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Marvel: Upgrading Death 8 - Handcannon, Diplomacy, Hela & WHAT?
🕑 Added 2025-07-17 19:17:45 +0000 UTCDoc Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LTadYp-qatWN_MKxhF6N36Rj5rmarGBrK0r4CQKhzq4/edit?usp=sharing
____________________
"I am George Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army."
"George who?" Marshall blurted, uninterested in every way.
"I lead my men to face the British occupation. To free this land from unjust rulers and to secure democracy."
"Ah, that George?" Marshall poked his ear and chuckled, eying Marty beside him. "Get a load of this guy, Marty. Says he’ll bring Democracy. Hah! Fucker don’t even know what democracy is. Tell me, who’s gonna get this democracy?"
"Grrf!" Marty responded.
"Ah, you don't know what democracy is? Picture ten dumbfucks lost in a cave. Six start shouting about light they’ve never seen, vote one of their own to lead them, and boom—now the blind are guiding the blind straight into a pit. That’s democracy."
"Rrrawr-blarrrgh."
"Exactly, Marty. It's dumb as shit. Even you're smarter than them. No wonder Dinosia never implemented it." Marshall scoffed and crossed his arms, focusing back on the man.
"The people of the thirteen colonies. The whole of America. That is who'll benefit from it." George Washington said.
"Bahahaha! Then, does that include everyone? Like, every man, woman, and whatever’s trying to stand upright these days?"
George Washington frowned, but he soon started to realize what Marshall was hinting at. And honestly, he had no answers. His views were slightly different; he believed that slavery was a social evil, but he couldn't remove it, nor was he willing to right now.
"Slavery… That's a topic we can only discuss once we have the right to govern ourselves." George argued.
"Bullshit! Actually, I don't give a fuck about what you humans do. But the hypocrisy, man—that grinds me. At least the Romans had consistency. Enslaving everyone, call it a day. You lot? You slap a label on skin tone and call it destiny. Pale? Suddenly, you're the boss. Dark? Now, you're furniture? Nah. Either chain everybody or let 'em all walk free. Ridiculous. If you're gonna be monsters, be consistent. Pick a lane!"
"..."
George Washington was dumbstruck. In his life, he'd seen many arguments in favor and against slavery. But none of them ever sounded like this. He didn't even know what to say to that. Marshall didn't sound anti slavery, nor pro slavery. Yet, at the same time, Marshall made the most sense. Slavery wasn't openly seen as evil when everyone was being enslaved. Once it became a skin tone thing, it became evil.
"I will… give you my word that once this war is over, I will vocally decry slavery, and do all I can to end it."
Marshall shrugged. "Empty words. Why're you here anyway? If you’re after my cave, back off. If you play any games here, you'll thank it was the British fucking you over and not me."
“Our purpose here is alliance. The people of the nearby settlement informed us of your presence in this cave. I come not with demands, but a request, your aid in dealing with the British Navy."
Marshall rubbed his chin, amused a little. He couldn't remember the last time someone was brave enough to invite him into their war. "So you folks want a cheat code? Interesting, Marty, what do you think we should do? It can't be free."
"Hrrmmph."
"Ask them for meat? Man, we can get that any time. That's like someone hands you a gold bar on a silver platter and you ask for the fucking plate instead of the gold. Though it's understandable if a beauty is holding it..." Marshall mumbled a lot before returning to the topic.
"Anyway. Listen. I’m bored, so here’s the deal: Get your bosses to write something up. I own this land. I own this whole spinning ball. I was here when the air tasted like metal. My island’s off the west coast—don’t touch it. I got a farm northwest—mammoths still stomping, don’t touch that either. I got caves. Don’t touch my caves. And if anyone breaks this deal, I will personally paint the asphalt with your leader’s skull. With his brain still in it."
Ptui!
Marshall spat into his right palm and raised it towards George. "Deal?"
George Washington looked at the extended hand. He was aware that the military would soon send out explorers to claim the rest of America after the war. Knowing that the First Man already had a farm there meant it was good land. And off the West coast meant the place was habitable. But now, looking at that hand, he felt like he was making a deal with the devil.
The First Man, although written as an angel, as a divine, all-powerful being in the books, was also known to be unpredictable. Shaking that hand was like befriending a lion. Cuddly when full, but might eat you when hungry.
"Deal." George ended up shaking that hand anyway. Anything to deal with the British occupying Long Island.
####
A week later.
It was a clear sunny day over the skies of New York Bay.
On a lone American ship, Marshall left a port and headed towards Long Island. It was just one ship, the crew, Marshall, and George Washington onboard. The ship had no cannons so that it could carry weight.
The weight of thousands of cannonballs. The sailors were confused, but nobody dared speak in Marshall's presence. Heck, before they started the journey, the men had made a prayer to Marshall, holding their Bibles close at the same time.
In truth, even George Washington was confused.
"There they are!" Marshall grunted and moved towards the deck's edge, his fur cape fluttering on his back, still dressed like a barbarian. "Get me the damn cannonballs already."
Curious and confused, the sailors rolled the cart filled with 24-pounder cannonballs.
Then, with ease, Marshall grabbed one ball with his spread palm. He picked one in each hand. Finally, he looked towards the ships in the distance, flying the British flag.
"Hah! They won't know what hit them."
WOOSH!
"..."
The crew went speechless.
Marshall threw the cannonball towards the British ship with his bare hands. Each cannonball weighed ten kilograms. It was impossible for most men to pick it up with one hand, let alone throw it. And what a throw it was.
Cutting through the air, far in the distance, a British ship appeared to lose one of its masts.
Woosh!
Then the other mast.
Woosh!
Then a hole appeared in the ship’s hull, and it started to sink. There were no cannonballs fired. No loud booms. Only the sound of water and a view of ships sinking in the distance.
"Hahahaha… More! Bring me more cannonballs!"
Marshall used both hands at great speed, moving like a Gatling gun. The constant barrage of cannonballs sank one ship, and then another. The scouts had informed that in total, the British had deployed four hundred ships. But out of them, only seventy-three were warships.
