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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)	By : Sparrow & InBrightestDay Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Crossovers Views: 1831 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the franchises, characters, or anything else from the settings in this collection. These include Street Fighter, Marvel, Sailor Moon, Kill La Kill, and others. I made no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Kyle was running, staggering under the dead weight of his wounded comrade, his bare feet slapping on the dirty concrete floor. He risked a glance back over his shoulder- it was still coming, not even seeming to have noticed the homemade firebomb he’d hit it with. Rounding a corner, he kept going, lungs burning and the muscles in his legs screaming as he pushed himself harder. He knew there was an exit, a way out, but all these corridors looked the same, and try as he might he couldn’t seem to remember the path that would let him escape.
Kyle Reese - The Terminator (https://i.imgur.com/to4ms0x.jpg)
His head swimming from exhaustion, he tried to turn around another corner, only for the body slung across his shoulders to suddenly shift. Kyle wobbled for a moment, off-balance, then toppled over, the one he had been trying to save pinning him to the floor. Panting for breath, he rolled over and tried to squirm out from underneath the unconscious soldier, only to see too late that the thing was almost on top of him.
It advanced on them, wreathed in flames, unfazed by its burning clothing. Kyle realised with a start that its skin and hair were burning too, flesh shrivelling up and falling away in blackened shreds. The monster’s head was ablaze too, though it didn’t make a sound to give any indication it was in pain as the skin and muscle of its face sloughed away. Beneath was burnished chrome, the leering metal skull reflecting the flames surrounding it. Its eyes were like red-hot coals, glowing red pinpoints in the middle of the burning face, locked onto Kyle as it reached for him with its iron claw.
Kyle blinked, then blinked again, and woke abruptly. His heart was pounding in his chest, and when he touched his face with a hand he found his brow slick with sweat. Around him was darkness, and coolness. He was lying on his bunk in the dormitory, on the first floor of the bunker he and the others had found amidst this strange, hellish city.
“Kyle?” a voice whispered from the bunk above him. He tried to respond, but his mouth and throat were dried out, enough that it took him a moment to work up enough saliva to be able to speak.
“Yeah?” he croaked.
“Are you alright?” Chun-Li’s voice was soft, so as not to wake any of the others, but clear. It sounded as though she had been awake for some time.
Chun-Li Xiang - Street Fighter II: The Animated Movie (https://i.imgur.com/AUtC75g.png)
“Fine,” he said, swallowing. “Bad dream.”
He wasn’t sure what the time was, but judging by how cold the hand he had left above the covers was, he had been asleep for some time. He pulled it under the cover and tucked it into his armpit, shivering. Since the main hot water pipe had been burst by some strange leech-creature squirming up through it last week, the bunker’s internal temperature had steadily dropped until at night it was nearly the same as outside; a scant few degrees above zero.
“Can I get in with you? I’m freezing up here.”
He blinked.
“Uh, sure.”
The bunk above him squeaked as the weight on it shifted, and then he heard bare feet slap on the floor next to him. A hand touched his arm, and he obligingly held up the edge of his sheet, resenting the loss of warmth even for the brief moment it took Chun-Li to slip in under it as well. There wasn’t really enough room on the single bunk for both of them to lie flat, and there was a moment or two of awkward squirming around as they tried to get comfortable.
Kyle scooted to the far side of the bunk, only to gasp as the bare flesh of his arm pressed against the cold concrete wall. He turned onto his other side, and Chun-Li settled in against him, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling him against her.
“That better?” he asked quietly, and she nodded, a relieved sigh gusting past his ear. The hand she had thrown over his torso found his own hand, and she squeezed it reassuringly.
“Did I wake you up?” Kyle asked. In the near total darkness, he could just barely make out her shaking her head.
“No, there was a noise earlier,” she said. “The door to the room closed. Someone leaving, I think.”
“Oh, alright.” For a moment longer, the room was quiet again, but then Chun-Li’s voice broke the silence.
“What was your dream about?” she murmured.
“A memory.” he said, trying and failing to sound dismissive. “From years ago. An infiltrator, a T-700, managed to get into a shelter my unit was using during an offensive. Shot the place up.”
