The Sisters of The Screaming Legion (Patreon)

I wrote all of this in like… a couple hours? I just had this dream last night and the first half of it was basically exactly like this story… just this arrival of an army that was half the Sisters of Battle warrior nuns from Warhammer 40K and half the heavy metal armies from Brutal Legend. Just a horde of goth chicks packing swords, guns and blasting metal music that would absolutely trample someone in their way rather than slow down.

It’s got vibes like some of my past stories about finding an amazon tribe. Which ain’t a bad thing, cuz those go over well. I didn’t bother getting into many details on the world itself, but it’s medieval-ish world where for some reason, there’s a cultish order of monks/musicians in the mountains that nobody fucks with until they show up to own your ass. I leave it vague, but for now I’m thinking that a few centuries ago, a modern day metal band arrived through time travel bullshit and brought their modern ways to this small order. They live a bastardized, meditative barbarian version of that now where everything they do is rowdy and violent and set to heavy metal music 24/7.

Definitely leave some sequel potential too.

Being a common soldier under any kingdom’s banner was not especially safe or glorious, but it was the only option for some. Especially when Gallerum set its mandatory draft on the neighboring towns and forced Moore to enlist in their rebel army.

At first it was painfully dull and exhausting. His military experience mostly involved running laps in cheap armor or having to use the bathroom outdoors on their march. The rebellion against the crown in Laraket had escalated to a full on war and they were throwing more men at the forces trying to quell their uprising.

Moore started to miss the boredom when they reached the actual battlegrounds. He was lucky enough to get stuck on guard duty back near base camp, but it wasn’t hard to see from a distance that things were getting ugly. Of course the larger kingdom with the established army would crush their attempt at an uprising he hadn’t even wanted.

Moore was standing guard in front of the commander’s tent, picking up snippets of how badly they were getting slaughtered when he saw a scout rushing him like a madman. Moore put up his spear awkwardly to cut him off, but the wild-eyed man leaned over it to shout to the officers.

“Sirs! More incoming from the north!” he babbled out.

Moore could see the concern cross their faces.

“Blaring music and women all in black! Like an army of hell, sirs! I think it’s The Legion!”

For once, it was something that caught Moore’s actual interest and not one that was about whether he had to live or die. There were all sorts of legends about The Screaming Legion around the countryside, but they were so terrifying and reclusive that nobody dared go near them to find out if they were true.

“They’re either allies or we may as well start digging our own graves,” a short and round general muttered to the others.

The commander nodded. “Then you two go see that they find us. If half the stories are true, this may be the dark miracle we need.”

---

There were many stories about where The Screaming Legion came from and what exactly they even were. Some said they were a band of wild-hearted women who entered the mountains and started a monastery around their inspiringly aggressive music. Some thought them a long lost unit from the army that secreted away strange technology and weapons. Others claimed they were time traveling witches whose strange magic and technology made them next to unstoppable. The most popular tale, however, was that they were a bunch of huge, crazy warrior women dressed in eccentrically gothic attire for the rather simple fantasy realm.

As soon as Moore saw them approaching over the hillside, there was no doubt that it was The Legion. Hundreds of women dressed almost completely in black with wild-colored hair and battle paint. They dressed in sparse armor (also black steel or leather), preferring tight t-shirts listing names he couldn't recognize and torn, ancient jeans that weren’t made anywhere else in the world. Piercings and tattoos marked their skin, pale from their seclusion in the frigid mountain ranges up north. Their grim and smile-free expressions matched their icy homeland.

Screeching notes and rapid drumbeats rang out as they escorted a dozen-strong band in their center, thrashing wildly as they played their drums and guitars so savagely it was like they were trying to break them in the process. Moore wasn’t the tallest man in the revolution, but they loomed over him at an easy six foot height on average. One even lumbered along like a gangly tree in motion, a massive black mane covering half her face. A too-small shirt failed to fully cover her breasts with flashes of sharp metal spikes peeking out from the bottoms of her nipples. She towered over the rest as over 7 feet of loping darkness with a battle axe and a guitar slung across her back.

