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Turborangers - Wag of Defeat!
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 10:38:16 +0000 UTCThe devastation spreads deeper into the Turboranger team, reaching those who thought they could still rally. A single fall triggers a cascade, shattering what little remains of trust, thought, and memory. The line between loyalty and instinct begins to blur, and once crossed, it may never be repaired.
A wag is just a whimper in disguise!
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Fetch, Rangers!
Shunsuke had never been overpowered like this—not in his days of solitude, not in their worst missions. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this. For the three former teammates—now barking, laughing lunatics—working in sync like a twisted hunting pack. And above all, for the beast that finally, finally started to move.
Zukabarka rose like a mound of sewage coming alive. Each fold of his body shivered, flesh cascading down in layers like molten grease. His gut slapped the floor as he took his first full step toward the battlefield, dragging a tide of saliva and heat with him.
“TIME FOR THE MAIN FUCKIN’ COURSE!” he bellowed, his voice warping the lights overhead. “I LET MY PUPS HAVE THEIR FUN—BUT BIG DADDY BARK’S GOT A NEED TOO, AND IT AIN’T GONNA WAIT!”
Shunsuke gritted his teeth, raising his Brachio Staff again, every part of his body screaming with strain. “Get back!” he snarled. “You stay the hell away from me!”
Zukabarka licked his lips—his tongue spiraling unnaturally at the tip. “OH YEAH, YEAH, SCREAM MORE! I LOVE IT WHEN THE STRONG ONES CRACK SLOW! Y’GOT THAT NOBLE STANCE—GONNA LOOK GREAT SMASHED FLAT UNDER MY GUT!”
He lunged—not with speed, but with sheer momentum, his entire belly flopping forward like a living avalanche.
Shunsuke dodged once. Twice. But the third bounce caught him mid-step, and Zukabarka’s disgusting stomach slammed into him with the force of a collapsing ceiling.
CRASH.
The air exploded from Shunsuke’s lungs as he was thrown to the floor, his back slamming against slime-coated tile.
Zukabarka followed through—jumping, if it could be called that—and brought his full weight down on TurboYellow’s midsection with a disgusting SPLUTCH.
Shunsuke screamed, trapped. “GHHH—GET—OFF ME—!”
But the fat rippled and conformed, sealing him in. He couldn’t even move his arms. His staff clattered uselessly beside his pinned hand.
His helmet visor fogged instantly, and interior spirals began to pulse against the glass, projecting symbols he didn’t recognize—symbols that throbbed in sync with Zukabarka’s heartbeat.
“OH YEAHHHH, THERE IT IS!” Zukabarka roared with laughter, bouncing once—slamming his gut again—crushing more air from Shunsuke. “FEEL IT?! THAT’S YOUR SOUL WAGGIN’! IT’S ALREADY STARTIN’ TO PANT!”
From beneath the meat, Shunsuke let out a choked groan. His legs kicked. His fingers curled.
“I—won’t—let you—!”
The pressure increased.
And the spirals inside his helmet twisted faster.
Riki screamed from across the chamber. “Shunsuke!! GET OFF HIM, YOU PIGFUCKING DEMON—!!”
He tried to run forward, but he never reached.
Haruna and Youhei slammed into him from either side—hard. They weren’t just tackling. They were clinging, laughing, panting into his ears, gripping his limbs like leashes.
“NOOOO RUNNING, RED-BOY!” TurboBlue screamed with joy, grinding his helmet into Riki’s chest. “STAY PUT! STAY FUCKIN’ PUT! OUR MASTER’S DOIN’ HIS THING!”
TurboPink let out a howl, her voice cracking with joy. “DON’T RUIN IT! DON’T YOU WANNA WATCH?! IT’S SO PRETTY! I CAN HEAR HIM MOAN THROUGH THE GUT!”
“GET OFF ME!” Riki screamed, slamming an elbow into Youhei’s side, only for Daichi to appear behind him and lock his arm, dragging him backward.
“DOWN, RED,” TurboBlack growled, breath hot with twisted glee. “You get to watch your buddy get snuggled into obedience. Ain’t that poetic? Captain gets to see the wall crumble.”
TurboRed’s legs kicked, dragging across the floor. “Shunsuke! TURBOYELLOW, FIGHT!! DON’T LISTEN TO HIM! IGNORE THE SPIRALS—PLEASE!!”