“T-700… that’s a robot, right?”
“Cyborg technically, living tissue over a powered endoskeleton. But yeah.”
“It sounds awful. Your world.”
“I guess it is. Never known anything else.”
Kyle had never really thought about it before. Thinking too hard about the state of things was a good way to end up lapsing into an inescapable depression. He had seen a lot of people succumb to it in his time, usually people who had been around before Judgement Day. Invariably they would just let themselves waste away, or wander out into the ruins to let the HKs find them.
Time passed, Kyle lost in thought, absent-mindedly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, feeling the thick calluses over her knuckles from a lifetime of hard training. He thought she was asleep, until she stirred and whispered something to him.
“Hm?” he lifted her arm and turned onto his back, Chun-Li nestling in against his chest, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
“I said,” her mouth was right next to his ear, and he could feel her warm breath rustling his hair. “Have you ever seen a flower?”
Kyle had to think for a moment about that, trying to connect the word with half-remembered images he had seen in tattered books or magazines, and the words some of the others had put to them.
“Not a real one,” he said finally. “Just pictures.”
“What about grass?”
He had to think even longer about that.
“No.”
Chun-Li was silent, and without prompting, Kyle kept talking.
“Once, we had this old guy join the unit. Miles. Good soldier, knew the paths through the ruins better than anyone. He’d been around back before Skynet took over, I think he said he was a police officer or something. Once, he got drunk on some homebrew that a bunch of engineers had made, and he started talking about Judgement Day, the actual day itself. He said that, afterwards, a couple of days after, it started to rain. And everyone still left thought it was great, because of how they were starting to run out of potables. But the rainwater was black. All the dust and dirt that the bombs had thrown up into the air, it was all coming back down radioactive. He said that after that, all the plants started dying, and so did all the animals, everything that drank the water, until there was nothing left.”
He heard Chun-Li’s breathing hitch.
“I once heard some pilots say that in the mountains there’s some trees and shrubs that survived, but not a lot, and I’ve never left the coast. Where I’ve been… it’s all gone. All of it.”
His voice cracked, and Kyle marvelled at himself, feeling sorrow for a world he had never known. Chun-Li’s hand slid across his chest and stroked his cheek.
“I’m so sorry...” she whispered, holding him tight against her.
Kyle tried to remember the picture of Sarah that John had given him, the way he had spent years trying to create an image of the real person from the faded black-and-white photograph. He had felt as though his commander had entrusted him with some kind of duty along with the picture, though he had never been sure precisely what.
Now, though, now that he was in this new place, with these people from strange other worlds where Judgement Day had never happened, he felt almost as if that duty had been lifted from him. And try as he might to recall the faded image of Sarah, all he could picture was the brave and beautiful woman before him.
Slipping his hand out from under the covers, he settled it on Chun-Li’s shoulder and ran it up her neck, feeling the slow throb of her pulse in the hollow of her throat, then cupping her cheek.
“Chun-Li...” he said, then couldn’t think of what he’d meant to say next. This close he could smell her, a curious light, sweet aroma that put in his mind bright, soft colours.
He wondered if that was how flowers smelled.

Báthory Mengele studied herself in the floor length mirror.
Báthory Mengele/Elizabeth Báthory- BloodRayne (https://i.imgur.com/73XdpkU.jpg)
Admired the light, bright blue of her eyes, the soft pink of her lips, the way her blond hair looked like spun gold when she’d shaken it out of its loose bun. She had already slipped off her trousers, and now she delicately unbuttoned her blouse, unable to keep from sighing as it slipped off her shoulders, baring her breasts. She had never bothered wearing a brasserie; though more than a generous handful in size her breasts were naturally round and pert, pleasingly tear-drop shaped where they sat high on her chest. Her nipples were bright pink, like coral, and she drew a circle around one with a fingertip, admiring the way it contrasted with the smooth, pale skin surrounding it.
There was a noise from behind her, and Báthory blinked, remembering that there was actually a purpose to this. Stretching, she kicked away the pile of her discarded clothing and then lay down on the operating table, turning her head slightly to make sure she could see herself in the mirror still.