They all sank that day.
One after another, any warship that had a cannon on it sank.
As time went by, the American ship Marshall was on sailed closer towards the shores. As the British Navy got decimated, there was nobody to stop them. Then, eventually, they came as close as the ports.
Woosh!
Marshall kept going, destroying the port's barracks and whatever could be used to stop their ships. Although his cannonballs didn't explode, they did enough damage to the buildings. At the speed he was throwing them, they brought down entire structures.
And clearly, Marshall was enjoying it. Laughing the entire time, throwing the cannonballs like toys. He didn't stop, nor did anyone ask him to stop.
Hours later, at last, the cannonballs were depleted.
Result?
Total American victory.
There wasn't going to be any British naval support for Long Island now, the stronghold of the British. All George Washington had to do now was march his army in and take it.
And that was exactly what the General did.
Meanwhile, Marshall returned to Philadelphia and lived in a lavish, sprawling mansion with cooks ready around the clock. He even brought over Selene and Hela, enjoyed eating whatever he liked, and did Selene all night. By now, Hela had become braver and didn't hide herself from ogling whenever Marshall fucked his beautiful witch.
Heck, he regularly did a full nelson with Selene, lifting her up, and walking closer to Hela as if displaying a prize. He loved teasing the seven-foot-tall Goddess of Death. Loved seeing her sultry expressions. She was still embarrassed, but as time went by, he made her feel okay with touching herself while watching him in action.
Marty did what he loved doing and explored the city. At first, people were scared, but eventually they got used to his presence.
Every day was a feast. Every night was pleasurable.
In mere days, George Washington proved his command and won all of Long Island, and then the entire New York. By then, the other old men had prepared a document and gathered in the State House.
And as expected, Marshall was there. He was invited by them, although he didn't know why. He couldn't care less about them as he was loving the free food and wine.
"Since the First Man is there, he should be the first one to sign it."
It was a large space filled with mostly old men.
Marshall shrugged and walked over to read what the hell they wanted him to sign. He'd already signed the contract he'd discussed with George, after all.
"Hmm… Declaration of Independence… hmm…" Marshall read snippets aloud. "Rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness… all men are created equal—bah! Who wrote this?"
Right away, five men came forward.
Shrugging, Marshall pointed at one of them. "Come here and scribble this in. Write—First Man wouldn’t sign because we're a bunch of spineless clowns who thought 'all men are created equal' was some punchline, and we still backhand slavery like it’s a tradition. First Man said we crawled out of apes, but we’re too thick-skulled to grasp it—This, I’ll sign."
"..."
Jaws fell. Teeth gritted. The men present looked at each other, and then at the First Man. Some of those there remembered the warning George Washington had left them. To not mingle with the First Man too much, as the living god is too unpredictable. Still, wanting to make the declaration more epic, they invited him. And now they were paying for it.
Could they refuse the First Man?
Could they?
They really wanted to.
"I'll write it."
Marshall let the man do it. "What's your name?"
"Thomas Jefferson."
"Hmm… Doesn't ring a bell. Do it."
Soon enough, the addition was scribbled down. Then Marshall grabbed the quill pen and signed in big, fat letters—FIRST MAN. Then, he looked at the other men.
"Go on, sign it."
They were furious. Many were enraged. But not a single one of them uttered a word. They made a line and signed it one by one. Soon enough, the bottom of the large page was filled with names.
"Great! Remember the contract you made. Don't fuck up or I'll come knocking." Marshall threatened them and walked out, waving at them.
But as soon as Marshall was gone, the hall erupted in anger and murmurs. Various demands rose, and a lot of them desired to burn the signed declaration. However, not a single one of them came forward to burn it or even touch it.
They couldn't do it, how could they? First Man was a name written in the Bible, and every other text they'd read. Could they burn a god's name? What would be the punishment?
"L-Let's… Let's sign another one… for the public. This one… can be kept away, untouched."
Eventually, the reasonable idea was accepted.
And just like that, the original declaration was hidden away.
####
Marshall returned to Dinosia with Marty, Hela, and Selene. It was time for his regular ritual, and to pick a woman from the population. The island was now a declared country, small in size but packing a punch. Tall buildings with modern sanitation had become the norm there. The highest building was already thirty floors, and electricity had been discovered.
The population had reached five million, and it had stabilized there now. But still, knowing it was the final days of territory expansion, Dinosia officially claimed the nearby islands, which would later be called the eight California Channel Islands in the future. Now, with a total area of over 755 square kilometers in pocket, the need for space became less urgent.
From the beginning, extreme care was given to infrastructure development. From roads to bridges to every building and park. Everything was designed to maximize space and use while ensuring it looked beautiful.
Recently, in a nationwide IQ survey, their average IQ came out as 117. Meanwhile, the man currently with the highest IQ was Dinosia's Chairman of Commerce, the top overseer of the economy, with an IQ of 235. The man, however, was born with a motor disability, unable to manage daily tasks.
But in a society built as an experiment to make the smartest country in the world, his issue was considered common. An entire support system existed for him from the very beginning. He was given an extremely comfortable environment to explore and study whatever he wanted.
Now, at the age of sixty, the man had written over eight hundred books on economics, predictions for the future, world food supply, world economy, changing neighbors, and, surprisingly, a poetry book as well. And even more surprising was that it was a religious book, dedicated to the First Man.
It was the most surprising aspect of Dinosia that despite the people being highly gifted in intelligence, their faith in their god, the First Man, remained firm. Many of them believed that Marshall was an alien, or perhaps a Mutant, as they had found some in Dinosia. Yet, all of them firmly worshiped him because everything Marshall did was exactly what a god would do.
Marshall's actions had all been documented for tens of thousands of years by now. His exploits in faraway lands were also recorded thanks to the selected women who accompanied him.
Marshall was teaching humans. Saving Dinosia from natural disasters. Aiding Dinosia at its critical points. Beyond that, Marshall's age predated everything.
