Chapter 9: Fun with the Females
Finally, Kakarot dropped from the sky, a dark, heavy mass, landing not on the scorched earth but directly into the largest pile of pulverized bodies from the last encampment. He sank into the soft, yielding mass of torn flesh and shattered bone, the sickening crunch under his weight a mere whisper against the ringing in his ears. He sat there, a grotesque throne of death, the warmth of fresh blood seeping through his armor, clinging to his skin.
He looked down at his hands, encased in his gauntlets, but still, he could see the viscous, crimson liquid coating them, dripping from his fingertips. A dismembered, feathered wing lay half-crushed beneath his boot, its delicate structure now a ruin. The robust, leathery hide of a nomad female was draped over his knee, her vacant eye staring up at nothing. Her blood, too, was a deep, shocking red.
"Red," he murmured, a low, guttural sound, as if tasting the word. He rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, smearing the fluid. "Just like mine." He snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound devoid of humor. "And yet, these pitiful creatures crumble. They bleed and die like any other animal. They thought their will, their spirit, could stand against me. Fools. They were barely worth the effort of wiping them out." The thought gnawed at him, the hollow victory amplifying his simmering rage.
As he sat amidst the carnage, his scouter, which he had mostly ignored during his rampage, suddenly chirped, a soft, insistent ping. He cocked his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on the blood in his hands. A few life signs. Isolated. Stronger than the scattered remnants he had been tracking, but not by much. A few clicks away… hidden, perhaps.
A cruel smile stretched across his lips, revealing perfectly white teeth. His boredom, for a fleeting moment, lifted. "Well," he drawled, pushing himself up from his gory seat, the bodies beneath him shifting and settling with sickening sounds. "More toys to break."
With that, he launched himself into the sky, a crimson streaker against the setting sun, an astonishing blur of speed. The wind shrieked around him as he carved a hypersonic path across the desolate landscape, leaving the silent, blood-soaked plains behind.
He covered the distance in a matter of seconds, his scouter leading him to a deep, winding canyon, its entrance cleverly obscured by a rockfall and thorny, resilient desert flora. He landed silently at the mouth of the hidden crevice, his senses immediately picking up the subtle sounds of life within. There it was: a small, desperate pocket of survivors.
And just as he expected, they were a strange, pitiable mix. The survivors, huddled in a makeshift camp deep within the canyon's protective walls, combined the features of the two species he had just annihilated. There were females and children with delicate, feathered limbs, some still showing iridescent hues, but their skin was thicker, their faces a bit more hardened, leaning towards the leathery resilience of the nomads. Others bore the stoic, rugged features of the plains people, but with the faint vestiges of hollow bones, and sometimes, even small, stunted wings that seemed more decorative than functional. A pathetic, hybrid generation, born of desperation and conquest.
A few figures, clearly designated as guards, stood watch. They were a motley crew, armed with a mix of energy lances and heavy, blunt clubs, their expressions grim and fearful. As Kakarot stepped fully into view, cloaked in the canyon's twilight and the stench of his recent kills, they stiffened, their weapons trembling.
He didn't speak. He didn't offer a warning. One moment he was standing, the next he was a brutal whirlwind of motion. The guards, barely registering his presence, were ripped apart. A feathered guard's head exploded in a spray of bone and brain matter as Kakarot's fist connected. Another, with a leathery hide, was cleaved in two by a precise energy blade from his hand, spilling intestines onto the dust. He twisted, ducked, and struck, his movements fluid and merciless, each blow a fatal delivery of overwhelming power. In less than ten heartbeats, the guards were eradicated, their bodies mangled and broken in puddles of mixed red and purplish blood.
The sounds of their deaths, the wet thuds and gurgling screams, echoed in the narrow canyon, drawing out the hidden inhabitants. A group of eight grown females, their faces a mask of terror and fierce protectiveness, emerged, shielding twenty-five small children of various ages and hybrid features behind them. The children whimpered, clutching at their mothers' legs, their wide, innocent eyes fixed on the monstrous figure.
Kakarot's gaze swept over them, a cold, calculating assessment. "Back off, runt." His voice was a low growl, directed at a small child peeking from behind a mother's leg. The child yelped and scrambled further back.
His eyes then settled on the eight adult females. "Listen well, pathetic remnants," he stated, his voice resonating with an unyielding authority that brooked no argument. "I will not touch these children." The females flinched, hope flickering in their terrified eyes for a split second, only to be extinguished by his next words. "If you are willing."
He paused, letting his words sink in, watching their faces crumple. "This planet," he continued, gesturing vaguely with a blood-stained gauntlet, "is no longer yours. It belongs to Frieza now. You will stay hidden here, and if you do, I will spare your species. But you will serve."
His gaze sharpened, settling on one of the more avian-looking females, then a plains nomad. "I need one from each tribe. Two of you. To volunteer. Right now." He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the canyon floor. "I will fuck the volunteers right now. Next time, I will fuck two more of you. As long as you comply, you will live. Your children will live. Resist, and I will wipe you all out, leaving nothing but dust and screams."
The females looked at the twenty-five children huddled behind them, their small bodies squirming in fear, their confused cries barely audible. They looked at each other, a silent, agonizing communication passing between them. The choice was no choice at all. One by one, their shoulders slumped, their defiant gazes falling to the dust. Then, slowly, with agonizing resignation, they began to step forward.
First, a tall, slender female with delicate, still-iridescent blue feathers along her forearms and scalp, her skin a smooth, light tan. Then, a stockier, broader-shouldered woman with thick, leathery hide, her face etched with the hardships of the plains, her hair a coarse, dark mane. One, two, three… until all eight were standing before him, their eyes downcast, their bodies trembling.
"Nice choice," Kakarot said, a predator's satisfied purr in his voice. He walked among them, circling the eight, his eyes dissecting their forms. He was looking for something specific, a primal aesthetic that appealed to his brutal tastes.
He stopped, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing the arm of the avian-hybrid female. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, a contrast to the coarse feel of his gauntlet. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing shallow. Her features were sharp, aristocratic, with large, dark eyes that still held a flicker of defiance. Her breasts, full and round, were held high, not overly large but certainly not small, their curves lovely and inviting beneath her simple garment.
Then he moved to the plains-hybrid. Her frame was more robust, her hips flaring in a pleasing curve, her thighs thick and powerful. Her face, though hardened, possessed a raw beauty, her lips full and her eyes a deep, earthy brown. Her breasts, too, were a perfect balance—prominent and firm, hinting at a natural bounty without being excessive. Kakarot's fingers traced the line of her jaw, feeling the slight roughness of her hide.
"You two," he commanded, his voice deep and resonant. "Lead the way. A private chamber."