Then she turned onto her back, looking up and smiling to herself as her guest woke up. Makoto Kino’s green eyes opened slowly, their movements sluggish as she looked around the medical suite. She blinked a few times, swallowing and shaking her head a little.
Makoto Kino (Sailor Jupiter) - Sailor Moon (https://i.imgur.com/9pwHulo.jpg)
“Nani—...I mean what’s...what’s going on?” she asked, still not quite coherent. Báthory watched as she tried to move a little, enjoying the look of confusion that spread across her face as she realized that her arms wouldn’t move. Looking back, Makoto discovered that she was naked, and that her wrists had been tied together, along with her ankles. Both of those had then been tied to each other behind her, and from the point where her limbs were bound to each other, a rope led up to the mount where the operating lights would usually be, leaving her suspended in midair.
The girl began to breathe faster as she took in her state, her head whipping back and forth rapidly now as she tried to understand what was going on. The rapid movement caused her pert little breasts to jiggle most delightfully, the little brown nipples hardening, Báthory imagined, from a combination of the cold room and from a certain, most appetizing level of fear. Makoto looked down finally, finding Báthory lying beneath her on the operating table. The doctor took a moment to look over once more to the mirror she’d set up beforehand, displaying the breathtaking image of Makoto’s body hanging above her own.
They were a study in contrasts, Makoto’s own pubescent body, with its slender hips and small, firm breasts in stark opposition to Báthory herself, a portrait in curves, with wider hips, sleek thighs and her generous, round breasts, flattened somewhat by the effects of gravity in her current position. Báthory shifted a little, admiring herself in the mirror, and the clear plastic sheet beneath her crinkled somewhat. It wasn’t the most elegant setup, but it was necessary.
One couldn’t make too much of a mess, after all.
“What is going on!?” The girl demanded, and Báthory chuckled softly, returning her attention to the girl’s face, confusion giving way to greater levels of fear.
“I slipped a little… medicine into your cocoa earlier,” she said. “Not enough to hurt you—I’m a doctor, after all—but enough to make sure you didn’t wake when I fetched you from your room earlier, and that you slept nice and quietly while I made everything ready for this special occasion.” Makoto shook her head, and then thrashed to the best of her ability, succeeding only in causing her body to swing back and forth somewhat on the rope.
“Why?” she managed, still breathing fast.
“I’m so very glad you asked,” the older woman said. “You see, Makoto, I have a sense about people. I can just… tell certain things about them, and I can tell…” she began, reaching up to trace a single, pale finger across the girl’s trembling belly, “...that this wonderful, soft flesh of yours has never been touched by a man.” She kept trailing the finger up, across the little swell of Makoto’s right breast, circling the nipple idly. “I can practically smell it on you.”
“I…” Makoto stuttered, blushing and squirming uncomfortably at the intrusive touch. “I...I don’t...just stop, okay? Please, Doctor...I don’t like this.”
“Oh, but you’re going to be such a great help to me,” Báthory said. “The fact that you’ve never let any of the little boys back home touch you means that there’s a very special power you have. And I know a way of making use of this power. Old family secret, you could say.”
Looking away from her captive for a moment, she reached out to the tray by the table, tracing her fingers across the sleek, chrome surfaces of the surgical tools as she had across Makoto’s body, before finally settling on a large scalpel, its stainless steel blade gleaming in the room’s fluorescent lighting. After admiring the blade for a moment, she returned her attention to the girl tied so conveniently above her, all that wonderful young flesh, and the hot blood pumping beneath the skin…
“Chotto matte kure! I...I mean wait. Wait!” Makoto said, squirming even more now. The movement was doing wonderful things for that teenage body, but at the same time it was rather inconvenient, and Báthory reached up and closed one hand around the struggling girl’s throat, her ice blue eyes drilling into Makoto’s green ones.
