The Gunzerer Chronicles Vol. 01

Brüt Stallyn vs. The Vampire Space Bimbos from Outer Space

The Gunzerker Chronicles: Volume 1

Disclaimer: This story is intended to be a humorous, absurd, completely over-the-top sci-fi parody drawing from B-movie/exploitation films and (un)intentionally terrible writing ala The Eye of Argon and Song of the Sorcelator, not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am masturbatory read. I hope to post subsequent tales in the future with more risqué/taboo content. If you'd like to see something in particular explored in future (or revised) installments, drop me a message or an email. :)

Recipe for Schlock / ALLERGY WARNING: Mix 2 cups of blood with 1 cup gore. A dash of vulgarity. Season with ultraviolence. Add a heavy helping of boobs. Garnish with guns and monstergirls and stuff.

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Chapter 1 -- LaSlutika, Queen of the Bimbopires

A dark wind swept over the red plains of Mars, a wind as dark as the hearts of men. Brüt Stallyn squinted against the blowing dust. Ahead, amidst the desolate dunes, lurked the lair of the Vampire Space Bimbos from Outer Space.

Brüt jumped off his trusty steed, Bitchkicker, and unslung his twin assault rifles, Rack and Ruin. He'd ridden long and hard across desert wastes, vast starry expanses, and lush grasslands where the grass grew as high as a man's head. He'd tracked the Bimbos to their secret lair on the Red Planet and he was prepared to unleash hell.

A trio of pale-skinned women came into focus, emerging from the cloud of dust. All three wore gauzy black dresses with slits up both thighs. Long fangs pressed against plush, cherry-red lips. Wicked claws flashed in the light of the too-bright sun and their breasts bounced boobily within the tight confines of their too-tight dresses as they streaked toward him across the Martian wastes.

They hissed and danced upon the dunes as hot lead riddled their bodies. The lead Bimbo came on as the two beside her exploded in geysers of blood, guts, and viscera. Brüt turned Rack and Ruin both on the lead Bimbopire and she shrieked and smoked as the wave of bullets guillotined straight through her unnaturally thin waist, separating the top half of her hourglass figure from the lower half. Her hips and legs fell in the dust, but she came on, dragging a dusty, bloody string of intestines behind her as she lurched forward, digging her long claws into the red soil. She dragged herself within a foot of Brüt's boots and looked up at him with fear in her slitted red eyes.

"Who are you?" she hissed.

"My name is Brüt Stallyn," said Brüt Stallyn. "And I'm here to unleash hell."

The Bimbopire shuddered and then her head exploded like an overripe melon. Brüt took a moment to admire his handiwork, kicked a bit of brainmatter off the toe of his boot, and marched into the darkness of the lair of the Vampire Space Bimbos from Outer Space.

They came on hard and fast, claws flashing, breasts bouncing, hips sashaying, fangs bared. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Brüt unleashed holy hell, a rainstorm of burning hot lead tore great, bloody holes through supple, pale flesh but even as the bodies piled up, the Bimbopires kept coming. Wave after wave of bloodthirsty alien bloodsuckers running headlong into Brüt's one-man firing squad. Heads exploded, guts splattered, a flash flood of blood and viscera filled the cave's main hall, reaching up to Brüt's ankles. Fortunately for him, he had on his antigrav superspur combat boots. Chunks of Bimbopire corpses clogged the two entrances to the main hall. It was impossible to count the bodies, but Brüt counted them all. One hundred and thirty four dead Bimbopires reduced to ground chuck by a hailstorm of gunfire.

"Only one left," Brüt said. "La'Slutika, the Queen Bimbopire." He slung Rack and Ruin, their ammunition reserves exhausted, across his broad back and unholstered his twin Sawed-off Chainsaw Shotguns, Pain and Punishment. He checked the chambers and yanked the ripcords to rev the chainsaw bayonets. "Time to kick it up a notch," he growled.

Holding the twin Chainsaw Shotguns aloft in the most badass pose conceivable, he climbed over a heap of eviscerated Bimbopire bodies and planted his antigrav boot in the center of the doors leading to the Bimbopire Queen's inner sanctum. The double doors exploded inward in a shower of splinters and Brüt stepped through.

The Queen sat in a dark room upon a dark throne and stared darkly at Brüt. "Filthy human," she hissed, her plush lips twisting into an ugly sneer, "You dare to enter the sanctum of the Vampire Space Bimbos from Outer Space?"

Brüt smirked. "I'm Brüt Stallyn," said Brüt Stallyn, "and I've never backed down from a dare. Your head is mine, La'Slutika, and the million credit bounty that goes with it."

