CthulhuTech: Engel Loev Human

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you.

The next wave wasn't expected until nightfall. All soldiers were expected to sleep through most of the day.

That his Engel projected feelings of contentment when he slept inside it gave him a convenient excuse to do so.

Mark Tanner had been chosen to pilot an Engel through a semi-experimental program to find humans that were both suitable for Engel usage... and an almost inhuman amount of tenacity to cling to what most people called normalcy. It appeared that the NEG was taking some initiative to increase the lifespan of their Engel pilots; after all, you can’t win a war when your best and brightest are locked up and, for lack of a better term, batshit insane.

As he scratched his upper lip and looked into the morning sky (and found it odd that he felt the sun being behind a cloud at the moment was portentous…), he found himself being drawn to his memories of past times he got into the very same cockpit; he sniffed in disdain when he imagined it was neatly-packaged exposition for some unseen observer. When he first climbed into the Seraph's cockpit cavity, he was frankly unnerved, not by the sudden uptick of empathic feedback from his new partner, but from a feeling of warmth and a sudden release from loneliness from the cybernetic behemoth. The second time was a field test, and a chance to stretch the Seraph’s legs. She’d performed very well, and he remarked at how fast the response time was. Again, he was caught off-guard when the Engel seemed pleased that...he’d been pleased…

It wasn't until much later in active duty that he'd heard that his particular Seraph had been used and reused in service as the pilots went slowly insane; after each new attunement, the cybernetic beast had improved. Subsequent pilots remarked at how fast 'she' complied with their thoughts, to the point where young Mark began to think it was starting to anticipate his own thoughts before he finished them. He shook himself from his impromptu stroll down memory lane, reminding himself of the need to be prepared for another push from the bugs.

So here he was: one man. Hundreds of miles from his family and friends - and permanently removed from a girl he...once knew (damned Mi-Go...), inside of an alien being whom he'd named Gwendolyn (because, even after a fair amount of research, he didn't know of any feminine angel names...and besides which, he liked the sound). Rather, he was inside an alien being that was, according to his (admittedly nutty) predecessors, "thinking" increasingly human.

He thought a soothing greeting to the monster, and was given a response that had no words, but was indeed close to "welcome". After a few moments of companionable silence, both real and psychic, he idly began to stroke her walls; she answered with an emotion that seemed to incorporate "that feels nice", "keep going", and something else, instead of words, put him in the mind of an overlarge dog, simply wagging its tail. A sort of dialogue sprang between them. "Image of pilot, uninjured, healthy, content?" "Image of pilot, uninjured, healthy, okay. Image of Gwendolyn, uninjured, healthy, content?" "Image of Gwendolyn, uninjured, healthy, content."

Telepathic small talk does not translate well to speech.

A half-hour in which he, through a punch-drunk lack of sleep, tried to make small talk about the weather, food, and the other Engels passed. Over that half-hour, he was reminded that his Engel was indifferent to biting cold, that it was fed intravenously through a series of tubes, that she had no real means of communicating other than through her pilot, and that Engels kept their own company.

Finally, Mark fell asleep. His self-imposed "polite conversation" time with his Engel was fulfilled, and they'd already had a long night with last night's larger-than-expected wave of bugs.

Three things were going to happen in the next twenty-four hours that no one knew about. One, a withdrawal of Mi-Go forces in the area to fend off the more active cults of the Nameless One. Two, the first recorded instance of an Engel communing with a pilot while he slept. Three, the first, if unrecorded, instance of an Engel developing a genuine sapience.

Normally, Mark Tanner did not dream. When he did, it always included, at least once, finches with the heads of hippos or another patently absurd beast. Typically as a creature that was part of the zoo that his harem of improbably beautiful and curvaceous women took care of. So it was odd that he felt himself laying on a somewhat spongy floor, in the dark, and alone.

After a small amount of blindly bumbling around in the dark, an indistinct blob made itself known in front of himself, quickly taking on a (admittedly general) human shape. Finally noting that this was one of those rare lucid dreams, Mark prepared himself to run as the figure walked toward him. As it neared, he prepared to take another step back, but felt something root him to the spot.

His legs, nearly halfway to the knees, had sunk into the invisible floor, and the floor was rising.

Interestingly, the figure began to take on sharper contrast as it came closer, individual features shaping themselves out of blurry gray, some beginning to show color. The figure, too, seemed to remain eye-to-eye with him, and its legs remained totally visible, even as the floor stopped rising somewhere around his waist. It was then that he saw what the figure was slowly becoming.

