Chapter 21: Chapter 22
They eventually navigated their way into a massive, multi-level library. The air in the cavernous room was thick with the suffocating stench of old paper, decaying leather, and something distinctly rotten.
Rebecca kept her shotgun leveled as they moved through the towering, shadowed bookshelves, fully expecting a horde of infected researchers to drop from the ceiling at any second. Her nerves were already completely fried from the absolute disaster in the briefing room. She was deliberately keeping a solid five feet of distance between herself and her mutant-dog escort, desperate to avoid another highly inappropriate encounter with his massive, throbbing biology.
Instead of human zombies, they found a pair of gigantic, mutated insects the size of compact cars crawling along the upper balcony. They looked like a horrifying, unholy hybrid of centipedes and cockroaches, their thick mandibles clicking aggressively as they spotted the fresh meat below.
<Plague Crawlers>
Before Rebecca could even bring her weapon up to her shoulder, Ghosty practically teleported across the room. He scaled a tall oak bookshelf in two massive bounds, launching his heavily armored body directly at the closest insect.
The sickening sounds of cracking carapace and tearing bug meat echoed through the library as the hell-hound brutally dismantled the creatures in a matter of seconds. He crushed the first one’s thorax beneath his heavy paws and clamped his jaws around the second crawler’s head, ripping it clean off with a violent jerk of his neck.
He stood over the massive pile of twitching, oozing insect gore for a long moment, his bloody jaws parted. The thick red tendrils abruptly erupted from his chest and plunged directly into the decapitated bug, aggressively vacuuming up a large chunk of its glowing green biomass.
Then, he instantly stopped and visibly recoiled.
He let out a loud, dramatic snort of sheer disgust, rapidly withdrawing his tendrils and completely refusing to eat the rest of the squishy mess. He violently kicked a severed, twitching pincer away with his hind leg, like a dog rejecting a cheap brand of spoiled kibble, before trotting happily back over to her side.
"Picky eater, huh?" she teased, finally lowering her shotgun as the adrenaline ebbed. "Can’t say I blame you. Those things look like they taste like battery acid and despair."
She stepped carefully around the puddles of glowing green bug-juice, making her way to the far corner of the library. Nestled inside a small, recessed alcove was a heavy mechanical lift. It consisted of a simple metal platform attached to a complicated series of exposed gears and a thick iron chain leading up to a large square hole in the ceiling.
She inspected the wall beside the lift, finding a heavy metal gearbox with a distinct, cross-shaped indentation.
"Great. It’s a manual crank elevator," she sighed, resting her hands on her hips in sheer annoyance. "Because obviously, the brilliant scientists studying highly volatile biological weapons wanted to make sure everyone got their daily cardio in while moving between floors."
She looked up the dark shaft, calculating the steep distance to the third floor.
"I really wish Billy was here," she muttered absentmindedly, tracing the edge of the rusted metal platform with her boot. "One of us could have cranked the gear while the other rode the lift up to secure the next floor."
The moment the convicted marine’s name left her lips, Ghosty let out a sharp, deeply offended snarl.
He stomped his massive front paws against the hardwood floor, his tail going rigid as he glared at the elevator shaft.
"Whoa, hey, take it easy! I just meant for the heavy lifting!" Rebecca said, raising her hands defensively as the giant beast stalked past her.
He completely ignored her placating tone. He stepped past the metal platform and marched directly up to the sheer vertical wall of the elevator shaft. With a sudden, explosive burst of raw power, he launched himself upward.
His massive claws dug effortlessly into the solid concrete and brick, hauling his two-hundred-pound frame vertically up the wall like a terrifying, oversized black widow. He scaled the entire thirty-foot distance in a matter of seconds, disappearing into the dark hole above.
A moment later, his heavy, skinless face poked back out over the ledge. He let out a loud, yipping bark, before effortlessly scrambling back down the sheer wall headfirst. He landed gracefully on the library floor, turning to look at her with an expectant tilt of his head. He gave a low grunt and nudged his own broad back with his snout.
Rebecca stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open in pure disbelief.
"You... you want me to climb on your back?" she asked, her voice cracking under the sheer absurdity of the proposal. "And just... ride you up a vertical wall like a damn spider-horse?"
Ghosty barked once, a sharp, affirmative sound, and crouched low to the ground, waiting for her to board the nightmare express.
"I am going to fall to my death and break my neck," she argued, nervously gripping the strap of her shotgun. "You don’t even have skin! I’m going to be grabbing onto sharp insect armor and raw muscle!"
