A group calling themselves the Four Horsemen terrorizes a futuristic city. Warning: for mature readers only.
Bluish-white light washed first over Pamela Kingley’s vibrantly magenta hair, which had been dyed in the latest fad color, and then over her heart-shaped face as she tapped the controller on her slender wrist. The little cam bot jerked once, responding to the controller’s signal, and scuttled toward the news correspondent. Up a streetlight it went, wrapping its six delicate, multi-jointed legs around the pole and tilting its round head to get a good shot of the svelte woman.
Behind Pamela loomed the headquarters of Burson-Silvers International, an imposing tower of tinted glass and steel that practically pierced the nightsky. Dozens of armored Enforcers were gathered outside the building, the bright lights from their hover vehicles reflecting off of the dark windows.
Pamela took a deep breath of autumn air, reached up with a well-manicured hand to push the stray hairs off of her face. The cam bot, still clinging to the street light, flashed a blue light several times from the side of its squat body, indicating that she should begin. She did exactly that, looking straight at the terrier-sized robot and trying her best to appear somber and concerned.
“I’m standing outside of the headquarters of Burson-Silvers International in Haven, where a group calling itself the Four Horsemen has taken several company executives hostage. The group, made up of former Burson-Silvers researchers, has yet to state its demands. Reports have recently come in that two members of the group, Dmitri Rubarev and Jeremy Connell, have been killed, and at least one Enforcer injured in a failed attempt to take out the Horsemen. Officials have yet to disclose any information pertaining to the Enforcer’s condition, or any plans to deal with the group. For FGM news, this is Pamela Kingley.”
Snakelike trails of smoke curled upward from the cigarette in Medea Lerner’s hand. The tall woman didn’t even bother to smoke the damn thing, partly because the synthetic tobacco tasted like shit and partly because her attention was on other things. Namely, the company executives that cowered before her, their wide eyes on the pistol in her opposite hand. Her own eyes glittered back, cold and hard. There was not even a hint of mercy in them, and the hostages watched her, terrified, to see what she would do next.
Fortunately, Medea chose to look over at the Enforcer instead. He was in a corner, curled up in a fetal position, his armor torn to reveal an oozing gash in his side. Crimson blood puddled around the man, whose ashen face wore an expression of agony. If Medea had still been capable of pity, she would have felt sorry for him, the handsome young Enforcer who was most likely going to die a slow and painful death.
She dropped her cigarette onto the polished floor and stamped it out with one high- heeled boot. Light from the Enforcers far below crawled through the window, illuminating her cobalt body suit and the horse head pendant, the symbol of the group, which hung from around her long neck. Her short, platinum and metallic-blue hair shone as she gazed first at the mass-augmentation unit, a monstrous machine hidden in plated tubing, then over at the remaining member of the Horsemen, Peter Wilton. The lanky man was crouched down, inspecting each of the syringes in the open briefcase before him.
“Almost ready?” Medea asked.
“Yeah. Just have to make sure that they’re all here.”
“Good.” With the gun still in hand, she headed toward Peter. “It’s too bad about Dmitri and Jeremy, though.”
“We can still do this, even if they’re not here.”
“Correction. I can still do this, you goddamn traitor,” she snarled, her eyes narrowing to slits. Peter stood up, frowning.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
When she raised the pistol, his face noticeably blanched.
“Oh, please. Do I fucking look that stupid to you? It was you that let him and his friends in,” she gestured with her head toward the injured Enforcer. “Tell me, how much did they pay you to betray us?”
Peter didn’t answer, just reached down for his own weapon. But it was too late; his comrade pulled the trigger, and suddenly the wall behind him was smeared with blood and gray clumps of brains. Limply he fell forward, the onlookers gasping with fear. She felt no remorse, only an exasperated anger that she had to find someone to take his place, and quickly.
“Bastard,” she growled, kicking the corpse aside to get to the briefcase and its precious contents. Medea knelt down, picked up the first syringe and admired the way the silvery liquid sloshed around in its container. The executives watched, horrified, as she nonchalantly pressed the syringe against the side of her neck. She hissed with pain as it went in, but that was nothing compared to the agony that she experienced as the chemical flooded her mind.
