south, her loins experiencing a libidinous pang. To say she was pent up would be an understatement, and the tribulations of the day had only resurfaced such tensions. Six hours. Plenty of time to burn it off.

She slipped a finger beneath her loincloth, parting her thighs as she lowered the flimsy cloth, exposing her toned mound. Shifting against the cushions, she wiggled the underwear gently down her legs, then kicked them away once it looped across her hooves.

She exposed pink, glistening flesh as she caressed her genitals, taking care to keep her hooked claws clear. A bead of her fluids wetted her finger as she dragged a digit up and down her puffy lips, Sharrya chewing her lower lip as her own touch sent sparks up her spine.

She mumbled some self-depreciating comment to herself as the pad of her finger brushed her clitoris, her hips rubbing together in time with her finger strokes. Rubbing one off alone was unbecoming of her. Current posting notwithstanding, she was a Baron of the ages, her name was known throughout countless dimensions. Baron’s would pay to sleep with her, yet here she was, rubbing one off all by herself.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the shape of her bud, trying to conjure up a more erotic scene. She was back in the Shattered Peaks, leaping across a gaping crevasse that divided the lands between her clan and a rival’s. She was leading two dozen of her kin against two dozen others, Baron’s leaping out of trenches to meet her charge, countless fireballs crisscrossing the skies.

She was the tip of the spear, exchanging blows with Baron after Baron, before the rival clan sent out their own champion to subdue her. This imaginary Baron was thick with muscle and had short horns. She always liked how cute little stubby horns looked. His rippling muscles flexed as he harried her with savage attacks, enough of her blood spilling to make her lightheaded.

His fingers viced over her neck as he caught her in a grapple, choking the life out of her. Her gathered soldiers watched on with troubled expressions, had she met her equal?

Her imaginary rival growled as she kicked him in the chest, grabbing his face and shoving him into the black dirt. He never pleaded mercy, even as she pressed her claws to his jugular, and she liked that about this would-be champion.

Her excitement mounted as she crouched over the muscular Baron, that itching need deep inside her being sated as she took the Baron right then and there. She tried to imagine the shape of his rod filling her insides, but the image was hard to sell if she couldn’t insert her finger.

She pinched an eye open as the far-off sound of screeching echoed up the stairwell, followed closely by a pair of rushing feet travelling downward. The cacodemons must be feasting upon one another again. Either that, or her cathedral was under attack.

Who would be so stupid as to try that? She thought, chuckling to herself as she closed her eyes and continued to finger herself.

When she returned to her fantasy, it began to shift. Now she was back in these very chambers, only that demonic scream was much closer, its length drawing into seconds until the piercing screech was cut off by the crack of a gunshot.

Such a cue would have brought Sharrya straight into action, yet her dream-self could only sit up lazily, sopping hand poised over her drenched crotch, as the doors to her room were thrown open with all the force of a charging cyberdemon.

And yet, no demon had dared to intrude upon her most private of places. Emerging from the hallway beyond was Seargent Andreas. Was his armour black, or grey? Regardless, the ceramic plates clung to his diminutive, but developed musculature with a wonderful tightness, accentuating his build. His gauntlets were absent, the sleeves of his jumpsuit rolled up to the elbow, exposing his tanned skin. His eyes, as dark as his attire, looked her over through no visor medium, as his helmet was also gone. He’d never go without his equipment, but her imagination thought up the excuse he’d lost it somewhere along his ascent.

“Hi there, bitch of Hell,” he said, swinging his plasma gun onto a shoulder. His gaze wandered from her eyes, to her chest, and then settled on her crotch. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

Sharrya gawked, first at him, then at herself. Sher rosy folds were all on display for the human, the Baroness spread-eagled like some needy beast in need of a rut. Not the most inaccurate description, all things considered.

“Y-You…” She forced her lip to stop trembling, composing herself as she launched off her bedding, squaring off with the human. “Why have you come here? Tired of living?”

“Tired of you, you great, pink, bovine-looking dumbass. I never leave a fight half-finished.”

“Ever the poetic,” she said, conjuring two fireballs in her hands. She beckoned to him with the left. “You want an end to things? Give it your all.”

She tossed her fireballs across the room, sprinting across the tiles as Andreas hosed the room with plasma. She raised her arms defensively as bolts slammed into her front, leaving scorch marks along her forearms.

She did not falter under the barrage as he expected, Andreas dodging aside as she swiped at him with her claws, missing him by a hair’s inch. He stepped into her blind spot, suing his rifle like a club and driving the stock into her knee. She growled in pain as she sent him reeling with a backhand across his chin. Such an attack would have crushed his skull, but in her imagination, the blow only caused a trickle of blood to escape the corner of his lip.

He stumbled against her writing deck, his eyes flicking from her to the chair. He lifted the furniture by its wooden legs, arms bulging as he raised it over his head, crashing it over her waist where it shattered into several pieces.

Pain blurred her vision, Sharrya cracking her neck as her opponent drew a wicked knife from its scabbard, the same one he’d used when they’d first battled. The sting of wounds was vivid in her mind, her finger rubbing faster as her heartrate climbed.

“First you, then your whole base,” Andreas snarled. “Come on!”

She met his challenge with a demonic growl, closing the distance between them in a blink. She seized him by the shoulders, tossing him like a sack of bricks across the room. One of the lounges snapped in twain as he landed upon its back, but even that wasn’t enough to dissuade the mortal, his eyes glaring up at her as he rose from the ground, wiping the blood from his face.

She held back as Andreas worked up the strength to stand, grinning down at him as he came at her, knife slashing. He interspersed his weapon strikes with punches from his fists, and while his initiative was punishing, she was a Baron of Hell, and a swift kick to his stomach knocked the wind out of him, and a follow-up grab of his neck got her control of the fight.

“I have you now,” she breathed, her head snapping to the left as Andreas decked her in the face. “You just never give up, don’t you?”

“You like that about me, huh? Sharrya?” he replied, a cocky grin on his face. A shiver coursed through her upon hearing her own name. Nobody had ever referred to her in such a familiar way since her childhood tormentors.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I like your spirit, I like your tenacity, I like your… everything. I cannot seem to banish you from my thoughts.”

“I’ve got that effect on chicks,” he said, his grin remaining even as she dangled his feet above the floor.

“Then allow me to return the favour,” she said, wetting he lips with her tongue. “You shall get to see what effect I have on those I find… intoxicating.”

Holding him like a freshly-won prize, she sauntered towards the bed, the real Sharrya upping the pace of her rubbing as her excitement crossed a new threshold. She’d always held an inkling of fascination for alien biology, yet she had never considered such deliciously taboo acts until she first set eyes on the human form.

Unlike most of the strange lifeforms that inhabited the Universe, human body plans were familiar in some ways, but also exotic in others. They were furry all over, with skin that was as soft as bedsheets, their endearing height putting them at roughly waist-level to a Baron.

She tossed Andreas onto the mattress, the human scrambling away as she brought one knee onto the bed, then the other. Putting on the air of a hunting predator, she crawled over the sheets on all fours, sliding over his body until she could plant her hands above his shoulders, trapping him within her limbs.

“Nowhere left to run,” she cooed, his breath washing over her face as she leered over him. “I said you would be mine, did I not?”

The true length of her tusks exposed as she smiled down at him, Andreas turning his head away as he braced for the oncoming bite, inadvertently exposing his neck. Sharrya brought her face to his, glancing his flesh with her pink tongue, his taste making her shudder. His salty perspiration was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she craved more of it for some reason.

She followed the lick with a more tender bite, her tusks pinching into his skin, leaving red marks that almost drew blood, Andreas’ breathing growing unsteady.

“So tender,” she whispered. “I should bite you on every inch of your body, pay you back for all the suffrage you’ve caused. Unless you’re into such kinks, hmm?”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, writhing in her bed as she grazed his cheek with her tongue. Her bed. At last, she had another to share the seat of her cathedral. No longer would she brood in this room in unbecoming isolation.

“Fuck me?” she echoed. “So forward. Let’s not race to the finish line just yet. I must sate some curiosities first…”

She turned her attention to his chest, straddling his waist as she gripped the two ends of the armour. She ripped it off like she was tearing off a band aid, and while the armour was probably more complex to get in and out of, this was her fantasy, and it demanded his undressing.