While she was one of the more extreme cases, it set their tone nicely for The Legion. All huge and capable warrior women, whether thick with muscle or lean and wiry like agile cats. They were all armed with all manner of weaponry but many of them carried an instrument with them if not a symbol of one. Some were pierced to the point where there was more metal than flesh on their faces and even some were head to toe covered in black veils and garb. Their unstoppable heavy metal gothic amazon army had arrived to save the day.

“Legion! Welcome! We are glad to have your aid!” the scout shouted as he ran towards them.

The warrior women kept on walking and Moore had a moment of realization. He ran after the scout, and just as he reached the leader of the Legion forces she barely shifted in the slightest. The stocky blonde woman with red, black-lined eyes just swung a broad shoulder forward and shoulder-checked him to the ground without breaking stride. Her platformed black boot stepped on his stomach like he was another pebble in the road, and it was only Moore’s quick reaction that pulled him out of their way in time to keep him from being trampled to death by their ceaseless march.

They didn’t even seem to notice in their apathetically angry trance. All it got from them was an irate glance from one Legionnaire who flanked the band’s rolling platform. She was tall and broad with arms and hips twice as thick as Moore’s. She wore a long-sleeved black shirt with “I WILL Bench Press You” stenciled in white text down the sleeve facing him. A set of drumsticks were tucked into her belt, and not far from them was a long, black and brown device on a sling that Moore had only seen the crudest of copies of. When his army was packing crossbows and a couple of muskets, of course he wouldn’t recognize an assault rifle.

“The rebels are just ahead!” the leader’s voice suddenly bellowed, easily hard over the booming music as she spoke into some kind of a wand.

“You know what it is, sisters! Fuck the system! Circle up on the band! Lemme hear them battle hymns!”

The Legion women bellowed out loud enough to drown even the rampaging music and nearly blew Moore off his feet.

“THEY CAN’T STOP US! LET EM TRY!

FOR HEAVY METAL WE WILL DIE!”

---

The battle was a joke after that. An incredibly fast and bloody joke. The king’s army had them outnumbered three to one and way out-trained, so one wouldn’t think another hundred or so troops would change that. Their handheld war machines, armor-cleaving weapons, ridiculous strength, and psychotic ferocity tore through the Laraket’s forces like they were a flock of chickens rather than fully trained soldiers. They descended on the larger army and slaughtered them in what seemed like a matter of minutes. A few lucky soldiers were able to flee while the rebel army was all too happy to pull out and make room for The Legion to crush their foes for them.

The Screaming Legion broke off from the battle, hooting and howling like madwomen. They had won the battle with ease and without their band even slowing its frenzied concert. The deadly women chest-bumped each other or punched each other affectionately in the arm, as if they were still fired up and ready for another war to start. In a ridiculously informal alliance, a seemingly random sister of The Legion mentioned that they would be traveling with them to fight for the rebellion. With that, they took a short walk off to set up a camp of their own. Their black tents were clearly not for stealth purposes, their continuing music marathon and bonfires raging on through the night.

Moore was kept awake that evening, but not by the music or the barely discernible lyrics of their warsongs. He couldn’t get his mind off the sight of the dark and strange women. Their blunt yet mysterious ways and their hair-trigger shifts between silent, unstoppable juggernauts into raving savages was burned into his memory. Their exotic appearance was inescapably eye-catching and he found himself barely able to rest at all.

The scout Moore had saved out of instinct more than anything passed him a bowl of stew from the main camp. He’d almost forgotten to eat in his enraptured state listening to the bellowed, baritone siren call of the Legion camp. The grateful messenger had been nothing but appreciative for the rescue, and apart from some heavy bandaging and a large footprint of a bruise, he seemed like he’d pull through.

