pagan

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

"You will return like lightning!"

"Infidels, you will surely suffer the wrath of the Father!" In a winding line of refugees, a man looked back with tears in his eyes. The great city was burning in flames, the firelight illuminating the entire sky and turning night into day.

"Your Majesty Ducas, your father, the great Byzantine Emperor, the holy heir of the Roman Empire, the glorious son blessed by God, the solemn protector of the Orthodox Church, the saint beloved by all: His Majesty Constantine XI, gloriously died in battle within the city..." A middle-aged man in a purple robe said to the man before him, his voice choked with sobs.

"No, my father is not dead! Didn't they say no one found his body?" The man pointed to the great city burning in the flames. "Behold! My father will return like lightning! Behold, the Byzantines will return to Constantinople! The ancestors of Rome are protecting us!" The man merged into the ranks and continued walking into the distance. The North Star shone, as if guiding the crowd forward.

The story dates back more than a month.

...

"Your Majesty, Byzantine Emperor, we are herdsmen from the distant grasslands, we greet you!" A bearded man dressed in white silk robes and a white turban smiled and called out to the guards on the city wall.

But the response was an arrow, flying like a meteor towards him, grazing his face before embedding itself in the ground, its tail feathers trembling. The bearded man touched his cheek; blood slowly seeped out, and a sharp pain shot through his brain.

"Infidels! Go back to your grasslands! This is Constantinople, the city blessed by God, the seat of Holy Rome! If you dare take another step forward, the next arrow will pierce your throat, nailing you to a cross, so you can watch yourself bleed to death!" A young girl in silver armor roared fiercely from the city wall. Her angry shouts echoed through the air, conveying a palpable sense of fervent fighting spirit rather than feminine weakness. The defenders on the wall cheered in unison, clearly energized by the miraculous arrow.

The girl drew her sword, and despite the dense enemy ranks before her, she roared,

"God protects his followers! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The defenders on the city wall responded to her, shouting, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" A cacophony of swords rang out, and a chilling atmosphere filled the air. The defenders on the wall, their eyes bloodshot, seemed to be injected with adrenaline, letting out thunderous roars as they glared at the besieging forces below.

The bearded man, protected by a troop of cavalry, retreated back to the golden tent. He asked sheepishly, "Who is that whore's? The Byzantine emperor, a woman?" "Great Sultan," replied the general, "not so. She is the City Princess, that is, Constantinople itself. She rises and falls with the city of Constantinople. Her power comes from the prosperity of Constantinople and the emotions of its citizens; one could call her Her presence." "Then will she be our biggest obstacle to the siege?"

another general, clad in white armor with his hair styled in a boat shape, answered. "I'm afraid so, Your Majesty the Sultan." This general walked to a simple map and began to explain it to everyone.

"This is Constantinople, a city that can be called an impregnable fortress! Most importantly, it's built at the tip of a peninsula, so the only area it needs to defend is its western side. However, the Byzantines built the western walls over a thousand years ago, which is probably not something we can conquer in a short time. Also, there's the terrain. We're on the Thracian plain; attacking Constantinople requires an uphill assault, while they attack from below, giving them a terrain advantage." His sword pointed again to the other side of the map: "North of Constantinople is the Golden Horn, here..." "It's a commercial center, with countless merchant ships coming and going normally. Unfortunately, our navy only has a numerical advantage, and the Byzantines have blocked the Golden Horn with iron chains across the river, rendering our large navy useless. To the south lies the Sea of Marmara, where the enemy holds the city walls. Our navy can at most cut off their supply lines. Your Majesty the Sultan, that concludes my introduction." Mehmed II stroked his beard, looking quite troubled, and said, "The only way to attack is from the west, is it?

Can't we destroy the iron chains across the Golden Horn?"

"I think not. The Jerana people are holding Galata on the other side, and Constantinople is on the other side..." "Never mind! Let's try! The Byzantines only have five thousand defenders, and even including those Italian merchants, they only have seven thousand. How can they resist my two hundred thousand troops?" At the Sultan's command, countless cannon fodder were driven by the Ottomans towards the towering city walls. They stared blankly at the distant city walls. Their sole mission was to exhaust the enemy's arrows and stamina, and to fill in the moat. The soldiers on the walls practically spitting fire. The clothing of the driven crowd was familiar; they were clearly Byzantines from nearby villages, but now they were being used as fodder by the Ottomans.

"Fire! Shoot them all! We can't let them fill in the moat! Constantinople is behind us; we have nowhere to retreat. Do you want your families to end up like those below the walls?" A clear, girlish shout rang in the ears of every soldier on the walls. They turned to see a girl in silver armor surveying the walls. She drew her short sword and brandished it: "Archers, fire!" A rain of arrows arced gracefully, landing in the crowd. Blood blossomed among the ant-like masses, but was quickly silenced by new cannon fodder. However, this group of cannon fodder, armed only with wooden sticks and carrying sandbags, couldn't even get close to the moat before being shot dead halfway there.

But regular troops quickly replaced them. The next wave of bearded generals swallowed hard, looking at the ten-meter-high city walls in the distance. He was attacking uphill again, naturally at a significant disadvantage, but how could he disobey the Sultan's orders? A squad of light infantry, clad in leather armor and carrying small round shields, also carried sandbags and slowly approached Constantinople. But under the arrows, they were no different from the cannon fodder. Soon, they too abandoned the corpses of their comrades and fled back in disarray. However, at least they had moved the sandbags forward a little further; the towering fortified city seemed like an unyielding holy city.