His hairy chest exposed, Sharrya chuckled like a girl unwrapping a present as she admired his scars, a trait she found admirable in male bodies. Andreas shivered as she raked his skin with her claws, his muscles flexing beneath her claws. His smaller frame meant he was so very receptive, it was downright adorable.

She tested his arms by curling them in her hands, dream-Andreas offering no resistance to her examinations. His biceps were a little bigger than they really were, but she’d long abandoned such realities, her attentions soon lowering to his waist.

She’d seen drawings of human anatomy, there was a copy of said illustration in the writing desk in this very room (inside the locked compartment of course. Can never be too careful). Human members were comprised of smooth skin, slightly curved, with a head shaped somewhat like a helmet.

Sitting on his legs, she gauged his reaction as she touched his tip between her thumb and index, rubbing it between her fingers and making the human twitch. He averted from her gaze, staring of at some feature of the room while she grappled with his slightly squishy rod.

“You look so cute when you resist me,” she cooed, her fingers – both real and imagined – moving faster as a bead of fluid appeared at the slit on his tip. “How long can you keep fighting, I wonder?”

He shot her a hateful look, and she laughed, moving further down his legs until her rump settled on his feet. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she leaned down, gracing his alien cock with a soft kiss, making sure her tusks were kept clear. This was a prize she did not want to ruin.

Andreas made a sound that was something between a curse and a growl, Sharrya crawling her lips down and sealing his tip within her mouth. As much as she craved Andreas’ spirit, it was both a challenge and an aphrodisiac. She wanted to break him, make him reciprocate her interest. How she longed to be the target of someone else’s attentions…

Like his flesh, the drops of his excitement were like fine wine on her tastebuds, Sharrya lapping them up with her tongue as she subjected him to her attentions. Her chambers were filled with the sounds of her slurping and his sighs, Sharrya reaching up with her free hand to draw the bed curtains. It wasn’t that they needed the privacy, but something about the restrictive drapes helped to seal them in her own little world.

She shivered as two hands placed themselves on the base of her horns, Sharrya chuckling around his length as she saw Andreas reaching for her. She rewarded his compliance by cupping a hand around the two sacks dangling below his rod, the orbs especially sensitive if his groans were any proof.

She wanted him to pull her horns, and he obeyed her silent request, shivers roiling through her skull as he pulled her down his length, taking more of his flesh into her throat.

When she felt his rising need, she relented, sliding away from his member with a slick pop, wiping the saliva from her lips as Andreas frowned up at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I’ve shown you my appreciation, now it’s your turn…”

Indecision wracked his features as she slid up the bedsheets once again, her furry thighs settling on either side of his head, her naked crotch meeting his face. His cheeks blushed as she stroked his fuzzy hair, his hot breath warming her sensitive mound.

“You think I’m going to… service you?” he asked, his doubtful tone betrayed by his curious looks at her abs and thighs.

“I don’t think, I know. You’ve admired me since we first met, I’ve seen it. My body is a work of envy compared to your human women, and I’m all but giving it to you.”

She could see his arousal for her was overpowering his pensiveness, and eventually it won out, Sharrya uttering a comely whine as he kissed her between her rows of abs. His tongue may be sharp in life, but in her dream it was wonderfully smooth as it traced the channels of her flesh.

“You’re… You’re right,” he muttered, his lips moving to plant a sucking hiss on her hip. “For once,” he added in an attempt to save face. “It’s been tough trying to fight a gorgeous cunt like you. Dick and brain are always arguing.”

“Argue no longer,” she said. “Let your base desires run wild, mortal.”

Now she was the one twitching as his lips glanced her mound, Andreas tasting the fluffy fur protecting the treasure between her legs. His fingers clutched over her thighs from below, his digits sinking into her coat. Without claws, he could be as rough as he wanted, Andreas failing to disappoint as he groped and seized her ample cheeks.

There was a wonderful few minutes of teasing as Andreas mouthed around her loins, his tongue occasionally glancing the edge of her sopping lips, her furry legs of particular interest in him. She’d always kept her coat in pristine condition, washing it before every endeavour into the field, and she knew Andreas couldn’t resist its texture. Surely he was interested in how it felt? She might even indulge him if he ever asked…

Sharrya had never been given head before, it wasn’t something Baron’s could do comfortably with their tusks, but she could imagine having that warm, smooth organ brushing her sensitive depths, his organ more flexible than a cock could ever be. How wonderful it would be to feel it curling against her walls, drawing shapes that would send her plummeting into a mewling mess. What would she experience if such a silky-smooth thing were to glance her clitoris? Nothing short of bliss, no doubt…

She let her depraved thoughts go wild as she considered what else this clawless, fangless human could do with her. Scratch that, for her, she wasn’t about to let a mortal make her his plaything, although her wild imaginings put doubts on the matter.

Sharrya pushed the pad of her finger into her clitoris, Andreas mirroring her intents as his questing organ lapped at her hood of flesh. She flipped over until she was laying face-first against the mattress, mumbling into a pillow as she ground her hips against her hand.

The movement took her briefly out of her fantasy, and when she returned, things had changed. Andreas had reversed their positions, their waists lined up, her knees towering beside his head as he thrust between her legs, his hands roaming all over her belly and chest.

This was madness. The little human didn’t have the strength to put her on her back… did he? Their bout in that decayed park was a firm reminder that such a thing wasn’t completely out of the question.

Andreas gripped her hips tightly as he mounted her, his pistoning hips causing her to physically move up the bed. An aching need rose up through her core, her tunnel shaking with the anticipation of the nearing finale.

Her imagined moans joined with Andreas’ in a tumult of discarded inhibitions, the pair mating in an earnest that even made the Baroness’ cheeks blush. That surge in her nethers bloomed into a body-wide quake, Sharrya’s mouth opening to let slip a gasp as her orgasm took over her faculties. The illusion shattered as she stared holes into the cushions, the first wave of her climax shocked every muscle in her waist and stomach.

A furious stroke of her finger prolonged her bliss, Sharrya snorting like a beast as she lost control of her faculties, beads of green flame blooming between her fingers. It was a good thing she was immune to her own powers, or she’d be in a world of pain and humiliation.

Tension gave way to soothing relief as her orgasm eased away, the Baroness collapsing into the bed, trying to envision the feeling of having Andreas’ load entering her quivering womb, such decadence making her eyes roll behind her closed eyelids.

She must have sat there for minutes before she worked up the will to come to, Sharrya planting her hooves on the tiles as she sat up on the bed’s edge. Her hand felt glued to her nethers, Sharrya raising her arm to see her own nectar webbing her digits.

Satisfaction bloomed through her, but it was tinged with embarrassment. Her high standards had kept her from falling into obscurity, what was she thinking, fantasising about bedding with a mortal? She could have anyone! Her servants would come to her like dogs obeying their master if she wished to be bedded. She’d spent too much time on this world…

And yet, she didn’t want loyal dogs, she wanted… something more. Andreas was stubborn, strong, but there was more to it than shallow observations. He’d taken the time out of his day to talk with her, he knew things about her, and likewise, she knew things about him. The seeds of a connection had been sown.

If she could get him alone again, make him give her more of his… everything, she may be able to get her thoughts in order. She would have to spread word that he was not to be harmed, but subdued. Such orders would need a good explanation, but for now, Sharrya settled back on the sheets, pulling the covers over her half-naked body. Six hours of rest. That should help settle her frazzled mind.

-xXx-

Navigating the city at night was a daunting task. The only light to see by came from the occasional streak of crimson electricity striking down from the low-hanging cloud layer, the resulting brightness as dim as a darkroom safelight.

Andreas’ night vision helped to offset the darkness, but navigating the endless back alleys and metal streets wasn’t much easier when everything was a gloomy shade of green. If it wasn’t for Eva and her suite of sensors and markers, he’d be literally fumbling through the dark.

The sounds of dozens of undead echoed from down the next street, Andreas taking a detour to avoid the lurking demons. He’d never been one to shy away from a fight, but engaging these beasts in the dead of night was something he was dreading. Everything was so still and quiet, a single gunshot would bring all of Hell down on his position.

