Chapter 11: Chapter 11+12
A/N: Sorry for the late post, had a bit of work to do.
And damn guys, you really are getting me all worked up. Hadn’t expected to climb rankings so fast and hit all those milestones so early, dazzled my whole update schedule lol
Not a bad thing through.
Enjoy the ecchi Chapter, I have merged the bonus Chapter with scheduled one so its a double length Chapter with no interruptions!
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[A Few Dozen Minutes Later]
To truly appreciate the absolute shitshow of a trainwreck I had to survive, you first have to understand the sheer, weaponized incompetence of the Umbrella Corporation.
The only reason the Ecliptic Express was even moving in the first place was because Albert Wesker and William Birkin had sent a highly trained U.S.S. Delta Team to secure the hijacked locomotive.
These high-speed tactical operators succeeded in doing exactly one thing: turning the ignition key.
Immediately after getting the engine purring, James Marcus’s mutant leeches swarmed the cab and turned the entire squad into a raw, writhing buffet, leaving the train barreling down the mountain tracks at breakneck speed.
This left Billy and Rebecca trapped in a speeding steel coffin. To survive, they had to pull off the ultimate, high-stakes co-op puzzle. They had to split up, grab a keycard, and run to opposite ends of the train—one in the front engine room and the other on the rear deck—to solve a brain-melting arithmetic console puzzle under a strict countdown timer.
They only half-succeeded.
The emergency brakes kicked in, bleeding off just enough kinetic energy to ensure the duo wouldn’t get turned into a fine red paste when the train inevitably derailed. Instead of instant vaporization, the Ecliptic Express simply plowed violently through the brick wall of the Umbrella Management Training Facility’s grand entrance hall.
Which brings us back to me.
Experiencing a high-speed train derailment from the roof of a carriage is an experience I wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy.
The crash itself was completely devoid of any cinematic elegance.
In a movie, this would be the moment everything went into dramatic slow-motion. The camera would pan, heroic music would swell, and maybe one convenient piece of debris would fall exactly where it looked aesthetically pleasing.
But this wasn’t a movie. This was pure, unadulterated physical violence.
The Ecliptic Express collided with the facility’s grand lobby like a steel coffin getting drop-kicked by a furious deity.
Metal screamed in agony. Glass exploded into a million glittering shards. Wood splintered into lethal toothpicks.
My claws instantly lost their grip on the steel roof.
Oh fuck, oh shit, here we go—!
For several chaotic seconds, my highly optimized Cerberus frame became less of a genetically enhanced predator and more of a wet tennis ball trapped inside a high-speed industrial dryer.
My body slammed violently into a metal partition. A heavy iron support bar immediately followed up by colliding directly with my skull. The entire train rolled over once more—just in case any surviving passengers had missed the initial lesson on kinetic energy—before finally grinding to a smoking halt.
When the screeching metal finally went quiet, I found myself pinned upside down beneath a heavy pile of broken paneling, twisted luggage, and shattered light fixtures.
I lay there in the dark for a long moment, slowly realizing that I was still breathing.
It was a deeply unfortunate revelation given the absolute wreckage of my skeletal structure. My beefed-up Cerberus body had absorbed the impact far better than a normal dog would have, but I was still in a spectacular state of disrepair.
Several of my ribs had cracked, my left hind leg was bent at a highly unnatural angle, and a jagged steel rod had impaled me directly through the shoulder.
Ouch. Motherfucker, that actually hurt.
I grunted, flexing my raw muscles to activate my internal recovery.
My bones clicked and violently popped back into their proper alignments. The jagged steel rod slowly slid out of my shoulder with a disgusting, wet squelch that sounded like a plastic straw getting dragged through a bowl of raw liver. My flesh immediately began knitting itself back together, sealing the puncture wound with a tight layer of dark scar tissue.
[Cellular integrity reduced to 81%.]
Could be worse, I reasoned, dragging my bulkier frame out from beneath the heavy debris. At least my mutated junk didn’t get caught in the twisted machinery.
The luxury train had essentially vomited itself across the grand entrance hall of the Umbrella Training Facility.
Ruptured steam pipes hissed loudly into the freezing air, filling the massive room with a thick, choking mist of hot oil, white dust, and the faint, sweet-chemical rot of decaying T-virus biomass.
I shook the heavy plaster dust from my patchy fur, my mutated ears twitching wildly as I listened for any signs of movement.
I didn’t hear any voices. But my upgraded clicker senses picked up a faint, rhythmic vibration just a few yards away.
A heartbeat. Weak, but perfectly steady.
Rebecca is close.
I navigated through a narrow gap between two buckled wall panels, my heavy paws crunching over heaps of broken safety glass. Her scent reached my nostrils long before my actual eyes could locate her.
