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Marvel: Upgrading Death 12 - A Date, Leo & Shot Put
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 22:23:40 +0000 UTCDoc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/19QR5vcHs3htckWa26TZ5R3ZLjgzS0UET3UuN9uOPf6g/edit?usp=sharing
_______________________
"Then stand the fuck up!"
Sitting Bull, an old and respected man, awkwardly looked at the First Man. If it were any other white man, he'd have seen it as disrespect. But coming from the First Man, it seemed the case was genuine. Besides, who was he to be offended by a literal god's words?
"I… meant that my name is Sitting Bull, great First Man." Sitting Bull stood up from the boulder at last. "I came here because of a vision I had when I was a child. I didn't know what it meant back then, but I know now."
"Goddammit, you were snooping on me?" Marshall cursed. "What do you want?"
"Safety for my people. The American government is hunting us down. They want to confine us to areas they call reservations, often the least fertile lands. They're using their military to confine us and then make us dependent on them for rations."
Marshall was busy poking his ear instead. "And? Buddy, I've seen this shit rinse and repeat since you guys learned how to walk."
"The US government is encouraging the mass slaughter of buffalo, as plains’ tribes survive on them for food, clothing, and tools. They're on the verge of being wiped out."
Finally, Marshall showed a deep frown. "Making a species go extinct just for existing? Hmm… Keep talking."
"The government is taking our children and putting them in boarding schools in the name of teaching them how to assimilate. They're forbidden to use their native languages, religion, and culture. Kill the Indian, save the man, they say. Their gold rush killed thousands of us. "
Marshall yawned and crossed his arms. "I'll ban hunting those cute buffalo. They're pretty and yummy. And you? Buddy, I’m not lifting a fart for you. The law of the jungle says strong assholes eat weak assholes. Civilisation is a myth. You apes haven’t changed in a million years—still chest-beating chimps smashing each other for dirt.
“Egyptians did it, Romans did it, Greeks did it, Chinese did it, and it'll keep happening. You can't do shit. Your little skirmishes are pointless. And it's not like you natives are any good. You stab each other in your tribal pissing contests, bleed out like idiots—on my fucking land! I own this damn planet."
Sitting Bull looked down. Marshall's words were mean, but not lies. Tribal violence wasn’t rare amongst them.
"I'm out." Marshall turned around. "Scram off my land or I’ll erase you from existence. This ain’t a freakin’ soup kitchen. You losers had centuries to team up and fight back, but did you? Hell no. You lot kissed the invaders’ asses, backstabbed your own, and then—surprise, surprise!—got exterminated yourself… Genius move, morons."
"What do we do then? Just die?" Sitting Bull asked, voice raised.
Marshall looked back once, laughing. "Pretty simple. Force the government to admit you’re citizens with a vote, drag every damn tribe into the game, steamroll politics, vote together like a single body, win every damn round, and collect your prize. Or… just get wiped off the map."
"United?" Sitting Bull chuckled dejectedly. "That's as impossible as the sun rising in the west. To unite them… I'd need the Whitefire."
"What the fuck is that?" Marshall barked. "Don't look at me like I got that thing. I’m not some greasy wizard yanking rabbits outta my ass. But here, catch this, my pretty Ajak gave it to me. You only get one shot. Use it and boom, my sexy hologram pops in. Don't break it, I'll take it back."
Sitting Bull caught the small, disk-shaped metallic thing. It had a small button on top of it. He didn't really know what Marshall was saying. What was a hologram? He didn't know. But he reckoned it was a means to contact Marshall once.
"This… I…" Sitting Bull racked his brain. "If I can get them to meet and then summon you with this… there's a possibility they'd listen to you, First Man. You're the god of all mankind."
"Alright, stop kissing my ass. Scram, sho, get the hell off my dirt," Marshall said and jumped back on his raft and flew up. "And don’t slaughter every last buffalo like some brain-dead pests."
Shwooo~
With that, Marshall was gone.
Thud!
Sitting Bull sat back on the boulder, letting out a loud exhale. He looked at the little metal device, his hand shaking.
"Chief! Are you unwell?"
Sitting Bull shook his head, waving his hand. "No… Just… Feels like I've died a thousand times speaking to the First Man. He's… a tough god to deal with."
"But he'll help us, won't he?"
"Only time will tell."
####
Marshall didn't even plan on helping anyone. He was doing it because it'd annoy the next guy sitting in the big flashy white house. He wasn't happy at all, even though he'd allowed some people to settle in his mammoth farm.
Besides, he was out to plan for his date with Hela, not fuck around with politics.
Soon, he arrived at the town created in his territory. The people there had turned out decent over the past few years. Dinosia didn't just send teachers; they also sent blue-collar job trainers. Hence, the town now looked beautiful, clean, polished, and well-maintained.
The roads were made of concrete, small streets were paved with stones, and buildings were all made of bricks, not wood. While Dinosia had already invented electricity, it wasn't allowed outside.
Of course, Marshall's statues were everywhere, even Marty's. There were fountains and gardens. The schools were filled with children studying. The average IQ of the population was too low compared to Dinosia, but they were better compared to the rest of the world.
"Gather all the cooks you've got!" Marshall ordered the leader of the town, William Still. "Time to test your skills."
