Willows Demise


Fire, blood, death everywhere: this village was the newest victim of the mighty viking giant polar bears who loved nothing more than to kill and torture.


Gunnarr, the Jarls son and leader of every raid the Vikings carried out, was currently standing on top of a struggling cat, some bones already broken and blood leaking out of his mouth. The ursine was rock hard, he already raped three victims, all of them dying during the act or very shortly afterwards, his feet were covered in blood, many villagers had been crushed under them, the cat soon joining them.


„Gunnarr Sir, we lined up all the surviving guards. If you give the go we will march over them“ 


Gunnarr grinned widely. „Good job, Lars, I told you you would get as many victims as you want and here we are hope you’re having fun!“


Now it was Lars’ time to grin. The young polar bear always looked up to the Jarl’s son, and he was very happy when he was allowed to join Gunnar's viking crew, he only noticed the cat under his leader when he began to stomp on the spot. Every time Gunnarr lowered his legs a loud crack followed, making short work of the struggling feline.


Blood and guts decorated the flat corpse, the lifeless eyes staring in the sky. When Gunnarr began to walk forwards, some of the feline’s body parts stuck to his soles and only came loose after a few steps. The two bears walked past several houses where still cries of pain and laughter was heard from time to time, some of the Vikings even made small fires and sat around it, using the smallest of their victims such as mice, rats, and ferrets as fleshlights, using there bodies or still alive ones over and over again, cuming and flooding the small males until there bodies gave out and ripped open.


They arrived at the main street of the relatively large village. Several of the bigger species had been guards in this village, like in so many others: Foxes, dogs, cats, and deers or goats and rams, a wild mix of species to protect the smaller weaker ones. In this village, dogs, cats and deer had been the guardians species, the 67 surviving guards out of 400 were either hurt or gave up when they were captured. Now all of them were bound to the street, some crying, others begging, but it was to no use. All of them would be marched upon by the huge polar bears and there massive weight, the smallest and lightest of the massive ursine measuring a good two point eight meters and weighing in at 800 kilos, most bears were over three meters and weighed over a ton.


„Man, these „Guards“ failed in there duty to protect the weak. I say we end their suffering by marching over them until we can’t distinguish them from the ground anymore.“ 


Gunnarr’s little speech made his man cheer, and they all quickly formed a line. Gunnarr stood next to them, normally he would join, but he had other plans, so he gave the go and watched as the first man began to walk over the bound victims. Every single step was accompanied by loud crunches and pained shouts, and with a smirk, Gunnarr turned around to the one house nobody had stepped into yet, the lords house of this village.


It stood north of the center of this settlement, a relatively big house - of course not as large or impressive as Gunnarr’s castle, but it looked nice at least. Several of his man stood in front of the mayor's house, it was guarded by a wall and had its own gate, the Vikings had made short work of that when they arrived but didn’t open the door to the house. The few guards who stood there had been taken prisoner and were still bound in front of the house.
The information Gunnarr had gathered from the cat before he crushed him, had made him aware that the mayor and his two sons lived in this house and that the mayor’s wife had died years ago.


„Sir, the house was not entered, as you commanded, and the guards are still alive too“


„Good, you can kill them now.“


The man did as they were told and began to do their thing, while Gunnarr walked to the front of the house.


„MAYOR I KILLED YOUR CITY AND I WILL KILL YOU TOO, SAY YOUR PRAYERS!“


Gunnarr bellowed. The mayor gathered his two sons around him and kissed them goodbye, they knew there was no escape, especially since they could see outside and watch as their personal guards were raped or killed in many ways, the most sickening execution he could see was a polar bear that stuffed his far to large dick into the ear of a labrador, skull fucking him in the process. The dog was probably long dead, his body only involuntarily moving around, sometimes lifting an arm when the bear trusted into his ear hole. A good part of the bears dick was still outside of the skull since nothing more could fit inside.


This spectacle kept going for a good hour, until all guards were raped and dead, then the Vikings began to break down the door to the house,  storming inside. A few servants where also in the house, shouting in terror while the bloody and cum dripping polar bears took a hold of them, they were punched, kicked, stomped and killed. Gunnarr took his mighty steel war hammer and drove it with full force into the skull of a ferret servant, it exploded upon impact, spraying bits and pieces around the room. Gunnarr stepped onto the dead ferretm and it crunched noisily under his paw, the guts spilling out of the body.