He was a god to them. Even if a man with an IQ of 500 were to appear, Marshall would be a god to them as well.
As always, it was like a festival in Dinosia since the First Man returned with the First Steed, Marty. The temple of the First God started its preparations to present the women who wanted to offer themselves to the First Man with pride and adoration.
Fuck, it feels like a cult now.
Marshall was aware that it was somewhat weird. But, already being neck deep in it for so long, he didn't give a fuck. Or rather, he gave a lot of fucks. Sadly, this time, none of the gathered women caught his eye, and there were over a hundred thousand. Age ranging from eighteen to fifty.
In the middle of the night, he flew randomly to check what his experiment had achieved. He was proud of them as well. Instead of a democracy, Dinosia had selected a system where there were no elections. There was no political party. There was no President or Prime Minister.
Instead, there were departments for each aspect of administration. And each was led by a Chairman who was selected independently based on their expertise in that sector, their past achievements, intelligence, and their plans. All the Chairmen combined made the Grand Cabinet.
They met often to collaborate on projects. In case of different opinions, fact-based debates were done with a time limit of three days to reach a result.
It was likely more complicated than that. Marshall let them be since it was working for them. While he sure was mighty like a god, he reckoned they were smarter than he by now.
"Ah! First Man?"
Just as he was flying in front of a tall building, he heard a woman's voice. Marshall looked and found a red-headed middle-aged woman leaning against the tenth-floor window. As expected, she was stunning. Marshall was rather proud of how he'd made not only a smart society, but also a pretty one.
Damn… I made one fine country.
“What are you doing?”
He admired the woman's blessed features. Large breasts, deep cleavage in that white thin gown. Her hair came down to her hips, and her eyes were big, green. Skin spotless like a doll, lips thick and delicious. And when she spoke, it was a throaty, beautiful voice.
"To dear First Man, I was bored, but what a blessing," she said, smiling brightly.
Marshall hovered near her window. "Bored? Why?"
"I was waiting for my daughter to return. We had planned to cook together tonight." She answered, licking her lips. "Respected First Man, have you selected a maiden?"
"Not yet… but I just might now." Marshall noticed all her reactions. "Where's your husband?"
"Returned to dust with your blessings, First Man."
So he's dead? Interesting.
For a second, he rubbed his chin. He'd fucked widows before, but had never picked them as his fifty-year partners before. He didn't want to disturb the order and send any wrong messages. Some of Dinosia's people were too fanatic.
"What's your name?"
"I am called Vanilla, First Man?"
Vanilla? That's a first.
"So, Vanilla, I'm choosing you as my maid this time." He declared, with no ceremony. "You shall live with me for fifty years and travel."
"Then!" She stood erect, excited, her large breasts bouncing. "If I may, First Man. Can you take my daughter as well?"
Two for one? That's a nice offer.
"Sure, how old is she?" He asked. He had to, since this woman looked so beautiful with not a hint of an age line on her mature face.
Vanilla, in response, looked behind at a wall clock. She waited, noted the ticks, and once both hands crossed twelve, she smiled. "Eighteen."
"..."
"She just turned eighteen?"
"She did."
At that, Marshall shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, let's take her along."
"Don't you wish to see her first, First Man? To be honest, she was sad she couldn't join the waiting list of maidens for you in the temple."
Honestly, he didn't give a fuck anymore. This woman, this beautiful milf was giving him a painful boner. And the thing he loved about the women of Dinosia was that they were extremely intelligent, even in bed. They always made the loveliest sounds and responded in the best way possible.
"I've seen you, Vanilla. That's enough."
####
Marshall deliberately picked the room adjacent to Hela's to bed the two. And Jesus, what a good lay it was. Vanilla introduced her daughter, taller than her, but petite, red hair reaching her waist, handfuls of tits, and slender ass. Her name was Clove.
First, the two sucked him dry, each gulping down one load. The best part was when Vanilla rammed Clove's face on his fat cock until she choked. But the real stuff came afterwards when Vanilla sat behind her daughter, making Clove lean her back into her round breasts.
Then, with her own hands, Vanilla spread Clove's legs, and then the pussy lips, revealing the virgin maiden ready to be taken. Shaved, drenched in heat, pale red and tight. Clove was giggling, a faint blush and shyness on her face.
"Aaaah!"
Marshall, yet again, made a woman that night. And he did go all night. Once he rammed Clove's fresh pussy, and emptied his balls, he focused on Vanilla's curvy, mature body. He fucked them together then, making them lie down one on top of another, and drilled one pussy at a time.
He lost count of how many times they came, or he did. By the time morning came, the two women were losing their consciousness, the bedsheet was drenched, and on the wall was a hole beyond which was Hela, touching herself, ruining her own floor.
Time to do something about Hela.
He had noticed how Hela was getting easier and easier to anger these days.
####
Another century passed, from 1799, the year changed to 1800, and a few more years passed. The United States purchased Louisiana from Napoleon and increased its size. But then, an incident occurred.
Somehow, word spread that the only safe haven in America was the mythical land ruled by the First Man. So, a lot of runaway slaves and persecuted groups of Natives walked north-west, and ended up entering the mammoth farm that Marshall ran.
And there, sadly, they ended up killing a pregnant mammoth.
Marshall found out about it as soon as the Mammoth died. He was using Selene to keep track of the woolly animals.
In anger, Marshall flew on his raft with only Marty and arrived in what would one day be called the State of Montana. Almost half of it was his, where he conserved the woolly mammoths.
And as expected, he found a settlement of humans on his land. They had skinned the poor pregnant mammoth and were making tents out of it.
BOOM!
Marshall landed with a loud bang, and with the use of telekinesis, uprooted every tent in sight, baring all the occupants to his eyes. There were nearly fifty men and women there.
"FIRST MAN!?"
"SAVE US!"
Marshall wasn't impressed. He eyed them like they were pests. "You killed my mammoth. Give me a reason why I should let you live."
