New Muscle Fur Project! Tales of Tero: Cato

Hello, all! This requires a bit of explanation and context. I am launching a new project! It will be an illustrated anthology that takes place in my original setting, featuring all new characters, and I have decided to drum up support by sharing previews with all of you. Moving forward, once a month, I will share the first 2000 words of a new story in this anthology with our $5 and $10 patrons as a special treat. These stories will come with all the parts of a De Fleureaux story you all are familiar with: character drama, action, adventure, epic scale, and of course, gratuitous amounts of muscle growth smut.

To start off the proceedings, here is the story I started with, and inspired the anthology: Cato Maximus, the Glorious Avenger. Enjoy!

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He could hear the trumpets and drums, the roar of the crowd, and the stamping of thousands of feet— but he couldn't see anything, save for the mere glimpses between the folds of the senatorial togas that surrounded him. He couldn't believe it— Cato had begged and begged his father to take him to the Triumph of Jullus Augustus Lycanus, and after swearing to attend the household gods for two weeks and help his father with Senate business for another two weeks, he was here, standing amongst the entire Vitoran Senate, and he couldn't see anything.

"Papa! Papa!" Cato hissed, tugging on the folds of his father's toga. "Papa I can't see!"

Magnus Maximus glanced down at the small, white lion tugging at his side. To Cato, he always thought Magnus looked like the great statues of the Founders, wrought in marble; a noble lion, with his grave, serious eyes the color of a storm cloud, and proud face wreathed by a snowy white mane. "Cato, be calm," he said softly but sternly, putting one clawed hand atop his son's head. "It can't be helped, anyways— Augustus has already passed by."

"What?!" Cato let out a horrified squeak that caused some of the other Senators to look down with irritated looks. "I-I missed him?"

Magnus let out a small chuckle, a crack in his stoic, dignified marble facade. Before Cato could do anything else, the older lion stooped down and in a smooth movement, hoisted his son up in his arms. "Ah, it would appear that my old eyes were tricked— he's just coming around now." He turned to Cato, putting a finger to his lips as he cradled his son in his other arm. "Now be at peace. Senators are supposed to be dignified— the sons of Senators, doubly so."

Cato's mouth fell open, his eyes wide as he looked out over the Forum. In the shadow of the great temple of Tyros Superbus, the vast public square was awash in the red banners of the Republic, as flower petals were thrown from the rooftops, falling like snow. Thousands were packed around the monuments to the Vitoran Republic's greatest heroes, the likes of Vitos Lanius, Vitorus' founding King, and Augustus' own ancestor, Tertius Jullus Lycanus, looking down from their perches on marble columns with stoic pride.

Neat lines of Vitoran soldiers marched, without their arms or armor— soldiers did not bear their weapons within the sacred grounds of the city, and besides, thanks to Jullus Augustus, peace had been restored to the Republic.

"Do you know why we're honoring Lycanus this day, my son?" Magnus asked.

"Everyone knows that, Papa. He defeated the Helonian horde— he fought all ten of their chiefs at once in the provinces, and won!"

Magnus chuckled, bouncing his son on his arm. "Well, that is true— but the real reason is that the noble Lycanus managed to defeat the invading horde before they reached Consul Flaminius' summer villa— he saved the Consul a small fortune there. And that, my son, is the service to the Republic that gets one a Triumph."

Father and son laughed as a rather well-fed eagle from the row directly ahead of the Maximus lions glanced up with an indignant scowl. "Ah! There he is, Cato," Magnus said, pointing to the far end of the forum.

The young lion's head whipped around as he saw the chariot— six white steeds pulled it, bearing the weight of the mighty Jullus Augustus Lycanus— the only living Titan in all of Thirion. The wolf's granite fur coated a massive body, a gigantic display of power. His musclebound arms each looked like they outweighed Cato twice over, the polished bronze breastplate clinging to his mountainous chest looked large enough to house two grown men. He had never seen a wolf so large and muscular— he looked invincible. The wolf smiled wide, laughing as he reached for a large bowl filled to the brim with the gold trinkets and chains that the Helonian barbarians adorned themselves with, grabbed a fistful of treasure, and threw them out to the crowd.

"Do you remember what your tutors told you about the Titans, Cato?" Magnus asked.

The young lion nodded eagerly. "Titans have the blood of the Gods in them— and the Gods choose those worthy to be heroes, and protect the people as a sign that the Gods are pleased with us."

"Very good," the older lion nodded. "And that is why you must always honor the Gods— they pay back what we give them, tenfold."

Cato was quiet for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the mighty wolf as his chariot grew closer to the Senatorial platform. "Papa… could I be a Titan one day?"