Beneath Zukabarka’s gut, Shunsuke twitched again, but his helmet was now fully engulfed in golden sweat, fat folds sealing in the spiral light. His HUD flashed phrases now—scrambled, glitching:
ARMOR SYSTEM SYNC—
SPIRAL PATTERN—
RESPOND TO MASTER—
BREATHE IN—
BEHAVE—
“NGGGHH—NOOO—NOOOO!!” TurboYellow choked, trying to shake his head—but the grip was too tight. He could barely move. Could barely think.
Zukabarka leaned forward again, belly pushing further down, his voice a rumble of joy. “THIS AIN’T DEATH, PRETTY BOY—THIS IS BECOMIN’! YOU’RE BECOMIN’ A GOOD OL’ BELLY PET!”
Daichi, Haruna, and Youhei screamed in triumph.
They barked.
They howled.
They shouted over one another, overlapping like a pack on the edge of climax. “FUCK YEAH—BREAK HIS BACK, MASTER!”
“SQUISH HIM! MAKE HIM SLOBBER!!”
“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! MAKE HIM FETCH!!”
TurboRed fought, but every limb was pinned—his arms held down by teeth and laughter, his legs tangled in spiraled, howling limbs. His scream filled the station.
“Shunsuke—!!!”
But beneath the mountain of meat, the red glow in Shunsuke’s visor began to spiral.
And in the center of it, a tiny tremble of his lips began to form a sound.
A pant.
TurboYellow wasn’t screaming anymore—not from control, but because there was no air left to scream with. Zukabarka’s bloated, drooling mass blanketed him like a collapsing ceiling made of steaming fat and spiraling filth. Every breath was a struggle, every twitch a gamble. Beneath that obscene weight, Shunsuke's lungs shriveled like paper. His entire world had become a sealed dome of sweat, grease, and darkness—except for the glowing spirals now flashing violently inside his visor, flooding his vision with sick, twitching symbols.
His arms had stopped moving minutes ago. The pressure crushed his back deeper with each bounce. And the worst part—the most humiliating, dehumanizing part—was the sound he began to make, involuntarily.
A pant.
Then another.
And another.
Zukabarka chuckled above him, the vibration of his belly rippling down into TurboYellow’s bones like a jiggling earthquake. “AWWW YEAHHH! THAT’S THE SOUND, BABY! THAT’S A FUCKIN’ GOOD BOY! YOU’RE BREATHIN’ THROUGH YOUR TONGUE NOW, HUH?! HAHAHAH!!”
The monster lifted himself slightly, just enough to let air hiss out from beneath the folds—air that had been sealed in, rank and humid—and then slammed down again, his massive stomach slapping into Shunsuke’s body like a living avalanche.
“GGHHK—RRRRRRHHHH—CAN’T—NOT… STOP ME!!” TurboYellow’s voice crackled from under the mass, loud but drowning, still trying to shout through the pain. “I’M… NOT—NOT—GONNA—GGGRRHH—BARK FOR YOU!!”
Zukabarka bellowed with sick joy. “YES YOU FUCKIN’ ARE!! YOU’RE GONNA BARK, YOU’RE GONNA PISS, YOU’RE GONNA STAY! AND I’M GONNA BOUNCE YOU INTO MUTT MUSH!!”
Shunsuke’s words became more tangled, louder, losing syllables mid-thought. “I—I’M—TUR—BRO—N-NOT GONNA—S-STAY DOWN—I’LL—I’LL KICK YOUR—YOUR FUCKIN’—S-STINK—NO—NO!!”
Inside his helmet, his HUD was breaking down. Tactical data was replaced with gibberish spiral glyphs that pulsed against his vision like seizures—words that didn’t exist, symbols not meant for thought. Each pulse dragged his mind deeper into heat, exhaustion, blank obedience.
FETCH.
STAY.
OBEY.
ROLL.
ROLL.
ROLL.
Off to the side, TurboRed’s voice rose like a battle cry turned into a howl of despair. “SHUNSUKE!! STAY WITH ME!! DON’T GIVE HIM THE FUCKIN’ SATISFACTION!!”