“I think I’m going to go visit their camp,” Moore decided after quietly eating his dinner.

“What!? Are you crazy, man?! You were THERE!”

The scout lifted up his shirt to show the discolored bootprint.

“You saw what they do to their enemies and anyone who gets in the way. They’re crazy warrior nightmare women! What do you think they’re gonna do to you if you sneak into their camp!?”

Moore hesitated, but finally set down his bowl.

“I’ll never know until I try. And I’ll never be able to let myself sleep without knowing. Take my bowl back and we’ll call it even between us, eh?”

The young soldier passed his dish off to his fellow soldier and stood up, starting the short walk over to the noisy neighbors.

“Hope you survive, mate!” the scout called after him.

---

There was no surprise to The Screaming Legion camp. They were not a subtle force, so their blasting music, raging fire and head-banging dances were obvious well outside their borders. It felt like they were made to terrify anyone from even considering coming near them rather than laying low, but almost nothing they did made sense to Moore anyway so it may have just been their order’s customs. They even seemed a stark contrast to themselves; their duality remained as some bellowed out to the lyrics or moshed violently together in their small mobs while others brooded quietly in the shadows of their tents or the dancing lights of their campfires. The quieter, witchly-looking ones eyed him in silence but made no moves to stop him as he cautiously ventured in deeper. Strange-smelling smoke wafted from various fires and tents around him, keeping him on edge yet surprisingly calmed by it.

The first thing he had close to an interaction was as a Legion sister staggered out from behind a larger tent. She was built taller and broader than a man in full plate armor with a chest alone that looked capable of crushing Moore’s skull beneath it. She thrust a half-empty mug into the air, the pungent stuff splashing out over her dark leather jacket, combat boots and blood red hair.

“For fuckin’ Frost!” she bellowed out. “Rest easy now, you fuckin’ ugly cow!”

“Fuck yea!” a nearly as massive woman with shaved down dark hair, slender features and gaping holes in her ears agreed behind her. She slung an arm over the redhead’s shoulders, seeming to ignore how the spikes on the shoulders of the jacket pricked and bled her forearms. She downed the mug in her own hand before hurling it hard into the camp at a random direction.

“Cunt died to a song. She lives in the notes now!” she ranted.

Moore recalled one or two Legion bodies among the fallen, their pierced black forms standing out among the dead. It was a dismissive loss at best, strategically, but they clearly had their own rituals for their dead. Whether it was another mood swing or part of their bizarre culture, the brunette suddenly headbutted the stockier woman. She staggered over backward and Moore felt his life flash before his eyes as the ox of a woman started to fall on him with her coat of studs and spikes.

Moore felt the entire world move around him as he was moved faster than he ever had in his life. He had barely realized he was being grabbed by the collar before he was yanked to safety, letting the drunk giantess hit the dirt instead of his skull.

“Careful there, little soul. Everything in a Legion camp is dangerous, so better get used to watching for spikes.”

Moore looked up and blushed at the woman standing over him. She was one of the few dark-skinned members of The Screaming Legion, but she was clearly one of them all the same. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail made of several thick braids dyed a maelstrom of white and black streaks like a beast. Everything about her was broad and thick, from her perky breasts that kept her shirt from properly covering her toned belly to her thick legs wrapped in clearly blood-stained black jeans. Full lips were punctured by several small rings, with lipstick applied in reckless, slashing streaks of toxic purple closer to warpaint than makeup. Bright green eyes with dark lashes and eyeliner studied Moore, and even as she held a steadying hand on his shoulder her black leather wristbands bore their own long, narrow spikes that pricked his skin with their tips. Her snug-fitting shirt bore a slightly faded skull, mouth agape as thick blood poured from its sockets and mouth.

“Thanks,” Moore squeaked out. Realizing how pathetic it had come out, he cleared his throat.

“I’m uh... from the rebels. The other army,” he managed to ramble.

“Yea. No shit,” she said with a tame nod.

