Chapter 12: Alaric and the Harem
Alaric emerged from the steam of the thermal springs feeling raw, every nerve exposed. The confession to himself in the water clung to him like a second skin, thin and shameful. He needed distraction, movement, the crisp chill of the mountain’s upper halls.
He found them in the strategy room, though no strategy was being discussed. The four of them were clustered around a set of tv screens. The image within was not of troop movements or sieges. It was live-fed carnage.
Kragor was in a city Alaric didn’t recognize—white spires now stained with smoke and terror. The feed had no sound, but the silence made the destruction more profound. The colossal orc wasn’t just fighting; he was methodically dismantling the place.
“Watch this,” Cassian breathed, his voice husky. He was leaning forward, elbows on the table.
On the orb, Kragor walked down a wide boulevard. Soldiers in glittering armor formed a shield wall. He didn’t break stride. He simply raised one tree-trunk leg and brought his foot down. The camera stone, mounted on a distant roof, vibrated. The shield wall vanished, replaced by a shallow crater of pulverized stone, metal, and meat. He lifted his foot, and the underside was plastered with a red paste.
“Fuck,” whispered Adrian, the delicate one. He had a hand down the front of his own trousers.
Kragor moved on. He drove his fist through the front of a temple, grabbed the stone façade, and peeled it away like rind from a fruit. He threw the massive slab into a squadron of cavalry, turning horse and rider into a burst of crimson mist. He then turned and pressed his groin against the main support column of a bell tower. With a slow, grinding thrust of his hips, he rocked into it. Stonework cracked. Dust rained. On the third thrust, the entire tower groaned and collapsed sideways onto a marketplace, burying hundreds.
“He’s… he’s fucking the city apart,” Eamon said, his tone one of reverent horror.
Aurelian, the scholar, nodded, his eyes never leaving the orb. “The psychological warfare is masterful. It’s not efficient killing. It’s a demonstration of absolute, intimate dominance. He’s making love to the ruin.”
Alaric stood in the doorway, frozen. He should command them to stop, to find useful work. The words died in his throat.
The view shifted, following Kragor as he broke into a loping run toward the city’s eastern quarter. He arrived at a massive, bowl-shaped structure—a stadium, packed with thousands of civilians who had thought it a refuge. They swarmed like ants. Kragor stomped around the perimeter, his hands demolishing the access tunnels and exits with casual, sweeping blows. In moments, he had sealed the bowl, trapping the entire screaming crowd inside.
Then he stopped. He stood at the edge of the bowl, looking down at the sea of frantic humanity. He leaned over, his shadow falling across half the stands. And then he did not use his hands.
He opened his jaws, wider than seemed possible, and began to feed.
He lowered his head and sucked in a great, roaring breath. People were lifted from their seats, screaming silently in the scrying orb, and drawn in a torrent into that waiting maw. He didn’t chew. He swallowed them by the score, his throat working in massive, undulating gulps. He fed like a man at a spring, drinking deep. The stadium slowly emptied, section by section, a living tide draining into his stomach. He paused once, a human leg dangling from his lips before he sucked it down, and rubbed his distended belly with a look of profound, primal satisfaction.
In the strategy room, the air was thick with panting.
Cassian had unbuttoned his brother’s trousers and had pushed Aurelian back against the table. He was on his knees, his face buried between Aurelian’s thighs, eating him out with loud, sloppy urgency. Aurelian’s head was thrown back, one hand tangled in Cassian’s hair, the other fumbling at his own fly. “Yes, you fucking animal, just like that,” Aurelian gasped, his scholarly composure shattered.
Adrian had already pulled Eamon’s thick cock out. He knelt between Eamon’s spread legs, swallowing him down to the root in one go, gagging before he established a frantic rhythm. Eamon watched the orb, his hands on Adrian’s head, guiding him deeper. “Look at him,” Eamon groaned. “Look at our god. He’s so fucking full.”
Alaric’s own breath caught. The transformation was absolute. These men—a knight, a strategist, a noble, a scholar—had been reduced to this in days. Needy, writhing things, getting each other off to the spectacle of apocalyptic consumption. Their desire wasn’t for victory. It was for proximity to that power. To be chosen by it. To be of it.
His eyes drifted back to the orb. Kragor had finished at the stadium, his belly a taut, swollen mound. He turned and spied a tall, slender watchtower.
He turned and spied a tall, slender watchtower. He grinned, a slash of teeth in the carnage, and ambled toward it. With a deliberate, grinding motion, he pressed his massive, leather-clad groin against the stone spire and began to hump it.
