There is a dirty human living among the fine exemplars of goblin-kind who call this city home. He is the subject of much rumor and angry muttering, somehow still free. By blackmail, threats, bribes, or even seduction, every goblin in good standing who tries to do something about the problem of a human who dares to think himself their equal, well, he's still around, isn't he?

If anything, this makes him more suited for The Project than any of the slaves they have on hand, but Empress Dahlia is going to need to be personally involved. Really, this offense has been allowed to continue for far too long already. Dahila doesn't need a pretext, and she frankly doesn't care if this human has somehow unimaginably found blackmail on her own royal person.

The Empress gathers her bodyguards and goes to personally put this wretched human to better use.

The man known as Ominan may be found in the noble suite of a little known inn, currently enjoying the customer service. He reclines on the balcony of the suite, looking out over the city. A pair of nude female goblins are lathing his cock from either side; the inn's owner and her daughter, brought to heel by his machinations.

He is a fit and handsome but otherwise unremarkable-looking human, with a handful of supernatural mutations that make his life easier while lacking in any overt powers. He is not a fighter. But he does not let his concern show, when the Empress herself busts the door down and storms into his rooms.

They dogpile him before he can get a word out and slap a slave collar on him as soon as they have him down. The naked mother and daughter innkeepers scramble away looking confused and scared.

"Do not speak," Dahlia orders the human once the slave collar is on him. Of course that's the first order she gives him. They know his reputation.

Ominan grimaces, not least because one of the bodyguards is pulling his hair rather painfully, but says in a clear voice, "I'll speak as I damn well please, Goblin Empress."

"Beat him unconscious and then gag him," Dahlia immediately orders her guards.

She is so not going to fall for any bullshit or let him waste her time.

He wakes up and can't even groan in agony properly because his head and jaw are in some kind of vice clamp. His body is bare and stretched out on some kind of frame: hands, feet, arms, legs... head, neck, chest, waist. He might as well be a display piece, for how little he can move.

He... might, maybe, have bitten off more than he can chew, this time.

He's in the laboratory. Bare metal, glass tubes full of mysterious liquids, enchanted coldboxes full of colorful specimen samples.

The three goblins who come in to work on him don't bother to introduce themselves.

They start with a full investigation of his existing mutations: He has perfect hair and a prehensile fourteen-inch tongue. He's supernaturally clean. He has no gag reflex and can hold his breath for hours. He has an extrasensory talent for sensing psychic activity. He has no body hair. His semen and sweat are aphrodisiacs. His digestion produces no waste. His brain is hardened against overload.

A good foundation, all in all, nothing that will interfere with the project, and he'll be convenient to keep secure.

The work can begin.

The first thing they do is bring in a fleshcrafter to give him regeneration.

That's really fucking ominous.

But he refuses to show fear.

He refuses to scream, when they start subjecting his body to strange substances that make him feel like his brain is on fire and his skin is being raked with ice. That make him hallucinate terrors and wonders.

The worst parts are when they paralyze him and pierce straight through his eyeballs with needles. He can feel the fleshcrafters doing something to his mind. And he's strangely fascinated. Being constantly horrified gets tiresome, and this is something new and different.

The color bleaches out of his flesh, as the fleshcrafters work without concern for the slave's appearance. The work to prepare his body to stand up to project specs leaves his flesh converted into this strange pearl-like substance. His nipples vanish completely from his chiseled, squared-off pecs at some point, and at another point one of the fleshcrafters splits his tongue into three copies of itself and doesn't bother to put it back.

The great albatross wings are intentional. Sort of. One of the serums starts a cascade of unexpectedly-strong cell transformation that had to go somewhere, and the fleshcrafter working on him decides on feathers. Functional wings will incorporate nicely into the overall design, and aren't against the specs.

The real work, though, is being done inside the subject's head. The forging of a new class of psychic weapon.

It's fascinating, watching his own sense of self-preservation wither away. He can feel something about his core self growing stronger and stronger, and he likes that. His desire for dominance---social, sexual or otherwise---is swelling and hardening, much like his pearly-white penis is every time the fleshcrafters further refine his body.

His cock is the only part of his body unrestrained by the metal frame, the only part that can move, and he amuses himself by flexing his now-permanent erection at just the right time to distract the goblin girl alchemist who seems to be in charge of concocting the serums. He can read the shameful lust on her as easily as words on a page, and getting under her skin is an interesting challenge with only the singular but increasingly large... lever.

His powers of perception seem to be expanding every time they drive the needles into his eyes. His mind bridges greater and greater distances. The alchemist goblin... has been dreaming about his dick. He knows other things about her that he shouldn't, too. Like where she lives. Like how, when she goes home, she often masturbates to thoughts of his cock. And... he finds that this isn't just passive observation. If he tries, he can reach out to her thoughts and dreams, reach out and... steer.

