The Zalu Singularity

The Zalu Kingdom was not supposed to be the Zalu Empire, nor was it supposed to encompass all of Africa and a good chunk of the Americas. Not in the 1900s, not in the 2000s, and certainly not in 1816. It certainly shouldn't have had technology that wouldn't be invented for another hundred-odd years like automobiles, nor should its seven armies be led by a servant apiece, each a foreign hero sworn to Prince Sheka, heir to the throne.

Not that Prince Sheka would be heir much longer. In a few days time, he would be crowned king. In the true history of the world, Sheka was born a bastard son and only took his throne by having his elder brother put to death. Add a Holy Grail and several years of uncontested power, and suddenly Sheka was acknowledged by his father as his true heir, as the man who would lead the Zalu to their destiny with his seven generals. Each play that Chaldea had made for the Grail thus far had failed, repelled by his servants. Things were looking grim as each and every team they sent went dark.

They expected Sheka's crowning to be a worst case scenario. Tensions were high. No one knew what they could possibly do to prevent it from happening; what they could do to reach the Grail and end the singularity that threatened their lives, their history, their very existence. The mood was bleak. Bleak for everyone but the one janitor who paid little mind to what the rest of Chaldea was doing at any given time, zoned out while blasting music through his ear pods as he worked. He knew that his part of Chaldea's mission was very small indeed; that his contributions to the cleanliness of the base were minor but still important.

Humanity's final bastion, filthy? Not on his watch. He didn't worry about the big picture, because he had the little picture to focus on. He did his shift, went to his room and played games. Sometimes he read books. Other times he watched old movies. He did his part, and everyone else did their part, and humanity survived. It was a sheer stroke of fate that he was cleaning a spill in the meeting room when his superiors were plotting their next move. It was yet another that his ear pods ran out of juice just in time to hear their desperation and their inability to field a servant strong enough to win the day through strength alone. The final stroke of fate was not then and there, but during the preceding night when the janitor had watched Ocean's Eleven.

"So why don't you guys do a heist?" he asked, and the room turned its entire focus on him. Naturally, it fell on the janitor to plan the heist -- there was not a single criminal on staff with practical experience, but he had seen so many heist movies that Chaldea's bigwigs felt his planning was humanity's last, and best, hope of survival. The janitor did not shy away from the task, planning out every meticulous detail and consulting experts to find the best servant for each job, of which there were many. Everyone involved would need to do their part, big or small, for the heist to succeed. Anything less than that could mean the end of humanity.

The Rider known as Medusa seemed to accept her part without so much as a blink, even though Chaldea's top brass assumed it would anger her. That much should have been anticipated anyway, as Medusa attended her briefing wearing her blindfold. She accepted her gear bag without a word, already knowing what was inside, and left to get changed. On the other hand, the Lancer known as Schatch was taking a bit longer -- and a bit harder -- to come around on her 'part'. She stared down into her gear bag with a flat expression so fearsome that it might have been able to defeat Sheka's armies on its own. The room was tense, and for a moment everyone was sure that she would refuse. Yet she too silently got to her feet and left to get changed. Chaldea's top brass and its janitor breathed sighs of relief. Scratch saw the necessity of the plan, and her silent agreement showed that she believed it could work. The heist was on.

Chaldea and humanity itself had a fighting chance.

Medusa came back first, her blindfold discarded; her pale eyes were only covered by her glasses. Without the leather blinding her, she looked much more approachable and much more human with her seemingly casual expression of serene calm. Far more beautiful for it, too. She had the kind of eyes someone could lose themselves in, and if they didn't turn to stone or raw mana they would be set aflame. Figuratively speaking, at least.

As lovely as Medusa's eyes were, not one person in the room gave them a second glance, let alone a first glance. Their attention was instead drawn to her incredible body. Medusa's skin tight leather sheath dress left little to the imagination, but the black bikini she wore now entirely removed the need for an imagination. It wasn't well fit to her body in the best sort of way, almost too small for her plump ass and ample tits. Her bottoms hugged her pussy so tightly they could see a clear camel toe in the fabric. The top lacked strings and simply fit around her breasts rather than over it, threatening to spill out at any moment should she make too sharp a movement. "Is this acceptable?" she asked, soft and simple, already playing her part. Her kitten heels boosted her height by just half an inch.