####
Later that night,
"I'm about to burst." Marshall gawked; that was all he could do when the mother of his child appeared in front of him, dressed in a fashion he'd never seen before. Still all black, but her magical leathery clothes had turned into a black Grecian dress, leaving one side of her entire shoulder and neck bare, so milky and silky, and the long slit in the dress below revealed her leg all the way to her fleshy thigh.
She was a tall woman at seven feet, but she was still wearing dark heels. Her hair was silky and straight, draping her back. Her eyes were covered with that dark makeup as usual, and honestly, Marshall loved that.
"Dad!" Helvar shouted, technically ten years old, but he looked five still. Asgardians just grew young. "Dad, stop gawking, a fly went in your mouth!"
"Agk!" Marshall coughed, choked up. A fly did go into his mouth. "Jesus! You look gorgeous!"
Hela proudly raised her sharp chin. "I am aware."
"Damn right," Marshall replied, standing out like a caveman there still. He wasn't dressed up. Just his usual caveman attire, or perhaps it was called Viking attire. Whatever, he hadn't changed into anything different.
"Let's go."
Heck, he still had the same old wooden raft made from logs.
Hela hummed and walked. She stood up on the raft beside Marshall. She was taller than he; most men would have been overwhelmed. But Hela never found that in Marshall. Marshall was many things, but never an insecure man.
"Alright, buckle up, sugarplum, date night’s about to get weird," Marshall barked and hurled the raft sky-high with his powerful telekinesis. "Dinner first, then chaos."
Hela spoke nothing the entire way. Arms crossed under her large bosom, she stood relaxedly, her one leg peeking out from the long slit at times, earning Marshall's heated attention. She smirked, seeing how easy he was to charm.
"Let me sing for you, Hela. Might be shitty, but it's the thought that counts," Marshall said, and started to sing. He was actually pretty decent; his voice was rough, masculine. "I just remember the damn lines, here it goes—Put your head on my shoulder. Hold me in your arms, baby. Squeeze me oh-so-tight. Show me that you love me too~ Put your lips next to mine, dear. Won't you kiss me once, baby? Just a kiss goodnight, maybe. You and I will fall in love…"
Actually impressed, Hela looked at the man.
An unaware smile formed on her lips, seeing him put effort into singing. So confident and proud he looked. Perhaps that was what made her choose him. He never forced her into staying; she stayed because she wanted to. The deal Odin had made had vanished long ago. She'd received her full powers back. Yet, she barely used them now.
Watching Marshall taught her something.
How to actually live like a god.
A god cares not about conquering. A god doesn't bother with small matters. A god does what pleases them, what relaxes them, and what makes them happy. Hence, there was no point in conquering anything. Sure, conquest was a challenge, a fun challenge. But after meeting Marshall, she knew she might beat everyone out there, but she couldn't beat Marshall. Her conquest was destined never to end.
"Put your head on my shoulder. Whisper in my ear, baby~"
Of all beings, she was the mother to a Midgardian's son. Was he even a Midgardian? She never got an answer.
However, it was also true that she was rather displeased by him. Hence, his attempt to take her on what he called a date. A concept foreign to her.
"There it is!" Marshall pointed.
At last, they arrived in the town in Marshall's mammoth territory. It was nighttime, and the town was unusually lit by candles, torches, and lanterns.
He didn't lower the raft, however. It was a massive raft since he traveled with Marty often. There was too much space on it, and that made it the perfect place to hold his date.
"Time for dinner." Marshall looked down and noticed the table he'd ordered the people to make. It was covered by a white cloth, and over it were metal dishes with lids on. There was even a flower vase with candles around it.
Woosh!
He simply levitated the entire table up, along with two chairs, and brought them on top of his raft. After setting them, he walked over to a chair and pulled it back. "Have a seat, Hela."
Entertained, she followed his actions. She moved to sit on the chair Marshall had pulled, acting like a gentleman, a very rare thing.
"Let's see." Marshall removed the lids from all the dishes, throwing them down with no care. The scent was great, and steam was oozing from the food. There were so many things: meat, bread, pasta, cakes, everything a man could ask for.
At last, he took a seat as well, face to face with Hela. Without wasting a second, he shoved food on his plate and started eating like he always did. He didn't even look at Hela while doing that. He just ate, and ate, only when he noticed the food wasn't decreasing much, he looked up.
"Why aren't you eating, Hela?"
Hela was leaning against the table, her elbows on top, her chin supported on the back of her clasped hands. She eyed him the whole time, her gaze plain, no expression.
"What are you?"
"Hm?" Marshall stopped eating, swallowing what was in his mouth. "What do you mean?"
"You. I've always wondered what runs through that head of yours. You dragged me here, arranged everything. For what? A meal?"
"Ah! Son of a bitch, you’re right. You actually talk on a damn date." Marshall smacked his forehead. "How are you doing?"
Hela shook her head. "I'm well. It's you who I'm curious about."
"About what?"
"You. What kind of man sires a child, then seeks strangers to warm his bed? To carry them into his home? I am neither wife nor your lover, yet it makes me wonder. Do you not cherish your son?"
"Cherish? I cherish him a lot," Marshall blurted. "Is this about Morgan Le Fay? I'll throw her out then."
Hela chuckled. "It's not about her. I don't care who warms your bed. What I find curious is the absence of reason in your behavior."
Marshall scratched his head, frowning. He put the spoon down and sat back in the chair, arms crossed, staring at Hela. "Speak plainly what you want to ask."
"Your head. Is it empty?"