"W-We were hungry… We…"
"Not my problem. Eat the leaves, choke on dirt, gnaw on a rat if one scurries by." Marshall snapped his fingers, and with a five-second gap, their heads started exploding one by one.
"You ran from your lands. Some ran from your masters, some from the war. But I don't give a fuck—Tell me, do you not steal? Do you not murder? Do you not plunder? See, you're no different in my eyes. One ape gutting another ape doesn’t make it my problem. You bled into my land, killed something I raised—and now? Now you die."
Poof!
Poof!
One by one, they all died, heads exploding.
"I’m not here to spoon-feed you through evolution. Teaching you fire was a damn fluke, you smoke-sniffing morons."
To Marshall, humans were utterly insignificant. He had lived a hundred million years in misery. He'd fought all the madness with all he had. He fought Mephisto's advances with all he had. He had no mercy or blessings to give. Absolutely not to the ones that killed what belonged to him.
"Not done yet."
Marshall gathered the dead bodies, threw them on the raft, and flew towards the east. Soon, he arrived on top of a white building and descended with no care. Nobody stopped him, and there was barely much security.
He entered the White House with the dead bodies flying behind him like a train, all headless. Finally, he arrived at a large room with a wide table before a big window.
"You broke the contract!" Marshall declared and threw the dead bodies across the office. "Unlike you, I keep my promises."
Marshall walked over to the table and…
Bam!
He smacked the table away, sending it smashing into the wall. Then, he stood before the white haired man, still in his seat, speechless, fear in his eyes.
"You stomped into my patch, on purpose or not. Slavery is your mess. Attacking natives is your mess. So why’s the fallout hitting my doorstep?"
"I… I was not aware of it, First M—"
Poof!
"CONTRACT! STICK TO IT!”
Marshall, with no regard, slapped the President's head. And as promised to George, he splattered the brain on the floor. For the audience, there were some assistants and staffers nearby.
Finally, Marshall turned around and eyed the nearby staffer. "Tell the Vice President—Break the contract one more time. Invade my land one more time. I'll drag the damn British Empire back here and gift this land to them!"
With that, he walked out, got on top of his raft with Marty waiting there, and flew away.
Marshall reckoned this would teach them a lesson. But being so disconnected, he didn't see that the newspapers declared that the President had died of a heart attack. Not because the First Man punished him.
####
Dinosia,
Marshall had returned. It was yet another peaceful night, and unlike normal, he was alone in his room as he'd sent Selene to check up on the Wakandans. In a surprising move, he removed all his clothes, got butt naked, dragged a chair with no armrests to the middle of his room, and sat down. He spread his legs and started stroking his fat cock.
Damn, feels as good as ever.
It had been years since he last stroked his meat.
However, Marshall kept edging himself, never spilling. Slowly, an hour passed, and he was still stroking it. His thick girth was red now, throbbing for a release. His pale, purple cockhead was swollen like ready to spill its juices.
"You know…" Marshall muttered suddenly, grinning. He looked towards the wall right in front of him. A tiny hole was present in it. "The door's open. You can walk in whenever you want—I could use some company tonight."
He kept stroking, relaxed.
Bam!
As expected, the door of his room was pushed open. Tall, beautiful, curvy, dressed in black with her dark cape on her back, Goddess Hela walked inside. She locked the door first and finally paused in front of him, arms crossed, heeled legs high, her gaze full of disdain yet focused on his meat rod.
"Go on, take a closer look. It won't bite," he cheekily said, as if mocking her.
For a while, Hela didn't move. She just stood there, expressionlessly eying him, stroking his meat. But then she started to subtly move her hips, and it was clear, she was feeling it. It'd been centuries already since she started feeling all that. Seeing Marshall bed women. Her control was now waning.
"Such perversion… disgusting," she sneered.
Yet, contrary to that, she got closer and slowly went down on her knees. Hela, being a foot taller than Marshall, felt rather comfortable and proud despite being seated. With only the tilt of her eyes, she watched his cock.
Hah, can't hide those eyes from me.
Marshall’s grin widened as he slowly spat into his palm, never breaking eye contact with the proud goddess kneeling in front of him. The slick sound of his spit hitting skin echoed in the room, a crude contrast to her icy presence. He smeared it across his cock, stroking harder, louder, wetter.
Schlk Schlk Schlk~
Hela said nothing, but her body betrayed her, inching closer without thought. Her thighs brushed the floor, her cape shifting behind her knees as her weight shifted forward.
He noticed the heat rising off her skin. Not warmth like a living woman. This was something colder, more ancient, like the heat of frozen fire. She was ice and ember, a contradiction. Her breath fogged ever so slightly when it met the head of his flushed cock. Her eyes still narrowed in disdain, but her mouth parted slightly.
"Touch it—Feel it."
Her eyes twitched, jaw tightened. The disdain on her face was obvious, but her hand moved anyway. Slowly, like a woman resisting her own will. Her long, cold fingers wrapped around his shaft.
Marshall bit back a groan.
Her grip was warm, too warm for her icy aura. She felt like a furnace. Her palm stroked his length with curious hesitation, but her fingertips trailed over every ridge, every vein, and the swollen crown with unexpected care. Like she was exploring some ancient artifact, not stroking a man she claimed to find repulsive.
“Disgusting,” she whispered, almost to herself, brows furrowed as her fingers tightened around his cock. “This is what drives women mad? This vulgar piece of meat?”
Marshall chuckled, leaning back on the chair, letting her stroke his cock while he just admired the view. “I’m more of a visual learner, you know. Show some skin. It'll get even harder.”
Her lips barely twitched, but her hand didn’t stop. Instead, her strokes slowed, more methodical now, testing how hard she could squeeze without drawing a reaction. Her thumb circled the tip, smearing pre-cum like paint, then ran it along the small slit.
Her eyes stayed locked on his iron-hard shaft, calculating and curious. But something inside her was changing.
She didn’t say a word as parts of her magical suit peeled away. Just a ripple of dark magic and part of it disappeared, baring her pale, perfectly sculpted breasts. Her medium-sized bosom was round and perking up proudly, topped with taut, pale pink nipples.
