The Arbiter strode about the Cryptum, with a sense of unease. He and his fellow Sangheili rested, but something stirred within him. Worry, over the fate of Sanghelios. He'd been gone too long, and fretted over the state of the planet, over the uncertainty of the Guardians, and how his people would react to them. It didn't help that he could not see the Spartan now, nor the Spartan's teammates - but he could sense them. They were barely there, like dust motes upon an abandoned freighter, drifting in the cosmos.
The construct, Cortana was there. watching, observing - but directly so, assisting them as they requested it, directing them as they required it. The Arbiter couldn't help but feel tense around her, even with the calm aura she tried to exude. It was in the midst of finalising their gear, collecting their equipment and stowing it, that the AI finally, physically approached Thel.
"Thel 'Vadam," she greeted with a bow, "perhaps it's time I let you see through my eyes."
Cortana erected a detailed overlay along the observation windows of the Cryptum - those that bled into space - showing her networked alignment of Guardians. She zoomed in and enhanced the stellar map of the Urs system, and finally, Sanghelios itself. Four Guardians patrolled it - two for the satellites Suban and Qikost, and two for the planet itself, orbiting in opposite hemispheres. From them, Cortana showed the Arbiter every single networked system among the planet's plains, showing herds of colo, hunting helioskrills, and the prey doarmir, amongst people. His people.
The Arbiter huffed out an incredulous breath. "The eyes of a goddess, among moon and stars do you watch us… How does Sanghelios fare?"
"As you can see," Cortana still had the decency to blush, at being praised so highly, "they are, all things considered, fine."
She cycled through feeds. Cameras, ancient monitors posted by Forerunner foragers and explorers, and recorders alike. Some personal, some not, and some intimate. She hastily skipped past those, her other eyes upon the Arbiter for any reaction - any biochemical feedback at all. And Cortana had to hold back a smile at getting a rise out of the warrior; for it'd be his last stiffening. Soon he'd be a fusion of all John's favourite things Sangheili and human-female. Tough, leathery skin, with a flighty, feathery scent that screamed "breed me" - breasts big enough to grope, pull and fuck - and a refined muscle-structure, designed to evoke hunger in the most basic of beings.
"We've had some plasma fire thrown our way, but they're good. I've taken the liberty of relaying a message to your people - that their Arbiter shall return from his journey and aid them soon," Cortana assured him, trying not to think about how good this hypothetical body would look, with a womb full of fertilised eggs.
"And don't worry," she added, erecting a console for the Kaidon to control, allowing him access over the feeds, "I didn't mention anything about the rescue. I figured you have to keep up appearances, make sure they don't see you as soft."
'Vadam chuckled, and shook his head, clicking his mandibles together. "Rescue or not, they'd still have to assassinate me if they thought me weak. A challenge I would not discourage. I thank you."
"Think nothing of it, Arbiter. This idea came to me as I reviewed ONI's files on you and your guard - oh - speaking of…"
Another screen embedded itself into the Arbiter's view. A file on a human - a Spartan - going by the name Osman. His eyes narrowed as he read her file, the operation which led to her and Kilo-Five sowing dissent, arming the Servants of the Abiding Truth, and assaulting Vadam Keep. A file which gave all details, spilt all secrets about the worst, most dishonourable of humankind attempting to kill their race after they'd finished a war. Righteous rage coursed through the Arbiter's veins as he darted his gaze back to Cortana, nostrils flaring.
"You needed to see this. You needed no further convincing that ONI needed to be ripped asunder, but, their sins needed to come to light," she assured him. And with that assurance - seeing 'Sraom and 'Taham join 'Vadam in staring in horror - Cortana began her work upon the trio. She had to be subtle, now. Feed one plan into another, letting those holes work themselves into a frenzy.
"Then ONI shall pay in blood," the Arbiter growled, low. "Scum they are, I'll purify them from our lands and wipe them from the face of the galaxy - this, I can assure you, goddess."
Cortana snickered at the term, inferring the Arbiter's dry humour amidst a deadly threat. The first stage in her process had begun, so she had to keep them talking, and had to keep them focused on anything else beyond the heat in their loins. So she flicked the screen back, scrambling through personal feeds - copulating Sangheili and showering maidens - witnessing bare flesh upon the stars.
"Of course, I understand. But finding them, that's the hard part. They're vermin," she spat, knowing that Serin could see her now, from within her cell, fearful. "They're good at hiding. Good at burrowing, biding their time until the noise above ground stops. So we need to rat them out."
"What do you propose?" N'tho asked her, wiping at his neck with a clawed hand, sighing as he shifted his armour about.
Cortana grinned to them. "It's simple. Like the predators you are, you hunt."