“Now, now,” she said firmly. “If you move that much, we’re going to have a mess.” Holding her captive as still as she could, Báthory brought the scalpel blade to her heaving chest, just above the left breast, and pressed ever so slowly. It was an absolutely tantalizing sight, watching as the girl’s young, soft skin gave, retreating as the metal touched it, pulling back until she applied just the right amount of pressure and the skin broke, the incredibly sharp blade sinking into it. Slowly, wanting the moment to last as long as possible, Báthory drew a line across Makoto’s chest, the skin parting easily around the scalpel in a line that was at first barely noticeable, but then, oh, then that beautiful red appeared, the crimson line seeming to draw itself, catching up to the blade as the girl’s rapidly beating heart forced her precious blood to the surface. Droplets of the substance began to bead up along the length of the cut as Makoto whined in a mix of fear and pain, the sound almost as magical as the blood itself.
Speaking of which…
Báthory brought the blade of the scalpel to her lips, and wiped it clean on her tongue. The sharp, coppery tang of the girl’s blood filled her mouth, hot and practically fizzing with adrenaline. She moaned out loud, rolling the droplet of blood around the inside of her mouth, tasting the girl’s fear, before finally swallowing it.
Reaching back down to her set of tools beside the table, Báthory picked up a small sponge. A normal part of the operating theater, it would be fulfilling its precise purpose, to soak up bodily fluids. Only now, that would only be part of something much grander. Bringing it up, she dragged it across the cut she had made on the girl's chest, making sure to catch as much of her blood as she could. Finally, after she felt she’d gotten enough of it, the doctor pulled the sponge away, and both she and Makoto watched as she brought the cloth to her own throat, sliding it along her skin and squeezing it, groaning with pleasure as she felt the heat of a virgin’s blood touching her skin for the first time in far, far too long.
Opening her eyes, she saw Makoto looking with absolute horror at the woman painting herself with her blood. For a moment, she seemed unable to really process what was happening, and then she lurched, her body swinging back and forth as she tried as hard as she could to get away.
“Just stop!” she cried. “Stop, please!” Báthory couldn’t suppress a laugh at that.
“Stop?” she asked, a hungry smile growing on her lips. “But we’ve only just started.” As she brought the scalpel up again, pressing the point into the teen’s soft shoulder now, Makoto began to scream.
“Help!” she cried out, looking frantically for anyone who might hear. “Someone help me!” Báthory had to love the look of shock and sudden, dire hope when there was actually a response, a muted, confused murmur from one of the beds in the wider medical area. Looking out, they could both see Satsuki stirring logily beneath her blankets. In her excitement over what she was doing with Makoto, the doctor herself had momentarily forgotten the other girl was there.
“Please, Satsuki-san!” Makoto called, panting as she tried to jerk away from Báthory’s grip, “please help me! Please, PLEASE WAKE UP!”
For as loud as the panicked girl was being, the older teen didn’t wake. Instead she lay still, only the faint movement of her chest indicating that she was actually alive at all.
“Did you really think I would have left her in here if she could ruin our fun?” Báthory asked, placing a hand on Makoto’s cheek and bringing them face to face again. “I gave her so much morphine you could set her hair on fire and she wouldn’t wake up. Now, where were we?” She sliced into Makoto’s shoulder, the girl cringing at the feeling of the cold blade cutting her flesh. She pressed the sponge against the wound as red welled up, the girl glaring at her as it soaked up the blood.
“All right,” she said. Her lower lip was quivering, and she pressed them together to stop it. “I...I’ll do it!” Squeezing her eyes shut, she took on a look of intense focus, her breathing still fast, but with a new purpose, and for a moment Báthory wondered if something had changed, if her prey was about to become far more dangerous than she had given her credit for.
Then the moment passed, and a frustrated sound, almost a sob, escaped the girl’s throat. Tears appeared at the corners of her closed eyes and began to run down her cheeks.
“Come on!” Another uneventful moment passed, and Makoto’s eyes opened, glistening with tears. “Jupiter Power Make Up! Please!”
Báthory clicked her tongue in mock-sympathy as she dragged the sponge across her breasts, leaving a bright red smear across her porcelain-white skin, shivering in pleasure as she did so, squeezing her thighs together.
