Master of Lust

Rick pushed the heavy metal door of the supply closet all the way open. The hallway was a slaughterhouse.

Thick red blood coated the white linoleum tiles. Severed limbs, melted tactical gear, and shattered weapons littered the corridor. The strong, coppery smell of fresh blood completely overpowered the harsh scent of industrial bleach that clung to their clothes.

“Move,” Rick ordered, stepping out into the carnage.

Rachel hesitated. She was trembling, staring at the headless corpse of a Corporate Oversight mercenary lying right in front of the door. Her torn emerald dress clung wetly to her heavy curves.

Rick didn’t have the patience for a panic attack. He reached back and grabbed a massive handful of her bare right ass cheek. He squeezed the soft, warm flesh brutally, his bloody fingers leaving deep red smears on her pale skin.

“Ah!” Rachel gasped, her eyes snapping up to his.

“I said move, doc,” Rick growled. “Unless you want to wait here for the next squad to scrape you off the floor.”

Rachel swallowed hard. The sharp pain on her ass mixed with the lingering heat between her legs. She nodded quickly and stepped over the dead body, keeping her eyes glued to Rick’s broad back.

Victoria followed right behind them. The blonde crime boss didn’t flinch at the gore. She looked at the destroyed elite squad, and then at Rick, with pure, unfiltered hunger in her ice-blue eyes. The raw violence turned her on more than anything else.

Rick led the two women down the corridor towards the emergency exit. His unzipped, sticky trousers annoyed the hell out of him. He wiped a stray glob of grey brain matter off his shoulder with a frustrated sigh.

They reached the heavy, fire-proof door leading to the main stairwell.

Rick held his fist up. He pressed his ear against the cold metal door.

Echoing up from the concrete stairwell below, he heard the distinct, rhythmic thud of heavy tactical boots. Lots of them. He heard the sharp click of assault rifle safeties being disengaged, followed by low, urgent radio chatter.

“Sweep team moving up,” a muffled voice echoed. “Target is on level four. Shoot on sight.”

There were at least four men coming up the stairs.

Rick smirked. He turned around and walked over to the nearest dead mercenary lying in the hallway. The man was missing his left arm, his chest cavity blown open by the plasma rifle, but his tactical vest was mostly intact.

Rick crouched down and quickly looted the dead man’s gear. He found two heavy, military-grade fragmentation grenades clipped to the belt. He unclipped them and tossed them in his hand. They felt heavy and cold.

“What are you doing?” Victoria whispered, stepping closer. She reached out and traced a finger down his blood-soaked chest.

“A little stairwell bowling,” Rick replied casually.

He grabbed the dead mercenary by the collar of his heavy Kevlar vest. With one brutal pull, Rick hoisted the heavy, bleeding corpse up off the floor. He dragged the one-armed body over to the stairwell door.

Rick shoved the heavy fire door open with his boot. He dragged the corpse to the top of the concrete stairs.

The voices from below were getting louder. The sweep team was on the second-floor landing, moving up fast in a tight tactical formation.

Rick pulled the metal pins out of both grenades with his teeth and spat them onto the floor.

He violently shoved the live grenades deep inside the dead mercenary’s tactical vest, wedging them tightly against the cold, dead chest.

“Strike,” Rick muttered.

He raised his heavy boot and kicked the corpse squarely in the back.

The heavy, limp body tumbled down the steep concrete stairs. It bounced violently, limbs flailing, leaving thick streaks of blood against the concrete walls.

“Contact! Body falling!” one of the mercenaries yelled from below.

“Watch out!”

The dead body landed directly in the centre of the four-man tactical sweep team on the landing below.

Two seconds later, the grenades detonated.

BOOM!

The massive, dual explosion shook the entire stairwell. The concussive wave rushed upward, blowing thick grey smoke, dust, and chunks of concrete straight into Rick’s face.

The sound of shredding metal and tearing flesh echoed loudly. A heavy severed leg, still wearing a tactical boot, flew all the way up the stairs and slapped wetly against the railing near Rick’s hand.

Rick didn’t wait for the smoke to clear. He grabbed his MP7 submachine gun from his inventory and started walking down the stairs.

“Stay behind me,” Rick told the women over his shoulder. “And don’t step on anything squishy.”

The stairwell was completely ruined. The metal railings were twisted and blown out. The concrete walls were painted with fresh coats of dark red blood and scorch marks.

Rick reached the second-floor landing. It was an absolute mess of severed limbs, shattered Kevlar, and burning nylon. Three of the mercenaries were blown to literal pieces, their bodies unrecognisable lumps of charred meat.

The fourth mercenary was still alive. Barely.

The explosion had blown both of his legs off right above the knee. The man was dragging his bleeding, shredded torso across the concrete floor, leaving a thick, wide trail of dark blood behind him. He was coughing up pink foam, gasping for air.

Rick walked over and stepped heavily on the man’s bloody hand, pinning him to the floor.

The mercenary let out a weak, pathetic wheeze. He rolled over, looking up at Rick with wide, terrified eyes.

“Help… me…” the man gurgled, blood spilling over his lips.

“I’m not a fucking charity,” Rick sneered.

Rick bent down, grabbed the man’s head with both hands, and twisted violently.

CRACK.

The mercenary’s neck snapped instantly. His head lolled to the side, completely dead.

** ** ** ** **

[Author’s Note: If you are reading this story so far, don’t forget to vote with power stones, golden tickets, gifts if possible. And if you can, do leave comments on the Chapters as to what else can be done and leave a review as to what you thought about the story so far.]