Such a thing hadn’t concerned him before, but he’d made a fool of Baroness Sharrya and her enterouge, he had to assume she was gunning for him now.

Hours had come and gone since he and the demoness had their little chat, but his thoughts lingered on it all the same. Since when did demons show restraint in their thirst for blood? Was she unique among demonkind, or were all Baron’s so proud and aloof? Unique was one of few words he could use to describe Sharrya. He had never seen a female demon before, but she was just as imposing as her male counterparts, skirting ten feet tall and sporting more strength in her stomach than Andreas had in his whole body.

Despite her physicality, there was a certain streamlined quality to her form, her curves more pronounced thanks to her upscale features. He remembered how long her legs had been back in that office, how they were covered in a sort of wool or fur that was a deep brown colour, giving them a soft texture. Then there was her rucksack-sized breasts which he had found his eyes drawn to more than he cared to admit. She was one big woman. Shame she was a demon, she was nice on the eyes.

And a pleasant conversationalist, apparently, his thoughts turning to their chat. Whatever reason she had to prompt a lull in their rivalry was beyond him. He had quizzed Eva on that matter a couple minutes after the baroness’ had let him go, and her response had been less than helpful.

“I’m still trying to comprehend why you even entertained a conversation. She’s trying to destroy your world, Seargent.”

“Come on, Eva, weren’t you even a little bit curious on what she had to say? Who’s ever had a chit-chat with a demon before?”

“The circumstances were…. unusual,” Eva muttered, as though saying the word caused great effort. “But that gives you no reason to be so… flippant! Be careful what you say to her, the demonic will use anything they can do to string you along, manipulate you.”

“That’s not Sharrya’s style,” Andreas mused.

“Look! You’re calling her by her name! I’m detecting strong Stockholm syndrome signals right now. She’s your enemy, Andreas, don’t forget that.”

“Eva, how many demons have I killed?”

“Since I’ve made this helmet my long-term residence? You’re a few dozen from the eight-hundred mark…”

“If that’s not proof I know who’s my enemy, then I don’t know what is.”

“I suppose so. I’m just worried, Andreas.”

“You’re worried? I’m the one knee-deep in corruption behind enemy lines, Eva. At night, may I add! I’m about one zombie jumpscare away from shitting my pants.”

The AI chuckled, which seemed to relieve some of her tension. His too, by extent. Her voice was designed to be nice to listen to.

“But like I always say,” he said, pausing to jump across a deep split in the road. “I’ll handle it.”

Andreas marched on through the streets, his suit working overtime to keep him warm as the air temperature continued to drop by the hour. Eva’s markers kept him moving in the right direction. The more north he went, the denser the buildings became, growing taller and taller until Andreas was weaving between skyscrapers.

There was an odd lack of demonic presence in the area, despite him being close to the city centre. There was the occasional pack patrolling the roads or infesting the buildings, but far less than what Andreas had seen thus far. Strange.

He was proceeding through the lobby of a skyscraper, surrounding all sides by glass walls, when Eva hummed in thought.

“What is it?” he asked, holding his plasma rifle ready. “You got something?”

“On the contrary, I’m detecting a distinct lack of thermal signatures ahead. So far the corruption has made it difficult to filter out, but now it’s… absent.”

His boot echoing through the lobby, he made his way to the other side, stepping through a revolving door and back into the outdoors. Before him, a small ramp led down to a street, the road spearing below a highway overpass before continuing on between two rows of apartment blocks, their roof jutting over the road at various heights.

There was something a short walk down the street. Or rather, there was a lack of something.

Since his departure of the crash site, pink flesh and mangled tendrils poured itself over every surface, but now this endless sprawl of corruption had come to a sudden stop. The flesh here gave way to cracked, unimpeded concrete, the world beyond this threshold taking on a semblance of normalcy.

Andreas walked up to the visible barrier of demonic flesh, peering down at the rough line it made across the street. Upon closer inspection, he could see the glistening meat was receding, creeping along the ground in the direction he’d come from, making minute squelching sounds as the meat clenched in on itself.

“Is it… dying?” Andreas asked, looking up and imagining how many square miles the flesh must have covered. “How?”

“It’s because of you, Andreas. When you destroyed that gore nest, the corruption mustn’t have been able to sustain itself, and is wilting away. At this rate, this entire portion of the city will be cleansed in a matter of days.”

“Assuming old Sharrya crazy-horns doesn’t plant another one, or however the fuck they make those things.”

“Judging by her strong reaction, the process must take up significant resources on Hell’s part. We’ve already seen a distinct lack of coordination in this district, so targeting Hell’s infrastructure may be a more efficient strategy in dealing with the invasion.”

The dying corruption left behind a ruinous landscape of shattered brick and rubble, but that didn’t deter Andreas from feeling a surge of hope. Almost eighty percent of the planet’s surface was covered in corruption, Andreas had not seen a blade of grass in months, but it felt good to know his efforts were having an impact, that it was still possible to reclaim everything that Hell had taken.

“Maybe we can win this,” Andreas muttered, stepping over the carpet of flesh, his boots making a satisfying clock as they struck pure pavement. Beyond him lay a scene like something out of an apocalyptic movie, but at least it was flesh-free. Even the skies had taken on a less oppressive feel, though that might have just been the gentle return of sunlight warping his vision. He’d been walking all night, and was dead-tired as a result, but even with the lack of corruption, sleeping out here was a danger he wasn’t willing to risk.

The drugs Eva was pumping into him would keep him on his feet for his next – and hopefully last – leg of his journey. He was getting closer to the heart of the city, and the Rallypoint by extension. Then his true mission could begin.”

Leaving the corruption behind him, he set off, weapons and gear jiggling with each stride.

---

-xXx-

“Seargent! I’m getting a transmission from the Rallypoint base commander. She wants to speak with you. It’s good news, don’t worry.”

Eva’s sudden voice startled him. Andreas walking for hours without much small talk or action, and it was starting to trouble him. Sharrya had made it very clear that he was on her shit list, she should have made a move at him by now. He liked to think the lack of corruption had made him harder to track, but he doubted the stubborn demonette would give up so easily.

Keeping an eye on his surroundings, he brought up his wrist display, tapping a gloved finger against the screen. “Alright, put her through.”

“Seargent? Seargent Andreas? Come in, this is Commander Velaria, over.”

The person coming through his speakers rolled her r’s, her tone like nails scratching at a chalkboard. He could tell this woman meant business.

“This is Andreas, I read you. It’s good to hear your voice, Commander. Was getting lonely out here, over.”

“I can imagine. Your companion tells me you’ve been keeping busy out there, doing what a battalion of my men could not. Never had believed it if she hadn’t transmitted a video of you blowing that nest to Hell, if you’ll pardon the expression. Over.”

“All part of the job description, over.”

“Ah, you’re the humble kind of hero, Seargent? Normally I’d say I don’t need heroes, but morale around here’s now at an all-time high. Gracias a Dios. We were getting desperate before you ARC boys arrived. Over.”

“The rest of my section, did they make it to you?” Andreas asked, a touch of concern in his tone.

“Your men touched down just fine,” Valeria replied, Andreas relaxing. “It was just your ship that didn’t make it. What of your squad? What’s their status?”

“They didn’t make it. Pilot’s dead, too. I’m the last one.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Seargent. I know what it’s like, losing your men like that. I’ll see to it they’re buried with national honours when there’s time, you have my word.”

“Appreciate it, Commander. So Eva said you had some good news for me? We could use some right about now.”

“I’ve sent out a team to meet you halfway,” Valeria explained. “From their last check-in they’re about twenty minutes north of your position. I’ve given their frequency to your AI, they’ll be in contact soon.”

“Appreciate the assist, Commander.”

“Stay safe out there. Over and out.”

“It’s a good thing the demons haven’t targeted our satellite communications yet,” Eva noted as he lowered his display. “We’d be picking up nothing but dead air beneath all these buildings.”

“I was almost starting to forget what human contact felt like,” Andreas mused. “No offence to you personally, Eva.”

“Yes, you’re more familiar with demon ladies at this point,” she shot back.

Eva’s markers continued to lead him deeper into the urban sprawl, Andreas soon finding himself clambering over a short wall. He tossed his plasma rifle over, then climbed after it, soon finding himself on a stretch of highway. Following the overpass would put them in a beeline straight for Valeria’s reinforcements.

