The Conquerors Bloodline - Chapter 303: The Khan 1

“Is this really necessary?” The cold menagerian breeze gusted against Parc’s barren body, the sole thing cladding him being a pair of pyjama pants and a black sack over his head.

“Safety deary, all for our safety.” Parc snorted beneath his sack headed confines.

“Exactly how am I a danger?” he questioned Lady, she sat across from him in some form of mechanical carriage. There was a buzz to the air, a charred type of stench. Some type of burn dust he guessed was powering whatever that ungodly grinding noise was.

“You quite literally stink of danger, Parc. At least, to us of the fairer sex.” Lady scoffed. They’d left Kali, Blake, and Marigold back at the house, leaving just shortly after he’d peeled out of his room, leaving Blake a quivering mess.

“Can’t help that.” He said, there was a coolness to her tone, one lacking in blame. More of amusedness, like she enjoyed the idea of his risk to her body. “I’m born with it.”

Even through his dark canopy mask, he could tell she was smiling. The carriage rocked, causing him to bounce painfully. There was cushioning, but it was thin, imperfect for a woman’s pert behind. Rolling his wrists, he felt the cold metal cut into his skin, threatening to cut off circulation if he so much as tried to escape. Lady whispered something, they weren’t alone, he knew there was another person, a man, he’d heard their voice, but not before.

The carriage creaked, slowing. Lady said, “we’re here,” and reached out to him. She touched his naked shoulder, feeling his scars, how arousing they were to her. A man so rugged, so untamed. Cruel she couldn’t take him then and there, she would have loved to have pried out his cock, lapped it with her fingers and brought him to erection. To feel his turgid warmth against her body, his belly, her ass, her pussy. That day, though just yesterday, it was firmly embroiled in her mind, the way he toyed with her senses, massaged her tits and circled her nipples with his palms and tongues. Even now she could almost feel his tongue lapping at her nectar leaking pussy. She was damp now, ready for him.

She caught sight of the other Faunus, a man dressed in grey with a half Grimm mask, a white fang operative sent to transport Parc to his and Sienna’s meeting point safely. The man cast her a frown, hidden behind his masks his eyes were judgemental, but he couldn’t hide that slight tenting of his britches. Parc’s scent may not have worked on men, but Lady’s own leaking torrents were perfect to do that.

Parc stood as Lady tapped his leg. The white fang boy reached for Parc’s arm, lifting him to his feet and roughly shoved him to the back of the carriage. Uncaring, even if he’d been told Parc was still partially Faunus. It wasn’t enough for him, for anyone. No one trusted the human-looking bastard. Parc stumbled, the canvas wall gave way and he crashed heavily to the floor outside, hard, stone, no, brick. Gravel? Also not, it was flat and gritty. Definitely packed dirt. He groaned, the thump of the Faunus boy rang as he dropped to the side.

“Be careful with him!” Lady berated, the man only scoffed and scowled. She may have been the leader, but that was the past. The Corsac’s were that now.

The boy reached down, ripping Parc up by his arm and looked around to the dozen or so other white fang members around them. Watching with hands-on hip, inching ever so close to their weapons, ready for anything undesirable to happen.

The wind was cold, sharp, and bare. They were outside, the whistling wind was enough to tell him that, but the blending of ocean crashes against a wall of stone, told him they were on a cliff.

“Get up, human.” Forced to move, Parc was goaded ahead, thrown with a stumble that he quickly caught himself with. When he moved too slowly, too uncertainly, the man would jab him with the sheath of a knife, earning growls from Lady that he certainly ignored.

“You can take the sack off, you know, I’d walk much faster without it on.” Parc kept walking, straight, narrow, never faltering to the sides because that’d earn him another jab. He could feel more eyes on him. White Fang and the wind had stopped and an echo had come. They’d entered a building at some point.

“Shut it, human.” The man scoffed coldly.

“Just take it off now. It’s not like he knows where this is now.” Lady pressed the man, earning his ireful glare. But he called for Parc to stop and ripped the sack off, jerking Parc’s head in the process.

