#wallbreakers

"I told you not to stay out there talking in this terrible weather! You know very well that it's storm season, Mini Pekka!"

"Oh, come on, Mom! It's not even nighttime yet, I'll be fine..."

Pekka punched the wall next to Mini Pekka's face, startling her son with the sudden thud, and then said angrily:

"Don't talk back when I'm talking to you."

"I'm sorry, Mommy..."

"Go wash the dishes you used to make pancakes earlier, before I put the flour out of your reach."

"A-ah... Mom... how about... a day at... um... the spa?"

"... What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I think you've been a little stressed out these past few days... you should relax a little. You're too overwhelmed..."

"And how is that going to work, young man?" she asked with a little more interest in the relaxing day.

"Well... um... you know the Wallbreakers? So they..."

"CRACKLE AND BOOM?? NO WAY!"

"Hey, Mom, calm down... um... Valk and Duchess approved! At least that's what Larry said... Oh, Mom! What's the big deal? Besides, Larry invited me over to his house to play, so you'd have the afternoon to yourself!"

"Huff... Okay... I accept this 'relaxing day', son..."

"Yes!! You'll be brand new, Mom! I'll talk to Larry tomorrow morning!"

It was early Sunday afternoon.

Pekka had already knocked down about eight training dummies in less than ten minutes of combat training when Mini Pekka heard someone knocking on the door: it was Larry and the Wallbreaker twins.

"Mom, they're here!" Pekka left her katana in the back and went to the door, coming face to face with the twins holding two barrels and asked:

"Did you bring gunpowder to my castle???"

"What? No..." Crackle replied, a little afraid of her..."This is lubricating oil, Pekka... we're gonna give you a nice massage!"

She was a little surprised by Boom's enthusiasm. She didn't expect them to actually come with such enthusiasm on a Sunday afternoon. The lids of the barrels opened with a bang, releasing a strong smell of pine resin mixed with something earthy. Crackle dipped his bony fingers into the viscous liquid, the oil dripping like dark syrup between his knuckles.

Larry tugged at Mini Pekka's sleeve, his eyes darting between Pekka's rigid stance and the skeletons' oily hands.

"Come on, Pek, my mom made honey cakes yesterday"he whispered, already backing toward the arched doorway. Mini Pekka hesitated, watching her mother's armored fingers clench into fists before nodding and running after her friend, her footsteps echoing through the stone hallway. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind them, leaving Pekka alone with the twins in the cavernous silence of the training room.

Crackle tilted his skull, his empty eye sockets fixed on Pekka's clenched fists. "The armor has to come off, big girl.." he said hoarsely, wiping oil from his rib cage, "You can't crush tension through steel plates." Behind him, Boom nodded vigorously, pouring oil onto the slabs.

"That's right! Your magical skin needs to breathe! We have a special elixir for afterward..." He patted the second barrel.

The breastplate on Pekka's chest fell to the floor like a kitchen utensil, revealing a shimmering violet glow that pulsed beneath her translucent spirit form. Her plump curves seemed softer without the confines of steel, though her crossed arms still radiated defensiveness. Boom opened a small vial, pouring thick black syrup into Crackle's outstretched palm.

"Drink, warrior!"

The elixir smelled of burnt sugar and damp earth—an aroma that made Pekka's magical skin crawl with discomfort.

She looked at Crackle's palm, the aroma provoking a deep and unexpected warmth in her belly. She swallowed hard, her bright purple skin turning a deeper amethyst hue as she took the vial and drank the thick elixir in one gulp. It coated her throat like liquid velvet— warm, sweet, and earthy — before settling deep within her being. Her plump thighs clenched instinctively as a dizzying wave of heat spread through her spirit form. Across the training hall, the twins were already dragging a stone basin from the shadows, filling it with enchanted buckets that poured hot water from the fountain without stopping.

Crackle scattered dried obsidian petals into the swirling pool while Boom murmured incantations; each word made the water glow with an ever-deepening violet light, releasing spirals of aromatic steam scented with volcanic sulfur and night jasmine.

The hot spring water enveloped Pekka's spirit form, steaming rivulets tracing paths down her plump shoulders as she sank deeper into the pool of obsidian petals. Her muscles uncoiled like taut ropes snapping.

First the rigid line of her spine, then the stubborn clenching of her jaw. The muffled whispers of the twins disappeared beneath the volcanic sigh of water in her ears, the steam of sulfur and jasmine filling her nostrils with each slow breath. Beneath the surface, her purple glow pulsed to the rhythm of her heartbeat, spreading warmer... softer... as the velvety heat of the elixir gathered in the pit of her stomach.

