Atana's Battle Hymn

A light.

It was brief, brilliant green that streaked from east to west before fading into the purple twilight.

The stars were bleeding through the layers of dusk, the sun dipping behind a range of barren rocks that made up the foothills of the Sierra Madras. The light was followed by another, the same neon green. Then another.

One of many iron meteorites that sparked to life in brilliant flight paths of iridescent lines, incinerating as they struck the upper atmosphere and fading again into darkness in seconds. Other colors soon streaked by, their properties dictating the type of flaming trails, some green, some white, and others even red and blue.

Katana thought the display gorgeous. Gorgeous and deadly, belying its true nature and intention. The meteorites were a preamble and within the hour, the rocks would grow larger and begin to make impact.

Those meteorites that survived the atmospheric burn up would be small at first, maybe the size of quarters, and eventually fists. Not enough to do much damage until the star fall became even more frequent, then meteorites would smash windows here or there, puncture roofs and plaster walls, maybe destroy a car.

But within the next three hours, Cara’s Shower as it was known would become deadly. The worst would be a cluster of 16 meteors, the smallest of which, once passing through the inferno of the upper atmosphere, would rival the size of an average shopping mall. But the impact, Katana was told, would be like the detonation of fifty nuclear warheads.

The largest piece, the Meteor Cara, would pummel through the atmosphere in a shriek that would be heard throughout the world, and its impact somewhere in Europe would be the death stroke for millions of lives.

Melodramatic explanation. But that’s what the scientists were good at being. Alarmist and melodramatic.

Rarely had Katana ever found herself relaxed enough to sit for any period of time, especially just hours before the end of the world. But for once, she decided to force herself to enjoy the sunset, perhaps see what normal people have always found in its rich coloring, and why poets have crafted words about the nightly event for hundreds of years.

Still, her blood stirred, and her hands absently smoothed and stroked the edges of her dark hair resting on her shoulders. The star fall became noticeable more intense, its brief illuminations enough to throw dancing shadows from desert rocks and the stumped edges of the complex across the darkened earth. The lights even brushed through the circular observation room, a spectacle that harkened images of the Aurora Borealis.

This was her last glimpse of the upper world for five years. The last moments before the scientists sealed Katana and the rest of the crew in the steel and concrete tomb that would be their incubator for half a decade. Therein lied a regret, slight but still poignant. Katana hadn’t known the world as it was in these final moments. Her life began and centered on the mission; to survive in the event of a global cataclysm, and facilitate the sequestered government’s return to power and rule whatever ashes remained.

In the shifting of light and shadow, Katana felt her sex grow moist. She pulled her legs to her breasts on the cushioned window seat, tucking her arms around her knees, feeling her lips splay apart and mash against the fabric of her jumpsuit. Holding the position, she rocked slightly, urging on her sexual appetite as the world around her waited to die.

There wasn’t any guilt in this dichotomy. It was the way Katana was bred.

A door opened, an attempt at silence, perhaps out of respect, perhaps more out of voyeuristic intentions. Either way, Katana was aware of Dr. Hermes Danopolis and the spicy scent that typically followed him.

“Is it time yet, Hermie?” Katana said, continuing to watch the stellar display. Somewhere to the distant west, beyond where her own horizon line could glimpse, a flash erupted; brilliant, violent. It was probably the first significant strike of the meteor shower.

“Soon. You have perhaps a few more minutes before we go underground,” he said, his Greek accent more accentuated in his adrenaline. She smelled that on him, a nervous energy that battled harshly against his calm demeanor, almost like a cologne on the brink of reverting to its alcohol state.

“Come here, doctor,” Katana said, still avoiding turning to him. Her desire mounted; that had to be sedated, or the burning, the urges, would rankle her body and leave her horribly frustrated during the first hours of seclusion underground. Dr. Hermes was as good as any cock that was in the center; it would do its job, if Hermes could get up.

“Katana, I can’t,” he began, his eyes shifting uneasily between the windows and the form of Katana’s breasts underneath the orange jumpsuit. The sky burned amber briefly, angry billows from atmospheric incinerations washing the scientist in its glow, enough so Katana could see his sex betraying his professional detachment. Katana peered into his eyes, her pupils dilated to compensate for both darkness and her own sexual thirst. Danapolis looked away but moved closer.