But Riki couldn’t move. Youhei had wrapped around his legs, claws digging into his thighs like a beast trying to bury itself. His helmet was shoved against TurboRed’s chest, growling wetly through the speaker. “SHIT, RED, YOU SMELL FUCKIN’ RIPE!! I’M GONNA MAKE YOU SCREAM FROM THE INSIDE!!”
Haruna was straddling his upper torso, grinding against his shoulder plates, licking the inside of her own visor with a giddy, spiraling madness. “DON’T RUIN IT, RYO-BITCH!! JUST SHUT UP AND WATCH YOUR BOY GET FLATTENED INTO A BRAINLESS FLOOR PUP!”
“GET OFF!!” Riki roared, flailing under them, only to feel Daichi’s claws rake down his arm, pinning him completely.
TurboBlack was panting now, tailbone twitching, sword held loose in one hand. “LET HIM WATCH, BOYS. HE NEEDS TO SEE IT. THE BREAK. THE BEAUTY. THE BARK.”
Zukabarka slammed down again. And this time, TurboYellow let out a moan. Not of pain. Not defiance. Something… different. “HHHHHHNNGHHH—RRRUUUHH—HHHAAH—GGGRRGGHH—"
It wasn’t a sentence. Just steam. Just static. Just the echo of his body starting to give in.
TurboRed’s voice cracked, desperate. “SHUNSUKE—DON’T—DON’T SINK—PLEASE—!!”
But his friend’s voice was gone. In its place came a scream—loud, pained, and increasingly incoherent. “GHHH—W-WON’T—I’M NOT—BRA—I’M—F-FIGHTING—GONNA FETCH YOU A FUCKIN’—I—I—ROLL—ROLL—GGGGKK—"
His legs kicked once. Then twice.
Then stopped. The spiral light inside his visor locked into place.
FINAL PROGRAM LOADED:
SUBMIT.
And then… a single pant. “HHHH… HHH… HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"
Zukabarka let out a triumphant belch, lifting both arms. “FUCKIN’ DONE!! I MELTED HIS BRAIN INTO A GODDAMN CHEWTOY!!”
TurboPink shrieked in delight, humping against Riki’s armor harder. “HE’S MINE NEXT!! I WANNA ROLL HIM IN THE SLIME! I WANNA WAG IN HIS PRINT!!”
“GONNA LICK THE DENT OUTTA HIS VISOR!” TurboBlue screamed. “I WANNA DRINK THE DROOL! GIVE IT TO ME!!”
Daichi dropped beside Shunsuke’s leg and licked the kneepad. “MMM. STEAMIN’ HOT. LIKE A FRESH-BOILED MUTT-BRAIN STEW.”
Riki screamed, a long, broken cry of rage and disbelief. “ShunsukeAAAAAAAAAAA—!!!”
But beneath the mass, his friend only panted, slow, steady, loud.
TurboYellow didn’t feel the floor give way at first. There was no sign, no warning, just the grotesque, triumphant raising of Zukabarka's arms above his bulbous, glistening frame like a circus ringmaster before a blood show. The air shifted. And then—he slammed them down. The shockwave hit the floor like a collapsing world. Tiles cracked, seams split, and suddenly, the space beneath them all shuddered, broke—and began to bubble.
The tile erupted into a thick, wet, pulsating pad, grotesque and obscene in size, the color of rancid meat and sewage. It radiated heat and slop, a shifting, heaving mass of gel-like substance lined with vein-like spirals that throbbed with light, pulsing like infected circuitry. The surface wasn’t just alive—it was hungry.
"TIME FOR YOUR FUCKIN' FINALE, PRETTY PANTIN' PLATE!!" Zukabarka screamed, voice shaking the walls as his belly quivered and his frame lurched forward. He dropped his full weight with all the force of a collapsing oil tanker, the pad embracing his disgusting body like a lover—and beneath him, directly in the center, was TurboYellow.
Shunsuke's scream wasn’t pain. It wasn’t defiance. It was a death rattle of will.
"GGGGRRRRAAAAAAAGGHHHHH—NNNGGGHHHHFUUUCKKGGGHH—CAN'T—GGGKKHHHHH!!" The sound ripped from his helmet in broken static as the spirals flared inside his HUD. The visor cracked from the weight. Systems overloaded. Final failsafes failed. The last of his resistance was drowned in spinal spiral glyphs, encoded commands churning like worms into his brainstem, pulsing with heat-coded obedience that bypassed cognition and rewrote instinct.