Most of the room nodded, but not the janitor. "We're missing one thing," he muttered as he moved close to the gorgon of legend, whose floor-length purple hair was far more silken than snake. She watched him placidly as he came close to her and didn't even flinch when he reached up to her bikini's top, even as others in the room winced or averted their eyes, expecting him to suffer a quick death for daring to grab Medusa's practically divine tits.

When the latter group dared to look back, they saw him walk away untouched after giving Medusa's top a slight tweak. Her bikini top had been pulled down less than an inch, exposing just a hint of her areolae. Perhaps more surprisingly, Medusa's nipples now visibly protruded against the top's fabric -- not that there was any hint of arousal on the purple-haired Rider's face, only her continued serenity.

"Perfect," the janitor declared as he sat back down, just in time to watch Scáthach walk in. Though she was just as calm as Medusa at a glance, Scáthach's irritation was practically palpable, simmering hot but tightly restrained under her skin. Her costume revealed much less bare flesh than Medusa's, but was just as blatantly sexual. Everyone's eyes went from the bottom up as they ogled her. A pair of deep purple heels boosted the short Queen to the Land of Shadows to Medusa's height, while her long and toned legs were hugged tight by fishnet stockings that did nothing to hide their shapeliness.

The corset teddy she wore matched her heels and hair while accentuating her perfect hourglass frame, all hips and tits and a flat belly. It cupped her tits and supported them individually, perhaps the only two mammaries among all of Chaldea's staff and servants to rival Medusa's. Though Scáthach narrowed her eyes at the leering top brass, she held her tongue. They didn't even notice her; the bowtie and floppy bunny ear headband she wore transformed the Witch of Dun Scaith into pure eye candy.

The janitor lifted his finger and wiggled it in a circle. "Show us the back," he ordered, and after only a moment's bale-filled silence slowly turned, cocking a hip and resting a hand on it. One man in the room let out a low whistle at the sight of Scáthach's thick ass, crested with a fluffy little bunny tail. She gripped her hip, ready to kill. This was beneath her royal dignity, but she would do her duty without complaint. No one noticed her tension. "It's lacking-- I don't know," the janitor muttered to himself, getting to his feet and approaching Scáthach, breaking the spell the woman's body put over the room. Everyone once more expected the worst. He called for scissors. He called for a needle. He called for a spool of thread.

He got them and set to work. "Hold still for me, now."

A few minutes later, he stepped away from Scáthach. The room got terribly quiet as the janitor sighed. "I said hold still." Scáthach stared at the janitor and didn't say a word. She literally hadn't moved a muscle; with her mastery of her body and her effective immortality, Scáthach had even stopped breathing as the janitor set to work on his last minute alterations to her costume.

For the sake of humanity though, she held her tongue. The silence that hung over them was hardly a pall, for the janitor's disastrous attempt at being a tailor had ruined the corset's cups. Scáthach's bare breasts were left out in the open, dumbstrucking everyone in the room but the janitor, Medusa and Scáthach herself. Despite their size and fullness, they sat high and perky on her chest as though defying gravity, showing not a hint of sag or stretch. Her dusky nipples pebbled under the room's leering stare while someone ran off to find another bunny suit and a tailor who could actually facilitate the janitor's vision.

Scáthach's revised costume had a long swathe of fabric cut away from between her breasts, opening the suit up from her bowtie to her belly button. Strategic restitching didn't leave her with tasteful side boob, but rather lewd half tits on either side, with the thinnest part of the corset being the triangles that covered her nipples -- thin enough, now, that the erect buds were plainly visible in how they longed to poke through the fabric. Naturally, the cut showed just a hint of her areolae. "Perfect," the janitor murmured, reaching behind Scáthach to adjust her fluffy tail and tug the fit of the corset over her ample ass just so.

"Godspeed," he wished the two purple-haired beauties before getting back to his job. He had floors to mop, Chaldea's top brass had a mission to oversee, and the female servants had a Prince to distract. With their bodies, of course. Not that they were expected to fuck the future King or anything like that. Chaldea would never be so crass.

