Chapter 14: Expansion

When the undead swept across the land, electricity was quickly lost nationwide as the power plants were abandoned. Automation softened the blow, many stations capable of operating for days, weeks, or even months without human labor. As time passed, the lights went out one by one, but in some rare cases, they’d turn back on. In times of disaster, it’s natural for humans to search each other out, for both resources and strength in numbers. Power plants, built to withstand wars and natural disasters, and the towns around them, became a hotbed of refugee camps and new communities. Gather enough engineers together and they could even get the plants going again. The humans flocked to the lights like moths and formed a defense against the undead.

Unfortunately, all things age, more and more components breaking every year, with replacement parts hard to reproduce and even harder to find. Without a means of production, things that broke stayed broken, with the survivors having to make due with whatever they could think of, but that was just prolonging the problem. In time, the power plants gave out, in need of repairs that the ill-equipped and uneducated survivors couldn’t perform.

Some power plants broke down harder than others, namely, nuclear power plants. The concept of nuclear reactors is quite simple: uranium atoms are split, releasing heat, which evaporates water into steam, and that steam spins turbines that produce electricity. The fuel rods eventually stop producing heat at economically-useful levels and are contained in cooling pools for several years until they can be safely disposed of.

When the nuclear power plants were abandoned or broke down, so too did the heat exchangers that regulated the water temperature of the cooling pools. Once they deactivated, the fuel rods boiled the water away, and upon exposure to their air, they combusted into nuclear bonfires. The power plants were destroyed and the land around them was doused in radiation. A century later, the land around these abandoned power plants remains uninhabitable, five hundred Chernobyl nightmares that the rebuilt world can’t do anything about.

Now, in New Hampshire, in the ruins of the Seabrook Station, an era of silence is interrupted. It is Adam, searching the wreckage for anything of use. For a dozen miles in any direction, the radiation is enough to cause cancer and even slow-acting radiation poisoning. In the destroyed buildings that he’s picking through, a normal person without a radiation suit would be dead in less than an hour. The radiation has no effect on him, about as damaging as a stiff breeze, though he’d have to thoroughly decontaminate himself before he could return home.

He scoured the power plant, searching both the old reactors and the cooling pools. In both locations, he found radioactive ash and melted metal, but nothing like the heat-generating fuel rods.

‘Master, I’m afraid that I’m not finding anything of value. There is plenty of radioactive material, but no uranium or anything like that.’

‘Very well. Collect some samples and then come back. I’m sure I can find a use for them.’

Dominion answered from Concord, the capital of New Hampshire. The spawn were all busy stripping the buildings of their interiors, collecting things of value while tossing all of the junk out into the streets. With their powers and plenty of practice, they had it down to an art form, clearing buildings in minutes. The city was due to be transformed into a prison, but he had other plans for it until then. Once the job was done, Dominion had his minions vacate the city. He floated above the center, giving him a bird’s eye view.

The twirl of his hand, that’s all it took. All of the junk tossed out of the streets, everything made of metal or containing metal, rose into the air, caught in a focused electromagnetic field. Silverware, tools, door handles, electronics, decorations, picture frames, everything. Even the cars were picked up. He gathered them together into a massive pile and dumped it outside the city for the spawn to begin gathering up to take to the foundries. Then he raised his other hand and the rest of the garbage was levitated into the air, gathered into a mountainous mass, and tossed to the other side of the city, out of the way.

Now, with the board cleared, he could get to work. First, he released thousands of demons and wraiths, more than he had ever harnessed before. Then, he focused them around several city blocks, letting them infiltrate every nook and cranny. They passed through walls, examining everything. Of all the buildings in that sector, there wasn’t a single square inch of space not within eyesight of his pets, and of him. He had linked himself to their senses, granting him a view that was nothing short of omnipotent, and was also harnessing their minds so that he could process all of that information. Rather than simply using them as extra eyes, he was also using them as extra brains, supplementing his processing abilities with theirs.