The heat blossomed between Pekka's thighs like a second heartbeat, insistent and unfamiliar. She moved in the obsidian-scented water, the subtle friction of the swirling petals against her submerged skin sending unexpected tremors through her plump hips. A low, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as the velvety warmth of the elixir intensified its hold deep within her core — it was not pain, but a relentless, ticklish vibration that made her curl her toes against the smooth stone of the basin. Her glowing spirit form darkened, like amethyst, where her soft belly met the waterline

Pekka's eyelids fluttered as the insistent throbbing between her thighs turned into something frighteningly akin to hunger.

"Drinking that elixir wasn't a good idea, I think..." — The thought slowly emerged through the steam-induced haze, drowned out almost immediately by another wave of liquid heat radiating from her core.

Her full breasts felt heavy and sensitive against the surface of the water, the obsidian petals brushing against her nipples, hardening them into sore spots that sent sparks straight to her pelvis. Across the basin, Crackle's bony fingers tapped rhythmically against the stone rim— tap-tap-tap—a sound that inexplicably synchronized with the pulsing need deep in her belly

The rhythmic tapping of Crackle's knuckles stopped abruptly when Boom opened the doors to the training room. Steam spread around his skeleton, carrying the strong smell of sulfur into the hallway. "Bath time's over, lady," he said hoarsely, swaying his bony hips in a provocative motion toward the basin. "Time to relax the body... hee hee!" His rib cage vibrated with laughter as Pekka startled.

The hot towel dragged across Pekka's still-glistening back felt rough, scraping her sensitive skin as Boom pushed the training dummies aside to make room. Crackle asked no questions — just hooked his bony fingers under her plump thighs and pulled her wet body onto the stone slab he used for weapon maintenance. Her sigh echoed off the rafters as her bare belly touched the cold granite.

"Turn around, big girl," he said hoarsely, oil already dripping down her spine. She obeyed stiffly, her flushed amethyst skin glistening as she settled onto her stomach, the curve of her plump hips and rounded bottom rising above the stone slab.

Crackle's bony thumbs dug into the soft flesh of Pekka's inner thighs, his oil-covered knuckles sliding dangerously close to where her spirit skin pulsed a dark violet. She tensed under his touch, a low moan escaping her lips as the pressure sent unexpected tremors radiating to up.

His hollow eye sockets remained fixed on the hypnotic sway of her rounded buttocks— obsidian petals stuck to her curve like constellations in the purple twilight. On her shoulders, Boom's skeletal hands worked with surprising delicacy, massaging the tension from her trapezius muscles.

"Just relax, Pekka-pie.." Boom murmured, his nasal tone vibrating against her cervical spine. Oil dripped over her shoulder blades, tracing shiny paths down her sides.

"The duchess says the tension lives here..." Her knuckles slid downward, tracing the dimples above her plump hips. Pekka shuddered, the moan that escaped her lips turning into something breathless as Crackle's thumbs pressed deeper into her soft flesh.

Resistance dissolved like sugar in hot tea, her spiritual form sank into the stone slab, soft curves melting under the relentless kneading. A tremor ran through her body, not of protest, but of release, her violet glow deepening into twilight, where bone met softness.

Crackle's oily thumb brushed the crease where Pekka's plump thigh met the darker pulse of violet glow— a feather-light touch that sent electric shocks through her spiritual core. Her breath caught, her hips arching involuntarily off the stone slab as his phalanx traced upward through the slippery folds, finding the swollen, throbbing bud beneath. A strangled gasp escaped Pekka's throat as he slowly circled it, obsidian petals trembling against her inner thighs with each rotation. Boom's nasal laughter vibrated against her spine.

"See? I told you the Duchess knew her knots!" Crackle's other hand slid beneath her, kneading the soft bulge of her belly while his thumb kept up its relentless rhythm — press, twist, pull back — until her glossy skin turned amethyst red and her fists clenched against the granite.

"Hnngh—stop—" Pekka choked, but her thighs spread wider as Crackle's thumb pressed harder, faster, the friction igniting sparks behind her eyelids. Her spirit form arched like a taut bow, every nerve screaming as pleasure coiled in her belly.

A dam straining against the floodwaters. Boom's skeletal fingers dug into her hips, pinning her trembling body as Crackle leaned in close, his nasal whisper dripping with smug satisfaction: "Relax, girl. The Duchess's manual says... the tension needs to be released."

The dam broke. Pekka's scream echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the training hall — raw, guttural, and utterly uncontrolled. A violet light flashed within her, illuminating the smiling skulls of the skeletons as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Her fists pounded the slab, her knuckles glowing incandescent, while her back arched violently. Below, Crackle did not falter, his thumb relentless as he milked every residual tremor, coaxing moans that dissolved into gasping sobs.