She grabbed him by the collar, impatiently leading him out of the path between the tents.

“No ink, no pierce, no instrument, no tits… you look more like a meal than a Legionnaire,” the beefy amazon scolded him.

“Please don’t eat me,” Moore prayed quietly under his breath, easily masked by the deafening music.

He couldn’t imagine resisting the musical berserker as she suddenly reached a spot further from the central camp and its concert. She shoved him over to make him sit next to a large campfire. There, the towering woman he had seen looming over the battlefield and sending men flying like footballs with her large boots sat with her legs folded and stooping low. Even hunched over and sitting down she was taller than he was. She sipped from her thick mug once in a while, letting it vanish quietly under her long-hanging hair. Beside her was the woman covered in black, patterned veils, perfectly motionless besides the slow nodding of her head along to the music.

“What’s that now Trash?” the veiled woman asked in a hoarse and raspy voice.

“Calandra said no hitting up the camp,” the giant one added in a low, droning tone.

“Found it out by the tents,” Moore’s rescuer said. She pointed to the other two Legionnaires.

“Alexandria. Big one’s Rax.”

The dark-skinned sister smacked a hand to her chest.

“I’m Thrash. Shut up and get drunk with us.”

Moore blushed hard and did as he was told. Thrash dunked her whole hand along with the mug into a large pot, shoving the strong-smelling ale into his hands. He licked his fingers to clean off the alcohol and immediately broke into a coughing fit. The women immediately laughed at his expense and traded a few jovial punches and shoves.

“Oh my ladies… how did you fucking normies live this long?” Thrash trailed off her laugh with a shake of her head and guzzling down a full mug of the stuff.

“Well we wouldn’t have,” Moore coughed as he regained his breath. “Not if you girls hadn’t shown up.”

“It was nothin’,” Rax rumbled lowly.

“Where there’s rebellion, we sisters fight,” Alexandria hissed from beneath her robes.

“Die for metal! Rage against the machine! Fuck the system!” Thrash agreed heartily.

“Fuck the system!” her comrades belted out. The rest of the champ gradually echoed it across the camp.

“Is that really why you came here? You just wanted to rebel?” Moore pried.

“We go where the music takes us,” Alexandria said with a cryptic purr. “And somehow we always find ourselves on the side of rebellions and revolutions. The bands channel our ancestors and aim our guns and blades when we are needed.”

“The short answer is yes,” Thrash added bluntly.

“We stay ready for when the world is ready to change. Then we come fuck shit up.”

“That sounds… incredible,” Moore said, a bit awestruck before he’d even really touched his beer.

“Your whole order sounds like… angels. Or devils all at once. You brought hell to that battlefield and made it look like divine justice!”

“This kid gets it,” Rax grunted with a crooked smirk.

“You were just this… sea of darkness and beauty pouring over the hills…” he went on, still trying to process everything.

“Shit, hold on. I’m writing these lyrics down,” Alexandria hissed.

She pulled a notebook and pen from somewhere within her robes and started scribbling. Thrash smirked as she folded her arms expectantly and watched Moore ramble a bit longer. He was starting to crack a smile as he wrapped his head around the impossible day he’d been through.

“You were the nightmares they’d warned us about but fighting on our side. Too fearless for death to take you as-”

In another sudden outburst of a reaction, Thrash grabbed him by the collar once again. This time she dragged him towards her, holding his slim frame against her chest that bulged around him. Her iron grip was both terrifying and comforting as she kissed him fimly, rubbing the oily taste of her makeup and the firm press of her lip rings over his mouth. Her tongue pressed past his lips and he fought not to flinch as he felt another dull-tipped spike that was pierced in her tongue.

Moore instantly froze and lost track of time. However long Thrash wanted to kiss him, she pulled her tongue back out just as quickly as it had entered.

“Thank you,” he muttered breathlessly.

“What part of shut up and get drunk don’t you get?” Thrash intoned with a heated look in her eyes.