It was a more primitive version of Blight’s outsight ability. Unlike the homunculus, Dominion hadn’t been born with such an ability, so his brain hadn’t been shaped to handle the information. Strange, that he’d be less skilled than the servant crafted from his own power. However, in time, he’d get stronger and his body would adapt.

A crack sounded out, deafening, with every building simultaneously shaking. Then, together, they all rose into the air. For the first few moments, they appeared intact, but really, they were disassembling with every inch of elevation. All of the bricks, boards, and pipes were being separated, and he could see them individually thanks to all of his spirits. Then, once they were all in the air and a giant plot of land was created, he began to reassemble them into a new structure.

This was why he needed all of those extra minds and eyes. Most people couldn’t even write their name straight without being able to see it. In order to make sure that everything fit together, Dominion had to see every piece. He had to see the dry mortar clinging to each brick in order to change its composition and make it malleable. The wiring from the electrical systems, the plumbing, everything was reassembled into a whole new system. Once he was finished, one massive building took the place of over a dozen smaller ones.

It was built like a Wal-Mart, one single floor with a vast open space, but no shelves or content, just support beams. There were no windows and just one door. Against the far wall were the repurposed sinks and toilets from the old buildings. It had a 100,000 square feet of floor space, enough hold a thousand people, though not comfortably.

After seeing the events in the Maine Mall, how everything transpired, Dominion became curious and desired to replicate the experiment. However, now he’d be using different variables. He moved on to the next sector of the city and repeated the process. This time, he created a building with half the square footage, but a second story. The third building had the same footage as the second, but a basement instead. The fourth had 33,000 square feet but both a basement and a second story.

He continued making these buildings, each one incorporating different designs and different combinations of features. He toyed with how much space there was, how much light there was, the temperature, the level of privacy, population, and other variables. Once Concord was all used up, he moved to the next town and started all over again with fresh ideas. He had so many fresh prisoners, so many ways to torment them. It took days to get it done, one hundred of these buildings spread across the state.

While he worked, the new prisoners were kept comatose. Like the people of Portland, he wanted them to wake up in their new environment, unsure of how or when they had arrived there. They’d only remember being captured. Once he was done, it was time to put the rats in their new cages.

The world was reeling from Dominion’s sudden invasion of New Hampshire. For over a month, he had kept quiet within the state of Maine, and then lashed out with seemingly no provocation or warning. Unfortunately for Collins, everyone was holding him responsible. The citizens of the US had been told that he had negotiated a ceasefire with Dominion, that fear of nuclear retaliation was keeping the enemy in check. Either he had believed Dominion’s lies and was incompetent, or he had told the country perhaps the most catastrophic lie in American history to hide how powerless he was.

The leaders of the international community were also furious and terrified. Collins told them that he could keep the issue contained, that he was buying them time, but Dominion’s expansion was costing them the faith of their own people. If the US fell, then they’d be the ones to face him next. They weren’t just twiddling their thumbs, though. Every country was searching for answers on how to defeat Dominion, combing through history and mythology. Shamanic rituals, exorcisms, rain dances, ways to “bless” weapons or cast spells—they were compiling everything.

The problem was that there was next to no actual information on him. His appearance had been plastered across the globe, but they knew nothing of his real name or his history. Most of the Christian population assumed that he was the Antichrist or even the Devil himself. They didn’t know what he was capable of. The extent of his powers was a mystery. They couldn’t even test any methods of dealing with his minions since it was impossible to capture any. The US was constantly trying and failing to bag one of the spawn, meaning that they also were shrouded in mystery. Had Dominion created them? Had he summoned them through some Satanic ritual or opened up a portal to Hell? Were they related to the undead?

Weeks passed, and Collins continued making deliveries. After New Hampshire was taken, nothing was left to chance. 1100 humans were now being delivered weekly, the extra hundred just in case some of them died on the way up. They’d also arrive at the drop-off point at 1:00 instead of 2:00, so that should anything go wrong with the delivery, they’d have an hour to rectify it.