He followed the faded white lines through the condensed ghost traffic, the cars so crammed together that at times, he had to use the car wrecks as a substitute for the ground. It was liberating in some ways to be above the streets, but the view as anything but pleasant.

When the skyscrapers broke up enough to provide a view, Andreas was greeted with a destructive vista. Sights of the East were choked with demonic corruption, more gore nests no doubt concealed within the rubble. The sprawling ruins were nothing he hadn’t seen before, but there were details in the rubble that could only be viewed from a vantage. He could pick out crimson strokes in the earth, like giant paintbrush strokes carved directly into the city blocks. What he’d mistaken for ravines were actually parts of a greater symbol, spanning hundreds of square meters. Its meaning was unreadable, but he didn’t have to be a cultist to know they were demonic in nature.

As much as Andreas was eager to meet his backup, his legs were killing him, the Seargent pausing to sit on the hood of a car. There was an extendable straw in the lower left hand of his vision, hooked up to the suit’s water tank so he could drink without removing his helmet.

As he quenched his thirst, the hair on his arms stood up, Andreas overcome with the feeling he was being watched. Despite her state-of-the-art sensor suite, Eva only noted something was off a few moments later.

“There’s a spike in demonic energy below us,” she warned. “It could be coincidence, but…”

The implication was left hanging as Andreas glanced back the way he’d come, searching the cars for movement. All he saw was a couple bundles of paper scraping against the concrete.

He turned the other way, and nearly jumped out of his skin when something large and red climbed over the highway’s flank, Sharrya grinning at him as she stalked onto the road just ahead of him.

“If it isn’t my favourite Baroness of Hell,” Andreas greeted, pausing to swallow his drink. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Do not worry,” she replied sweetly. “Once I have you properly restrained, you won’t be anywhere but in my clutches, Andreas. And this time, you’re not getting away.”

Claws clicked against stone as several figures scaled over the highway’s railings, taking up positions around the demoness. Ten, eleven, twelve imps snarled and snickered as they prepared fireballs, and yet more were coming, a portal framing Sharrya’s curvaceous body as it bloomed open behind her, disgorging eight or nine more imps from its confines.

Andreas stood in motionless astonishment as the demon’s numbers doubled, tripled, the helltide forming a cordon of burning flames and gnashing teeth on all sides. The highway spanned maybe fifteen meters across, leaving the fifty-odd demons to stand shoulder-to-shoulder as they shared space with the abandoned cars.

The Seargent whistled an impressed tune, the Baroness tilting her head at the odd sound. “Looks like you really got your act together, Pinky, but I’m confused. You said you’d let me go, I thought we had a deal?”

Some of the imps looked to their leader with confusion, Sharrya shaking her head dismissively.

“I believe the words I used were head start. And besides, did you really think I would let such a fascinating little thing like you leave unchallenged? You’ve drawn my interest, Andreas. Woe betide you.”

“You must be one lonely asshole if you’re obsessed with me,” Andreas chuckled. Sharrya’s grin dropped just a fraction, her eyes like two emerald gemstones in the morning light.

“Do not delude yourself. You’ve caused a lot of problems for me, and you will be held accountable. Now,” she added, placing one hoof on the hood of a nearby car, the movement exposing the inside of her massive thigh. “you’re probably wondering why I haven’t given the order to melt you into a puddle yet. And while the thought has crossed my mind, I’ve decided both your soul and your body can be of use to me. Intact and very much alive.”

“I see where this is going,” Andreas said, reaching for his rocket launcher.

“By all means, ready your weapon,” Sharrya chuckled with a wave of her hand. “I know you’re not the type to roll over and accept his fate, so I won’t bother asking for your surrender. Just know you only delay the inevitable. It would be so much easier if you just took a look around you and admitted you’ve been bested.”

“Hmm… Nope,” Andreas said, and then shot her with a rocket. The payload zipped through the air between them and shattered against her stomach, the Baroness flipping through the air and falling into a tumble. He swivelled left, sending another payload at the mutated feet of the clustered imps there, shattering limbs and sending most of them sprawling back in a collective panic.

He sent off the next two rockets in quick succession, aiming for different points in the cordon. The highway groaned as the detonations sent tens of imps to their graves, but the demonic ranks were three rows deep, those at the rear coming to the forefront in a frenzy, closing the net on him from all sides.

Reloading the launcher would take too long, Andreas letting it hang in his sling as he switched to his plasma rifle, the electronics warbling to life. Blue heat collected around the muzzle as he swept the barrel over the nearest charging demon, the imp swiping at the air impotently as he hosed it down with plasma.

Andreas snapped to his next target, an imp darting around a car on his right, then to another vaulting over the vehicle. The lanes were clogged with the demonic, a sense of dread filling his chest as they swarmed him like locusts. At least the sheer volume meant that no matter where he aimed, he was always hitting something.

He kept a small bubble around him clear, trying to fire on every angle at once, but soon an imp slipped through, coming at him from behind. Andreas reached out and jabbed it in the throat, the demon’s breath leaving it in a guttural croak. He pulled the imp’s body close, using it like a body shield as a pair of fireballs were slung in his direction, the demon crying out as they collided with its chest.

Bracing his rifle on its shoulder, Andreas opened up on a trio of demons rushing at him from the side, the demons showing no concern for their comrade as Andreas held it in a headlock, more flames colliding with its chest to spill ichor. He shot each imp with a precision bolt, then threw his hostage to the ground, the imp too weathered to be of further use.

Before Andreas could react, something collided with his shoulder, and his back compressed painfully against the door of a car. It was so hard to get his bearings with demons every way he looked, but the imp had come at him from his blind spot, tackling him to the ground.

Andreas snarled as the imp raised a flaming hand, and slashed from left to right across his chest, his chest blooming with surging heat. Andreas had dropped his weapon, so he retaliated by striking it with a clenched fist, grabbing the stunned imp by the shoulders and rolling atop it.

He pinned the thrashing demon beneath a knee, reaching for the car door. It was unlocked, Andreas throwing it open with all his weight, the demon’s skull cracking with a savage crunch as it was caught in its path.

He keeled over when a fireball hit him in the back of the head, his helmet blaring out a warning and indicating the direction of the attack, as if that wasn’t obvious. He rolled over, finding an imp standing on the roof of a sedan in the next lane over. Andreas reached for his sidearm, and put a bullet through its head before it could ready another fireball.

The air took on the appearance of a miniature meteor storm, tens of fireballs crossing every which way, landing on the pavement all around him. More imps were coming into view, bumping into each other in their attempt to get to him. He would be swarmed in seconds.

Andreas went the only way he could, into the car. He grabbed his discarded rifle, then threw himself into the back seat, leather cushions creaking beneath his sudden weight. He hooked his boot around the door handle, and sealed himself inside.

The visage of an imp appeared in the window, the glass shattering as Andreas took aim, sending a single bolt between its eyes. More shards fell over his face as an imp circled to the far side, elbowing the window. Andreas reached up with his cleaver and jammed the edge into its throat.

The car came under a devastating barrage of fireballs, Andreas keeping his head low as the world around him seemed to end. Glass melted into goop, one of the front seat headrests’ ignited, the sound of a popping tyre making Andreas’ ears ring. The chassis rocked on its weakened suspension as the barrage crept into the minute mark, the imps getting the idea that coming any closer would mean death. Better to burn him out than to risk his cleaver.

“Hold your fire!” a voice cried out, one belonging to Sharrya of course. “Maykyr’s damn you, I said intact and alive! Hold!”

The fiery rain continued to fall despite her orders. An especially accurate fireball hit the backseat right by his head, the backwash of heat cooking him alive inside his armour.

“I said stop!” Sharrya roared over the storm. “The next miscreant to shoot will have his arms ripped off!”

The car was buffeted by a handful more fireballs, but the attack soon relented, the totalled car creaking as Andreas shifted, peaking just his eyes over the window sill. There was Sharrya, stood in the ranks of demons like nothing had ever happened. The next time he found a rocket launcher, he’d make sure it fired actual warheads instead of micro-missiles.