The chemical, Cebnox, was designed to speed up the brain and increase the number of Alpha waves produced. Experiments had shown that it essentially gave telepathy to whoever used it, something that the military and the Enforcers were very, very interested in. Medea had been one of the head researchers of Cebnox when she worked for Burson- Silvers, and, when she had joined the group, destroyed all research concerning the chemical. Now, the only samples of Cebnox were in a nondescript briefcase and in the head of a spiky-haired woman who twitched violently as it coursed through her. Her full lips were stretched back in a grimace of suffering as she grabbed at her temples, breathing raggedly.
Then, with one final shudder, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she reopened them, everyone in the room immediately noticed how dilated her pupils were–in fact, they were so huge that they almost took up her whole iris. And it didn’t take long for her to know that it worked, for she could sense every mind around her, each swimming with thoughts and emotions.
She smiled ferally and, with a new confidence, strode across the room to where the Enforcer lay. He saw her coming and tried in vain to pull himself up, only to cough wetly and collapse back down to the floor. Still beaming, Medea stopped before him, one hand on her hip.
“You can’t even begin to imagine what this is like,” she informed him, amused by the angry scowl he gave her. “Tell me, what’s your name?”
The man remained silent until she reached into his head with a tendril of telepathic power.
“Thomas Barnes,” he reluctantly replied. “P-please don’t kill me. I h-have a wife and two little girls…”
Squatting down, she leaned forward, her lips nearly touching his ear, and whispered, “Tell you what, Tom. I’ll let you live if you do something for me.”
“An-and what’s th-that?” He was having difficulty breathing, let alone forming words. “Become the Fourth Horseman. Take Peter’s place.”
“No!” Bloody spittle hit her cheek as he shouted, or at least tried to. Medea’s black eyes flashed once as she wiped the blood-flecked saliva from her face; then she resumed smiling.
“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’ve run out of time, and you’re the only one around here who can take his place.” She pointed toward the hostages. “And I won’t even consider them.”
“I-I won’t help you!” The Enforcer adamantly protested.
“Are you willing to bet on that?” She strode over to the mass-augmentation unit, her boots clacking rhythmically on the floor. Even as she flipped on a series of switches, the tubes glowing a faint green, she could feel him resisting her.
Medea focused her new telepathic ability on him, her mind entering his with ease. Quickly she found the portions of his brain that dealt with aggression and the primitive need for dominance, to be the top male. Then, with the speed of thought, she tapped into those areas, watching the change in his expression. He was still fighting her, yes, but she could feel him giving into those ancient instincts. Religion, love, honor-all the things that he had once cherished, crumbling to dust as the urge to kill and destroy took over.
And with her telepathy, she could control him.
The mass-augmentation unit, another of Burson-Silver’s secret projects, hummed loudly, ominously. Its creator, Dmitri Rubarev, was little more than a headless corpse. With the researcher’s death had gone the plans to the machine, which Medea could certainly operate but didn’t fully understand.
As long as it works, she thought, looking over at the Enforcer. His face was still pale, but his expression was no longer one of pain, but of hopeless determination. He was fighting a losing battle with himself and this amused Medea.
Smirking, she directed the machine toward him with a few pushes of a button, the tubes uncoiling and snaking forward with a life of their own. The Enforcer’s eyes widened as he saw the tubes around him, swaying like green cobras. Then, at Medea’s command, pencil-thin beams of energy shot out, hitting the man dead-on.
She expected him to scream, to writhe in agony. But he didn’t move, his eyes unblinking as if in trance. As the beams darkened to a violet color, she saw the man’s armor knit itself back up, flowing like liquid metal or something organic. Metal spread across his prone body, grafting itself to his flesh in several places.
Well, she hadn’t been anticipating that.
Without warning, she saw his hand reach up and latch onto one of the tubes. Fascinated, she watched as the tube glowed brighter and brighter and then, with a loud burst of energy, fizzled out. The Enforcer let go of the it, his eyes unnaturally bright. She knew that the process had worked as soon she heard his bones crack as they stretched, his body growing at an alarming rate.
His thoughts, she saw, were not on the present, but rather on previous events. Images of the past, of his towheaded children and smiling wife, flashed through his mind, and he shivered as he realized that he had failed them. That was his last thought before Medea’s mental power clamped down on him like a vise.
From behind the mass-augmentation unit, she watched him struggle, his hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically as he fought to retain control of his own mind. But it was useless; she was so much stronger than he was, and it was pitifully easy to crush his will.
