

Chapter 2


“Take the long way, I want Nero to see what we did to the ferret village,” Gunnarr laughed. One look at the fox told him the fur might be too shaken already for the hellish scene to to have much effect. But the way Nero was wheezing, a nice leisurely stroll would let him recover enough to get the full experience of what Gunnarr intended to do.

“And, Eamon, take a few guys and bring the rest of of those little ferret fucks. I want the foxes on the wall to have a real show!” He laughed like thunder, watching two of his vikings begin to drag Nero backwards ahead of him. He delighted in the fox’s pained grimace as his captors absently stretched his arms.

Such useless and fragile creatures, Gunnarr thought. 

***

The air stank of smoke and death. Even after a week and a half the village, none of the polar bears bothered to learn what the ferrets had once named their home, still looked like a place of slaughter. The blackened huts and crushed bodies stood as a prelude to what the vikings planned for the fox city.

“Look at it, Nero. Look at what awaits.” Gunnarr slowed to a stop and motioned for his warriors to drop the fox.

Nero yelped when his back hit the ground. His broken rib shifted, stabbing bluntly at his lung. He struggled to stand on bloodied feet. His heels had been cut from being dragged along the rough trail. His thoughts weren’t on the plight of the poor ferrets, this was a matter of survival. 

“Please, my lord,” he croaked out, clutching his side. “Make this stop. I’ll give you anything you wish, just let me-” Gunnarr’s fist connected with the side of his head. It wasn’t a hard blow by polar bear standards but the fox staggered, falling with a muffled whimper as he tried to curl into a ball.

“I said, look!” Gunnarr bellowed at the fox. Nero again struggled to stand, this time only making it to his knees. 

The crude huts, too small to accommodate even the smallest viking had been cracked open like eggs before being set ablaze. Gunnarr’s warhammer had personally shattered the wall of the chieftain's hut. Another swing brought the hammer down onto the head ferret himself. Little was left, save a square depression in the ground, and the ferret’s flattened lower half. The crushing hit was so sudden, the ferret lived for several more seconds, his arms flailing feeling for his flattened abdomen before Gunnarr leaned in, watching the life drain from his eyes.

Evidence of similar scenes were everywhere. Mangled ferret bodies, twisted and pulverized beyond all recognition. Some were dispatched quickly, brutal stomps driving them as close to a burial as they’d ever see. Some of the vikings had taken their time, staking down rows of the small furs then marching over them, making several passes until they left a short bloody road.

Gunnarr could feel his pants tightening at the memories. He needed release. “Enough. Bring the dog to the hill.”

***

When they arrived Eamon had already begun distributing the writhing and crying ferrets. Gunnarr was glad to see his warriors were too eager to wait. The grassy hillside was peppered with splashes of blood where the dead were tossed in full view of Nova Vulsii’s walls.

It was easy to imagine the terror of the weak effeminate foxes, not used to a real fight, and ill equipped to handle the sheer brutality of the viking’s ways. The merchants and trades, from numerous and distant species, must have been cursing their gods for ever thinking of traveling this far north, within range of viking raids.  

Gunnarr began to inspect his warriors. One was standing on the flattened remains of his victim. Only the tiny arms and legs were still identifiable. The viking had been casually stomping his foot for the past ten minutes while he awaited Gunnarr’s arrival.

The big polar bear nodded in approval.

Nearer the crest of the hill Gunnarr halted his procession. A viking, without a care of who witnessed him, was slowly forcing a screaming ferret ass-first down the shaft of his thick ursine cock.

Nero’s eyes were wide. He shivered with fear as the viking’s cock tore the ferret wide enough to accommodate his girth. The viking began to pump the ferret, working its screaming body further down until its struggles and hot lubricating blood gave the viking the sensation he craved.

Gunnarr chuckled at Nero’s reaction, letting the fox watch in horror until the ferret’s struggles ceased. If only he knew what awaited him, he would have begged to change places with that small fur.

The massive bear also took note of one of the warriors holding Nero. He was the young one. Gunnarr had been especially impressed by his instinctive savagery when he’d joined in the gang rape of the vulpine guards in the tent. Now that viking was licking his lips, drooling over what he was seeing for the first time. He would make a great viking! 

“Warrior,” said Gunnarr, “what is your name?”

The younger polar bear hesitated, “Lars, Sir.”

“Do you like what you see?”

“Oh, yes, Sir!” It was made all the more obvious by growing erection he sported.

“This is your first raid?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lars replied quickly.         
 
Gunnarr smiled at his freshness. “Stay alive and I will personally give you all the captives you’d need to fully understand the pleasures this life has to offer.”

Lars’s toothy grin grew to wild proportions. Growing up on a simple farm, he’d never expected that one day the legendary Gunnarr would take notice of him. “Thank you, Sir! I will not disappoint you.” 

“I know you won’t, Lars. I can smell it in your blood,” Gunnarr said with a smile as he walked down the hill to give the foxes their main event.