The Ottoman regular army numbered over two hundred thousand, not to mention the civilians they had brought with them. And so, they used human lives to relentlessly push aside all obstacles in their path: traps, deer barriers, and trenches. The battle raged on until nightfall. Due to malnutrition, most ordinary soldiers suffered from night blindness, making a night raid a complete impossibility for them.

The high-ranking officers of the defending army were deeply worried. Constantine, sword at his side, pushed open the central command tent. At that moment, the outstanding Genoese general, Guistiani, was discussing something with Constantine XI around a map.

"Your Majesty, when will the western reinforcements arrive? Relying solely on the city's five thousand defenders to resist the two hundred thousand infidels is nothing short of a pipe dream!" Guistiani stated his opinion bluntly. He was an excellent general; even though he was of Genoese descent, he was willing to die for his faith in this Christian holy city.

Constantine XI's face betrayed his weariness: "Alas, those bastards demand we return to their heresy, but the citizens of the city strongly object; the vast majority are unwilling to change their faith. However, even so, I agreed to the Papacy's proposal. Unfortunately, unfortunately, we haven't seen the Catholic heretics' army yet." "Even without them, we can still defeat these infidels!" A young woman in silver armor entered, dusty and weary. She wiped the dust from her face, revealing her pretty features. She drew her short sword and pointed to a corner of the map. It was springtime. How many infidels had they gathered? One hundred thousand, or perhaps two hundred thousand? Including their cooks, it must be close to three hundred thousand. If they were trapped here, having endured a harsh winter, how much food would they have left? Spring was the planting season; if they missed the planting season, how many people did they intend to starve to death next winter?

The girl in silver armor removed her helmet and tossed her long, snow-white hair: "As long as we persevere, under immense logistical pressure, they will surely return empty-handed." Her voice seemed to possess a unique charisma, invigorating all the men present. They spoke in hushed tones, time slowly passing. The girl gave Constantine XI a wink, and he nodded subtly, indicating he understood.

The crowd dispersed, and the two entered a dark chamber together. The girl cautiously glanced back and said in a low voice:

"Your Majesty, what I just said is indeed true, but there's one thing I didn't mention." "Oh? What important news requires you to personally pull me to this private place to say it?" "I'm worried this might strain your relationship with General Gustavus Aquinas. Your Majesty, what is your opinion of the Genoese?" "A disgusting bunch of parasites, bloodsuckers who only know how to borrow money, smiling on the outside but selling you to the devil on the inside. If their parents had a price, they would have sold them for a good one." "Pfft, although Your Majesty is exaggerating a bit, there's no doubt that this is the nature of the Genoese. However, Your Highness, across the Golden Horn is Galata. Are you sure they won't betray us and let these heretics in?" Constantine XI responded to the silver-haired girl's question with a smile: "So that's what you mean. To avoid this..." "The Satanists betrayed us, so I only sent the upright and brave General Gustavus Aristoni with his men into the city, while the Genoese were assigned to the unimportant Galata. They're just guarding one end of the iron chain across the river; they don't need to betray us, do they?" "I hope so! Once the enemy enters the Golden Horn, we'll be forced to fight on two fronts, and we simply won't have enough troops to deal with them!" The silver-haired girl said worriedly, "Your Majesty, please rest early. I'm going to take charge of the night patrol." "You should rest early too; after all, this is my city!" "Your Majesty, I am a city princess, a tireless fantasy creature. Even if the city falls, I only need to sleep. Your Majesty is only human; you should rest well." The silver-haired girl smiled slightly, bowed to Constantine XI, and then stepped into the darkness.

The siege continued, but beneath this formidable fortress, the Ottomans outside could only use lives to clear the obstacles outside the city. Soon, even the moat outside Constantinople was completely filled in by the Ottomans. Squadrons and siege towers were pushed up, and Ottoman soldiers, like ants, clung to the ladders, scaling the towering walls. Stones, logs, arrows, and even boiling water were constantly poured down from the walls, causing the Ottoman soldiers below to scream in agony.

From a distance, Constantinople, this juncture between East and West, was now billowing with thick black smoke, and the deafening battle cries could be heard even from miles away. Time passed, and the sun hung high in the sky. Constantine, wielding her short sword, relentlessly slaughtered the Ottoman soldiers climbing the walls. Her silver armor was now stained with blood; countless bearded men had perished at her hands.

Constantine, panting heavily, charged towards the central army camp. She pushed open the tent flap, two gleaming swords in hand. "Your Majesty," she said, "I request permission to launch a counterattack. It is noon, the sun is at its strongest. The enemy, attacking uphill, will inevitably be affected by the sun. Furthermore, they are preparing to retreat and have lunch, and are exhausted and hungry. Besides, the enemy's numbers are so great that they certainly won't expect us to dare to launch a counterattack on the first day." "Then, I will entrust my personal guard to your command!" "I will bring honor and victory to Your Majesty!" The girl rose, her hand on her sword, and walked towards the tent flap. Following behind her was Ipas, the captain of Constantine XI's personal guard. He greatly admired this dashing city princess and trotted to keep up with the silver-haired girl. "Your Majesty," he asked, "what tactics will we employ?" "Stay close to me, don't fall behind. We'll break through them!" The silver-haired girl mounted her horse and led a cavalry unit of three hundred men. This cavalry force was composed entirely of devout Catholics who believed they would ascend to heaven after death, making them extremely powerful in battle. This was precisely why they served as the personal guard of Constantine XI.