“Ohh, poor little girl, no imaginary friends coming to help her,” she said, reaching out and opening a deep, crescent-shaped cut under the girl’s breast. This time she didn’t even need to catch it first; blood dripped down onto her breasts, splashing on her perfect skin. Makoto shuddered for a moment, then let out a piercing scream. Báthory smiled at the noise, bringing the sponge down and dragging it over her chest, painting the white skin red in a long, blissful sweep. The sensation of it sent a warm flush of pleasure through her, and she felt heat pool between her legs, the lips of her sex tingling in response to the situation. She very nearly reached down to touch herself with her free hand, but resisted.
Not yet. Not until after. She continued to paint herself with the sponge, covering more and more of her upper body, and when it ran dry, she brought the scalpel back up, cutting her way along Makoto’s left arm, the skin opening like a seam as she traced a careful path, avoiding the dangerous areas where the subclavian and axillary veins came too close to the skin and stopping before the elbow. More blood flowed from the longer cut as Makoto cried out, drops of the vital fluid falling to land warm and powerful against Báthory’s ivory skin, and she paused for a time to spread it out. After that, she moved down, cutting a line between the girl’s breasts, almost as if she were operating, then down to her belly, carving red lines into the pale flesh.
It continued like that for nearly an hour as Báthory worked on her subject, painting herself with the blood, then making another cut into the bucking, whimpering girl’s flesh whenever the sponge went dry. She angled her nude form to catch as many of the droplets falling from the older cuts as possible, little pinpoints of erotic sensation burning into her skin before she spread them out.
It was more than mere physical pleasure, though. Some might scoff at the idea of blood magic in the modern world, especially concerning a virgin’s blood, but there was a deeper truth at play.
The key, the element that made the entire ritual work, was potential. Blood wasn’t what was being transferred, no, it was merely the medium, a conductor for what the Countess Báthory had once taken from her victims; for what Báthory Mengele was taking from Makoto Kino now.
Makoto was young, inexperienced, a girl with so very much ahead of her, and as the blood ran from her sobbing, wounded form, all of that was flowing from her to the older woman lying beneath her.
Her high school graduation.
Her first kiss.
Her wedding day.
Happy memories with friends and family, every meal she would eat, the children she would never have, an infinite number of possible moments linked together to form all of the potential lifetimes she could have had, everything and everyone she could have been.
All of it sacrificed on the altar of Báthory Mengele, transferring everything she would never have to the older woman, electric arcs of sensation passing through her body as all of that possibility was added to her own lifetime, linking to it and drawing it out farther into the future.
Looking over at the mirror, Báthory saw her own face; saw the little wrinkles and blemishes that signified the merciless advance of time. And as she moved the sponge down her body, painting herself with the blood, she saw that advance driven back; saw the little wrinkles smooth out, the blemishes vanish as her features returned to perfection.
As she continued to work, cutting into Makoto’s soft flesh again and again, and as more blood drained from her body, the girl’s struggles began to slacken. Her screams faded, replaced with hitching breaths and quiet sobs, tears running from her eyes to fall amidst the blood on her torturer below.
“Yame nasai,” she whimpered, trembling slightly as she cried. “Tasukete...Kaasan...Kaasan, tasukete kure…” There wasn’t any more after that; she broke down completely into inarticulate crying. Báthory wondered for a moment what all of that meant. While the Japanese were allies of the Reich, she had never bothered studying the language.
Besides, she thought, slicing into Makoto’s belly and drawing another pained whimper from her, it hardly matters what she’s saying.
The girl was barely moving now, her body so covered in cuts it was as though she had a map of some strange and alien country cut into her skin. Her breathing was soft, her tear-streaked face nearly as pale as Báthory’s own. The cuts the older woman was making were bleeding less and less, and she sensed that things were drawing to a close.
“Well, Makoto dearest,” she said, leaning up so she could look directly into her eyes, struggling to find focus, “this has been wonderful, but it looks like our time together is at an end.” She brought the scalpel to the girl’s throat, placing the blade directly over her carotid artery, where her body was struggling to sustain itself with what little blood she had left. “You’ve been such a helpful little assistant.” She leaned in all the way, pressing her lips against the girl’s.
Makoto could barely move, but Báthory took a deep satisfaction in her feeble attempt to pull away as she licked across her lips.