The beast let out a highly exaggerated, pathetic whine, pinning his non-existent ears back. He looked at her with such profound, woeful canine disappointment that she instantly felt a completely irrational wave of guilt wash over her. The sweet, relaxing pheromones constantly pumping into the air from his glands quickly eroded her remaining common sense, making the terrifying prospect seem weirdly reasonable.
"Fine. Okay. But if I die, I am haunting you," she grumbled, holstering her weapons and stepping up beside his crouching form.
She carefully straddled his broad back, positioning her thighs just behind his heavy shoulder blades. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his thick neck, highly careful to avoid the sharper edges of his chitin plates.
The moment her chest pressed flush against his back, a violent, electrical jolt of heat shot straight up her spine.
His body temperature was absolutely incredible. He radiated a deep, feverish warmth that seeped directly through her uniform, instantly relaxing her tense muscles. He smelled intoxicating, a heady mix of raw masculine sweat and that deeply comforting floral musk.
Before she could fully process the weirdly pleasant sensation, Ghosty surged upward.
"Oh god!" she shrieked, burying her face into his armored neck and clamping her thighs as tightly as humanly possible around his ribcage.
The climb was utterly terrifying. The sheer vertical momentum pressed her heavily against his back, every single powerful flex of his mutated muscles rolling fluidly beneath her straddling legs. She could feel the immense, unstoppable power contained within his frame, carrying them straight up the vertical shaft with terrifying ease.
But the real problem was the friction.
With every massive, bounding lunge up the brickwork, his thick back muscles rippled and shifted directly against her groin. The heavy canvas of her tactical pants rubbed rhythmically against her highly sensitive anatomy, creating a deep, distracting heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the physical exertion of the climb.
Why is this happening to me? I am trying to survive a zombie apocalypse, not get friction-burns on my clitoris from a mutant dog.
The confusing, highly inappropriate physical sensation made her clamp her legs even tighter, which only exacerbated the problem. Her face was practically glowing with embarrassment by the time they crested the top ledge in less than ten seconds, landing heavily on the dusty wooden floor of the third-story clock room.
Ghosty immediately dropped back to a low crouch, allowing her to safely dismount.
Rebecca scrambled off his back in a frantic hurry, her legs completely weak and trembling from the massive dump of adrenaline and the deeply confusing physical stimulation flooding her system.
Her boots hit the dusty floorboards, but her knees buckled slightly. She stumbled sideways, trying to catch her balance, and her right hand shot out blindly to steady herself against his flank.
Her gloved palm slid right off the slick, curved edge of his chitin armor, dropping straight down between his hind legs to aggressively grasp the first solid thing it found.
She froze.
Her hand was currently wrapped in a firm, death-grip around the thick, bulging base of his gigantic purple erection.
The sheer, blistering heat radiating from the massive, vein-covered monster-cock completely burned right through the fabric of her tactical gloves. It was pulsing heavily against her palm, as hard as a steel pipe. A thick, viscous drop of clear pre-cum oozed from the flared tip, splattering heavily onto the floorboards right next to her boot.
Ghosty let out a rapid, breathy panting sound, his back leg giving a rapid, involuntary thump against the wooden floorboards like a dog getting a really good belly scratch.
Rebecca snatched her hand away as if she had just grabbed a live grenade.
"I... I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to—my hand slipped!" she babbled frantically, backing away until her shoulders slammed into the wall of the clock room. Her face felt like it was on fire, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she thought she might pass out.
Ghosty simply let out a happy, oblivious chuff, giving his massive exposed dick a casual shake before trotting cheerfully toward the heavy metal door leading out to the balcony, his tail wagging a mile a minute. He didn’t look malicious or perverted; he just looked like a dumb, happy animal that was extremely thrilled to be touched.
"This is not normal," Rebecca whispered to herself, aggressively wiping her gloved hand on her pants while desperately trying to ignore the lingering, confusing throb between her own legs. "I am losing my goddamn mind."
She took several deep, ragged breaths, trying to manually reset her professional composure, before following the horrifyingly well-endowed monster out onto the outdoor terrace.
They stepped out into the cool night air of the fountain courtyard. The sudden shift in temperature was a welcome relief against her burning cheeks. A small flock of infected crows was gathered around the ornate stone fountain, their rotting beaks pecking lazily at some unidentifiable lump of meat.
