"Ah! Yes, fuck, yes!" Yissan yells as her pussy is plowed by Lithian's fat cock. He grits his teeth as he rams her, loving every second. His hands squeeze her breasts tight. He whispers promises of impregnation and slaps her every time she tries to speak. Lithian's companion is sitting nearby, breathing heavily.
"Fucking hell, that bitch sure is fuckin insatiable. I could use a slave like her. Hey, Lithian, maybe we oughta just take her for ourselves." The man suggests, leaning back in his chair. Lithian slaps the shit out of Yissan, making her moan.
"Hell yeah, this bitch is mine. Fuck that prick and…ngh, fuck his money. Ain't many pussies out there that can satisfy me." Lithian chuckles as Yissan smiles at hearing of her fate.
The vibe is interrupted by the sound of a violent roar somewhere outside. Lithian and his companion stop, focusing on the shack's window outside.
"W-was that a fucking striker bear?! Aren't those supposed to be nocturnal? What is one doing out during the day?" The man in the chair stands up.
"Someone must've woke the fucker up…shit, we ain't alone no more!" Lithian holds in his internal panic, rushing to get himself dressed. "Luis, get the bitch a fuckin cloak, the last thing we need is to be noticed for having a naked chick with us." The man in the chair, addressed as Luis, starts to dress himself while looking around for anything like a cloak. His eyes stop on an old blanket. Taking it, he throws it over Yissan.
"Keep yourself covered or today's your last day on earth." Luis warns.
"Hehe…yes sir." Yissan's response is joyful. It makes Luis violently uncomfortable to see her so happy, but there's not enough time to try and correct it. Choosing to simply ignore her, Luis grabs his sword from against the wall, watching the forest outside.
"Lithian, we're not prepared for anything like a striker-bear. We wait for it to devour its prey, and then we're gone, understood?" Luis lays out his plans.
"Understood." Lithian whispers, grabbing his own weapon.
…
"Decam, roll!" Neuranca warns. Decam rolls to his right as the bear lunges at him. Desperate for progress, Decam sticks out his knife and slashes at the beast's side. The bear seems unaffected, but blood is still pouring from its side. At the very least, there's a chance they can widdle it to death, or last until their comrades come.
"Neuranca, take its right!" Decam yells. As long as two sides are covered, one person won't have to be overwhelmed. Decam stomps on the ground, keeping the bear's attention on him. If lucky, Neuranca may be able to get off a lucky strike if the bear is distracted. The growls of the bear don't phase either any longer. They either kill it or die. There is no longer any other option. Fear would merely be a stone in the way of achieving the best outcome. With a calm breath, Decam is the first to charge. The bear remains still, waiting for him to enter the range of no return.
Decam rolls, avoiding a sudden swipe, and slams his blade into the bear's chest. Its pained roar acts as a signal, and Neuranca jumps, landing atop the bear and jamming his blade into its head while it's distracted. Rolling off and away in time, the two watch as the bear's body begins to expand. The second form of the striker bear is slowly coming into being. Attacking as it transforms would only be fatal, the toxins it exudes in the process being enough to kill the toughest adventurer.
"Alright…we're fucked." Neuranca whispers.
"Not yet. Get running!" Decam takes Neuranca's hand and begins a sprint. His path is clear, following the trail of marks he had been dutifully placing on the trees they had been passing. The sounds of the charging striker, the form taken after the physical death of any striker class beast, causes their heads to quake. Still, their desire to survive keeps them going as they reach the opening of the forest, where the rest of the rescue band watches the striker behind them in horror. They all hurriedly exit, moving out of the striker's path. It skids to a stop. A humanoid form of blue lightning, muscular and exuding an aura of endless mystery and power. There was only one reliable way to kill a striker, and that was the head. So…who's gonna take the risk?
"Surround it!" Decam commands. "I need a clean shot, so you gotta overwhelm it!" Decam explains before hiding behind the wagon. The others do as they're told. While there was humiliation in taking orders from someone barely an adult, they still knew Decam was a worthy voice to command. So, swallowing their pride, they surround the striker, leaving it in a state of calculation. Who seems the weakest link? Who would be a worthy target after? The men of the band are thinking just the same. A moment of quiet, nobody moving a muscle.
The striker moves for Hiralk. The group, however, are prepared for such a choice. Fillis blocks the strike, striking at its arm. Split in half by the blade, it reforms itself before going in for another strike. However, it finds a sword plunging through its stomach before it even gets the chance. The process repeats, on and on, one protecting another as the striker is driven to near madness trying to kill even one of them. It can hardly take the notice of Decam climbing to the top of the wagon, but by the time it does, it's far too late, Decam's blade slamming into its head as Decam dodges to the side, avoiding touching the striker's electric skin. The striker screams as everyone backs away, watching as it holds its head, trembling in pain and fear. It tries to utter another cry, but is stopped by its head exploding, sending electricity ricocheting through the air and into the ground.
Everyone watches as the rest of the body turns ashen black, and falls to the ground.