Although, she saw, that was not the case physically. When he had finally stopped growing, he had to be at least twice her height, his lean body protected by dark armor that had somehow been warped by Dmitri’s invention. The Enforcer’s eyes had a chillingly malevolent gleam in them as he sat up, miraculously healed and yearning for blood.
His gaze settled on the hostages, who were gaping at him. Medea didn’t even have to scan his mind to tell what he wanted to do to them, and she stepped in front of him. Despite the fact that she had almost complete control over him, she still felt a twinge of fear at the sight of the huge man whose head touched the high ceiling.
“No,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for that.”
He glowered at her with such intensity that she couldn’t help but look away.
“We have much bigger goals,” Medea explained.
“And what would they be?”
“Taking over this city, for one.” She pointed with one hand toward the window, where one could easily see the tall buildings and the multicolored lights.
His smile was every bit as bloodthirsty as her own.
“And now,” she announced, unzipping the black bag that was filled with C-4, “the fun begins.”
Pamela was calmly sipping her espresso when she saw the explosion on several of the building’s floors, including the floor where the Horsemen had been. As dark glass rained down around her, she was certain that she saw a figure, much too large to be a normal person, crawling down the side of the skyscraper like some kind of gecko.
“What the hell?” She wondered, dropping her coffee and fumbling for the controller on her wrist. She had to get a good shot of this.
And she did. The figure landed amid the group of Enforcers, who were too stunned to react when they saw their twelve-foot comrade.
“Barnes? Is that you?” One of them choked out, trying to steady his plasma rifle.
The giant Enforcer didn’t answer, just lashed out with his leg and struck the man. Pamela winced at the sound of bones snapping, and she immediately ducked down behind a hover vehicle. Breathless, she peered over the vehicle, stunned to see a woman riding on the huge man’s shoulders. A horsehead pendant around her neck sparkled in the light, and the news correspondent sucked in her breath. One of the Four Horsemen. This wasn’t good.
The other Enforcers had opened fire, but it was no use. If anything, the giant seemed to be absorbing the energy, growing bigger and bigger with each step. First fifteen feet, then thirty, the ground shaking like gelatin as his weight increased.
“Cease fire!” The sergeant shouted, but it was too late. By then the giant was easily forty feet tall, so big that the shorthaired woman who clung to his neck resembled a tiny doll. The Enforcers tried to scatter as he took a step forward, grabbing for them with armored hands. One of the Enforcers proved to be too slow, and he shrieked with terror as the fingers punched through his armor as if it were cheap tinfoil. Frantically the man struggled, but to no avail. Pamela’s heart pounded almost painfully in her chest as she watched the doomed Enforcer’s energy transferred into his former comrade, his body withering away into flesh-colored powder.
“Oh, fuck,” Pamela softly muttered, her eyes widening as he grew even bigger, his storm cloud-gray armor stretching and twisting to accommodate him. The street was becoming too narrow for his bulk, his shoulders ripping away the stone façade of a nearby office building as they brushed past it. The news correspondent wailed with terror as debris fell around her, crushing the hover vehicles and a dozen or so of the Enforcers. Her cam bot scurried back and forth, somehow managing to avoid the falling masonry.
Then, just as the last chunks of stone fell to the ground around her, she saw his gargantuan foot come down, purposely flattening two Enforcers into maroon mush. She gagged when he contemptuously scraped the blood and viscera off on the road, leaving behind a gory mess.
Choking on the sickening stench of blood, she slowly craned her head to look up at him. Jesus, how could anyone have gotten so big? Nine stories at least, his shadow large enough to engulf the remaining Enforcers.
Far above, she could barely make out the female Horseman, who was silently observing the mayhem.
Even from her high perch, Medea could still see the tiny armored figures as they ran for their lives, only to be stepped on and become wet, red stains on the pavement. She could hardly hear their piercing screams of agony and horror over the thunderous laughter of the giant. It was the most terrifying sound that she had ever heard, crazed and animalistic, yet intelligent at the same time.
She tapped into his mind, reading his thoughts. What was there didn’t surprise her in the least–death, destruction, rape, pillage. All the things that she had unleashed a short while before, and which served her purposes just fine.
He lurched forward suddenly, nearly tossing her off of him.