Pekka's breathing was uneven, each exhalation trembling through her exhausted spirit form like aftershocks of an earthquake. Her violet glow pulsed erratically — bright flashes turning to soft embers where her plump belly pressed against the cold stone slab. Crackle's thumb still traced lazy circles, now gentler, provoking small tremors that made her fingers curl involuntarily. She tried to feel indignation, anger at the skeletons' audacity... but the remnants of ecstasy drowned out those feelings, a warm syrup pooling in the pit of her belly where tension had been minutes before. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy.

"Stars above..." The thought floated, aimlessly. "When was the last time I..." She couldn't finish. Only the sensation remained — the slippery glide of oil between her thighs, the dull throbbing of satisfaction radiating from her core, the absurd, purring vibration against her spine, where Boom still massaged her shoulders.

Crackle's bony fingers slid deeper, probing with surprising delicacy between Pekka's slippery folds — one knot, then two — as her spirit form arched instinctively to accommodate him. The stretch drew a low, involuntary moan from her throat, half protest, half relief. His knuckles curved upward, grazing a spot that made her sigh deeply, a violet light shining beneath her skin like captured lightning. Pekka's fists opened against the granite slab, fingers splaying as sensation overtook thought — each inward thrust reigniting the embers in her belly, turning them into a low, insistent flame.

Crackle slowly withdrew his bony fingers, leaving Pekka's spirit form trembling and slippery. Before she could protest, he climbed onto the stone slab with surprising agility, his oil-soaked pelvis rubbing against the plump volume of her buttocks. The magic of the elixir purple visibly beneath his ribcage — a dark, viscous liquid pooling at the bottom of his skeletal hips, swelling into a thick, fat piece of pulsing violet flesh. It pressed hot and heavy against the cleft of Pekka's ass, the sudden heat drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

He prepared himself, his light weight pinning her hips to the granite. "The duchess says... that we deep ones need deeper tools," he whispered, his nasal voice overflowing with intent. Pekka tensed, the cold stone beneath her belly contrasting with the burning pressure against her buttocks — a primitive and unknown fullness that left her magical skin blushing violently in amethyst.

Crackle advanced without preamble, burying every swollen inch of his magically conjured member between Pekka's slippery folds from behind — a brutal and complete invasion that knocked the breath from her lungs. Her scream shattered the silence of the training hall — raw, vulgar, and shockingly loud — as the fat girth stretched her beyond imagination.

Obscene noises echoed with each piston-like movement of his hips, the violet length plunging deep enough to hurt her spiritual core.

Slippery petals flew as her plump ass slapped against his bony thighs, the sharp rhythm muffling her moans. "Yes... The Duchess calls this... the Battlefield Polisher..."

Pekka's throat tore into an uneven scream as Crackle penetrated her, the thick, throbbing member thrusting so deeply that her spiritual core seemed to fracture with each brutal thrust. Her plump hips writhed uncontrollably against the stone slab, trapped between the cold granite and the searing friction of that unnatural penis penetrating her — filling her, stretching her, drawing obscene, wet sounds from her slippery folds.

"Ohhhh, fuck—! Nnngh—yes—!" The words came from her lips in gasping, broken sobs, high-pitched and brazen like those of a tavern whore. Her bright violet skin turned amethyst red, trembling with the force of each violent impact.

Boom laughed against Pekka's spine, his bony fingers sliding around her quivering flanks to grasp the heavy, gleaming swell of her breasts. They filled his skeletal palms — soft, supple flesh pulsing amethyst heat against bleached bone. He squeezed experimentally, kneading the soft weight with oil-slicked knuckles, thumbs circling her hardened nipples until Pekka arched back with a stifled gasp.

Boom hooked his bony fingers under Pekka's trembling rib cage, twisting her spirit form sideways with surprising strength. Her plump breasts slid heavily into his arms, pressing against his pelvic bones.

As he mounted her hips from behind. Crackle never stopped — his violet cock plunged deeper as Pekka's sudden rotation arched her spine obscenely. Boom's nasal laughter vibrated against her shoulder blades as his skeletal thumbs circled her glistening nipples with lazy precision. Each rough thrust from Crackle now made Pekka's heavy breasts sway and bounce in Boom's hands, slippery oil smearing across her plump curves as he murmured, "Relax now, Pekka-pie... The duchess says... that great stress lives here..."

Pekka's vision blurred — not from tears, but from the sheer, overwhelming overload of sensation. Every nerve in her body screamed as Crackle's thick, violet cock hammered her insides with the intensity of a hare, the obscene slap of bone against spiritual flesh echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Her plump thighs trembled violently, the stone slab slippery beneath her knees and elbows where she had fallen forward. Boom's skeletal thumbs continued to roll her nipples into tight, painful points, each twist perfectly synchronized with the deep thrusts that wrenched ragged gasps from her throat. She tasted iron — perhaps her own spiritual blood, or the ghostly memory of battle — as pleasure coiled tighter than any war strategy, a spring wound beyond its breaking point.