***

Gunnarr stood before the wall, just out of range of the fox archers. “Cowards!” he called out, “you dare to send me an emissary? A pathetic, sniveling fox that would promise me anything just to save his worthless life?”

From further up the hill, painfully held in Lars’s grip, Nero looked hopefully towards his city, praying his brother, the King would save him. They, they could send out a wagon of gold, buy his freedom… or the city guard! Maybe their numbers would have vikings reconsidering… Nero’s mind churned out countless desperate fantasies. 

Gunnarr waited for a response. Anything that would indicate a hint of fighting spirit. He wanted to see what and angry fox was capable of. Yet the walls were silent. He spat. “Pathetic!”

Nero’s eyes welled with tears. No one was coming. He was supposed to become the hero of Nova Vulsii. The fox who outsmarted the polar bears, not the naked, hurting and humiliated wretch.

“Lars, bring me Nero,” Gunnarr said.

Terror suddenly took precedence over everything else. He tried to dig in his heels but all Lars needed to do was give him a little shove. Nero was sent tumbling down to the foot of the hill in a heap of pain. As he raised his head he saw he was also at the feet of Gunnarr. He whimpered knowing what those terrible feet had done to his stomach and what they could do to the rest of him.

“Please, Gunnarr, lord! Please let me live. I swear to you, I- I- I will open the gate for your horde.” Tears rolled down his cheek as he crained his head, barely able to see Gunnarr’s face over that massive, muscular belly.

 Gunnarr looked down with disdain. The fox was sprawled out on his stomach, crying with fright in front of his city. And still he was only concerned about his own life.

“Natural born traitors, these foxes are,” he laughed to his warriors. He turned to the foxes cowering on the wall. “Did you hear that? Your emissary is a perfect example of your kind. Fit for nothing more than a life of torture.” Gunnarr heard a pitiable sob escape from Nero. He looked down with sadistic gears turning in his head.

Nero flinched as Gunnarr’s thick toes wiggled and he lifted his foot. He whimpered as it drew back, knowing what was to come. It swung forward, snapping his head back with a powerful kick that caught him under his jaw. He yelped and Gunnarr pulled his foot back again.

“No!” Nero begged.

Gunnarr laughed sharply. “Show the other foxes how pathetic you are.” He swung his paw forward, slower this time, pushing his toe against Nero’s lips. “Suck it if you value your life.”

Nero obeyed. Slavishly hoping his performance might save his life. The taste was horrible, gag inducing. The coarse toepad was coated with dirt and the unmistakable copper tang of his unfortunate victims blood.

Gunnarr felt his cock begin to stir. The fox’s humiliation was merely foreplay for his sadistic delight. He stepped down, taking Nero’s jaw with him, pinning it under the toe still in his mouth. A little pressure and Nero moaned in pain. His lower jaw was held between the unyielding earth and Gunnarr’s equally unyielding toe.

Just a little more pressure and Gunnarr knew he could break the bone. The thought grew his erection, straining against his pants. Self control was never a trait Gunnarr bothered to cultivate, but experience taught him that if he broke Nero’s jaw, he wouldn't be serenaded with those beautiful cries of pain he loved so much.

Nero mewled pitifully when Gunnarr took his toe out his mouth. He coughed and tried to spit the horrendous flavor out of his mouth, making the mistake of taking his eyes off the polar bear.

Gunnarr circled around the prone fox, taking in the pleasing contours of his naked ass. The bushy fox tail hung limply across one cheek, almost teasingly. The stupid fox was to concerned with his tongue to notice the bear start to raise his foot again. The watching viking warriors cheered in approval. More than a few sported their own hard ons.

Gunnarr smiled to himself. So many targets to choose. So many bones he could break. His foot hovered until Gunnarr settled on Nero’s taut calf, the slight mound tense like the rest of him. Slowly the paw descended.

Nero’s head spun around. His wide eyes tracing up the polar bear's body, their eyes locked just as the heavy paw touched down. 

Gunnarr felt Nero start to pull his leg away, but the polar bear was too quick. Pressing down on the pliable calf muscle, he had the leg painfully pinned. Nero had seen exactly what viking feet could do to a fox. Images of what his guards endured flashed before his eyes.

“No!” the fox begged, trying to twist around despite the pain from his broken rib.

Gunnarr stepped down. The fox’s shin pressed flat against the grassy grown. The tendons and muscle gave way first. Above Nero’s shrieking came the the sound of a small sapling cracking. Nero’s cries became a long high pitched screech. Gunnarr twisted his foot, feeling the snapped bone splinter and twist.

Nero clawed at the ground, trying to pull himself away from Gunnarr, but he was held firm. His struggles only brought more pain from his ruined leg. It was too much for him to take when Gunnarr lifted his foot and brought it back down on what was left of his pulverized calf. His stomach emptied, hurling the gallon of piss he’d been forced to drink into the grass in front of him. Gunnarr’s evil laughter echoed his his head. There was little relief when the bear finally stepped off.  

