Fyr groggily awoke from his drug induced sleep. He was still tied to the stake but was now in a Surplus kitchen. Only two days earlier he had been pronounced guilty by an extremely angry 320 kg judge. The hearing had lasted five minutes and he hadn’t been allowed to speak. The lack of due process would have made him angry had he not already known that he was guilty of murdering the Prince and his friend. A trial would just have delayed the inevitable and Vore Warriors are not a patient race.

 

The sentence had surprised him though. Death by cooking was an ancient Surplus tradition that he had believed not to have been carried out for centuries due to the extreme suffering inflicted. It was considered cruel even by The Surplus. To a veteran Vore Warrior like Fyr it lacked common decency. One eats one’s prey alive. Cooking sentient beings takes all of the fun out of eating them. It seemed though that this was to be his fate.

 

The Surplus Moon had been in uproar when it was reported that the late Prince and another noble boy had been eaten by a Vore Warrior when they should have been safe gorging themselves at the feast of Shawn. This was a huge security failure by the Surplus government and fear of an unprovoked Vore Warrior attack had quickly spread throughout the capital. Fortunately for the head of the Surplus army, General Snus, the offending Warrior had been discovered and captured with ease. Had the man guilty of regicide escaped unpunished then the full weight of Surplus public opinion and anger of the King would have led to him being tied to a stake in a kitchen instead of Fyr.

 

As it was Fyr was caught before he even woke up from his post-feast slumber. The Surplus guards who caught him were horrified by the sight of his monstrously huge swollen belly as they knew that it was digesting the remains of the heir to the Surplus throne right in front of them. He was drugged, bound, and transported to the Surplus prison whilst still unconscious. Even a group of six fully grown Surplus guards with gravity belts and blasters were nervous of having to arrest an awake Vore Warrior, even one who had so recently fed.

 

Fyr showed no signs of surprise when he did finally awake inside the prison. He calmly appraised his new situation, scanning his environment for the chance of escape. He didn't find any. He was chained to a concrete wall with reinforced larinium chains, the strongest metal in the galaxy. He was alone in a triple reinforced cell with no less than eight heavily armed Surplus guards outside. They had a combined weight of over 2500 kg. He couldn’t risk taking all of them all on at once.

 

Now he was here in the kitchen chained to a stake. He would have to take a chance soon. He had taken in the layout of the kitchen and the route there. There was one door in and out. He considered every implement and utensil and assessed the capabilities of every guard and the chef. He showed no surprise when the King himself entered. He had guessed that he was somewhere deep inside the Surplus Palace. The strongest seat of power in the whole galaxy.

 

The king was over two metres tall and over 360 kg. One of the biggest Surpluses to ever live. Only the incredibly weak gravity of the Surplus home moon allowed him to move about with ease. He appeared to be made of only fat. All distinguishing features had long since been overcome with metres of gelatinous lard. He spoke in a deep and serious tone, “So you are the lone Warrior who dared to risk the peace of the galaxy by devouring my beloved eldest?” Fyr remained silent. He had nothing to say to the tyrant who had caused the deaths of millions during the previous war. “Why would you choose to commit suicide so?” The king was now up close, looking directly in Fyr’s face. The Vore Warrior was impressed by the complete lack of fear shown by the King. This was a man who fully believed that he was untouchable. “You know that no one is coming to save you right?” Fyr knew that this was true. He had long since been abandoned by his peers and had spent the last three years wandering the galaxy alone.

 

“The Leaders of the Commune know of your crime and your presence here. I informed them myself. They assured me that they would not risk peace and the lives of their Warriors to rescue an outcast. That’s right, I know exactly who you are, Fyr. The Commune has forsaken you and I understand why. I know what you did.” The king’s voice was rising into an angrier tone. “Any Warrior stupid enough to enter Surplus space to hunt is clearly not worthy of saving. Especially one so dumb as to murder the heir to the Surplus throne!” There was an almighty crash of metal pans as the king swung a fat arm in extreme anger across one of the worktops knocking all the pots and implements there to the ground.

 

“You will die for your crimes. Die right here in my kitchen! You will be boiled alive and then I and only I will consume the meat from your bones as penance for your sins against my family!” The king nodded at the chef and stormed out of the door. As he left he scratched an itch on the back of one of his massive neck folds. He was wrong. Fyr was about to be rescued.

 

The boiling pot was three metres high. The same height as Fyr. Four guards lifted him into it, still tied to the stake. The chef lit the giant stove underneath. The water was cold, for now.

 

Fyr felt a small itch in his right ear. It was as if a small fly had flown inside it. He knew it wasn’t. He listened intently to the forthcoming instructions.

 

Three or four minutes passed and the water was heating up to a very hot bath temperature. Fyr was still perfectly calm. He knew that it was only a matter of time.