Moore had lost his virginity a few years ago, but it was nothing like being taken by a Legionnaire. She slammed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, pinning him firmly beneath her strength and weight like she was about to kill him. The wide-eyed and passionate stare made him confident that murder or sex were equally on the table in his mind until she started to tear his clothes off.

She went right back to kissing him once she was sure she had him down. Moore did his best to kiss back, meeting her lips and tongue however he could, but it was clear that Thrash controlled the pace. Whenever he would move to match her enthusiasm she went in harder, until her tongue was pushing against his throat and she was biting his lip aggressively. She only parted with him long enough to throw away their shirts, baring her muscled, dark body and her huge bouncing tits.

Somewhere in his frantic reaction, Moore’s eyes darted over to Alexandria and Rax.

“They can see…” he started to mutter, but she grabbed his hair and bit his lip.

“They don’t fuckin’ care,” she assured him as she pulled hard enough on his pants for it to sting as they were ripped down to his ankles.

The stranger sisters actually didn’t even seem to notice, or so Moore thought until Alexandria nodded.

“This is what I’m always saying. We’re just dying all the time, and the only thing to do about it is to live harder with those moments,” the veiled warrior-monk-musician explained to Rax as she nodded along.

There wasn’t much time to focus on them. Thrash suddenly moved to her knees and rose over Moore’s body, dropping her enormous thighs on either side of his face. Her cleanly shaven pussy mashed into his face, clearly still sweaty and smelling strongly of the day’s battle. He groped at the thick legs for something to steady himself by, but they clamped hard enough around his head to make his ears pop. He clearly needed no leverage as she started to hump his face, moaning at first and then building into a passionate wail. It grew less like the sounds of heated lovemaking and into the wails of a banshee; both musical and furious as if she was fighting with her own arousal the whole time.

Moore did what little he could, rolling out his tongue and licking at her bare pussy. The juices were a musky kind of bittersweet that only added to his sensory overload. He swallowed hard, still unsure if her crushing legs were simply holding him there or ready to kill him if he somehow failed her. He sucked and licked away at the facesitting barbarian all the same, feeding her furious howls of pleasure.

Moore’s cock was already at full attention, his adrenaline racing from his aggressive lover’s mounting. Her broad hand reached back and caressed around his cock as her cries became ear-piercing howls, her thighs flexing and hips rolling to ride his face harder. He was clearly doing something right so he kept at it, wolfing down her pussy hungrily as the dangerously exciting fantasy continued. Her broad ass rubbed over his chest and belly as it jiggled while she teased his cock between her obsidian-tipped fingers.

Thrash finally pulled back, releasing her legs and lifting her crotch from his mouth and nose. Moore took a bigger gasp for air than he’d meant to as he stared up at her crotch, getting his first good look at her parted and dripping-wet pussy lips.

“Ready to die the little death with me, mortal?” Thrash purred.\

She ran her fingers over her pussy lips temptingly while she rewarded him with a firmer, rougher jerk of his cock. Moore was wide-eyed with euphoria as he nodded. He’d have agreed to anything in that moment.

“Then give me that weak little soul of yours...”

Thrash didn’t even move to mount him. She grabbed Moore by the throat and dragged him higher along the ground to move him into a proper missionary position. He gasped again as she let him go and dropped her heavy hips down on his lap. Her pussy sheathed his cock inside her in one go, her big body jiggling to a stop as her hefty tits bobbed just over his head. It was the same intense feeling of pain and pleasure that Moore had never imagined let alone experienced, giving out a short wail of his own as she swallowed up his dick.

“Harder than that,” Thrash hissed as she leaned over him, hovering her face right in front of his as she sprayed him with flecks of spittle and sweat.

“And louder. Show me you’re even alive down there, you scrawny normie bitch!”