“Roll over, Nero,” the viking growled. “Get on your back.” He watched the fox tearing at the grass, as if he thought he could get away. He shook his head in disgust and kicked the crawling dog in his side, bringing another howl of pain as Nero was knocked onto his back. The fox’s lower leg twisted at an unnatural angle, only connected by searing nerve endings and ruined flesh. 

The polar bear stood over his victim, admiring the expressions of pain a vulpine face was capable of. He rested a foot on the thigh of Nero’s good leg. Just resting it was enough to keep it from thrashing. 

“You threw up the drink my friend offered you,” he smirked. “I’m not too mad, given your predicament. In fact, I see you were a little sloppy,” he wiped at his mouth, demonstrating where Nero still had traces of his mess. Nero was in too much pain to take his hands away from where they clutched his cracked ribs. “Don’t bother,” Gunnarr insisted, “I think I can get that for you. But you have to open your mouth for me.”

Nero heard the words, and even understood what the demon of a bear was asking him to do. But in the worst pain he’d ever experienced, his jaw remained clenched as groans seethed out from between his teeth. He was incapable of telling his own body what to do.

Gunnarr smiled and turned his head to his eager audience of warriors. “Do you see how even after what I’ve done to him, the fox is too stupid to obey?” he shook his head in mock disappointment. “But I will continue to pour out my kindness. In fact, when they write sagas about me, I want them to call me Gunnarr the Merciful!”

That drew thunderous laughter from the vikings. That grew into cheers as they watched their leader’s particularly cruel form of mercy.

Gunnarr stepped up on Nero’s thigh, at once driving the fox into another bout of shrieking. As the bear’s other paw left the ground Nero’s femur crunched, shattering in several places. Gunnarr’s broad foot spanned from above the fox’s knee to almost his hip. He balanced on one leg. Nero’s thigh was so flat that Gunnarr could barely feel its lump under his sole, but he wasn’t done with the poor fox. He placed his raised foot over Nero’s other leg and stepped down, balancing his weight as the other bone fractured.

Nero arched his back, screaming until he had no air and all that left his gaping mouth was a hiss of unending agony. Exactly what Gunnarr was waiting for. Still standing on the fox’s legs, as firmly planted as a mountain, the polar bear loosened his pants, reaching for his semi-hard cock and freeing it before it grew too erect for his next move.  

He pointed it at Nero’s head and with a grin of pure sadistic pleasure, began to drench the fox’s face in stream of hot piss.

Nero sobbed, able to let out one cry before Gunnarr adjusted his aim and he began choking on a mouthful of urine. His back straightened against the ground again and he tilted his head away, but there was no angle to escape Gunnarr’s uninterrupted stream. Nero was forced to swallow several mouthfuls just to breath. 

Gunnarr finally shook out the last few drops. Nero’s head lay in a puddle, his upper body soaked in the foul smelling liquid. He lifted a foot, humming with pleasure at the wet sucking sound of the fox’s thigh unsticking from his sole. He stepped forward next to the vulpine then brought up his other foot, this time dragging Nero’s useless leg, piercing the ruptured skin with splintered bone. Nero shook, lacking even the strength to scream.

Gunnarr looked down at the fox between his legs. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off in my tent, before Eamon’s brilliant idea to make a public example out of you.”

Nero’s lips parted, soundlessly pleading to Gunnarr and the gods for this all to stop. His pleas would not be answered.

Gunnarr stomped down on Nero’s stomach, his toes meeting no resistance from the fox’s already broken lower ribs, his heel sinking into the soft cradle of the fox’s groin. He rocked on his foot, crushing internal organs. Nero’s bladder burst, sending a splash of bloody vulpine piss onto Gunnarr’s ankle. 

What should have been a howl of ear shattering proportions was nothing but a strained hoarse groan. Nero’s vision grayed. With his last energy he lifted a hand, reaching out at the colossal polar bear crushing the life out of him. “K-kill… m-me… pleeese,” he whined. 

Gunnarr was quite pleased with himself. It took a lot of pain for a fur to beg for death. He’d seen Eamon fuck a ferret to the point its intestines were spilling out. The poor ferret still tried to plead for Eamon to let him go. 

“Oh, I will, dog. But not as fast as you’d like.” He bent his head, getting a look at the blood pooling around the foot standing on Nero’s stomach. He shifted and placed the other paw on the fox’s chest. He pressed with the ball of his foot, savouring the feel of Nero’s chest starting to cave. 

Nero’s lungs were collapsing. He wheezed and coughed up a mouthful of blood. It trickled down the sides of his face. Each breath grew shallower than the last under the torturously slow trample of the viking. 

Gunnarr stared intently, watching the life drain from the fox in wet, bloody breaths. Beneath his foot, right under his toes, he could feel Nero’s heart, struggling to still pump the blood that was bubbling out of him. He shifted more weight to that foot, looking for the moment… There! Nero’s heart could no longer beat. He shoved the whole of his foot down, crushing Nero’s ribcage and pulverising his chest.

Nero’s eyes bulged, a final grunt expelled his last breath and the blood that had been filling his lungs.

A fitting end for a fox, Gunnarr laughed to himself.