And, as anyone with a grasp of romantic stereotypes will tell you, it was his dead girlfriend: black skin with Caucasian features, softly glowing red eyes, cute little fangs, and a name: Kory.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a finger against his lips. It was at this point that her image became slightly blurry at the edges...and...and the newly re-sharpened image resumed walking towards him...and simply put his head against her bosom and gave a gentle hug.

While he wasn't able to see what was happening to himself, he could certainly feel a delicious friction pick up. A lucid dream was a novelty for him, but he hadn’t made whatever was enclosing his dick rotate one way, then the other, switching at random intervals.

It was an odd feeling, having your hair stroked by a dead woman, who began letting out delightful little mewls and moans, as though she were riding him instead of merely hugging him: his cock was somewhere below her snatch, but she acted as though she were getting a nice, slow lovemaking. And she guided his head down to a nipple, and, he obligingly sucked and bit at it. The whole dream seemed to fuzz and lose cohesion for a split second, before returning to focus, but even after it had done so, everything was just short of having razor-sharp clarity. The woman he was sucking at started to breathe harder. A girl he only thought occasionally thought of, being immobilized up to the waist, and much slower sex than he regularly fantasized about? He'd long since put together that this was not wholly his own dream.

Doubly so since whoever was on the other end had a lactation fetish. And it tasted too good to be real.

This begged a questio- his torso was mashed into her leaking tits while her mouth caught his in a hungry kiss. That train of thought was going to have to wait. The foot-long tongue had precedence. She first wrapped his own tongue with hers, completely encasing it, before alternating licking around his whole mouth and cocooning his tongue again, massaging it with waves of her own muscle.

She only stopped when it became obvious he was out of breath. This further sealed the deal for him: who needed to breath in a dream? Was he somehow sleepwalking? The immobilized legs answered "no". At least, about the "walking" part. So what was going on...?

The girl released him and walked backwards a small way before turning away from him and bending over at the waist, exposing her pussy, eager and dripping, almost mimicking the nectar leaking from her breasts. She made eye contact by looking between her thighs at the man she'd just claimed. Mark looked at her helplessly, still waist-deep in...something. That was when he noticed something: his attention was so focused on the not-Kory that he’d neglected to notice there was a second woman in here. Even before he got a good look, he felt her arms, which had encircled his waist move down to his rear and give a firm squeeze. A human, she looked just like the cute little red-headed and lightly freckled support arcanotechnician that came to the front lines to try to see if the Mi-Go, well known to hate the assorted magic-using cults with slightly more fervor than humanity at large, were unusually weak or resistant to sorcery.

Except that Jane hadn’t had boobs bigger than her head. Or prehensile hair. Or a smoldering look that could've made a gay man think twice. The fact that she appeared directly behind him, stuck her tongue in his ear, and started pushing him toward the now-gushing-from-two-tits-and-a-pussy nazzadi woman who was offering herself to him only served to distract him.

As he came slowly and inexorably closer to the black-skinned woman, it seemed as though her pussy stretched out toward him, puckering and quivering. His thoughts were confirmed a moment later, when he was swallowed by her pussy when he was still a good half-foot away from her hips, making a squelching sound and trying to suck him deeper. As he entered the nazzadi woman from behind, the overlarge breasts of the human woman smooshed into his back. The whole of the dream blurred yet again, but to a smaller degree this time, and when both the nazzadi and human women shuddered, not only at the same time, but in the same fashion...well, he’d heard about magic being able to influence dreams, but who would be such a dedicated pervert to risk their sanity for this?

As he began thrusting into the nazzadi below him, the whole dream gained a permanent haze about any bodily details other than his own. And where the sound of his own breathing and the occasional grunts and moans of the woman beneath him had been the only sound before, there was a low rumbling...not rumbling...purring?

His thrusts were being met by the woman below him now, her hands milking her overripe, jutting breasts and her too-long tongue lolling out of her mouth and swinging in random directions, and the woman behind him had him in a liplock, both tongues dueling for the upper hand, her breasts leaking copious amounts of whatever it was they were producing down his back. Both his hands were busy, his right gently rolling the clitoris of the woman in front of him and his left doing the same to the one behind.

It was about this time that the front of the nazzadi woman disappeared and the upper half of a torso appeared out of thin air in front of him: this time something appeared that was neither human nor nazzadi.