“You’ve had your fun, Andreas,” Sharrya called out. “But it’s over. Come out of that… whatever that thing is.”

“Eva, options?” Andreas whispered, locking eyes with an imp before ducking away.

“I… need a moment,” Eva replied. “There’s an access ladder leading to the street, but it’s thirty meters behind us. Could you make it?”

“Could I make it?” he hissed. “I don’t think you realise what’s happening, but getting through all those imps is a bit of an ask.”

“Just stall her while I think up of something!”

Andreas cursed under his breath, taking another peek outside. The imps had left a roughly ten-meter gap around his car, and most of their hands were full of flames. If he tried to make a run for it, they’d burn him to cinders before he could make two steps.

“Don’t make me wait, Andreas~” Sharrya sang. “I’ve been so very patient with you so far, but you’ve reached my limit.”

“How do I know you won’t just boil me as soon as I come out?” Andreas called. The Baroness snorted before answering.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stop melting your cover? Why would I do that if I wanted you dead, fool?”

“Good… Good point,” he replied. “It’s just hard to give you my trust, you know?”

“It won’t be hard giving me your soul, Andreas. The question of whether your body comes with it or not is up to you. If you don’t toss out your weapons and get out here, that metal contraption will be your coffin. Trust me on that.”

“Seargent, don’t,” Eva warned. “the Commander’s reinforcements will be here any minute, they’ll get us out of this.”

“We don’t have minutes,” Andreas chided.

“Don’t give up, we’ve been through tougher scrapes than this,” Eva said, pausing to consider. “Okay, maybe this is pretty bad, but you can’t surrender.”

“I’m not surrendering,” he said, raising his slings off his shoulders. “I’m stalling.”

He threw his launcher out the window, following it with his rifle and sidearm, each one making noisy thunks as they hit the road.

“Alright goat-legs, you win,” he conceded. “I’m coming out, don’t roast me alive.”

“We won’t,” Sharrya replied. A murmur passed over the imps, one that was distinctly doubtful. “I said we won’t,” she reiterated, her attention on her minions. Maybe holding authority over demon’s was harder than it looked.

Andreas slid out of the seat, raising his arms over his head as he stepped away from the car. Sharrya pointed at one of the imps, gesturing to his weapons with her other hand. The demon scurried over, staying well clear of Andreas as it scooped up his weapons, vanishing into the ranks as quick as it had appeared.

“There,” Sharrya sighed, hips rolling as she walked over to stand before him. He had to crane his neck to meet her gaze, which caused the demoness to smirk in amusement. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh! Looks like you missed your tiny knife.”

“Woops,” Andreas said, reaching for his belt and plucking the cleaver, placing it in her open palm. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Must’ve,” Sharrya agreed. Andreas glanced at all the onlooking demons in the resulting pause, shrugging his shoulders.

“So... we just going to stand here, or are we getting a move on?”

“You are something else, Andreas,” Sharrya laughed, her demeanour flipping as she turned to her legion. She jerked a hand to the side, and the imps fanned out, forming a circle around the pair and proceeding down the highway, back the way he’d come from.

One of the imps made to give him prompting shove, but Andreas flipped him off, the imp shrinking away as though expecting some hidden weapon. Andreas laughed at the imp’s expense, then got moving.

“You are feisty for one so small,” Sharrya said, sidling up uncomfortably beside him. Every hip-roll threatened to knock him over. “Feisty, determined, capable. Now you are all mine.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder, Andreas shrugging it away. “Keep dreaming, shit head, I’ll be out of whatever prison you’ve got in store for me before you can say Hell on Earth. Where are we going, by the way?”

“All the way to my home. Well, home on this mortal plane. It is not the same without the backwash of Hell’s fumes lingering in the air, but my cathedral is secure, and most of all, private. It is there you and I will have much to discuss, safe and free from otherworldly distractions.”

Andreas didn’t like the hungry look she was giving him, like she was examining an alien specimen ripe for dissecting.

“Sounds… great,” Andreas replied, leaning uncomfortably away from the leering demonette. “Why’re we hoofing it when you can just portal us over?”

“My dear human, do you not understand the nuances, the complexities of interdimensional travel? Your kind should have unravelled such secrets by this point.”

“My interactions with portals usually involve lobbing grenades or setting up kill funnels.”

“A rather crass perspective, but I’ll humour your inquiry. Portals require an energy source to draw from, and there are specialised legions dedicated to channelling such energies into a mode of transition. Priests and acolytes are trained in such matters, they are in charge of bringing the more elite ranks of Hell to where they need to go.”

“What kinds of sources?”

“Oh, let me think. Hmm. Off the top of my head, gore nest’s make for very convenient stores of energy. Without them, we can only send demons into the fray, not get them out of it. You truly have no idea how much of a headache it was to try and reconcile after its destruction,” she growled, exposing her sharp teeth in a grimace.

“Maybe I’ll pop over to Hell one day and plant some trees, see how you like it.”

The Baroness said nothing, and then her snarl broke out into a laugh, the hysterics causing several of the surrounding imps to turn her way.

“Even captured, you still manage to keep your spirit,” Sharrya chuckled. “It may not sound so harsh to you, but when you’ve been surrounded by blind compliance for as long as I have, the banality of it all makes you eager for a change of pace. It’s so refreshing to have someone with a foul mouth and who’s not afraid to speak their mind.”

“I think you’ve got it all wrong,” Andreas replied. “I’ve called out a lot of people in my life, and it’s never once earned me a compliment.”

“If I do not want to hear, what I want to hear, then it’s your world that is wrong, not I.” She shoved a car out of the way for him. “Plus, I find it a good thing to not be able to predict whatever comes out of your mouth. It’s certainly irritating at times,” she added, her hand on this side clenching. “But nobody has ever pushed my buttons like you have, and I’m not used to that. And as someone who has travelled across several galaxies, well, you could see how that’s novel to me.”

They continued down the highway for a silent while, the Baroness more at ease now that he was disarmed and compliant. She may have confiscated his weapons, but she’d neglected to relieve him of his pack, as if she didn’t expect him to have stashed a hidden weapon in there. She would be right, if one didn’t count the Argent Shards as weapons.

The thought made him freeze. The Shards were created from Hell, and if Sharrya discovered them, his mission would be in jeopardy.

“Since there are no acolytes around, we shall walk until we find one,” Sharrya stated. “Which is of little bother. Without portals, we have plenty of time to pick up where we left off last time, Andreas.”

“Last time?”

“Now don’t pretend you’ve forgotten already,” she said, enunciating her syllables. “I told you we would continue our conversation in our next meeting. Now you are my prisoner, with not much more to do than talk. And I do so have a strong urge to talk with you.”

Andreas remembered what Eva had said before, how the demoness was manipulating him, trying to get information out of him by appearing friendly, but it was his only chance. If he didn’t humour her, she might just remember about his pack, and the only thing separating her from the Shards was a thin layer of nylon.

“Alright, shoot,” he said, Sharrya giving him an odd look. “Shoot your questions,” he clarified.

“No quips or insults, Andreas? Is being my prisoner dulling that sharp tongue of yours? Do not worry, I treat those put under my special care very well.”

“Just get on with it, goat-legs, I haven’t got all morning.”

“That’s better,” she chuckled. “This security officer gig, as you called it, what made you strive for such a position?”

“I didn’t strive so much as took what I could get,” he said, Sharrya slowing her long stride to keep pace with him. “Tried to follow in my brothers’ footsteps, fucked that up. My father set me up with his carpentry business, wasn’t good at that either. Spent a lot of my twenties bouncing round, but apparently if you fling shit at the wall long enough, eventually something sticks, and passing the officer training was the one thing I could actually do well. It’s funny,” he added. “back then, my biggest concern was saving up enough money for a car.”

He chuckled bitterly, looking at the devastation all around him.

“You must have been better than average,” Sharrya noted. “You said you stopped a breakout with no casualties, correct? In the confines of a base, that must have been no easy task.”

“I said minimum casualties,” he corrected.

Sharrya tilted her head ever so slightly, clearly intrigued but perhaps unwilling to prompt him. Again, he considered holding his peace, but it was an old story, and what was the harm in telling it? He could even appeal to her softer side, if a demon possessed such a thing.