“Idiot! Watch what you’re doing!” Medea screeched furiously. Massive eyes the rich color of mahogany rolled down to look at her, and she paled slightly under the predatory gaze. Swallowing hard, she said in a quivering voice, “Hold me in your hand.”
His right hand rose up, the tree-trunk sized fingers wrapping around her body. Metal that had been warmed by his body heat pressed into her sides as she was lifted up, dangerously high. She could sense the raw power in the hand around her, enough power to crush a hover vehicle or snap her in half like a breadstick.
She shuddered a bit and hung on for dear life.
Pamela should have fled for her life, but she didn’t. Not only was she terrified that the giant would spot her if she tried to run, but she secretly was pleased to get a story this exciting. Why, she might even win an award for this! So she stayed, squatting amid the rubble and pulverized bodies, fiddling with her cam bot’s controller. The robot hopped around the huge Enforcer, who was too distracted in hunting down any survivors to notice it, recording his every deadly move.
FGM news would have to make her an anchorwoman once they saw this footage!
She was smiling broadly when the armored colossus unexpectedly moved his left foot… right down onto her cam bot. The little robot was reduced to a flat pancake of metal in less than a second.
“No!” Pamela found herself crying out. That machine had been an expensive piece of equipment, and that big buffoon had just stepped on it like a bug! He didn’t notice, either, as he stomped down the street, bringing death with him.
What could she do now? She couldn’t afford to lose this story, but pursuing it could turn out to be a lethal mistake. And she no longer had her cam bot to help her.
Ahead of her, the giant paused and plunged his fist into a building, laughing like God on Judgment Day as most of it crashed down onto the road below. Then, with a terrifying nonchalance, he continued down the street. Ignoring the violent hammering of her heart, Pamela chased after him.
Club Monde-Nouveau was one of the trendiest spots in the whole city and, like every night, it was busy. Young people wearing the latest Parisian fashions, from latex body suits to elaborate coats of ultra-light chain mail, milled about inside, the pulsating lights washing over them. These were the most stylish citizens–artists, musicians, fashion designers–all gathered to drink the most exotic liquor that the place had to offer and to show themselves off at the same time.
Unfortunately, that particular night turned out to be the worst time for anyone to visit the club.
As the Japanese techno music echoed throughout the whole building, everyone heard another noise, a loud crashing sound. The plastic lamps swung over head as the floor shook. At first, most of the patrons thought that it was an earthquake, until the roof was torn off and tossed casually aside.
An enormous, lean face, the eyes blazing with malevolence, appeared over them. At first, everyone who was sober enough to realize what was happening just gaped at the huge man that loomed above them. No one could believe what they were seeing–the colossus resembled some grotesque mockery of an Enforcer, right down to the nameplate welded to the front of his armored chest, but he was so much bigger…and nastier.
It didn’t take him long to demonstrate his cruelty. As the petrified patrons of the club looked on, he dipped his massive fingers into the main dance room, fishing for victims. Furniture was smashed into splinters, wailing men and women crushed into vermillion stains as the careless fingers swept across the room.
Those fortunate enough not to be smashed to pulp beneath the searching digits found themselves facing an even more grim fate as the giant drained them of their energy, feasting upon the luckless victims like some gigantic vampire. With every person that he robbed energy from, he grew, his already mind-boggling bulk increasing until he was able to knock over the club with a few movements of his hand. Shrieking patrons ran from the exits as the building collapsed in a shower of powdery dust. Some of the survivors tripped and were trampled by the others as they fled from the giant, who had stood back up. His murderous gaze fell on them and, with a demonic grin, he purposely began to stomp them underfoot.
The street was stained crimson with blood, twitching corpses that had been flattened like ants strewn everywhere. Pamela’s stomach threatened to spill its contents as she gazed down at the death scene from the thirtieth story of the New Financial Institute of North America building, abandoned except for the woman who stubbornly insisted on following her story. Near her, the awe-inspiring Enforcer stood as almost as high as the one that the reporter cowered in, his head just below her.
Pamela forced her attention to turn to the giant, instead of the sickening scene on the street. God, he was so huge…each of the short, russet hairs below her was as thick as a cord, his head as large as a small building. She couldn’t see his face, but that was relieving. The sinister expression that warped his face was something that she certainly didn’t want to see for long.
