Hark and read well, as here written is the true record of the rise of the King, He who sits upon the Horned Throne, He of the Thousand Concubines, the Ever Mighty, the Virile One, the Layer of Daemons. It is my humble honour to record here in these pages, the legend of how He came before us, and our new age came to be. Know that all that follows is true, for I had the honour of following His hoofsteps, on the path to glory.

It began in the time of the third Cataclysm, as the forces of hell rallied behind a new infernal queen. A Hound of Hell, who united the daemon hordes beneath her paws. The border lords long ago abandoned their duties to impotent infighting, leaving the world poised to fall to chaos.

First word of His coming reached me, as I sat with my fellows in the lodge hall, in the town of Lastswing...

***

Black rain churned the mud to a mire, as the miserable settlement hunched in its hollow between the misshapen hills. Said once to have been a beautiful valley town, with meadows and fertile fields, the dark and bent-backed buildings seemed to brood and sulk, as they squatted in what was now an expansive graveyard.

Years ago, a great battle had been fought here, one last swing by the forces of order to push back those of corruption and chaos. The town had held, but its new name was less a trophy of its triumph, and more a scar it bore, as it limped along in un-life as the first line of defence, against the champions of the abyss, who made designs upon the world. The knifes edge between good, and hell itself.

At the periphery of that edge, menaced the Hunter's Lodge, the home for those who made their livings stalking the dark, who dwelt on that threshold. On a night like this, it was the only place where the door was not bolted, as it invited in any who would dare disturb its denizens. Though this time, it was they who were disturbed.

"Please, ladies, I promise I don't ask you to leave because I doubt your abilities! I only-" the guild master buckled under the howls and shouts of the assembled Hunters. The old tired badger wiped his brow with a rag, as he back peddled beneath the curses and accusations from the feminine killers he supposedly commanded. Still he suicidally persevered "It's for your own safety! Please, just take the night off before-."

He barely had time to duck the dagger which now vibrated in the wall beside his ear, launched by Hela, or Fela, he could never tell between the two steppe-lynx twins that comprised the murderous Sword Sisters. The glare from them, however, was hardly alone. But what else was he to say? He'd only received the warning an hour or so ago, when the exhausted scout had collapsed at his door and told him, that He was coming. He, The Barbarian. No one in the guild knew what He wanted, where He came from, or why He did what He did, only that if they were lucky, He'd be amenable to their requests, and not take too much before He left. And it wasn't coin He took, but what He left behind was devastation. And just that morning He'd been sighted, walking straight towards Lastswing...

Swallowing his fear, the guild master made one last entreaty to the assembled Hunters, especially the women, to just go back home, or to the inn, or better yet ride to one of the other settlements before-

The door crashed against the wall. Wind carried in the rain around the behemoth that dominated the frame, one hand out, as if they’d given the gentlest push. It had to stoop to step inside, tall horns scraping the lintel, hoofs clopping hard on stone with its weight, they turned their broad shoulders to better fit. Standing erect, the towering bull drew, and held, every eye within the room. A simple harness was all that covered His chest, a few bags and pouches attached, along with a suggestion of armour from two spaulders over the shoulders, aside from that, He was bare, and steaming. The water evaporated off His immaculate musculature, broad but not bulky, grand but not grotesque, and it began at the jaw, and continued down along sculpted pectorals, carven abdominals, to a naked, thick, sheath, easily a handspan in width, from which a flare could already be glimpsed. Below that, pendulous, rippled with veins, each the size of a head, two brazen bollocks boiled away the vapour with the sheer heat they exuded.

The potent steam, rich with His musk, rolled through the room, carried to every nose and overpowering every other scent. Pupils dilated, nostrils twitched, women gasped. The sound that followed was a chorus of shivering moans, punctuated with a thump, as Grezzeta the hound collapsed, her legs soaked, a slick puddle all around her feet, her eyes rolled back into her skull. She quivered and snorted, a look of pure fulfilment on her face. And as He clomped towards the guild master's desk, dwarfing him in shadow, it wasn't just the women who were affected. Several men, some who had never even considered looking at another man in such ways, suddenly turned weak at the knees, shuddering, wet patches blossoming in their britches.

It wasn't that He smelled of sex, it was that He promised, Sex. The best, most passionate, most powerful, most dominating experience that could be had between two people. Or more, as the thick, pungent, burnt spice said that once, would never, be, enough. And it seemed someone had learned that already.

With everyone so taken by His arrival, no one had realised He was not alone, not till the heavy thump of the recumbent body hitting the desk made the whole room flinch.

The guild master swallowed, as he looked into the glassy eyes of of his other scout, her face stretched in a childish grin, and only the soft panting gave any indication that she was alive. Her clothes were missing, her fur askew, her thighs caked in tacky white, and her belly a swollen mess, large enough for twins. She, stank of sex. Potent, overwhelming sex, that had left her mindless and still quaked through the aftershocks of orgasms past, only voicing the faintest of sighs.