It was a highly potent, intoxicating blend of cheap lavender hotel soap, gun oil, fresh sweat, and pure, delicious human warmth.
And, of course, the metallic tang of fresh blood.
Oh shit. Oh fuck, no. Please don’t be dead.
I found her sprawled on her side near a collapsed section of the passenger carriage, half-buried beneath torn velvet upholstery and scattered luggage.
Her green tactical vest was heavily scuffed and covered in plaster dust. A thin, bright line of crimson blood was slowly trickling from her hairline, running down her pale temple to pool on the floorboards.
Come on, Becca. You are a main character. You can’t die on me during a simple train crash! You have a mansion to explore tomorrow!
I padded closer, my heavy paws making absolutely no sound, and gently nudged her shoulder with my wet, skinless snout.
She didn’t move.
Wake up, wake up, wake up...
I lifted one paw and lightly poked her soft cheek. She remained completely unresponsive. I leaned in closer, listening intently to the shallow, regular rhythm of her breathing. Using the sharp edge of a talon, I carefully lifted her eyelid, confirming that her pupil was still reactive to the dim emergency lighting.
Fuuuuuuu...
I let out a soft, rattling canine sigh of immense relief. She was alive. Just out cold from a moderate concussion, but her vital signs were perfectly stable.
Logically, I knew the worry was a bit too much. But real life hit totally differently than a video game. Seeing a living, breathing person lying unresponsive in front of you carried a vastly different emotional weight than just watching a low-polygon model take damage on a screen.
But my emotional relief was incredibly short-lived.
The longer I leaned down to inspect her, the more my biology began to betray my morals.
The Apex Breeding Urge was always hovering in the background like static on a television, but right now, my own unfiltered degeneracy was taking the wheel. The heavy, insistent pressure between my hind legs began building with an alarming, rapid heat.
I mean... she’s unconscious.
The thought drifted into my brain entirely uninvited, but once it was there, it stubbornly refused to leave.
I could have just a tiny taste, right? A quick sniff. She wouldn’t even know. It’s perfectly victimless.
I looked down at her hips. Her S.T.A.R.S.-issue tactical uniform pants were incredibly tight, hugging the muscular curve of her compact thighs with a level of perfection that honestly broke my heart.
God, you are so down bad.
Part of me actually wanted to shift back into my human zombie form just so I could cop a proper feel. You genuinely never realize how much you miss having opposable thumbs until you’re staring at an unconscious anime girl and all you have to work with are paws.
I could transform back and forth, sure. But as I had learned the hard way, playing shape-shifter cost biological integrity. The system explained it as a massive cellular rewrite, restructuring my entire genetic makeup back and forth, which burned through my stored energy like a muscle car guzzling premium gas.
Dropping back into my weak, useless zombie chassis would cost a flat twenty percent of my integrity, and shifting back to Cerberus when I inevitably needed to fight would cost me again. It wasn’t worth the biological bankruptcy just to grope a thigh.
But my mutated reproductive organs did not care about cellular economics.
Hanging between my hind legs was a massive, throbbing, vein-covered problem that violently demanded an immediate outlet. The scent of her fear-sweat, mixed with the raw, potent pheromones of a highly vulnerable female, completely short-circuited whatever was left of my prefrontal cortex.
God and Buddha forgive me, for I am about to sin.
My wet, skinless snout wandered slowly down the contour of her waist.
Just one sniff. Strictly academic.
I leaned in, pressing my nose directly against the tight, dark fabric of her uniform trousers.
I took a deep, vacuum-like snort right at the juncture of her thighs. My greedy canine lungs forcefully inhaled the intoxicating aroma.
The heavy smell of tactical canvas, dried sweat, cheap laundry detergent, and pure female musk entered my nasal cavity like a massive hit of premium, grade-A adrenaline.
My eyes literally rolled back into my skull. The sheer intensity of the scent made my heavy body shudder with raw pleasure.
I completely lost control. I leaned down and dragged my massive, rough, mutated tongue directly up the inside seam of her thigh, leaving a thick, glistening trail of warm monster slobber smeared across the fabric.
Slurrrrrp.
The texture of the tight canvas sliding against my rough tongue sent a massive, toe-curling jolt of electricity straight to my mutated pelvis.
Holy shit... I am the worst.
I kept going, completely and utterly lost in the sauce.
The rough, dry surface of my mutated tongue dragged repeatedly over the coarse canvas of her tactical trousers, vacuuming up every single molecule of her scent. I was panting, drooling, and vibrating like a faulty washing machine on the spin cycle.
Then, a sudden, soft shift in her weight shattered my trance.