The tower shuddered. Stone cracked and powdered with each thrust. He worked his hips, a slow, devastating rhythm, and the structure began to buckle inward. “That’s it,” Cassian moaned against his brother’s skin, his tongue lapping furiously. “Take it all, you fucking giant.” On the screen, the watchtower exploded into a cloud of dust and debris under Kragor’s relentless thrusting.
He stepped back from the ruin, surveying the absolute devastation he had wrought. The city was gone, a flat, smoking smear under the tread of his boots and the weight of his body. Then he paused, a low, rumbling sound building in his chest. It was laughter. He spread his arms wide, threw his head back, and began to grow.
The scrying orb struggled to contain him. His form swelled, bursting past the frame, a mountain of muscle and fury expanding into the sky. He grew thousands of feet tall in moments, his head vanishing into the low clouds. The battlefield became a child’s playset beneath him. He looked down at the sprawling country, a patchwork of forests, towns, and roads now smaller than his palm.
He let his leather loincloth fall away. His cock, already monstrous, swelled to a terrifying scale. It was a pillar of veined flesh, thicker than ancient oak trunks, curving up from a forest of coarse pubic hair. His balls, each one a hillock of tight skin, hung heavily between his thighs. He reached down and gave his shaft a few slow, firm tugs, a grin splitting his face.
“Time for the real fucking,” his voice boomed across the continents, a seismic event in itself.
He adjusted his stance, his shadow blotting out an entire province. Then he dropped his hips. The head of his cock, a blunt, fleshy mesa, plowed into the heartland. It didn’t penetrate; it erased. A city vanished in an instant, crushed into the earth, the screams a faint, tinny chorus he could hear clearly and savor. He groaned, a sound of deep pleasure that rolled like thunder.
He began to thrust. Each movement was a cataclysm. His massive cock carved a furrow of utter annihilation across the landscape, pulverizing towns, flattening forests, redirecting rivers with the spillage of debris and blood. His hairy balls slapped against the earth with each forward drive, leaving craters that filled with muddy ruin. “Yes… fuck this pathetic world,” he grunted, his hips a relentless piston of doom.
Inside the mountain, the orbs showed only flashes—a colossal hip driving downward, a landscape folding inward, the tip of his cock glistening with mud and ruin. It was enough. Aurelian had Cassian bent over the strategy table, fucking him hard and deep from behind. “You see that power?” Aurelian snarled, pounding into him. “That’s what’s inside me. That’s what I serve.”
“Give it to me!” Cassian screamed back, his face mashed against a map. Eamon was on his back on the floor, Adrian riding his cock, bouncing frantically. “He’s fucking the whole world!” Adrian chanted, his body slick with sweat. “He’s fucking it raw!”
Alaric’s hand was inside his own breeches now, moving in a rough, desperate rhythm. He watched the god on the screen and the desperate animals on the floor. His mind fractured. He imagined himself down there, in that destroyed country. Not as a victim, but as the focus. He pictured that impossible cock driving toward him, not to destroy, but to claim. The thought made his legs tremble.
High above, Kragor shuddered. A country was now a smoldering, fucked-out trench beneath him. He could have cum. The pressure was immense, a universe of seed begging for release. He gripped his shaft, holding back the tide. He looked at the devastation, at the few remaining, untouched lands quaking in the distance. A contemptuous smirk settled on his lips.
“No,” his voice declared, final as a falling star. “This worthless dirt doesn’t deserve my load.”
Instead, he simply let himself fall forward. His monumental chest, a continent of muscle and scar tissue, slammed down onto the rest of the nation. The impact silenced everything. When he pushed himself up, the entire region was a perfectly flat, vaguely body-shaped imprint in the crust of the earth. He brushed rubble and tangled forests from the grooves of his pectorals, his laughter a joyful, booming peal that shook the sky itself.
Then he shrank, dwindling back to his merely colossal size. He retrieved his loincloth, gave his satisfied cock a final stroke, and vanished from the scrying orb’s view, returning to the mountain.
In the strategy room, the climax was simultaneous. Aurelian shouted, burying himself deep in Cassian as he came. Eamon roared, pumping his seed up into Adrian, who clenched around him, wailing. They collapsed into a sticky, panting heap of limbs on the floor, the screens now showing only empty, smoke-choked skies.
Alaric’s own release was a silent, violent shudder against the cold stone doorframe. He slumped, spent and hollowed out. He watched the four men, their bond to Kragor now a physical, spent thing written in sweat and semen on the floor. They were claimed. They were his.
A cold, certain knowledge crystalized in Alaric’s gut, colder than the mountain rock. He was the fifth tether. The last one. The final member of the harem. The realization should have filled him with dread. Instead, a terrible, welcoming warmth bloomed in its place. He stepped back silently into the shadows, his own submission now an inevitability he no longer wished to fight.