Thel 'Vadam felt his skin crackle with a sudden realisation, and collapsed as his knees gave out, as his chest and rear began to burn. His guard rushed to his side to help him, but too, found themselves quivering. Cortana's smile grew, stretching from ear to digital ear, and she circled them, flickering the coupling images at a blinding fast speed. She then introduced videos of John's conquests to the board, and in the centre of it all, the live feed of Serin Osman.
"What… What have you done to him, construct!?" Usze roared, clutching it's throat as it's voice began to break.
"I have given him a new life. The very same I'm about to grant you."
With a sickening pop, flop of flesh, their chests extended outwards, and out came moans, the Elites desperately trying to stand, to defend themselves against Cortana. She simply increased the volume of her recordings - blasting them with the sounds of Chief fucking, dominating - and knelt, down to their level. They writhed as they rose, hands darting to their armour and tearing it off, revealing their newfound breasts in a bout of celebration. Though they remained standing, they each tried to speak, to reach for her, as their bodies continued changing. Cortana perked up at their bodies; that their backs and spines could healthily support more weighty assets, compared to their human counterparts.
"Somewhere on this station lies Serin Osman. The one who would have seen Sangehelios burn, dear Sangheili. Look at her, look at the fear in her eyes," Cortana edged them on, darting their gazes to the screen. Usze tore his gaze away, hands clutching his dark, jiggling bust, and darted a hand down his pants, finding something missing.
Thel and N'tho still managed to retain some control over themselves, and huffed, sweltering with fury, with lust and hunger. They looked to one another, then Cortana, and finally, looked to the screen. And that was when the Arbiter realised she had failed. Millions of overlaid images, hundreds and thousands of closeups of the Chief's body, perfectly carved and chiseled, built for war, crashing into his fellow Spartans. The sounds were enough to drive her to arousal, but the images combined with them painted a striking, enticing picture.
Usze's mandibles were upon her neck - Thel could feel the heat radiate off her, could see steam rising from her moulded body already - and mewled, head awash with hundreds of thoughts. She wanted to murder Cortana, to destroy the ship and extract the Chief - now that was a good idea - but first, she wanted to break and breed the bitch who dared assault her people, who dared turn them against the other. So, with flaring fangs and jittering jaws, Thel 'Vadam glared at Cortana, hands darting to the back of Usze's head.
Her own voice shocked her. Huskier, sleeked with velour, it was. "Where… Where!?"
Cortana could've pat herself on the back with the success she just experienced - quite literally - but stopped short of that, and leered back at the bodies before her. Each Elite was built like an uprisen champion of their species - taller, no doubt faster, and more packed with muscle than their previous selves - but lined with fat where fat didn't belong, at least on a Sangheili. Like the bodies of models, did the Sangheili walk, stalk as, letting bountiful breasts and garish globes bob with every step. Cortana gave them variance, something to gawk or fight over, granting 'Taham the largest, G-Cup bust, 'Sraom a colossal, rippling rear, and 'Vadam a balance between the two, whilst augmenting her flesh to be softer, though not to detriment in combat.
"Pick up her scent. Follow the smell of a traitor, and you will find her. After you're done, instead track the smell of a Champion. Now, leave," Cortana commanded them, finishing the video streams with the climaxes of Chief's love-making sessions, the ode to release they sung in tandem, and the swathe of white that bathed the screens.
It made 'Sraom positively crumble at the sight, flaring her nose and sprinting in a direction, darting down a hall. 'Taham fled after her, but the Arbiter stayed, trying not to fall, feeling her cunt quake as it yearned for something, anything to fill it. Cortana approached the new-woman, and clasped either side of her face, eyes glistening as she let the furious Elite focus on her.
"You have changed me, construct…" The Arbiter just panted, hands darting to her nipples to pinch them, to cause her some pain to distract from the crippling arousal she was weighed under. "You've disgraced me. I am a mockery of a Sangheili now… Something in-between a human whore and my own blood."
Cortana shook her head, darting her lips to the Arbiter's mandibles, trailing them so softly. "No… No, I haven't disgraced you. That's John's job. I have shown you, gifted you a way to be with him, to show your race how to cooperate with humanity. It's your job to show them what it means to give in, to see not a powerful warrior, but the strongest Champion the galaxy shall ever see, and submit to them."
Thel just growled, whispering her next words in a bid to not hear her own voice. "Submit!? You would have me lap at him like a dog!?"
"No. I would have you serve with him, as you did, 5 years ago. I would see the Sangheili be immortalised as those who broke the Banished with human help, so that their honour may never be broken. Those who led the galaxy into peace and never into war again. Then, and only then, behind closed doors and shut lips, would I see you submit," Cortana intoned, eyes flickering with these theoretical images - the end already in sight for her.