They were strictly distractions. Medusa smiled faintly and licked her lush lips. Nobody noticed it, and not because it was particularly subtle. She was a very distracting woman, one who had very particular tastes in life, tastes that no one in the room had bothered reading up on.

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As a swiftly growing world power, the Zalu Empire of course knew of far off lands like Greece and Scotland but had little to no real contact with them. It was an unexpected but welcome surprise that they sent emissaries to observe Prince Sheka's coronation, a pair of beautiful women who came bearing exotic gifts. The officials didn't seem to question why the two women came together, a detail the janitor simply overlooked. He overlooked a lot of things in his plan, possibly because he was a janitor with zero practical experience in logistics, strategy or heists.

Back at headquarters, Chaldea's brass breathed a sigh of relief. They had their foot in the door -- quite literally, with 'Dusa' and 'Sarah' crossing into Prince Sheka's chambers for their private, personal audience. Sure that the two servants had everything well in hand, they turned their attention to the rest of their team.

"What strange clothing you wear," the Prince observed, sitting on one end of the room in a high-backed chair that may as well have been a throne. Several inches over six feet tall, Prince Sheka was built like a warrior but dressed like a gentleman out of England, in a style that shouldn't have been designed for decades. The room around them was decorated in deep, royal purples fabrics and an impressive amount of gold paired with amber. He crossed his legs and leaned back, his dark gaze raking over either woman in turn. "Come closer... Dusa, Sarah. Let me see you."

There was nothing shy about his confident, casual appraisal of their sexuality. It made Medusa smile with a sultry glimmer in her pale eyes, while Scáthach suppressed the shiver that ran up her spine. She couldn't stop the goosebumps that raised on her flesh. Their heels clicked on the floor in time to one another until the two stood shoulder to shoulder before the future king, who slowly raised to his feet, towering a full foot over them both. He focused on Medusa first, running his thick fingers over her bikini's hem. She met his eye, her smile a simmering thing, and leaned into his powerful touch.

"So open," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble even at its quietest. "So vulnerable." He thumbed at her peeking areolae absently, making it seem like a coincidence when his hand strayed away and her erect nipple was poking out over the edge of her bikini. He didn't even deign to notice it, instead tracing his hand down down her flat midsection and towards her bikini's bottoms, teasing at the tied strings holding it together at either side. "What is its purpose?" he asked her. His English was impeccable.

Scáthach watched on with an increasingly wary expression, her eyes widening by degrees at what she saw next. With her natural insight, she had pegged Medusa as a debaucherous slut the moment they first met. They were on a crucial mission, and its failure could spell the end of humanity. Slut or not, she certainly didn't expect Medusa to lean this hard into the role when they weren't even expected to bang the future king.

"Ease of access," Medusa practically purred, pitching her voice just a hitch lower. The throaty quality to her tone left no mystery to her intention. She wasn't distracting and she certainly wasn't teasing. She was letting Prince Sheka know in no uncertain terms that she was down to fuck. Her fingers slid down to where he was teasing the tied strings, sliding between his fingers in an almost sweetly flirtatious way. "One," she murmured, and then her fingers gave a single, simple and effective pluck at them, undoing one side and causing her bottoms to fall loose, at least there.

She still had a semblance of modesty. Scáthach and the Prince could see a hint of her pussy's purple, tastefully trim carpet poking out from behind the dislodged fabric. That modesty vanished in the next moment when Medusa finished counting, undoing the other string. "Two," she all but whispered as fell down her legs, leaving the legendary gorgon in just her heels and bikini top. Her cunt was flushed hot and dark, clearly wet and ready.

"So I see," the Prince said with a very faint smirk, running his hand over Medusa's hip without deigning to act on her clear invitation. "Most convenient indeed. I commend the people of Greece for their innovations." She did move up to his side and all but mold her body into it, her perfect breasts squished up against his muscular torso and her hands running sensually over his shape. "And what of you, Sarah?" he said as he turned to face Scáthach. "What is the meaning behind... this?" he asked, reaching out to grab one of her rabbit ears.