She might have been breathtakingly beautiful, or she might have been too alien to think about having sex with. It had originally come into being looking something like an anatomical model: all sinew and muscle, unappealing, if not an outright boner-killer. It quickly formed into something else. It formed ruby-red skin, two slightly-too-big breasts, and had the start of a face: a button nose and mouth were visible, and two eyes began to take shape; its head was crowned with a mass of long, thin tentacles, each wriggling of their own accord and hanging down past her breasts. The rest of the body was toned, fit, and still more feminine than either wet dream it had deigned to let him warm up against.

As it was, Mark Tanner had put two and something two-shaped together and was reasonably sure of something that looked vaguely like four.

Whatever was in front of him was what was controlling his dream. Whatever was in front of him was female. Whatever was in front of him...was a sexual deviant on a grand scale.

It finally opened its eyes. Inhuman, pupil-less black crystal seemed to look at him.

And it was then that he woke up.

Which was even more disconcerting when the only difference was that the forms that he had been fucking until that point turned out to be of same kind that just came into being in front of him: their legs were rooted to the floor.

The waist that was sticking out of the wall sank and met the waist sticking into the wall, which turned around to meet it in a sight that might have worried physicians if the being it belonged to were fully human. She withdrew him from her hungrily sucking pussy, his interface with his Engel noting a hint of regret, but also...a desire for formality?

Gwendolyn had been communing with him in his sleep?

The thing behind him and the thing in front of him both pushed and pulled and set him into laying back into a woman that had become fully two or three feet taller than he was, with his head resting between two gargantuan breasts. The woman on top was closer to normal human height; but wherever her body came into contact with the giant below them, the skin fused before letting go. They eventually settled to the point where the smaller one straddled his midsection, he laying parallel to the giant, with the giant’s hands cupping the delicious, hemispherical rear of the small one. The small one, unblinking, began to sweetly kiss at his face, favoring his mouth; the giant was kissing he top of his head over and over, and clearly in no hurry.

And then he heard it. "Mine." A word. Not an emotion or a feeling or a concept. Language.

"Love."

He was suddenly taken aback. The alien face above him did not change expression in the least, but strange, translucent black tears dripped from its-no, he corrected himself, *her*- eyes. "Mine. Mine. Mine. Love. Protect. Yours. Love. Protect." Her hair fell around her face, creating a blinder that blocked off everything but her pretty face. Mark was starting to not care about that.

He shakily reached a hand up...and cupped her face. This time, the face changed: from an expressionless, red porcelain mask, to recognizable shock, then happiness. "Accepted. Accepted. Mine. Yours." He caught a fleeting hint of embarrassment over his telepathic link...apparently, she’d forgot to give her face tendons.

For a moment, she looked (and felt) unsure and distant, until shyly smiling and transmitting something unprecedented.

"You are mine. I am yours. You will be mine. I will be yours."

Dolphins and chimpanzees both have language. It's a proven fact that they can relay and understand messages, but they never talked about anything other than what had already happened. Gwendolyn blew them all away. She'd just used tense. Planning.

She might qualify as truly sapient.

Unknown to all but a handful worldwide, the Engel Uplift Program had just borne fruit. It seemed that good old Occam's Razor had come to the rescue again: simple, prolonged exposure to the mortal mind had caused the Engel to imprint and absorb modes of thought, essentially overwriting the genderless beast’s normal docility/hostility personality. The interesting part was that it appeared to be an aggregate, not of its pilots' minds, but of what they’d expected and wanted...in a mate.

That it had learned language was icing on the cake. That it had turned sapient, well, it was going to be a legal root canal.

Both pilot Mark Tanner and Seraph Gwendolyn would have to be closely monitored and guarded, both from those who feared the common Engel's natural temperament of bloodthirsty savagery, and from those who could use this massive leap in progress to destroy humanity by simply mimicking the Mi-Go's thievery and usurpation of the D-engine technology. But, as it stood, the two lovebirds deserved some time alone.

And besides, her pilot-acquired fetishes hadn't been that bad.

With both her mass of head-tentacles around his head, and her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him into a crushing hug and thought-annihilating kiss, before slamming her hips down on his shaft. He winced at the phantom pain over their connection, shocked. That feeling was only reserved for battle, unless-oh dear. Her snatch was lightly bleeding. He stared in awe at her starless, now teary depths, and didn’t bother with words to convey his meaning. He gently kissed her lips, sending her feelings of being humbled and honored. She sent him a feeling of having claimed her stake "properly".

