There are those, mostly outside the borders of Armello proper, who believe that the rot is a purely destructive force, a spiraling away of life and goodness into nothingness. The truth is, unfortunately, far grimmer than that. Rot, as is obvious on close inspection, is instead driven by pursuit of its own life and growth, to the exclusion of anything else. It is, therefore, not a creative force, since this is life without anything extra, with no consideration beyond its own success and reproduction, extension of the same. Only the weak, being afflicted by the rot, will be carried away to oblivion. Those stronger might fight it off completely, but more often they regain a life not quite the same, their spirit twisted, with a certain revulsion at each coming day. They carry within them a modicum of rot, influencing and vying with them for not only its survival, but for its fullest success. It is, truly, a sixth element, a dark form of the life-giving magic which built Armello, some even say a direct consequence of such magic.
	It might be true, since the king had certainly had his share of life-enhancing treatments with this magic before that infamous day. It was his custom to greet the day in his kingdom by striding onto his balcony. Old though he was, the warrior would lean on the balustrade to watch the sun rise, and some say a small smile used to play on his lips when it did. On this day, though, he was not pleased, and roared in pain and fury at the red orb that sat so much higher than he. It was another month or so before the court physicians discovered what became the first known case of infection by the rot, soon to be many.

	The king was corrupt, dying in his throne. Never fear, Scarlet was here! King of the Bandits! Deposer of Dukes, Barons, anyone who got in her way really! She was here to depose the old king by force, with her trusty shining blade, which had seen lots of blood that was either blue or red but all wiped off in the end. Guards presented no problem, and she could make her way easily around the castle. She would make an excellent king. She may have needed a bit of direction, but she just twitched her nose to get her bearings.
	It was true what they said; with the death of his physicians, the king sat every day in an increasing pool of rot. Scarlet's nostrils filled with the vomitous stench, which still, on top of everything, retained a cloying sweetness of odor, just enough to trick the brain into considering it a possible food. A lesser fox might have hurled, but Scarlet was used to meals from John Stoat's cookpot, so the stench was almost welcoming.
	She strode into the grand hall, the epicenter of the doubtful smell. She was surprised to see the old lion's eyes flash up almost immediately, but he didn't stir from the throne. As she drew closer, she could see the ravages of the rot beneath the cape he wore. He was enormous, almost made of muscle, but the rot had crept in to turn the muscle black. It looked, almost, like he was melting into the throne, black flesh blending with the shadows.
	A few steps more, and she froze. Those glowing eyes were watching her, unmoving. She took a few more steps. The king sagged in his throne a pace away, unmoving, eyes peering into the darkness beyond her. She licked her lips. It felt wrong, so easy an end to such a famous warrior, but Scarlet drew her sword and struck, looking at the king's chest in expectation of the guts which would pour from its muscular bulk.
	But her sword never made it that far. Scarlet heard a thunk, and looked up to see the sword caught in the king's palm. She had just enough time to see the smear of black blood along its length before her sidearm was ripped from her grasp and flung across the room, unbalancing her just as the king's other paw came in to swipe at her. She barely avoided his slash, and her clothing did not. The claws caught the fabric of the back of her dress, ripping it open and snagging her long enough to turn her strategic retreat into a short fall onto her face, knocking the wind out of her.
	Still mostly regretting the disposition of her sword over the last few seconds, Scarlet spared a few moments of what were sure to be her last regretting one of her bolder wardrobe decisions. No one would have been impressed with a king who wore vixen's underwear, regardless of the gender of said king, and Scarlet wasn't a fan of the combination of trousers and skirt, so she had gone commando since her coronation as the Bandit King. It had led to some interesting diplomatic advantages, but now it would lead to utter humiliation in defeat, as a simple blow to the skull or rend of the spine killed her and left her cooter on full display. She could feel the king standing over her. It would be less than a second now.
	That second seemed to pass interminably. Scarlet squeezed her eyes tightly shut, silently running through the names and faces of those she best knew in her crew, and apologizing to them for her failure. A few of her enemies even flashed before her eyes, and she forgave them, and apologized to them too. After all, there wasn't a one among them who would be happy to see her defeated by the mad king. Then, her mind's eye went blank, and after a few additional moments of naked terror, she felt the king's touch, the start of the killing blow.
	
	Strangely enough, the blow started as a touch right between her privates and her thigh. It seemed the king was about to maul her exposed cunt. Scarlet was relieved that the king would erase her shame in death, but at the same time she was now looking forward to these next few moments even less. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the king grabbed her thigh, his other arm moving in. As the king's other paw began to pull open her vagina, Scarlet began to wonder that she was still conscious and unhurt. As one digit slipped in, and a claw gently probed the inside of her vagina, she began to chuckle softly, stopping when a claw poked the inside of her box unexpectedly. She had used her sexuality a few times as a fatal distraction for the other party in one or two skirmishes, but she had never imagined that the king, The King, would be so affected by it. She had clearly overestimated him.
	Or maybe underestimated him. As she took advantage of her continued survival to glance back at the king, she could see his form, unclothed from the waist down. His legs and thighs were black with the rot, the cloying stench increased by their contact with the air. Scarlet was surprised though, as his genitals were still more or less intact. His balls were enormous, huge black veins feeding a mass of mostly pink flesh. His dick was completely intact, its pure red a stark contrast to the black flesh surrounding. It was engorged, and even if it was fairly small for someone of his stature, it was of an impressive size for a lesser being. It looked, almost, as if the king's sex was the only part of him not corrupted.