She threw back her head and laughed. Her alabaster neck was long and slender, pointing the way to the deep canyon of her décolletage. Her massive breasts jiggled lusciously as she laughed and Brüt found his gaze drawn toward the hypnotic undulation of her pale fleshglobes.

"Nice try, Queeny," Brüt said, tearing his eyes away from her creamy death-cleavage to stare at her stupid bimbo face, "but you'll have to do better than that if you want to defeat Master Captain Gunzerker Brüt Stallyn." He flashed his perfect smile, teeth so white and straight and strong and a smile so charming it had disarmed even the Greatpriestess of the Überbusty Cyber Vixens from the Cunnilingus Nebula.

She hissed and rose darkly from her dark throne, displaying ivory-pale hands with long nails painted the color of a cherry red 1967 Camaro. "You forget one thing, Gunzerker," she hissed. "I'm not only the Queen of the Bimbopires. I'm also the second cousin, once-removed of Grimm Deathbringer. Yes," she cackled, her red eyes alight with madness, "THE Grimm Deathbringer, First Warlock of the Circle of Überevil Mechawizards and second runner-up in the Society of Galactic Domination Annual Baking Contest!"

Brüt clenched his jaw, grinding his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth together in a snarl of defiance. "Bring it on, Überbitch!"

"Oh," she said, her fangs glinting whitely against the supple pillows of her dark red lips, "it's already been broughten."

Scores of hands broke through the earthen floor, pale and twisted and grotesque, they clawed at the hardpacked soil. Arms soon emerged, lanky and white in death. They pulled themselves to the surface, an army of the undead: skeletons, half rotted corpses, and a cadre of very confused moles. Their eyes were red like her eyes, their jaws slack and hungering, their movements shambling. They moved as one toward Brüt. Dozens, scores, hundreds of undying minions at the behest of the Bimbopire Queen.

Brüt flexed and his black V-neck shirt tore open, exposing his rippling pecs and broad, heavily-muscled shoulders. His skin glistened with sweat, hypermasculine perspiration beading in the tight weave of his dark chest hair.

Brüt leapt forward, his twin chainsaw shotguns tearing through the dank air like a pair of fiery blades. He sheared through body after body, cutting the legs of the skeletons out from under them, slicing off the heads of the undead, blasting perplexed moles into oblivion. Bone dust filled the air along with the putrid stench of rotted flesh.

With each calculated thrust of Pain and Punishment's dual chainsaw bayonet blades, Brüt's flimsy black t-shirt tore further until it hung in tatters from his arms waist. He ripped the ruined rags free and paused to mop the sweat from his brow and to pose in a totally badass way before resuming the slaughter.

Coagulated blood, black and goopy, splashed artfully across Brüt's glistening bare chest as he hacked the necromantic army to pieces. On they came and on he fought, chainsaws buzzing, chopping, spinning, and slicing through the reanimated corpses of the Bimbopire's former prey. Some she'd exsanguinated, draining their bodies of its lifegiving blood, others she'd sexed to death, no doubt devouring their soul, their very essence, through the sinister act of hypnotic fuckification. Brüt was wise to her tricks, though. He wouldn't be fuckified. No, if anyone was going to fuckify someone, he would be the one fuckifying her.

And yet the undead came on, endless in their persistence and their numbers. Brüt climbed the moldering pile of bones and desiccated corpses, forcing the zombies and skeletons to climb over their fallen brethren to get to him. As their numbers began to thin at last, Brüt looked down upon the Queen Bimbopire, still seated darkly upon her dark throne with her dark stare focused upon his body which was now covered head to toe in the thick black slime exuded by the undead-yet-recently-alive. Pain took off the head of yet another zombie. It bounced down the mountain of bodies and rolled to at stop at La'Slutika's feet. She kicked it away with one of her ten-inch stiletto heels. Punishment unleashed a barrage of lead buckshot into the backside of a confused mole flopping its way up the burial hill.

"It's over, La'Slutika," Brüt growled. La'Slutika, however, only smiled.

At that moment, the ceiling collapsed, raining stone and stalactites down all around him. The stalactites skewered the broken bodies of the twice-dead, forming a prison of stone around Brüt. He sidestepped, then pivoted and sidewinder kicked one of the stone pillars, but it didn't budge. The steel exoskeleton of his antigrav boots reverberated with the force of the impact. He struck out at the base of another pillar, criss-crossing the chainsaw bayonets from Pain and Punishment and attempting a totally sick and ultraradical X-cut maneuver, but the saws only threw up sparks as they spun wildly and ineffectively against the thick stone of his prison.