The ursine began to climb the stairs to the last door protecting the mayor's family from certain death, he took his hammer and bashed the door open, then immediately ran into the room, grabbing the three small otters. The mayor was only a good one and a half meters tall, and his sons were somewhat smaller.
 Gunnarr petted the struggling shivering otter.


„So, „Mayor“, we raped and killed so many of your people. How does that make you feel?“


„Y - Y - You a - are a b - bunch of m - m - monsters“


The polar bears began to laugh, the shivering and crying sons were begging to be let go, but none of the bears gave them any attention.


„How old are your kids?“


The question surprised the mayor, might he be willing to let them go because they aren’t adults yet?


„The youngest is fourteen and the oldest seventeen.“


„Heh, pretty young.“ 


He looked at both of them, then pointed at the older one.


„You can rape him“


That was all it took. Immediately, five bears fell upon the poor defenseless otter, ripping his clothes to shreds, lifting him up and then they began to fuck him, the pained shrieks didn’t show anyone what exactly happened inside the otters body, but his hole and insides were being ripped apart, and he was soon silenced when another bear shoved his giant dick inside the otters mouth filling it to the brim with just his tip and kept going overstuffing the mouth and dislocating the jaw in the process.


„PLEASE DON'T NOT MY SON, PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!“


„Well that’s too bad, my men just started, and they are enjoying themselves.“


The muffled screams ended after a ten minutes. Gunnarr pushed the father to the ground and put his left feet onto his body, his toes near the neck, both the mayor and his remaining son where crying, mourning the loss of a son and brother.


Gunnarr took hold of the younger son, and threw him right next to his father, with an pained „Oof“ he landed on his front. Gunnarr put his right foot onto the smaller son, rolling him around and softly squeezing the poor little body, he rested most of his weight on his heels as to not injure his newest victims yet.


His right foot only covered the legs and hips of the small otter, his legs where in the same pose as if he was kneeling only to the side and not under him, he was crying and calling for his father that tried to reach him and calm him down.


„Don’t worry it will be over soon. You won’t feel a thing.“


Gunnarr was amused, the little otter tried to act tough to calm his son, but to think it would be over soon was a mistake, Gunnarr shifted his weight until the smaller otters body began to break, flattening his legs and hips after several weight shifts, the child began to lose consciousness, his head hitting the floor not moving anymore.


„Haha, weak,“ Gunnarr laughed.


Gunnarr lifted his leg, showing the damage he had done. He let the child lay there and stepped off the mayor, who scrambled to his only son left, he heard his men still enjoying themselves, raping or jerking off to the show. With a mighty growl the first bear came into his victim, making the belly inflate with his gigantic load, as soon as he was done he pulled out. A flood of cum and blood followed his withdrawl, and then, the next bear took over and began to fuck the corpse.


They kept going, entertaining themselves with the corpse and not paying any attention to the other two otters, but the mayor took this to his advantage, taking his injured son and running out the room. Gunnarr heard the otter run and followed, catching up to him pretty easily, he took his hammer and hit the right leg of the running otter, breaking the bone. The otter fell and his son hit the ground, rolling forwards on the ground coming to a stop a good meter in front of his father, the otter shouting slurs while he held his leg.


„That wasn’t very nice of you.“ 


Gunnarr chuckled, he walked up to the injured son lifted his right paw and with all his strength he stomped down, the head literally *Popped*, the right eyeball flying out the skull, brain matter splattering into the face of his father.


The otter felt something warm hit him and heard the loud pop, he had a feeling and when he looked up his worst fears had come true, both of his sons now were dead. He began to cry and didn’t want to live anymore, but Gunnarr wasn’t done with him yet. He grabbed the otter like a kitten by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up, carrying him around his once beautiful village, showing him body after body lining the ground, until he came to the main street, where by far the most bodies were.


The line of guards was completely ground down. Only blood and very small bits and pieces remained of the 67 guards, and many other villagers’ crushed remains laid on the ground as well. Most of the Vikings were gathered around here too, every valuable piece they could find packed into chests and put onto carts, several slaves were also captured, as they would bring entertainment on the long way back home across the sea.