A quiet June day found Dominion in his office at the Augusta prison, looking over paperwork. Despite his territory encompassing two states with dozens of new prisons, his work-load was next to nothing. For each prison, he created a mid-level spawn to oversee operations, and each of those spawn had a staff of sentinels, homunculi, and collaborators to do their bidding. Blight was tasked with overseeing all of their work and managing the entire prison system.

The paperwork Dominion was looking over was simply an overview of everything that was going on, Blight’s summaries of current events. This way, he could keep an eye on the big picture and make sure his minions didn’t screw anything up or accidentally deviate from the plan. Under his desk was Ishtar, worshipping his cock and using her mouth to baptize it. She had been going at all day and lost track of how many times he had ejaculated, but the feeling up her Master’s semen filling her stomach was pure ecstasy.

The doors to his office opened, Adam stepping in. One might think it rude for him to suddenly enter without knocking, but he had already requested an audience with Dominion and been granted permission. In his arms was a missile, about six feet long and seven inches in diameter.

“That’s it?” Dominion asked, looking up from his work.

“Yes, we caught it just as it entered our airspace, fourteen miles north of Lancaster.”

He set it down on Dominion’s desk, but there was no need to worry about it going off. Adam had already deactivated it with his powers. Despite the missile above her head, Ishtar didn’t stop sucking on the missile in her mouth. Her dedication was commendable. Dominion gave it a look over, then with a snap of his fingers, disassembled it like the had the buildings in New Hampshire. Rather than explosives, he found small cannisters of VX gas.

“Ah, they’re going for the big stuff. Seeing as how the mustard gas didn’t work, I guess they’re running out of options.”

“How shall we retaliate?”

“Well it looks like they removed all the serial numbers and codes to try and hide where it came from, but I’m guessing it’s Russian. I’ll tell Scourge to kill their president’s wife in front of him.” He handed the VX canisters to Adam. “Take these to my lab, and be careful with them.”

Adam left and Dominion reassembled the missile, then stood it up along the wall next to all the others. The other countries were getting both creative and desperate. Since he had taken over New Hampshire, they had already tried to deploy weaponized cholera, Ebola, smallpox, and countless other diseases at least a dozen times, and were using just about every chemical they could get their hands on. The spawn were even reporting priests and monks in Canada trying to bless the rivers flowing through his kingdom, hoping “the power of God” would cleanse him from the earth. Oh well, at least they were trying. Plus, the missiles made great decorations.

Unfortunately, he was starting to get bored. His forces were so strong that it was impossible for anyone to put up a decent fight, and it would be stupid to intentionally weaken his troops and hinder his plans. Oh well, there were plenty of other ways of entertaining himself.

As he had anticipated, the actions of the people of New Hampshire were a goldmine of psychological study. Each building had its own setup, and while certain behaviors and actions often repeated, the frequency or timing seemed to depend on the variables. The populations were also specifically portioned, most buildings having the same percentages of old people, young people, families with kids, married couples, and the unmarried.

After arriving, the people woke up, either with no lightning, dim lightning, blinding light, or even natural light. First, they would determine if they were hurt. Parents and children, if taken together and then separated, would immediately try to find each other, while the rest would focus on studying their surroundings and trying to figure out where they were. They’d follow the walls, see if there was anyone with them that they knew, and evaluate what they had to work with.

Then, they’d try to find a way out. Dominion hadn’t given them rules like the people in the mall, they were free to try and escape. However, it was quite impossible. Without tools, basic wood and plaster were as impenetrable as steel. Even if someone could bust through a single layer of drywall with their fist, the sides of the building were more than a foot thick and contained stone and brick. Likewise, the doors were heavily reinforced, able to stop a runaway semi. Regardless, the prisoners would beat their hands on the walls, throw themselves against the locked doors, and even try shouting for someone to help them, despite knowing that there was no one outside. Once it set in that they couldn’t escape, they’d reevaluate their situation and try to figure out how they’d live.