The Arbiter relented. Then, she looked back to the Chief. They way he controlled his lovers and made them his. Her pussy shook, rumbling all the way to her core and firing our nerve signals to her hormone-ravaged mind. A trickle dripped down from her quivering lips, down her thigh, and she growled, ripping herself from Cortana's grasp.
"Punish Miss Osman. Break her in for John."
'Vadam stalked after her guard, stopped briefly, as if to say something, but left. The AI hummed, blushing as she turned her head back to the screens, the denouement of John's sessions. She loved it when a thinly-reigned, chaotic plan came together.
(Elsewhere…)
Osman witnessed. She had the eyes that the AI, Halsey's creation, had given her. She as also privy to the torture Parangosky and Halsey had been put under, but she tried to ignore it. It would only crack her further, render her unable to resist the oppression of Cortana. Now that resistance seemed all for naught as she watched the warning promised to her play out in real-time.
The Elites were coming for her. Hunting. Cortana led them through a maze, perhaps to taunt her further, perhaps give her more time to prepare. Serin cursed her again, as her bare stomach churned with worry. She was alone. Her mentor was tied up, rejuvenated, and strapped to a fucking-machine whilst the hours counted down. Her only other means of getting off the ship lied in the Chief, or Halsey - and both were preoccupied.
Or, should Cortana be believed, the Chief would soon be out to get her, as well. A sick item in his collection. She hated it. Hated the fact that the AI didn't just kill her; that of all the things she could develop, she chose a libido. A power complex. And now, Serin bore the weight of both, an assortment of horny, furious Elites set on a warpath towards her. Again in her life, her fate had been taken, ripped from her hands, and all she could do was wait.
She gave herself a countdown. From five seconds, given the Elite's proximity. Five, and she crouched low, near the entrance to her cell. Four, and she struck herself in the chest, in an attempt to fuel more adrenaline into herself. Three, and she crushed the fear in her heart, wiped the thought of indignity from her mind. Two, and a tear dropped onto the cell's floor. One, and the door opened.
She ran. Threw all of her mass behind a charge, and screamed bloody murder as the Elites waited for her, two of them rough-handling her naked body, rubbing themselves against her. It was a cacophony of flesh slapping flesh, skin rubbing against skin, and slaps rebounding against slaps. She threw a punch at N'tho's jaw, and received a smack on the ass in retaliation.
"G-Gah! You f-fucking split-jaws! Get off-agh~!"
Fingers slipped inside her. Seems one had taken her ass, and the other, her minge, both hammering wildly as their mandibles pried open, as their tongues licked the fearful sweat off Serin's arms and back. She cried out, wiggling and squirming in their titanic grip, fighting against that flighty, fucking feeling. So wet and long and hot their tongues were, punctuated by the sharpened tips of their mandibles, that Osman felt her stomach drop in prep for an orgasm.
And as the Arbiter grabbed her cheeks, bringing their faces to meet, she came as she was slapped, spilling herself silly over those masturbatory digits. The Arbiter continued, notably holding herself back, slapping Serin's face until she was red, tears staining her eyes and cheeks burning with pain. She began throwing curses at them, thrashing about again, until she was dropped onto the ground, impacting the Cryptum's cold floor.
Like meat, she was handled. Kicked in the chest and flipped onto her back - where she could see her assailants - soma open and zero ways to defend herself. Scorned that her body had betrayed her - that her sex had lit up at the sudden invasion and forceful groping, she growled at the Elites. She leapt at one, Usze if she heard its name correctly, and struck her in the legs, leaving a foul bruise in her wake. But before she could continue her assault, the Arbiter's foot found itself driven into her chest, smacked back to the ground.
The Arbiter barked out some command in Sangheili tongue - or perhaps it may have been a grunt or growl that Serin couldn't pick - she didn't care. What she cared about was the sudden mounting of her face, that N'tho scrambled to place her gushing pussy over the ONI Chief's mouth. Unable to move, to kick, jerk or strike, Serin was met with the full brunt of an Elite cunt; the alien taste overwhelming her 'buds, the xeno scent trilling against her nostrils. Sweet, but feathery. Tasting almost like metal, and so thick their juices were, that Osman found it leaving a film on her mouth - a taste she was certain she wouldn't be rid of. It would've been intoxicating if not for the other two Sangheili perching over her - Usze hiking her legs up, penetrating her unguarded quim with its tongue.
"Fffk~!"