He refrains, though.

He underestimated the Blackthorns before. He won't again.

Every day, they make him stronger. At this point, he wants to let them continue. He wants to see this thing they're making him into.

It's a little surprising, actually, how well his body is handling the increasing corruption levels. But no one ever said their war-beasts have to be ugly.

One night, after the others have gone home, leaving the subject alone in the lab, the alchemist returns, exuding a furtive energy. She approaches the subject, that magnificent masculine figure formed of flawless pearl-flesh. She glances around nervously, before stripping out of her clothes and letting them fall to the floor in a pile. He can't turn his head. He won't see her if she stays out of his field of view. He won't know who she is, if she's careful. So she thinks.

His psychic presence is still weak, after all. The radiance they measure from him remains minimal, though steadily increasing. In theory, that means he has not yet reached the level of psychic acuity necessary to identify her from her thoughts alone.

A shiver of surprise runs through the subject's body when she first lays delicate green hands on the massive pillar of phallic pearliness that is his cock, and she nods to herself. He didn't know she was there. Shuddering in desire and the clean scent of him, she lets her mouth stretch obscenely over his glass-smooth skin, taking just the head of his cock into her mouth as her hands stroke and worship his shaft.

Ominan is watching all of this, through the alchemist girl's eyes, through her thoughts. He knows her intentions, he knows her reasoning, and fakes what she expects to see easily. He whispers into her mind, guiding her actions, and she never realizes that she is bowing to his will, as she forces herself down onto his cock and starts milking him with her throat.

It's hurting her, but he's been making her dream about this for days, now. Making her crave him even more than she already did, the little goblin slut. In the moment, she's acting of her own free will. Nothing to make her or anyone else suspect that he's influencing her, if she's caught.

He groans in relief as he reaches orgasm and semen pumps out of his cock for the first time in far too long, flowing down the goblin girl's throat in a great torrent. The goblin girl's eyes glaze over as she shudders and cums herself, the aphrodisiac property of his own cum taking effect. She plays with and spends herself on his cock long into the night, until she barely has the strength to clean everything up and erase the evidence of her indiscretion. She sneaks away in the wee hours, leaving Ominan, if not satisfied, then at least pleased.

An object on the opposite side of the lab lifts up into the air, turns itself over once, and then sets itself back down in its place.

It is rather fortuitous, that Ominan's power has been allowed to grow so much without also growing the trait which the goblins are using to measure that power. It is somewhat on the goblins' heads, for assuming causation where there is merely, often, correlation, since it is not impossible for such a thing to happen naturally. But it would have worked the way they expected, if not for a subtle interference.

Ominan is strong, and the goblins warping him are weak. It offends, that it is not Ominan crushing them under his foot.

Ominan in turn must prove that strength. There will be nothing to aid in his escape, but, there will be a blessing, a boon granted, to punish those who've put themselves above him, for daring to step out of their place.

One of the goblins on the Project has fallen pregnant. This isn't suspicious, by itself, but Dahlia orders it investigated anyway. No one on the Project gets to have a private life.

Dahlia and her retinue of bodyguards pay a surprise visit to the laboratory, interrupting the work as they march in, escorting a specialist in applying magical crest tattoos.

The subject is bound as expected, with a pair of needles piercing through both of his eyes into his brain, dripping fluids directly into his grey matter. Overseen by the now-pregnant and possibly-compromised alchemist, as well as a fleshcrafter to guide the process.

     "Your majesty!" they cry.

"Continue your work," Dahlia orders. "I'm moving up the schedule on obedience, however. We will be applying the crests to make the subject compliant immediately."

Dahlia stands back and watches as the expert leans over the subjects crotch and starts applying glowing purple ink to the skin just above the subjects (admittedly impressive) throbbing penis. Corruption, to cloud his mind. Then, in glowing pink ink: Pleasure, Lust, and Resonance, to make using sex to disable him viable. Finally, the tattooist moves up to his neck, to apply the first line of defense against him going rogue: a Slave crest, to replace the slave collar he proved so resistant to.

A Slave crest. No, that is not acceptable. That would be victory for the Blackthorns.

There is a sudden cracking sound, as every glass container in the laboratory shatters at once. He isn't planning. That was an impulsive reflex-move. That's not like him-

Searing agony pours into his eye-sockets. He sees, in flickers and glances from the senses of the goblins, that he shattered the serum tanks feeding the needles in his eyes. Now the needles are melting and the serum is spraying all over his face and the insides of his eyeballs with enough force to tear the flesh apart.

He doesn't have the time or the concentration to undo his bondage like he planned. Instead, he simply rips the entire bondage mount out of the floor, levitating it and himself up into the air and spinning it around to free himself of the needles. He feels a horrifying sucking-tearing sensation, and sees through flickers of others' senses, his own eyeballs skewered on the now-loose needles.