Opening the window, the woman poked her head out, the cool air carrying the fetid stench of death. This action turned out to be a mistake, for when he moved forward, the ground trembled so much the New Financial Institute of North America swayed like a reed in strong weeds. Pamela was catapulted from her precarious perch on the window sill, and she let loose a shrill bleat as she hurtled toward the street below. Frantically she grabbed for something, anything, to hold onto.
Which happened to be one of the thick hairs that grew from the behemoth’s head.
Pamela’s breath caught in her throat as her fall was broken, at least for the moment. The titanic man’s scent–sweat, cologne, his flesh itself– all amplified by his incredible size–was all around her, filling her senses. As she hung there, her heart beating so quickly that she was sure that it would explode, she prayed to whoever happened to be listening that he wouldn’t move his head suddenly.
Three seconds later, he did exactly that.
Again she fell, this time landing on the soft flesh of the back of his ear. Terrified, she clung to the warm flesh beneath her and waited for him to brush her off. But, perhaps because he was too large to feel her, he didn’t.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into? A tiny voice in her head howled at her. She could only shiver in answer to this question, doing her best to hold onto the flesh beneath her as he began to move once more.
Pamela wasn’t the only passenger that the giant carried as he tore through anything in his path like a living tornado. In his armored fist, Medea avidly watched as the Fourth Horseman destroyed anything in his path, pushing aside buildings, flattening hover vehicles and people alike. The mayhem reminded her of those old horror vids, the ones in which gargantuan monsters decimated entire urban areas. Just like in the vids, her monster was demolishing this city, and he was completely unopposed.
This, she realized as she felt the chilly wind against her bare face, this was why she had joined the Horsemen. To experience power…raw power, as addicting as any drug and the strongest aphrodisiac that she knew of. With her control over the Enforcer, his incredible power was hers. And now, as she scanned the destruction with eyes dilated by Cebnox, she reveled in that fact, almost giddy from the excitement that made every nerve tingle.
The excitement quickly transformed into something else, something that spread warmth through her lower abdomen. She realized for the first time that his index finger was pressed up against her breasts and groin, increasing the pleasant sensations. Her arousal steadily grew and the giant looked down at her as though he could sense it.
Medea reached into his mind, and was not surprised in the slightest to find that it was a seething pit of lust. As soon as she removed those old moral safeguards, he had become worse than the Devil himself. She allowed herself a small smile. It was amusing, really.
After pulling out of his depraved mind, she gazed up at his handsome face. A thought occurred to her, something that she normally would have been embarrassed to even have considered. But why, she thought, should I be embarrassed? No one can stop us…
She sent him a mental image of what she wanted, of what she yearned for. The gigantic Enforcer laughed with wicked glee, the sound echoing throughout the metal and concrete canyons of the city. Carelessly he sat down right on the street, deep cracks radiating out from around him. He stretched out his massive, armored legs, driving them into a building as he raised her to his face. The structure immediately crumbled, dust rising into the air, but he took no note of it. His gaze was on Medea, who had reached out to touch his lips, his cheeks with questing fingers.
She marveled at how soft his skin was and, tentatively at first, she leaned forward, letting her breasts touch his face. Even through the material of her body suit she could feel it, and her breath quickened. Through the corner of her eye, she saw his other hand move toward his nether-regions, where the organic armor had parted like the Red Sea to reveal his erect cock. Colossal fingers, each bigger than a transcar, gently stroked his swollen manhood.
Just as Medea’s hand dipped down to tease herself, she sensed something. Instantly she froze, except for a quick movement of her head.
“We’re not alone,” she growled. Of course they weren’t; people were running around the giant, trying to get away as quickly as possible. But Medea sensed someone else, someone very, very near. She glanced up , following the frightened thoughts, and then pointed. The Enforcer grabbed for the stowaway on his body, sneering as the woman screamed. She looked familiar to Medea, with her brightly-colored hair and white news suit. Pamela Something, a news reporter for FGM, that’s who she was.
“What should I do with her?” The colossus asked, holding Pamela by one leg. The newswoman, hanging upside down, her long hair hiding her pretty face, wailed again.
“Whatever you want,” Medea answered, shivering at the sinister expression that contorted his immense face. As he lowered the shrieking news correspondent toward his erection, she reached down for her zipper, eager to get out of her clothes.