Parc waved his head, tossing hair from his eyes and over his head. They were in a hall, bright and quite ancient. Ruins, from the look of the old red stone making the walls and floors. Though there were more modern aspects, wires, dust lights. The sort of things brought to an excavation or to a secret terrorist hideout.

“Hoo,” he whistled, “feeling like Nathan Drake already!” he giddily rocked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just need a hot femme fatale side character and a tubby but likeable gramps and I’ll be a modern-day Indiana Jones.”

Obviously, judging by the growling of the wolf eared Faunus boy, Parc’s lackadaisical mannerisms were proving irritating.

“Oh calm down you naked mole wolf. I’m having a bit of fun. It’s not every day you get sacked, racked, and kidnapped.” Chuckling, Parc saw the hall coming to an end, light and soft reverbs of people talking. He was first to pass the aperture, past two Faunus guardsmen who came in and stopped Lady from entering. Parc glanced over his shoulder, calling to Lady before she could say anything to retort, “I’ll be fine, Lady. Just wait for me outside… Or wherever the hell they tell you to wait.” His warden jabbed him with the pointy end of the sheath, pushing him to keep walking. “Alright, alright. Yesh. Acting like I screwed your mother, my god.”

“You did.” The boy scowled, sheath jabbing deeper into his side.

“I did?” Parc turned, casting him a confused eye and thought back to the previous days. The women, their names were lost to him. A problem on his part, Menagerie had been too full of sex that he’d forgotten to lock names to his mind. But there were some, the more interesting ones. He focused on the boy’s ears, sharp, pointed, grey with little white tufts at the top. They were familiar ears.

Then suddenly, he recalled her, “oh, her. Yeah, yeah, I remember now. Alba, I think it was?” the boy visibly quirked, lips curling down into a vitriolic scowl. “She was good. Tight. Knew how to rock her hips and cry her heart out. Only remember her cause she practically begged me to tie her up and fuck her ass. And my, it was a good ass.” The farther they walked into the room, passing by watchful eyes and weapon ready hands, the more irate the boy became. “Plump, but firm to the hand. Oh, and don’t get me started on those tits. Man, I have seen some great tits in my life, but hers were, mmm. Just perfect.” Scoundrel. Absolute degenerate. Even Parc knew that. But it made the boy react, brought him to the cusp of tearing his mask off and ramming the dagger into Parc’s back.

There was something to the way the boy looked at him. Angry. Lip twitching and body shaking. It wasn’t just normal disgust of hearing about his mothers encounter with a man’s penis. But… jealousy? ‘Oh, just making this even more fun.’ So many points to poke, such perfect things, and that woman had firmly engraved them into his thoughts. “But you know what else, Rory?” the boy jerked, stride halting.

“How do you know my-”

“Mama told me, Rory.” Parc cooed softly, sardonically, “begged me to call her mommy, as I pounded into her. Every other thrust she’d cry out, wailing ‘Rory! Rory!’ begging me to cum inside.” His form staggered, hands not trembling with anger, but shock. Further exemplified by his hanging jaw.

The watching eyes and listening ears stared between them, unsure if what Parc was say was true or pure falsities.

“She coddled me, you know. Hugged me to her breast and stroked my hair, whispering, ‘oh my little cuddle bear. You’ve been such a good boy to mommy.’ Did so every other round thereafter as well.” The boy didn’t respond, the knife in Parc’s gut pulled away weakly, even hidden behind a mask, the boy’s face was scarlet, running down his neck as well. “Sound like she’s a real son-con, Rory. Vulnerable to your wiles.” Parc observed their watches, their horrified, disgusted looks. Some, Rory’s friends, he guessed. Smirking as if something they’d guessed had finally been brought out into the public sphere.

“Then again. I could just be lying. For all you know I have a semblance that lets me read minds. Let’s me, get under peoples skin, let me know how the girl with the lynx tail likes having her hair pulled while getting railed from behind, or how the lady with the red panties likes being given wedgies. He glanced around, saw only one response, and she didn’t have the tail of a lynx. He smirked, focused on her, then turned away from Rory the mom-con and meandered further down the widened hall.

In the distance he saw her, sat atop a throne held aloft atop a regally carved platform, banners of a wolf’s head hanging either side of her.

Sienna Khan, High Leader of the White Fang.