Her brow furrowed slightly in her sleep, and a low, quiet groan vibrated in her throat.
"Nnghh..."
I froze instantly. Every single muscle in my mutated body went dead rigid.
On pure, adrenaline-fueled instinct, I activated the Novistador active camouflage. My grey, skinless canine form shimmered violently, instantly vanishing into the hazy, oil-misted air of the carriage wreckage. I didn’t dare move a muscle, holding my non-existent breath while my heart—if it were actually beating—would have been hammering against my ribs.
She didn’t open her eyes.
After a few tense seconds, her head rolled slightly to the left, and her body settled back down into the comfortable pile of torn velvet. But during that brief, restless shuffle, her legs had sprawled apart by a few crucial, highly inviting inches.
I looked down at the gap, my invisible tail giving a slow, cautious wag.
Well, well, well. Look at that. The universe was practically rolling out the red carpet for me.
Simply licking her pants was no longer cutting it. The heavy, throbbing pressure between my hind legs was borderline agonizing now, a white-hot spike of pure, raw need that demanded immediate friction. My brain was rapidly scrambling to find a loophole that wouldn’t end with my skull getting turned into a colander.
Actually ramming it in was completely out of the question.
Even if I ignored the hilarious biological incompatibility and the shredded, microscopic remains of my human decency, that was a surefire way to wake her up in a screaming panic and pain. The second she felt a giant, concrete-hard zombie-pole violently violating her, she’d mag-dump her Beretta straight into my face.
Besides, I was trying to build a long-term relationship here. "Getting sexually assaulted by an invisible, mutated demon hound" is generally considered a terrible first impression, even in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
But a little bit of grinding? Some harmless, invisible dry-humping?
Yeah, that was totally on the table.
Keeping my movements completely silent, I crawled forward, sliding my invisible bulk right between her slightly parted knees. I lowered my chest to the carpet, keeping my weight off her body, and carefully aligned my massive, throbbing weapon right against the soft, yielding curve of her inner thigh.
Just a little friction to take the edge off. For science, Becca. For science.
I leaned my pelvis forward, pressing my concrete-hard shaft firmly against her uniform trousers, and began to slowly, rhythmically grind.
The friction was, without a single doubt, the most intense sensation my mutated nervous system had ever processed.
Since my physical body was completely cloaked by the Novistador camouflage, the sight was probably hilarious. A perfectly empty space between an unconscious girl’s legs, rhythmically dipping up and down while the coarse canvas of her S.T.A.R.S. trousers rustled and bunched under a heavy, invisible weight.
Shrrr. Shrrr. Shrrr.
The low, rhythmic sound of fabric rubbing against fabric was the only proof that a massive, mutated biological weapon was currently dry-humping the absolute shit out of a rookie cop’s inner thigh.
I kept the pace slow and deliberate, my invisible paws planted firmly on either side of her hips to keep my actual body weight from crushing her. The sheer, unadulterated heat radiating from her crotch was like a localized magnet, pulling my pelvis forward in a trance.
Every slide of my concrete-hard shaft against her canvas pants sent a massive wave of euphoric electricity straight to my brain. The heightened nerve endings of my Uncommon-tier Cerberus form were making this a thousand times more intense than any normal human experience.
But my degenerate brain wanted more.
Stretching my invisible neck forward, I hovered my snout over her exposed collarbone. Her tactical vest was pushed slightly aside, exposing a beautiful patch of pale, smooth skin that was entirely free of dirt and plaster dust.
I leaned down and dragged the flat of my tongue right up the side of her neck, tasting her.
Slurrrp.
She tasted of salty sweat, lavender shampoo, and that sweet, addictive human warmth that made my dead cells scream in absolute triumph.
"Mmm..."
Rebecca let out a soft, sleepy mumble, her head rolling slightly to the side as my rough tongue tickled her skin.
I froze instantly, my tongue hovering a mere millimeter from her earlobe. My tail went stiff as a board. Every single muscle in my invisible body locked up, turning me into a literal statue of highly compromised morals.
Oh god, please don’t wake up. If there is a God of Coomers up there, please lock her in this nap for just five more minutes.
This was, without a doubt, the most stressful stealth mission of my entire life.
If Solid Snake had to navigate a high-security military base while using nothing but his own throbbing erection as a metal detector, it would have felt exactly like this. The stakes were astronomical. One wrong move, one wet slobber that was too aggressive, and the illusion would shatter. She’d wake up, see her pants soaked in invisible dog drool, feel a heavy pressure between her thighs, and immediately paint the train wreckage with my brains.
It was a literal thriller. My adrenaline was red-lining, making the pleasure of the grinding even more sharp and frantic.