He twitched once, violently. His back arched, fists clenched, but then—he spasmed. His fingers splayed open and scraped the pad beneath him as his spine was ground into the warm, undulating surface.
Across the room, Riki watched, eyes wide with horror, still held down by the deranged pack that had once been his teammates. Haruna straddled his shoulders, gripping his helmet and slamming it into the ground over and over, the sound echoing like wet bones breaking. Her laughter came shrill and wild. "HE'S GONNA FUCKIN' BREAK!! HE'S GONNA BREAK!! YOU HEAR THAT, RED?! THAT'S THE FUCKIN' SQUISH! IT'S THE SOUND OF A HERO FOLDIN' INTO DOGSHIT!!"
TurboBlue, wrapped around Red’s leg like a parasite, bit into his thigh armor and howled, his spiraled visor flaring with madness. "I WANNA SEE HIM FOAM!! I WANNA SEE THE SLIME POUR OUTTA HIS SUIT!! I WANNA DRINK IT!!"
Daichi was pressed close to Riki’s back, panting like a beast in heat. "LET IT HAPPEN, CAPTAIN!! DON’T FIGHT IT! HE’S ALREADY PANTIN' ON THE INSIDE—JUST LISTEN! HIS BRAIN'S MELTIN'!!"
Fueled by panic, Riki elbowed Daichi hard and twisted. His leg kicked Youhei off balance. He screamed, voice raw and cracking. "Shunsuke!! FIGHT!! YOU'RE BREATHING, GODDAMMIT! FOCUS! YOU'RE NOT A FUCKING PET!! YOU’RE STILL YOU!!"
But Zukabarka was faster. He slammed both hands into the pad and roared with delight. "AWW, NAW, BITCH!! NO SAVING HIM! YOU AIN’T GETTIN’ NOTHIN' BUT TRAUMA! COCOON MODE, YOU FERAL FUCK!!"
With a horrific, bubbly gurgle, Zukabarka opened his mouth wide and belched, cheeks ballooning grotesquely before unleashing a torrent of sticky, golden mucous across the room. It shot out like a geyser of rotted syrup, splatting across TurboRed, drenching him from chest to boots. He collapsed under the sheer weight of the goop.
The substance solidified instantly, seeping into the joints of his armor, pinning him down in a pulsating cocoon that pulsed with spiral-etched veins. He screamed as it constricted. "F-FUCK!! LET ME GO!! I’LL RIP YOU IN HALF, YOU FREAK!!"
TurboBlack screamed back, cackling, slamming his hands on Riki’s helmet. "STAY PUT, YOU LITTLE ALPHA BITCH!! OPEN YOUR EYES AND *WATCH YOUR BROTHER FUCKING WAG!!"
On the pad, Zukabarka began bouncing his stomach up and down in short, cruel pulses. The pad obeyed his rhythm. Each bounce caused TurboYellow’s body to sink deeper, like wet dough folding into itself. His limbs twitched with every pulse. His mouth opened again.
"H-HHNNNNN—G-GGHH—I CAN'T—CAN'T HOLD—THOUGHTS GONE—I'M—I'M—NOT YOUR—NOT YOUR—HHGGHH—N-NOT... PET—"
But the next pulse broke it.
Haruna let out a howling scream, her voice cracking from how hard she was barking. "FUCKIN' SINK, YOU DELICIOUS STUPID MUTT!! FEEL THAT TUMMY PAD KISS YOUR CORE!!"
TurboBlue rolled on the ground like a dog chasing its tail. "YES!! YES!! ROLL HIM!! FLATTEN HIS FUCKIN' PRIDE!! TURN HIM INTO A PANTING PANCAKE!!"
TurboYellow's helmet slammed fully into the pad. It made a sick, squelching sound as it sealed against the spiraling surface. His breath changed—not rapid, not labored—just... slow. Obedient.
A final cry cracked through the noise.
"RRRRUUUUUHHHH—HHHHNNGGHHHHHHH—F-FETCH—FETCH—M-M-MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"
The spiral inside his visor pulsed once.
Then again.
Then locked.
His back rose.
Then fell.
His arms curled inward.
His legs straightened.
His visor dimmed to a warm glow.
And finally—his body stopped moving.
He panted.