"A costume," she replied coolly despite the warmth she felt elsewhere in her body. "My... people... are fond of rabbits, Your Highness." If Medusa was willing to fuck the Prince, she'd abandon her character entirely and let Medusa handle things; Scáthach considered herself above the charades, the trickery, and the extremely risque costumes. There was nothing more that she loved than being pinned down by a larger man and it was hard not to think of what it would feel like if her ears were real and he pulled on them. It made her feel alive, but still, it would be beneath her dignity.

"Why the rabbit?" Sheka asked, raising his brows.

"Your Highness," Medusa laughed softly before Scáthach had a chance to edge in a word, raising to her tip-toes to breathe her words right into his royal ear, "do your people have a saying anything like 'fucking like rabbits'?" Her teeth nipped at his earlobe before she eased back down, spreading her fingers over his rippled stomach. The guise of calm serenity she wore finally began to fade away, leaving Medusa's true wanton nature bare. "Because," she said in a softer hush, "that's why she's in the costume." Her fingers slid lower and lower over his stomach until they were sliding over his pants, down them, her hand cupping the sizable bulge in them.

"That's not--" Scáthach quickly began to protest.

Medusa met Scáthach's eyes, grinning with them more than her lips as she fondled the massive package Prince Sheka had packed between his thighs. "You see, Your Highness," she murmured, steamrolling right over Scáthach's denial and her attempt to back out of this, "they don't have men like you in Scotland. They don't have cocks like this one," she dripped. Literally, Scáthach noted; her pussy's natural juices were dripping down her thigh as she squeezed Sheka's cock. "Big, black and hard." If the Prince was excited or spurred on by Medusa's adventurous fingers, he never showed it, staying calm and collected.

That didn't mean he was quiet. "Woman, that isn't even hard." Both of them were taken aback by the claim. The lump his cock made was massive, clearly rivalling if not surpassing anything that either woman had ever held in hand or taken inside them. Scáthach could only look to Medusa, who already had her hand on it. She watched the other purple-haired servant further her groping, her elegant fingers tracing its shape skeptically. Her lustful expression betrayed her mounting excitement, and the way her lips parted slightly with a delighted gasp wasn't a seductive ploy. "He's right," Medusa said with a shiver of excitement. "He's limp."

"That's impossible," Scáthach muttered. Medusa's machinations had her near outrage moments before, but now she was almost insulted by the outrageous lie. Nobody in the world could possibly have a cock that large, not without passing out whenever they popped an erection. Yet at the same time she knew that Prince Sheka had a Holy Grail, and that the impossible was very much possible for him. The fact that they were standing in the Russian Empire's Amber Room in Africa proved that. Still not believing in spite of the facts, Scáthach moved closer, lowering her hips and squatting down to put Sheka's cock at eye level. She balanced perfectly on her heels, then reached out to have her fingers tentatively join Medusa's.

The Queen of the Land of Shadows gasped softly in surprise. It wasn't hard. Sheka's confidence wasn't just for show. She ran her fingers along one side of him, leaving the other for Medusa, who slowly slid down until she was on her knees. While Scáthach was simply focused on the Prince's royal black cock, Medusa still had her eyes on the future. She had her eyes on what that cock was going to do to them. Her other hand slid up the side of the Prince's trousers, unlatching his belt and pulling it away. Scáthach didn't even seem to notice when it thumped on the floor, practically enraptured in her exploration of Sheka's meat, her hand following it halfway down his thigh.

"Would you like to see my cock hard?" Sheka asked, voice low and deep. Medusa grinned, knowing the question wasn't for her but for Scáthach. The other purple-haired servant drew in a shuddering breath, her hand sliding down further and her other joining its twin opposite on Sheka's body. She braced her weight on his knees and raised her gaze to meet Sheka's eye, a deep red fluster starting to creep up her neck and up her cheeks. The Witch of Dun Scaith swallowed thickly, her creeping lust and incredible libido winning over her conscious mind and willful nature.

Scáthach always longed for a warrior who could defeat her, and at her core she didn't rightly care what kind of victory they won over her. A carnal victory might have been better for her than a violent one. She felt her heart starting to hammer away in her chest, a steady thump thump in her ears. For a moment and just a moment, she struggled for the right words to express what she wanted to this glorious Prince and his equally glorious cock. "Show me your spear, Your Highness," she finally pleaded, unable to look away from Sheka's gaze, almost hypnotic in its focus and confidence.