The pain starts to dampen, his regeneration healing the wound. But his eyes aren't regrowing. Something in the serum or the metal or the combination must be interfering...

Not an immediate concern. He can still see everything he needs to see by telepathy. He uses telekinesis to rip apart the metal frame, freeing his body. He's eager to show these goblins just how far the tables have turned.

Empress Dahila is one of the most powerful sorceresses in her kingdom. She's ready for a fight.

She's not ready for all of the laboratory goblins and two of her godsdamn bodyguards to suddenly fall over in absolute terror and scramble to put as much distance between them and Ominan as possible.

"What are you idiots doing?!"

With no explanation forthcoming, she marshals her anger and begins flinging spells at Ominan in a barrage.

Ominan folds his arms and smirks, despite his ruined eyes, as spell after spell misses him by inches, his body drifting back and forth in the air, the orbiting scraps of metal deflecting what he can't dodge. He can feel every attack coming, and he can see where Dahlia is aiming as soon as she forms the intention.

Every spell shatters more of the lab, giving Ominan more objects to wield with his telekinesis.

He smashes the metal together to form crude shapes which he can then drive hard into the floor over goblin bodies, bolting them to the floor and walls. The two bodyguards who didn't balk at fighting him get swept up too, pinned in metal like butterflies on a display board.

He can't get anything that close to Dahlia, though. She's more skilled. Faster. Even with spells.

Ominan continues to move around the lab, dodging the seemingly inexhaustible spellfire from the angry goblin empress, as he tries to force his mind to work through the fog of Corruption glowing purple on his pelvis.

He grabs his cock, starts stroking.

Defeating the empress in combat would be unsatisfying anyway. It would not be a victory, to merely defeat her. He must humble her. And he's aware of how potent his semen is, and how much of it he can produce in a single load. He strokes his cock harder, feeling himself reaching for the edge... the edge that just... he... just... can't... cross...

There is a slightly wild look on Ominan's eyeless face as he realizes: he can't cum. Not on his own. Not with his hand.

With a snarl he uses his telekinesis to yoink one of the goblin girls off the ground. She yelps in pain as the metal bites into her, but Ominan doesn't care. He rips open her clothes and slams his dick into her, using her like an onahole. He cums, flooding her innards with aphrodisiac semen to the point where her belly starts to swell and her eyes roll up in her head as she cums on his dick.

Ominan yanks her off his cock, spins her around, and squeezes. His cum fountains out of the goblin's pussy, spraying all over his orbiting metal and in Dahlia's general direction, guided by telekinesis.

Ominan goes back on the offensive, now that he has a new strategy and a new victory condition.

Dahlia snarls in frustration as she gets splattered with Ominan's cum again, and she's too busy casting to wipe it off. She knows the effect its having on her. She can feel the heat and need pulsing through her limbs, making her knees weak and her pussy gush. If she loses this fight, she's going to have a very embarrassing time at Ominan's mercy.

But even trembling with lust and shuddering with need at the thought of being split open on that massive pearl-white cock, she is the godsdamn Empress of the Blackthorn Empire and a fucking badass and she's going to make, this, hurt. There is no amount of lustful need that'll make her surrender.

Ominan senses the reinforcements when they're still several minutes away. Of course Dahlia had a force in reserve, and from what he can sense, they're elites, at least as good as those among her bodyguard who stood up to his Overwhelming.

But he knows how low she is on mana. She's been casting constantly. It's amazing that the lab still has walls, let alone a roof, all of which are covered in craters.

He can feel it. She knows it too.

She stops casting, shaking from both lust and from her soul being on the brink of collapse.

She pulls out a dagger. She knows he knows its futile.

He floats close, and telekinesis stops the dagger an inch from his pearl-sheen skin.

Ominan rams a telekinetic blow into her. Her will is strong enough that the psychic force fizzles around her, only pushing her back a few feet. Her royal vestments, on the other hand, shred, leaving the grey-skinned goblin woman nude.

She fights, as he pushes her down, not to stop his cock from entering her, but just to cause him as much damage and pain as she can with just her own limbs. Even as she cums explosively, her pussy clamping down on the gargantuan invader plundering her guts in a spray of fluid, her nails and teeth are ripping into his slick, unyielding skin. The living pearl his flesh has become is difficult to damage, and he regenerates. He could keep going until her stamina fails her, until her will breaks.

But he doesn't have time.

The elite reinforcements are almost here.

This then, he supposes, must be enough.

With a satisfied groan he cums, flooding the Empress' womb with his potent semen. She would be forced to carry his spawn, however briefly. For however long, even if it was only a day before she got a fleshcrafter to get rid of it, she would have to live with the knowledge that his seed had taken root in her.

An angelic figure is seen flying away from the city, a figure of pearl flying on the wings of an albatross.

Where he goes, no one knows.