NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Kane was already pushing off the broken stone when Grathak exploded forward with terrifying speed for something so large.

He hurled Mjoldr in a flat, vicious line straight at the emperor’s center mass.

Grathak twisted, the axe head missing his ribs by less than a hand’s breadth and burying itself in the corridor wall behind him with a shower of stone chips.

Kane didn’t wait to see the miss.

He dropped low, sliding under the massive haymaker Grathak had already committed to, feeling the wind of the punch pass over his head hard enough to stir his hair.

In the same motion, he called Mjoldr back.

The axe ripped free of the wall, spun once through the air, and slapped back into his waiting grip just as he rose inside Grathak’s guard.

Kane put everything he had into a rising diagonal cut.

Slash.

The edge of Mjoldr bit deep across the heavy muscle of Grathak’s chest.

Black-red blood welled instantly. Fur parted. The cut was clean and ugly.

Grathak’s roar shook the entire underground level.

Before Kane could follow the cut with a second strike, an enormous hand closed around his throat like a vice.

Grathak lifted him clean off the floor and hurled him down the corridor with casual, catastrophic strength.

Kane flew, smashed through a wooden barrier, and tumbled hard into a wider central tunnel lined with iron grates and occupied chambers.

He hit the stone floor in a rolling sprawl, coughing blood, vision swimming.

The Empress’s Mark burned furiously under his skin, knitting what it could as fast as it could.

Around him, the sounds of the pens had stopped. Dozens of eyes, captives and guards alike, stared through bars and open doorways at the human who had just drawn blood from the emperor.

Grathak came through the broken barrier like a living avalanche, ducking under the lintel, red eyes locked on Kane, the fresh slash across his chest still dripping.

Kane forced himself up again, Mjoldr already back in his hand. His breathing was ragged.

Something in his side felt wrong.

”Gwah!”

Blood ran freely from a split on his scalp and from the corner of his mouth.

He spat red onto the floor and set his feet.

Grathak closed the distance in three long strides and swung.

Kane barely got Mjoldr up in time.

Bam!

The impact of the emperor’s forearm against the axe haft drove him back three full steps, boots scraping stone, arms screaming.

He twisted, let the force slide past, and answered with a short, brutal counter-cut aimed at Grathak’s thigh.

The edge bit again, shallower this time, but enough to draw another line of blood.

Grathak laughed, low and delighted, even as he backhanded Kane hard enough to send him skidding across the floor into a support pillar.

The pillar cracked.

Kane bounced off it and went down to one knee, vision tunneling for a second.

Blood dripped steadily from his nose and mouth now. His left arm felt half-numb.

He still stood up.

Warriors had gathered at both ends of the central tunnel, palace guards, higher-ranked beast warriors who had been drawn by the noise and the scent of the emperor’s blood.

None of them interfered.

They simply watched, silent and wide-eyed, as a battered human continued to rise and face their ruler.

Kane wiped blood from his eyes with the back of his wrist and raised Mjoldr again.

”Still standing,” he rasped.

Grathak touched the deeper cut on his chest with two thick fingers, examined the blood, and grinned wider.

”Still interesting.”

They crashed together once more.

Kane went low, trying to take a knee out from under the much larger opponent.

Grathak simply lifted that leg and drove it forward like a piston.

Kane twisted aside, felt the hoof-like impact graze his ribs, and dragged Mjoldr across Grathak’s exposed side in a shallow but painful line.

The emperor snarled and caught him by the upper arm, nearly dislocating it as he swung

Kane into the nearest wall.

Stone cracked again.

He bounced, hit the floor, and rolled away from a follow-up stomp that would have shattered his pelvis.

Kane came up on pure stubbornness and the last reserves of the Rage he had not fully released.

Mjoldr sang through the air one more time and opened a third cut, this one high on Grathak’s left shoulder.

The emperor’s answering roar was pure, unfiltered enjoyment.

”YOU ARE SO GOOD, BARBARIAN!”

Then Grathak stopped playing.

He closed the distance with a sudden burst of speed that belied his size, ignored a hasty defensive cut that opened yet another shallow line across his forearm, and simply slammed both hands into Kane’s chest.

”Guh!”

The force lifted Kane off his feet again and drove him into the floor hard enough to knock the breath out of him completely. Mjoldr skittered away across the stone.

Kane tried to rise.

A massive foot settled on his sternum and pinned him with effortless weight.

Blood pooled under Kane’s head. His vision swam.

Every breath was a knife. He still locked eyes with the emperor looking down at him and refused to look away.

Silence held the tunnel for several long heartbeats.

The watching warriors did not move. Even the captives in the nearby chambers had gone completely still.

Grathak studied the bleeding human under his foot for a long moment. Then the pressure eased.

He stepped back.

Kane coughed hard, rolled onto his side, and forced himself up to one knee, then to his feet through sheer refusal to stay down.

He swayed once, wiped more blood from his face, and called Mjoldr back to his hand with a trembling gesture.

The axe felt heavier than it ever had.

Both of them were bleeding.

Kane looked significantly worse: cut, bruised, possibly cracked ribs, blood running freely from multiple places.

Grathak carried four or five visible gashes, all of them real, none of them deep enough to slow him seriously. The emperor’s breathing had not even changed.

Kane’s voice came out rough and wet, but steady.

”Was it convincing?”

Grathak’s scarred muzzle split into a wide, unhinged smile. He looked almost pleased.

”You’re interesting.”

He glanced at the cuts on his own chest and shoulder as if they were minor curiosities.

”Most humans who draw my blood die before they can stand again. You keep standing. That is... rare.”

He turned his head slightly toward the watching warriors and gave a short, dismissive gesture.

They began to disperse at once, though every one of them would be talking before the hour was out.

Grathak looked back at Kane.

”Go rest for now. My people will show you to a room that is not a cell. Tomorrow we continue the conversation properly, in the upper hall, with the packs watching. Try not to die of your injuries before then. I would be disappointed.”