"Hmm…" Marshall fell silent for a moment, scratched his beard, before looking back at her. "Lower your mental guards. I'll show you what goes on in my head."
Hela nodded, her curiosity piqued.
"Listen to it yourself." Marshall connected a psychic link with her. He said nothing, just let her listen to his thoughts.
"Ugh!" Hela frowned right away. She tried to focus, but then her eyes started to turn red, and veins popped all over her forehead. She stared at Marshall with a horrified look. "W-What… is… all this?"
She heard whispers. So many. They were all in Marshall's own voice.
"Kiss her."
"Love her."
"She's fucking hot!"
"Damn, goth mommy, even got milkers."
"Ummm… Fine stuff!"
"Fuck her face!"
"Fuck her throat… ass is fine too!"
"Gonna rail her later? Better do."
They were the mild ones.
"Hmm… Chop her head."
"Shatter her skull."
"Send her chopped head to Odin."
"Cripple her!"
"Kill yourself, now!"
"Kill everyone."
"They're insects! Kill all humans."
"Own everything."
"Go to space. Leave, leave, leave the world."
"War!"
Hela felt her nose getting runny and quickly raised her mental shields, pulling herself away from all those voices. She used the cloth and wiped her nose, bleeding. It made her, Hela, the Goddess of Death, bleed.
"What was that?!"
Marshall chuckled and offered her another cloth to wipe her nose. "They're my thoughts. Hundreds, thousands of them. They're always in there, talking shit randomly. Suggestions, ideas to do things."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "No idea. Don’t ask me when they kicked this party off. Early, though. It was definitely early, a couple of million years into my life, I think. Much before Marty. Then bam, voices. Just me, talking to myself like a lunatic. Drove me batshit. I obeyed every damn command at first, jumped into a volcano, killed myself, killed the lizards, froze myself to death, splattered my head from orbit… Already ticked all the boxes."
"Do they never cease? The weight of them felt unbearable."
"I stopped giving a flying rat’s ass ages ago," Marshall replied. "All I can say is that I've stopped thinking. Every time I let the hamster wheel spin, the freak show wakes up and starts gnawing at me. Every damn choice turns into a knife fight in my own skull. So, I just don't think now. No planning, just whatever dumb crap feels right at the time. Sorry if I look like a meathead swinging his fists first. But it’s that or go insane, chewing my own brain. You Asgardians can strut around for millennia with shiny armor and smug smiles. My body? It’s a rust bucket, not built for eternity."
Creak!
Hela suddenly stood up and walked around the table. She stopped beside his chair and, with a soft hand, turned his face towards herself. She put both hands on his head. "Let me cross in."
Marshall let her do it.
Hela didn't read his thoughts. She rather looked at his brain using her magic. Her brows shot high right away.
"It's fragmented," Hela muttered. "It's as if your mind is being overwritten."
"I know," Marshall replied. "It's a never-ending cycle. Don’t remember jack-shit from my early years, just blurry hallucinations. Eventually, I'll forget all this now too. That's why I don't think much. The less I think, the fewer memories I make, the more I can store. Now it’s way better though, since Odin murdered me. That bought me a few million years before the brain soup sets in. But… too late, right? Damage is carved in. Bumped into Odin after a pathetic hundred million years of playing human meat-sack."
Hela pulled her hands back and took her seat again. "I believe I know why you became this way. You're no longer the man you used to be at the beginning. You have overwritten your own personality multiple times. Every few thousand years, you overwrote yourself. You lived in never-ending cycles of amnesia and reinvention for a hundred million years before you finally met Odin."
"Yeah, I guess." Marshall started eating again. He was a man who lived by instinct. He felt hungry, so he ate.
Not a fool. Not a mindless brute. Hela finally had the answer she was looking for. It was Marshall's initial life that turned him into such a simple being. Alone, living for so long while being a Midgardian. That shaped him.
At last, Hela grabbed the spoon and took a bite from the plate. The dishes were all new to her.
"How is it?" Marshall asked her.
"New and… delectable."
"I freakin’ knew it!" Marshall barked. "Dragged in some snobby baguette flippers from France and pasta slingers from Italy to whip this up."
Hela understood him now. What Marshall meant was that he kidnapped the men from foreign lands and made them cook for him. But it was a gesture she rather liked. She understood the sincerity of this date at last.
It was well thought out. That meant Marshall had to face those voices in his head to make plans for her. That meant a lot.
She tasted something from every dish, smiling each time and reacting, making sure he knew that she liked it.
"Oh, that's a cheesecake. I grabbed a guy from New York for it." Marshall proudly pointed at the dessert. "It's damn yummy. Marty would love it."
Hela smiled more. She'd heard Marshall take Marty's name more than anything else. Perhaps the sweet big lizard was akin to a nexus Marshall used to connect to his past. Marty was no different from his own limb, she reckoned.
"Marshall…"
"Hm?" Marshall looked up at her, his face stuffed with cheesecake, his second one.
Hela had put the spoon down. Her green eyes were solely focused on the man, her lips curved. "I won't leave."
"Huh? You were leaving?"
Creak!
Hela stood up again, walked around the table to Marshall's side. She grabbed his collar and pulled him to his feet. Both her hands slithered to his neck, spread over his jawline.
"You're my brute now, Marshall."