Zukabarka threw both fists in the air and let out a guttural scream of victory. "THERE HE FUCKIN' IS!! SHUNSUKE THE OBEDIENT!! SHUNSUKE THE FETCH RAG!! THE FIRST TO FALL FULLY AND FOREVER!! TUMMY TIME FUCKIN' FINISHED!!"
TurboPink was barking nonstop now, bouncing on all fours like an animal in heat. TurboBlue pounded his fists into the ground, howling. Daichi dry-humped the floor with his claws scraping sparks.
And Riki, buried in goop, tears in his eyes, snarled through clenched teeth. "YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!! I’LL RIP YOUR GODDAMN GUTS OUT!!"
But the cocoon pulsed again, drawing his limbs tight, choking every movement.
***
TurboRed couldn’t move. He couldn’t fucking move. The goop that cocooned him was alive, not in a metaphorical sense, but in the way it pulsed, breathed, squeezed. It was like being swallowed by the stomach of some bloated, spiraled beast. Every breath he took was a choking inhale of spiral-slick rot, soaked spandex, and warm, fermented dog-slime, exhaled and sweated through the monstrous bodies of his former teammates. The substance thickened with every second, pressing into his muscles, curling under his helmet seal like it wanted to whisper obedience directly into his brainstem.
It pulsed in rhythm now. Not his heartbeat—theirs. The pack.
Every beat of the cocoon said the same thing:
STAY. SUBMIT. BREATHE US IN.
He couldn’t see straight. His visor was fogged, the heat building inside like a steamer lid ready to pop. Sweat poured into his eyes, pooled around his jaw. Even through the distortion, through the blur, he could still see enough.
And what he saw made him want to rip his own face off.
They were circling him.
Four of them. Four twisted mockeries of Rangers. The same colors, the same suits—Red, Blue, Yellow, White. But nothing inside was left. Everything noble, everything heroic, had been gutted and replaced by instinct, by slavering hunger, by something worse than death. They crawled low, limbs jerking like animals caught between pain and pleasure. Their joints bent wrong. Their helmets twitched like they were sniffing.
Their spiral-lit visors throbbed with crimson and gold pulses, all synced to one another—a pack bound by one, sick rhythm.
Haruna collapsed to all fours first, trembling with visible, obscene excitement. Her helmet tilted up. A feral howl tore through the room, echoing through the muck-slick chamber. "FUCK YES! I SMELL YOU, ALPHA FUCK! I SMELL YOUR PISS-SCENTED FEAR INSIDE THAT FUCKIN’ COCOON! I COULD FUCKIN’ SWIM IN IT!! I COULD BATHE IN IT AND LICK MYSELF CLEAN!!"
TurboBlue howled back and leapt around her, bounding like a mad hound on speed. He flailed, barked, slammed his helmet into hers. "YOU SMELL LIKE A FUCKIN’ SLUT, Haruna! LIKE WET RUBBER, FILTHY HAIR, AND STRAY DOG CUM! I WANNA HUMP THE FUCKIN’ AIR TIL I SEE COLORS!!"
Shunsuke flopped down beside them, drool fogging his visor. His entire body convulsed with raw pleasure. His tongue lashed the inside of his helmet. His voice was a wet, ragged chant.
"PACK!! TOUCH!! FEEL!! TASTE!! CAN’T THINK! DON’T THINK! WAG!! FUCKIN' WAG!! I WANNA LICK YOUR ASS THROUGH YOUR SUIT!!"
Daichi slithered into the circle, coated in mucus and slicked madness. He circled them once, twice, then slammed his hands into the floor, crawling toward the center. "I WANNA MOUNT THE WHOLE FUCKIN’ TEAM!! I WANNA LINE YOU UP AND SNORT YOUR BRAINSTEAM THROUGH MY SNOUT!!"
Then the ritual began.
With brutal precision, they started sniffing each other, dragging their helmets against crotches, backs, spines. Every rub, every grind sent waves of spiral energy into the air. The walls pulsed. The floor vibrated. They groaned, howled, moaned in unison.
Haruna shoved her snout under TurboYellow's beltline and inhaled like a vacuum. “FUCK ME! YOU SMELL LIKE FAILURE AND DADDY ISSUES! I WANNA BURROW INTO YOUR GROIN AND SLEEP FOREVER!!”