There was access to water and toilets, half of the buildings having stalls and the other half going without. There was no stimulation beyond human interaction, most of the buildings didn’t even have windows. Food was delivered at random times, most buildings getting just enough and some getting too much or barely any. Like at the mall, the doors used to deliver it were shrouded, so that even when open, it was impossible to tell the time of day outside, leaving the people with no way to tell time.

The first building he had created, the “plain” model, produced the expected results. Without any kind of privacy, the people inside tried to protect their modesty. The people of the mall had the same problem but learned how to hide. It was a while before anyone used the toilets. Even the men were too nervous just to pee. When the women could no longer hold it in or someone had to go #2, they’d cover their laps with any extra clothing and try to go as quick as possible, to minimize their exposure. Of course, the constant crying of children helped conceal the noise of nature’s call. In every building, that was a problem. The children didn’t understand what was going on and could only scream. Also, the dim lighting helped. Like the mall, there was just enough to make out the shapes of people, maybe see their faces if they were close enough.

They had enough food to feed everyone, not actually fill their bellies, but feed them. Fights broke out immediately, just like at the mall. In between meals, some people would try to elevate themselves in some way and address everyone, to suggest new ways to break out or at least advocate for the fair distribution of food, if only to protect the children and the elderly. There were a thousand people in this one building, many trying to take the role of a leader, and just as many not wanting to hear what they had to say, causing more fights to break out.

There were two buildings exactly like this one, one with perfect lighting, the other as black as the ace of spades. The brightly lit one had a lot more violence. Galvanized by the light, more people would try to play the role of leader, and without any darkness to calm their tempers, more angry naysayers would rise up to knock out those wannabe leaders. However, in the pitch-black building, it was the opposite. Everyone was docile, subdued by the darkness. They had no hope and knew that there was no escape.

None of these three buildings had any rapes, though, not like the mall. There were murders, fights escalating until someone died, but without any place to hide, even in the dark, none of the men gave in to temptation.

That changed with another set of three buildings, exactly like the first three, except that a labyrinth had been set up, the walls made of brick and rebar-infused wood so that they couldn’t be broken down. The dead ends of the maze were prime real estate, three walls offering both privacy and protection. Families with children would huddle in them, like animals nesting where they could guard their young. Those dead ends would become small bastions of civility, the families taking refuge and bonding over their shared responsibilities and fears. When food was delivered, the men would leave to gather some for the group, like Neanderthals heading out to kill a sabretooth tiger.

The meek singles or the childless couples would hide in corners of the mazes, often against the walls. In the center, it was livelier and lawless, people discussing escape or fighting over resources. In the labyrinth, the only people that existed were those in view. Secret conversations could be had, crimes could be committed. In the lit labyrinth building, there was much more fighting in the center, but in the darker buildings, a lot more women were raped. The darkness and the walls of the labyrinth provided the perfect cover for any violent man to do whatever he wanted.

Elevation seemed to play an important role. Only the first floor had the toilets and food delivery, but people would still flock to the upper stories if they had the chance. It was like they believed they could “lift themselves” out of danger by getting higher. Strangely though, basements had an opposite effect. Or rather, they drew a different creed of people.

On the ground floor would be the families, parents wanting to keep their children near the food and toilets, minimizing the amount of dangerous ground they’d have to cover. They were just trying to get by, unable to afford things like hope or pipe dreams. Upper floors would have the hopeful, those who believed that there was a way out, either physically or spiritually. They’d hold meetings and group prayers upstairs, as if being higher in elevation brought them closer to God.