The city gates slowly opened, and the Ottomans outside were astonished to find that the gates, which seemed like an impenetrable fortress to them, were now open. But before they could react,

a silver-haired girl on a white horse charged into the crowd like a silver lightning bolt. Behind her followed a banner, a double-headed eagle soaring in the azure sky. "Stay close, stay close, follow me!" the girl shouted, her silver figure transforming into a sharp blade that pierced the Ottomans' fatal weakness. From above, the cavalry looked like a hot knife through butter. The Ottomans cried out and scattered in all directions; even the reserve troops hadn't anticipated that the Byzantines would dare to launch a counterattack. The Ottoman vanguard siege force quickly collapsed, crying and fleeing for their lives, desperate to escape the terrifying, death-scythe-like cavalry.

Mehmed II, of course, wouldn't allow this small force to wreak havoc on the battlefield. He gritted his teeth, waved his hand, and a squad of white-robed cavalry charged forward. They were from Egypt, known as the Mamluks. Both Crusaders and Mongols had fallen to them, and Mehmed II was very confident in his elite cavalry. However, the silver arrows traced a graceful arc and galloped back to the city gate. Even if the Mamluks pursued, they were forced back by the volley of arrows from the city walls, forced to watch helplessly as the siege equipment was destroyed by the Byzantines! A

deafening cheer erupted from the city walls; they celebrated the return of the Valkyrie. This godlike action caused all the Byzantines on the walls to cheer, especially since their leader was a beautiful young woman. The crowd cheered, and someone shouted, "Minerva! Minerva! Minerva!" The knights following Constantine echoed His name in response to the crowd on the city walls: "Minerva! Minerva!" Meanwhile, in the Ottoman central camp, a different scene unfolded. Mehmed II slammed his fist on the table: "That son of a bitch! Damn it, she dared to kill my vanguard!" Several bearded men exchanged glances, but one of them reluctantly stepped forward: "Your Majesty the Great Sultan, this time, this time she only caught us off guard..." "It was just a matter of being caught off guard. We... we'll just set up reserves after the attacking force next time." However, the Sultan's prime minister interrupted the bearded general: "Your Majesty, I must tell you some unfortunate news. A rebellion has broken out again in the Arab provinces. If we don't withdraw our troops, the lack of supplies alone will be enough to kill our massive army." "Absolutely not!" Mohammed slammed his rough hand on the table: "I will fulfill the last wish of the Ottoman Emperor. The so-called Eastern Roman Empire is left with only this last jewel. You want me to abandon it in the wilderness?"

"How long will it take me to gather an army of 200,000 again?" He slammed his fist on the map, pointing to Constantinople, and roared almost like a wild beast: "Attack! God bless you, my lads!" For the next two weeks, the two sides engaged in an extremely fierce battle. Ladders, siege towers, and even tunnels were used by the Ottoman army. However, before this formidable city protected by God, humanity was so insignificant. Muhammad even deployed his secret weapon, the Urban cannon, a terrifying weapon capable of firing 500-kilogram shells, but even this could not break the will of the defenders. Muhammad was caught in a dilemma. Constantinople, not far away, seemed so close yet so unattainable. Muhammad slammed his fist on the table in anger: "What should we do now?" On the other side in Galata, a greedy Genoese merchant kept rubbing the glittering gold coins in his hand, his greed in his eyes was simply undisguised. Surrounded by hundreds of chests of jewels, gold, and silver, he couldn't help but let out a wicked laugh: "All of this is for me?" The turbaned Ottoman nodded. "Of course, Your Excellency. If you can ignore our march, we can offer you another generous reward after we pass." The Genoese merchant's eyes lit up instantly. His breathing quickened, and he hurriedly asked, "Anything else?" Quickly realizing his lapse, he coughed lightly. "Heh heh heh, even the greediest merchant wouldn't sell the noose that would hang him! What are you trying to do?" The Ottoman began to speak eloquently: "My general has been forced to reach the walls of Constantinople within three days, or he will be hanged. To save his life, the general has no choice but to beg for your help, since passing through Galata is the fastest route." The Genoese merchant greedily held up a finger: "Fifty chests of gold as the final payment, and I'll pretend I didn't see you!" "Deal, Your Excellency!"

…

A miracle that would shock the history of human warfare was born tonight. The Ottomans had prepared massive logs, coated with butter, and placed them on the road, a waterway connecting the Golden Horn to the Sea of Marmara. If anyone were there that night, they would have witnessed this astonishing scene: enormous ships being pulled ashore by a swarm of people, like ants, and then heading towards the Golden Horn. Mehmed II, with his brilliant idea, had gained the upper hand in this war.

"No, it's terrible! Warships! Warships! Ottoman warships have entered the Golden Horn! Our supply lines have been completely cut off, and to the north, the Ottomans have landed there too!" Constantine bit her lip, her face deathly pale, clearly aware of the devastating blow this bad news would inflict on the morale of the defenders. She casually pulled a soldier aside and asked, "Does many people know this news?" "Everyone, everyone knows... The Ottoman warships suddenly appeared in the Golden Horn, it's practically a miracle. This news, this news, I'm afraid everyone knows it. Everyone says that God has abandoned us..." "Nonsense! We are devout believers in the Lord, how could we be abandoned by Him?" The girl tried desperately to revive morale, but this was clearly futile in the face of the obvious reality. Even if she talked herself hoarse,

she couldn't make the enemy troops outside the city disappear. Where the defenders couldn't see, a bitter smile appeared on the girl's lips. If all else failed, if all else failed, she would perish with the city! Could even Constantinople, which had existed for a thousand years, be destroyed?

The battle reached a fever pitch. The Ottomans' morale was high, while the Byzantines' morale was low. Constantinople was now in a desperate situation, surrounded by enemies and without supplies.