Resistance was not leaving her. Strength was. Will was. She wanted, needed to get these things off her. To protect herself. To take back control over the situation. But failed. Capitulated. Gave in. Until all that was left, all the ground she could take back, was enjoyment in the act of defilement. At being probed by an alien organ, with mandibles dancing sickly around her mons, her ass. At having her face mounted, as if she were some sex toy, being ground upon by a stronger being. And, finally, at being spat upon by the Arbiter, feeling her foot twist on her chest, adding to her cocktail of perversion.
"You love this," she heard. A voice. Cortana's. Halsey's.
"Mmph, mm, nn~!"
Osman, amidst a wave of heat that cascaded throughout her form, jittered with pleasure, squirting herself upon the flat, undulating mouth-cock of her attacker. She then felt a hand slip under N'tho's fiery-hot cunt, to grace her cheek, to stroke her. It slipped past folding, grinding flesh, and touched upon the saccharine, salty juices that oozed from the Elite's nu-pussy. White and black flashes were appearing before her eyes as oxygen left her, but Osman was left with a final image in mind, a visage that would forever be burnt into her mind. Amidst swirling tides of cravings and ardour, amidst a debasement most foul, and a pleasure most vile, she came, came to the image of Cortana.
"You're already gone, Çelik. Your past may have belonged to ONI, but your future… Your future belongs to me."
N'tho was drinking her in. Another bark from Thel, and her body was lifted off the ground, as the saliva and xenojuice dripped from her battered body. She went limp, barely moving beyond the crack of her lips, to moan. Her rear was suspended in the air by Usze as the Sangeheili swapped positions with Usze - head still on the ground, body bent upwards so that two tongues could enter her. Another, fatter, phatter rear choked her, and began grinding as the other had, smothering her face with an extrasolar ass. She remained there as she was double-penetrated. As the twin tongues alternated with blistering rhythms, licking clean her otherwise untainted asshole, her sopping sex, Then, as the two bodies interlinked with hers, surrounding her and parting her legs with their heat, Serin winced, crying out with pain as the Arbiter's foot shot into her ribs.
She heard another grunt, a roar from the Kaidon. "Put your tongue and hands to use, or we shall remove them, vermin!"
Osman went to protest, to advise on her weakness, but obeyed instead. No room for resistance, she assured herself, not while her life was on the line. Her nose had been buried deep, inhaling the unholy scent from the superheated Sangheili sexes, but now, she let her tongue slip. Fuck back. Push against the weeping, heating cunt. She tasted them, fully and truly, and nailed her eyes shut, hands slapping to N'tho's bubble but. Serin rested her elbows upon the kneeling Elite's ankles, and fingered her in kind.
Faster, she thought to herself. Don't cum. Don't cry. You're a big girl. She willed her hands to move beyond their limits, to piston the puckered hole until too, wept, and drank the Elite in. Don't cum. Don't cum. Don't cum. Faster. As the mandibulae of N'tho and Usze began to dance together, to dart and flutter over her erected clit, Osman picked up her pace. Her arms burned with exertion, much like her core, much as her neck ached from the pressure upon it, but she willed on then, screaming into the alien's twat.
And like plasma raining upon a planet, turning verdant plains and greens to glass, N'tho was caught off-guard, showering Serin. She too, felt pressure building inside her, felt her remodelled sexual organs labour and limp to align with her form, but forgot about it, setting her mind to punishment. That rise, that unmistakable, chest-quaking, thigh-quivering heat was a signal she disregarded, and paid the price for. She squirted pure Sangheili essence onto the tortured human beneath her, as her face was sprayed by the human's juices, as her tongue was lathered in taste. They'd saturated the other, muddying sweat, muck, girlcum and
grool upon the other's forms in tandem.
N'tho 'Sraom, mind clouded by a feel-good mix of chemicals, attempted to lift herself off Osman, to pry herself from that Spartan bod, only to fall backwards. With a echoing thud, she fell to the floor, flesh wobbling in sync as her wetness pooled to the ground. Serin was much the same, letting her legs thunk to the floor as 'Taham dropped them, immediately missing the warmth between her thighs. She coughed, spitting N'tho's cunny honey across her own body, looking up to the Arbiter with half-lidded, careless eyes.
Thel 'Vadam took pleasure in commanding her troops to victory, but Serin could tell this was a hollow win for her. She looked upon them, hands roaming across her own body, fingering herself as her soldiers did Osman, but found no release - only the sweaty buildup of lust. Serin took joy in that. She may have lost, but so too did her enemy - the Arbiter was going to become dependent on the Chief, just as she was - and that was enough to keep Serin going.
"F-Fuck. You."
The Arbiter growled at her. "Hmph. 'Taham, continue punishing this vermin... I must seek the Spartan."