"Wha—Um~"
Hela dipped her head and caught his lips in a kiss that had no calculation, no cold goddess composure, just raw desire. Her mouth pressed against his with force, warm and wet, a fire born from her own heart. It wasn’t a test. It was hungry. A single, heated moment where she gave in to what she wanted.
Her lips molded tighter, firmer. Her tongue pushed past his teeth and claimed him. She kissed him harder, rougher, savoring the stunned wideness in his eyes.
Marshall, the man who mocked death, who never flinched at gods or monsters, looked flustered. She loved it. She drank in that rare expression like wine, greedily taking more.
BOOM!
But then a loud explosion rang out nearby. Hela frowned and broke the kiss to look, only to be left mesmerized. There were fireworks, so many of them, booming and spreading around them in colorful sparkles. Golden, red, green, and blue at times. And they were standing right in the middle of it all.
"You planned this as well?" Hela looked back at his face, her hands still there, on his jaw.
Marshall nodded, his eyes glittering with colorful flashes, his grin so big. "Damn right, nabbed a guy from China to make these."
That was another plan, another battle Marshall had fought within his mind. Hela saw it that way.
"Kiss me."
But she didn’t want him to obey. Hela moved first, slanting her lips against his with even more hunger than before. This time, there was no hesitation. She wanted him, his heat, his taste, his solidity, and she took it. The feelings in her chest, alien and scorching, pressed against her ribs. They confused her, but she didn’t hide them. She explored them.
Marshall finally gave back what she demanded. His mouth crashed into hers with equal heat, his tongue meeting hers in a hot clash, his breath spilling into her lungs.
As the fireworks burst around them, they closed their eyes and drowned in that moment.
"Ummh…"
Hela moaned into his mouth.
That was the cue, and Marshall moved their big raft without thinking. Fast, insanely fast, he flew south-west, all the while kissing Hela, rolling his tongue all over hers.
But it wasn’t just hunger anymore. The kiss was warm, heavy with feeling, the kind that made time stutter.
Hela was fierce, almost desperate, kissing him with a passion that left no room for breath. Her hands clutched his jaw as if to anchor him, her tongue demanded more of him, her lips sealed against his with claiming force. She kissed like a woman who had finally… finally, decided to stop resisting. A goddess relaxing into her brute.
Marshall was flying like a lunatic without looking where they were going, letting instinct run the show. His raft cut across the sky in a blur of night wind.
In no time, they arrived at Mount Whitney in California. Inside the mountain, on a cliffside, was one of Marshall's large caves, equipped with what they needed the most—a bed.
"Let's go."
It was Hela who moved first. Once again, it took Marshall by surprise. Hela had never been that proactive before. And seriously, he felt like he was falling in love, if that was even possible for him.
Hela grabbed his hand and dragged him into that cave. She snapped her fingers, and the nearby torches lit up to life, drowning the entire cave with light. She'd been there before with Marshall, so she pulled him into the large bedchamber. The bed was still there, but the bedding was full of dirt. With a simple wave of her hand, the bedding rose in the air, slammed into the wall a few times, got dusted, and fell back on the stone bedframe.
"Lie down, Marshall."
"..."
"Fuck yeah!" Marshall was on cloud nine for the seven-foot-tall goddess. He ripped all his clothes off and jumped onto the bed, lying down on his back, his fat cock straight up, pointing at the ceiling, bulging.
Hela chuckled, seeing him so excited. But she was a woman who knew how to charm a man.
She turned her back to him and started to lower her gown. The fabric clung to her body, dragging slowly over the contours of her pale curves as she shimmied her hips, peeling it down inch by inch. She moved with sensuality, the sway of her tall frame exaggerated, teasing him.
Ever since Helvar’s birth, her hips had widened, her breasts had grown fuller, heavier, and she knew Marshall loved the changes.
She heard him groan when the dress reached her thighs, and she bent forward slightly, pushing the gown all the way down. The view she offered was sexy as sin. Her perfectly rounded, full ass, the pale curve of her loins, bare and already glistening. No underwear. No bra. Just milky, unblemished skin and the power of a goddess stripped naked.
Finally, Hela turned, her expression composed but her eyes burning. She crawled onto the bed, long limbs moving like a predator, sliding between his thick legs. She was tall, statuesque, so she had to improvise.
She spread her knees wide, crouched like a warrior claiming her prize. She grabbed his legs one by one, strong fingers hooking under his thick thighs, and she lifted them, throwing his legs over her folded knees. It wasn’t a normal position, but it raised his hips higher, and tilted his raging manhood towards her breasts.
"Ummmh… I will say this once." Hela muttered huskily, as she stared directly at the throbbing flesh. "I missed this."
"Fuck!" Marshall cursed. The sensation was too wild. The way she looked at him, the words in her mouth; it all rushed through him like fire in his veins. His body twitched, every nerve tickled alive.
Hela leaned closer, letting her breasts spill heavy and lush over his shaft. Even without milk, they’d grown larger. She pressed them together, surrounding him in the warmth of her flesh. His cock vanished into the pale valley, only the thick, flushed crown and a few more inches peeking out from the top.
"Mmm… mine."
With that declaration, Hela lowered her head.
Her dark, lipstick-clad lips closed around his exposed cockhead. She suckled it slowly, smearing him with black gloss, leaving his crown painted and wet. Her spit slid down, coating his cock, soaking into her breasts, turning the soft slopes into a slick heaven that clung and squeezed around him.
"Goddamn!" Marshall’s head thrashed back into the bedding as his hips bucked up.