Constantine XI summoned the city princess Constantine again, and the white-haired girl was surprised to find that His Majesty the Emperor had aged beyond recognition. Despite being an immortal being among the fantastical creatures, she couldn't help but be moved by the scene before her: "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, you must take care of yourself! If it really comes to this, if it really comes to this, shall we abandon this city?" Constantine XI's previously cloudy eyes sharpened: "This is the city of the Romans, and the last capital of the Byzantine Empire. I would rather die here than flee here alive in a sorry state, or become a prisoner of these heretics!" His tone softened: "But you, Constantine, what do you plan to do then? Even if you are a fantastical creature, these heretics are capable of anything!" "Your Majesty, don't worry! I am the City Princess, they can't do anything to me!" Constantine XI sighed: "Go out, let me see my city one more time." "Yes, Your Highness!" Constantine had only been gone a short while when Guistiania grabbed him. The brave Genoese general grasped Constantine's hand, pleading, "Constantine, come back to Greece with me! This city, this city cannot be defended! Let me bring Rome back to Genoa! Constantinople may fall, but Rome will never perish!" "I'm sorry, dear Guistiani," Constantine replied, "I cannot go with you. I will defend our city with the citizens of Rome. If you wish to make the same choice as your Genoese compatriots, then so be it! The Ottomans do not have enough navy to blockade the waterways." Constantine then departed.

The battle continued, and the Byzantines' numerical disadvantage became increasingly apparent. More and more Ottomans stormed the city walls, not to mention the enemy troops from the Golden Horn threatening the defenders' flanks.

Even more critically, the western walls succumbed to the relentless bombardment of Urban cannons. The Byzantines were forced to retreat to the inner city, but this did little to change the course of the battle; Ottomans continued to pour in.

The garrison cried out in alarm, "The Janissaries! Those damned blasphemers!" Though cursing, the garrison instinctively took a few steps back before bravely charging forward. With Constantinople behind them, they were well aware of Mehmed II's order: "Conquer Constantinople, and your swords will not be sheathed for three days." However, the exhausted garrison was clearly no match for the elite Janissaries; they were driven back in disarray, even as the inner walls were now on the verge of collapse.

Constantine drew her two short swords and charged forward, like a graceful dancer twirling on a blade, her body fluttering like a butterfly among flowers. Spurs of blood bloomed around her, and the white-turbaned guards clutched their necks, groaning in pain. The two short swords swung through the air, slashing, parrying, and thrusting, felling the Ottomans around them.

Even the Janissary guards, who had pledged their lives to God, showed fear. They glanced at their comrades, but still mustered their courage and charged forward with their spears. A dense barrage of spears surged upwards towards the silver-haired girl. However, the silver-haired girl, clad in light armor, charged towards them. She bent her knees and leaped into the air, the armor plates on her silver skirt reflecting the sunlight, shimmering like a Valkyrie descending to earth. The short swords slashed across the Janissary guards' throats, devouring their lives like deadly serpents.

Blood stained Constantine's silver armor, and bloodstains adorned her small face. She exhaled a deep breath. The Ottomans were fleeing in disarray, but then an unexpected event occurred. The Genoese mercenaries nearby cried out in panic, retreating, while the Genoese mercenaries guarding the inner city opened the city gates. Constantine's blood-red pupils contracted.

"What's going on?" she grabbed a soldier and asked urgently.

"General Gustiniani is dead! The Genoese have lost their leader and are trying to escape!" A continuous stream of Ottomans poured into the city through the Genoese-guarded gates. Constantine's vision blurred, and she nearly collapsed to the ground. She seemed to see the ancient city belching black smoke and wailing.

The Byzantine soldiers trembled as well, realizing that their terrible fate had arrived.

An even more brutal street battle erupted. Like moths to a flame, the Byzantine citizens desperately fought back against the invaders, only to be cruelly nailed to their deaths in the streets. Constantine XI donned a magnificent crimson robe and picked up a longsword inlaid with jewels.

"Gentlemen, the end is sealed. Thank you for fighting alongside me until this moment! Byzantium will perish, Constantine XI will die here, but Rome will never fall! The double-headed eagle banner will never fall!" "The fall of the Byzantine Empire needs a magnificent exit! So, let my blood, the blood of the last Byzantine emperor, prove the nobility and sanctity of this empire's bloodline!" The purple figure charged towards the Ottomans, who surged like a tide. Several figures followed behind him, silently advancing. Like drops of water falling into the ocean, they quickly disappeared.

"Your Majesty!" Cries of anguish echoed through the streets of Constantinople. This ancient city, standing for a thousand years, was once again ravaged. Constantine smiled bitterly, her figure fading, gradually returning to the city. But then, an unexpected event occurred. Constantine was forcibly pulled from the void. She looked around blankly; several old men with wrinkled faces, dressed in strange animal skins, jumped and shouted, while a crystal ball the size of a palm gleamed eerily.

She...couldn't return to Constantinople?

As the white-haired girl was bewildered, a bearded man, surrounded by a group of people, stepped forward. His eyes darted greedily over the white-haired girl's exquisitely shaped body, encased in armor. He spread his arms, seemingly without a care: "Submit to me! You will become the city princess of the great Ottoman Sultan's immortal city. Why perish with a doomed kingdom?" The white-haired girl drew two short swords from her waist. She glared at the bearded man with a white turban with hatred: "My faith forbids me from submitting to you, you evil heretic!" She charged forward, clearly intending to reenact the legend of slaying an enemy general. However, the white-turbaned, bearded man let out a hearty laugh and retreated to the back of the crowd. A large group of generals rushed forward after him, while the shaman chanted their strange incantations.