In the basement, just as it was at the mall, would hold the dregs of society. Not even the dregs, just the people who gave in to despair easier, who would revert to more primal or chaotic natures when things went wrong. Those who isolated themselves from society, who numbed themselves with drugs or alcohol, who rebelled against conformity, they’d sink into the depths to try and fill the hole in their hearts with darkness, not wanting to be found. They’d cast off their humanity, embracing despair and madness so that they wouldn’t have to fear them. Rape, cannibalism, human sacrifice, devil worship, it happened no matter what the light levels were. They’d feed on each other and defecate in the corners so that they wouldn’t have to go upstairs.

In a few multi-level buildings, Dominion would trick them, either putting the toilets and food delivery on higher stories or in the basements. Since there was no way to see outside, nobody could tell what their actual elevation was. The buildings where the food was delivered in the upper levels, the ground floor would become “the basement”. In the buildings where food was delivered into the basement, those who dwelled down there remained civil. Food was their link to the outside world, it reminded them that they were people.

The amount of food would greatly determine the behavior of the subjects. The prisoners that were overfed were more civilized and determined to escape. The prisoners that were underfed were more antagonistic to each other and easily swayed by insanity. For a few buildings, there was no food delivered. The people were left to starve. However, while all the other buildings were left unfurnished, the starving prisoners were given knives. Again, the light level was important. In the brightly lit buildings where everyone could see each other, cannibalism didn’t take place until at least a week had passed. At which point, they tried to form a community and vote on who would be eaten. Even when discussing victims of cannibalism, the light forced them to remain civil.

In the darker buildings, it was a blood bath. They managed to avoid temptation for the first two days, resist their hunger out of force of will, but as always, stress caused short tempers and short tempers caused violence, and whenever a scream was heard and blood was smelled, that hunger would grow stronger. Typically, by the third day was when the eating began. A fight would break out, someone would stab their enemy, and as they felt the body fall to the ground, the need to feed would overcome them. The sound of chewing would break the wills of others and they’d join in, blind in the darkness and going only by touch and smell. Then, they started killing each other for food. After that, the descent into madness became a straight dive.

Dominion let his experiment go on for a month, watching the events in every building, studying the degenerating mental state of his victims. He counted the casualties, setting a limit on how many were allowed to die before he’d put a stop to it. Luckily, since they had all been branded, it was just a matter of collecting the bodies. Even half-eaten corpses retained their bound souls. Once he deemed the experiment finished, he let everyone out, just long enough to reconstruct the buildings into real prisons, then they were locked back up, but their living conditions had improved to match those of the Maine prisoners in Augusta and Portland.

Once the prisons were made, the processing could begin. Men, women, children, and the elderly were separated. Their names, family members, and jobs were recorded. Anyone with useful skills would be a worker or medic, the rest would be laborers. Then they were shaved, hosed down, and deloused. Any woman currently ovulating was immediately handed over to the guards for breeding, and all pregnant women were isolated in the maternity ward, where they’d spend the rest of their lives tied to beds. Overall, it was a very busy day, but there was no rest for the weary. The day after they were introduced to their new prisons, they were put to work. Just like in Maine, land was being cleared for farming. Trees were cut and ripped from the ground and the soil was plowed. All earthmoving equipment and heavy machinery available were used, for the sake of efficiency, but most of the prisoners were forced to labor with hand tools, all while being whipped by sentinels. After all, exhausted slaves were docile slaves.

Along with farming, there was also the collecting of resources. The prisoners would go into empty houses and strip them down. Food would be packaged up and catalogued, while anything metal was tossed into dump trucks. Tools and resources like copper wiring and chain-link fences were collected for reuse, but everything else would be used to craft Dominion’s weapons of war. Foundries were built in Concord for melting the collected metal.

For two months, it went on like this. The slaves were worked to the bone, used to create Dominion’s dream world. More sphinxes and other crafts were created, a fleet built for the enslavement of mankind. Dominion was similarly busy. When it wasn’t at the mansion raping and torturing his slaves, he was in his lab, experimenting with things that man was not meant to tamper with. The vehicles his collaborators used were being faded out and replaced with new vehicles for raids outside of the territory. They were massive windowless buses, reinforced with heavy armor and wide enough to take up both lanes on the road, with tank treads instead of tires. They used electric motors that were powered by S2 Engines, essentially making it so that they could run forever, no longer relying on gas or electricity.