Gunnarr’s best friend Eamon was also here, forcing a struggling black cat onto his fat dick, nearly breaking the jaw of the feline in the process. Next to the log he sat on laid a small pile of 7 ferrets, all dead, there bellies inflated with cum leaking out their mouths or asses.


„Someone had fun,“ Gunnarr laughed.


„Course, like always my friend,“ Eamon laughed back.


Then Eamon began to thrust into the choking cat’s throat, while Gunnarr looked around to see what his men were up to. Two bears where pumping their legs, rhythmically stomping a deer, his body deforming severely under the ordeal, but he was still alive, his eyes showed only a glimpse of the pain he was going through.


Two bears where playing tug of war with an fox, his arms and legs already dislocated but still attached, but eventually, his body gave out and ripped apart, the fox giving out one last scream of terror as he looked down and saw the contents of his torso spilling on to the floor below him.


Several polar bears threw smaller victims into a big wine barrel, the largest of the ursines reaching three and a quarter meters and his voluminous body meant he weighed far over a ton, now stepped into the barrel that was filled with several victims and began to stomp on the spot as if he was crushing grapes. It didn't take long until the noises of broken bones stopped, and only the sound of wet mud could be heard.


A group of vikings began to play some sort of football, kicking a ferret around and trying to kick it into some makeshift goals. The ferret was badly hurt, his legs not moving indicating that his spine broke, and he also had an open fracture on his right arm. Gunnarr lost sight of the furball when a huge white foot kicked into the small ferrets face.


Five bears sat around a fire pit where a german shepard was forced to lick their paws clean, he was done with two and currently in the process of cleaning the third ones feet. They were massive enough to cover his upper body, and the poor dog was struggling not to throw up, his stomach already filled to the brim with blood and body parts of other furs, but he still had,a lot to clean.


Other vikings were celebrating the mass murder they just committed by drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Of course, when drinking so much, you have to eventually relive yourself, and for that, several bigger furs were bound to a wall. Their mouths had no teeth anymore, all pulled or beaten out, so as to not injure the ursines. When ever they had to pee, they just walked up to the victim of choice and forced their mouth open, sticking their flaccid dicks inside and pissing down the throats of the victims. Most of them were completely drenched in piss, the fur having turned a shade of yellow.


Pleased at what he saw, Gunnarr walked to the entrance of the village, binding the mayor to the floor making sure that when the vikings left, the mayor would be crushed to a pulp by all men and their carts stepping or driving over him, then he turned around and left the crying and suffering otter behind.


When he came back to his friend he saw the feline now drowning on the copious amount of cum from Eamon, who was groaning and thrusting softly into the abused muzzle of the soon to be dead cat.


“There goes another,” Gunnarr chuckled.


It was a common and pleasing sight seeing his best friend living out his fetish, while Eamon does crush and likes to watch other people crush he enjoyed nothing more then to force a smaller fur onto his cock and drowning them with his cum.


There were still a few high class furs left in the city, spared so they could watch what happened to there city and people, to torture them before they were executed. The guard captain, a massive Elk a good 2.4 meters in height decked out in muscle, had been captured and bound to a post, while his son at 16 years old showed signs to become adult his body having already some muscle mass developed and already at one point eight meters in height, was thankfully nowhere to be seen.


He had been bound to that post for hours now, around him the pandemonium of the Vikings having what they called a “party”. He couldn't count how many times he had tried to break his bonds, only to bellow out his frustration and pain into the night when he failed.. And so, he had eventually tried to close his eyes, to avoid having to see the carnage and the brutality with which the bears were treating his people. The people he had sworn to protect from such horrors, and who he had sworn to give his life for, should the need ever arise.
But even that had proven to be worthless. The sounds.. He couldn’t shut out the sounds. The screams, the crying, the breaking bones and tearing limbs, the callous laughter of the bears, and their lusty grunts and orgasmic bellows, when one of them once again had used one of the villagers as a condom.
They would kill him, soon, and then it would be over, and he would be… relieved. He just hoped that Conrad had made it away safely, he had told the boy to run the very moment he found out who it was that was coming over the hills.