 

One of the guards by the door was the first to collapse. His huge body slammed onto the hard kitchen tiles with a massive thud. The other guards looked around in shock before they also succumbed to the microscopic poison. The chef was the last to collapse just as he hit the alarm. Fyr pulled against the chains, trying with all his strength to rip them off, but they weren’t quite weakened enough yet. The water temperature was now rising quickly and was starting to burn. He gritted his teeth and grunted with all his force as he burst out of them. The laranium bonds had melted just enough at the connecting joints. He had been unaware that they had been coated in maliesium paste twenty four hours earlier. The paste reacted with the heat from the water to erode the metal enough for it to begin to splinter. Micro’s were experts at physics and chemistry.

 

He jumped out of the boiling pot with such force and ease that he crashed his head through the kitchen ceiling. Now free, this was the first time that he had ever experienced the effect of the low gravity on Surplus. The Micro in his ear directed him where to go to reach the shuttle that they had already commandeered. Fyr bounded down every corridor at an incredible pace, the gravity level allowing him to travel ten metres or more with every step. When he entered the hangar there were two Surplus Guards waiting for him.

 

They were both around 300 kg and had their anti-gravity belts on, these allowed them to move at rapid speed in defiance of their mass. The belts were tucked under their gigantic wobbling stomachs that shook and jiggled with every movement. Fyr danced his way passed the blaster blasts with the agility of a gymnast. A lifetime of training by the best Warrior’s of the Commune had not gone to waste. He summersalted over one of them before performing a karate kick to the back of his head that broke his neck at the top of his spine. A weak point for all Surplus due to the immense weight that their bones had yet to evolve to carry.

 

The second guard approached only to receive a similar kick to the face. This time it didn’t kill him but it knocked him far enough back that it allowed Fyr the time he needed to bounce up the ramp into the shuttle and close the latch. He was out of the hangar, had engaged overdrive, and plotted a course for the Micro system before the Surplus had time to launch any more ships to follow him.

 

The Micro in his ear was called Mindre. He explained to Fyr that the Micro Mayor had organised the escape plan as soon as he had heard form a Commune spy that Fyr had been arrested. They had secretly entered the Palace thirty two hours earlier. Mindre didn’t say anything but Fyr knew that the Mayor would want something in return.

 

The young 260 kg Surplus pilot lying on the cockpit floor started to regain consciousness. The Micro’s hadn’t killed him as a kindness to Fyr. They knew he would fight. Fyr could taste the fear on the pilot’s fat face as he looked up at the giant muscular Vore Warrior standing over him. He waited for the huge young Surplus to heave his mighty bulk up straight. Like a lot of Surplus the young pilot was as wide as he was tall. His ever growing belly was strained full of thick calorific supplements from his most recent tube feeding. His black uniform clung tightly to the layers of fat bulging underneath it. This pilot had had ambitions to rise within the ranks and clearly had an appetite to prove it. Fyr wouldn’t need to break the Vore code this time, he just had to wait for the young Surplus to attack him.

 

The pilot lurched his stupendous gut forwards, he clearly had never been trained in hand to hand combat. He took one punch directly to the face and fell back to the floor with a thunderous thud. Tears fell from his eyes as he looked up at the devil in front of him. Fyr’s jaw had dislocated just like in the horrible text books that he had been shown in basic training. The Vore Warriors mouth and throat were already opened to around a metre wide. More than enough to accommodate his head.

 

His screams caused Fyr’s tonsils to vibrate, sending waves of pleasure through his body. He tried to lash out with his fat arms as they also entered the Vore Warrior’s mouth. The movement only caused Fyr to salivate more, increasing the pace of his end. Fyr’s mouth was extended over two metres as he began to taste the fat of the pilot’s immense stomach slipping through his lips. The gluttony of the Surplus both disgusted and thrilled him at the same time. The taste of fresh struggling meat caused his stomach bag to extend to the massive size required to contain the hugely fat young man. Fyr’s rib bones audibly cracked as his opening oesophagus pushed them aside. His top lip tasted the sweat as the rotund pilot’s massively round buttocks slid under it. His fat laden ass alone contained enough protein to keep a Vore Warrior going for days. As his face plunged into the stomach acid his legs kicked out in agony. Fyr groaned with pleasure as the skin around his belly stretched out with amazing elasticity. His stomach ballooned with the full weight of the 260 kg human ball of lard. He slumped to the saliva covered floor, splayed out on his back. His belly gloriously round, rose like a sun. For the next few minutes you could clearly see the limbs of the pilot pushing and kicking out in delirious agony. He took a wonderfully long time to die. Surplus was quickly becoming Fyr’s favourite prey.

 

As he began jerking his 50 cm cock, as was the Vore Warrior ritual, Mindre and hundreds of other Micro’s started climbing and dancing all over his mountainous belly. Their tiny hands and tongues started to pleasure his straining naked belly skin. As he spurted litres of cum all over the fat mountain they danced in the thick white rain, licked it off each other’s bodies and began to engage in their own sexual practices. A group of the tiny men dived into his deep belly button, that for them had become a wondrous lake of cum. They swam around in glee, swallowing as much of the thick salty liquid as they could. The Micro orgy went on for hours while Fyr slept peacefully.