He was using this unholy technology more and more, running his whole operation with the power of S2 Engines. Fossil fuels, solar power, hydroelectricity, nuclear power, he was making them all obsolete, with what was ironically the cleanest energy source in the world.

The mansion was filled with the sounds of Nayara’s euphoric moans. In the master bedroom, she was riding Dominion’s cock. He was against the headboard, gripping her ass as he bucked his hips and pummeled her womanhood. Her cheeks jiggled with each strike and rippled as he spanked her over and over. It was July, painfully hot, and while Dominion was immune to the heat, his slaves were glistening with sweat.

“Yes, Master! Please fuck me harder! I want your cock so deep inside me!”

He increased the brutality of her thrusts and lifted her up to give him full movement. His speed was masterful, his strokes sending her eyes rolling back into her head. Almost as good was the sensation of him sucking on her breasts, tenderizing her silver dollar areolas with his tongue and teeth.

At the foot of the bed, Mary was drinking Dominion’s semen out of Ishtar’s pussy. He liked to violate his slaves in pairs, a habit which started with the twins. He’d brutalize one until she passed out, then take a turn on the second until the first recovered. Ishtar was always present, just in case both slaves were unable to continue. Not only did this setup continuously humiliate his nazi milf slave, but he enjoyed the almost yin yang tranquility of her and Nayara both sucking his cock.

Dominion’s breathing became rough, the sign he had climaxed. Nayara, permanently lost in her dementia, became overjoyed. “I can feel it, Master, your hot cum flooding my womb! Pour it all into my slutty pussy! Make me your filthy cum slut!”

His erection didn’t fade for even a second. If anything, he was now fucking her even harder, stirring his semen around inside her into a foamy mess. After a few minutes, he finally pulled out, or rather, slipped out. Seeing her Master’s manhood, Ishtar dove across the bed and greedily sucked it clean, as a dutiful servant should. The taste of her Master’s semen, it intoxicated her like a drug, making her mind go hazy. She licked every square centimeter, slurping up all the flavor she could, then she went to work on his balls, soaked in Nayara’s honey.

Her own pleasure was not her top priority, and knowing her Master’s rhythm, she wrapped her long tongue around his cock and guided it into Nayara’s asshole. As it penetrated her, Dominion changed his hold, sliding his arms under her knees and grasping her at the small of her back, giving him full control of her body. This time, instead of bucking his hips, he slammed her up and down on his cock, using his hold to lift and drop her. Ishtar watched with an envious look, her eyes fixated on her Master’s manhood, spreading Nayara’s asshole wide, brutalizing it as he turned her intestines into a cock sleeve, and at her beautiful chocolate cheeks, glistening with sweat, bouncing and jiggling, just begging for her to sink her teeth into like a side of beef.

To satiate her lust without getting in her Master’s way, she extended her tongue as far as she could and wrapped it around his manhood like a cock ring, so she could continue to taste him and Nayara. A few minutes later, he came a second time, once again marking Nayara’s asshole as his property. He pushed her aside, not a shred of kindness or mercy, and pointed to Mary.

“You, get to work.” Shooting daggers from her eyes, she crawled over and began licking his dick. “Go on, make love to it. Or I can get rough.”

She took the message and began sucking on it like a cheap whore. How much collective time had she spent letting this monster dirty her mouth? How much time had he used her skull like some kind of holster, the hours she’d have to spend blowing him while he’d read books or watch TV? It was like she could taste her children’s blood on it, a constant reminder that she was forced to live only to please their killer, not to mention she could taste that filthy whore Nayara, but in fear of torture, she put in her best efforts, gargling and sucking on it, making an even bigger mess than when she started.