“Dad!”


Mason’s eyes flickered open, his head shot up hard enough to crash his antlers into the post he was tied to, and he looked around frantically to find where that familiar voice had come from. What he saw.. made his blood freeze in his veins. There, that was unmistakably the shape of his son, carried between two of the larger polars, in a grip that hurt his arms only by looking at it. They were grinning wide enough to present their back teeth in an entirely feral snarl as they hauled him closer, right in front of his post, where they dropped him to the ground, each of the two blood-soiled brutes placing one of their paws on his back, pushing the smaller deer into the muddy dirt.
“Look who we found, captain!”, one of them sneered, “I think we gonna have some fun with him now… such a cute little buck, eh?”
“Still a buck? Let’s see!”
The left one pulled back, and delivered a kick that not only drove the air from Conrad’s lungs, but also flipped the youngster on his back. The right bear, who apparently had anticipated the move, stomped down again, this time, however, slamming his footpaw between the buck’s legs. 
Conrad’s eyes went wide like saucers, and despite his battered condition, his body curled up instinctively while a shrill, bleating cry escaped his muzzle.
“Yep, a bucky,” leered the right viking, and curled his toes. “Not for long anymore though…”


“STOP!!!” 


The scream actually made the bears stop, more out of puzzlement then of obedience, of course, and they both looked at the much larger captain of the guard.
“Stop it - please!! I beg you, let him go. He has done nothing, he’s no danger to you… and he’s all I have left. Please…. You can have me instead, I’ll do anything you want from me, anything at all - if you only let him go.”
Mason couldn’t believe the words coming from his own mouth, but they were his.. And he found out he meant them.
“Please - let me speak to your leader. There must be something, anything at all, that I can do to save him. Whatever it is...I’ll do it. I’m serious. Please - I say it again, I beg you… “


The two bears were not impressed, clearly, and the way they looked at each other, only to shrug their shoulders…
Without another word, they lifted their footpaws again, aiming at the chest and at the knees this time.


“Stop.”


This time, the word didn’t come as a panicked scream, but as gentle, relaxed command, given by someone who is used to having absolute authority. And this time, it was not from puzzlement that the two polars stopped, but due to sheer, practiced obedience.
Gunnar strolled onto the square, hands crossed behind his back, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his cold, sparkling eyes.
“Captain Mason….” he said softly, coming to a halt in front of the tied-up elk, easily towering over the already not so little captain. “It seems that you’ve got some interest in the little shit down there. It’s your offspring, yes?”
Mason… nodded, glaring up at the chief of the raiders defiantly.
“And you just said you’d do anything to save him?”
Again, Mason nodded, with more vehemence this time. 
“I see…”, Gunnar mused, and strolled on, walking around the bears that were still standing next to the curled-up Conrad. He prodded the buck almost gently with one foot, then shook his head.
“The way I see it, captain… the only way would be for you… to become one of us. Accept me as your new liege. Become my follower, and brother to my men… we could use a man of your qualities, I have seen you fight. You do fight well….”


Mason gulped. Become one of the Vikings? Join them in their raids? Surely, they would not expect him to kill his fellow citizens….
Mason shook his head. Of course they would expect him to do exactly that. It was the core of what it meant to become one of them. It would mean he’d have to deny all his principles, all of his ideals… or, maybe not. The raid here was almost over, and whoever was still alive, wouldn’t be for long. And before the clan would hit the next village, there would be plenty of time and opportunity to … vanish, and warn the king about the plague that was devastating his country.  And, of course, it would save his son. His only son. His only.. Family.


“Decide quickly, captain… I won’t be able to hold my men back much longer. They have earned this, you see… and it would be so unfair of me to deny them their fun.”


“Yes.”


“Did I hear right? You want to join us?”


“Yes. I will join you, accept you as my lord and master, if that’s what it takes to protect my son.”


“Excellent!”


The bears began to laugh, a new viking in their reign, a strong warrior no less and his son as trump to make sure he would follow every order.


“Man, get me a victim, to prove you’re one of my own you will have to kill an innocent.”


The elks eyes nearly popped out his head, killing an innocent? Never in his life would he kill someone that needed his help… but if he didn’t do what they asked of him, they would kill Conrad, his only son, his only family left.