Fuck! Marshall groaned at the sight.
Ignoring Marshall’s hungry look, Hela’s hands kept going. She had watched this man rut into witches and monsters alike. Seen how his muscles flexed, how his voice growled, how those women broke, folded, submitted beneath him. She’d sneered at them all. Powerless, pathetic, mortal bitches. But now, her own hand was around the same cock, and it was pulsing hot in her palm.
She could feel its weight, its heat. The twitch of life inside it. A weapon of domination, of corruption, of pleasure, and it was hers now. In her hand. And she hated how much she wanted to feel more.
Her face drifted lower, unconsciously drawn in. She could hear it, the sound of his breath when she touched just right. The wet squelch of his cock against her palm. Her nostrils flared. Her tongue tingled.
Her breath brushed the head of his cock.
Marshall didn’t say a thing. Just watched her, smiling lazily like a man already halfway to heaven. He didn’t push. Didn’t guide her. He let her burn in her own slow descent.
Hela’s lips parted. Her tongue slid out, soft and wet. A string of spit stretched from her mouth as she leaned in, and then she licked it. Just a single, teasing lick. From the underside of his swollen cockhead, right to the droplet at the slit.
Marshall curled his toes as he watched. The Goddess of Death, proud and unbending, now on her knees, licking his cock. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to grab the back of her skull and shove it down. Make her choke on every inch. Break that smug composure. But for now, he let her keep the illusion of control.
Hela’s lips parted wider. She slid forward and wrapped them around the flushed head of his cock.
“Ghh…ffuck,” Marshall grunted, his head falling back.
Her lips were like velvet. Soft, plush, impossibly warm. Her mouth sealed, sucking slowly, deliberately, tongue flicking across the opening as if savoring it like a rare delicacy. She looked up, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth when she saw his expression.
“Still disgusting,” she whispered, her voice vibrating on his skin. “But I’ve tasted worse.”
Marshall exhaled sharply. His thoughts spiraled, cock twitching in her grip. Fuck! Is Odin watching this? Ugh, fuck it. He gave her to me. If fucking her fixes things, I’ll fuck her for eternity. Thank me later, All-Father.
Slowly. Sloppily. Her lips wrapped around his cock with more curiosity than skill, head bobbing with a choppy rhythm as she attempted to mimic what she’d seen. Her tongue grazed the underside of his shaft like she was tracing him, studying him. She wasn’t good at it. Not even close. But fuck, was it hot to see her try.
“Ugh…” Marshall groaned, more amused than pleased. But he couldn’t take it anymore and abruptly stood.
Hela stayed on her knees, and even then, being the towering goddess she was, her mouth was right there, at perfect height. His cock was still halfway stuffed inside her mouth when he gripped the back of her head and fisted a thick handful of her black hair.
"You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, do you? Then watch closely. I’ll show you how I fuck a mouth—I'll… be… gentle… on the choking!"
Hela’s eyes widened as he yanked her head closer and slammed his hips in.
“Gluk!”
Her mouth was ruined in one thrust. His cock rammed all the way down, stretching her throat to the base, until her lips were smothered against his pubes. That thick, musky scent hit her brain like a drug. A male, brutal, sweat-laced filth. She gagged violently, coughed hard, spit bubbling around the seal of her lips. Her eyes rolled, and tears spilled instantly.
She couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t pull back. She didn’t push him away.
Her pride screamed, but her loins throbbed. She had ruled with a glare, reduced armies to bones with a whisper, and now she was a cocksheath. Nothing more than a hole for him to fuck. And somehow… somehow, it made her melt.
This was the secret those women knew, the ones who screamed his name, scratched down his back, and begged for more while he bent them to his will. Like they were being wrecked by something holy and vile at once.
Marshall didn’t even pause, he didn’t let her think too much. He started to use her mouth, fucking it, claiming it, driving into her throat with heavy, wet thrusts. Self-control was impossible when his caveman side was out.
Her pale face twisted each time his cock bottomed out. Her mascara ran black lines down her cheeks. Her mouth made obscene, gagging noises. Her tears dripped down her chin, mixing with the spit and pre-cum that foamed around her lips. His grip on her hair tightened with every plunge, making them messy, as if daring her to flinch. But she took it. She took every inch of it like she owed him.
Like it was a challenge, and she was aiming to win.
Her brain pulsed with fevered lust. The weight of his cock bouncing in her mouth, slapping her tonsils, twitching across her tongue, it was delicious.
“Ummhh! Ummh! Unggg!”
Every pump fucked a new moan out of her. Her hands slid over her own chest, squeezing her tits like she was fucking herself through him. Her cunt dripped down her thighs, untouched and aching, hidden.
Then, with a grunt, she reached for his balls, greedy, curious, and squeezed them just a little too hard.
“Aaaargh—fuck, Hela!” Marshall snarled, jerking forward as his cock twitched violently in her throat. “If you squeeze that—!”
He didn’t warn her again. He jammed himself deep. Buried to the hilt in this goddess’s throat. Then his cock exploded. Thick. Unstoppable. His batter splashed down the back of her throat like molten glue.
“Aaghgk…!”
Hela gagged, hard. Her eyes snapped wide. Her body jolted like lightning had hit her spine. She couldn’t swallow fast enough; there was too much. The first gush choked her. The second almost burst out of her nose. The third overflowed, dripping from the corners of her mouth and down her chin in long, ropy globs.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her mouth while cumming, grinding in deeper, like he was trying to push it into her soul. His cock churned inside her, stirring the cream already flooding her throat, forcing her to gulp around the thickness.
And finally, she did.
Gulp... Gulp...
Her throat worked around him like a living thing, milking him dry while spit and cum clung to her lips and dripped from her chin in strings. Her eyes streamed, her tits heaved. Her face was a painted mess. But she looked beautiful like this, wrecked and swallowing.
Marshall stared. The goddess of death, on her knees, gurgling on his seed, her jaw slack, her lips still hugging the base of his twitching cock. His cum leaked down her throat, her nose, her tits.