Due to the fall of Constantinople and the despair of the citizens, the white-haired girl's fighting ability had reached its lowest point. Although her fighting instincts remained, she was quickly captured by the superior numbers of the Ottoman generals. They bound Constantine's hands, put them behind her back, and then brought her before Mehmed II.

Mehmed II laughed heartily. The capture of Constantinople meant he could now wage war and spread Islamic teachings throughout the heart of Europe; the city princess Constantine was now like a delicious breakfast.

Mehmed II strode up to the white-haired girl, then lifted her jade-white chin, forcing her to look up at him. Gazing at the girl's defiant, blood-red eyes, filled with unwavering hatred, Mehmed II felt a surge of smug satisfaction. The terrifying Khan of the East had once said: "The greatest joy in life is to defeat the enemy, to drive them away, to seize their possessions, to see their loved ones weeping, to ride their horses, and to take their wives and daughters."

And wasn't he doing just that now?

Looking at the raging inferno of Constantinople, Mehmed II suddenly had a brilliant idea. He loudly commanded his generals: "Have your soldiers drive the citizens of Constantinople to the Hagia Sophia! Tell them that the great Ottoman Sultan will invite them to a magnificent opera!" Mehmed II led Constantine toward the Hagia Sophia, while Ottoman soldiers, their heads wrapped in white turbans, drove the surviving citizens of the famous city toward the Hagia Sophia. Within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the church square was soon packed with Byzantines, filled with cries and shouts. Mehmed II, accompanied by his generals, ascended the high platform—a solemn and dignified coronation site where both Orthodox patriarchs and Byzantine emperors were crowned and adorned with laurels. Constantine, the city princess brought there, looked at the citizens in despair, unaware of the terrible ordeal that awaited her.

The Janissaries raised their muskets and fired into the air. Soon, the square fell silent. People looked at the infidels on the platform; some muttered curses, while others gasped at the bound Constantine, clearly recognizing the white-haired girl.

Mehmed II stepped forward and addressed the citizens of the square, shouting, "Byzantines! You must be familiar with me. I am Mehmed II, the king of the great Ottoman Empire, your future emperor, and the ruler of this city!" The clamor in the square grew louder again, clearly indicating dissatisfaction with the infidel's words. However, Mehmed II ignored the noise and continued, "However, someone dares to defy me!

Someone has blasphemed the only true God in this world, Allah! Then, I will administer divine punishment and baptism to this shameful blasphemer, and you are honored to be witnesses!" Ottoman soldiers in black robes began patrolling the square, and the clamor gradually subsided. Mehmed II then pressed the city princess Constantine against the railing at the edge of the platform, forcefully ripped off Constantine's white robe, and threw her down into the crowd below. Both Constantine on the platform and the Byzantine citizens in the square knew of Mehmed II's wicked intentions. Naturally, some hot-blooded young men stood up, loudly denouncing Mehmed II's beastly behavior, but they were quickly shot dead in the square.

Mehmed II, however, smiled smugly, his disgusting mouth kissing Constantine's small face, leaving disgusting saliva behind. Like an enraged she-wolf, Constantine opened her mouth, turning her head to bite down, but Mehmed II dodged. With her hands bound, Constantine was no match for Mehmed II and could only endure his humiliation. Those rough hands, accustomed to weapons, caressed Constantine's shapely body; even through a layer of light armor, Constantine felt utterly disgusted.

"You bastard! What kind of king are you? How dare you do such a filthy thing?" Constantine's face was flushed as he roared in anger.

Mehmed II's large mouth continued to lick and caress Constantine's delicate face, leaving behind disgusting, sticky saliva. He mumbled a retort, "What need is there for women to do anything respectable? Women, just lie on the ground, spread your legs, and wait for men to fuck you!" He then burst into hearty laughter.

Constantine twisted her body, trying to break free from Mehmed II's control. Her brows furrowed, her delicate face filled with undisguised disgust and contempt: "Disgusting infidels, lowly barbarians, only the barren grasslands are your home!" Mehmed II's large hand pressed against Constantine's breasts, and he let out a lewd laugh: "Is that so?

Then what are you, being played with by barbarians and infidels?" His hands slowly unfastened Constantine's silver-white armor, and then she was thrown off the platform. Every Byzantine saw clearly that their city princess was being publicly violated. Constantine's armor gradually thinned until it revealed her snow-white flesh wrapped in noble purple silk.

Constantine trembled with rage. As a noble and mysterious fantasy creature, had she ever suffered such treatment? She was utterly furious! Like a fierce mother wolf protecting her cubs, she let out a threatening growl, but this feeble resistance was utterly futile before Mehmed II. Soon, Mehmed II threw Constantine's silver armor from the platform, slamming it onto the square with a loud crash. The armor didn't just hit the square; it hit the hearts of the Byzantines. Their own country's princess was being wantonly violated by infidels from an enemy nation, and they could only watch from the square; a fierce rage burned in their chests.

Mehmed II ripped off Constantine's purple undergarment, exposing her two snow-white breasts to the air, which bounced lively. Constantine cried out in shame, "No, no, don't look!" Sunlight shone on her breasts, making them almost dazzlingly white, and the young Byzantine men in the square involuntarily swallowed. The pair of soft, beautifully shaped breasts, like jade bowls inverted on Constantine's chest, showed no signs of sagging. They stood proudly upright, just like their owner, with two cherry-red nipples on top, looking so cute and tempting.

