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Dark Lord Substitute

Chapter 24

by Draconicon

"Mmmph...ah...oh...oh, yes..."

The fox's moans were as background as the hum of the ship, and something that Bertram had long-since grown used to. The pleasure of the fox's ass around his cock, however, was still fresh enough that he had to fight himself to stay focused on the reports in hand.

"Oh, mmmph...I keep forgetting...how good it feels...since you conditioned me for this, Master," Lazir moaned.

"Yes, I'm sure," the ram muttered.

"Mmmph...I'm going to...going to..."

"Go ahead."

As the fox moaned, that hole squeezing just tight enough around his cock to make him tense up, Bertram couldn't help but smile slightly. Despite the fact that they had other things that were very much in the life-or-death category at the moment, there was something pleasing about the way that Lazir was so very aroused by the fact that he was impaling himself on the ram's cock over and over again. The ease with which he pleasured himself on the dick of the Dark Lord of the Void straddled the line between humorous and arousing, even now, and he shook his head.

It didn't take long before his ambassador was right back to riding his cock, plump orange rump slamming down over and over again. He knew that it wouldn't take long before the fox was right back on edge again, and truth be told, after six times of feeling his slave cumming on his dick, he was close, too. He turned his attention back to the reports, wanting to finish them before they reached the end of their session and before they were due to arrive at the next battlefield.

Eight days had passed, and they'd been working on a strict schedule to keep moving through the Starry Sea. They were still too far out to strike Bareef, and the constant fighting retreat of the enemy forces had them on the back foot. They were slowly losing men, and they still didn't have a reliable way to strike back with the Indoctrination tech.

Whatever they're using, it's - mmph - effective.

Bertram stifled a grunt as he scrolled down to the latest reports from Tarkad. The badger admiral's science teams were working around the clock on the captured ship that they'd managed to bring back, but there were no discoveries just yet as to what kept them from being Indoctrinated of late.

The annoying fact was that the Indoctrination had worked, once. Then, it stopped, and it hadn't since. Whatever had stopped it wasn't a brand-new technology, but something that they were doing wrong. If they couldn't get around that -

"Ah...mmmph!"

Lazir was picking up the pace, ramming his ass back faster and faster, the orange-furred cheeks blurring as he rammed down. Bertram broke his own silence to bite off a moan, huffing as he laid his head back.

Up, down, up, down, that barely-tight hole slid along his shaft and milked it with everything the fox had. When he looked down, he could just make out his dick sticking out between those soft cheeks, and every so often, he was sure that it was going to pop out from how high and fast Lazir rode it. The fox was too much a professional slut, however, and kept to the perfect pace, riding and slamming and grinding until -

"MMMPH!"

The ambassador finished first, arching his back and cumming hard, but the spasms going through his core and around the ram's cock were more than enough to drag him past the point of no return, as well. Bertram groaned, allowing himself the release and the pleasure that came from it. It worked all too well as a distraction from the constant tension that the war had become, and reminded him of the sheer wonder of having his slaves.

Not that he thought of all the people on his side as slaves, though he could have. The Dark Lord of the Void was the head of the hierarchy on his side of the war, and that meant that the slave society that he was building was all loyal to him. Or, at least, they were supposed to be. Regardless, he thought of only his close circle - and of those, those that bedded him - as his personal slaves. Mark had been twisted in a number of ways, and Lazir as well, both turned to be more...attuned to his kinks, for lack of a better word. Lazir's utter eagerness for the ram's cock in his ass was entirely due to that particular layer of conditioning.

It had ended up being slightly more comical than arousing, but it was sexy enough. He groaned as the evidence of that slowly oozed out of the other man's ass, dribbling down his cock and over his balls. Lazir chuckled.

"One more coating for my insides, Master."

"Yes. Apparently."

"Something keeping you grouchy, oh Master?"

"This war. Obviously."

"Perhaps you need more of a distraction."

"Perhaps I need an answer from the scientists before we lose."

"...It will work out, Master," the fox said, slowly turning without removing himself from his perch. "One way or another, you'll figure it out."

That was what everyone believed, and that was part of what made it harder. They'd summoned him as a Dark Lord, and now, he had to find a way to make it work, whether he believed he could or not.

The bedroom dinged, and Data's voice followed.

"The ship is about to arrive over Oseen."

"Great. Off, Lazir."

The popping sound of the fox sliding off his dick sent a little shiver up his spine, but he managed to keep from reacting. Standing up, he felt the pieces of his armor assemble from the modular material of the bedroom, only briefly regretting not cleaning his cock before it was tucked away in the armored suit. It squelched for a moment before it seemed to dry on its own, leaving him able to focus on the matter at hand.

"Shall we?" Lazir said.

" You're the diplomat. I am the commander. Find a communications channel and see if there's anyone worth talking to," he said as the helmet once more interfered with his normal tones.

"Heh, as you wish, Master."

" And keep to text if it's an enemy."

"Of course."

Bertram took the elevator down to the bridge, stepping out to the immediate salutes of most of the officers. The countdown over the main viewport was down to ten seconds, and he braced himself in the center of the room as it counted down.