The older lion did not laugh, and gave his son a warm smile. "The House of Maximus is a proud one, my son— we have been faithful servants of the Republic since the days the last king was overthrown. But we are not descended from the Gods; our blood is not strong enough to drink the nectar that makes someone a Titan."

The young lion's face fell. "Oh…"

"Hey." Magnus bounced his son on his arm again. "That is no reason to be crestfallen. You don't need Titan's blood to do great things— our first king and founder was no Titan. I am no Titan, and am I not great?"

Cato gave his father a half smile. "The greatest."

Magnus grinned broadly. "Exactly. So, attend to your studies— work hard, and never forsake the Gods, and they will reward you." He nodded back towards the triumph as Augustus' chariot drew near. "Maybe you'll get something for your troubles even now."

The titan and his chariot were now passing the Senators by. He was so close that Cato could see just how large he really was; every single one of the Senators were engulfed by the wolf's enormous shadow. He was less a man, and more a living mountain. But the wolf's eyes scanned the crowd, and Cato felt his heart skip a beat as his eyes met Augustus. The wolf raised his mighty arm and pointed right at Cato. The young lion couldn't speak, merely mouthing "Me?" as Augustus wound back his musclebound arm and threw something at him.

"Catch it!" Magnus urged.

Cato reached out and grabbed the small glimmer of gold that flew through the air. He looked down at it with wonder— it was an intricately adorned amulet, showing a stylized dragon in flight.

"Your first piece of glory, young Cato!" the wolf shouted in his rich, rumbling voice. "May you earn that and much more, for Vitorus!"

Cato's mouth opened and closed in amazement, looking up and down at the amulet then Augustus, speaking directly to him— he could hardly believe it! The world's only living Titan knew his name! "I-I will, Lycanus! For Vitorus!"

---

A violent strike of lightning shot across the stormy night sky, briefly illuminating the grim scene before Cato as the angry roar of thunder rolled across the camp of survivors. The white lion reached into the folds of his red soldier's cloak, thumbing the well-worn gold medallion he had received so many years ago, and staring with horrified eyes at the body of the man who had given it to him.

Even in death, Jullus Augustus Lycanus was an impressive sight. He could hardly believe those massive arms and legs, the sheer breadth and width of his chest. But on closer inspection, with the vigor of life now gone, he could see just how heavy it was— supernaturally massive burls of muscle tissue and meat, pressing down on a mortal man's skeleton. He looked now like a poorly built temple; perhaps an impressive edifice, for now, but doomed to collapse in on itself. 

He saw the nicks and bruises, the dry scars where Magadoran blades had cut— but that had not been what had killed the Vitorans' champion. Blackened streaks, like polluted rivers, snaked across Lycanus' body— magic. A spell the likes of which the Vitorans had never seen before had struck more than a thousand soldiers all at once, and when the rest of the Vitoran forces had seen their champion fall, the battle had been a complete rout. The Battle of Lake Argonus was supposed to be the end of this war— at last, the Arch Mage of Magador, Mago Malleus, would be driven out of the Republic's lands. Forty thousand of Vitorus' finest soldiers, eight whole legions, led by both consuls, twenty senators, all united under Augustus Lycanus— even as an old man, the wolf still had the strength of a hundred able-bodied men, and he was going to save the Republic once more. Instead, Mago Malleus had led them all into a trap— and Lycanus didn't even get a chance to face the mage before he was struck down, shot in the back.

Cato couldn't take his eyes off of the Titan. He could see now, the white whiskers on his muzzle, the faded color in his fur, lines just under his eyes, and the sagging of his skin around his now limp muscles— he could only imagine how tired the wolf must have felt, carrying around so much mass, even into his old age. How far had the blessings of the Gods worked to even keep such a man upright?

Still thumbing the gold medallion Lycanus had given him almost two decades ago, Cato cleared his throat. "Repeat— casualties for the second cohort?"

His aide, a fox named Decius, checked the tally on his wax tablet. "Four hundred and twenty seven."

"And the fifth cohort?"

"Four hundred and seventy eight."

"Bona dea!" Cato gasped softly. "Twenty two survivors? That's all?"

"The third, seventh, and eighth cohorts have no reported survivors at all, sir," Decius said quietly. "It may be that there are a few survivors that deserted the field of battle."

The lion screwed his eyes shut, wincing slightly. "How many casualties are we looking at so far?"

"Apologies, dominus, but we're still counting. At present, the count stands at about twenty two thousand. We expect at least a couple thousand more. The lake is now entirely red, with the blood spilled."

"And… How many know about him?" Cato asked, a catch in his voice as he gestured to Lycanus.