And he was already hard again. Still inside her. Still throbbing. Not even soft yet.
"Fuck… You… are… amazing." Marshall finally pulled his cock out slowly, agonizingly.
Panting, Hela stood up, her eyes weak. She didn't bother to clean up so fast. She just stared at Marshall, brows furrowed in fury.
"Wanna continue? I can do this all night." Marshall offered her, unable to look away from her round tits. "You've seen enough. Time to experience it."
"You filthy creature." Hela sneered at him. "I’m Hela, Goddess of Death. How dare you suggest that? You, a man—"
"What?" Marshall interrupted her, chuckling. "Don't tell me, you're a virgin? Bahaha!"
"..."
"How old are you? Gotta be a few thousand, no?" Marshall kept going. "What's the big deal? Once you're that old, sex is just spice that makes living fun. But I guess, since you've never experienced it, you can't say that."
"There is nothing noble about it. It's a disgusting act of vile, lesser creatures."
"Really? You're saying it as if Odin didn't do it with his woman."
Hela frowned, understandable as she just imagined something.
Honestly, Marshall only planned for a blowjob initially. But since Hela was already there, he wanted to have a look down there between her long, lovely legs.
"Come here, take a seat." Marshall gently held her hand and moved her with ease. He made Hela sit down on the same chair with no armrests. "Since you used your mouth, I'll use mine. That sounds fair, no?"
Hela said nothing and just watched him, her beautiful hair a mess now.
Marshall loved that messy look on her.
Once he made her settle down, he got down on his knees, spread her legs, and eased between them. He went as close as he could to the magical fabric over her crotch. Then, he grabbed her beautiful legs and placed them on his shoulders, pinning his head in between.
"Umm… Can't use my tongue if you keep it covered, Hela."
"Hmph!"
She scoffed.
And yet, the fabric vanished. The area between her legs and around her hips was now bare, making it seem as if she was just wearing knee-length, long, dark boots.
Fuck! So soft!
He felt her naked thighs on the side of his face and melted. But then, he eyed her moist core, that untouched slit of the Goddess of Death. He was the first man to reach that far. And damn right, he was going to be her regular man as well.
"Mmmh…" Hela breathily moaned.
His mouth opened, and he feasted on her nectar. His tongue flattened and dragged up from her entrance to her swollen little clit, slow and steady, tasting her like he wanted to memorize each fold.
“Ummmm… F-ukh… You… taste… great…” he groaned, pressing in deeper. His tongue explored her like it belonged there. Lapped at her soft flesh and drank from her.
He glanced up and saw it. Her blush. Her mouth parted. Her breath was shaky. Marshall grinned and dove back in, this time faster, greedier. Tongue-fucking her wet core, swirling against her clit, then diving deeper again.
Hela twitched each time he pushed in, as if shocked at how good it felt. Her body was trembling uncontrollably.
His tongue slid inside her, curled, pressed against the soft heat within. He fucked her pussy with his mouth, grinding his face into her, licking, slurping, moaning into her wet heat like he was starved. No shame, just a hungry man.
Hela’s hips jerked, feeling the vibration of his groans. Her soft thighs trembled.
Marshall could feel her pussy trying to clench around his tongue. Her thighs squeezed against his head. She was close. So close. And right when she was about to tumble over…
Marshall stood.
Still holding her legs in the same place, he rose to full height, the underside of her knees pinned wide on his shoulders still. By that sudden shift, and her legs’ position, her tall, powerful body slid down the chair, her ass now dangling just off the edge. Her entire back arched into a beautiful curve, hair spilling, arms reaching for something, anything, to stabilize herself. She gasped. Her world tilted.
Marshall kept her pinned, folded like an offering. Her knees beside her head now. Her tall frame bent at his mercy. And he loved every fucking inch of her. There was a submission in that position.
But he wanted more. He leaned over her fully, pressing her down, keeping her legs hooked high on his shoulders. His hands slid past her, gripping the chair’s backrest. One hand on either side of her head, caging her in.
She stared up at him. Her body was pinned, contorted, folded in a way that should’ve been humiliating, on a chair of all things. Her sharp boots pointed to the ceiling. Thanks to her arched back, right in front of her, his cock slid on her belly. Still glistening from earlier. She had the direct view of her feminine core, all at his mercy.
Her pussy twitched each time the underside of his shaft dragged across it. It was so sensitive now, so slick and drooling and swollen. Every little graze made her legs spasm. Her folds pulsed, twitching, breathing. Her cunt practically begged for it.
"Hela… Guide it in." He didn't ask. He told her.
And, as if his words hypnotized her. In pure heat, Hela did it.
Her hand reached down with trembling fingers. It wasn’t a thought, it was instinct. Her fingertips brushed his scorching cock, and she shivered. She gripped him, felt the heat, the pulse, the violence coiled within, and aimed it at her dripping entrance.
Marshall watched. Every moment. Her goddess hand guiding his cock into her virgin cunt. Her pussy lips widened a little as his cockhead kissed it, and he pressed forward.
Her pussy slowly stretched around him. Painfully tight. The pink folds wrapped around the thick, veiny crown of his cock.
Marshall grunted, feeling that delicious resistance. Tight, velvety walls squeezing him like wet silk. Then—snap!
That tight barrier gave way, and his cock sank in an inch deeper. He froze for a second, breathing heavily. Then he pulled back and saw it.
Crimson—The Goddess of Death, had bled for him.
Odin can’t kill me. Yeah… he won’t mind anyway.
Hela blinked. She felt the slow stretch, the pressure. His cock pushed deeper into her than anything ever had. The first cock of her life. And her mind spun. She looked down and saw the smear of red.
She wasn’t shocked. She didn’t panic. There was no pain. She was used to it. She just stared. And then watched as he pushed deeper. Pulled back. Sank in again.
And then it happened. Warmth.
