Harem Apocalypse: Every Moan Levels Us Up!

Melissa started crawling the instant she heard the new footsteps, staying low to the ground, her breasts brushing the blood-slick floor as she moved toward me. I pushed off the wall and covered the distance from the other side.

The guards stopped dead in the doorway.

They stood frozen, staring at the carnage: blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, naked corpses twisted on the floor. Their momentum died instantly in the face of the incomprehensible scene.

Melissa reached me. We pressed our backs against the wall together, side by side, her sweat-slick thigh glued to mine, fingers tightly interlaced.

Nobody moved.

Bagins shoved himself up from the floor, coughing dust, his chest heaving, cock swinging as he struggled to his feet.

"Why?" I whispered to her.

She was going to kill us. There was no version in her head where we walked out of this house. Her thoughts were considerably darker than her speech.

"But still—"

She was going to kill thousands, Abram. Every person who refused to stand with her. I saw the whole architecture of it in three seconds.

"What happened?" One of the young guards reached Bagins and helped haul him upright.

I stood, then offered Melissa my hand. She took it, and I pulled her to her feet. Her breasts swayed with the motion as she rose.

We faced them—twenty naked, confused bodies who had rushed in expecting victory and found only slaughter.

Bagins straightened, still hunched, coughing violently.

"Professor. What happened?"

Bagins raised a shaky arm and pointed directly at us, struggling to speak.

The boy turned. "What did you do?"

"We’re not here for trouble," Melissa said, her voice cutting through the tension. "All of you can walk out of this house alive. Nobody else needs to be hurt today."

"They killed the president." Bagins forced the words out.

Every stance in the room changed at once—shoulders squaring, chests rising faster, legs bracing.

"Those two pieces of trash killed the president." Bagins stood tall now, voice gaining power. "KILL THEM."

They charged.

"WAIT."

Melissa’s voice slammed into the room like a physical force. Every guard froze mid-step, bodies glistening with sweat, cocks and breasts still from the sudden halt.

"KILL THEM," Bagins roared again, but no one moved. They were waiting.

"She’s dead," Melissa said. "She’s already dead. Do you want to die alongside her the way the others in this room did? Look at them. Look at the floor. Who exactly are you fighting for now?"

"Don’t listen to her."

"When my mother died," Melissa continued, her fingers still locked with mine, "I didn’t die with her. I stayed. I kept—"

"She’s a fucking VEYRON."

Bagins had found the magic word. The entire group surged forward in a wave of naked flesh.

I released a wide burst of charge. The front line exploded backward—bodies tumbling, limbs flailing as they crashed into those behind them.

Behind the fallen, a boy near Bagins began to multiply. Copies peeled off him one after another, identical naked bodies rapidly filling the space. More and more appeared, creating a growing swarm of duplicates.

"Stay behind me," I told Melissa, planting my feet and bracing as the tide of sweating, furious bodies closed in.

"KILL THEM."

They came at once, and the speed was all wrong. Not human fast. Too fast for my eyes to track any single copy. The entire wave arrived as pure motion, a blur of naked flesh surging forward.

I let go of Melissa’s hand and tried to focus, searching for a pattern the way I had with Toddy back at School Central.

There wasn’t one. The source kept splitting, producing fresh copies faster than I could drop them.

I started charging.

Punches began landing from nowhere. Hit and gone. Hit and gone. None individually devastating, but relentless, coming from every angle. Each one landed exactly where the last had knocked me off balance, keeping me from ever planting my feet.

"We need to get out—"

I turned my head for half a second and a cluster of copies drove me back into the wall beside Melissa with brutal force.

Then it became pure volume.

Fists rained down everywhere. Not strong. Not one of them strong. But dozens—layered, overlapping, arriving faster than my eyes could follow. I stopped trying to see who was hitting me and focused only on staying conscious.

[Electrical body active.]

I couldn’t lift my arms. But every copy whose skin touched mine dropped instantly, convulsing, dead weight piling up around my feet in a heap of sweaty limbs.

It didn’t matter. More came. Each one got their hit in first and paid for it after. The source kept spawning replacements faster than the floor could clear.

Melissa was down on the boards beside me, taking the same relentless beating, her body jerking with each impact.

These things are going to kill us. Her voice in my head stayed steady. We have to find the source.

I know. I pushed the thought back. I can’t get up. There are too many.

[Electrical body weakening.]

The punches started landing cleanly on my face. One after another in perfect rhythm. Punch and step. Punch and step. A machine built from a single man.

Then they stopped. All at once, the copies stepped back, forming a loose ring around us.

I lay on the floor, barely able to move.

Bagins stood over me, chest heaving.

He was holding a full three-seater sofa above his head with both hands, arms locked, muscles bulging as if it weighed nothing. His body glistened with sweat.

He dropped it.

My body gave out beneath the crushing weight. Only my eyes still worked.

He lifted it off me, carried it over to where Melissa lay sprawled, raised it high again, and brought it down on her with savage force.

Then he pulled it off and hurled it across the room.

The two of us were finished. Both broken on the floor, Bagins and the multiplying copies standing over us with all the time in the world.

My eyes were the only thing I could still move.

And something changed at the back of the room.

Someone was moving through the copies—dropping them one by one, methodical and unhurried, working inward.

Whistling.

A clean, casual tune. The sound of a man walking to work, not through a slaughterhouse.

Dressed in black. The first clothed person I had seen inside the naked mansion.

A weak smile started on my face.

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