When it hit one, the Indomitable screeched to a halt, and the rest of his ragged fleet came in around him. They formed the usual defensive formations around the flagship, taking up a rotating sphere formation. They were damaged, though, and several showed signs of minor malfunctions in their running lights. He just hoped that the enemy fleet couldn't make out just how much damage his fleet had taken.

By contrast, the enemy fleet around Oseen - another majority-ocean planet - was clean and focused. They were mostly clustered around the equator with smaller fleet sections hovering over the major archipelagos on the planet, but it seemed that most of the action was involved in taking apart the gun platforms around the planet. As far as he could tell, they were taking the guns and slapping them on their own ships while also denying him the chance to be able to take the gun platforms and turn them toward the planet when and if he won.

It was a smart decision, and it annoyed him that this enemy was so much more intelligent than the last one. He gritted his teeth as he tapped his foot on the bridge.

"Orders, Dark Lord?" one of his officers asked.

" ..."

"Sir?"

" A moment."

There were not many options. He could order an all-out attack, pushing the fleet around the planet from Oseen and driving the assault further and further towards the core worlds and Bareef. It was the simplest option and required the least from him, but it would also require sending his ships right into a line of fire. There would be more casualties, and there would be nothing to replace them. Again.

Other than that, there weren't many options. If he had more ships left, or more time, he would have considered sending some around the planet, getting a better scan of the planetary defenses before moving in. Perhaps he could have swept in and isolated chunks of the planetary defense fleet, or used the weapons on the bigger ships to threaten the planetary population, drawing the defense fleets into more advantageous positions.

All of those could have been possible, but he didn't have the time or the numbers. They had to press on, and fast. The only real advantage they had was their forward momentum, forcing the enemy back as fast as they could. If they could strike hard enough, fast enough, they could probably keep their casualties to a minimum.

I should have studied military tactics instead of story narratives, Bertram thought. That would have made this so much easier...

" Open a channel to all ships."

Several beeps later, he had holograms of his officers in front of him. It struck him that he didn't know most of them, not even by face, and wondered how many had lost their commanders in this campaign, how many had been promoted from a lower rank to fill the captain's chair. He put the thought out of his head. Now was not the time.

" Captains. Our best chance is to strike hard and fast. The sooner we dislodge them from any surviving gun platforms, the better. Tormentor and Gnasher, take your ships and half the fighters to the northern polar regions and begin -"

The comms crackled as a new figure stepped in. This one was an orca, dressed from toe to shoulders in black, skin-tight clothing. An unknown rank insignia dotted his shoulder, and he smiled.

"Pardon me. I appear to be late to this call, forces of darkness. I am Wuroom, and I will be your opponent today."

Bertram had just enough time to realize how fucked they were before it happened. He stiffened up and he felt a sneer pulling his lips back. His body language shifted as he leaned forward, stepping up to the hologram of the orca. Yet, at the same time, it wasn't the same generic overlord posture that he'd been forced to adopt by the script before. This one was something different, something more...sweeping. If he'd been back in his own world, he would have called it a priest's walk, or something like that, with long steps, sweeping motions, and the knowledge that you were leading little more than a cult.

" You dare stand in the way of the Void fleet?" Bertram all but growled. Growled. That wasn't what the Dark Lord was supposed to do.

But even as he thought that, he had a feeling that that wasn't what he was any longer. He was...he was someone different. Not merely a leader, but -

"I stand between your dark forces and the light of truth and justice. We will hold you for as long as we can, Dark Lord. Your foul horde will gain nothing here."

" We shall see. My followers shall die for the cause. Will yours do the same?"

He didn't want them to die. What -

"We will do what is necessary. You will claim nothing here."

" Again, we shall see. Fighters, attack."

That was the last thing that he wanted, but the order was obeyed even as the words were snatched from his mouth. He wanted, more than anything, to call the order back, but he was as helpless to the script as the other side was.

He stared as the ships blasted through space, arcing through the distance between them and Oseen. The chatter of the pilots started loud, but the defenses ripped through them, leaving only a handful to make strafing raids across the nearest gun platform. They ripped it apart in turn, but they were gone.

" Second wave."

Wuroom called out orders on his side, as well. Orders that were just as dumb, to hold the line, to be brave, to stand against the forces of darkness. They were turtling when they were supposed to be running, and it was ripping both sides apart.

" Third wave."

Bertram wanted to scream as the words left his lips. They had lost so many already, most of their fighter-craft getting ripped to shreds. The third wave was half-cruiser, half-fighter, now, and they had a bare few squadrons left if they were not successful. He stared through the holograms at the war going on, hating the universe for putting him into this situation.

Five waves died, and the sixth survived. Bertram sat on the edge of his bed, slowly punching himself in the head with both fists. No slave dared stop him; nobody else had the confidence to tell him that it was not a good idea to hurt himself.

"How many died?" he muttered.

Neither Mark, nor Lazir, nor Data, nor any of the others answered him. It took Zelda to give him the figures.

"Thousands. We lost three thousand men today."

"Thousands."

"Yeah. Thanks to that bullshit."