And insofar as it is possible for black eyes to gleam, she told him she'd already gotten over the pain, and that he'd better be ready for the main event. He answered with a quick pull and thrust, causing her pot to squelch noisily. He felt her surprise over their bond, followed by something that roughly translated to "naughty boy". He was surprised when two wide, fleshy strips across his thighs and stomach immobilized his hips.

She was moaning wonderfully while bouncing on his lap while he occasionally ground his hips into her pelvis, her groaning ensured that her entrance was very much like a human's, love button and all. He tweaked her ripe-to-bursting breasts with his hands, her odd milk spurting from her breasts in thin streams while they kissed, her tongue nearly cocooning his own in his mouth. The giant Gwendolyn they lay on top of had a look of serene happiness, sometimes biting her lip with not-quite-teeth when Mark accidentally hit her clit with his leg or foot.

She put a breast to his face, him again obligingly sucking her dark red, engorged teat while she rammed herself up and down on his dick. She let out a pleased moan and held his head to her slowly-expanding breast. When he caught the nipple in his molars and twisted, she gave a delightful shriek, and when his teeth rolled it and he flicked it with his tongue, her moaning became continual and slightly louder. When that one was empty, at about the same time the breast matched the size of his head, she switched breasts, and Mark decided to experiment. He caught her nipple between his teeth, began rubbing it with his tongue… and slowly worked his tongue into it, forcing the nipple wider. He felt her surprise at what he was attempting, but she was letting her body be sculpted. Once her teat was a half-inch in diameter, he surprised her again, thrusting his tongue into the hole and wriggling it around inside her nipple. She screamed in pleasure, and he felt her swoon for a split-second over their bond. More of her milk flooded his mouth as he swept his tongue around what would have normally been an exit, first clockwise, then counter, then again. She yelped every time he changed direction.

She forcibly removed his mouth from her breast, now within their original slightly-too-big range. "Mine." She began kissing him on the mouth, over and over, her tongue never fully leaving his mouth. "Mine." She began to slowly raise and lower herself again, this time with a slow, constant increase in speed. "Mine." She began to psychically assault him, letting her feelings flood their link. "Mine!" She started with extreme possessiveness and protectiveness, what she’d do to any woman he became too familiar with, and a promise that she’d never hurt him. Just lock him inside of herself, in a constant sexual embrace. "Mine! MY love! Mine!" Her strange tears began flowing freely now, still constantly kissing him, her tongue never completely leaving his, her hips a blur of motion, which he began meeting: she had just released his hips. At the same time, Mark noticed some dissonance between what his eyes saw and what the Engel was projecting as self-image: before his eyes, a beautiful but strange woman was riding him as hard as she could, but the mental image that Gwendolyn was leaking was that of a small girl, breasts grotesquely huge on her small form, with her abdomen distended by his cock. He realized what he was seeing: a possessive tantrum; she told him she loved him and hadn’t gotten a response. That in mind, he acted quickly to soothe her. And finally give them both some relief. In his mind he saw a young boy give a chaste kiss to a young girl with obscenely large sex organs.

In physical action, he held her head to his, kissed her as hard as he could, and slammed himself into her with all the force he could muster. And he told her "I love you, too."

Oddly, it was numbers one and three that caused her to scream in ecstasy.

They came, Gwendolyn's keening echoed inside the cockpit, both her forms arched, and both to an extent that would have killed anything with a skeletal structure. While promising himself he'd hear it again, the whole room shook for a moment. To the outside observer, it would have appeared the Seraph shook itself. To Mark, the walls seemed to close in, momentarily, while a hundred faces (and a few odd legs, arms and parts of torso) looked on with adoration and ecstasy in their alien eyes. It seemed...there was a waiting list. For him. "All me. Yours."

5 hours and 10 orgasms each later (thanks to Gwendolyn's nutritious "milk" and empathic feedback), Mark Tanner reported for briefing. Of surprise to all, it appeared the Rapine Storm were making themselves such a nuisance to the bugs that the Mi-Go needed to call off attacking to reinforce other borders. When called for mess, Mr. Tanner ate sparingly and decided to turn in early, claiming to not have received much rest earlier in the day.

Mark thought about the rest of the army: so many wives, husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends away from everyone they loved. And he thought of how mangled his grammar would have to be to describe his new love life. All of her loved him, he had all the women he could ever want, and loved every one of her.

When he got back to his Seraph, he'd brought along a small cardboard sign. When he thought the meaning to Gwendolyn, she gave a small trill of amusement and excitement.

"Do Not Disturb"