“I couldn’t… didn’t, save everyone,” he continued. “There was this woman who worked there. Most of the scientists looked down on us grunts, but not her. Only person I really got along with. When the shit hit the fan, everyone in my sector was accounted for. Everyone except her, and I only realised that after the choppers dusted off and I did a headcount.”

“Did you find out what happened to her?”

“Turned out she’d locked herself in her lab. Too scared to move, maybe. That happens to some people. The door was forced open, and she had a giant gash right here,” he said, touching a finger to his throat. “She died alone.”

“That must have been horrific,” Sharrya said, a hint of emotion in her voice.

“I made a promise after that. She’d be the last one. From then on I’d do whatever it took make sure I saved as many people as I could.”

“And so you leapt at the opportunity for advancement,” Sharrya mused. “and became a deadly warrior as a result. She must have been a fine mate.”

“Mate?” he echoed. “It wasn’t that kind of relationship.”

“But you liked her, no?”

“Yeah, sure. But… well,” he stammered. “We were technically work colleagues, so it didn’t feel right to go down that road. If it didn’t work out, that’s a lot of tension I don’t think either of us would rather deal with.”

“Mortal relationships are quite odd,” Sharrya noted. “But it would be cruel of me to speak ill of the dead. I won’t insult you by apologising on behalf of her demon killers, but it seems her loss has strengthened you rather than the opposite.”

“It was years ago, I’ve moved on,” he said, glad that the Baroness was socially aware enough that a word of comfort was just plain inappropriate. He’d give her a word of appreciation in another circumstances.

“How about you?” he asked. “You must have some stories about this… Shattered Peak place you grew up in.”

“So you do remember our talk,” Sharrya noted with a grin. “I experienced many tribulations during my ascent to Baroness. What did you have in mind?”

“Ever met your match?”

“Let’s see.” She paused, a considering claw on her chin. “There was…. one who managed to overcome me. Several one’s, excuse me. Two males and a female. They were my first taste of humiliation.”

“Wait, I’m not your first defeat? And here I was being proud of myself.”

“Are you arrogant or just ignorant? Being defeated, and being overcome, are not the same things. These three never met me on the field of battle once, they relied on manipulation and dishonourable acts to… to hurt me.”

The Baroness broke eye-contact on that last part, Andreas quirking a brow at her. Usually she was so stoic and confident, so seeing her hesitate was a peculiar sight.

“I once made the mistake of conjuring a fireball before my body was ready,” she continued. “I singed off two of my claws, and those three were there to witness my error. And like parasites, they clung to my weakness, prodded me, goaded me, and made sure I’d never live that moment down.”

“Wait, wait,” Andreas said, holding up his hands. “are you saying the great Baroness Sharrya, meanest son of a bitch in Spain, was bullied?”

“I was a newt,” she growled, a touch of irritation in her voice. “not five years off from my spawning. We all were. I was a far cry from the pristine Baroness you see before you.”

“I’ll say,” Andreas replied, his shoulders jumping as he began to laugh. “I can just imagine it, a bunch of Baron kids picking on one of their own. What else did you do, wet the bed?”

“Be silent,” Sharrya snapped. “You know nothing of what you speak of, I’ve experienced horrors so unfathomable, that your tiny mind would simply collapse on itself at the merest glance.”

“But none of that compares to you being picked on, does it? That kind of shit stays with you, I can see that plain as day. Oh man, I wish I could have seen the look on your face as you were put in your place.”

He threw his head back, laughing at the tormented sky. A couple of the imps turned their heads to peer at him, beady eyes shifting uneasily to their Baroness. She looked angry enough that she could boil the air around her head.

“You wretched little…” Sharrya snarled, jabbing a claw the size of a meat hook in his face. “I thought we were finally going to be civilised to one another, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I have the courtesy to answer your question, and you throw it back in my face!”

Her eyes did more than blaze, they literally ignited, licking flames brushing across her brow as she leaned down until their noses practically touched, his whole world consumed in her fury.

“I should consume your soul right here,” she growled, her voice taking on an unsettling quality.

“Do it,” Andreas said, her threats going over his head. “Oh that’s right, killing me is the last thing you want, right? Can’t fulfill your urge to talk with a dead man.”

“You’d be surprised what a soul can offer,” Sharrya replied. “Just ask your dead friend, I’m sure she’s still suffering damnation to this day.”

Andreas wiped the smile off his face, his brow furrowing. As angry as he was, his fear was overpowering, the fact he was staring down the biggest demon he’d ever seen setting a pit in his stomach. She could rip him limb from limb and he wouldn’t have a chance to fight back.

He could see she was resisting the urge to do exactly that, her eyes slowly closing, those waving flames snuffing out as she took in a deep breath. Her warm breath washed over his face as she exhaled, opening her lids to reveal her gaze had returned to normal.

“Bastard,” she hissed, crossing her arms and storming ahead, her hooves hitting the ground hard enough to leave cracks. She stopped short of the front of the imp pack, leaving him alone for the first time since she’d captured him.

Andreas regarded her back thoughtfully. Why hadn’t she done anything to him? He’d finally set her off, yet her retaliation had been completely verbal. If someone had made fun of his childhood like that, he’d have punched them in the mouth.

A swell of pity formed in his chest. Perhaps he’d been too cruel, saying that. If Baron’s could tease one another, it had to be on a whole other level compared to human kids. Two claws singed off? How hot could those hands get?

Andreas muttered a disapproving statement under his breath. He couldn’t believe a part of him was trying to… identify with this demon. Maybe Eva was right, and he’d talked to this demon too much already. He must be the only man on Earth holding a shred of amnesty towards a literal spawn of Hell, yet here he was, trying to decide whether he felt bad for Sharrya or not.

His thoughts were interrupted by a message from Eva, the AI’s tone coming off as excited.

“All right, Seargent, good news. That team Commander Valeria sent is just down the street, at the bottom of the ramp. They’re set up and have scopes on us right now.”

“Good. What’s the plan?” he replied, keeping his voice low. There was no point, the helmet could filter him out from the world at the press of a button, but the habit to whisper stuck.

“I’m thinking once we get close, you distract the Baroness, just in case she thinks something’s up. They’ve set up landmines down there, so when the explosions start, get your butt out into the alleys. It’s going to get loud and very messy.”

“Distract? Okay, I can do that.”

Over the tops of horned heads, Andreas could see the highway was angling slightly down, blooming into an extra lane on either side as it met with the street-level. The ambush was only a few minutes away.

Andreas turned his attention to his demonic escort, but not before he caught a glint of light, flashing off one of the nearby rooftops. Andreas knew a sniper scope when he saw one. He didn’t think Valeria’s people were idiots, but that sniper had picked a pretty careless spot.

He had to make sure Sharrya didn’t look up. Fortunately, he had a plan for that.

Steeling himself, Andreas quickened his pace, giving the Baroness a wide berth as he entered her vision, making sure she saw him coming. She met his eyes briefly before looking back between her hoofs, a troubled look on her face. His comment must have done more than stung, his guilt rising an octave.

“Oi, Sharrya, hold on a sec.”

“Prisoners do not dictate Hell’s pace,” the Baroness grumbled, Andreas taking his spot by her side. He could literally feel her anger coming off her skin, like she were a walking radiator.

“Look, what I said just then, that was out of line, and I want to apologise, clear the air between us. What do you say?”

“I’d say… that’s it?” Sharrya replied. “You must really be dense if you think that counts as clearing the air.”

“Look, I know I can be an asshole sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Okay, all the time, but what happened just then was low, even for me. I know kids can be pretty cruel when they want to be,” he added, Sharrya returning her eyes to the ground. “I know because, my brother used to get picked on a lot when he was little. Every time he came home crying was… it was tough.”

“And did you taunt him to make him feel better?”

“No, I got him snacks. Real unhealthy snacks, like this.”

He reached into his pack, and fished out one of his MRE’s, producing one of the packets inside. He unwrapped the desert packet, and held its contents up to her.

“What is… that?” she asked, quirking a brow.

“Choc-chip cookies,” he explained. “Go on, try one.”

“You think you can offer me, a Baroness of Hell, discretionary processed sweets as a form of apology?”

“I guarantee you’ve never had one of these before.”