It had been bad enough when Pamela had had been trapped on the giant’s ear. Now, as she found herself pushed toward an obscenely-huge penis, she found herself in a much worse situation. The pulsating flesh that she was smashed up against was hot, and she pounded helplessly at it. It was no use; much to her disgust, she was dragged up and down. There was no pain at first, except for the few times that he applied too much pressure. Then she felt an odd stinging sensation in her skin, which turned to full-blown agony. The burning sensation was excruciating, and she tried to squirm out from the giant’s tight grip, but couldn’t.
Tears of pain began to stream down her face as she looked down and, much to her horror, saw that her flawless skin had begun to flake, as if turning to ash. Fear seized Pamela, and she attempted to thrash, to do something, anything. But her lower body was paralyzed, the sensation completely gone. She recalled what had happened to some of the Enforcers outside the Burson-Silvers International building, and a shrill screech sprang from her throat, mingling with the frantic cries of the people around her.
Pamela only stopped screaming when her face collapsed in on itself, flesh and bone turning to a fine dust that was swept away by the wind.
The mammoth hand that held Medea grew even bigger, nearly swallowing her up as it expanded. She turned her head and looked behind her, noticing that the reporter was gone. Well, that explained it.
The thrill of growth had excited him even more and, with a few caresses of his blood- engorged cock, he came. Spurts of thick semen came down onto some of the people trying to flee, trapping and suffocating them like insects in molasses.
As soon as the after effects of orgasm passed, he brought his attention back to Medea. The titanic fingers moved away from her, and she found herself sitting on his palm, naked but feeling strangely invulnerable. She sucked in her breath as one of the fingers, now so big that it could have effortlessly crushed her all by itself, came toward her, stopping a scant foot or two from her chest.
Slowly she stood, leaning against the monstrous digit and enjoying the cool metal against her breasts and bare belly. Almost unconsciously, she tilted her head forward, kissing the armor, one hand sneaking down between her legs. Medea spread her vaginal lips and gasped as she brushed her clitoris, the tiny lump of flesh swollen and especially sensitive. Eagerly she rubbed it and savored the exquisite feeling of the hard metal against her breasts at the same time.
Just as her motions began to reach a fevered pace, she sensed something once more. But this time it was dangerous, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She pulled her dripping fingers out from her vagina and shouted up to the Enforcer, “Someone’s coming…”
Indeed, someone was coming. Several of the military’s latest aircraft, sleek planes crafted of glossy silver metal, streaked through the starry sky toward them. It took Medea a quick mental scan of one of the pilots to find out that each plane was packing enough power to take out a considerable chunk of a city. Hesitation suddenly crept up on her. What if she and the Fourth Horseman weren’t indestructible? A cold chill ran down her spine.
Even if that was true, she would fight until the bitter end. So she reached out with her enhanced mind, trying to make contact with one of the pilots. But just as she felt her consciousness latch onto his, the Enforcer’s gargantuan hand closed over her, cutting off the light. She squealed with frustration and impatience as he dropped her into one of the compartments on his armor. Inside the heavy darkness of the compartment, Medea howled with rage, deliberating on whether or not to just to completely take over his mind. She decided against it. After all, she was safer in here…until the missiles hit, that was.
She closed her eyes and waited.
A four hundred foot man was an easy target, and the pilot of the plane closest to him, a young man who was well-known by his friends and family to be cocky, grinned victoriously as he watched the missiles soar toward the giant. The enormous Enforcer glowered at the pilot, his eyes cold and cruel and calculating, and didn’t even move as his death rushed toward him.
The missiles found their target, momentarily lighting up the night as they exploded. So powerful were the explosions that the giant man was thrown like a child’s rag doll, his rolling body creating a wide swath of destruction until it finally stopped.
The pilot grinned smugly, congratulating himself until he saw the colossus stir. No, not just stirring. He was growing at an alarming rate too, absorbing the energy of the missiles like parched earth sucking up water. The pilot felt his eyes widen as he watched the man grow, doubling his size, tripling it. The giant’s shadow crawled ominously over the buildings as his body became larger and larger, his feral eyes glaring at the pilot the whole time.