Thrash quickly helped him work up his own panicked frenzy, slamming her hips into him like they were threatening to break a part of him at any moment. He could feel her jiggling ass crash down on his thighs with every aggressive hump and her hands roamed over his chest and neck. Her tits jiggled as they slapped against him, smothering and pouring over most of his chest and arms as the heavy metal amazon raked her nails around his throat. She had kept on her spiked bracelets, carelessly leaving tiny scratches that made his lightly tanned flesh red from the irritation.

Thrash grunted and bit her pierced lip, toying with the rings with her tongue as she carelessly drooled on Moore’s gawking face. Just like in battle, the Legion sisters clearly fucked with reckless abandon and little care for their bodies or their opponents/lovers save for their own pleasure. In a moment of orgasmic epiphony, Moore had to wonder if that was why they pierced and tattooed themselves, doing more harm to themselves than they could ever fear from their enemies.

That was certainly how he felt as he climaxed. Everything hurt and stung or even bled in a few spots, but he was so numb with pleasure and excitement he didn’t care. He reveled in it. His cock throbbed in Thrash’s roughly grinding pussy until he shuddered violently. The busty goth grabbed his hair firmly in one hand and gripped him by the shoulder, digging her black nails into his flesh like she was pushing her corrupting way of life into him. Moore’s eyes rolled back as he shivered, the big woman unbudging on top of him apart from her soft curves wobbling as he came inside her. As his seed ran down her dark thighs and followed the trails laid out by her leg muscles, he heard himself screaming before he realized he was doing it.

“That’s it, soul. Let it out in me!” Thrash moaned deeply to him.

She pressed her lips to his mouth, swallowing up his screams. He still kept whining and wailing into her as he kept cumming, oozing out of her as she started to scream and moan along with him in their own primal, euphoric song. He clearly felt her orgasm as well, between the gush of warm juices painting his cock and the clenching of her many thick muscles around him to hold him tighter. She finally drew back from their kiss, her panting mouth drooling their shared saliva over him.

“Brutal,” she muttered as she eyed him with a slightly softer gaze than earlier.

Moore chuckled wearily, already confident he’d be feeling this in the morning. He sure wouldn’t regret it, though. He was confident of that.

“A bitchin’ song,” Rax mused nearby.

It wasn’t clear if she meant the concert or if it was more strange lingo from the strange tribe. Thrash seemed to ignore her as she rolled unceremoniously off of Moore and refilled her mug. She gulped it down while she pulled her shirt back on.

“We can always use another lyricist…” Alexandria pondered softly.

“Mmhm,” Thrash said, nodding her head as she finished off her fresh mug.  She turned and shouted back towards the camp. Apparently their main means of passing word was just by screamed rumor.

“HEY! Tell Nu we got a new groupie!” she belted into the main cluster of The Screaming Legion.

There were a few echoed shouts of the same, but more were drowned out by excited hoots and cheers. It did occur to Moore that he had never seen a male among them.

“What does that mean?” Moore asked.

“You’re one of us now, new meat,” Rax chuckled deeply.

“A low-ranking one. A recruit at best. What we call one of the posers,” Thrash added firmly, as if to keep him from getting a big head.

“But you’re a proper Screamer now. You’re gonna need one of… these.”

The braided warrior woman leaned into one of the black tents, sticking her wide ass at him for a moment before she came back out. She threw a blank, black t-shirt at Moore that fell over his face, clearly a few sizes too big.

“You’ll have your bandlist updated the more battles you survive. Not that you’ll really be in any, since you’ll just be entertaining the troops.”

“We’re easily entertained,” Alexandria added softly. “So long as you’re tough enough to survive the entertainment.”

Thrash pulled her jeans back on as she cupped Moore’s chin, tilting it this way and that.

“And you’re gonna need some leather, get some tats and piercings in you, teach you how to shred your vocal chords…”

She patted his cheek firmly, giving him another of the pleasantly mixed stinging sensations.

“Yea... we might just make a real man out of you yet, bitch.”