“You know I can’t go underground like this. Just until we have to, let me play,” she said, reaching at the vinyl of his own blue jumpsuit and cupping his clothed penis in her palm. Danapolis’ hips jerked forward, a low grunt escaping his lips.

“My wife is downstairs, Katana. I can’t. You’ll have to wait until we’re secure and then you can use one of your partners.”

Katana ignored him, lifting the elastic waistband and pulling his pants down with little resistance. Her hands explored his legs, his bare inner thighs smoothed over with fine dark hairs and a musty smell of sweat and nervous energy and a growing sexual excitement. His cock bulged from within his briefs, arched and lumped so the thin waistband barely remained contacted to his skin. Danapolis groaned and tilted forward.

“I’m better than your wife will ever be, doctor. You know that. And she’ll never have to,” Katana said as she slid his underwear far enough down so his cock emerged, beefy and veined. There was no preamble, no foreplay to her sex. It was pure need, a powerful urge to please and be fulfilled.

And in this case, quickly. Katana parted her lips, her warmed breath bathing his flesh. Danapolis pushed his cock gently forward, urging her onward.

“Please, Katana. We have to hurry. We’ll be left up here,” he said in a horse whisper as his head darted to a shadowed and nearly hidden stairwell that led from the atrium to the main complex.

Her tongue snaked forward gently, glistening his shaft, the head. Those first seconds of contact caused Danapolis to shudder, his hands grasping her shoulders. She took him in her mouth, his cock filling her nearly to the root of her tongue, and sucked quickly, violently. Intent. Danapolis’ hips moved urgently, the doctor no longer acting demure or professional, but needy and animalistic. She drew that out of him, with each suck, each playful nip or massaging stroke of her tongue, Katana drove Danapolis further down a darkened tunnel of sexual pleasure.

Katana moved faster, feeling her own pleasure rise, enjoying the friction of his hands now groping her. She hollowed her cheeks, thrusting him back and forth faster than his hips allowed the pleasure. Katana felt Danapolis’ cock harden further, tasted the precum soaking from his hole for its final release.

At that moment a part of her mind receded from the heady pleasure in the atrium and entered a sort of mental laboratory where her senses broke down, analyzed and picked apart the tastes in her mouth. It was a mental task she couldn’t help, and was part of a larger structure of skills and trained habits that became preternaturally second nature to her. His taste seemed normal for the most part, salty and slightly bitter with microscopic semen that escaped before his main load. But there was a slight tinge of another flavor, something entirely unpleasant, and her mind immediately tied that taste into three possibilities: bad diet, remnant chemical from some type of soap, or the first growths of cancer.Those in the complex were fed carefully planned meals, ones created to ensure a peak daily infusion of vitamins, so that possibility was remote. The soap used by complex employees was well known to Katana, and she had tasted many of her peers throughout her needed sexual interludes, and this soured taste was never detected before.

Katana felt her sexual appetite recede briefly as she concluded that Danapolis was dying. But that was life. And death. And Danapolis would not be the only casualty in the coming years of struggle.

Katana withdrew from his cock roughly; Danapolis gasped, his hips hunching forward, searching for release. He let out a stressed, disappointed moan, his eyes again on the light spectacle displayed through the bank of windows in the atrium. Flashes of blue, white, amber, blue, amber, blue, white. Faster and faster as Cara’s Shower intensified.

Katana pushed his chest, tilting him away from her as she rose and pulled her jumper off quickly.

“I need to fuck. I need to feel you cum inside me, Hermie,” she said.

“We have to hurry,” he said weakly, his eyes showered in the blaze from outside.

“My pussy is hungry,” Katana purred, bending over in front of the scientist, her hands flush against the cool glass. From the distance, a boom erupted from the heavens, the glass shuddering slightly; sonic boom, the pieces of Cara’s Shower growing in size and intensity.