(Elsewhere…)
John had entered a battlefield. A shield world. The sprawling, crafted plains of Genesis awaited him in the simulacrum - stretching as far as the eye could see and further - revealing Forerunner structures nested and tucked in between jagged mountains. Alien life was plentiful, a testament to the symphony that was the planet's delicate environmental balance. Life was given and taken here at a steady rate, and as the wind blew past the sensor-strips on John's armour, he abandoned all thoughts of then. No eros was to find him here; only the forge of battle where he might improve himself.
His weapon was a gravity-hammer, laid in front of him by Cortana. His challenge was the Warden Eternal. Recreated in its entirety, linked directly from the Domain. Perhaps that's why the Warden looked so different now, John mused - it had been exposed to everything Cortana saw, everything she thought. Where before he held the vague outline of an ancient Forerunner male, now the Warden appeared feminine. At least, John's initial assessment gave him that much. The armour plating that hovered and clicked 'round the AI's form was now more sealed, and didn't shift as it used to. It's visage no longer openly revealed the flame beneath it's mask - the mask itself featuring full, poseable metallic lips.
"And thus we meet again," it greeted John. "The so-called Champion of the Created."
John gave it no answer, instead eyeing as the construct triplicated itself, just as Cortana did. Its voice was different as well - lighter and higher-pitched, though it felt more raw, less processed than its previous tone.
"Perhaps I have the title wrong? You care for only one among the Created, whom I serve as well," the Warden mused. For as far as John was aware, it was the very same creature he'd faced previously - it had just been transformed.
One of the Wardens turned on the spot, observing its surroundings, and revealed to John its backside. Its hips were wider than before. Curvier. Its legs stretched in sleek, sloping calves and thighs rather than its brutish gait. And, against all rational thought - against the judgement of what John considered "normal" - the Warden had an ass. A large, heavy, swaying one at that. Either by ambient quantum transmissions or Cortana's deft hand was the Warden moulded.
"Are you ready?" asked John.
"In a moment. Cortana has ordered me to prepare you for the worst, so that when battle is upon you, you fight like you never have before," the Warden warned, hands rising to its arms, its face. It then looked upon its other forms, and quirked its head, tilting and observing.
"Meaning?"
"That you fight with the intent not to kill, but to capture. To fornicate. To dominate. We are prepared accordingly in the event that you emerge victorious in the simulacrum, but we will not make this easy, Spartan," it intoned. Suddenly, the trio of knights drew blades, slicing through the air with a whistle, glowing a faint orange.
Without further warning, they shot for John. Just one was enough to give Blue Team pause, but John was invigorated now. Strength returned to him after every exertive movement, and his senses quickened after donning his new suit. He was afforded speed beyond his old limits, and, despite a lack of ballistic or plasma weaponry, he had confidence enough to be able to dent the Wardens. He slipped from them, world slowing as adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he struck them on exit, testing the waters.
"You are stronger. But so are we. This form serves a dual purpose, Master Chief."
John was flanked - leg struck and back thrown to the ground, but he adapted. He flipped, rolled along the dirt and leapt between a Warden's legs, attacking them as they struck initially. For a second, he swore he could see a cunny, formed in the living-metal of the construct's groin. He ignored it. They drew blood, so he would give no quarter. Throwing all force behind the hammer's strike, John managed to rend the ankle of one of the Wardens from it's shin, leaving the AI scrambling.
Propelled back by the force of the hammer's gravity well, John ran up the length of the Warden and flipped backwards, narrowly avoiding a slash from the two other's blades. Bringing the hammer down once more, John side-swiped one limb as the Warden he rode snapped backwards and slapped him out of the air, sending him skidding backwards.
"Come now," the Wardens shot after him again, "unleash your wrath. You fought harder and faster against your fellow Spartan earlier!"
The ground rippled as blades struck the earth where John's head had been, sending dust into his visor. Leaping back up, snapping to his previous target, John leveraged the hammer to his side and twisted it into the earth-locked blades. The shock of the gravity spike colliding with the throbbing electricity of the swords sent the fighters flying - disabling an arm on one of the Wardens.
John landed upright, hand still tight on his weapon, and stalked the scrambling trio of guardians. They did much the same, looking to the most damaged of their lot and appraising its form as they walked opposite to the Chief. As he continued walking, ignoring the curves and holes of the Domain's protectors, John witnessed the third copy vanish, repairing any damage on the others. They became reinforced, armour thickening and filling their forms out further.
"Well done. You'd rendered it to 29% of its operational capacity before we'd reached the decision to assimilate it. We shall increase the intensity of the simulacrum."
Shit, thought John. They moved through the air like wasps, stinging like them too. Producing blades anew, they managed to nick him on his stomach and thighs before he blocked them with the hammer, locking into a brief but powerful clash of weaponry. Both Wardens took the moment to observe the Spartan's strength, and balked as they found themselves unable to resist, being slowly pushed back by John's force.