Loud meowing interrupted his train of thoughts, a red brown furred cat with darker colored stripes, was struggling and kicking the air getting carried by Eamon.


“Hey, I found this cat outside trying to escape, thought I would bring it to you guys. I had a few cats already today.”


“Perfect,” several of the bears said at once. Eamon looked around confused but then saw what is going on, he brought the cat forwards and held him in his hands.


“Free him. Now it is time to show what you can do, kill that cat with your dick!”


The other bears laughed as they cut through the rope that bound the elk to the post.




Mason didn’t move, at first, he was still trying to come to terms with what he had to do… and how he had to do it. He blinked, focussing on the cat, who seemed to be as surprised as he was, while slowly rubbing his wrists to restore the circulation that the tight bindings had impeded.
He knew the feline - not by name, but he’d seen him before. He was, if Mason remembered correctly, some kind of helper or worker at the saddler’s shop down Creek street, where … 
Mason shook his head. There was no sense in thinking about it. The cat, whatever his name was, was dead already, the fact that he was still moving was just an error in timing. In ten more minutes, one more life would be snuffed out, either by himself, or by the bears who were increasing in numbers, all watching the spectacle with keen interest.


With a deep roar, Mason leaped forward. He did not want his task to take longer than absolutely necessary, and that meant, he had to move as long as the feline was still too shocked to run away. Arms and hands outstretched, he threw himself forward, tackling the striped fur to the ground, which elicited a long mewl of protest from his … his victim, yes. 
“Better to start thinking that way,” Mason told himself as he roughly yanked one of the cat’s arms behind his back, twisting hard enough to force another mewl and hiss from the smaller fur. 
“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he spoke aloud, his voice filled with the carefully trained politeness and neutrality he always used when he made an arrest, or subdued an unruly drunk. 
“Please do not resist. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
The phrase came over his lips before he even thought about it, and the irony of it made him pause for a second. But was it actually irony? It was, in fact, as true as it ever had been. He had no will of his own to hurt this innocent citizen, but circumstances dictated that he had to… and he had never, ever shirked his duty out of compassion or sentimentalities. 
Bringing the second arm behind the cat’s back was easier than getting the first, and even that hadn’t been hard. He was more than double of his victim’s weight, and much stronger - handling the feline was not a problem for him at all. “Identify yourself.”
The mental program was still running, even now as he held the cat down with one hand, and loosened the button on his briefs, one by one by one. 
“.... Ralph, Sir…. Ralph Tarske.”
“Very well, Mr. Tarske,” Mason heard himself say, while his left hand was pulling his own pants down, low enough to let his sheath and balls pop free. He felt something there, something wet, and it made his eyes flash down, to see… 
Mason blinked. He was, as he noticed only now, hard, or at least, hardening up. A good hand’s width of his tapered, pink cock had pushed out of its sheath, and was quivering slightly in the cool night’s air, wet and glistening with fluids.
‘When has this happened…?’, Mason asked himself, ‘and why…?’
“Please do keep still now. If you cooperate, this will be over in no time, and I won’t bother you anymore.”
Mason watched his left hand grab the cat’s… Ralph’s… underwear and pull it down to his knees. Ralph apparently didn’t have had the time to dress properly before running away, or, more likely, one of the vikings already had started to prepare Ralph for his short-lived duties as a cocksheath. 
“What… What are you doing, Sir? Aren’t you supposed to protect us from these raiders?”
“I’m just doing my duty, citizen. Please remain calm.”
He was bent over the cat now, pushing down with his full weight on his right arm, forcing Ralph’s arms further up his back, and then pressing the whole upper body to the muddy ground, forcing the cat to twist his head sideways or risk getting his muzzle stuffed with the blood-soaked dirt that covered the plaza.
Further forward he leaned, bringing the tip of his shaft under Ralph’s tail, jutting forward gently, with short, brief thrusts, to find the place where… there, there it was, the little speck of hairless skin, right under the tail, wrinkly and hot against his tip.
“PLEASE, Sir!!! Don’t… Don’t do this to me, I…”
“Again, I am sorry, Mr. Tarske.”
He thrust.
It was as if the whole tension, the whole frustration that had built up in his muscular body discharged itself in the timeframe of an eyeblink. Mason had delivered that one thrust with all he had, in typical, cervine fashion, ramming the whole length of his shaft into Ralph in this one, swift movement, only the impact of his hips on the cat’s much smaller ones ending the motion. And he knew that the cat wouldn’t be able to take it. Mason was no horse, of course, but he was easily as long as many of them were… only that his shaft was slimmer, more elegant, and more pointed. A strong, elegant spear, where a horse would have a club or a bat, he had sometimes joked in one of his rare drunk moods, an Elk was to a horse what a fencer would be to a thug. Much more elegant… but, under circumstances as these, just as deadly.
It took over a second for Ralph’s brain to understand what his body already knew, and to decide to react in the only possible way - with a scream. It was shrill, it was long, and it was the most painful, most tortured sound Mason had ever heard. He could feel Ralph’s body convulsing around him, cramps in his muscles squeezing and massaging the shaft that had lanced through his intestines and stomach, and was now pushing hard against his diaphragm, and he could feel the wet warmth of blood flowing around him, pleasant in a sick, perverted way. 
He pulled back, risked a glance downwards, and saw the scarlet mess that covered his shaft, and that was dripping down between his and the cat’s legs in a steady stream. 
Mason shuddered, and thrust again. And again. And again.