	Scarlet snapped back to herself. She had recovered from her fall, and the pressure of the King's paws on her behind was light, claws working a vagina that had begun to moisten and make Scarlet feel giddy. Her sword was far beyond, but surely she could still turn this fight back in her favor? She wriggled free of his grasp, started to flip herself over in order to roll away and move into the dark shadows of the corners. She never made it that far. No sooner was she free from his grasp then the King pounced, counteracting her flip by sandwiching her between his arms and using his bulk to press her to the floor. Time stretched again as Scarlet lay in the darkness beneath the King, compressed on all sides, with extra pressure on her stomach and back where the King's biceps were boring into her. She only had time to draw part of a shuddering breath, but it felt almost as if she had spent part of her eternity there.
	The King stood, lifting Scarlet, who was still drawing shuddering breath, easily. He resumed his seat on the throne, sliding Scarlet down his body and onto his penis. She started struggling, clawing and biting at his arms, but he caught both her arms in one hand and hefted them high above her head, pressing her chest against his body with his other arm, so she couldn't bite it. She wriggled around, so that the King's dick plunged into her thigh more often than her cunt. After a few strokes of this, the King gave an enormous roar just behind her head, and Scarlet went instinctively still, ears ringing. The sound echoed off the distant walls and then there was only the shluck shluck shluck of insertion for a few moments. As Scarlet regained her presence the King gave a grunt, pulling her closer and giving a couple quick thrusts with more hip strength. Scarlet's eyes widened. She knew from her amorous relations what this meant. So she twisted in his grip, just as the King let loose a great breath and a stream of cum. His arm relaxed and he sat loosely on the throne. Scarlet's split-second action had caused his ejaculation to hit the side of her box, flowing out rather than in. Scarlet looked down as she began to lever herself off of the King's softening penis. What she saw made her freeze. The King's issue was black, like liquid charcoal. Her nose confirmed what her eyes had guessed; the only difference in the smell of the King's cum and that of the ambient rot in the room was that his seed smelt fresher, and much sweeter. His sex was tainted by the rot after all.
	Her shock at her intimate proximity with such corruption was lasted only a moment, but it was enough for the king's arms to tense again, distancing Scarlet from freedom. The King recovered with uncanny speed, and it was only moments before he was thrusting into her with his penis quickly hardening again. Scarlet struggled, but the King seemed to have learned from past mistakes, fucking her with short, greedy strokes that meant his penis never really left her. Scarlet twisted in his grip, fluid leaking from her eyes and nose. It wasn't long before the King came again. This time, there was no respite as he pumped his seed directly into Scarlet's womb. Vision blurry, she fought his grip uselessly. He didn't relax his grip nearly as much as last time.
	Then, suddenly, he was at it again. She continued to try and wriggle out of his grip. Torquing herself suddenly one way, then the other, she was almost able to get free. Her hands slipped from the King's grasp, but he recaptured them at the mere cost of some slashes along his paw. Then he gave another roar, great enough that Scarlet lost her hearing to the ringing of her ears. She continued struggling, but she was out of breath. She felt nauseous, probably at the thought of the rot the King had sullied her womb with. She was also starting to feel feverish. Despite her mind's best efforts, the heat of sex pervaded her body, and her thoughts were becoming less urgent, a feverish headache marking each one. The King came again.
	Scarlet struggled a bit as the king resumed his rapine, but after the King came in her a third time, she remembered the King's chafing grip on her hands and chest. “Why fight?” she thought, “It would only make it more uncomfortable after all.”
	Sure enough, after a couple more rounds where she didn't struggle, the King's grip on her loosened. After a couple more rounds, she began to enjoy herself. The fire which had started in her womb now lit her entire body, and she could feel her burning passion. Her tongue lolled, and she started to moan. She felt a certain distance from her thoughts, as though their importance had somehow drained away, although their content remained.
	Scarlet stopped counting after double digits. It couldn't have been more than four of five times after that when the King gave a great groan and stopped thrusting, going limp inside of her after one last torrent of seed. At this point, Scarlet was helping his thrusts, so she pressed against it twice before his dick flopped out of her.
	It took a while before Scarlet really regained her presence. The King was sleeping on the throne. His dick was shriveled, and his balls, which had been so plump earlier, were now flat. It was difficult to believe it was actually over, and even so Scarlet could still feel the same distance from her thoughts. She had come to kill the King, for honor, glory, recognition. All of that felt so worthless now… yet there was something else. Power. She had come to kill the King for power too. She licked her lips. That seemed about right.
	Perhaps it was due to being captive before, but it seemed so easy to make her way across the room and pick up her old sword. There was no intensity as she brought it back across the room, laid it across the old King's neck, and, with a sudden motion, slit his throat. She pulled his trousers up to leave him decent and left the blade, black with blood and rust, beside him. Then she made her way back to the private rooms she knew existed behind the throne. It took her only a few moments of searching to find what she was looking for, the room the King used to use for sexual entertainment. In it was a dresser full of garments and jewelry which the King used to entertain courtesains and they to entertain him. She pulled on some frilled undergarments, a silk dress and a ruby necklace, then stood looking at herself in the mirror, preparing to put on a show of grief for the guards. She would make an excellent queen, she thought, laying a hand on her belly. After all, she already had an heir.