Brüt turned off the chainsaw bayonets and reholstered the sawed-off chainsaw guns in their weather-worn, custom back holsters. 'Pain' was embroidered on one holster in fine silver needlework, 'Punishment' on the other. He grit his teeth and stared through the stonework prison bars, his bare chest glistening muscularly through the sheen of sweat, blood, and pulverized body parts.

La'Slutika rose from her throne and descended from the dais, her black stilettos clicking against the stairs like the galaxy's sexiest metronome. Her hips swayed in time to the rhythm and her massive breasts heaved and jiggled with every step. "Ah, gunzerker," she purred, her voice sultry and deadly, "now you see that there are circumstances even you, with all your firepower and totally bitchin chainsaw guns cannot overcome."

"Think again, Bitchpire!" Brüt pulled a round grey orb from his combat belt.

La'Slutika hissed and flew at him, but he already had the twenty-megaton nuclear frag grenade in his hand. The steel pin glinted steely from between his teeth.

"One more step and I blow us both straight to Hell, vampire slut!"

She froze mid-step, her red eyes glaring redly with bright red fury. "Do you truly think I would not call your bluff, gunzerker?" A dark smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she cupped her globe-like breasts and pushed them up and forward, the deep crevice of her cleavage growing interminably deep. She jostled them, jiggling first one, then the other. Right left right left, in a slow, steady, undulating pattern that drew the eye to the center, to that dark and bottomless promised land. "Do you like them, gunzerker?"

Brüt couldn't tear his eyes away. It was as if his gaze, nay, his whole being had been drawn into the forbidden cleft between her heaving breasts. He did like them. He liked them very much. But he could not find the will to speak, so enamored was he of the hypnotic view of her quivering breasticles. Enthralled, he nodded.

She slipped closer to him, serpentine in her movements, her fangs beginning to drip with lustful anticipation for the taste of blood. Brüt noticed none of these things, but only the wave-like undulation of her hypnotits. "Would you like a closer look?" she asked, half-wicked hiss, half-seductive purr.

Brüt took a step toward her, pressing against the bars of the stalactite prison. He did want a closer look. More than anything, he wanted to bury his face in her pillowy décolletage and feel their warmth and softness against his stubbled cheek. His body moved against his will, as if directed by the strings of some seductive puppetmaster.

"First give me the grenade, and then you shall know ecstasy as you have never known before, gunzerker. Of this I speak only truth." And she did, but for one small thing the smoking hot vampire bimbo queen had failed to anticipate.

Subserviently, and not at all badassly, he reached out to her, offering the thermomegaton frag grenade as a child offers a shiny red apple to the cute teacher he secretly fantasizes about fucking.

She plucked it from his hand with two long, fire engine-red nails, a sinister smile curling the puckered corners of her pouty, blood-red lips. "What a good and obedient slave," she purred, sucking at her full lower lip, a small bead of blood appearing where her fang raked the supple and yielding pillow of her lip. Inwardly, Brüt bristled at this characterization, screaming inside his own head to snap out of it, to open a can of whoopass on the arrogant bimbopire bitch.

She turned her coy smile back to Brüt. He sneered at her and her smile briefly faltered. She reached forward and snatched the grenade pin from between his teeth. Her smile evaporated as she replaced the pin in the grenade and tossed it casually over her shoulder like an empty soda can. It hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled up against the base of the granite staircase leading to the throne's dais where it stopped with a harmless metallic clink.

"Now, my slave," she hissed, baring her fangs, red eyes flashing redly.

Brüt saw her for what she was, knew her for the heartless, bloodsucking überbitch that lay behind the porcelain and ivory exterior. As soon as she moved her lithe, alabaster neck even an inch closer, he would grab her, wrap his strong, calloused, fighter's hands around her slender neck and squeeze the life out of her. He would throttle and choke her until her pale face turned blue and her slitted, crimson-eyes burst like overripe pimples. He would clamp down on her windpipe until her spine snapped and then he would crush her skull in his bare hands and fuck the empty eyesockets until there was more jizz than brains in her skull cavity. That wouldn't take long. Two or three loads at most, he figured.

But instead of moving toward him, she took a cautious step back and a shrewd smirk graced her deceptively fair countenance. "Mmm, you are a strong one, aren't you, gunzerker? Far stronger than I anticipated." She cupped her perfect breasts once more and began the slow, rhythmic undulation that had drawn him in once before.

He fought it. Fought it with all his will, but as she purred and cooed and presented her globular bosom to his hungry gaze, he fell into her trap. Into her cleavage. Into lust. Into madness.