The vikings cheered Mason on, they loved the show - they just got the big elk thrusting into the meowing cat, his face could only show a fraction of the pain he experienced, with blood beginning to pool around his legs now.


Mason was really getting into it now. It was hard to admit that to himself, but the cat - Ralph, he corrected himself - felt really good on his shaft. Really, really good in fact. Good enough to make him snort with pleasure, readjust his grip, and widen the stance of his muscular legs, to allow him to withdraw almost fully before ramming himself back into the snug, warm tunnel he had forged into the body of his victim. 


Conrad could hardly believe his eyes. There was his dad, the fairest, most just person he had ever known, snorting and tossing his head, while fucking away into a fellow citizen, who was definitely too small and to frail to accept the elk’s mighty organ. He watched the cat’s blood run in streams down his dad’s legs, mixing with the foamy sweat that now poured of the larger elk’s frame, and he watched as Ralph suddenly started coughing up a frothy, pink mixture that drowned out his mewls and screams. And, unable to tear his eyes away, he kept watching as his father threw back his head and bellowed out into the night, his grip on Ralph’s arms tight enough to dislocate a shoulder, making the cat arch his back in primal pain, muzzle open in a silent scream, dripping with viscous blood and pearly seed.


It was all too much for the young buck, more than enough to make him forget where he was, and what else was surrounding him. So it came as a total surprise when he too was grabbed from behind, thrust forwards on all fours with a calloused paw, and when only a second later, a thick, hot shaft was thrust under his tail with merciless force, ripping him open in an explosion of white, hot pain. He screamed, then, a panicked, mournful bleat, his eyes still affixed onto his father.


Mason heard the scream, and it was enough to wake him from his post-orgasmic bliss. His head whipped around, only to find his son being held on all fours by one of the largest bears he had seen so far, a massive brute, his dirty white fur speckled and soaked with mud, blood and gore. The bear was grinning widely, and he had just forced what looked like a pink baseball bat into his son’s sleek, narrow rear. Even while he watched, the bear bent forward to grab his son’s meager set of antlers, using it to hold be buck in place for the next thrust of those pile-driver hips, powering half of the enormous shaft into the smaller male. 