“I’ve never had a prisoner bargain with sugar and fat before, either. But I’ll indulge you.”

She plucked the cookies from his hand, and stuffed them between her tusks. As she chewed, he expression lifted just a fraction, and after a thoughtful pause she swallowed. “Is that all you did to comfort your brother?”

“I also told him that his bullies were cowards. And they were jealous of him because he was the bigger man. And Sharrya, you are the bigger man. Uh, _wo_man,” he corrected. “While they were always gossiping about your shortcoming as a kid, you plunged straight into the Peaks horns-first, made a name for yourself. They probably called you all sorts of things, but you’re the biggest, baddest bitch I know.”

“Really?” she asked. “You mean that?”

“Sure! If those Baron’s could see how much you’ve bounced back from when you burned your hand, they wouldn’t be laughing anymore. Trust me, I know firsthand how much your fireballs hurt nowadays.”

That got a chuckle out of the demoness, her large hand swinging down to clap him on the back.

“You have a strange, roundabout way of apologising. It’s strangely sweet, like this treat.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re a giant cunt deep down.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less. Now hand over the rest of your snacks, and I may just consider forgiving you.”

He had her try a jelly donut next, the demon having this look of horror on her face once she discovered the pocket of strawberry. She made to spit it out, but after a quick explanation, she discovered she quite enjoyed the taste. Who would have thought demons could have a sweet tooth.

“I wish to apologise as well,” she said, licking her claws clean of any pastry residue. Her tongue must have been as long as his arm, the muscle the same shade of red as her skin. “The dead do not deserve criticism from the living, and it’s unwise to draw their ire by any means.”

“You don’t come off as a spiritual sort,” Andreas noted.

“I’m not. On one of the worlds I invaded, every creature living there had the ability to resurrect. I do not know if it was something in the air or the planet itself was responsible, but unless we destroyed their limbs or heads, they would just get right up again. Since then I’ve always been leery of unlife.”

“Wow that’s… fucking horrifying.”

“I told you I’d seen some horrors in my time.”

“Well, nightmare realms aside, I think we both said some bad shit ack there. I’m willing to forget if you are.”

He extended his hand, moving in front of Sharrya so she had to stop. They were only a dozen odd meters from the bottom of the ramp, Andreas hoping he wasn’t about to get caught in the blast of a landmine.

“What are you doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Did she suspect something was amiss? No, she was directing her attention to his outstretched hand.

“It’s called a handshake. Pretty self-explanatory. It’s what we humans do when two parties come to an agreement.”

After considering him, she took his smaller hand in her massive one, Andreas summoning all his strength to pump her arm. Her hand was as hot as a stove top, just barely tolerable as the tips of her claws brushed his forearm. Her hand was big enough to encompass his whole head and pop it like a grape, yet she held his arm with a gentleness that surprised him.

Noting that he was staring, he broke the silence with a question. “So, bygones?”

“Bygones,” she agreed, a silent pause passing through as he looked up at her, the demon blinking her eyes once. Whether this was all an act to get her distracted, or an actual attempt to apologise for being an ass, even Andreas didn’t know. But Sharrya bought it either way.

“Enough!”

Andreas and Sharrya turned as one towards the speaker, their joined hands slowly falling away to their sides. Andreas expected some crazed marine to be responsible for the interruption, but the reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

An imp had severed from the circling pack of demons, pointing a defiant claw up at the Baroness. If snakes could talk, Andreas imagined their accents would be a lot like his, the imp gnashing his teeth before he spoke.

“Gah! Enough coddling the mortal, let’s eat him!”

“There will be no eating you imbecile,” Sharrya sighed, her green eyes rolling. “I want this mortal alive, remember?”

“Nnnn… what is point?” the imp snarled, flecks of spit flying as it turned its attention to Andreas. “Alive, dead, man-flesh still the same taste.”

“The point is that I said so,” Sharrya replied, surprising Andreas by taking a protective step in front of him. “When I want something dead, it dies, when I want something alive, it breathes. I don’t expect your feeble mind to understand such complicated logistics, but remember who it is you are addressing, minion.”

“The Maykyrs never talked of capturing mortals,” the demon replied through clicks of its fangs. “Only consummation.”

“The Maykyrs hold no control over you. I do,” Sharrya snarled, sweeping her gaze at the rest of the imps. They had all stopped, Andreas experiencing a sense of déjà vu as they ogled him. At least this time he had someone to share the attention.

“As far as any of you are concerned, when you patrol my theatre, consume my souls, then I am your sole sovereign,” Sharrya added. “You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. Now march, or suffer the consequences.”

“Suffer, like he does?” the imp asked, his beady eyes tracking Andreas. “You pamper him. You talk with him, laugh at him, eat his things and touch his hands! You’ve brought more harm to us than you have to him!”

“Uh, crazy horns?” Andreas asked, looking behind him. “I think you’re losing the crowd.”

Some of the imps were hollering their agreement, some were daring to walk closer, but Sharrya’s burning gaze was like an invisible spotlight, brushing the encroaching imps back where ever she looked.

“You let him walk over us,” the imp continued. “You let him kill us, and now you let it live? You’ve become weak in the face of one mortal!”

“And you’ve become delusional in the face of your own stupidity,” Sharrya snapped back. “I warn you now, all of you,” she added, her attention flicking to her rear. “Obey me now and I will forget this transgression. Mutiny against me will be your last mistake.”

“If one mortal could best you, why not us?” the imp remarked, taking a pointed step forward. “Always wondered what taste Baron flesh has…”

“You’ll die never knowing, cretin.”

“Can’t you control your own damned men?” Andreas demanded, backing up towards her right leg, her presence the one comfort against the gathering demons. Andreas loved irony. “Give me my weapons.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Andreas, I passed your guns off to one of them.”

Cursing, Andreas snacked between the feet of the imps, spotting a glint of white metal after a few moments. His weapons were discarded on the hood of a car, right in the midst of the imps.

“There!” he said. “I’m going to go for them, cover me.”

“Who am I, you’re bootlick? Cover yourself, Andreas, I have my own problems.”

He made to retort, but he was interrupted by the talkative imp voicing a cry, leaping onto a car and throwing himself into the air. His long claws were held out wide, throwing them over his head in preparation for a swing.

His arc would have brought him right down on Andreas’ head, but Sharrya plucked him out of the air, wrapping her claws around his throat. She positioned the choking imp over her shoulder, posing like a shot-putter. She cast him off like he weighed no more than a toy, the imp sailing clean over the pack to land somewhere out of view.

The rest of the demons were undeterred, two more imps marching forward with claws raised. Sharrya made to deck one across the chin, but he ducked below the blow, his counterpart moving in to her blindspot.

As he raised his claws to strike, Andreas stepped in, grabbing the imp’s shoulders and delivering a swift headbutt. The dazed imp stumbled back, Andreas swiping the legs out from beneath him, the imp crashing to the floor. A hard kick to the head, and the demon stopped moving.

He turned to see Sharrya finishing off the first demon, tossing him away just like she had with the other. She shot him a strange look as she noticed the unconscious imp nearby, her expression morphing into surprise as her eyes flicked up.

“Behind you!”

Andreas turned, but too late, a purple and red demon slamming into his front. His back compressed against the pavement as the imp put all its weight on him, pinning one of his arms beneath the heel of its foot.

He swiped out with his free hand, but the imp blocked with its forearm, his claws curling over his armoured wrist. Andreas growled as the imp applied pressure, giving his limb a painful wrench to the side. Spittle hit his visor in droplets as the imp voiced something between a snarl and a cackle, stabbing a claw straight through his shoulder pad.

Andreas felt warm blood dribble down his arm, trying to wrestle free of the demon, but his arms were pinned tight. He tried raising his legs to kick it off, but his knees flailed uselessly against its back, another slice across his chest dragging Andreas into a daze.

Without leverage, struggling was useless, the imp was just too heavy. As he began to despair, a pink hand entered from the top of his vision, seizing the imp by the collar.

The imp lifted away, Sharrya pressing her snout up against its beady face. She brought up her knee, connecting her furred leg to its nose. There was a crunch, and the imp relaxed in her grip, Sharrya tossing him aside as she smirked at Andreas.

“Looks like you owe me your life,” Sharrya mused, taking him by the shoulder. “Up.”