He drove his cock through the pillowy squeeze of her breasts, thrusting hard, slick with spit and sweat. Every thrust made her tits clap faintly around his shaft, squelching, obscene, wet sounds echoing through the stone chamber. He groaned and even laughed through it, delirious with the soft, slippery cushion around his length.
Hela smirked down at him, her lips still latched to his tip as she pumped his cock through her tits.
"Mmmh… yes, Marshall… you like that, don’t you?" Her tongue flicked his crown before sucking it back down.
"My brute… my man…" Her tits bounced and slid faster, her spit gushing down to make her flesh slicker, tighter. The wet noises grew louder, shamelessly dirty, like his cock was drowning between her pale swells.
Shlk–Shlk—
"Hmmm…" She stopped suddenly, her tongue pulling free with a wet pop. She felt the need rising in him, the way his shaft throbbed in her hold. "Let’s not waste that. Lie down, flat."
Marshall’s chest heaved, but he happily followed along.
Hela lifted higher, towering above him as she shifted her hips forward. She straddled his waist, her smooth ass swaying in a slow rhythm as she dragged her soaked pussy up and down his length. His cockhead pressed into her folds, parting them, smearing them wetter with every nuzzle.
Squelch!
"Ooooh! Perr-fect!" Hela moaned when his cock finally popped inside her. Despite her body being bigger, she found him more than enough to stretch her dangerously and remind her of her femininity.
She leaned back, arching as her hands gripped his knees for balance, her long legs spread wide but her feet still planted firmly beside his waist. The angle opened her up, gave him a perfect view of his thick cock spearing her, her lower lips splayed tight around his girth.
"Ooooh… lovely!" Marshall grinned, teeth bared, eyes locked on the obscene sight.
Her body took the invasion without flinching. No shame, no hesitation. She accepted him with her whole heart, her whole cunt, her whole being. This was desire made flesh. He was unlike any man she had ever known. Strange, reckless, impossible, yet the one man she knew would never betray her. He had nothing to gain by it, nothing to lose. Betrayal didn’t exist in his world, and that truth let her give herself without fear.
And his cock, of course, was a blessing all its own. It split her open, bumpy veins dragging against every ridge of her core. The stretch was exquisite, painful, and blissful all at once, the kind of fullness that reminded her she was alive.
Her body shuddered with a grunt as she sank all the way down, finally taking every last inch.
"Fuck!" Marshall roared, his big hands clawing at her thighs, clutching her flesh as if to fuse her to him. Back where he belonged, buried inside her love hole, his cock felt right at home.
He didn’t think much; he never did, but his instincts knew paradise. Wrapped in her silky heat, every throb of her walls stroked his veins like soft fingers, wet flesh massaging him inch by inch like dough. The tightness was maddening, her slippery insides gliding on him, gripping him, refusing to let go.
Hela started to ride him, her tall frame working like a machine, her ass rippling with every bounce. She lifted high, slammed down, her breasts jiggling, her cunt squelching wet and loud as it swallowed him over and over. The stone chamber filled with the sound of flesh clapping, her moans mixing with his groans, a messy, wet chorus of boiling lust.
Then her body tensed suddenly, her rhythm stuttering as she crashed down harder, grinding herself on his base.
"Mmmmhh! Aaaahhh—!" Her climax ripped through her, violent and soaking hot. Her cunt clamped and squeezed, dripping down his shaft, her juices gushing in a flood that coated his balls and the bed beneath.
Marshall answered by fucking up into her harder. His hips pistoned, pounding, meeting her bounce with savage thrusts. Their bodies slapped together, flesh crashing loudly.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
"Close…" Marshall growled, warning her through clenched teeth.
"I know," Hela smirked, biting her lip, her entire body trembling with greedy need. "H-Helvar… needs… a sibling."
"Shit… Then… let me get on… top!"
Marshall sat up in one rough motion, his cock still buried deep inside her, and shoved her backwards until she landed on her back.
He kept going, pushing between her legs, never letting himself slip free of her scorching, snug heat. She engulfed him entirely, wrapping him like a tight velvet glove as his heavy body loomed over hers.
"Spill it… Marshall… my sweet… brute," she moaned, her lips wet and parted, her eyes wide and glassy.
Marshall chuckled, drunk on the sight of her. Her irises blown wide, her face flushed with a lewdness that belonged only to him. She was a goddess undone beneath her brute, beautiful and utterly delicious.
Her long legs shot up and coiled around his waist, locking him in tight. She squeezed like chains, as if she wanted his cock to stay inside her forever, to never leave her body again.
He leaned down, close, mouth to mouth, and drove his cock in with brutal force, kissing her hard as he pounded into her.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
The bed didn’t creak; it couldn’t. If it had, it would’ve shattered under the power of his thrusts. He hammered her with superhuman strength, each smack so loud it echoed like thunder off the stone walls.
Squelch–pap! Squish–plap! Schllrk—!
Their fucking was messy, filthy, deliciously unholy, every slam stirring more of her nectar until it spilled down his balls.
"Fuck… Hela… you!" Marshall groaned into her mouth, her tits flattened, smushed hard against his chest. He drilled her harder, kissing her between growls. "Yeah, I’m your damn brute!"
Plap!
Finally, his whole body seized, and he drove his cock deep, crashing against her cervix, smashing into her very core.