When she finally settled back down, her breathing returning to a slow, rhythmic pace, I let out a silent, gurgling sigh of relief.
The danger was intoxicating. It was a massive, degenerate rush. Knowing that I was currently violating every single rule of civilized decency while she lay there completely oblivious was doing terrible things to my self-control.
I started moving my hips again, faster this time.
Shrrr-shrr-shrr.
I was getting bolder. I nudged my pelvis deeper into the juncture of her thighs, enjoying the tight, restricting squeeze of her legs. I buried my invisible snout right back into the crook of her neck, lapping at her sweet skin with frantic, shallow licks.
Lick. Lick. Slurrrp.
She let out another soft, airy moan, her hips giving a tiny, involuntary twitch beneath my grinding weight.
That single, sleepy movement nearly caused me to lose my mind.
My massive, purple-grey meat-scepter was practically vibrating inside her inner thigh, the intense friction of her tactical pants threatening to trigger the biological payload at any second. My vision was swimming in a haze of red-tinted lust, the system-imposed breeding urge and my own raw, unfiltered horniness merging into a single, unstoppable freight train.
I’m gonna blow. I’m literally going to paint her pants invisible.
I accelerated the pace, my invisible hind legs pumping with furious, desperate momentum. The heat in my groin was building to an absolute crescendo, a pulsing, heavy pressure that felt like a volcano about to erupt.
Just three more seconds. Just three more slides and I can finally clear this debuff.
I stretched my neck, planting one final, wet lick right over her collarbone, my teeth lightly grazing her skin as my pelvis gave a heavy, desperate thrust.
I was at the absolute peak. The pleasure was so intense my invisible eyes rolled back into my head, my jaw unhinging slightly as the first pulsing wave of orgasm began to travel down my spine.
Then, she moved.
Rebecca let out a loud, sudden grunt, her entire upper body violently twisting to the side as her left arm flailed upward, her hand smacking directly against my invisible chest with a solid thud.
Her hand connected directly with my invisible ribs with a solid, fleshy thud.
The physical impact instantly triggered the camouflage’s built-in flaw.
Physical contact disrupts the cloaking. My outline violently glitched, flashing a terrifying, semi-translucent silhouette of a giant, skinless hellhound hovering directly over her face.
Oh fuck, abort mission! Abort! Abort!
Panic absolutely short-circuited my brain. I scrambled backward, my hind legs launching my heavy frame off her hips to land a safe five feet away in the shadows of the wreckage, completely out of her physical reach.
But while my paws had successfully retreated, my highly mutated reproductive system did not get the memo. The sudden, violent scramble and the peak of the grind triggered a massive, uncontrollable chain reaction in my pelvis.
The dam broke.
Because my balls had been mutated into bulletproof, hyper-active factories to accommodate the Apex Breeding Urge, the sheer pressure of the release was terrifying. A high-velocity, steaming-hot geyser of thick, milky-white fluid launched from my shaft like a high-pressure fire hose.
SPLURT-GUSH.
Even though I had stepped back, the immense pressure of the spray easily bridged the gap. Massive, viscous ropes of warm cream arced through the air, splattering violently across her green tactical vest.
But the real bullseye was her face.
A massive, warm glob sailed directly into her slightly parted mouth with a wet, heavy, high-pressure plop-squirt. The rest of the torrent splattered across her closed eyes, her nose, and her chin, dripping down her neck in heavy, steaming globs.
Gurgle, cough, hack.
The sudden, unexpected influx of warm, thick liquid directly down her throat instantly triggered Rebecca’s gag reflex.
Her eyes snapped wide open.
She bolted upright with a violent cough, sputtering and hacking as her lungs desperately fought to clear her airway.
"Ptooey! Gah—what the—ptooey!"
She rolled onto her side, spitting into the dirt with increasingly desperate force. She dragged the back of her glove across her mouth to wipe her lips, which turned out to be a catastrophic tactical error because her glove was also completely soaked in the thick mystery substance. All she accomplished was smearing the sticky cream entirely across her cheeks and nose.
Rebecca froze.
Slowly, she pulled her hand away from her face and stared at it in the dim, flickering emergency lights of the train wreckage.
Her entire green glove was coated in thick, white, stringy goo that stretched between her fingers like the world’s most disturbing spiderweb.
"What... what the hell is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling in pure, unadulterated confusion.
I crouched in the dark shadows nearby, completely silent and invisible once more now that my body was perfectly still. I watched the utter, absolute disaster I had just created, my heart in my throat.
Yep. I am definitely going to hell.
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A/N: Might have to get the update schedule once every two days instead of daily release as its feels a bit too heavy to do it daily.
Also if anyone’s interested, was thinking of making an patreon. have around 20-30 Chapters in draft.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
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