Taking their hesitation as a boon, John let slip the hammer from his grip, and ducked under it as it fell. Both Wardens lurched forward at the sudden lack of resistance, and snapped their gaze to John as he slid, snatching the hammer back like a thief. With one, two swings of it, he'd almost completely destroyed one Warden before it could react, and took out the legs of the other, leaving bent, crushed metal in the wakes of the hammer's well.
One Warden remained, and it reached for its sword for a split-second, before letting its arm fall. The force-torn corpse of the Warden's copy fell to dust, assimilating back into the original's body, reforming it with ease. The Chief was upon it before it could stand, but halted as it shed its armour - extra armour, that was - revealing faux-flesh beneath its exterior casing.
"You've won. You remain as Cortana's champion, so do with me what you wish," it intoned, leaving John to huff, as he evaluated the form beneath. He placed his boot against its stomach, as it flipped itself to match his gaze, and the Warden paused, truly recognising its superior.
"Get up. Increase the difficulty again. Spawn 4 more of yourselves, and fight me."
"You'll refuse me?" it almost sounded offended. Cortana had given it strict instructions, and the Chief was operating outside of them already. What use were it's extra, vestigial bits if not for him?
"Get up and fight me."
"If… That's what you desire."
Mayhem followed. The simulacrum's environment fell to hell and back, the combatants tearing apart land and structure alike - clashing and striking at the other until they fell. They followed a pattern, that the Wardens noticed. John would fall, only to rise and strike. It didn't matter where they were, the flanks seemed to not matter to him. The Warden Eternal surmised that the ground guarded his back, even when he was alone - and so she adapted to it.
3 struck John, one burrowed beneath the earth and the last pierced downwards from above - truly closing him in. And yet his situational awareness caught them before they'd even thought of the plan - and he adapted right back - ensuring two of them destroyed the other with mirroring strikes.
"You are very hard to keep down, Spart-"
John wasted no time in targeting the Warden as it spoke, and gave it no chance to elate its comment. He struck even as blood dripped from him, as exhaustion set in place, and as his weapon shattered, leaving him to his suit-augmented fists. He began redirecting the Wardens into one another more regularly, and stealing their massive swords once that technique was discovered.
He found himself unguarded as two more attacked from his front - the third sprouting from the ground and primed to strike, aiming for a kill. He found his back almost bare, ripped of armour, and winced, unable to turn fast enough to slip past the blade. And then, John's ears ringed with the howl of a sniper's bullet, zooming past his head. The visage of the Warden behind him lay in tatters, the shattered mask using its final bursts of energy to open and close what remained of its lips.
And then, two more shots tore through the air. So fast and so perfect they were, that John could tell who the help was without even taking eyes off the crumbling constructs. He snapped his gaze back to Linda as she approached him, armed with a rifle - a gift from Cortana.
"Miss me?"
"Yes," he answered simply, bringing their helmets together with a dull clunk.
"Good," Linda chuckled, eyeing the reforming Warden, mesmerised at how it shifted, twitched among the dirt and sand.
"We're doing this until we lose," John advised her, "and if we don't, then we're ready. Any word on the rest of the team?"
"Negative. Just finished a drop for Cortana."
"Don't worry, don't worry - I'm here. Seems our little blue friend was kind enough to gift some handcannons," said Kelly, phasing into the simulation as she entered its physical bounds.
John was already smiling beneath his helmet, but it only grew wider as the team came back in their full capacity. He and Kelly shared a quick hug, which was broken only by a dulcet, husky voice.
"...And thus I arrive. You're all getting new toys and Cortana gives me an old kitchen knife," Fred jested, demonstrating a few practice-slashes before she stopped, just shy of John's head.
Kelly and Linda appraised Fred's new form, stopping themselves from pawing at it, leaving their questions behind for the time being. They gawked at how gracefully the Spartan carried herself - and how she wore her pearl necklace with pride.
"You've still got some of me on you," John teased, noticing the milky white substance marking the Spartan as his.
"Oh," she commented, darting her tongue to it, sharing a look with Kelly and Linda. "That I do."
"And don't mind my limp. Hard to walk and run once your asshole's been fucked like that. C'mon, get this thing up off the ground," Kelly motioned to the Warden, forming ranks behind John and Fred.
"And then there were 4," the Warden intoned. "I see Cortana's influence extends well beyond the Domain," she motioned to Fred, who kept her stony gaze centred on the creature.
"Create as many of your bodies as you can. Come at us with everything you've got, Warden," John ordered the being, nodding as Linda threw him a sidearm, a magnum.