"Legate Portia is the ranking officer at the moment— as far as I know, she has prepared no response yet. But word of this will spread, quickly— Had we not retrieved Lycanus' body, I have no doubt that Mago Malleus would have sent his head to the Senate," Decius explained.

"If there even is a Senate left in Vitorus," Cato said bitterly. "Is there any word from my father?"

Decius hesitated. "The Fourteenth Legion is still estimating their losses. No confirmation on the Legate."

A pang of dread struck through the lion, and he fought to hide how his breath shuddered. 

Decius looked up. "Tribune…?"

Cato stiffened, snapping up as he collected his plumed helmet, and instead of wearing a helmet in the presence of Lycanus, he placed it at the foot of the fallen Titan. Instead, he pulled up the hood of his cloak. "I'm going for a walk-about. Send word to the surgeons and priests— I want them to prepare the body. I want him to look his best when we return the body to Vitorus. I don't want the people to see him…" He fought the catch in his throat. "...Like this."

Decius saluted him, thumping his chest as Cato marched out into the rain. The Vitoran camp, far from the neatly ordered lines of well built tents and fires that would normally keep legionnaires dry and warm, was a hodge podge of scrapped together canvas set between trees and fires where dozens were huddled around, the dim light highlighting the grimaces on their faces. Cato avoided them; they weren't looking for superior officers anyways. He slunk between the trees, and when he was certain he was quite alone, the lion let out a pained gasp, falling to his knees and sinking into the mud. Tribunes did not show emotion— the senior officers of a legion were stoic, grim-faced warriors, servants of the Republic. They did not flinch, they did not hesitate, they did not cry over the carnage of war— but here, in the dark and the howling wind, Cato let out the cry of a wounded animal. The Hero of the Republic dead, his father probably dead, friends and comrades slaughtered like animals, Senators he had grown up around, the cream of the crop of Vitoran society, all gone.

He held up his hands, his voice trembling. "Magnificent Tyros, Radiant Turana, and Awesome Martius, I invoke thee. To the God of Wisdom and King of the Gods, the Mother of Vitorus, and the God of Soldiers, I beg your mercy. Do not, in this dark hour, abandon the Republic, which has grown great because of our piety. However you see fit to use me, I beg you, I will prepare any sacrifice that would please thee. Let my countrymen be avenged, and my homeland saved. Do not abandon us, Gods I pray— show me your will, and I will follow it."

There was no answer to his prayer, save the wind and the rain, no comfort as Cato buried his face in his hands, rocking back and forth, but then, he heard voices— the tired, hollow voices of more survivors.

"It's over. Mago is on Vitorus' doorstep."

"But we can't leave now, what about the Republic?"

"A fig for the Republic! Mago's quarrel is with the Senate— let them burn. Listen— I have a cousin in Lunox. Lunox isn't in Mago's path. We fall back to there, join a caravan— we're home free."

"Where are we supposed to go?"

"Anywhere— Horahktey, the Kanatoan kingdoms. Lots of places are always hiring a man with a good sword in his hand."

Cato was stunned into motionless silence at what he heard. Slowly, he drew himself up to his full height, and unsheathed his sword.

One of the soldiers speaking, a bull, was still ranting into their scant fire. "Vitorus is finished— Mago Malleus and his sorcerers will have the run of the place within a month, and I'm not looking to be another scratch on some scribe's ledger of casualties. I—" He stopped as he suddenly felt cold steel pressed against his neck. The group huddled around him as they saw Cato emerge from the shadows, the tip of his sword pressed against the bull's neck, bloodshot eyes and bared fangs looming over him. 

"You are all worse than cowards!" He spat. "Traitors to Vitorus— do you care nothing about those waiting to hear word back home? What of your families? Your vows to defend the Republic?" His sword pressed deeper against the bull's neck, until a spot of crimson showed. "You will renew your vows, before me and the gods. Swear your loyalty to the Republic, and all good Vitorans, now. Any who refuse— or break these vows— I will personally kill you where you stand."

"Tribune!" The other soldiers leapt to their feet, the bull raising his hands as Cato withdrew his sword. "We— we have no orders. Our legate, our centurion, gone. Our legion is broken. The Second no longer exists."

Cato grimaced. "Then as Tribune and a member of House Maximus, I will take your oaths under my service, and into the service of the Twelfth Legion." He looked around them. "You will report to my prefect, Decius. I want your armor polished to a mirror shine, and fresh cloaks on your backs."

Two of the soldiers looked at one another before slowly standing up from the fire. "You have orders for us, Tribune?"

Cato nodded grimly. "You are to be the Honor Guard for Jullus Augustus Lycanus. The Titan of Vitorus will not be unattended for even a moment— and Vitorus will not be abandoned in her darkest hour."