"Nnngh... please..." The word escaped, sharp and desperate, unknown in the warrior's tongue.

After six months of pent-up rage — ever since that damn knight destroyed her favorite butterfly a single blow — Pekka's spirit finally broke. Not in battle, but pinned down on a stone slab, Crackle's violet penis penetrating her slippery depths and Boom's knuckles twisting her nipples raw. The pressure grew like magma beneath a volcano, each thrust hammering at the fragile seal that held back her rage, her shame, her forgotten need. Her glowing skin pulsed with an intense violet.

"Nnngh... don't stop..." she choked, her hips arching further, begging for more, faster, deeper — anything to break the barrier.

The pressure snapped like an overstretched bowstring. Pekka's spine arched violently against the stone slab, her scream dissolving into a guttural, ragged moan as violet fluid gushed from her core — a thick, luminous torrent that coated Crackle's throbbing cock in pulsing waves. It spread across her bony hips, dripping onto the granite below them in viscous, shiny pools that smelled of ozone and crushed violets.

Her spirit form convulsed, shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through her, muscles melting into liquid surrender. Every nerve sang with dizzying relief, the brutal rhythm of her hips slowing to deep, continuous strokes that extracted the last tremors from her plump belly.

Boom laughed against the curve of Pekka's sweat-drenched spine, his knuckles still gripping her trembling hips as Crackle withdrew with a wet, obscene pop. Her violet glow pulsed erratically across her exhausted curves, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Well," Boom said hoarsely, her voice thick with smug amusement, "I guess she got that lol." His bony thumbs stopped kneading her plump buttocks tirelessly, and the sudden absence of pressure left her spiritual skin tingling.

Across the slab, Crackle's conjured penis shrank back into the shadows, dripping luminous liquid onto crushed obsidian petals as he withdrew with a hollow crack of bone. The training hall echoed with his retreating footsteps, leaving Pekka sprawled face-down on the cold granite — knees weak, thighs sticky, and mind adrift in a haze of violated dignity and undeniable release.

The walk back to her room was hazy — cold stones beneath her feet, the distant rumble of thunder, Boom's skeletal fingers pressing into the bump above her hip bone to guide her faltering steps. Pekka leaned heavily against Crackle's ribcage, his violet glow flickering like a candle about to go out as residual tremors shook his plump body. Obsidian dust crackled under his footsteps in the dark hallway, the only sound besides his labored breathing.

When they reached the carved oak door, Boom opened it with a foot bone, revealing the soft fur blankets and embroidered pillows on which Pekka hadn't slept properly in months. She fell face-first onto the soft pillow with a muffled groan, the scent of cedar and lavender enveloping her as her spirit form sank into the soft mattress, her muscles finally relaxing completely.

The skeletons worked in silence — Crackle scrubbing violet streaks from the granite slab with brisk, efficient strokes while Boom blotted luminous fluid from Pekka’s trembling thighs with a coarse towel. Their bony fingers moved with detached precision, clearing the battlefield of pleasure’s aftermath without a glance at her dazed form sprawled across the stone. Obsidian petals, crushed beyond recognition, vanished into a burlap sack. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone fading beneath lemon oil and damp stone. When the last smear of violet disappeared from the slab, Crackle tossed his rag into the barrel with a hollow thunk.

Boom gave Pekka’s plump backside one final, perfunctory pat — dry now, but still faintly glowing — before turning toward the archway. No farewell, no sly remark. Just the echo of retreating footsteps and the distant rattle of bone against bone as they melted into the castle’s shadowed corridors.

Mini Pekka sneaked into the castle well after dark, shaking the snow from his boots in the dark entrance. Larry's stories about the goblin tunnels had gone on longer than planned, and now the corridors were silent except for the crackling of dying fires. He braced himself for his mother's fury — slammed doors, shouted reprimands — but only silence answered his footsteps. An eerie quiet hung in the air like cobwebs, thick with an unfamiliar warmth. The scent of violets and ozone permeated the stones, softer than the sharp smell of steel and sweat she usually exuded.

His armor clinked softly as he passed the training room. Something felt... empty. Unsettling. Like coming home to find a dragon curled up asleep in your bed.

﹕﹒୨ৎ. AUTHOR NOTE: I'm glad that you guys want me to keep writing ClashFics to satisfy your boredom. I feel honored, actually.

This time, I tried to describe the actions and environment more because I thought it would be more immersive, and I also changed the dialogue format from dashes to quotation marks (some friends said it's easier to assimilate when the texts are very long, bleh).

Anyway, the next fanfic will have a clone spell. Choose your ships, heheheheheheh.

bye bye (ദ്ദി˙ᗜ˙)