The Warden paused as it reformed itself, completely and utterly. It left its shielding behind, hoping to get a rise out of the Spartans, and smiled to John. "As you wish."
What followed was an assault of colossal proportions. Plasma fire and bullets cut through the landscape, destroying the faux-Genesis, as a metal-made legion of Forerunner AIs threw itself against Blue Team, with no end in sight. At first it was a contest of skill and luck, but later turned to one of will and dominance. Though the Wardens poured on through - 2 rising in the ashes of a fallen copy, over and over - Blue Team remained unfazed, unshaken.
They kept Linda protected. Centralised, and covered when needed. Fred took the first line of attackers with her knife, getting fire support from John and Kelly, and if needed, John would drop guns and resort to brute force to keep the Wardens away. When said AI would target Linda, they'd form a line, retreating as necessary and poking holes through the construct's lines - ready to pierce through if needed.
Even a full surround and strikes from above and below were mitigated, losses taken in the form of scratches, bruises, maybe some blood. But it was for naught - the Warden Eternal sent waves and waves of its own body to strike, cut, weave, dodge and dive as its mind calculated, and still, could not break Blue Team. Its bodies fell too quickly to replace. No more metal could be found to forge more. No processing power could be dedicated to feints, counters, or assaults.
So, the Warden found itself kneeling.
John approached it, eyeing its firm form with a lustful air. He looked upon it now, allowing eros to overtake and direct him as it did before. Heat rose to him - to them, leaving Blue Team sweating, panting, but quickly recovering. His armour disengaged, feeding itself automatically into the strips on his skin - leaving him bare to the world - leaving him whipping in the wind. As John stood over the quivering servant, he gave his thanks to Blue Team, and ushered them to follow his lead.
Suddenly, the Warden Eternal felt very small, despite its size. It eyed the stiffening organ that was presented to it, like some grand prize, or rather, a reminder of its failure. It made it aware, so very aware, of its own additions, and how they began to turn against it now. Metal-crafted breasts swayed and slapped into the other with every turn it made to look at the encircling team. Its belly - it didn't even have one back then - felt hunger at seeing the thick slab of fuckmeat erecting before it. And it's phat ass and virgin holes, so primed for a plowing, fluttered beneath it's victor. Cortana's Champion. Its Champion.
It was then, as John could make out those massive, lengthening, puckering nipples, that he knew the creature before him was to be broken. Not for vengeance, but because it felt right to him. They shared a moment, as John presented his hand to the creature's cheek, where they thought, where they felt. The metal on its skin - or rather, the metal that was its skin - felt warm to the touch. Soft. Unlike real flesh in almost every regard, but strokeable, markable still. It's face, at first apprehensive, now looked at Blue Team with uncertainty, growing as the rest of the team shed their armour in an erotic bid.
"Suck," John commanded. He slipped his thumb into the Warden's mouth, and it obeyed without question. An order from the Chief was as good as one from Cortana, and it found some sick enjoyment at the degradation.
As it revealed to him its tongue, the Warden mused on it's rage. No longer an it, a he, she reminded herself that she was before the old Reclaimers; successors of the Forerunners who'd once been blown back to savagery. Like the primates they were, they'd operated on instinct, but found themselves armed by sinister intention. And there it, she was, sucking on the prime's finger, like some common flesh-and-blood trollop. Why did it feel so good?
John loved her warmth, the unexplained wetness of her glowing tongue. Her. He was unsure what to make of the Warden, so he settled on breaking her. As practice, and, should she return to him, an indestructible set of holes. One he could fuck mercilessly. Kelly began fingering herself as Fred and Linda watched, hands roaming across their bodies as they witnessed the submission of the wondrous creature before them. She pinched and played with her perfect body, imagining herself in both positions - dom and sub - bitch and bull.
"Stop," John halted the creature, kneeling down to it's eye-level. Extracting his wetted thumb, he dared to kiss it - to press lips against silver lips, and defiled her. Acting as if he owned her, as if the submission meant total and complete surrender, John plundered the depths of the creature's mouth, finding it comforting. And if the noises - not moans by any means - were anything to go by, the Warden took enjoyment of that act, too. Ensuring they left a trail, a beginning mark of spit and saliva, John broke from their lip-lock and spat at the creature's face, motioning Linda to stand behind it as he rose.
"Open your mouth. Resist me for as long as you can. And try not to burst," John warned her.
"Wha-GLRK~!"