“Gaaaahhh—Fuck!” he roared as he spilled, unloading in heavy, hot gushes that pumped her full. Thick, white virility jetted into her, flooding her womb in thick spurts that overran her ability to hold it. The creamy tide spilled back out around his cock, dribbling down her ass, soaking the bed in lewd streaks. He kept rutting as he came, forcing every last drop deeper into her, grinding his cockhead against her deepest spot until she was drowning in it.
Hela purred into his mouth, her tongue tangled with his, her body drinking him in, now belonged to him. She felt the heat of his batter filling her, overflowing from her loins, and her smile twisted beautifully wicked.
They didn’t stop kissing. Lips and tongues stayed locked, messy, while their hips ground together. His cock never softened, still iron-hard inside her, still claiming her body.
"Marshall…" Hela felt him hard inside and smiled, caressing his beard. "I'm not leaving… We have… all night, or days if you want."
"Let's make that a week."
He claimed her lips again. The woman was just too addictive.
####
Africa,
"They'd better pay up." Marshall sat cross-legged on the raft, Marty beside him, joined by Selene. "Dinosians found electricity thanks to the damn thing."
"Master, I could have gone myself. It's just some Vibranium."
"Hell no! Last time you waddled back with that demon’s diary. I want no tentacles trying to probe my ass again. I'll get them rocks myself," Marshall declared, the horrors of that tentacle monster were still alive.
Selene, the once famed Dark Priestess, pouted. "It wasn't my fault. I thought you'd like it. Lady Hela did."
"Yeah, after I carved up that slimy tentacle bastard," Marshall barked and looked at Marty. "So what’s your excuse? Why now? I thought you’d abandoned me while you sat on your fat ass in goddamn Dinosia."
"Grawff!"
"You did? What the… You can do that?" Marshall exclaimed. "Who taught you?"
"Growr!"
"Logan? That pup? He knows how to read and write. Color me floored. So, what’s next? Did he teach you something beyond scribbling A to Z?"
Marty nodded and growled.
"Numbers too? Sweet Jesus, what are you gonna—"
Marshall stopped speaking midway through and sniffed intensely. Marty did the same.
"What happened?" Selene asked them.
Marshall stopped the raft and sniffed harder. "I can smell… burning… flesh… human."
Quickly, he looked down from the raft and saw smoke rising. There were somewhere around central Africa, so it was all green there, trees for as far as one could see. And that made it even more surprising.
"Let's take a look," Marshall said and descended the raft. Like usual, he made space for the raft to land by flattening some trees. By doing that, the reason for the smoke and that smell also became clear.
Click!
Right away, multiple guns were pointed at Marshall. There were three white men in military uniform, holding rifles, then there were ten more men holding rifles, but they were dark skinned, mostly naked, their faces tattooed and teeth sharpened artificially.
And then there was a large pit, inside it were more dark skinned men and women, each one had either a hand missing or a foot. They were dead, and their corpses were burning.
"What the fuck's going on here?" Marshall questioned and walked towards the rifle-holding men.
Bang!
They shot their rifles. But the bullets never came out, and the muzzles exploded.
"Aaaa!"
The ten face-tattooed local men tried to jump Marshall. With a mere thought, he had them kneeling by telekinesis. Then, finally, he reached the three white men standing scared.
"Care to explain? No? Ah, shit, bastards pissed themselves!" Marshall stepped back in disgust. "You know what, just die. I'll fry your brains while reading them."
He probed their minds using telepathy and read them so intensely and so fast that the chances of survival were zero. In an instant, he started learning about names, the reason why they were there, and what they were doing.
"King Leopold of Belgium?" Marshall repeated. "He owns this land?"
"Master, what are they doing here?" Selene asked curiously.
Poof!
Marshall sneered and exploded the three heads. Then he looked at the ten face-tattooed men and exploded their heads as well, massacring them all.
"Clusterfuck. That’s the only goddamn word. Some royal hemorrhoid named Leopold of Belgium scored this land in a drunk card game called the Berlin Conference. A bunch of powdered wig dickheads carved up Africa. The guy who got this land grabbed all the locals, enslaved them, and put them to harvesting ivory and rubber," Marshall explained.
"Just a handful of them. The real army consists of these tooth-filed, face-inked psychos called the Zappo Zap. Straight cannibals. Pillagers. Knife-happy shitbags. Leopold signed them up to keep everyone shitting their pants. And if you don’t deliver enough rubber? They hack off your hands and feet."
"What?" Selene frowned. While she was no stranger to human sacrifices, she never ate them. "That's—"
"Where's my damn cut?!" Marshall shouted.
"..."
Selene and Marty looked at him strangely.
"Crusty dickheads met up, chopped Africa into pieces, my goddamn land, minted gold, didn’t even ask? Bite me!" Marshall spat and leapt onto his raft with Marty and Selene. "Change of plans, we’re off to Belgium."
####
Brussels, Royal Castle of Laeken,
Boom!
It wasn’t a good day for Belgium.
It wasn’t a good day for the Belgian royal family.
Marshall crashed straight into the royal castle's dome, destroying it with his fucking raft. It was like an earthquake.
"Leo? Where the fuck are you?" Marshall roared.
"Wraaaaa!" Marty roared.
"Yeah, where are you?" Selene… tried to roar. "Wait, I can find him. I've got magic."
She weaved some sort of spell, and a flashing light guided them through the massive castle. Of course, some guards came in their way, but seeing a Viking-like man, a T-Rex smashing through walls, and a big-breasted leather-wrapped woman floating in the air, most guards just ran away.