“You… promised!”, he bellowed, his eyes darting around to find the Viking’s chief, wanting to accuse him, the betrayal painted clearly on the elk’s face.
But Gunnar wasn’t there. In fact, he was behind Mason, and now reached for the Elk’s antlers as well, putting him in a hold not unlike the one that was used on Conrad. But instead of forcing him to all fours, Gunnar shoved harder, and, placing a footpaw in the small of Mason’s back, he thrust the Elk flat onto the muddy ground, pinning him in place.
“Did you really think you could become one of us, just like that?”, Gunnar asked mildly, pulling hard on the antlers to raise Mason’s head, turning it to force him to look at his son, who by now had been hilted by the bear behind him.
“Do you really think we would accept someone as you, who is ready to give up his principles in the blink of an eye?”
Mason groaned, and clawed at the ground, trying to get away from the horrible weight on his back, and to get his hands onto the bear, who was thrusting away with his killer cock, shredding and ripping his only son’s tailhole. 
“You… have no backbone, chief…”
Gunnars voice was dripping with irony and satisfaction, and he chuckled softly at his own joke. 
And then, he pulled for real. Using his full, horrible strength, he pulled Mason’s head up and back, bending the whole elk’s spine backwards, while pressing down harder with his foot.
Mason screamed as his spine creaked, and began to pop under the unnatural strain, pain flashing through him like nails being hammered between his vertebrae… until, with a horrible, sickening sound, the strain vanished.
Gunnar grinned as the scream cut off, and with it, all resistance. Almost gently, he took his foot away, folding Mason’s body back further, until the back of the elk’s head was resting on his hindquarters. Almost like an afterthought, he pushed hard once more, spearing Mason’s thighs with the tips of his own antlers.


When Gunnarr looked back to the giant brute that was piledriving into the younger buck he noticed said buck not breathing anymore, his insides shredded and dying while he killed his father, Gunnarr hoped that the young buck saw the death of his father, but who knows?


The other vikings laughed at the sight of a son and father dead and either kept watching how their big brethren continued to rape the corpse, or left to find the last remaining citizens to have fun with.


It didn't take long until the last remaining citizens were caught, mostly smaller furs, the bigger ones were easiest to find, of course they begged but there was no mercy shown, the smallest victims mostly otters and ferrets were held back the last to be killed, while the last cats, foxes and dogs where the first to go.


They divided the victims up, one group to the left, the other to the right, the group on the left were group raped, as many dicks were stuffed into a victim as possible, after all, there were no more left, and if you didn't get your rocks off now you would have to wait. On the other side victims were killed in any way the vikings thought of right now, crushing, beating and several weapons were used on victims.


When all the bigger species were gone the smallest were next, most of them being used by those that just were on the not rape side, using the small bodys now as fleshlights shoving there far to large dicks into the small bodies, breaking hips and ripping appart everything on the inside in the process.


After an hour they were done with the village, the chests with loot were loaded onto carts and what didn't fit was carried by hand, the captured slaves did not have a long life to look forward to. Those who survived the long travel by boat and were not used up, would have to work in the viking cities, but of course, if one of the massive urine wanted to use them for personal pleasure there was nothing stopping them.


All of the vikings walked behind Gunnarr, they soon reached the entrance gate where the still crying mayor was still bound to the ground. Gunnarr didn't even look down as he stepped on the belly of the otter, his sides split open and guts leaked out, then hundreds of other ursines stepped onto the otter pulping him in the proces, sometimes even slaves had to step on him.


They reached the boats and every one stepped on board then they left for home.


The next day


It was a beautiful sunny day as the big merchant group travelled to Willow creek, it was a fairly large village with an equally large population, some of the merchants even came from the village. It didn't took long for the group to round the last bend, but what they saw made them stop.


The village was completely destroyed. Several buildings were burnt down, corpses lined the streets, and when they reached the gate, the smell of the dead became unbearable. They stepped onto something muddy but couldn't make out what it was - that they had stepped onto or around the remains of the mayor was a fact they thankfully didn't know.


But as they only saw dead everywhere, it made them understand that they had to get help, they immediately traveled to the next largest city and told what they found to the guards, and of course the information eventually reached their king, Maximus the fox. Unbeknownst to his subjects, the King had already known that a raid would happen, he himself told Gunnarr to attack the village. Now he had to fake shock, and of course travel to Willow Creek to pray and act like he would care, but the only thing he truly wanted was to see were the bodies and how brutally they had been slaughtered.


But he knew Gunnarr fairly well. The next day, he would get a messenger, and most of the time it was Hyfried, the loyal Hyena, who brought a letter with boasting from Gunnarr and a detailed report from Hyfried himself, something he always looked forwards to. Often he then got some prisoners and the biggest guards he had, mainly elephants and stallions, and had them reenact the scenes of the letter and report.


After all, it was a win-win for everyone, except the victims of Gunnarr and King Maximus.


The End