Youhei tackled Daichi and humped against his side. “I WANNA LICK THE RESIDUE FROM YOUR KNEEPADS!! I WANNA WEAR YOUR FUCKIN’ SCENT LIKE ARMOR!!”
Their grinding escalated. They smashed into one another, panting in stereo, barking like mangy beasts.
And in the center of it all, TurboRed writhed.
He groaned. "GGRHHHHHHH—N-NO! FUCK! STOP! GET AWAY FROM ME!!"
He gasped. "N-NGGHH! FUCKING—GET—GGGRRHHHH—YOU’RE NOT—NOT MY TEAM!!"
He moaned, the sound involuntary. The goop tightened around him.
"Shunsuke—FUCK—STOP—WAKE UP!! WAKE UP!! YOU’RE NOT—THIS ISN'T YOU!!"
TurboPink pressed her helmet to his cocoon and purred, "OH, I’M MORE ME THAN EVER, BABY. THIS IS ALL I WANNA BE!!"
Shunsuke panted into Riki’s leg, his visor steaming. "YOU'RE OUR CENTERPIECE. OUR FUCKIN' BONE. LET US FUCKIN' CHEW ON YOU!!"
TurboBlack leaned in close. "YOUR HEART’S GONNA BE A DOG TOY, RED. AND I’M GONNA BEAT THE SQUEAK OUT OF IT!!"
Then came the marking.
All four dove in. They rubbed their helmets against the cocoon, against TurboRed’s arms, his thighs, his chest. Loud squeaks of suit-on-goop rang like screams. The spirals lit up. The room filled with rhythmic panting, humping, moaning.
"GGGNNHHH—FUCK—NNNGHHHH—GET—GET OFF ME!!" TurboRed shouted, voice cracking.
"GODDAMN YOU—AAAGH—AAAGHHHHHHHHH—NO!
His spine convulsed. The spirals seeped through his HUD.
And then—he felt it.
The bark.
One bark. Loud. Raw. Violent. A sound that came from his gut, not his mind.
They stopped.
Then howled.
Haruna shrieked, “HE BARKED!! HE FUCKIN’ BARKED!! I WANNA RIDE HIS FACE UNTIL I DROWN IN DROOL!!”
TurboBlue licked the cocoon, moaning. “I WANNA TASTE HIS FIRST WHIMPER!! IT'S THE FUCKIN' END, RED!!"
TurboBlack pounded the cocoon like a drum. “FIRST BARK'S THE DEEPEST!! NEXT TIME YOU BARK, YOU'RE ON ALL FOURS WITH US, SLAVE!!"
TurboYellow screamed into his own helmet. “WE GOT HIM!! WE GOT OUR RED!! LET'S SNIFF HIM DEAD!!"
Inside the cocoon, Riki sobbed. His bark echoed inside his helmet. The spiral wrapped around his spine like a leash. And something pure inside him shattered.
The descent had begun.
And the pull became a drag into madness.
***
The chamber pulsed like a grotesque, living womb—sweating, trembling, and breathing with unnatural rhythm. Walls gleamed under layers of thick mucus, coated in a film of rot-slick condensation that rippled with every distant roar and moan from the corrupted beyond. Every square inch throbbed as though veins pumped beneath the surface, feeding the space with spiral-born corruption that was neither organic nor technological, but something far more profane. The air hung heavy with nauseating musk: an acrid blend of scorched rubber, wet fur, canine sweat, rank saliva, and the metallic scent of blood-baked circuitry fused with pheromonal exhaust. The chamber was less a room and more a breathing kennel, a sacred slaughterhouse sanctified by moans and low growls. Every inch of it pulsed with obscene sentience, like the interior of some unholy beast gorging itself on despair.
No light penetrated here naturally. Only the glow of swirling, gold-and-red spirals pulsated from the cocoon that bound Riki the TurboRed like a sacrificial embryo, suspended in a thick membrane of parasitic slime that shivered each time he gasped. It was as though the chamber itself held its breath in delight with every panicked rise of his chest.
He had long since lost track of time. Every breath came with the shudder of his lungs compressing against the cocoon's vice grip. The gel wasn’t just containing him—it was embracing him, kneading his body like meat, adjusting the pressure with every twitch. The stuff constricted around him like a sadistic womb, crushing tighter each time he exhaled as if daring him to breathe again. Tendrils wormed through seams of his suit, slithering under his armor, coiling around his thighs and chest, weaving across his ribs like a lover’s touch turned cruel. They crept into his helmet, dribbling into his ears and mouth, bathing his neck in warm spiraling sludge that throbbed with its own pulse.