"In there!" Selene pointed at a door.
Bam!
Marshall kicked the door open and walked inside. It was occupied by five men, all had pretty mustaches and wore military uniforms with golden medals. They were nobles or kings. Right away, he pointed at the one with a long white beard.
"You!" Marshall stormed towards the man. "I saw what you're doing in Africa. You wrinkly old cunt carved my land! Without asking! You dug up gold! Where the hell’s my slice? That’s the law, as old as time! First Man owns the whole damn globe!"
"F-First M-Man?!"
All five men jumped to their feet.
Marshall sneered towards the one who took his name. "You are?"
"Ah, I'm Wilhelm, E-Emperor of Germany."
"Look at that, Leo." Marshall grabbed the old Belgian King by the throat and raised him. "Having a cocksucking party at your palace with your incest-born brothers?"
"P-Please… We can have… a word." King Leopold groaned, his old bones cracking, his accent thick.
Marshall didn't bother and looked back at Wilhelm. "You knew what this shit's doing in Africa?"
"N-No… What did he d–"
Pooof!
Wilhelm II, German Emperor, King of Prussia, had his head obliterated to blood mist.
Thud!
"Motherfucker thought I couldn't read minds? That sack of shit's pulling the same crap in his colonies… just not as rotten as you, Leo." Marshall glared back at the Belgian fossil. "Guess what… I know the perfect assholes who’d gleefully staple your name to history’s balls."
Woosh!
Without bothering to tell Marty and Selene anything, Marshall flew away, out of the window, the Belgian King still in his grasp.
Left behind, Selene sighed.
"Why is Master wasting time with all this? Weren’t we just here to take our share?" Selene asked, looking up at the big T-Rex. "What do you think, Marty? Master's angry because the King's evil, right?"
Marty just rolled his eyes, waving his little T-Rex arms for a shrug.
Despite having lived together that long, Marty didn't know if Marshall was really evil or just so stupid that he did the right thing even while being evil. In any case, if that was being evil, it wasn’t so bad.
####
England, Windsor Castle,
BOOM!
Another ceiling of a royal castle was broken in.
Thud!
Marshall landed on his feet, the old King of Belgium still alive, but with a few broken bones, as Marshall had flown so fast.
"Where is she?"
The guards were there. They saw Marshall. They flinched, but surprisingly, they returned to standing in attention, as if nothing had happened.
"Sir, this way please."
"..."
"Me?" Marshall was shocked by that treatment. It was usually swords and guns aimed at him. But now there was this Alfred-looking man bowing to him and gesturing to him to follow.
"Of course, esteemed First Man. Her Majesty has been informed. She awaits you in her office."
"Alright."
Shhhh~
Marshall didn't hold King Leopold high anymore. He just grabbed the old King's hand and dragged him behind like a ragdoll.
"Uuuuh… S-Save… m-meh…"
The butler looked at the old man, and asked with as much respect as he could. "I mean no disrespect, Your Holiness…. Who might this be? I merely hope to inform Her Majesty of the guest."
"This guy?" Marshall yanked the arm. "Name's Leo. Caught the filthy bastard committing genocide in Africa, enslaving the people, chopping off arms and legs if they didn't harvest enough for him. Ran a whole private army. Snatched his royal ass straight out of his crumbling piss-palace."
"..."
The butler choked up, realizing that the man being dragged was most certainly a royal. He just didn't know which one.
"By the way, Alfred. Good soldiers, they didn't shoot at me."
The butler frowned, confused by that new name. Honestly, he loved it since a literal god named him. "Oh, Your Holiness, the entire British military has a rule-book that details your holy presence in our world. They're all trained to treat you with respect and reverence."
"Sweet stuff, Al. Expected nothing less after I fucked George's queen."
The butler frowned, wondering which George it was that got his wife fucked by the god. There were sadly too many damn Georges.
"This way, just past this door." The butler opened the door.
"Wait." Marshall stopped at the open doorframe. He could see a woman inside, sitting behind a table. "Alfred, what's her name?"
The butler looked into the room, at the Queen, and then at Marshall. "S-She is Her Majesty, the queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and empress of India—"
"Goddammit, Al, chop-chop, I ain't here to wed my son to her. Just the name."
"Her Majesty Victoria, your holiness!"
"Good." Marshall patted the old butler's bald head and walked into the old Queen's office, dragging Leopol's groaning body.
"Your reverence, First Man." Queen Victoria bowed her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Holy shit!" Marshall barked, finally noticing. "Wait, you’ve been standing? All this time? Sweet mother of incest, you’re fun-sized."
"..."
Queen Victoria froze, frowning, wondering how to respond to that.
"How can we help you?"
All of a sudden, a man spoke. A man that Marshall hadn't even noticed before. Standing in a corner, he was brown, dressed differently from the attire of everyone around that castle.
"You are?"
"I am Abdul Karim, Sir."
Queen Victoria frowned at that more than Marshall's disrespect. The decorum learned and followed for generations was to treat Marshall like a god. Abdul wasn't doing that.
"Abdul? You from the Ottomans?" Marshall asked.
"No, Sir. I'm from India."
"Ah!" Marshall frowned, looked at the Queen, and then at the man. "Ha! You’re licking boots for the same hag who’s got your whole country enslaved by the balls? Damn, that’s some Olympic-level ass-kissing. But I respect the hustle."