Even knowing their actions were blasphemous, the young Byzantine men couldn't resist stealing glances at their city princess's magnificent breasts.

Mehmed II grinned gleefully; the feeling of humiliating their goddess in front of the defeated was incredibly satisfying. He quickly stripped off his white robe, pressing it against Constantine's fair skin. His rough hands reached forward without hesitation, grasping Constantine's breasts. The breasts were too large to hold in one hand; a large amount of white flesh seeped through his fingers, and the cherry-red nipples, stimulated by his rough palms, caused Constantine to let out a soft moan. The intense masculine aura of the man behind her made her extremely resistant; she wanted to escape, but her hands were bound behind her back, preventing her from doing so.

Mehmed II, only twenty-one years old, had already achieved such great feats, naturally in a state of pride and self-satisfaction. The moment he conquered Constantinople, he immediately ordered the execution of the ministers who demanded a withdrawal. The city princess Constantine before him was undoubtedly the perfect gift to satisfy his desires. Hearing the cries of pain from the beauty in his arms, and inhaling her alluring fragrance with ecstasy, he felt an immense sense of satisfaction. Seeing the Byzantines in the square, who dared not speak out, only fueled his perverse lust for power and conquest. He

ripped off Constantine's purple undergarment and threw it down into the crowd. The luxurious purple silk undergarment fluttered in the wind. The young Byzantine, panting heavily, clutched the purple undergarment to his chest, gently inhaling its lingering fragrance and warmth.

Mehmed II watched with satisfaction as the spirited young men gathered in the square. This was exactly what he intended: to destroy the sanctity of these Byzantines, to desecrate their faith, to corrupt their nobility, and to reduce them to beasts burdened with original sin, ultimately forced to beg for forgiveness from God.

His hand slipped under Constantine's knees, and he lifted the proud, white-haired beauty in a gesture as if he were helping a child urinate. Constantine screamed in terror, instinctively clamping her legs together. She was completely naked, her entire body exposed to the Byzantines below. Mehmed II cruelly and slowly opened her legs, and Constantine resisted with all her might. For her, this was far too shameful; to have her entire body displayed to her people, even her most private parts exposed to their gaze, was unbearable.

Her bloodshot eyes widened in despair, her legs trembling as she slowly opened her vulva, revealing her secret passage to everyone in the square. Constantine let out a shameful whimper, wishing she could die immediately. Her fair flesh had turned pink with humiliation. The

heavy breathing of the men below the platform could be heard even by Mehmed II on the platform. He carried Constantine around as if displaying an object, making sure every Byzantine in the square could see clearly: "Look! Look! This is your Minerva!" "Look! Look! This is your goddess, your city princess, Constantine! Hahaha, what difference is there between her and the lowest prostitute in Constantinople?" Rough fingers forcefully thrust into Constantine's pink, moist opening, causing the white-haired girl to cry out in pain. He raised his fingers, smeared with semen, high: "Your Minerva is leaking water under the spotlight! Hahaha!" As if displaying a medal, he held his hand high, waving it, the small patch of glistening semen reflecting the sunlight.

The Byzantines stared intently at Constantine's honeyed orifice, their breathing becoming heavy. That little hole was incredibly alluring; even Venus couldn't compare. The white-haired girl's genitals were clean and hairless, appearing pure. Her long, slender legs formed a mysterious triangle with her genitals. Her mons pubis was slightly raised, looking tender and juicy. The opening of her honeyed orifice was oval, slightly protruding. Her vulva was tightly closed, like a whole loaf of white bread, with only a shallow slit, as if Aphrodite had gently sliced it open, revealing a bit of pink flesh, the exposed labia tightly enveloping the opening. Many Byzantine men in the audience had already become fully erect. However, the thought that this was their protector, the goddess of war, filled many with conscience with guilt.

Constantine, on the other hand, was too ashamed to speak; her mind seemed to have stopped thinking. This desperate scene was clearly unbearable for a young girl; she was on the verge of collapse. But how could Mehmed II let her off so easily?

With a wave of his hand, a wrinkled wizard handed him a bottle of mysterious potion. Grabbing Constantine's jaw, he forcibly poured the potion into her mouth. Constantine coughed, choking, her snow-white breasts trembling with her movements. Mehmed II's rough hands slid over Constantine's taut, delicate body. Years of warfare had shaped her unlike any other woman; beneath her beautiful flesh lay astonishing muscles. This unique experience was unlike anything Mehmed II had ever had with other women. Her wildness and fierce spirit were like an aphrodisiac to an ambitious monarch.

Constantine groaned in pain. The strange liquid she swallowed immediately aroused her. A warm sensation spread through her lower body; a warm flow quickly gathered in her bladder. Constantine instinctively clenched her long, beautiful legs, their shapely shape intertwined in an alluring way, but the urge to urinate persisted, relentlessly stimulating and destroying her fragile nerves. However, to urinate in front of so many Byzantines was worse than death. But this was precisely what Mehmed intended to achieve.

Muhammad spread Constantine's legs, revealing her alluring vulva, where glistening droplets of moisture already clung. Muhammad's large hand pressed against Constantine's lower abdomen, then slowly moved towards her genitals, the rough, abrasive texture sending shivers down Constantine's spine. His rough fingers finally rested at the entrance of her vulva, two fingers parting the opening, the rough pads rubbing against her pink clitoris.

Constantine couldn't help but let out a seductive moan. The intense stimulation overwhelmed her, her lower body trembling uncontrollably. The sphincter controlling her urethra failed her, and her lower body arched forward, her waist forming a beautiful curve. A soft moan, completely out of character, escaped her lips. A stream of clear urine spurted from her urethra and fell to the ground.