Katana reached beneath her, spreading her legs apart and feeling her pussy lips part wetly. The atrium’s air chilled her vulva, and tendrils of air seeped through her jumpsuit jacket, teasing her breasts like the nervous kisses of a young lover. She touched his cock, fingertips stroking his flared head and coaxing him forward again.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Katana,” he said meekly, eyes still focused beyond her sex to the dying world.

“Yes you can, doctor. Just look at me, shove into me. Fuck me savagely,” she said hoarsely.

His eyes peeled away and onto her, a moan of frustration bursting from him. Katana clenched his shaft, leaned forward until her face pressed against the glass, and rubbed his head along her slit, her juices slathering his flesh. Danapolis pushed forward, grabbing her hips as his hands clamored for purchase underneath the edge of her jumpsuit jacket. Katana moaned out as her pussy opened to him, her outer lips swallowing around his head and shaft, followed pleasurably by her inner lips as they bloomed against his thickness.

Danapolis slammed into her again, more urgently with each stroke. Katana loved the sensation coursing through her limbs, the thumping electricity that pulsed from her sex like a strobe. Her orgasm built quickly as the scientist penetrated her, every squeeze of his fingers against her hips, every wiry pubic hair follicle tickling her outer folds adding to the intensity of her pleasure.

“God, your cock feels incredible Hermie,” Katana called out, all pretense to keep their interlude quiet evaporating in the growing fire of her lust. “Fuck my pussy. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Danapolis’ body stiffened, his hips moving opposite his upper body like some spasmodic marionette in an exaggerated display of sexual rapture. He gasped out, clawing her flesh into luscious stings. His growing orgasm fed hers, and soon the two would meld as one.

“I’m going to cum,” she heard Danapolis gruffly shout. Danapolis’ shaft convulsed and jetted a thick load into her womb. He pushed into her with his apex of desire, the millions of nerves anxiously awaiting his onrush triggered by his own orgasm. And just as Katana’s mound exploded in a white heat, Meteor Cara brushed against the fringes of earth’s upper atmosphere in a burst of brilliance that rivaled the sun itself. Their mutual cries of release were drowned out in a fantastic explosion of sound so deep, it was as though the voice of all the gods on Mount Olympus boomed out their heralding judgement at once. The sonic boom was followed milliseconds later by a shockwave that ripped through the atrium, cracking the windows and knocking both Katana and the scientists to the floor. She fell atop his hips, his cock still vibrating now even deeper inside of her, his hands squeezing and releasing her inner thighs in regular intervals.

“Jesus Christ. You two better get down now,” a voice broke through the silence immediately after. Katana turned her lust-lidded eyes toward the door and noticed a small group of complex personnel staring in plain horror at both Cara’s fiery approach and sheer amazement at the sexual tangle of Katana and Danapolis on the floor.

“Hermie?” Katana heard some meek voice call out, the tone a mix in shock, betrayal and concern. Katana saw the round face and dark hair and immediately recognized Mrs. Danapolis, her hand hovering slightly above the railing as though feeling for purchase in a reality that was quickly escaping her conscious.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Danapolis let out in a guttural cry; anguish and desperation. He pushed Katana off him roughly as he scrambled to his feet.

“Cara has just hit. The shockwave will be here in a few minutes. This atrium won’t exist anymore,” the other scientist shouted, his face strained in disbelief and pure adrenaline. Someone else grabbed Danapolis’ wife and pulled her back into the shadows of the hallway, feet running to make it to the blast doors before they closed and sealed for good. Katana rose as well, and watched a welling wall of fire span the horizon. It was beautiful, like some exotic fauna of reds and ambers and ashen hues growing by the second, consuming the earth and all its inhabitants in its wake.

One last glimpse of the world, and she wouldn’t see it again for years. Katana grabbed her pants and Danapolis’ as well, and ran for the door, her pussy satisfied. But she felt that seed of desire again in her.

She would need sex again, and soon. Danapolis no doubt would be off limits from now on, and most likely most of the other married personnel. But there was a whole complex of men and women who were candidates for her sexual appetite. Five years was a lot of sex, her mind mused as she slipped with the rest of the group through the door and huddled for Cara’s onslaught.