"..."
Only the ticking clock could be heard for some time.
"Ugghh~"
King Leopol's groan woke them up.
"Please, have a seat, Your Holiness." Queen Victoria offered.
"No time," Marshall said and pulled King Leopold up, and threw him on the chair. "This guy's Leo of Belgium or something. Caught him doing wild things in Africa. Wait a sec, I'll show it to you straight."
Marshall probed Queen Victoria's mind and showed her the images from Africa. Not just what he'd seen but the images from the heads of the soldiers he'd killed in Africa.
"Oh!" Queen Victoria panted and fell on her seat when Marshall stopped. "T-That…"
"What did you do?" Abdul rushed to the Queen's aid.
"Jesus balls, dude! Her crusty ass can’t be worth all that simpering, grow a damn spine or something." Marshall cursed the guy for overreacting. "Anyway, I'm leaving Leo here. Torture him, break him. Use those newspapers, post pictures, show the world what Leo did. Then execute him. Ah, I found Wilhelm in his castle, too, and killed him for being an accomplice. Blast his name across the damn sky, too."
"..."
Victoria choked on that command.
"And one more thing! From now on, any country that has colonies must pay me thirty percent tax for allowing you maggots to reap from my goddamn land! Thirty percent, each year. Miss a payment, and I'll flatten your bloodlines and parliaments."
Boom!
He didn't go through the door. Just flew straight up and out of the ceiling.
"Merciful heavens… we are doomed. He demands that we take up arms against Belgium and Germany." Queen Victoria felt like passing out. "W-We're doomed."
"My Queen." Abdul was there to help her with a cup of water.
"Silence!" Victoria fumed, latching onto the nearest thing she could blame. "This is your doing. You defied decorum and provoked his wrath."
"..."
####
Back in Belgium, Marshall landed at the castle again. This time, he flattened the entire castle, bagged all the gold he could find as payment, and then left on the raft with Marty and Selene.
"Alright, now we go to Wakanda," Marshall muttered, sitting cross-legged, a massive bag of loot sitting behind him.
"Master, aren't Wakandans close to Congo? Why didn't they stop Leo?" Selene asked. "They have the means."
"Hmph!" Marshall scoffed. "Do you know what sissy means?"
"No, Master."
"Bitchass?"
"I've never heard that before, Master."
"Yeah, Wakandans are all that. They love to scream about their glorious African pride, rituals, and ancestral jazz hands. But when Africa's in danger, they shove their heads up their own asses and act blind. That's Wakanda for you." Marshall spat venom so hard even Selene wondered if Wakandans would go extinct down the line. Her Master really hated them.
"Gruff!"
"See, even Marty agrees," Marshall said, and enjoyed the warm Mediterranean breeze.
Bang!
Right then, they heard a distant bang. Thankfully, there was no burning smell this time.
Quickly, Marshall looked down and recognized where he was. They were flying over Greece, particularly Athens.
"Looks like a festival," Marshall muttered, and felt his stomach empty. "Wakandans can wait, we eat first!"
Once again, he lowered the raft and landed it right in the middle of the large field where people were gathered. There were so many flags flying around there, and the crowd was intense.
"Where's the food?"
But when they landed, Marshall realized something. It looked less like a festival and more like a tournament of sorts. The arena was oval in shape, the stands filled with people, already screaming towards him.
In a few moments, a few men came running towards him; the man in the lead supported a mustache and bowed all the way on his knees.
"Most revered First Man, what gift could surpass this for the first Olympics?" The man prayed. "I'm Charles Pierre de Frédy. I am deeply honored."
"Olympics?" Marshall looked around and noticed the various athletes in the distance. "First? I've been to them in the past. What was it? Ugh… Elis?"
"Ah, oui, oui!" Charles bobbed his head with delight. "The city-state of Elis, birthplace of the first Olympics of old. How extraordinary. To welcome you here is truly a joy."
Marshall nodded. "What're you doing today?"
"Ah, the games. At present, it is the shot put, most honored. Shall we watch it together?"
"No, I'll try a throw. Always wanted to try the Olympics again." Marshall murmured and started stretching his arm. "Marty, watch me win a gold medal."
Quickly, Marshall was led to the shot put location. All the athletes stepped aside, and Marshall was told about the rules. Then he picked up the metal ball.
"Marty, how far should I throw?"
"Ruff~"
"High? Oh, look! A shooting star!"
All looked up at the sky, and there was indeed a bright shooting star.
"Here we go!" Marshall put all his strength into it and threw the metal ball aimed at the star.
Woosh!
Boom!
The sonic boom almost shattered eardrums. Dust got blown in every direction. The ground around Marshall was ruined.
Yet, nobody reacted. They were still staring at the sky. Marshall did the same.
"Hm? Where's the damn shooting star?" He asked.
"Your Holiness, I beg pardon… You struck the shooting star," the Frenchman blurted.
"Huh? I did?"
####
Meanwhile, in the sky.
Boom!
"What was that?!"
“We’re hit!”
"We're losing altitude!"
"No! We must not fail! Alert Lord Ronan now! We've been attacked. In this primitive hole of all places."
Comments
Neopolitano
And that he stays with the planet where the immortal hulk comic was thrown, even though that is a long way from reaching the present
Neopolitano
I wonder when there will be adventures in space now that maybe he will take the ship just went to Asgard