The sound of urine dripping onto the ground was clearly audible in the square, and every Byzantine man's breathing quickened.

As for Constantine? She was completely lost in a daze. This act of urinating in public had utterly shattered the will of this proud female warrior. She felt as if she had been reduced to a lowly bitch. Her voice choked, and she did something completely inconsistent with her proud image. Crystalline tears slid down her cheeks, then drifted in the wind, reflecting the sunlight like pearls, before finally falling to the ground, splashing up a little dust.

A Byzantine man's eyes blazed with fury. He leaped to his feet: "Enough, you beasts, you vile heretics! Constantinople is not a city where women are to be violated at will. Romans! Arise! Resist these robbers!" But he was met only with the sharp spears of Ottoman soldiers. More Byzantine men rose, shouting, "You will return like lightning!" and then fell into pools of blood.

Sharp spears were the best calming agent; soon no man dared to rise and resist. Mehmed II, like a proud god, smugly enjoyed his offering. His brown skin contrasted sharply with Constantine's snow-white skin, and the petite Constantine was completely embraced. The thick, dark penis pressed against the entrance of Constantine's vagina, and he deliberately thrust it slowly inside, stimulating the Byzantines in the square and Constantine himself, making them watch their city Minerva being violated, powerless to resist. This thrill of the superior deciding life and death brought his lust to an unparalleled level.

The Byzantines dared not speak out in anger; their eyes turned bloodshot, fixed intently on the thick, dark penis. The pink vagina was slowly parted by the penis, and then slowly but firmly thrust inside.

Even the strong and skilled Constantine could only whimper, "No, no, you can't put it in..." Naked and being stared at by so many men was nothing short of a long, agonizing ordeal for Constantine. Her body writhed, only fueling Muhammad's lust. Muhammad closed his eyes, quietly savoring the shyness, pleas, and forced submission of the female warrior in his arms. What greater pleasure could a human emperor possibly experience?

His rough hands pressed down on Constantine's taut waist, his massive glans slamming against a thin membrane. He knew, of course, that the city princess before him was still a virgin. He laughed heartily, while Constantine's face paled. "No, you can't..." she groaned. With a forceful thrust, Muhammad's thick, fleshy penis shattered the thin hymen, as if flaunting his martial prowess, displaying its blood-stained, monstrous member to the Byzantines.

The Byzantines either trembled, bowing low, or stared intently at Constantine's genitals, which were dripping with crimson virgin blood. Many of their own penises also hardened from the stimulation. Constantine burst into tears. This was her first time; as a pure and innocent being of fantasy, she had never endured such cruel humiliation.

Her lower body was forcibly stretched open, a throbbing pain shooting through her sensitive area, as if a hot iron had been forcibly plunged into her fragile depths, rupturing her hymen, teeming with sensitive capillaries. The penis, like a rough, rusty iron sword, relentlessly rubbed against the tender flesh of her honeyed orifice. The pain caused her body to tremble uncontrollably. She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from crying out in pain.

Muhammad, meanwhile, reveled in the beauty before him. His lust, aroused by the lewd atmosphere, was terrifyingly intense. He shamelessly defiled the city princess in front of the Byzantines, then, seeing their angry but silent expressions, Muhammad laughed again. His thick penis plunged into Constantine's honeyed orifice, an incredibly tight opening where the soft flesh and folds of the vagina tightly gripped his penis, hindering its progress. The orifice was warm and moist; he felt his penis sinking into mud.

The folds within the orifice seemed to extend tentacles, tightly enveloping Muhammad's penis, causing him to groan with pleasure. The two labia, forcibly parted, turned from pink to translucent, even the tiny blood vessels clearly visible in the sunlight. His penis forcefully carved a passage through Constantine's honeyed orifice, the enormous glans pushing aside the sticky clump of soft flesh, causing Constantine to cry out in pain.

The penis felt like a blunt sword, relentlessly scraping against the sensitive vaginal flesh inside Constantine's honeyed orifice, sending a burning pain through her. The female warrior, who had never shed a tear on the battlefield, cried out at this moment. The unbearable pain shattered her strong will, and two streams of tears dripped from her bloodshot pupils. Muhammad, taking advantage of the situation, occupied Constantine's pink lips with his disgustingly large mouth.

Constantine had to endure the pain from her lower body while simultaneously resisting the invasion of Muhammad's large mouth. Muhammad's rough hands were also busy, forcefully kneading Constantine's snow-white breasts, shaping them into various forms in his palms. His fingers pinched and kneaded the bright red nipple, stimulating Constantine to open her cherry-like mouth. Under this multi-pronged attack, Constantine's resistance gradually weakened. Muhammad's rough tongue slid across her delicate, rose-petal-like pink lips, licking her pearly white teeth, prying them open, and probing inside.

Constantine's originally spirited face was now flushed with two layers of red, making her look even more alluring.

The rough tongue invaded her small mouth, stretching her originally charming oval face, its tongue constantly rubbing against the soft flesh on both sides of her cheeks, finally entwining with Constantine's soft tongue. The two tongues intertwined, and a look of disgust appeared on Constantine's face. Her fragrant tongue withdrew, but Muhammad quickly caught up and grabbed it.

Constantine found the tongue utterly repulsive; its sticky, slippery texture made her furrow her brow, usually so fierce. Yet, she couldn't escape its disgusting touch and could only silently endure Muhammad's demands. The rough tongue scraped against the inside of her mouth, licking the soft flesh of her throat. The rough tongue reminded Constantine of the venomous snakes she had encountered in the temple; she had a natural aversion to these legless reptiles.