“Jesus,” he heard one of the other pilots whisper over the radio. He said nothing, only silently watched as the Enforcer continued to grow, his body crushing anything in the way. The pilot had no idea how big he was now. The tallest building only came up to the titan’s knee, which was swiftly destroyed as the immense man strode forward toward the planes, a maniacal smile on his mind-bogglingly huge face.
By the time he reached them, he was almost at their level, and the pilot’s mind could not adequately grasp his sheer size. The man was like a living mountain, huge to the point that, with every awesome step that he took forward, he smashed a dozen or so blocks underfoot. The unfortunate people on the ground that were not killed outright were forced to deal with the violent earthquakes that opened gaping holes in the street and collapsed buildings like dominoes.
The pilot did not react until the mammoth hand with fingers the size of skyscrapers swooped down toward him. But by then, it was too late. The planes exploded as soon as they hit the solid wall of metal and flesh, debris showering onto the ground.
The Enforcer looked down at his hand, where the only traces of the planes were plumes of thick, charcoal smoke. His thunderous laugh was an awful thing to hear, so loud that it shattered windows throughout the city and caused the survivors of his murderous rampage to clap their hands to their ears in agony.
Still laughing, he looked down at the damage that he caused. Each footprint was a deep crater, and any person, structure, or vehicle unfortunate enough to have been in it was utterly flattened, compressed into the bedrock far underneath the street. Deliberately, he raised his foot over a retail district, trying to imagine how the people far below were reacting. Probably scared out of their minds, trying futilely to flee from the mountain- sized colossus looming above them.
His heart raced with excitement at this thought and, with complete lack of mercy, he brought his metal-shod foot down, crushing the whole district and sending shockwaves throughout the surrounding areas. He purposely ground his boot down, making sure that no one escaped alive. Not that anyone could have.
With a heartless grin, he dragged his foot back, creating a trail of destruction. As powdery dust rose up, the giant crouched down low, placing both hands on the ground. Skyscrapers crunched, people were squashed into bloody smears as he lowered himself closer. It was impossible at his great height to see much of anything, except for a few specks that were probably hover vehicles. To the tiny people that drove those speck-sized vehicles, he was as powerful as a deity, and that fact caused a stirring in his loins.
He was still incredibly aroused, and once again removed the armor from his groin with a simple thought, the organic metal pulling apart to reveal his throbbing erection. He briefly considered caressing it again, but, as he looked down on the mite-sized city, he had a better idea.
His cock scraped against the small buildings, smashing them and sending a shudder of delight through his body as he lowered himself down further. Clear precum dribbled down onto the street far below, coating everything. The giant groaned deeply, thrusting. The ground heaved beneath him, entire neighborhoods razed by his gargantuan manhood.
He sucked in his breath, his vision blurred by pleasure, and he climaxed. Any structure left standing was instantly destroyed. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the night sky, which was yielding to the first pink rays of dawn.
And he laughed, because this world was now theirs.
The prime minister grimly watched the news vids. Haven had ceased to be a city; now, it was little more than a barren wasteland of debris and death. What was worse was that its destroyer still alive, arrogantly striding across the country and reducing anything near him to rubble. It was astounding that one person could do so much damage.
So far, the Horsemen hadn’t made any demands, and he wondered if their sole purpose was just to destroy humanity. It seemed that way.
That all changed when the young woman sauntered into his office, dressed in an ebony tank top and pants, her pupils so dilated that they consumed her eyes. A horsehead pendant hung between her breasts, glinting dully as she stopped right near his desk.
Medea Lerner, he realized. One of those damned Horsemen.
“H-how did you get in?” The prime minister demanded, shaking with fear.
“The guards let me in,” she answered and winked, hopping up onto the expensive oak desk. He backed away, wary.
“What do you want?”
“I was hoping you’d ask that.” She flashed him a black-lipped smile. “I want you to sign over the military to the Horsemen.”
“You must be kidding.”
The smile told him that she wasn’t. He opened his mouth to say no, to tell her to go to hell, but he couldn’t. There was a peculiar buzzing in his head, as if someone was crawling around in there. And, as he stared at the Horseman’s dilated eyes, he realized that someone indeed was.
“Look at this way. People will stop dying as soon as we take over.” She was trying to reason with him, but there was no need. Her telepathic power was gradually taking over his mind, forcing him to take the old-fashioned clipboard, and the official paper on it, from her.
With trembling hands, he began to sign.