"It wasn't me. It was the script," he muttered, only to slap himself again. "Fuck. It was. It was me. That was - fuck that was stupid. Why did I do that? Why the fuck did I do that?"

Again, nobody answered him, not that he expected them to. There was no real answer for why he did anything here. The script had made him behave that way, but he'd been the one to open himself up to the chance for it to affect them. So much for trying to do things the smart way.

At least now he knew what the script was turning him into. No more generic dark lord, but rather, a cult leader, someone that saw each and every one of their followers as something equally disposable. Judging from the sounds that he'd heard over the communicators during the attack, they'd turned his people just as fanatical, continuing to paint him and the others on the side of the Void as the villains.

More and more, he realized that the script had been written for his side to have the greatest disadvantage possible. The more that they were forced to act like villains, the more that he and his could be pointed at in fear. It didn't matter how they acted after they won; so long as they were fearsome before that, it would look good for the cameras, and allow the Allied Systems to keep being what they were. Hierarchical, oppressive, and horrible to anyone not at the top: that was the way that they worked, but hey, they weren't slave-owners, or madmen that followed a worse madman.

Bertram shook his head.

"Do we have anything left?"

"The Indomitable, two cruisers, maybe fifteen fighters, couple of destroyers." Zelda shook her head. "Whatever Tarkad's converted to research vessels, maybe."

That wasn't enough. That wasn't anywhere near enough to crack Bareef, not after all the fighting retreats had shoved all the enemy ships back to their home world, and definitely not after he had made such a large mistake here. So many people lost. So many ships broken. Too many.

And it could happen again. All it would take was one goddamn mistake, one little communication that the enemy could tap, and he'd be right back to sending waves in and letting them die.

"...Options," he muttered.

"You're asking us?" Zelda asked.

"I'm stating what we need. Right now, retreat is impossible; they'll cut us down the minute they realize that we're running away. Even if we got back to our safe systems, their alliance will overrun us in a few months."

"...You want an impossible solution," Mark said.

"I want any solution." Bertram looked up at his slaves. "I want us to live."

"...You want to keep fighting," Zelda whispered.

"Yes."

"Even after that."

"...It's the only way," he said, holding one hand to his head. "I...I can't make that mistake again, but I can't stop. Not if I want to stay alive. Not if I want to keep the rest of you alive, either."

He sighed, leaning into his hands. There had to be a solution. There had to be. Otherwise, that would have been a completely unfair script. It was already slanted, but if it had been agreed upon in the past, that meant that there had to be something in it that made it winnable. Of course, that would be so much easier if he at least had access to the goddamn Indoctrination technology again, but -

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

"Who's calling, Data?" Bertram muttered.

"Admiral Tarkad, sir."

"Patch him through."

Of all his subordinates, the one that was most likely to call him out on a mistake - fairly, at least - was the admiral. He braced himself as he stood up, folding his hands behind him as the wall shifted itself to a transmission screen.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"We may have a chance."

"...Admiral?"

"We've cracked their resistance."

Everyone sucked in a breath, Bertram included. He had all but given up hope that the admiral would ever be able to pull something out of that wreckage, particularly after what had happened in this battle, but if ever they needed good news, it was now.

He looked to his left, a thought making the wall shift in shape to form a viewing portal. All around Oseen, the wreckage of too many ships rotated. They formed temporary chunks of rings that spun around the planet faster than the ships could have flown. He imagined that they'd last for a few years before burning up, or falling down to the oceans below.

It was a horrible, macabre sight, and it was all his fault. He couldn't let it happen again.

"How does it work?" he asked.

"Annoyingly enough, it's startlingly simple. The rounded fronts of their ships bounce communications signals off. They have to have a workaround to bounce their fleet communications backward rather than forward, since their ships are built to resist incoming transmissions from the front. Their natural echolocation traits as a species must have translated to this, back when they were still trying to keep hidden.

"Unfortunately, it also blocks most of our Indoctrination transmission, but only from the front. If we were able to get the Indomitable, or any of our other ships with a strong enough transmitter behind them -"

"We'd be able to affect them."

Tarkad was right. That was insanely dumb. And it felt so goddamn stupid that they had missed something that simple.

That said, they at least had something of a handle on it now. They could do something about it. And just in time.

"Orders, Dark Lord?" the admiral asked.

"...Even now?"

"You are the master of the void, sir. You have a chance at strategy here. How will we proceed?"

"..."

He had made a mistake. If he could avoid making another - if he could get them into a good position - then they had a chance. All they had to do was not screw up.

That shouldn't be too hard, right?

"All ships to Bareef. Let's catch them on the back foot."

After all, Wuroom had fled with mostly damaged ships, probably without most of them able to go at more than half-speed. If they set off now, with their remaining ships and the Indomitable, they MIGHT be able to arrive at Bareef with a few hours lead. It was a scant hope, but it was better than none. And considering they only had ten days left, they needed every lead they could get.

The End

Summary: Another day, another bit of sex, another battle. But things aren't going so well for Bertram, still.

Tags: M/M, Fox, Ram, Various Species, Orca, Hyena, Dark Lord Substitute, Anal, Orgasm, Cum, Conditioning, Slavery, Fighting, Sci-Fi,