He staggered to his feet, brushing her hand away as he turned towards the rest of the demons. “I was handling that.”

“Oh yes, you were a real beacon of defiance from where I was standing.”

More imps were clustering around her flank, the Baroness turning to meet them. Like a pet owner plucking a disobedient cat, she grabbed two of the oncoming imps, her giant muscles bulging as she thrashed their heads together.

Andreas picked up a loose piece of detritus and chucked it at the third, the demon crumpling as the stone cracked its skull. Sharrya began to circle on the spot, her horns cutting through the air as she watched her angles.

“Woah, nice pitch,” Sharrya commented. “Since you can’t handle yourself without a weapon of some kind, here, catch.”

Her hook flicked, and the bumper of a car flew in his direction, Andreas snagging it with both hands. He stepped in behind the demoness, countering her circling as he wielded the piece of metal like a club.

“Can’t believe I’m fighting with a deranged demon all of a sudden,” Andreas mumbled.

“Don’t you admire the change of pace?” Sharrya quipped. “The spice of life is variety, after all.”

“Fuck you and your spice. Just burn a hole through these guys before they burn us.”

“No.”

“What? No? Why the Hell not?”

“These are my servants,” she answered, pausing to drive her hoof into an incoming imp, the demon trailing away like a swatted insect. “I will not kill those who have sworn to me.”

“Look dickhead, I don’t know if you noticed, but they’re not taking orders from you anymore.”

“And they are justified in doing so,” Sharrya said. “If I was unsatisfied with my leader, I would rebel too. Regardless, they have served me faithfully up to now, they do not deserve death as punishment.”

“Oh, so now you’re all about morals and mercy?” Andreas complained. “If only you were this compassionate before you invaded my planet.”

Andreas held his combat ready stance, squaring off against two more imps scrambling towards him, cupping flames between their claws. The closest of the two moved into range of his improvised weapon, and as he prepared to swing, a harsh crack tore through the air.

The imp’s face from the nose up vanished, the demon stumbling two paces before the body gave out. Its accomplish froze in surprise, and then its head met the same fate as the first, a second crashing report following it through. Nearly all demonic heads turned in search of the source of the disturbance, even Sharrya’s left brow experienced a twitch as she pondered on the two fresh imp corpses.

“Humans,” she whispered. Her gaze fell on Andreas, but he was no longer at her rear, the Seargent sprinting towards the wall of imps at full-kilter.

More cracking reports sounded off from somewhere not far off, and another imp succumbed to a lethal headshot. Some of the imps sort cover, one slipping behind a car door warbling out a cry as a giant hole appeared in its chest. A third imp had its arm blown off at the shoulder, a fifth and sixth following suit.

They were being picked off one at a time, the confidence of the numerous imps shattering as more of them dropped, and their attention turned to the buildings lining the highway. One of the demons didn’t even bat an eye as Andreas brushed by his flank, skidding to a stop next to his discarded weapons.

As he pulled the slings overt his chest, a voice crackled into his helmet, and it wasn’t Eva’s.

“Seargent? Seargent, this is Corporal Torres. Command said you could use some assistance, and something tells me that’s an understatement. You alive down there?”

“Just a-fucking-bout,” Andreas replied. An imp finally took note of what he was doing, but a plasma bolt from his rifle put down any retaliation.

“Get down off that highway, we’ll cover you,” Torres continued. “We’re holed up at the motel - blue building on your left. Meet us there.”

With the sniper fire, and Sharrya still dealing with her own half of the imps, Andreas took his chance, hugging the highway barrier and circumventing the chaos. A couple of the outlying demons tried to intercept him, but precision shots from his new guardian angels ensured his clean breakaway.

The building the Corporal had indicated was a residential building, reduced to a couple floors of loose detritus. The rubble provided plenty of concealment for the snipers on the upper floors, Andreas picking out a few gun muzzles poking through gaps in the bricks.

A short flight of steps up and through a glass archway, and he was inside the safety of the structure, the sounds of the gunfight dimming slightly. Andreas dropped to a crouch as he heard movement from the stairwell in the far corner of the lobby, hesitating as he watched a pair of boots enter his view.

A moment later, a soldier dressed in combat armour was training a scoped rifle on him, Andreas lifting his plasma rifle on reflex. The two humans lowered their guns after a second, the solider lifting his visor with one hand and waving him over with the other.

“Seargent Andreas? When they told me you were stranded out here, I didn’t expect to see you in one piece.” He offered his hand. “You must have balls the size of Mars.”

“And you must be Corporal Torres,” Andreas replied, the man nodding as they shook hands. “It’s good to see someone without horns and claws for a change.”

“Nice going with that distraction by the way,” Torres remarked, clutching his rifle to his chest. “All I asked your robot for was a scene, and you caused a full-blown riot. From what I saw they seemed more concerned with that Baron than you, Sarge. How’d you pull that off?”

“Long story,” Andreas replied. “Let’s just get out of here before they realise I gave them the slip.”

“Good point. Get down here everyone, we’re leaving,” Torres said into his helmet’s radio. A moment later, and a squad of four other soldiers rushed down the stairs, joining them in the lobby. They were all dressed in similar battle attire, with the Spanish flag sewn into patches on their shoulders. There was an exit archway at the far side of the room, Torres turning to Andreas as they moved towards it. “You coming, Sarge?”

Andreas hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. A couple dozen meters out and to the right, he could see Sharrya had her hands full with the imps. The lesser demons had entirely forgotten about him and the snipers covering him, the remainer of the pack circling her like wolves. Her expression was furious, but there was restraint in her movements, every kick and punch held back just a fraction, and she never once conjured up fire in her hands. She really did mean to show her former men mercy.

One of the imps managed to circle around her, and leap onto her shoulders without her notice. He locked his elongated legs above her copious bosom, slicing into her scalp from behind. Sharrya roared, reaching up to pluck him off, but the imp was slippery, holding onto her shoulders tight as she tried to throw him off. The rest of the imps never let up, hacking at her furry legs, her rich blood shooting into the air like erupting geysers. She might not want to kill them, but for the imps, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Indecision wracked him. Sharrya was a commander of Hell, the literal definition of his enemy, yet a part of him didn’t want to see her die. She’d shown restraint in capturing him, shielding him from the scrutiny of her minions. Sure, her endgame might have been using his soul for whatever rituals Hell had in store for humans, but the fact she’d saved him from that imp not a few minutes ago put doubt on her malice. She wasn’t cruel to him, so why should he be cruel to her?

“Fuck it,” Andreas mumbled. Then louder he said: “Corporal, your rifle. Now.”

Torres’ only argument was a solitary blink, the man shouldering the sling and tossing it over. Whether he was respecting his rank or could tell Andreas wasn’t someone he wanted to question, that was anyone’s guess, but Andreas liked his attitude. This Corporal got things done.

Andreas braced the rifle against his shoulder, peering through the scope. The weapon was bolt action, a little less modern than what Andreas was used to, but its pinpoint accuracy was exactly what he needed. The magnified view brought him right up to Sharrya’s upper torso, her demonic features pulled up in a snarl as the imp on her back continued to harass her. How someone could take that many slices to their cranium and live was astounding, but Andreas was used to her resilience by this point.

He waited for his moment, and when Sharrya turned her back on him, he fired, the stock kicking into his shoulder with force. The solitary bullet passed straight through the imp’s skull, the demon flipping off the Baron’s back, and curling up like a dead spider by her hooves.

The Baroness looked from the corpse, then to him, their eyes locking over the distance. The corner of her lips curled, and she dipped her head in a silent, if mocking, gesture of thanks, Andreas replying by rolling his eyes.

With the dwindling number of imps, Sharrya took back the initiative, but Andreas didn’t wait around to see the results. He had five other men to worry about now, he couldn’t let his mixed perception of Sharrya get in the way of their safety.

“Now we can go,” Andreas said, handing Torres his rifle back as he brushed passed, the rest of the team waiting by the exit. “You have my thanks, all of you,” he added. “I didn’t think I was going to get out of that shitshow alive.”

“We’re not out of it just yet,” Torres said. “Still have to get back to the Rallypoint. On me, squad, let’s get the Seargent and his cargo out of here.”