"Deal with this," were the first words The Barbarian spoke, low, rumbling, and without the need to menace or snarl. It was the voice of vast confidence, not needing to rush, nor waste its time when it could simply instruct, knowing it would be obeyed. And despite thinking he should be outraged, the first thing the guild master did was hurry to do so.

"Wait," a warm, heavy hand, blocked the old man, "tell me about, that."

Blinking, the badger followed a thick, calloused finger, which was pointing to the Hunter's map, the list of sightings for demons and their allies, along with missions ongoing, and those places none should tread. Unable to stop himself, he explained it all, as the bull studied the chart with a placid, almost bored, expression.

"Fine," the low rumble came, "I will solve this."

"O-of course! Please, take any mission you like, I'm sure you can-"

"No, I will solve, this," and with that, The Barbarian mashed a finger into the map, right atop the demon's citadel. "Give me supplies."

‘His arm is thicker than my chest…’ he mused, paralysed by the vein-girded beam of muscle in front of his eyes, before he even realised he was pointing at something.”W-wait, surely you don’t mean to… take on the demon queen Herself?”

But the unchanged look of confident calm said otherwise, and so the badger nodded, somehow convinced that if anyone could manage it, it was this Man. "O-of course, what do you need? Weapons? Food? Transport perha-"

"Women, twenty, durable."

Again, He was not asking.
Even though the guild master felt he must object, that he could not hand over twenty of his huntresses to this hulking behemoth of a bull, he was already panning an eye around, and seeing that many were drooling over the opportunity. Still, he tried to do his duty, and stammered out that, "D-does it have to be, s-so many? M-maybe we could-"

All protest was killed, deafened by the panicked, desperate clanging of church bells. The heavy peal cutting through even the most lust soaked minds for a moment, as they heard the alarm. The demons were here. But how? How could they possibly have gotten so close? Why was there no warning? Where were his-

The guild master's eyes swung, first to the insensate woman sprawled on his desk, then the message he’d received a few hours ago. His scouts were out of commission, and now the enemy had come upon them, The Barbarian’s arrival alone had taken his careful plans, and used them to wipe his hooves. But the time for blame would come later, now he needed to organise, lead, fight back before it was too late.

And by the time he turned to speak with the interloper, he found He had already left.

***

"Fools! They are practically defenceless," the Lady Encarmine, devoted follower and chosen agent of the Infernal Queen, cackled as she swooped over her forces. The red stained bat, one of the favoured cultists, and demonologist of her own making, directed her small horde of imps and fiends, sending them swarming forth into the streets to wreak havoc in Hell’s name. The bells ringing may as well have been her victory tribute, for nothing could stop her. No armies rallied, no militias mustered, and no pestilential hunters plagued her ascendance.

No one, except...

Strutting towards the horde, without a care in the world, as if there was nothing to make him fear, one figure alone, practically naked, and with only his fists and hooves.

She would have laughed, sneered at the madness of it, if seeing the walking pillar of defiance didn't set her fur on edge. But no, she was a leader, she was chosen, it was her time now, she could not back down because of one bull, no matter how big the balls on him. No matter how they swung, and hitched, and...

"K-kill him! Slay any who stand in our way!" Encarmine screeched, shaking the images from her mind, trying to ignore the sudden warmth that crept up her skirts, and directing her minions forth.

Her red tide rushed heedlessly. The bull, huffed. And then. Exploded into motion.

He moved effortlessly, gracefully, and unstoppably, fist, and hoof, and horn, swung, struck, and splattered her soldiers like insects. Muscles like steel cables tensed with power, then unleashed it with whip-crack alacrity. A spear would thrust, and if it would touch at all, it would only graze along an iron hard hide, the density of his flesh greater than the sharpened metal. And the reprisal was always devastating.

As the bull, the Man, worked His way through her horde, she couldn't help staring, marvelling, enraptured by the absurd impossibility. He seemed to get faster by the second, a run-away reaction that filled His veins with fire. The rain, the blood, it boiled off His body as heat built until He looked to glow in the dimness of night. His sculpted physique was haloed in a corona of burning vapour, as the inexhaustible dynamo of His body ploughed through the throng, fists pistoning, pounding, turning them into wet, ruined, puddles, that made her...

The Barbarian casually tossed the last of her imps over His shoulder, the creature screeching into oblivion, as He looked up at where she fluttered, just out of reach. She gulped, looking back, seeing the fire in His eyes, and the excitement of the girth that spilled and spread from His crotch. With a pike like that, He’d spit her from end to end, run her through, turn her every organ into a toy for His pleasure...

"S-so, you think to defy The Queen? You are nothing to Her, and I am her loyal servant," Encarmine trembled, as she pushed aside the intrusive thoughts, "you may have won this battle, but I will return, I will not forget that you-"

The Bull took a stance, the inner light bunching in His thighs and His brightly burning balls.

He leapt.

For a moment, slack jawed, the flying woman’s view was filled by His rising horns, all three of them. Before He gave a sudden mid-leap thrust, and the air was driven from her lungs. In a flash of incalculable sensation, He impaled her on a metre of burning meat. Flimsy drawers were snapped, secretly gushing lips split, as she gasped, and the world turned white.