Linda forced the creature's mouth upon John's cock. To record every inch of disappearing dong as it entered her maw and penetrated her fucking throat. The act made Linda vocalise in awe, mesmerised by the wobbling, perky tits of the Forerunner AI. And with a look to John, they nodded, and worked in rhythm. The Chief came, with a groan, finding his balls rumbling at the mewling display prior, having his dick almost melt in the heat of the Warden's gullet. But he fucked on, laying his hands over Linda's and linking lips with her, corrupting the guardian's insides with his seed.
The creature tried to vocalise. "Gllk, grrk-gllk, HLLK~..."
So instead of failing again, it focused on it's throat, trying to determine control over at least that part of itself, and screeched as Fred swooped in beneath John, playing with it's breasts. The genderbent Spartan laid low, biting, nibbling, and gnawing at the massive metal mammaries, licking the spilt cum and spit off them as they were coated, drenched. The Warden was relieved to find her pussy untouched, until she found an errant foot rubbing against her, adding to the boiling cauldron of depravity she was sweltering in.
John had trouble breaching her throat-barrier before, but it went. That became a hole. Something for John to sully, and, if his current orgasm was anything to witness, something to dump his wayward seed in. He fucked her without mercy, stretching her insides with reckless abandon as his Team coordinated their assault, and roared with pleasure. Coordinating Kelly, he ordered her to take positions at the Warden's right, aiming her jilling, jetting juices at her and Fred.
"You're still cumming?" Linda asked, incredulous at John's stamina, at his inherent lack of a refractory period.
"Affirmative," he growled, gasping as Fred's hands reached back to massage his pulsing, quivering testes, "still going strong. How's she looking, Fred?"
"Mmph, oh… 'Bout ready to burst, John. Pull out in 10, 15 strokes, just fucking douse us! You too, Kelly!"
The Warden continued to make unearthly sounds. Those which Cortana, as her ears caught, would cherish forever. It relayed back to the Domain only after a millisecond of real-time, feeding back into the guardian's mind in an infinite pornographic loop. The process destroyed her goals, her mind, and continued to warp her body, making her softer, more prepared to receive John's load. What she wanted, at that very second, was only to burst with it. To take all of it in, some more, and then some, until her cup overflowed, rendering her form useless.
John took note, Linda kept her balance, Kelly kept the pressure on herself, and Fred held her tongue out, ready to receive their bounty. And it was then, at the apex of their session, that they were found. As John pulled out, as Kelly squirted, the Arbiter beared witness to it all. A worshipping Spartan. An ancient Forerunner construct, fucked. A dominator.
Fluids rained down upon Fred, upon the Warden. Linda forced the creature still to open her mouth - to let that boiling hot cum shoot to the back of her throat and cascade downwards, upon Fred's waiting maw. Kelly squealed, swearing to herself, as she added to their act, hammering in their win with her cunt-juice. And at the fall of his high, the grounding of himself and the final load to bathe his submissives in, John turned to the Arbiter.
He didn't question it. Didn't care. The armour was his, hers now, and her scar was there - one he'd only seen briefly back during their stint together. Cortana had changed her, for him. To fuck. More holes. Letting the Warden fall to the dirt, John ordered Linda and Kelly to clean their mess - to lap at each other while he engaged with Thel 'Vadam. And as tongues danced around Blue Team's reward, swirling mouthfuls of jizz atop the bloated body of the Warden Eternal, they aligned.
"You look good," John greeted, simply.
The Arbiter snorted. "I look like an amalgam. I need you to take my mind off that."
They took the others arms, appraising flesh, eyes wandering. The Master Chief began by pinching and fondling the Elite's tits, admiring their heft, their gentleness. In turn, Thel laid hands upon the Chief's muscles, how they went on, and gasped. With careful fingers did she grasp at his cock, hand barely fitting around it, jerking him gently. The view was set, and the goddess was upon them, with all-seeing eyes.
They expressed so much within the other. A longing. Hurt. Weariness, but a parallel will of iron that could not be shaken. In their embrace they expressed a care for their species, as if they were the remaining stalwarts, their own Champions. Their battle was not done yet, they knew this, but it was so close. John and Thel let each other experience a calm and warmth, a playful what-if of the pleasures to come, right then. Beyond Atriox and whatever else Cortana had in store for them, they were there, even if just for a little bit.
And then, the goddess' ears pricked.
There was something wrong. Something John could tell - a sixth sense that let him know they were on approach. He couldn't enjoy the act any longer. The Arbiter stopped as well as her heart shook, and her jaws clicked together, clearly impatient. They looked to the rest of Blue Team, soon joined by the Arbiter's guard, and felt the others tense. With a blaring tone did Cortana announce their goal, the location of their next bounty, their conquest.
"We have arrived at the Ark. Receiving distress signal from UNSC Spirit of Fire. Spartans, Sangheili, clean up and prepare for insertion."