Nash Nighthammer dropped to one knee. Blood poured from a bite on his right shoulder. A claw mark on his broad chest burned. Sweat stung his eyes. He set his gore-encrusted warhammer down on the ground but his fingers would not release his mighty grip.
All around Nash were the corpses of the enemy. No two lifeless bodies were alike. They were mutants, creations of the Depraved Alchemist. Some had claws, others were armed with tentacles and one had a strange orifice in its chest that spouted fire. The only thing that united the horrible beasts was their color, a dismal unnatural grey color like milky mud.
A horn blasted from the depths of the forest. Somewhere, the Depraved Alchemist watched Nash slay his creatures through arcane means. The horn was a signal to the next wave. Another horde of mutants were being unleashed. They would be here soon.
Nash grunted. This would be the fifth time that the horn had sounded. Four times the mutants had come to the entrance of the Winged Mercy Temple and four times Nash Nighthammer had slain them all. Would he be able to stop this fifth group? Will there be a sixth or a seventh? How many mutants did the Depraved Alchemist have?
“Get up, Nash,” he told himself. He didn’t like how ragged his voice was. If he hurried, he might be able to bandage his shoulder before the mutants came. Or maybe he should swallow the last of his water to sooth the dryness of his throat. Whatever he was going to do, he should do it now.
Nash stood up and the world spun. He had lost too much blood. His legs gave out and he fell backwards. The sky appeared above him and something hard hit the back of his head.
There was a breeze. Gold flashed above him. There was the ruffle of wings.
“Rest Dauntless Mortal,” a voice chimed. Each word was the ringing of a bell.
A woman was beside him. Her skin was a deep bronze. Giant breasts swelled from her chest. A band of diamonds held back long black hair. A lovely face smiled at him. Wings of gold feathers stretched behind her.
“Who? What are you?” Nash whispered.
The women lifted his head. She pressed his face into one of her abundant breasts. Nash instinctively opened his mouth and took her nipple between his lips.
Heat flowed into Nash’s body. It was like being covered in a fur blanket. Aches faded. The burn in his chest cooled.
“The Faithful In The Winged Mercy Temple Prayed For Their Defender,” the woman chimed.
Nash mumbled something about the approaching mutants. It was hard to enunciate with a nipple in his mouth and a breast pressing against his face.
“They Will Wait,” the woman chimed.
She took Nash’s hand and pressed it to her other breast. He gripped her soft tit and sunk his fingers into warm flesh. Strength flowed into his arm. Each squeeze of her breast sent a surge through his muscles.
“You Have Fear But You Fight,” the woman said. “You Love Life But Are Willing To Die To Defend The Weak. You Are A Blessing Of Your Kind.”
Nash felt his loincloth being pulled away. Warn fingers gripped his member. A shudder ran up his spine.
“Rest Hero And Be Relieved,” the woman said.
The woman pressed Nash harder against her breast. Warm flesh enveloped his head. He bit down on the nipple and felt honey and cream fill his mouth,
Strong fingers stroked his cock. They were impossibly soft. Despite the sweat and grit of battle, Nash felt like he was being gripped by a velvet glove.
Cool wind blew over his body. He heard the sound of wings gently flapping. Each gust of wind blew away another ache on his body.
“Rest,” the woman chimed. “Release. Restore.”
Pleasure flowed through Nash’s body. It came from the nipple in his mouth and the breast against his face. It flowed through the hand that gripped the winged woman’s breast. It pumped through his hard shaft with every stroke of the woman’s hand.
Nash climaxed. Seed erupted from his cock and flowed over the woman’s heavenly hand. He shouted his orgasm into her breast. As his body shuddered, the winged woman held him tightly against her body.
And then Nash was alone. He was on his back, staring up at the sky. The smell of sex hung in the air. The felt the wind on his naked cock.
There was a howl from the woods. Nash sat up and flipped his loincloth back over his crotch. He grabbed his hammer and rose to his feet. The wound in his shoulder was gone. The cut on his chest was a faint scar. He swallowed and realized his throat was wet as if he had drunk from a spring.
As for his cock, it felt like it had been properly drained but there was not a trace of his seed on it.
The mutants were twenty feet away and coming fast. The one in front wielded hands with fingers that had fused together into clubs. Sharp thorns protruded from the ugly gray skin. It was a monster but not even the most monstrous of his kind.
Nash readied his hammer. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of gold.
He smiled and charged the mutants, knowing that live or die, he would not be alone.