Nearby windows rattled when His hooves hit ground again, the stunned bat skewered from the sky, held down on her doom. The massive, girthy, muscular penis of The Barbarian, was hot, solid, and relentless, breaching barriers as easily as a battering ram. It was an impossible fit, but the word did not apply to Him, her body made way for Him. It steamed, boiling her juices, glowing and pulsing, rutting and fucking, forcing surrender to His invasion, His immensity, till there was no room left for Him to take within just her uterus. And yet...

“You…” she gulped, staring in shock at the visible, arm thick bulge in her gut, going from quim to breast. “You think, that this… will st-stop me?!” She squeaked out defiantly, struggling not to admit the pounding pleasure in her nethers, “my Q-queen’s little, f-fuu-Finger! Feels, soo bi-Better! Than your magnif- I mean miniscule, cock. Wait what are you-?!”

Before Encarmine could rally, two meaty hands grabbed her by the wings. He lifted her up and slammed her back down! The impact accompanied by a snort of steam, as He transformed her flesh into a tube, a sheath for His weapon, bludgeoning aside all obstacles to His wants.

She was short of breath, her lungs having to make space, as now her womb was being pummelled into her chest. And impossibly, it felt amazing! The sensations travelled her spine and boycotted her brain, as she was chocked internally, rearranged and remade by the slapping shlong that strained all reason. His balls sloshed, a tangible tide threatening a flood, ready to claim her, taint her, breed her.

“I… I’m n-not yours! I… I belong, to H-haa, ah... her…” she taunted, knowing all she was doing was begging Him for more, more force, more thrusts, more body breaking bulging from his pillaging prick. She tried to cling to memories of her Queen, of the immaculate, otherworldly grace of the demonic woman she’d sworn herself to. “I’m not… broken…”

‘Yet!’ Her inner self added, staring in disbelief at the half a shaft still to go in her ruination. Not graceful; brutal, thorough, simple and earthly, it was pure in purpose, uncomplicated and irresistible.

Everything tightened, His grip on her waist, her limbs around His shoulders, the walls of her vagina, as they threatened to tear, only for Him to push harder, further, deeper. Washboard abs grated her nipples. Writhing bollocks stung her cheeks every time they smacked together. His flare used her cervix as a door mat, trampling it on every piercing of her womb. The medial ring roughed up her g-spot. All of it painfully perfect, hammering a new purpose into her being.

How could her queen compare? How could a finger, or even a tongue, from the immaculate hound queen of hell, measure to such relentless sexual brutality?

The snorting grew faster, impending doom closer, and all she could do was cling, scream, beg, "MAKE ME YOURS!"

Those were the last coherent words she managed, the next orgasm cracked the walls keeping her mind intact. It was all consuming, irresistible, and even with the fading vestiges of sanity, she knew that He was nowhere near finished. Her only regret was she wouldn't be conscious by the time He was. Her queen forgotten, she knew no other loyalty than to the Man that could make her feel this.

His toy now limp, The Barbarian rutted, and fucked, with no regard for the incidental pleasure He caused. The bat quivered and shook atop the onslaught, but that didn't matter, what mattered was the fire in His sac, ready to be unleashed, crawling thick and turgid up His pipes, bulging the tract of His cock, illuminating every vein of His shaft with the glowing power of His virility. He took one last moment to lift, hold, and then plunge as much of His cock within as he could, till her womb creaked, till her lungs expelled their last, till he had two thirds inside. It was enough, and so He let loose.

The noise was of desperate gulping. Pulse after pulse was force fed into the captured brood-hole, light blooming inside her belly, which she swallowed down without complaint. Each spurt made her jolt and buck, subconscious spasms as His seed rewrote the last of her. Quickly the weight dragging her ground-ward, her limbs no longer strong enough to cling to His neck, as she, like many before, fell limp and boneless under His sway. 

***

The Barbarian swaggered back inside the Hunter's hall, His gait broader, as He dragged a fresh burden, still stretched tight to his steadily cooling cock.

Stunned hunters could only look on in horrified amazement, as the Lady Encarmine, one of the most hated traitors to mortal kind, hung like am overfilled wineskin, her head knocking on the floor. The red bat’s gut rivalled a full-term woman’s, and the fading light inside illuminated her newly fecunded ovaries as they were being invaded, visible streamers of seed breaking into each, hunting for their own conquest.

The Barbarian loomed once more over the guild master, the potent musk all the stronger as He leaned in, and spoke.

"Now, nineteen more."

Gulping, swaying, painting his britches in a thin steam of pre, the old badger tried his best to keep from falling to his knees.

"Y-y-you mean to, keep her?" He stammered.

“We should kill her!” Hissed Fela of the Sword Sisters, her great hatred stronger than her awe, “she’s our enemy!”

“That would be wasteful,” was the quiet cough of Asta, the pale mouse, and Logistician for the lodge, “she could have valuable information for the inquisition.”

“No.” was His response, voice rumbling. “She’s mine.”

***