Legacy LD5

A scene Ahastar and I have been roleplaying on and off for a few months now, all nicely rounded off and finished up here for your potential reading pleasure. Dras and his technopunk anthro raptor friends are holed up in Dras' apartment, where they have constructed a huge model city. Ahastar, their shrunken, captive victim gets released into the city while Scrowl, a 9-foot anthro tyrannosaurus and friend of the group, is brought in to unleash Godzilla-style city crushing upon it and flush out the tiny half-demon while the other raptors gleefully watch. It was a damn fun scene to play, so a hefty ton of my thanks to to Ahastar for the pleasure.

This is gory and sexual in places, and deals with talking raptors making model cities, any or all of which you might find disturbing.

Still, if you're as twisted as Ahastar and I apparently are, and if you have a few minutes of spare time... read on!

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"No, no, you can't put a station there, bro. It's right in the middle of the residential district."

Hath pauses, the model station in his outstretched hand. His eyeridges furrow in confusion. "So what?"

"So how's a train supposed to get to it way over there? Look, put it on the magline somewhere." Grey takes the station from him and stretches out to carefully position the small resin building alongside a silvery line of metal, formed from several long, curved pieces, that encircles the huge model town.

"For fuck's sake!" Hath hisses and reaches for another building to place. "What does it fucking matter if a train can't get to it? It's all gonna be stomped to shit anyway!"

Grey gives a frustrated reptilian snort, still carefully aligning the station. "It matters because it's not realistic. What's he going to think if he runs out of a house in the middle of the residential district and trips over a random station?"

"What, you mean aside from 'Shit, there's a fuck-off massive rex trying to stomp me, my life sucks'? You really think he's gonna stop and scratch his little head whenever he sees a station without a magline or a tree in the middle of the road?" Hath waits, but Grey doesn't respond so he snorts. "Okay, so what about this one?" he demands, waving his new building intrusively in front of Grey's muzzle. "Have I gotta put this somewhere special too?"

The two raptors continue to bicker while they place buildings, both of them squatting carefully in the middle of the impressive model town which now spans the entire width of Dras' livingroom, displacing both the trample star's desk, sofa and accumulated piles of clutter, which have all been moved with varying degrees of care to the far side of the room by the front door. The model itself sits on a huge sheet of industrial styrofoam, treated with fine sand and sprayed dark grey to give it the texture and appearance of tarmac. On it have been painted various lines and road markings, while to its grainy, slightly pliable surface have been stuck patches of moss and miniature plants, some real, some fake. The whole sheet is stuck securely down to the carpet around its edges with broad strips of thick, black duct tape. The model's buildings are the kind of high-quality, painstakingly crafted creations that can only have been purchased, few at a time, from specialist hobby shops.

Slumped back on the sofa, leaning against the armrest with one black leather-clad leg tucked casually underneath her, Veltiss watches the two males work through the viewfinder of a clunky, black camcorder that she holds, one-handed, to her green-scaled muzzle. A broad smile lies stretched across her reptilian features as she films them, breaking off occasionally to toy with the camera's settings. "You boys better finish up soon," she purrs, her voice a lilting and seductive hiss as she speaks largely for the camera. "They'll be back any moment and we all want to get started this afternoon.

"Don't we?" she adds, leaning forward and angling the camera down to frame her shapely reptilian talon in the shot, its scales gleaming and well-cared for and its black claws sturdy and polished. She splays her lengthy toes, then lifts her short, rounded sickle digit to reveal the gasping head of a tiny, white-scaled raptor underneath it, exhausted cyan eyes hauling open to gaze pleadingly up at the camera. Veltiss grins, her fangs protruding behind her reptilian lips, and she takes her foot off her little captive, filming him as he rolls painfully onto his front and begins the slow, labourious task of dragging himself away from her through the carpet. His body is no more than fifteen centimetres from head to toe, while his tail adds another three or four centimetres past his extended legs: Just the perfect size for stepping on, she demonstrates, placing her sleek green talon down alongside his weakly crawling body and zooming in for a size-comparison. "I'm sure you're looking forward to it too, little one," she says, mocking ruthlessly. "Grey and Hath here have made this whole town just for you. And Dras has gone to find you a special playmate." She chuckles and puts her foot back on him, quelling his escape with humbling effortlessness and dragging him slowly back to the base of the sofa again as she lounges comfortably into it, resuming her filming of the other two.



The wholesome gaze of “what the fuck” on the face of the toy store clerk upon four punk-looking raptors entering his shop and leaving, packed to the tailtip, with steeply priced model town items slowly accumulated over half a year, had only been surpassed by the expression on Ahastar’s snout inside his transparent little Tupperware box these last four days. He would not have assumed that this rather short tempered gang of raptors would be able to invest so much patience and detailed effort into something like a... model city. He would also not have assumed that Grey is just as good at drawing street lines with white oil paint as he is at jumping double footed from a table, into a shrunken deinonychus. Of course, watching Hath and Grey proving their artisan abilities is not an option any more now – not with Veltiss having planted her entire shapely sickle-foot square and unfair all over their combined raptorian rodent down on the floor, the compressed-beyond-recognition half demon seeing, feeling, smelling and tasting nothing else but the emerald raptoress’ well polished padsole resting heavily on top of him. The shrunken saurian’s tail’s last third is poking out from beneath the green, tough-scaled heel, showing up clearly in the seeker of Veltiss’ handheld camera. It doesn’t move though – a testament to the utmost exhaustion the half demon had to undergo already beneath the raptoress’ pressing, squeezing, victim-squashing sole. It doesn’t come as a big surprise then, too, that the moment she takes her fine emerald sicklefoot off of Ahastar, the first thing peeling out of the pitch black walking pad is a deep, drained to the core groan. The half demon himself only comes as the second object, loudly slllrrrrppping off of his tormentoress’ foot. “Unnnghhhh...”, Ahastar moans, meekly raising a single arm up at the camera shoved rudely in his face, so high above, in a posture of defeat, plea for mercy, and maybe even a desperate attempt to defend himself. But with that reptilian giantess behind her, the camera giving Veltiss the additionally unsettling impression of an electronic cyclops, the trampled deinonychus opts to search his safety in escape. And so, richly befitting his posture as a worm at these raptors’ padded paws, the half demon attempts to crawl, to sulk away. It only takes a few moments though before, with creepy silence, Veltiss places her long, massive clawfoot down next to the half demon. Ahastar just collapses next to it. Looking it desperately up and down, and even giving the privacy-breaking camera a brief, hateful glimpse that says both “fuck you all” and “someone help me”. And finally, also “please... not again!” when Veltiss raises her emerald foot once more. The last image the camcorder manages to suck in is the one of the half demon whimperingly placing both of his arms protectively over his head, before his entire body once more vanishes beneath the garbage-compacting tread of Dras’ girlfriend.


With only the muted sounds of the concentrating raptors and the occasional leather creak of the sofa disturbing the silence of the apartment, the newcomers are heard before they arrive: Voices conversing, and two sets of footsteps ascending the metal stairs outside the front door - one of them the unmistakable firm clanging of booted raptor feet jogging quickly upwards, the other a throbbing, heavy padding sound, apparently taking the stairs two at a time. Rexes always go about barefoot, even outside in the rugged city.

Keys jangling, the scrape of metal against plastic, then the front door opens with a gust of hot Summer air. "-basically just washed what was left of him down the drain," finishes the tall azure anthroraptor on the balcony, before stepping aside and gesturing for his guest to enter. "Age before beauty," Dras adds as the larger reptile ducks through the doorway, and he braces his forearms against his chest to fend off a retaliatory tailwhip, snickering.

The newcomer straightens up as he enters the apartment, and his head all but brushes the ceiling - he is an anthropomorphic tyrannosaurus rex, well over nine and a half feet tall and extremely well built. His limbs are thick with muscle and his entire body exudes an air of simple brute strength, less graceful than the the lithe, athletic power of a raptor, but far stronger. Thick, blue scales cover his hide, duller and darker than Dras' bold azure colouration, but complimented by highlights of a lighter blue on his underside, the back sides of his limbs and various portions of his distinctive tyrannosaurus muzzle. He differs from the raptors mainly in size, but his broad, deep-set muzzle, thick, muscular tail and lack of both a feather crest and sickle toes all define him quite clearly as belonging to another species. Like the raptors, though, he wears a couple of cursory items of clothing: a white shirt and loose black trousers.

He is greeted with casual familiarity. "Hello, handsome," Veltiss says from the sofa, and she stretches up he bends to nuzzle her, his fangs protruding in a rexish smile.

The two part abruptly as Dras tosses his leather jacket over their heads, and the azure raptor slinks onto the sofa next to Veltiss. "Hey, babe," he says, stretching a lithe, muscular arm along the sofa back behind her sleek, scaly neck. She turns and rubs her head under his chin, and he leans himself in against her, massaging her shoulders as they settle together.

"Hey, Scrowl. Check it out!" Hath stands up, holding out his burgundy-scaled arms to encompass the whole model town around his feet in a sweeping gesture. "Crunch Bone City awaits you!"

The rex turns to surevey their creation, eyerides raising as he huffs an impressed breath through his teeth. "You guys weren't kidding," he growls, folding his arms. "Sure you want me to stomp it?"

Grey looks around the town, regret tugging at his scaly features, but he says, "That's what we made it for. Well..." He breaks off and glances at Hath. "Not like you need to crush all of it. Just the bits where the little guy tries to hide."

"Fuck that!" Hath objects. "He's gotta stomp the whole lot; chase that little pest around and scare him shitless before he makes the kill. We agreed on that, remember?"

An irritated snort blasts through Hath's feather crest. "Well, you're paying for the next one, bro."

Scrowl raises an eyeridge and says nothing, but sinks down into a crouch to examine the models closer up.


It is remarkable how much the perception of your senses changes when your entire universe is defined as a massive black padsole compression you so deep into a carpet that you might as well get intimate with the fabric beneath you. With Veltiss’ sicklefoot remorselessly planted all over Ahastar’s back, squashing him down, the half demon pretty much only has three sensory inputs left to keep him company. First, there are his senses for pressure. Those constantly send the same signal though: “Try to get out from under that mountain slide, when you get the chance. Organs can’t function when two dimensional, okay?” Since that meaning never changes, it soon becomes boring to Ahastar’s nervous system and disappears into the grey noise of suffering eating up the trampled raptor’s flesh though. Second, there is the saurian’s brain itself. With the tormenting company of these four flat-stomping deinonychi porn stars and fetish freaks, not to mention way too close friends, and Ahastar not having the smallest clue about what all of this extensive buildup could mean, the saurian’s mind shows him the most terrifying images his half-squashed brains can possibly conjure up. Pictures of trample lines, and group doormatting, and this accursed skipping rope... still, the worst part of the trio infernale is the third source of input, the sounds! Ahastar can barely hear what is going around him, his ears muffled severely by all of that padded pawflesh deployed over the half demon’s body, his head and thus said ears included. But with the carpet beneath him being somewhat rough, there is some air reaching Ahastar’s underside, and with it comes the noise. The half demon is not quite clear what this is all about. There are dim voices talking, at first without much thrill to it, then suddenly a lot louder and much more excited. The saurian also can’t help but notice the ground beneath him shaking quite a bit more thoroughly all out of a sudden, and right together with the talking surrounding him reaching a new height. Ahastar can’t make out any words. But given that he can’t even twitch his formerly free tail tip any more, he doubts that he will have the chance not to find out what is going on.


Back on the sofa, Dras leans in close to his girlfriend and says quietly, "I know that dreamy expression anywhere. How long you had him out of his box?"

She turns to grin at him. "Since a few minutes after you left this morning. Three hours, perhaps."

"How's he holding up?"

"Just a bit tired and hot. I've been playing nicely."

He snickers. "Good girl. You mind...?" The azure male bends down to grip Ahastar's protruding tailspade, its tip twitching weakly every now and then from behind the back of Veltiss' dominantly body-burying talon. She obligingly lifts it and Dras slowly pulls the well-stuck half-demon from her sole, peeling him from the tough pad flesh like soft gum, and bringing him up to dangle between their comparatively huge muzzles. "Raptor pads get pretty hot in Summer, huh bud?" A broad smile spreads across his scaly lips as he surveys the exhausted, limply dangling white raptor. "I reckon we can find somewhere hotter for you, though."

The green female chuckles as her boyfriend lifts Ahastar to dangle him before her snout, and she opens her jaws for him to playfully feed the tiny raptor to her. A suggestive raising of the eyeridges is answered with a cunning nod from Dras, and Veltiss begins to crunchingly chew the half-demon, punching her fangs into his tiny, supple body three or four times with slow grinding motions of her powerful jaws, then leaning her head in close to Dras' own.

The azure raptor nudges against her snout and opens his own powerfully squared jaws, licking her mouth and sliding his deep pink tongue into it as she reciprocates, and he curls the hot, wet muscle around the bloodied half-demon to pull Ahastar into his own mouth. After a few more crunching chews, the two raptors exchange their victim again, playing a sensual and intimate game of share-the-prey that ends only when Hath thumps the sofa with his tail.

"Hey, some of us are waiting to see some splattery," he says. "Break it up before one of you lovebirds swallows our main character. Then we'll really be fucked."

Scrowl looks down, experimentally treading his impressive rex feet here and there on a corner of the treated styrofoam mat. "Stuff's not bad," he says. "Gives a bit, but it's pretty firm." He looks up. "Don't see how he's gonna last more than one or two walkovers though." A rare grin. "Might be a short show for you guys."

Dras pulls the limp, mangled half-demon from his maw and tail-dangles him before the larger dinosaur. "Hell no. Our little buddy here's a living legend. he's had some kind of high-end reprofiling done and he's sturdy as fuck. Took all three of us to get the needle in him that first time, and he's still a tough little squick even at this size." The azure trample star smirks as he rotates Ahastar between padded finger and thumb, twisting the half-demon's tail and watching as he weakly moves his bedraggled head, looking with shock at Scrowl.

"I'll believe it when I see it," comes the growled reply of the rex, and he looks back down at the model city. "Gonna be noisy," he warns. "Might get the neighbours complaining."

Grey snorts in amusement at this, his back turned to the others while he makes final adjustments on the city. Hath laughs too, and Dras smirks. "I don't think so," the azure raptor says, holding Ahastar in close to Veltiss' maw; she curls her rough tongue out to lick him as he dangles. "Not after last time, at least. The guy below is a skink," he explains. "Maybe two feet tall. Tiny little runt. He came up here to complain the first time us three were pulping this krat who'd pissed off Hath somehow-or-other. That guy really, really wasn't expecting to see three raptors on the other side of the door - it was fucking priceless. I've not heard a squeak from him since."

Scrowl nods. "Wonder what he'd make of me." He nods his scaly head towards Ahastar. "Do you want to patch him up first?"

Dras nods, examining the chewed, bloodied half-demon, still dangling by the tail from his clawed digits. "Yeah, I'll get him some nanites. Should be good as new in a couple of minutes." He hands Ahastar to Veltiss and gets up off the sofa, carefully stepping through the model city and disappearing into the bathroom.

Veltiss, silent until now, lifts the camcorder to her eye and aims it at the looming rex, holding Ahastar by the tail in the foreground. "Let him see your soles, Scrowl. Show the little one what he's going up against."


Ahastar just lays in there, being unable to do anything else but stay put, right under Veltiss’ sole, feeling like the dough in a sandwich maker between the summer-hot, coarse padding of the girl’s sole and the not much less rough carpet beneath him, which certainly has seen better days as well – something it has in common with the half demon it houses. “Unnngggghhhhh...!” The deinonychus groans out, all of his appendages dangling down in the air from one moment to the next, way too much light shining into the saurian’s dilated pupils, the raptor quickly blinking his eyes shut, before attempting to take in his surroundings anew. Veltiss has apparently lifted her foot, high enough for even her victim’s tail to lose any contact with the carpet soil beneath him. Ahastar is not quite certain why he is hovering in the air like this though, there is certainly nothing holding him upright. And the half demon answers with quite a hiss of distress as he peers up and has to recognize that his own back has committed high treason, opting to stay glued to Veltiss’ raptor sole instead of simply falling off. Only when Dras’ sadistic fingertips come to grasp the half demon’s tail and attempt to gently pluck him off does Ahastar deem his verdict wrong, and even attempts to increase his static friction by holding, biting and clawing into every single loop of carpet he can get between his hands, feet and teeth, attempting – with shocked snarls of horror – to resist the azure raptor’s takeover! There is no defending against a pull that strong though, and a mind that determined. Before long, Ahastar finds himself dangling in front of the terrifying muzzle of Dras’, his stern peer almost piercing through his exhausted little victim. The half demon does not dare to blink, does not dare to speak. His only reaction is tightly tugging his arms and feather crest close to his body, shaking in terror – and finally starting to scream out with his rodent-size little voice when he finds himself dangling right over a wide open, predatory reptilian muzzle, framed by green scales. The moist, slimy gums, the hot, wobbly flesh inside, the strong, razor sharp and pearl white teeth, and not to mention that worming, creepy tongue that seems to come right out of the hellish darkness that is the back of Veltiss’ throat! Ahastar is hugging himself with terror when he is finally descended down into that pit of torment! The saurian only has eyes for that gullet, and so he misses all of these teeth that, seemingly out of nowhere, *smash* into his tiny body like a sadistic zipper, piercing the half demon up, down, up, down – invading him like a whole pack of Skewers, so to speak! *crack! Crnch! Splrt! Skrrrt!* It takes the groaning, badly bleeding and nearly torn apart raptor only a few moments to recognize that both of these sadistically voracious creatures share a liking for torturous destruction, Veltiss and Dras mercilessly chewing, and trading, the half demon like a combined chewing gum. They bite everywhere, too! Ahastar’s chest, his limbs, his spine, his throat, right into his face and even deep into his cloaca the cruel, huge teeth impale him, keeping going and going and going, until eventually, his blood-smeared eyes have to behold his tiny, mauled frame being turned over from azure fingers to green ones again. The half demon just hangs in there, both from utmost exhaustion, but also from simply having a lot of his sinew bitten right through. And then, much unexpected in gentleness, Ahastar finds Veltiss’ fingerpad rubbing his eyes free and clean. Yet what the half demon might at first interpret as a tiny token of mercy gets quickly – and thoroughly – smashed to pieces by the fact that the emerald raptoress is squeezing her victim’s skull between her fingers, and pointing Ahastar’s snout upwards... to gaze at something.


The rex looks up, yellow eyes finding the terrified cyan gaze of the half-demon and giving an indifferent flicker up and down his shrunken body. "He'll get a pretty good view when he's stuck to one."

Veltiss gives a deep hiss of pleasure. "Yesss, but he needs to see. He needs to drink in the sight of the implements of his assured destruction. Let him roam his little eyes over those big, handsome rex pads."

Grey stands up, stepping carefully out of the model city and coming over to the sofa. "Mmm, maybe he'll be able to plan a defense strategy that way," he suggests with more than a hint of amusement. Hath snickers and sprawls out on the sofa too, all three raptors watching the rex expectantly.

Scrowl eyes them for a moment, then shrugs. "He can see if you like. Dras wanted me to clean them first anyway." The hulking dinosaur hauls the swivel chair from Dras' pushed-aside desk and plants it down in front of the sofa, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wooden brush with a handle on one side and hundreds of stiff, coarse bristles on the other. As Veltiss creeps her steely-hard fingers around Ahastar's crippled body to grip him in a clawed fist and hold him facing forwards, the rex sits down, sagging the smaller-than-adequate desk chair under his substantial weight and swivelling to one side. He hauls up a thick, powerful hind leg and crosses his ankle over his knee, fully exposing the sole of his vast digitigrade tyrannosaur foot to the observing raptors on the sofa, before leaning forward to scrub at it with the brush.

As with the back sides of his arms and legs, Scrowl's sole is coated in pale blue scales, lighter than the rest of his hide and finer. They bend and crease slightly with the movements of his great talon, but only to a very small degree - not nearly as much as a raptor foot deforms. These paws are clearly very heavy duty. The most striking aspect of the lengthy digitigrade sole, however, is its sole pads. Like those of a raptor, the pads are thick and neat-fitting, covering the ball of the foot and the bowl of each toe, but unlike the average raptor, Scrowl's pads are a pure, unmarked white.

The coarse scrubbing of the wooden brush quickly begins drawing a downwards-drifting cloud of dust from the vast foot pads of the rex, brightening them as the dry dirt and grime of walking the city streets barefoot both day and night are scrubbed away. Despite his reluctance, Scrowl does a thorough job, brushing intensely for several long minutes to clean out the grooves in his tough white pads and pausing every now and then to dig out a stone or piece of grit from between them with one of his claws. He never once looks up, not bothering to see if Ahastar is still being forced to watch as he finally finishes one foot and starts on the other, and he swivels around obligingly at Veltiss' request, making this sole is visible too.


Ahastar watches though, and how he does! The first thing his staring in wide open disbelief eyes get to make out is the creature itself. At the beginning, the half demon actually can’t even recognize Scrowl. The massive Trex is towering enough that a commonly sized raptor has to lean its head into the neck to make eye contact, but to the shrunken saurian down below and in between Veltiss molesting, sadistic fingers, the deep blue reptile is that much of a titan that Ahastar at first simply assumes Scrowl to be a part of the room. The horizon. A piece of furniture, maybe. Even when the towering tyrannosaur sways ever so slightly, the half demon’s conscious mind isn’t capable to process the gigantic reptile as a living creature – the anthro-rex is that huge that his movements appear like slow motion to the shell-shocked, terrified and baffled half demon down below. In fact, Ahastar is so taken aback by the realisation that this giant actually lives and moves that he manages to briefly forget Veltiss by now murderously tightly grabbing fist, the female raptor always having had a tendency to treat her mutual victim with especial cruelty to make up for the fact that she is the “smallest” of the gang. A blissful ignorance not lasting for long though, the raptoress channelling more force into her fingers, making Ahastar groan and nearly vomit. He swears he can smell Veltiss’ breath in his neck, but right now, the half demon only has eyes for Scrowl passing him by, and taking a seat. The impression of slow motion lingers, but is turned over to the complete opposite whenever a part of the mighty tyrannosaur comes close to Ahastar, turning the moving flesh to a rush of speed, like a comet suddenly leaving the darkness of a vast space it seemed to have travelled at a leisure pace, and now, all out of a sudden and with planet-bursting force, decided to impact! The half demon is completely torn apart by the sadistic chewing he was forced to undergo, but the pain of his countless open wounds dragged over emerald scales and black fingerpads is just disappearing into utmost meaninglessness at the sight of Scrowl heavily deploying into that aaaaaching, cracking little spin chair, looking ridiculously undersized between the legs of a creature with a chest nearly twice the width of the hapless piece of furniture. And then... the rex exposes his tools of the treading trade! Veltiss can’t help herself but soaking up the reaction of her tiny victim, like a cruel sponge that needs to devour suffering. And much to the emerald raptoress’ delight, she can watch pure panic. Muzzle-shaking disbelief. Ahastar’s entire face seems to be made up of nothing more but two massive, azure eyes that just blankly stare at these polished, white pads. Slowly, the half demon turns his snout around towards Veltiss, a blank expression on his face, his eyes asking her if this can really be true? Clearly, they can’t be serious!


Dras snorts in frustration, briefly clouding the cabinet mirror as he pulls his head back from inside it and retreats a step to survey the cluttered shelves of his bathroom for the umpteenth time. "Fuck's sake," he hisses through clenched teeth and turns to rummage under a pile of towels slumped over the wooden chair. Despite being barely large enough to contain him, the apartment's bathroom was the trample star's choice location for plying his cruel and messy trade upon victims and it had seen more than its fair share of action over the years: pinned kratians pad-worshipping frantically before their heads were popped against the tiles, skinks drowned slowly in the bath under a pair of gently treading raptor talons... On one occasion, Hath and Grey had joined him and they had duct-taped Ahastar to the empty bathtub and efficiently gang-trampled the shrunken raptor to paste. Quite aside from the privacy and seclusion the little bathroom provided, it was safer to be able to wash away evidence of his brutal and often murderous activities at a moment's notice. The shower was a particularly efficient means of cleaning the remains of a victim from his scaly hide, as well as an extremely pleasurable environment in which to trample one. A smirk spreads across Dras' muzzle as he recalls the last time it was used - late the previous night, when Veltiss and he had enjoyed a sensual hour of hot, steamy sex in the glass cubicle, water streaming off their sleek, scaly bodies while Ahastar was gradually reduced to a squashed, empty pelt beneath their treading feet. Few things had ever been as satisfying as the despairing moans of their almost-dead, footprint-riddled half-demon victim when the nanite syringe had been pushed into his tiny body yet again, prolonging his wretched life for another few minutes of-

A flash of inspiration and Dras swings his crested head to look at the shower. He tosses his snout and snorts in frustration as he strides over, pulling open the cubicle door and reaching in to snatch something from the soap dish. "Yeah, I forgot we used you for that," he says to the white plastic packet in his hand, its foil seal marked simply with a winding serpent symbol in red, and turns to briefly admire his reflection in the mirror before heading back to the livingroom.


“All done!”, Hath gleefully snarls out, raising his clawed hands up high in a raptorian celebration of victory! Indeed, the streetfight-fit looking punk deinonychus has successfully managed to draw in the last little white line on the city’s main street – all model cars will now safely know where to park. Unfortunately, the same can not be said about Hath. “Oh... well... fuck!” Veltiss sinks her shaking muzzle into her palms, but it is Scrowl who extends his powerful forearm wide into the sky of the perfectly crafted little town, allowing Hath to be pulled back out of it airborne without having to crack half the city on his way back out of it again. Veltiss just can’t hold back her sharp tongue grinning over at the rescued male raptor in peril. “Be glad that you are not as sexy as you are smart, or you would be working in the tuna can assembly line down the street instead of in here” – a remark that is answered by Hath flicking his tongue out at Dras’ mate. Grey, too, is in relative safety, leaving the four members of the gang to marvel at their astonishing handiwork and craftsmanship, the result of which is resting right under their gleefully watching, slit eyes, as well as wonder where gang member number 5 has went off to. “He just walked into the bathroom real quick”, Veltiss answers the curious gaze of her friends. “So I suggest you move out of the picture...” – the raptoress holds her camera upwards – “...and instead get the special effects and the microphones ready. Grey, the tripod is in the bedroom, the other camera is right next to it, I think. I will keep this one, it is fun to film it all shaky!” The raptor nods and darts off, leaving Grey to take a seat on a nearby sofa, grinning with delight, and Scrowl standing large and intimidating next to the city rim. “Are you sure the scale is correct? I did rent Godzilla yesterday to get into it, and I don’t think he was that big compared to the skyscrapers?” Veltiss just grins behind her camera. “Ah, it is all right, trust me. After all, if someone knows about scales, it is us.” Scrowl rolls his eyes, but he still seems satisfied!


"Aww, look at you guys." The tall azure raptor snickers as he steps carefully through the model city, returning from the bathroom with the medical nanites clutched in a clawed scaly hand. His princely talons look all the more impressive as they stroll between the tiny buildings and trees, handsome black soles flirting with the diminutive surroundings for the brief flashes of his walk cycle during which they are visible.

The raptor film crew lower their cameras and boom mikes as he approaches while the chief actor continues to sternly survey the tiny city at his rex-sized feet. Dras smirks into Veltiss' lens as he steps out of shot. "I found the nanites; toss the little guy over here." A clawed hand snaps up, neatly catching Ahastar as Veltiss obliges, the sly female swinging her camera to follow him.

"And how do you feel, Facedancer of Sangrium, underworld trampler extraordinaire, about giving up your cherished victim to a bigger, stronger dinosaur with larger paws, thicker soles and the white pads of an unashamed crusher?" She shoots him a playful grin from behind the viewfinder.

Hath and Grey exchange glances while Scrowl gives the barest hint of a smirk. Dras only snorts though, well-used to his girlfriend's antagonism, and he pops a disposable syringe from the packet in one hand, Ahastar still clutched, squirming, in the other. "Well, no offense, Scrowl," he says, toying with the syringe. "But profiling your pads white is kind of like painting 'arrest me' all over your back. It looks cool and it sends a fucking clear message about what you do to people that piss you off, sure, but it's not exactly subtle. If they find a crush victim splattered all over some back alley, anyone who's seen those white pads is gonna think of you like that!" He thumps the sofa with his tail.

Scrowl makes no reply but to lean over and casually prop his shoulder against the wall, very deliberately exposing a large white sole and folding his arms. An amused chuckle draws his attention to Veltiss as she says to Dras, "Oh, and you don't like drawing attention to yourself, baby? I've seen quite a few unmodded videos on the net that would suggest otherwise..."

The trample star grins, lifting his head to look at her. "You watch videos of me?" He snickers, snapping off the plastic cap of the syringe and plunging it into Ahastar. "Can't get enough of me when I'm home, huh?"

"YOU watch videos of you!" she shoots back. "I coudn't possibly avoid them."

"Hey, I have to refine my techniques, babe. Besides," he adds, tossing the empty syringe onto the desk and rubbing Ahastar between both padded palms to speed up the nanites' dispersal throughout his tiny body. "It's the only way I get to see how good I look onstage."


First way too much earth, now way more air than he would deem comfortable, Ahastar thinks to himself in his Veltiss-induced-midflight. Wouldn’t there be some middle ground between the two already?! It is a small worry though, and one that gains complete insignificance when the snarling, hissing and roaring with a way chirpier than usual voice half demon eventually finds himself securely gripped between Dras’ expertly molesting and securing fingers, the firm talons and coarse digit-pads looking and feeling intimidating enough to render Ahastar’s struggling to a minimum, despite the shrunken saurian being forced to behold a syringe easily the length of his entire torso coming into play! The half demon knows them very well, as does he know their payload – those feisty, high tech nanites always have proved very useful to Dras’ gang and horrifying to the injected, tiny saurian. The remarkable little workbots keep patching up your body even in the middle of breaking, weaving flesh that has been ground to paste, strapping sinew back together that tore apart from being jumped around on by gigantic deinonyci, reconstructing scales that got wiped off during a doormatting session or patching bone fragments back into one after they exploded and shattered under an apartment-shaking gang trample line. Of course they, too, have their limits, and as tiny as they are, they still can get crushed. Even with Ahastar’s unique physiology, they only manage to extend his constitution by the factor ten or twenty – which does not change the fact that a stomp plaything will eventually get flattened to paper if enough raptors and rexes are determined to achieve that result, or the reality of them being very painfully to inject! “SNAAARRRGHHHH!” The shrunken saurian screeches out into Dras’ palm when the sadistic pack leader nearly impales his victim upon that syringe, an outright flood washing into Ahastar’s innards, having to silently endure the feeling of the mass of nanites slowly reaching every nook and cranny of his body when his tormentor pinches the half demon’s wee jaws together between two towering fingers. Still, the lizard sized raptor keeps on struggling all the way until that tool of piercing has pulled back out of his flesh again – and the nanites prove their value right away, shutting a wound the size of Ahastar’s fist in a heartbeat!


"Okay, that oughta do it," Dras says and hoists Ahastar up by the tail, bringing the tiny half-demon up to his bold, azure muzzle for a close examination. A broad smile spreads across his scaly lips as the shrunken raptor's wary suspense gives way to muted snarls of protest, involuntary twitches and spasms shooting through his tiny body as tissue is repared, muscles restitched and bone refabricated by the microscopic robots swarming through him. With a full dose inside him, the half-demon comes dangerously close to blacking out but, to the obvious pleasure of the looming blue muzzle before which he twitchily dangles, his badly chewed body begins to heal rapidly. "Hey, check it out," Dras says, tossing Ahastar to Scrowl, who at first grips the tiny reptile tightly in a huge clawed fist, but gradually opens his hand as it becomes clear that Ahastar's convulsions prevent him from moving of his own accord.

"Nice," the rex growls, his yellow eyes smaller in comparison with the rest of his muzzle than those of the raptors, but a similar hue of deep, intense yellow and with the same intimidating black slitted pupils; they roam over the shrunken raptor as Ahastar twitches helplessly in his palm. "If you're into that kind of thing," he adds, looking steadily at Dras. "I like my victims natural. One body versus another, the way nature intended."

Dras leans back against the wall and folds his arms in a mirror of Scrowl's own posture. "Hey, you're the one with the white soles, bud. Don't get all 'natural' with me. We both do the same thing, we've just got different priorities. You like your pads badass and your victims natural, I like things the other way 'round. Anyway," he adds, stepping carefully through the model city to reach his desk. "You'll be thankful when he doesn't just smear apart the second you catch him."

The rex shrugs, flicking his hand to almost absent-mindedly catch the suddenly-mobile half-demon in mid-jump and return him to a bone-creaking iron grip of white palm pads and hard tyrannosaur scales. "Whatever. You want to start?"

The azure deinonychus turns to look at his crew: Hath snapping a pair of headphones over his burgundy cranium, Grey screwing together the boom mike stand and swinging it experimentally overhead, Veltiss with the camera raised to her muzzle, its tripod standing unused beside her. The model, bordered on two sides by the walls of the apartment, has since been fully enclosed with a line of cardboard boxes, each weighed down with various heavy items from the room. "Are we good?" Dras asks, and gives an amusd snort as Hath winces, the other raptor hastily turning down the volume dial on his microphone. "Then let's do this fucking thing! Chuck the little guy in, Scrowl, and turn around. I'll count you down."

A hiss of alarm, a white streak and Ahastar half falls, half leaps from Scrowls huge fist, crashing over the roof of a model building and scrambling away. All three raptors immediately start laughing at the sight, cruel hissing voices chasing Ahastar down the tiny streets and between the resin walls. Dras counts steadily down from ten, pausing for a brief, excited moment after 'zero', then calling out, "Action!"


Typically, these medical nanites are used as a pre-emptive measure, injected by whatever solider, police office or even endangered worker might require them before he even gets a chance to catch an injury. Because even though those tiny pieces of high technology are capable of curing pretty much every single wound a body can face, they still require a lot of energy to function. Usually, all these tiny energy cells do not put a lot of strain on the body of their host... it only becomes a problem when the nanites are used on a victim that is already massively broken, and attempt to repair everything all at once! It is pretty much like a team of engineers being told to fix a bridge that is at the verge of collapse – and instead of starting with said bridge’s first few meters, they decide to run their heavy construction vehicles and tools all over the decimated construction in the attempt to mend all spots at once. A common raptor in Ahastar’s current state of health would simply just die from shock, and even the half demonic heritage of the shared saurian victim constantly shifts between phases of being highly awake and screeching at the sight of that gigantic, raptor-godlike skull of Dras filling its entire horizon, and moments of deepest, pitch black unconsciousness. The latter begining to disappear more and more, the rat-sized raptor starting to understand his new surroundings as a massive, muscle-hard tyrannosaur forepaw, crafted from a deep marine blue and a starling white – before it closes in to a crushing fist! No... no that was precisely NOT what Ahastar’s barely reconstructed flesh needed right now! Would the nanites in his bloodstream possess a mouth next to their constantly crafting, busy antenna and arms, they would probably chastise Scrowl right now for fucking with their work. The half demon instantly dives back into a pool filled with dazing darkness, only returning to the land of the living again when his tyrannosaurian tormentor opts to open that white-padded hand of his again. Startled, and stumbling around on his knees like a drunk, Ahastar’s first instinctive reaction upon re-possession of a completely healed body is... one of aggression! He bares his fangs, seeking out one of the fingers of Scrowl’s, and heartily bites into it! Of course, these tiny teeth are easily bested by the thick, armoured scales waiting – and thus all that the half demon’s defiance achieves is giving his keeper a better catapulting angle, casually flicking – and firing – Ahastar off towards the model city! “Naaaarrrghhhhh!” The saurian waves his arms and legs in the desperate attempt to do an evolutionary jump and become something with wings, but unfortunately, nature proves she is one slow bitch! To get some more irony in it all, the half demon painfully smashes into the roof of the airport, sliding over its ceiling in a few wild flips and almost managing to break before reaching the rim, and falling off... “almost” being the key word here. “Ayyeeeee!” Down does Ahastar drop, slamming into the artificial asphalt. “Unnghh...ooff” The saurian opts to just... keep laying there for now. He has watched the construction of this model city for nearly a week now. But this is actually the first time he gets to be a part of it. And, given Dras sudden command, probably more thoroughly than he’d wish for!


Scrowl turns around slowly, relishing the sight of the tiny city before him. His yellow eyes flit to and fro, seeking out signs of his quarry, but he sees no sign of Ahastar - not yet. The creamy-white points of his fangs begin protruding from between his scaly lips and the anthro rex lifts a great tyrannosaurian leg, arms raising for balance as he places the toes and ball of his digitigrade foot upon the first building in his path. The thick reptilian digits don't even begin to descend before the structure crumbles, cracking and snapping under his thick white ball pad until it vanishes with a splintering crunch as the vast blue rex talon descends over the top of it and spreads generously under Scrowl's four hundred and twenty pounds of weight, sinking into the styrofoam base. The rex's lip curls in a sneer and he swings his other leg into the enclosure, pouring scorn upon the labourious craftmanship behind the model buildings as he reduces another one to splinters.

His heavy-duty reptilian feet now surrounded by plastic and resin debris, a forlorn metal weathervane protruding from between two toes, Scrowl stretches his arms and folds them, looking down at the city around him. "Hmmm," he growls, his muscular tail swaying out behind him. "Where to begin?" He goes slowly down into a crouch and carefully puts his hands on the empty road to lean down and peer through the windows of the nearby buildings. "Anybody home?"

Dras settles back on the sofa and crosses his ankle over his knee, a deep and cunning smile spread across his scaly features while he watches. "Everything okay? Camera? Sound?" The other three variously affirm and the self-appointed director says, "Nice. Hey, try not to catch him too fast, Scrowl, okay?"

The rex looks up, his vast, powerful body towering over the buildings below as he stands. "No promises. Little runt might have been in that first building for all I know."

"Don't worry, bud. When you get him, you'll know."

"Best keep those raptor eyes peeled in case I don't." Scrowl leans forwards, taking a single huge stride over a third of the model city and stepping neatly into the town square. His vast tyrannosaurian talons squeeze down into the styrofoam pavement, pressing two huge digitigrade footprints, and he looks around him for an appealing target. The post office falls, crumbling and splintering under a single rex foot and Scrowl methodically grinds it to dust before lifting his foot to check its sole for signs of raptor.

"There's the cover shot," Veltiss purrs, zooming in on the large white sole as the rex pulls a shard of broken metal from its thick ball pad. He bears his fangs for the camera, splaying his lengthy toes before deploying the massive talon to crush another building.

This next one turns out to be a bus station and Scrowl takes great pleasure in carefully treading on each and every bus individually, reducing the entire fleet to squashed metal husks before trampling, double-footed, on the station building itself until it too is a pile of rubble. He chuckles now, his already impressive chest expanding as he inhales deeply to give a long, refreshing sigh. "Where next?" he growls, turning around to survey the residential district. Whether his imagination or a tenuous flicker of sensory information, something urges Scrowl towards the left-hand side of the district and he follows his instinct, stomping readily forwards, house after house falling under his great reptilian feet as he strolls among them, a reptilian god purging his realm.


Fortunately, even though the assortment of raptors have proven their keen sense of detail in shopping for and erecting a model city, none of them apparently took a course in town architecture – that is why Ahastar can easily make it from the airport he docked onto over to a densely outfitted urban living environment, consisting of many skyscrapers, something like a highway and apparently a playground or two. Only briefly grumbling at the deviant detail of a small raptor model having been placed where there was supposed to be a trampoline, the half demon’s eyes quickly shift to one of the house entries. You can say what you want about the purpose of this huge model city, but even though it was crafted only for destruction, those stomp-happy reptiles sure went out of their way in both building up and purchasing the parts: Those houses seem to be created with the utmost attention to every single detail, which means even though that skyscraper of course lacks the interior of every single room, it still has a generously sized entrance – and enough space inside to make for an excellent hiding spot. Ahastar didn’t pick these huge houses randomly, either. He guesses that something as large, pointy and slim as this must be hard to trample on, especially since those buildings are packed so tightly together. Also, the shrunken saurian recognizes quite a few metal parts in those models – tiny, but sharp looking pieces integrated into the skyscrapers to make them stand completely even, and fully upright. Ahastar hopes that all of these details together will make Scrowl find this target to be rather... uninteresting. “Holy shit!”, the half demon silently snarls out when he takes a careful glimpse out of his hideout building, having to behold the blue reptilian monster’s gigantic padfeet trampling what looks like a bus station completely to dust, debris and broken gibs of Styrofoam, plastic and... metal. The gigantic beast even goes out of its way to powerfully stomp double footed into it. Godzilla never did that! But Godzilla probably also never hunted a single creature to tread it flat into his sole. As if to crush Ahastar’s hopes and plans before the rest of him follows, the behemotial predator then raises one of his towering legs – again appearing like slow motion to his victim’s eyes – before gloriously peeling out one completely bent and broken, out of shape piece of metal from his unyielding, white crush-pad, then snipping it away with one tyrannosaurian finger. That is something the tiny raptor can live with. What he can not bear is the fact that Scrowl is now moving precisely in his direction! Good gods, how heavy do you have to be, and how heavy do you have to stomp in order to make styroform shake and tremble?! It doesn’t even dent the floor when Ahastar walks over it! For a good while, the shrunken saurian just beholds Scrowl steamrolling towards him. But when the hulking theropod crushes a sibling-skyscraper just one block away from the one serving as is hideout, the raptor decides to make a run for it – and panickingly dashes out in the open, looking for somewhere else to dive into safety, maybe even make it out of the city, hoping that Scrowl is too busy stomping model buildings flat to notice him!


The skyscraper, reduced from knee- to negative-pad-height holds the rex's attention only briefly whiel he drags his gargantuan ebony toe claws through its splintered remains, raking about for signs of organic matter before turning with an indifferent sniff to the next skyscraper. Scrowl's gaze instantly fixes on the flash of white as it darts across his field if vision and he smiles, fangs protruding from between his scaly lips as the startled half-demon freezes before him. "There you are," he growls, letting his terrified quarry whirl and stumble away throuh the trail of large, rubble-filled rex footprints, each of which is many times larger than the shrunken raptor. He follows steadily, his size making the chase effortless. The four raptors outside the city cheer him on, laughing and high-fiving as their mutual victim sprints for this latest iteration of his life.

"Too easy," Scrowl rumbles, rearing up to hurl an apartment-shaking stomp down at the crumbled building ahead of Ahastar. The half-demon is knocked flying by the force of the impact and he scrambles away to the side, slipping back into the maze of residential buildings. The vast blue rex feet simply stroll after him, crushing the models without care or remorse as their chuckling owner follows the scrambling raptor, taking care to tread either behind or to the side of him for now, much to the delight of his observing friends.

"That's it! Give him a good ride," Dras says, leaning forward eagerly on the sofa.

Skewer adds, "Yes, ride him to exhaustion! Wait until he collapses, then let him try to crawl away from you!" She is already massaging her cloaca, poised in a crouch just behind one of the box-walls.

Hath, talking unnecessarily loudly over the sound from his headphones, says, "And maybe try roaring! Roar and growl and shit. Scare the little runt!" He turns to Grey. "Hey, hold the mike closer to him, will you?"

The boom mike swings over and whacks the orange raptor on the head and Hath hisses, snatching off his headphones to throw them at Grey.

Scrowl folds his arms, looking back at the raptors. "You guys wanna shut up and let me handle this..." He doesn't quite make it a question. The raptors settle down obediently under his stern, yellow-eyed gaze and Scrowl turns back to the model city, glancing around for a moment before giving a snort of annoyance. "Nice. Now the runt's gone and hidden somewhere." He turns around slowly, splintering a park bench and two roadside trees underfoot as he searches around him for signs of movement. When none are forthcoming, the rex simply chooses a house at random and crushes it, pushing the model flat under his vast digitigrade walking section and leaning his weight on it afterwards to ply a firm, splintering grind. "No squirting in there," he says and puts his foot on the next building. A moment passes as Scrowl leans back to get a good look at it, the model's roof sagging under his heavy, padded sole. "Hydro plant, huh? Shouldn't that be next to a river?"

Hath snorts dismissively as Grey shoots an accusatory look at him.


Ahastar briefly uses a chance to turn his snout around. And quickly wishes he hadn’t! Everything behind him is striding, blue reptilian flesh, wrapped and packed into muscular, athletic scales. The entire, horizon-filling creature yet again moves in strange slow motion... except for these hammering, batter, earth-shaking three toed theropod clawfeet that tear his reality apart left, right and centre! *THOOOOOM! BOOOOOOM! CRASSSSHHHHH!* Like meteor impacts they ram into the earth behind the peep-screeching half demon, sending the entire vicinity into a wild, quivering tremble! At first, Ahastar can still somewhat balances these catastrophic stomps of the tyrannosaurian giant out, but when Scrowl begins to smash his impressive Armageddon-paws left, right, back and front right around his shrunken victim, the vicious impacts send the raptor airborne, sometimes all the way up to the beast’s marine blue ankles! Wouldn’t it be for the somewhat soft styroform floor as a landing soil, even Ahastar would surely break a few bones with every three, four story drop he has to take. Of course the half demon is fully aware that his gargantuan tormentor is playing with him – all of these crushing treads accurately just so not hitting him cannot possibly be an accident! That doesn’t make the breathless, gasping saurian stop in his terrified escape though. No, that takes the roadblock that is Scrowl’s steel hard reptilian heel! *BATSCH!* That titanic blue padfoot slammed into the styrofoam right in front of Ahastar in an instant, hitting with the force of a nuclear bomb and far too quickly to still allow the half demon to break... at least as far as his pace is concerned – leading to him running face first into that surely never-to-be-moved again object, which suddenly, to his surprise, moves. “Eeeeepppp!”, the raptor snarls out, waving his arms as Scrowl removes his padded paw again. And thus reveals a new trap! While the tyrannosaur’s godlike foot still filled the ground in front of him, the styrofoam got compressed, but rolled up by equal internal pressure. Now with the T-Rex having taken its sole out of the heart and guts of the model city though, a new, three toed footprint gapes in the street, like a swallowing, black hole – and one with round, seeping edges! And even though the half demon tries his best to hang on to, his body falls over... and right into the deep fissure! With his heart pumping in horror, Ahastar dives back up on his shaky legs. For some reason unknown even to him, he lays his palms over his ears, trying to at least not having to listen to this complete destruction! The raptor eventually arrives at the tip of the print’s middle toe, and even though he strains his own legs to the breaking point, he just so manages to jump high enough to cling on to the edge of the styrofoam, heaving himself out – and as quickly as he can he dives into the next building he can find! Scurrying inwards and hiding behind a few plastic boxes, the half demon slowly dares to creep a single gaze through a window. Again, all he can see is blue. Yet this time, the crunching, cracking sound accompanying these scales is not hailing from left or right. It is coming straight from the aching ceiling roughly a meter over Ahastar’s head! Swallowing hard in terror, the raptor’s gaze briefly brushes over his hiding boxes in front of him “Uncle Bob’s fertilizer. Only for fruit and vegetables”.


The hydroelectric plant, lovingly crafted and highly realistic but for its lack of river, takes Scrowl precisely three neat steps to destroy: one to smash straight through the plastic-tiled roof and flatten the entire east wing of the building, one to crush the rear wall and bring the remaining walls collapsing into the gutted interior and one to reduce them all to splinters. Either careful or just economical with his trampling, Scrowl stops after the third step and briefly checks his soles again, then he sidesteps to crush the next house.

"You're running out of buildings, runt," he says, going down into a squat to contemptuously heel-crush the houses behind him. "Might as well come out and get it over with. You're just making things better for those perverts on the couch and worse for the two of us." He stomps down hard on a picturesque model shop, obliterating it and grinding the rubble to dust with a savage twist of his ankle. A snort of laughter draws his attention back to the sofa but he doesn't look up this time.

Dras says, "Come on - like you don't enjoy stomping around a tiny city. I know rexes. You all secretly wish you were bigger."

Scrowl doesn't look up this time. "Who says I need to secretly wish, shorty?"

The azure deinonychus winces. "Oh, that's fucking low. I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response. Should I dignify that with a response, babe?"

Veltiss leans back from her crouching posture before the boxes and licks the tip of his tail seductively. "Definitely not. I think you must have hit a nerve."

Grey, still holding his the boom mike, says, "Probably sensitive about his size - he's pretty small for a rex."

"And you know how sensitive rexes are," Hath adds, grinning.

The teasing draws a tolerant snort from the blue behemoth. "You lot are lucky I've already got someone to squish. And that just leaves..." He turns to look at the one remaining building in the vicinity of the half-demon's disappearance - a tiny scale replica of the city's popular nightclub, Sangrium. "Ironic," the rex growls, and treads unhesitatingly on its left side, then its right, splintering the remains under both feet with a further two steps.

The raptors watch silently as he steps back, going down into a squat to poke through the rubble with his claws. After a pause, the rex reaches out and flips over a broken section of plastic roof from one of the previous buildings. There is a snarl and a hiss and the white raptor explodes out from under his hiding place, sprinting away through the piles of rubble. Scrowl grins, broad and genuine, and he straightens up to watch the tiny reptile dart and weave in desperate self-preservation, then strides forward a single godly pace and butts a vast tyrannosaur foot down on him, ending the game.


Hath and Grey might not be hired to plan the new wing of the city any time soon, but one can’t say they wouldn’t be thinking... at least in their own curious kind of way. Because apparently when Hath placed this hydro plant in a suspiciously faraway distance to the next sprayed on river, Grey seemed to have thought that a greenhouse probably should be close to this... “plant”... building... thing, leading to the shocked saurian’s hideout building now being a nearest neighbour to the much taller industrial electricity compound. And as fate decides, and probably leeringly watches, that means that Scrowl’s gargantuan padfoot is quickly coming down on Ahastar’s greenhouse the moment the blue scaled monster is done with his primary target! The half demon’s terrified screech completely gets drowned out by the sounds of crushing plastic, metal and styrofoam, and the shrunken raptor just *so* manages to dive out of the way of that merciless clawfoot coming down! Everything just a meter behind the half demon explodes to complete rubble, bisecting the greenhouse and replacing its former wall now with a living one made from marine blue flesh, lightly stretching, pulsating, constantly shifting and sinking until the ground beneath it offers no more give. Ahastar just lays there, down on his back and held semi-sitting by his shivering little arms. His lower jaw has dropped down, his eyes growing huge – but it is his ears listening to Scrowl’s next foot aiming at *his* portion of the house that makes the raptor screechingly dart out of his hideout, just in time before the rest of it is stomped to dirt and ground to dust beneath the tyrannosaur’s remorseless white pads! “Huph... huph... huph...”, Ahastar’s lungs and heart work overtime, the ground beneath him beginning to shake once more, a low, ultra-bass-laden rumble rising up behind the teary-eyed saurian. *THOOOOOOMMMMMMM!* And yet again, the half demon is slammed airborne by a way too close cannonshell-impact behind him, sending the raptor flying, then smashing back down on the soil, and rolling over the ground. And in one final moment of horror, Ahastar still gets to see that completely white-padded sole risen high above him, toes clenched together... but quickly, greedily extending when that colossal clawfoot begins to descend so rapidly it seems to tear apart the raptor’s understanding for space and time. “NOOOOOOOOOO!”, the half demon screeches, raising his arms and legs up high in a pathetic attempt for self defence, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side, gritting his teeth... *BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!* ...before the shrunken raptor’s body completely *vanishes* under that tyrannosaurian foot! Not a single scale of raptor is still visible while the certainly trampled to a third of its original volume creature gets squished to the bottom of a further and further pressing down, three toed footprint, the combined mass of packed muscle, dominatingly flashing claws, countless blue armor-scales, ultra heavy duty bones and sinew and all the weight of the titan’s body behind it. The most intimate and intense new overlord of the half demon though becomes that brutal, white pad! What little gaps it offers between the various sections of Scrowl’s foot are instantly occupied by parts of raptor slipping into them, filling them. The vast remainder of Ahastar’s trampled body though gets under it, down, beneath, stomped senseless and forced to take on its negative pad profile, as well as the new desired skeletal anatomy, forcing every last limb and appendage of the crunched raptor to hug, embrace and lovingly accept the complete superiority of that gigantic T-Rex!


Scrowl smirks, scorn and sadism spread across the blue scales of his broad tyrannosaur muzzle and he slowly twists his ankle left and right, grinding the hapless raptor into the fake asphalt beneath him like a discarded cigarette butt. Crackles and pops stab from beneath his godly rex foot as Ahastar's utterly buried body is mangled and deformed by the force and pressure, but judging by the expression that slowly dawns on the rex's face, they are not quite the sounds he expected.

Scrowl arches an eyeridge, turning to look at the four keenly observing raptors. "Hmm," he says and stops grinding. "Tough little bastard. Guess you weren't kidding after all, Dras. And there was me thinking you were just being soft."

"Hey, it's on camera now, big guy," the azure raptor retorts, squeezing Veltiss' shoulder. "Nine-foot rex stomps around in tiny city, can't quite manage to squish sickle sized runt. You must be getting old, rex, you're losing your touch!"

A grunt of amusement, the huge dinosaur still in his post-impact pose, legs far apart, weight thrust to one side. "What makes you think I haven't squished him?"

The trample star grins, jauntily crossing one leg over the other as he leans back on the sofa. "I'm a pro, bud. I can tell these things." He nods his crested head down at the wide-splayed rex foot in its inch-deep crater of styrofoam asphalt. "Plus, I've seen you pop more than enough victims to know the look you get when you feel their guts squeeze ou-"

"Will you guys shut the fuck up?" Hath interjects, a clawed hand shamelessly groping his bulging cloaca.

Veltiss starts chuckling. "Yes, let's see him," she says, lowering the camera and nestling into Dras' reclining body. "Let him up, Scrowl! Give him a chance to get away!"

The rex shrugs and lifts his impressive talon, pulling it slowly from the deep three-toed footprint. Ahastar flops limply from the raised sole to dangle, a half-dead string of moaning meat, stuck by the waist to Scrowl's thick white ball pad. The rex grins unashamedly and puts a hand against the wall for balance as he holds his foot up behind him to show the raptors. The long pale tyrannosaur sole sports a messy smear of crimson over its ball pad where its owner perfectly caught Ahastar under the dead centre of his walking section. "Got him pretty good, didn't I?"

After Veltiss has finished filming the stricken, weakly moving half-demon, Scrowl puts his foot back down and uses the edge of the footprint to carefully scrape Ahastar's broken body from his sole, stepping up to loom vast and godly over the crippled raptor. "How many more, do you guys reckon, to finish him off?"

"Fuck loads!" Dras exclaims happily. "He's not nearly done yet. Get your scaly ass in gear and kill the runt. Look - he's getting away!"

Scrowl dips his head and raises his eyeridges in surprise as he sees the apparently crippled raptor upright and limping desperately away, blood trailing in his wake. "Huh," the rex says, impressed, and strides forward to tread Ahastar down again, walking clean over the top of the shrunken raptor with a muffled crunch and turning to look behind as he lifts his foot.


Ahastar can’t even feel his legs, arms and tail any more with this incredible surge of pressure, his blood flow – together with his nerve signal, muscles, and even the space required for a healthy existence of bones – having been severely cut off! If the half demon still would be able to gather up any signals that do not suggest he is nothing more but a two-thirds-flattened torso, her would be able to state that his limbs are all horrifically spread apart and stretched spread eagle. Yet even with his appendages held distant as far as his feeble little, shrunken body can probably reach, there is still not a single scale of his still seeing daylight. In fact, Ahastar can’t behold anything but pitch blackness, not even the striking white hue of Scrowl’s (model)-city-pulverizing pads manages to catch the light necessary to show off to the victim he is busy steamrolling as anything but a vast, hopeless darkness. And the half demon would certainly be able to behold it nice and clear otherwise: Scrowl’s gargantuan, three toed reptilian padfoot is compressing his victim that tightly that Ahastar can’t even gather enough space for him to blink a lid, forcing his eye to remain wide open, squished into the rasp-coarse sole of his behemoth destroyer, and the bane of every Styrofoam producer! The trampled flat saurian has finally almost managed to somewhat understand how it feels to be a piece of worn out, chewed out, spat out and stomped piece of rotting gum, when he – with shell-shocking intensity – is demoted to a cigarette bud that still needs to be ground out! What is nothing more but gentle movements of his ankle to Scrowl is like being caught in between two rapidly moving tectonic plates for the half demon beneath the sea-blue rex! “Glllrrrghh! Bllooorrrgh! Sckkkrrtt!” The 1/10th of lung capacity Ahastar still has left under this colossal pressure is starting to go into a noise match with the scales on top of his bent and broken skeleton, his hide being rasped, his flesh forced to wave left and right on top of his bones as if it would try to deliver the wake to go together with Scrowl’s marine hue! Eventually, it is only mere moments before Ahastar would evacuate his guts and organs through every single bodily orifice he can find, when that world-ending monster clawfoot on top of him suddenly lifts upwards again! The half demon nearly dies right again, this time from a heart attack when his blood system has to somehow deal with complete non-pressure again, the half demon’s eyes rolling up in his skull. It is the whirring noise of the eye of raptor gods, to Veltiss behind it simply knows as a Sony Handycam HD, that slowly sucks the daze out of Ahastar’s mind again, and just in time for him to experience the gruesome, skeleton-defiling, anatomy-bursting collision with the edge of Scrowl’s footprint down below! “Glllrrrghklllrrr!”, Ahastar gruntingly comments, his sounds nearly like vomiting when the half demon finds his guts pressed over his heart, his brain momentarily resting under his liver and his tail tip for some reason ending up in his left hand. When the immense Tyrannosaur is finally done scrapping his victim off like roadkill from a raptor boot, Ahastar pretty much has to manually assort his body parts to their original construction again before he can finally stumble to his knees, and shiveringly attempt to crawl, fall, shuffle and limp off. The intended target of the desperate half demon appears to be a nearby barn building. His actually decided for target though is the deepest layer of Styrofoam yet again when that Rex-shaped Armageddon tramples over Ahastar another time, this round around compressing the raptor into the street belly side down, crushingly and simply walking over his victim like an unaware wanderer might do over an unlucky ant! The disturbing sound of most likely 34 out of 34 raptor vertebra having been stomped into utter dislocation rises up together with Scrowl’s this time much more quickly walking over padfoot, then mixing up with the exhausted, done for, finished and drained groan of a tiny creature that is busy mating with Styrofoam, having his mouth, nostrils and stretched apart cloaca full with it to the brim, wanting to have it in none of these places, but having roughly 200% too high a bone count to do much about it... but still trying to get up!


"Damn," the rex laughs, backing up to observe the crippled but still very much alive half-demon. "You're gonna have to let me borrow this guy some time. I can think of a whole load of ways to put him to use." He watches Ahastar crawl for a few seconds, the frantic shuffling of crippled, bloodied limbs amusing him, then he slowly walks forward.

With the width of a single tyrannosaur foot easily spanning twice Ahastar's body length, the two huge scaly talons strolling together, side-by-side towards him, leaves the shrunken deinonychus absolutely no hope of escaping from their broad path. Despite Ahastar's frantic course change, Scrowl easily treads him down under his left foot, plunging the smashed raptor body into another vast three-toed rex print and fusing soft, hot hide to tough white pad flesh undder four hundred pounds of muscle and bone. The terrified hissing cuts out abruptly and another crunch splinters forth from under Scrowl's generously spreading talon, then Ahastar peels from the wide sole as it casually lifts, moaning as he hits the styrofoam behind the retreating paws of his tormentor.

"This stuff's keeping him alive unnaturally," the rex growls as he turns around for another pass. "He'd be mush by now if I was doing this on concrete." The half-demon's tail splinters under Scrowl's middle toe, immobilising him and drawing a shriek of agony from the tiny reptile until a second rex foot swings in to neatly tread on the rest of his body. "Not complaining though," Scrowl continues, glancing down as several lances of blood spurt noisily from under his spreading toes. "This is kind of fun, I guess. How many's that?"

"Four," Veltiss breathes, her hunched legs squeezing around her boyfriend's smooth tail length as he slides it slowly between them. "And he's still moving."

"Still mobile too," Dras comments, drawing the green raptor in closer against him. "This is fucking awesome. Why didn't we think of this before?"

Another shriek of reptilian pain and fury as Scrowl eases the well-glued half-demon from his ball pad, rolling him into a heap and stepping back for another pass. His back limbs crushed completely, Ahastar now has absolutely no hope of escape, but his fighting spirit delights the sadistic reptilian tormentors, who laugh and cheer as he uncurls and begins pulling himself along the ground with his forelegs.

Scrowl is utterly merciless though and again the crippled half-demon is trodden flat under his catwalking rex feet, smashed and smeared into the blood-splattered styrofoam before he can get more than a few inches. Still the rex turns, leaving Ahastar squashed in his wake but still moving, and he makes another slow, cruel pass over the flattened reptile, smirking as he keeps count. "Six... seven... hey, watch this."

As Ahastar moaningly rasps his broken, barely conscious body along the blood-slickened styrofoam for an eigth fruitless escape attempt, the big rex turns to face away from him and swings his head over his shoulder. A toothy grin and the vast, world-shattering tyrannosaur talons walk neatly backwards, small, teasing steps mocking his last shreds of dignity as the huge padded feet steamroll over him yet again and engulf him from behind. This time there is a gurgle and a squelch, muffled heavily by the near-perfect fusion of pad flesh and styrofoam, but enough to make Scrowl pause and cast a meaningful look at Dras, who snickers, nodding his appreciation.

"Yeah, that's the look I was talking about."


The half demon finally manages to hurl himself up on his broken elbows and knees after the seventeenth attempt, managing to eventually get enough of his stretched apart muscles, torn sinew and disfigured skeleton to work together – and getting all the slime-soaked pieces of Styrofoam out of his various body cavities. Holding his face, his groin, his stomach and his chest in turn to find out what hurts the most, only to then realize that it is his shattered fingers that send out these waves of agony, Ahastar sneeringly discovers the only thing not having been broken inside of him yet – his spirit! Even with blood dripping from his crunched jaws and flailing nostrils, the raptor still somehow gets a rude, vicious snarl packed with fury and hatred up his throat, spitting it after Scrowl’s leave-taking heel, already quite a few street blocks away again. Right now though, the half demon finds himself with a more calling challenge – he needs to escape from this community pool sized, three toed footprint he has so humblingly been trampled into the bottom of. Not an easy test – even healthy, the raptor would require most of his jumping force to reach the rim, and “healthy” is not precisely a feature he can come up with right now. Still, they will not get him! Oh no! He will *not* roll over and die in this degrading way while making a show for these perverted bastards and bitch. With the screeching determination of a borderline insane creature and the clingability of a body having lots of open fractures to offer to soft Styrofoam, Ahastar dives against the crushed wall that is Scrowl’s trampled in footprint. The raptor grits the fourteen teeth he still has left in his torn apart mouth, slamming one broken arm over the other, gnawing into the fabric building up in front of him with all the rage he can muster up. He presses with his tail, he kicks with his legs, he thrashes up with his torso – and finally, Ahastar indeed manages to whump his upper body over the rim of Scrowl’s footprint. At once, there is a broad grin forming up on the raptor’s face, even while he is nearly hyperventilating with exhaustion – but that doesn’t stop Ahastar from raising a single index finger, pointing that shaky digit towards Dras and his posse, and snarling at them. “There! Do you see that?! Fuck you, all of you sick bastards!” The half demon still manages to lift up his middle talon towards the lot of them, before suddenly finding himself in a deep, suffocating shadow. With pure instinct, he still manages to raise his surprised snout upwards... beholding Scrowl’s hammering down, toe-spreading, Styrofoam-dust dripping rex sole coming *SLAMMING* in. “Oh... no...” *THOOOOOOMMMMM*. And with Ahastar’s lower body still dangling in that first rex pawprint, the upper one now gets driven down – perfectly even – into a new one, fusing with its impressive brother. Fortunately for the trampled senseless half demon stuck, nearly paper flat, to his destroyer’s titanic, leave-taking sole, he does not need to worry about climbing out of that dual print this time – he simply gets dragged along for the ride! That is, until he is peeled off once more. And trampled again! “No... please, I can’t ...take this any more... I...” *CRRRRRRUNNCH* - “Gllrrrrgghhh... broken... I... grrrk... *CRRRACCKKKKK* - “Ooouuuuuugh... skkllrtttt...” *SCCRRRRRIIITTTT*... Again and again and again, Scrowl’s house-sized rex feet demand sacrifice after sacrifice from their trampled flat and witless stomping pad, that latest, steamrolling onslaught of destruction finally amputating one destroyed leg and the entire tail around the blunt edge of the Tyrannosaur’s paw, the rest of the vandalized demon body yet again getting driven down, thin as cardboard, against the bottom of a despair-instilling deep reptilian footprint. And that is it then. Ahastar can’t move a single muscle, can’t twitch a single limb. And already, he can feel his guts and organs knocking against his lips, at both end of his digestive system. The next brutalizing stomp by these infinitely heavy lizard padsoles will be the fatality! And of course... it comes just as that! Ahastar finds himself cowering in a three toed shade again, the half demon closing his mouth and straining his muscles as badly as he can – but the moment Scrowl plants his Trex sole on top of his victim’s mangled body, the raptor only still has one moment to feel his insides *shooting* out of his orifices with a nasty, slimy ssqueeellcccchhhhh. And the next form of darkness he witnesses is a different sort than just the lightless underside of Scrowl’s executioner’s tread!


The vast blue rex foot lifts slowly, reluctantly, revealing a delicious, yet gruesome sight. Ahastar's guts now bulge gruesomely from the ragged tear in his side, from between his legs and from his gaping, smashed-open jaws as he lies squashed in the huge, reversed footprint of the looming rex. The half-demon is crushed, crippled beyond all repair and more closely resembles a string of gristly, well-chewed meat than a formerly living creature, his blood smeared over the styrofoam ground and spread generously across the foot pads of the huge blue rex.

Scrowl smiles triumphantly as he backs off, seeing the messy results of his eighth pass squashed into his own vast footprints. "Think he's pretty much done," the rex says, starting forwards again. "Maybe one or two more, then I'll make sure the little sucker's dead."

The contemptuous, leisurely strolling pours endless scorn upon Ahastar, lengthy rex toes curling up flauntingly as Scrowl's huge talons angle upward before stepping down, sinking deep into the firm ground and spreading heavily under his weight. The toes curl as they lift, pulling up from their prints with smooth precision and for a moment each long digitigrade talon flattens out to its full length before the padded walking section angles upwards again as it glides forwards before stepping down.

A few more muffled squishes and squirts emenate from the flattened half-demon as Scrowl catwalks over him again, blood oozing up between the rex's toes, then running down his sole as the huge foot peels upwards again to leave Ahastar's remains squashed and mangled in its deep print. The remnants of the raptor's internal organs lie splattered around him, flattened utterly as they fell unprotected beneath Scrowl's tough pads. A limb twitches slightly as one last glimmer of electricity sizzles out of Ahastar's corpse, so the huge blue feet return to walk over him again, squashing and spreading out his pulped body even further as they tread uncaringly over his already-defiled remains. Nothing but a faint gurgling follows this tenth pass, Ahastar little more than a liquefied ooze slowly filling the footprint into which he is pressed, but nevertheless the tyrannosaurian talons return to walk back over him, white padded soles squirting and burping as they sink, unresisted, into the mushy organic matter that remains of the shrunken deinonychus.

As he comes to a final halt, mushy pulp squashed into his huge footprints, Scrowl consents to pose for the trembling camera, folding his muscular arms across his chest and giving a toothy tyrannosaurus grin. "Feels the same as any other runt," he says, casually scuffing his soles back along the styrofoam to wipe Ahastar's remains from them. "Just takes a bit longer to break him down. How'd I do?" he adds as the observing raptors let out their held breath almost in unison.

Veltiss folds up the camera and turns to look at Dras, and the two raptors wordlessly head into the bedroom. Hath, lying sprawled on the sofa with his trousers unclasped and several streaks of pale fluid across his bare chest, can only pant lethargically in response, lifting an arm to give the rex the 'OK' gesture.

"Not bad at all, bro," Grey confirms, propping his boom mike against the wall and grinning broadly. "Maybe even good enough to pay for all the damage."

Scrowl turns and looks around him, taking in the wrecked model city with its splintered buildings and footprint-riddled roads. "Mmm," he says, yellow eyes flitting to and fro. "I might chip in for the next one if you guys ever do this again." He stretches, yawning, and lifts a murderous clawed foot to briefly check its gore-splattered sole, then glances at the clean, pale carpet outside the model city's ring of boxes. "You wanna put some boards down so I can get to the bathroom?"

Mmmm, very nicely detailed stompage! Excellent!

I was just talking to Dino about how I'm bad about leaving comments, and this is the first thing I thought of, because obviously I didn't comment on it yet.

This is a really fun RP, and greatly organized in its theme and conception, which I suppose is why you can make it so epically long! I have a love for stompyness (obviously) and rampageyness. I also have a weird fascination with doing so with small victims in model cities. This sort of faux-macro that's really micro. So this was right up my alley, really.

Anyway, cool ^^;

Thanks very much, Selendro! It's strange how faux-macro situations like this one really do feel different from actual macro ones in a full sized city - I think Ahastar and I both mentioned that to one another roughly seven hundred million times each during the course of writing this one. I also think that having a victim shrunk down from the dominator's size to a much smaller size is a lot more humiliating than having a victim that's naturally a lot smaller than the dominator(s).

Very glad to hear that you liked this!

Nice work. But a problem is that when to masturbate. Huh

*Applauds like crazy!* Holy crap you NEED to find a publisher that's into this stuff and make money off of this!!! Your story telling abilities are straight on par with your visual art my friend! Cheers to another very well done stompy story!