“Goodbye,” Báthory said, and with a final, slow pull, dragged the scalpel across Makoto’s carotid and jugular.
There was no scream this time, just a choked whine as one last jet of hot blood burst from the girl’s neck and ran down onto the doctor. Pulling away from Makoto’s slackening expression, Báthory put her face under the warm spray, releasing a pleasured sigh as the last bit of the teenager’s lifeblood ran down her face. The transfer of life sizzled along her nerves, her skin tingling, nipples swelling with arousal and more of her juices flowing from her sex.
Opening her eyes again, Báthory managed to look back just as Makoto Kino released a long, final breath, her eyes losing focus completely and her body sagging limp as she died.
Lying back on the table, the blood-slick plastic shifting slightly beneath her, Báthory luxuriated in the feeling of being renewed. All of her senses were temporarily heightened, her body flush with heat and her very soul itself energized with the taking of a life. As she dragged a hand lazily along her belly, up to a heavy breast to cup and squeeze, every touch felt so much more powerful for it. Closing her fingers around the nipple, she pinched and twisted slightly, and her mouth dropped open in a gasp. Bringing her other hand to her face, she traced it through some of the freshest blood and fed it onto her tongue, the flavor driving her arousal even higher.
Enough delaying. She could enjoy herself now.
Moving her left hand over to the other breast to pluck and tease the nipple, she sent her right slithering down her belly, passing by her throbbing clitoris for the moment to run two fingers across her slick labia. The feelings were absolutely exquisite, but not half as much so as when she slipped those fingers inside, feeling her flesh stretch around them and wriggling them within herself.
Her breathing quickened as she pulled her fingers out, squeezing her inner muscles around them to maximize the erotic friction, and then drove them back in, allowing the heel of her hand to grind against her clit now and send bolts of pleasure shooting through her body, shuddering for a moment with the feeling.
Gradually she sped up her touches, moving her free hand back and forth between her breasts, down her flat stomach, and occasionally along a flawless thigh, dragging it back and trailing fingers across smooth skin soaked with blood.
Pumping the blood-slick digits into herself harder and faster, Báthory opened her eyes and stared up into Makoto’s blank features, the girl’s eyes already beginning to glaze over. The reminder of what was happening, of another life made part of hers, pushed Báthory even higher, and as she watched, she realized that a little, last trickle of blood had made its way down to Makoto’s chin, beading up there and hanging oh-so-tantalizingly under the influence of gravity. As she watched it swelled, gathering itself for the fall.
Anticipating what was about to happen, Báthory bucked her hips against her hand, so wet now that her fingers were making loud squelching sounds as they moved in and out of her, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her body as she watched the last delectable crimson droplet, reaching up to grip her breast and squeeze it as, seeing that the inevitable was about to happen, she opened her mouth.
Separating from the dead girl’s chin, the droplet fell through the air and landed on Báthory’s tongue. It was cooling now, but the heady flavor pushed the woman completely over the edge. She pushed her fingers as deep into herself as they would go and clamped down on them, her other hand squeezing her breast so hard the flesh seemed to pour out through her fingers as the orgasm crashed through her. Her perfect body spasmed and writhed on the table as if electrocuted, juices squirting out around her fingers and her breath being forced from her lungs in a panting cry of absolute ecstasy.
Slowly, she relaxed, slumping back down onto the plastic and pulling her fingers out of her. Lying there for a moment, savoring the warm glow left in the wake of her climax, Báthory Mengele looked at her glistening fingers, slick with Makoto’s blood and her own fluids, and smiled.
In a moment, she would have to clean up. She would need to shower, dress, roll the body up in the plastic and take it to the incinerator. For now, though, she savored the moment, wallowing in both the bliss of sex and that of taking another life into her.
The feeling of power itself.
She rolled over, looking at herself in the mirror, her beautiful body covered in a red sheen of the girl’s blood. Báthory raised the hand still sticky with arousal to her lips, and blew herself a kiss.
Hello me.

The pictures in this chapter (that I could find the source for) are from https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/39884610 and https://twitter.com/yakusoku0722
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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)