The symbols blinked just outside his visor, not only shifting and hypnotic but alive—each glyph mutating, reacting to his expressions, learning how best to break him. It wanted him changed. Molded and rewritten into a hound of hunger. He fought to stay lucid, but the grip of the slime grew more intimate, more intelligent. It responded to his fear like it fed on it, pulsing faster, wrapping tighter. His moans became ragged and wet, legs twitching with each pulse of the cocoon, his throat rasping with every failed scream that seemed to echo back to him louder, harsher, more mocking.
He wasn't just trapped. He was being seduced. Broken open layer by layer like the peeling of a fruit meant to rot. He was being prepared.
Then it happened.
A thunderous crack reverberated inside the cocoon as something punched inward. It was not rescue, no savior, just a beast. The cocoon shuddered violently, parting at the force of the intrusion. A mass of twisted muscle, helmeted fury, and dripping spiral heat came through the burst slime. It was Shunsuke—or what was left of him.
He roared. Not with words. Not with meaning. But with flesh-ripping rage, saliva hissing within his helmet vents. His fists, now augmented with sickly spiral veins, smashed into the cocoon with relentless purpose. Each blow splintered the layers. The cocoon didn’t shatter. It yielded, groaned, moaned as if welcoming the brutality. Riki could feel it—not as freedom, but as a more intimate violation, the walls of his prison letting in the worst predator imaginable. Then Shunsuke thrust his arm through the breach and seized Riki's GT Sword, yanking it from its socket with a jagged scream of energy discharge.
"MINE, MUTT!! YOU'RE NOT THE ALPHA ANYMORE!!" Shunsuke bellowed, his voice a mess of growls, foam, and spit.
Across the chamber, Daichi convulsed with glee, letting out a high-pitched shriek as he hurled the V Turbo Bazooka toward Shunsuke. He collapsed afterward, twitching and humping the ground. "BUILD IT!! BUILD THAT SICK BITCH!! LET ME SEE HIM FUCKIN' MELT!!"
Haruna appeared next, crawling like a rabid beast, dragging the Wing Pentact between her teeth. Her entire lower body rocked as she panted, slime dripping from her chestplate. "HE'S SQUIRMING!! I CAN HEAR HIM WETTING HIMSELF!! I WANNA SEE HIM SPLASH WHEN IT HITS!!"
Youhei slapped his palm against the slime-coated ground, leaving streaks of filth, snorting like a beast. He pressed his helmet against the cannon's forming edge. "SHOOT HIM FULL OF IT!! BLAST HIM INTO A FUCKING MUTT-BALLOON!! I WANNA LAP UP WHAT'S LEFT!!"
Seen by the equally-mad other Turborangers, Shunsuke the TurboYellow assembled the pieces. The moment the components connected, the Superior V Turbo Bazooka groaned like a living tumor. No longer a weapon of justice, the device now pulsed with the rhythm of a corrupted heart. It dripped. It hissed. Spiral veins bulged along its length, glowing sickly yellow and bruise-purple. Each part hummed like it knew what it was meant to do—and wanted to do it repeatedly.
They screamed its name in a wild, discordant chant, “SUPERIOR V Turbo Bazooka!”
Inside the cocoon, Riki flailed. His mouth opened into a gurgling gasp.
"Y-YOU CAN'T—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!? YOU'RE—YOU'RE NOT—NO! THOSE ARE MY—MY WEAPONS!!"
Shunsuke snarled, aiming. "NOT YOURS ANYMORE. *THEY'RE PACK PROPERTY NOW!!"
Daichi licked his gauntlet. "AIM FOR HIS SOUL!! LIGHT HIM UP!! TURN HIM INTO A SPIRAL-FUCKED FUCKDOLL!!"
Haruna bucked against the cannon's side. "SHOOT STRAIGHT INTO HIS BRAINSTEM!! MAKE HIM DRIP TILL HE HOWLS!!"
Youhei began dry-humping the floor. "FIRE THAT SHIT!! I WANNA SEE THE SUIT WRAP AROUND HIS MIND!!"
They fired.