That fulfilling heat in her belly. His cock throbbing inside her, pressing against her sensitive spots, each pulse sending a strange spark up her spine. It tickled, then burned, then blossomed. The scraping, the bumping, the way he lodged deeper each time, it overwhelmed her.
Her brain melted. She started to understand why humans worshiped this. Why women crave it. Her pussy started to clench on him subconsciously. Her body wanted him to stay inside, to fill her.
And then…
Plap!
The first sound.
Plap!
The second.
Marshall found his rhythm. Once he had it, he owned it. Every thrust slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. His hips cracked forward with force, plunging into her like a jackhammer.
The chair groaned under their weight, but neither of them cared. They were beyond mortal limits. They needed this to be rough, savage. Their bodies could take it. Their lust demanded it.
His cock grounded into her each time with violent purpose, burying himself to the hilt. The ripples were visible on her thighs and ass, soft as marshmallows. His balls slapped wetly against her ass, the squelching noises between them slick and constant.
Her pussy clung to him, begging for him to stay. Hugging every vein, twitching with every stroke, milking his cock with a desperate, godly grip.
“Oohhh… You… Feel… Woo–onderful… Marshall,” Hela breathed out each word between the heavy thrusts of his cock.
“As do you, Hela,” Marshall muttered, panting. He glanced down at her face, pale, insanely beautiful—and blinked. Somehow, impossibly, it was clean. No spit, no cum, no smeared lipstick. She must’ve used some kind of magic spell.
That didn’t stop him.
He leaned down and devoured her mouth in a heated, primitive kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips, claiming her mouth just as he had claimed her cunt. Her first in every way possible.
Hela moaned into him, kissing back with equal greed, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She held on like a woman addicted. Her legs remained bent back, pinned against his chest and shoulders. Her entire body aching, overstretched, and contorted in that folded position, and yet she loved every bit of it.
That pressure inside her belly kept growing. A dangerous, dizzying pressure. It swelled like a stormcloud, heavy and urgent, like her womb didn’t want to give up this feeling. Her body clenched tighter, thighs trembling, pussy fluttering around his cock with frantic need. She didn’t want to let go. But she couldn’t stop it.
“Mmmhh… N-no, wait—” she whimpered, barely audible. Her legs twitched, instinctively trying to push him away.
Marshall didn’t let her. He gritted his teeth and kept fucking her. Brutal, deep, hard. His grip held her in place, overpowering her bucking thighs. Having Hela on that chair, folded, stretched, fucking like an animal, was insanely thrilling.
“No,” he growled. “Don’t fight it. Take it.”
Hela gulped and shuddered.
The climax struck like a bolt through her spine. Mind-numbing, bone-shaking, soul-splitting. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Her pussy exploded in clenching spasms, soaking his cock with fresh gushes of nectar. Her back arched. Her eyes rolled back. She saw stars, literally. Her body convulsed as the pleasure broke her. She wasn’t even moaning anymore, just gasping, whimpering, shaking.
She’d never felt anything like it. Not from power. Not from battle. This was different. Raw, consuming, fucking with her mind.
And just as her orgasm started to wane, Marshall also burst. Right against her godly womb.
His fat, wall-stretching cock throbbed and fired in thick, mean, heavy spurts. Globs of molten seed blasted deep into her womb, coating her flushed, swollen insides with viscous cream. He didn’t pull out. He stuffed it all in, each pulse deeper than the last. The pressure built inside her, and her walls clenched to keep it.
When he pulled back just a little, they both looked at the mess.
A creamy, glossy mess. Her cunt, dripping, stretched, flushed red, and twitching. Cream pouring from her like a desecrated altar.
Hela blinked. Her thoughts were slow, sticky, and floating.
She felt it inside her, shifting when she moved. Hot, so hot it tingled deep within her core. This was what it felt like to be filled. Her fingers drifted to her pale lower belly, as if trying to hold the heat in place. It was more than warm, it was thrilling, addictive. Her long legs trembled involuntarily, and her pussy spasmed around the mess he’d left behind. Her body was already craving more.
"Ain't stopping so early." Marshall declared and suddenly threw his arms around Hela's waist, keeping her legs pressed against his chest, on his shoulder. In that folded, awkward position, he lifted her and took her to the bed, throwing her down.
He never took his cock out, and in a classic missionary, he got on top of her, letting her insanely long legs wrap around his waist, over his back.
"No need to, Marshall."
And he didn't.
That entire night. Hela lost her shame and embarrassment.
Marshall, that night, earned the ire of Odin.
But it was one tight, hot, relishing night. He had no regrets.
Odin can fuck off.
####
Asgard, Odin's Palace
Odin's one good eye twitched as he sat on his royal throne, alone in the entire hall. His ancient breath drew in a little more this time. His very mood, disturbed, was felt by every being of strength in Asgard.
"What is the matter, my husband?"
As usual, Frigga appeared right when he needed her. "I am… disturbed, Frigga. I have seen something I shouldn't have. A fleeting image, but heavy on my mind."
"Is it Hela?"
Odin tiredly looked at his wife. "How can I ever hide anything from you?"
Frigga smiled beautifully. "Were you not expecting that from the beginning?"
"I knew the possibility was high."
"Then there is no wrong in this. We cannot watch Marshall with mortal eyes—he has grown beyond us in age and bearing. I believe a soul such as his is worthy of Hela, just as she is of him. Or is it his nature to bind himself that troubles you, my husband?"
Odin shook his head. Who was he to talk about commitment? He has had many partners in the past. "Still, it isn't gentle on a father's heart."
"It will never be. Come now, Thor wants to show us something."
####
Selene ended up being absent for over a week. But Marshall found no issue with that as his and Hela's affair became a regular thing. Although she still tried to act haughty and noble, she never denied Marshall's touch.
Whether it be morning or night, if Marshall wanted, she was always willing. Perhaps it was her way of experiencing what she missed out on for so long. In a way, she let Marshall control the flow as she was inexperienced.
But as the nights went by, she liked being on top at times. She also tried a position that Marshall named Amazonian. It was rather thrilling, yet the position where he hit her deepest parts was the one where he had control.