Rebecca didn’t even wait for Ghosty to act. She leveled her shotgun and pumped two shells directly into the flock, blowing the grotesque birds into an exploding cloud of black feathers and pulverized viscera just to vent her overwhelming frustration.
"There. Let’s see you try to hump that," she muttered spitefully, pumping the action of her weapon to load another shell.
Ghosty merely trotted over to the bloody mess, completely unfazed by her sudden outburst of violent rage. His chest plates separated, and the thick bundle of red tendrils shot out, plunging eagerly into the pulverized crow viscera. He aggressively vacuumed up the avian remains with absolute gusto, slurping up every last drop of blood and feather while his tail wagged furiously.
Rebecca watched him finish his mid-night snack with a mixture of mild disgust and genuine curiosity.
"Does that actually taste good?" she asked, leaning casually against the stone railing. "Can you even taste it with your weird spaghetti tendrils?"
Ghosty let out a bright, happy bark, licking a stray feather off his wet snout.
"You’re tasting everything in this mansion like a damn food critic," she sighed, shaking her head. "But I guess it saves me from having to look at these disgusting corpses... so, good boy?"
At the praise, the massive hell-hound immediately trotted over and aggressively rubbed his heavy, armored flank right against her leg, practically purring like an oversized, highly lethal cat.
"Ugh, you and your clinginess," she groaned, gently shoving his thick neck away with her hand. "You’re extremely lucky you smell nice, dude. Come on."
Ghosty gave her hip one last affectionate nudge before padding forward and pushing open the heavy iron doors leading into the eastern wing’s upper corridors.
They navigated through another series of opulent, dust-covered hallways, entirely bypassing a massive set of chained double doors that led toward the central balconies. Rebecca was entirely content to just follow the dog at this point.
He seemed to possess some kind of supernatural radar for avoiding pointless dead ends, marching with complete confidence toward a small, heavily decorated room tucked away at the end of a narrow corridor.
They pushed through the ornate oak door, stepping into what appeared to be a lavish private art room.
Paintings of disturbing, grotesque landscapes covered the walls, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the large bay windows. A heavy stone fireplace dominated the northern wall, and a series of delicate marble statues were scattered across the plush carpets.
Rebecca swept the room with the barrel of her shotgun, finding it completely empty of threats.
She let out a long sigh of relief and walked over to examine a small white statue resting on a circular table near an easel. It looked like the missing piece from the giant balance-scale puzzle she had seen down in the main hall.
"Okay, finally, something useful that isn’t just a box of bullets or a giant bug," she muttered, picking up the heavy marble piece and stuffing it into the makeshift backpack strapped to Ghosty’s side.
She turned around to continue her search of the room, her eyes sweeping over the expensive antique furniture.
She stopped dead in her tracks, staring blankly at a long, incredibly plush red velvet couch positioned against the western wall.
Resting casually right in the dead center of the delicate antique cushions, looking completely undisturbed, was a massive, military-grade rotary grenade launcher.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Rebecca whispered, her voice cracking with sheer, unfiltered disbelief.
She slowly walked over to the couch, reaching out to touch the heavy, cold steel of the weapon, fully expecting it to be some kind of elaborate mirage. It was real. A fully loaded, six-chambered heavy explosive launcher, just sitting in a private art room like a tossed-aside decorative throw pillow.
"Who does this?" she demanded aloud, turning to look at Ghosty, throwing her hands up in the air. "Who just leaves a fully operational anti-tank weapon on their sitting couch? Did the facility director just come in here to paint a lovely bowl of fruit and think, ’Ah yes, better keep the grenade launcher handy in case the critics don’t like my shading’?!"
Ghosty let out a soft, highly dismissive grunt, casually scratching his ear with his hind leg as if heavy ordnance on antique furniture was perfectly normal.
"This entire company is run by absolute psychopaths," she declared, eagerly snatching the heavy weapon off the cushions and slinging the thick canvas strap over her shoulder. The massive weight of the launcher settled heavily against her back, making her feel instantly invincible.
She gave Ghosty a firm, highly uncharacteristic smirk, casually patting the barrel of her massive new toy.
"Alright, big guy. Let’s go see if we can find something big enough to actually use this on."
===
Don’t forget to donate your powerstones!
______________________________________
Support the author and read advanced Chapters on p@treon.
Link: www . p@treon . com/HornyShitler
_______________________________________
Book Website: cornyshitler.pages.de
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter