Hunter's Rise
Copyright© 2025 by Mezu
Pupil 42: Back to School! Part 2
Fantasy Sex Story: Pupil 42: Back to School! Part 2 - The story takes place in a world relatively similar to the real-life but with monsters. The main character is a monster hunter called Zara Cromwell. She and other monster hunters gain superpowers through experiments to be able to fight stronger monsters in the future. Warning: the series showcases various kinks and fetishes.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Hermaphrodite Futanari Paranormal Furry Magic Vampires Were animal Zombies Incest Mother Son FemaleDom Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Black Female White Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Facial Fisting Lactation Oral Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Amputee Big Breasts Body Modification Hairy Public Sex Size ENF
This is the second installment of a lengthy story that I had to split into multiple chapters to make it more digestible.
This is one of the more story-focused chapters, albeit with some lewd content.
Also, some context: the story takes place in 2024’s Autumn.
Part 9
“Stop, Sleepy!” Trump shouted.
“Oh shit!” Zara panicked as the blue orb grew bigger in the president’s palm. Instinctively, her left hand twisted into a snarling wolf-head.
“Wolfbite punch!” she called her attack, and the wolf-head bit into the energy orb. It cracked like a big blue egg, but not without pushing both Zara and Biden away from the center.
Zara was only pushed backward slightly, but Biden almost flew into the wall.
“What the hell, Joe?” Obama gasped in disbelief, “A girl just beat you.”
“Are you okay, Zara?” Akemi asked, helping Zara up.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she shrugged. Only the hair on her wolf-head got burned a little bit, but no injuries were left as it turned back into a hand.
Biden was sitting near the wall.
“Get your lazy ass up from the floor, Sleepy,” Trump stepped to him.
“Hey, guys. My memory got updated!” Biden exclaimed, “These girls are actually on the list.”
“Whoa, looks like a little concussion is actually helpful to you,” Bush gasped.
“I always say we should throw him at the wall whenever he’s acting up,” Trump smirked.
“That was pathetic, Joe,” Obama said, shaking his head.
“Hey, it’s not my fault. Her wolf broke my Biden Blast ball before it could fully charge,” he objected.
“Um ... Reberta,” Zara looked at her in confusion, “Why are the president and the ex-presidents here? And why does he have superpowers?”
“Oh, I thought you knew about them since some of you are students here,” Reberta answered.
“We didn’t want to spoil it,” Lexi said, and her sisters and Gaylor nodded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pixie said, her eyes sparkling.
“So ... what’s the deal with them?” Zara asked.
“They are not real. They are augmented clones implanted with an artificial intelligence, made by the research team,” Reberta explained.
“Wow! You guys have cyborg clones of the presidents with superpowers?” Zara asked, pointing at the four clones.
“Close enough,” Obama said. “Most of our body is composed of flesh. Only our brain is one hundred percent artificial.”
“Creepy ... but cool,” Akemi examined the clones. They seemed almost identical to their real counterparts.
“Darn, I need a new hand,” Biden said, raising his hand, which was damaged by the explosion. It was burned, and black, like an over-toasted slice of bread.
“A new brain is what you need, Sleepy,” Trump snickered.
Obama crouched beside the scattered carcasses and held his palms out.
“Mini Me Swarm,” he said calmly.
With a faint electric hum, dozens of tiny Obamas buzzed out of his suit like angry wasps. Each one was just a severed Obama head the size of a grapefruit, floating on humming mechanical propellers. Tiny metallic limbs unfolded from the neck stumps as they zipped toward the bloodied animal remains.
“That’s ... disturbing,” Skeletina muttered as one tiny Obama droned past her, giving her a thumbs-up with a robotic finger.
“They’re surprisingly efficient,” Reberta said, barely blinking as a Mini Obama slurped up a dead raccoon and dropped it into the barrel.
Nearby, Bush was dragging a charred deer carcass by its antlers with surprising gusto.
“Y’know,” Bush puffed, “I really miss ranch work. This is kinda nostalgic.”
“Are they aware of the fact that they are not real?” Akemi asked Reberta.
“Yes, we are,” Obama answered, “But we like saying things as if we were the real presidents with their memories. It’s programmed in our AI, so we can sound more human.”
Reberta turned to Trump, who was brushing dirt off his jacket.
“Can you take Joe to the tech classroom?” she asked. “Professor Cuadra is in. She can run diagnostics on his hand.”
Trump rolled his eyes. “Babysitting Sleepy again? Fine. But if he starts drooling on the floor, I’m not cleaning it.”
“I’m right here,” Biden grumbled, holding up his crispy hand like a burned glove. “And I only drool during nap time.”
“We’re coming too!” Lexi announced
“The tech class is on our visit list,” Lexy said.
“We want to see all the cool toys,” Lexie added.
“Please tell me there are lasers,” Bambi whispered.
Trump groaned. “Ugh. Fine. Let’s make it quick. And no one touch anything unless you’re licensed or presidential.”
The group shuffled off, with Biden trailing behind like a malfunctioning Roomba and the Lexisters practically skipping.
As they walked, Zara watched the Mini Obama swarm, then turned to Fred. “You’re a student here. Is this what school is supposed to be like?”
“Not every day. We rarely see the clones,” he shrugged.
Part 10
Trump slammed the tech classroom’s door open.
The classroom seemed like a cross between a mad scientist’s lair and a scrapyard on steroids. Towering machines lined the walls, tangled cables crisscrossed the floor like futuristic vines, and a few robot limbs were twitching on the ceiling tracks. But the main attraction was the center of the room: an impromptu arena outlined with hazard tape and glowing floor panels.
Two robots were fighting there: one with the lean, feral build of a Dire Wolf, the other had the bulky frame of a Minotaur. Sparks flew as metal claws slashed against a massive hammer, the audience of students cheering.
“Whoa!” Quincy shouted, running to the edge of the arena. “They’re fighting! This school rocks!”
“Looks like a Kaiju UFC,” Rexine said with approval.
“Welcome!” greeted them a voice.
They turned to see a woman in her fifties walking toward them. She had a short salt-and-pepper undercut, and a left arm made entirely of sleek metal. The fingers clicked slightly as she moved. Her lab coat had scorch marks on it, and her goggles were perched on her forehead like a crown of chaos.
“I’m Professor Cuadra,” she greeted, then raised a brow at the sight of the group. “Oh, look who wandered in—VIPs and misfits.”
Trump stepped forward, gesturing at Biden like he was presenting a broken appliance. “Fix him. His hand looks like a microwaved marshmallow.”
“Aw, come on, it’s not that...” Biden began.
Professor Cuadra pointed a scanning device at his hand, and it beeped loudly. She winced. “Yikes. Yeah, that’s a full radial burn. Sit, Joe. My machines can help kick-start your regeneration.”
“Thanks, Prof,” Biden said, plopping into the diagnostics seat as robotic arms descended to analyze the damage.
Meanwhile, the girls had gathered around the arena. Curtis squinted at the robots as the Dire Wolf droid pounced onto the mechanic Minotaur’s back with a savage howl.
“ ... That’s a Dire Wolf,” she said. “And the other one’s definitely a Minotaur. I recognize the body structure.”
“You’re sharp,” Professor Cuadra said over her shoulder. “These aren’t just for fun—these models are based on actual monster data. Real proportions, movement patterns, aggression levels.”
She turned, looking Curtis over more closely. “Wait a minute ... you look familiar. You’re not related to Aritimi, are you?”
Curtis gave a small nod. “She’s my grandma’s sister. The girls and I are her pupils.”
Professor Cuadra’s eyes lit up like someone just handed her a brand-new soldering iron. “Aritimi’s pupils? Well, hot circuitry. It’s an honor to have you here. The only thing that could make this day better is if I had the best ratings.”
“Hmm ... these robot monsters look cool. Can we try fighting them?” Curtis said, eyeing the mecha monstrosities.
“Oh, I ... I’m not sure about that. They’re programmed for non-lethal sparring—but I wouldn’t call them gentle. Unless you’ve got skin that shrugs off high-impact servo punches, I need to know what you’re working with.”
“My Tooth Titan power can give me superstrong armor, so I’ll be fine.”
“Can I try it too?” Quincy raised her hand. “I can regenerate my limbs with my Extremity Entity augmentation.”
“I think one person will be enough. Plus, my robots will target more than just your limbs,” the professor said, scratching her head with her mechanical arm.
“Don’t worry, Quincy,” Lexie patted her shoulder. “We’ve got something on the list for you later.”
“I hope it’s gonna be something cool,” Quincy said like an excited kid.
“Announcement, students!” Cuadra’s voice boomed. “We got a special guest for this fight,” she said, gesturing to Curtis.
“Oh...” Curtis paused for a moment. “ ... Do you have a place where I can take off my clothes? My power can cover my body, but I don’t want my clothes to be shredded by my power.”
“Yes, I have a bathroom here; you can undress there.”
“Thanks, I’ll be here in a moment,” Curtis said, already running to the bathroom.
“You don’t want to try a little fight, Skelly?” Zara asked. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone with it, just some robots. But they don’t count as living beings.”
“Thanks, but no,” she rejected the offer with a sheepish expression.
“Alright, no pressure,” Zara said.
“Here she is!” Cuadra announced as Curtis opened the bathroom door.
Curtis looked like a majestic warrior. Her skin was covered in a natural armor made of bone spikes. They looked like a giant’s fangs, coating her skin as a spiky white armor. Her eyes, mouth, nostrils, and hair were the only parts that stayed uncovered. Three long fangs sprouted from her forehead like an Oni’s horns. Her nipples were also protected by two cone-like bone structures.
The audience cheered as Curtis strode toward the arena.
Curtis stepped into the arena, the sound of her bone-plated feet clacking softly against the metal floor.
“So, Professor,” she asked, cracking her knuckle-spikes, “which one of your big toys am I fighting?”
Before Cuadra could answer, Quincy leaned over the railing, grinning. “Can she fight Joe? Or maybe Trump? That would be so cool!”
Trump scoffed, arms crossed. “Absolutely not. Joe’s currently being diagnosed with third-degree toast-hand, and let’s face it, he’s barely functional on a good day.”
“And me?” Trump continued, adjusting his tie like he was on stage, “As much as I’d enjoy flexing this immaculate physique, I can’t risk someone filming it. If that got online, the real me would lose at least seven points in the polls. They’d say I’m beating up a minority girl.”
Curtis rolled her eyes. “Right. No presidents.”
Cuadra chuckled, flipping a few switches on her console. “Then it’s settled. No politics—just robotics.” A loud clunk echoed as she slammed a button. “Let’s give you a regular opponent. How do you feel about a Class 2 Monster Droid?”
“Sounds fair.” Curtis stretched her neck side to side, bone spikes twitching slightly with each motion.
Metal shutters in the far wall groaned as they lifted, revealing the opponent.
Heavy steps boomed through the lab-arena as a giant robot lumbered into view. It looked like an Ogre. It stood nearly three meters tall, its bulky frame covered in plates of metal. It dragged a big iron slab shaped like a massive club in its oversized hands, probably once a support beam from some demolished building.
“Ooh, that thing’s ugly ... yet looks better than a normal Ogre,” Zara quipped.
“Let’s hope it hits like it looks,” Curtis said with a smirk, stepping forward.
The robo-ogre roared, a pre-programmed sound effect of grinding metal and digital grunts, and raised its weapon overhead.
It swung.
Curtis darted to the side, nimble despite the weight of her armor. The club crashed down where she had been a moment before, shaking the floor. She slipped past a second swipe, then a third.
But on the fourth swing, it feinted; its club jerked sideways unexpectedly, catching her in the ribs.
The impact launched her across the arena like a spiked ball. She slammed into the wall, cracking the surface.
“Skill issue!” Quincy called out, not concerned about her safety at all.
“I’m okay!” Curtis said, dusting herself off. Her bone armor was chipped in places, and one of the forehead horns had a fracture, but otherwise she was fine.
The fake ogre let out another robotic bellow and began stomping toward her.
Curtis dropped into a crouch. With a grunt, she forced spikes to erupt from her knuckles—sleek, curved fangs like bone-blades, white as ivory.
“Alright,” she muttered, “my turn.”
The ogre raised its club again for a final smash.
Curtis sprinted forward.
The club hit the ground with a thunderous clang, sending up a spray of sparks. But she was already climbing it— the bone claws digging in for traction. She raced up the weapon like a bridge, lunged, and drove both sets of knuckle-blades straight into the ogre’s head.
CRACK!
Sparks flew as she tore through the reinforced plating. The robot groaned and twitched before collapsing backward in defeat.
The crowd watching from the perimeter broke into cheers.
“That was sick!” one shouted.
“Do it again!” yelled another.
“Encore! Encore!”
Curtis jumped down from the Ogre’s chest and gave a quick wave, her bone armor retracting slightly as she caught her breath.
“Well?” she asked, looking at Professor Cuadra.
The woman was grinning. “You’ve got good instincts. Let’s load up the next bot.”
Curtis nodded, wiping a smear of oil from her claw. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”
The gates slid open again, releasing the next fighter: an enormous Kraken-like monster that shimmered with both wet flesh and cold steel. Most of its body was encased in an armored exoskeleton, but its writhing tentacles were unmistakably real—fleshy, slimy, and strong.
“This one is different...” Zara murmured, stepping back.
“Oh yeah,” Professor Cuadra said proudly. “This is what I really wanted to show off later. Our newest prototype: a cybernetic-hybrid combat Kraken. It’s got living components, remote-linked AI control, and built-in autonomy modes. Real tentacles, real muscle—but a mechanical brain.”
She turned to Curtis. “Feel free to go all out. Even if you destroy it, we can repair it. Besides, this is the perfect live test.”
Curtis cracked her knuckles, her bone-claws still extended. “Fine by me.”
The Kraken reared back, letting out a gurgling electronic screech as its long, glistening tentacles began to slither across the arena floor.
Then they detached.
With mechanical clicks, the slimy limbs slithered free of the body and began moving like snakes, independently controlled by internal servo-nodes. Each one had a mind of its own—twisting, darting, and coiling like predatory vipers.
Curtis dodged the first one and sliced through the air at the second, only to have three more slam into her from behind. She fought them off, breaking their grip briefly with sheer force, but they re-formed their patterns with surprising coordination.
Two tentacles looped around her waist. Another grabbed her wrist. Then her legs. Within moments, she was wrapped tightly in a spiraling prison of organic muscle and steel clamps, held aloft and wriggling.
“Oof—damn thing’s strong,” she growled, teeth clenched.
Professor Cuadra called out, “You can give up if you want. This test is already more than enough...”
“No way!” Curtis barked.
Spikes grew from all over her body, long and jagged. She continued summoning more and more, forcing the tentacles to stretch as they tried to keep her bound. The spikes couldn’t pierce the tough flesh, but the pressure grew, warping the formation.
Curtis then yanked one of the spikes free from her shoulder, gripping it like a dagger. With all her might, she hurled it straight at the kraken’s main body. It struck like a missile, slamming into the antenna mounted on top of the cyborg monster’s head.
CRACK!
The antenna shattered into a dozen metal fragments.
Immediately, the tentacles went limp and dropped, twitching briefly before falling still. The giant body of the Kraken slumped over, systems failing one by one.
The crowd erupted into wild cheers.
“Yo, she broke the damn thing!”
“Bone girl wins again!”
“That was insane!”
Professor Cuadra grinned widely. “Very clever. Targeting the control node ... that’s combat intuition at work.”
Curtis gave a tired but proud thumbs-up.
“Another one! One more!” someone in the back shouted.
More students joined the chant.
Curtis looked at the professor.
Cuadra laughed. “I can find something for you if you want. You up for it?”
Curtis smirked, her claws still gleaming. “Bring it on.”
The students cheered.
“Are you not entertained?” Curtis asked playfully, sticking her arms in the air.
Unfortunately, the third round could never come because Curtis’s bone armor completely retracted in an instant.
She was facing the crowd with all of her naked glory. Her body was shaped like that of a goddess: a perfectly fit physique, with strong, thick thighs, a rich brown skin tone, and gravity-defying breasts, like two perfect spheres on her chest. Her areolae were wide and black.
As a bonus, most of her body was covered in abstract tattoos, covering the surgical scars left from her augmentation surgery. She even had some on her breasts, circling her areolae, stopping at their edges.
The audience continued cheering, and Curtis didn’t notice that the cheering was for her birthday suit, not her victory.
But this incident led to two important things. First, Curtis found out that she can’t keep her armor up for more than ten minutes, an important information for battle strategy. Second, the professor’s show was flooded with five-star ratings.
Part 11
“Well ... that was awkward,” Curtis said as they left the classroom after she dressed up.
“We tried to tell you that you are naked,” Esmeralda said.
“I thought you were just waving in cheer.”
“I gave you ... I mean the prof five stars for this,” Fred said, giving her a thumbs up.
“At least that reporter wasn’t here to record it,” Dayanara added.
“Speaking of the Devil,” Zara groaned, pointing forward in the furthest corner. Rita was there with Max, interviewing the clones of Obama and Bush.
“No, as clones we don’t have our real counterparts’ memories. So no, we can’t prove or disprove any conspiracy theories about them,” Bush said.
“Oh, shit!” Trump hissed as he and Biden left the room too. “I hate reporters.”
“Let’s move to the next class on your list, girls. Before these guys could notice us,” Zara whispered to the Lexisters.
“Okay, it’s not far from here. Follow me,” Lexie said.
“Whoa! Can we join them?” Biden turned to Trump.
“We have a job to do, Joe,” he shook his head, “we have to check that the guests and/or their exotic monster pets won’t cause any trouble.”
Meanwhile, Zara and her friends moved to the next location, led by the Lexisters.
“Hey, Day,” Lexi patted Dayanara’s shoulder as they approached the door, “you going to like this one. We chose this because of you.”
Lexy and Lexie opened the door for the group. The place they were staring into was a basketball court with a big audience watching others play.
“Um ... I’m not really into basketball,” Dayanara raised a brow, “Or you think I need to exercise more?”
Indeed, Dayanara had some extra weight, but she was just a little bit chubby, not morbidly obese.
“What? Of course not ... I mean, you look great,” Lexi shook her head, “Look at the players.”
A small group of students was playing ... trying to play against a trio of giantesses.
“Oh, they are Bo’s daughters,” Dayanara exclaimed.
“Wow, they are really big,” Skeletina remarked.
“You didn’t meet them, Skelly?” Zara asked.
“Just their mother. I didn’t know that the Anti Kaiju Unit has a whole Kaiju family in their ranks,” she whispered, smirking a little bit.
“That was a nice try, boys,” the tallest woman grinned at the boys who tried to compete against them.
“Look, Temora,” the second giantess patted the first one’s shoulder.
“Oh, you and you helped our mother when Tomato lost control,” Temora said, pointing at Zara and Minerva.
“Hi, girls,” Dayanara waved with her hair.
“Ah, you must be that rookie who will join us in a few months.”
“We already met, Temora,” Dayanara said with an annoyed look.
“Sorry, you all look the same from this height,” she chuckled.
“Hey, girls, I recognize this one,” the third giantess said, pointing at Skeletina.
“Oh, yeah, this scarecrow girl must be the one Mom was talking about. The one who defeated that Bridezilla during the training with one shot,” the first one nodded.
“Wow! Really?” Zara asked, nudging her in the side with her elbow.
“It was just an accident,” Skeletina said awkwardly. “I just sneezed because of my pollen allergy.”
“Don’t be so shy; you were awesome. Mom showed us the footage. The fight barely lasted ten seconds,” she exclaimed. “Oh, where are my manners? Let me introduce myself. Temora Rourke,” she shook hands with Skeletina. Her hand disappeared in Temora’s giant palm.
Temora was a 2.6-meter-tall, muscular woman with a noticeable tan skin tone and black hair buzz-cut into a short military style. Her sports clothes were also military style with an olive drab color.
“Clara,” the second woman took Skeletina’s thin hand. She was leaner and less muscular than her older sister. She was 2.55-meter-tall with pale skin and short, boyish, blonde hair. She was wearing an oversized jersey and high-top sneakers.
“Gia,” the last sister introduced herself, but instead of shaking hands, she lifted Skeletina and hugged her. Gia was the “shortest” with her 2.5-meter height. Her long brown hair reached her waist. She was barefoot, and her sports gear was covered in colorful flowers.
“Is this some kind of sports class?” Zara asked.
“I doubt it. I know all the sports teachers here, and they are not among them,” Fred said, shaking his head.
“Yes. This is the kaiju class,” Temora revealed. “It’s an optional class where I teach the students how to handle encounters with big monsters. My family members are also here for training.”
“And why were you playing basketball then?”
“We just had a little break, plus we’re also expecting some special guests for our new segment,” Temora explained.
“Ah, you are aiming for that reward, aren’t you?” Zara asked with a wink.
“How do you know about it?”
“Professor Delmar told us about it.”
“Huh! That gossipy old hen,” Temora snorted.
“So you guys will fight some giant monsters?” Dayanara asked, her eyes gleaming.
“No spoilers,” Temora nodded. “But there will be some cool fights.”
“It will give a good kick to the ratings,” Clara said.
“You better put on a big show then, because the Delmar girls seem to be hard to top,” Zara said.
“I know about their nude show. That’s why I asked Mom to ask both Aritimi and Urszula about requesting some special monsters from the Crypt.”
“The Crypt?” Akemi joined the conversation.
“Yes. Mom has used the Bridezillas and other non-hostile big monsters from there for training for years now. Not all of them are evil abominations.”
“And the Council was okay with that?” Akemi gave her a skeptical look.
“Yes. The monsters will wear those teleport collars for safety. And we also called in some special security if needed.”
“Hey, Temy,” Gia said, holding a phone to her ear, “the girls are calling. They say they can bring everyone you asked for.”
“Great. Did they manage to reach Aritimi? We would need her powers to bring them here.”
“Yeah. Just a few minutes and they’re here.”
Part 12
Zara and her friends managed to find a good spot on the side so they could even place Keller’s wheelchair nearby.
The Rourke sisters disappeared for a moment, but then all three of them came back in different outfits. Well ... those weren’t really outfits but bikinis. The tops of Clara and Gia barely covered their breasts aside from their nipples and areolae, and the bottoms left almost nothing to the imagination.
Temora’s top only covered her nipples, leaving her areolae exposed. Her bikini bottom was a micro thong. For someone her size, it was barely more than a thread of dental floss. Technically, she wasn’t naked, but only on a legal technicality.
The boys in the crowd cheered even before the show began.
Temora stepped forward to the center of the court, hands raised to hush the crowd, though the boys’ cheers still echoed long after her arms dropped.
“Alright, everyone!” she called. “Before we begin the show, I’d like to introduce four very special guests. The next generation!”
She gestured to the far entrance, where a set of double doors creaked open. From the hallway beyond, four young girls entered. They looked different, but with one thing in common: their towering height.
Temora introduced them one by one to the eager audience.
The first girl was called Ryker, and she was Temora’s daughter. She was barely a centimeter shorter than her mother. She moved like a tank: shoulders square, chest out, with a confident smirk. Her black hair was shaved into a clean high-and-tight fade. Her bikini was just as small as her mother’s. A tattoo of a snarling wolf stretched across one shoulder and down her back.
Next came Belen, Clara’s daughter. She was the same height as her mother, with the same athletic build. Her skin was just as pale too, with dozens of tiny silver piercings glittering across her ears and eyebrows. She had her mother’s boyish haircut, though hers was dyed a soft lavender. Her bikini wasn’t big, but it left more to the audience’s imagination than Temora’s.
Following her was Margaux, one of Gia’s twins, and clearly the wilder twin. Her auburn curls were lengthy, reaching past her hips. Her bikini had little floral patterns with glitter, and her body was covered in bright body paint—swirls of sunflowers. She skipped ahead of the others, blowing kisses to the crowd.
The last was Karter, Margaux’s twin, but the two couldn’t have been more different in vibe. Karter had long, straight jet black hair, parted sharply in the middle, and tucked behind her ears. Her gaze was cold. She wore black micro bikini that contrasted with her pale olive skin. She didn’t smile—just gave a subtle nod to the audience.
The crowd buzzed with murmurs and more than a few catcalls. Temora just grinned.
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Seven kaiju-class women in bikinis must be some kind of fever dream.” She flexed an arm for emphasis. “But let me remind you all—this isn’t just for your entertainment. This is practical combat wear. We’re dressed like this because it gives us maximum movement and flexibility when fighting monsters.”
Gia giggled. “Also, we look hot.”
Temora rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
“Now then,” she announced, “let the show begin!”
“We know you’re all eager to see some cool monster fights,” Clara said as she stepped forward, hands on her hips, “but first, our daughters will show you what they can do against some powerful—though not entirely monstrous—enemies.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Gia called out, sweeping her arm toward the other door, “give a round of applause for our presidential security personnel.”
The door slammed open and in marched Trump, Biden, Bush, and Obama—the clones of the former presidents, walking in perfect, synchronized formation. Their movements were stiff but purposeful, like programmed soldiers in government-issued suits.
In the background, Rita and Max sneaked in from behind them. She scanned the bleachers for an empty spot, but the moment she spotted Zara and her group, she darted over.
The audience erupted in cheers and laughter as the four presidential clones marched into the middle of the court.
“Oh shit, guys! We shrank!” Biden gasped, staring up at the towering bikini-clad girls, then glancing at the others.
“Your brain and your poll numbers shrank,” Trump shot back, “but not us, Sleepy.” The crowd broke into mixed cheers and boos.
“We got a call from Reberta tellin’ us to show up,” Bush said, scratching his head absently. “Everything cool?”
“Yep,” Temora nodded. “We’re just here to give the audience a show—and it’s a good chance for you guys to demonstrate what you can do in a controlled fight.”
Obama tapped the side of his temple, a faint beep sounding as if he’d received a data feed. “Ah. Just got the authorization. Temporary combat clearance granted. We’re greenlit.”