"Mmmm, much better. It seems I underestimated you, slave. Better, I think, to reward you now than later."

She strutted toward him, cleavage jiggling in that curiously hypnotic manner, and brushed the pillars of fallen stalactite aside with terrifying ease. Her raw strength was far greater than Brüt's, though his forearm was as thick as her waist. Somewhere deep, deep in his mind, Brüt knew fear, but the active part of his mind, the part aroused by the Vampire Queen's seductive hypnotits, knew only lust and sexual need. He needed her. Would give anything to touch her. To taste her. To lie with her. Would give his own life, if necessary. And it would be necessary, that deeply buried, fear-feeling part of Brüt's mind knew. It would cost him his dignity, his manhood, and his life.

She stood opposite him, the path cleared. He stood staring, mute and slack-jawed. She crooked a finger at him and flashed that sweetly sinister smile of invitation. "Come, my strong slave," she purred. "Come to me and know true pleasure."

Brüt came. His feet moved of their own accord and carried him to her, transfixed upon the entrancing crevice of her plunging cleavage. She drew him to her. Her touch was ice, so cold that it burned, but he craved it, hungered for it, such that his arousal, so sudden and so urgent, threatened to rip straight through the front of his heavy-duty combat jeans.

She took a step closer as one painted hand cupped the nape of his neck, her Camaro-red nails scraping and tickling the back of his head, and pulled him forward, burying his face in her expansive décolletage.

Brüt fell into the infinite abyss of pleasure, spiraling down down down into soft, pillowy firmness. Her skin was as soft as a duckling's down and as cold as a dead duckling trapped in a frozen pond. The dark chasm between her hypnotic breasts drew him deeper, a black hole of lustful pleasure. He leaned into her bosomy embrace and even when he first began to gasp for air, even still when stars began to swim before his eyes, as consciousness threatened to take flight and the face of death appeared upon the dark horizon, he did not protest.

La'Slutika held her adoring slave against her murderous bosom, crushing and smothering him in her luscious boobage. There were, she knew, far worse ways for men to die. It was almost a shame to claim this one. He had spirit and strength to spare. He would have made a fair companion in undeath, but he had murdered her sisters and a girl needed to eat. She had to keep her youthful complexion, after all.

Already he struggled, his body rebelling against what she had coaxed his mind into believing. She held him as he thrashed and fought, held his head against her chest and waited for that final shuddering sigh, for his body to go limp. Then she would feast on him. A few hours later she would avail herself of his rigor mortis state to sate her other desires. He appeared to be adequately well-endowed, though far from any of the male Centaurs and Stone Giants she'd courted at Florida University of Incarnate Evil, Orlando.

He shuddered and shook, his rough hands grappling wildly at her sides and waist. He would die in a state of hypnotic pleasure and La'Slutika would sup upon his blood. She could smell it already as it coursed through his veins. Neither sweet nor salty, it was a flavor profile the Irradiated Mutant Kaiju Chefs of Neo-Tokyo called 'umami.' Ah, human blood. Silky, warm, pleasantly savory, and decadently rich. A truly indescribable delicacy.

Lost in her ecstatic expectation of a gourmet meal, the Queen Bimbopire failed to notice the way Brüt's hands braced against her waist, how his fingers dug into the yielding flesh of her hips in the moment before he ceased his struggling and was therefore wholly unprepared when the gunzerker shoved her away and drew a deep, manly breath, foiling her plot to suffocate him with her hypnotits.

"Impossible!" she hissed, dancing backward into a defensive stance, her red eyes wide, her bloodless face drained of every vestige of color. "No man has ever broken free of my lust spell!"

"I'm no man," said Brüt Stallyn. "I'm Brüt Stallyn. And there's one thing you forgot, Bimbopire."

She stared in furious terror as Brüt unslung his six-barrel chain-fed Gatling-style autocannon with triple katana bayonets and chrome-plated truck nuts hanging from the trigger guard.

"Brüt Stallyn isn't just a totally bitchin gunzerker, he's also a sixth level Sexomancer and therefore immune to your Bimbopire magicks."

La'Slutika's eyes grew as wide as her areolas which were huge and totally peeking out from the deep V of her bodice.

Brüt grinned, perfect teeth in perfect alignment, and laughed. "You thought you were going to fuckify me, Bimbopire, but it's me who's going to fuckify you!"

"Please?" she begged, quivering with fear. "Don't kill me, gunzerker. I'll give you anything you want." She pouted, pushing her ripe lower lip out. "Anything," she repeated, presenting her lush bosom for his viewing pleasure.