She didn't mind. He made her spill, and she did the same to him.
But perhaps the heavens were against her pleasure. Out of nowhere, Dinosia was attacked by humans. It was a naval attack with cannons. Marshall had just finished spilling inside her for the nth time that morning when it happened.
"Those bastards!"
Marshall roared, put on his clothes, and jumped straight out of the window, flying into the sky. He saw about two dozen ships around Dinosia, wielding cannons and waving the American flag.
"They never fucking learn, do they?!" Marshall boomed and shot towards the ships. Instead of breaking them, he first pushed them with telekinesis until they were all close to one another. So close that one could jump from one ship to another. Then, he raised the entire fleet into the sky.
He kept going, higher and higher, until the air became too thin.
After that, he flew towards the White House yet again. He was fast, but it was still on the other side of the continent. By the time the White House came into view, all the men in the ships were dead.
And from that height, he dropped all those ships on top of the White House.
BOOM!
Dust rose, and rubble formed. Of course, the building was strong, but a lot of its edges, balconies, and walls did fall apart. What couldn't fall became dented. The repairs alone would cost a fortune, and the time needed would be years.
Then, Marshall flew into the building, straight through the large window of the Oval Office. As expected, the new President was there, hiding beneath his table.
"Come out," Marshall ordered. The place was a mess. Dust and shattered glass were everywhere.
The old President crawled out from under the table.
"Recognize me?"
"Y-You're the First Man."
Hearing that, Marshall threw the table just like the last time and lifted the President by the collar. "Then why the fuck is it so hard to stick to the damn contract? Why did your goddamn navy attack Dinosia? No, I’m not killing you. Too easy. You’re all brain fog in suits—kill one, another clown pops up. I used to let this slide. I used to. But you? You get the old treatment. From now on, the United States of America must hand over one-third of its yearly revenue as tax to the First Man for being allowed to exist. Failure, and you’ll be erased from history—You live on my land! Rent free! And dare attack me?"
The President frowned, but he dared not object. He gulped and nodded. "I… I alone can't decide that."
"Then drag 'em here! Every last one of those jackasses! If they need to hear it, fine—I’ll bark it one more damn time." Marshall roared and released the man, dropping him to the floor. "Three days. You bring who you can."
####
Three days later, Marshall repeated his threats to Congress. Only once, and then he was out of there. If they didn't stand by his demand, he'd made up his mind to just take over the entire damn continent and make it the United States of Dinosia.
Let's check up on my mammoths.
Marshall flew northwest and soon arrived at the massive forested area. From the sky, he saw a lot of woolly mammoths roaming about, their babies around them. Some of them raised their trunks towards him, as if greeting him.
"Hah, sorry, Marty ain't with me this time. He can't play."
Marshall continued to fly and check the entire area. To ensure there were no settlements. Since Selene was gone, he had to rely on himself.
"Hm? FUCKERS!"
And sure enough, he saw smoke rising in the distance. Anger-fueled, he rushed over and landed with a loud bang.
"Wh—Kids?"
Unlike the previous incident, the intruders were unexpected. They were kids, two teenagers. Thirteen or fourteen at best. A boy with dark brown hair and a girl with red hair. The boy looked rather feral.
"You're trespassing." He warned the two kids.
"W-We'll… We'll leave, Sir." The girl stuttered, covering the boy behind her.
Canadian? Marshall recognized the accent. Seeing the fish they were cooking, and their clothes, they were runaways, he was sure of.
"Hungry?" He asked them.
The boy and the girl looked at each other's faces. Their fear was understandable. Not every day you see a man dressed in fur like a Viking falling from the sky.
"Just passin’ through, Mister. Won’t be long. Ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Didn’t hurt nothin’." The boy said.
Marshall laughed and went closer anyway. "Oh, I know that. If you'd touched one of my cute fur elephants, you two would be dead by now. Anyway, sit down, eat, and tell me your story."
Marshall sat down by the fire nonchalantly and raised his arm sideways, using his powers.
Swoosh!
However, it appeared he spooked the two teens.
"Oh my!" Marshall eyed the boy's claws. Both of them. "What are you? Cat?"
Three bone-like claws, long, from each fist. The boy hid the girl behind himself to protect her.
However, Marshall didn't even seem surprised. He just dismissed it and kept his arm raised sideways.
Wooooooosh~
Then came a distant sound of rustling leaves. It kept growing, louder, louder, and then—
Bam!
A dead deer landed in Marshall's grasp. It came flying out of nowhere.
"Hah—Perfect! It's a feast, kids."
"..."
"..."
Understandably, the two kids were speechless, confused, and even more scared.
####
Dinosia,
"This color rather suits you, Marty."
Hela had nothing to do. Hence, she had Marty to entertain herself with. That day, she decided to dress Marty in a similar magical fabric to hers. It was all black with green highlights. And it suited Marty's already green body.
"Grrrruf~"
"I suppose you like it." She said, unable to understand him like Marshall did.
Bzzzzzzz~
And right when she found peace, a vibrant, colorful tube of light fell from the sky. Right on top of the temple of First Man's terrace, where she relaxed.
"Marty, get behind me!" Hela was on her feet already, her battle suit summoned, a black spiky spear in one hand.
"I come in peace, Hela."
Hela didn't relax even though it was a female voice. "No Asgardian comes in peace. Not for me."
"I am Frigga, wife of Odin."
Hela sneered even harder. "And?"
"Congratulations, my dear," Frigga voiced, walking closer. "Odin… couldn't come, so I did."
Hela summoned another spear in her other hand. "You can go back then."
"Do you not feel it, my dear?" Frigga continued her brave walk. "Motherhood has graced you."
"What?!"
"Graaawr?!"
Comments
MrPlotThickens
Didn't decide on this yet.
Ryan Mani
Author I know that Jean Gray will show up eventually but would she have the memory of firehair you know because of Phoenix?
Jacob Weiss
Wish it’s made that both mutants and gods can have his babies….