Intense stimulation surged through her nipples and genitals, but Constantine endured it, focusing her mind, and then bit down hard. The sharp pain from the tongue offended Muhammad, the high and mighty ruler. He forcefully pinched Constantine's jaw, pulling the tongue back, and bright red blood flowed from her small mouth. She stared defiantly at Muhammad, her eyes filled with contempt, as if Muhammad were the loser before her.

For some reason, Muhammad thought of the Khan of the Eastern Steppes, who, after slaughtering all the men of the ancient Xia Kingdom, was enjoying the princess's first night when she bit off his genitals. He bled to death in humiliation on his bed. This Khan, who took pleasure in killing other men's families and seizing their wives and daughters, met such a ridiculous end—it was a tremendous irony.

But he wasn't a steppe barbarian! Wiping the blood from his mouth, he treated the resolute city princess before him even more brutally. He pressed her against the railing of the high platform, his penis forcefully slamming into Constantine's core. In this sacred and solemn place where the Byzantine emperor and the Orthodox Patriarch ascended the throne, he brutally violated the Byzantine city princess, treating royal dignity and the sanctity of the Orthodox Church like toilet paper, trampling them underfoot.

His genitals slammed against Constantine's buttocks, producing loud slapping sounds. The penis rubbed against Constantine's honeypot, slamming hard against her clitoris again and again. Even with the hatred for the steppe barbarians behind her, her body's instincts couldn't be faked. Her lower body was forcibly filled, her clitoris pounded hard, sending waves of soft, pleasurable sensations through her. Constantine's body gradually went limp.

Muhammad's large hand slapped Constantine's smooth, round buttocks, leaving his crimson handprints on her firm flesh. Her juices flowed from her vagina. Muhammad proudly shouted to the Byzantines below, "Look! This is your city princess! She's no more noble than a brothel prostitute! I only thrust a few times, and she's already so wet! Is this your goddess of war?" His shouts were accompanied by the sounds of thrusting.

Constantine retorted defiantly, "Oh, Ottoman barbarian, do you only win with women?" "I am in Constantinople, not you, I am in Edirne! You wag your tail at me like a prostitute, is this the Byzantine goddess of war?" Muhammad said as he thrust his thick penis into Constantine's core, causing her beautiful, long legs to go limp and she collapsed onto Muhammad's body.

Constantine closed her eyes in despair, allowing Muhammad to humiliate her. Muhammad's large hands toyed with Constantine's nipples, now fully erect, like a pair of striking agates. His rough hands, accustomed to wielding swords and spears, pinched and kneaded them forcefully, eliciting a low cry of pain from Constantine. His enormous glans slammed into Constantine's clitoris again, and Muhammad groaned in pleasure, his penis throbbing as he poured all his semen into Constantine's clitoris. The hot, cloudy semen splattered onto Constantine's clitoris like a flood, scalding her until she was momentarily dazed, collapsing limply onto Muhammad's body.

Her clitoris, too, succumbed, a torrent of clear, hot vaginal fluid gushing forth, drenching Muhammad's penis. Muhammad let out a comfortable groan, rubbing Constantine's tender vulva a few times as if it were a penis sheath. Then, he embraced Constantine's legs, causing her body to lean over the platform, and pulled his penis out of her vulva. Instantly, a large amount of vaginal fluid mixed with Muhammad's semen flowed from Constantine's honeypot, cascading from the high platform onto the ground of the square. The splashing mixture of vaginal fluids landed on the ground, echoing in the hearts of every Byzantine. Constantine was so ashamed that she wanted to disappear; she could only close her eyes and bury herself in the sand like an ostrich.

Muhammad announced to his generals behind him, "This whore is now your reward! Show the Byzantines what Ottoman men are all about! Those useless little Byzantines' dicks can't satisfy their city princess's tender cunt! Hahaha, since that's the case, we steppe men will do it for them!" A group of bearded men with white turbans laughed lewdly and pounced on Constantine, surrounding her. To them, women were merely possessions, and they didn't cherish them much. Their methods were brutal, quickly leaving various bright red finger marks on Constantine's snow-white body, causing her to cry out in pain. Countless rough hands roamed over Constantine's snow-white body. Her small hands, lotus feet, tender cunt—everywhere that could accommodate a penis was filled with it. The Byzantines in the square were filled with indescribable grief and indignation at seeing their nation's princess reduced to a prostitute ridden by thousands. Yet, some men's lustful gazes lingered on Constantine's defiled flesh.

Two bearded men sandwiched Constantine between them, like a sandwich filling. Constantine was completely powerless to resist, forced to endure the humiliation of the two men. Her body slumped limply against the chest of the man before her, eliciting laughter from him who believed his beauty was offering herself to him. Rough hands roamed over Constantine's body. Her delicate hands, which had gripped her sword, were now forced to grasp a man's penis. Constantine let out a soft moan, and then her small mouth was captured by the bearded man's large mouth, which sucked and licked forcefully.

The bearded man behind her pressed his rough fingers directly onto Constantine's anus, forcefully pushing them in and probing her tender pink flesh. As a figment of imagination, Constantine's body was naturally flawless, even her anus radiating a healthy pink. Fear filled Constantine's face. As a devout believer, she naturally disapproved of this filthy sexual practice, but the bearded man behind her clearly wouldn't let her off the hook.

Her body twisted in resistance, but the bearded men interpreted this as fawning, and instead groped her even more vigorously. The rough fingers behind her forcefully thrust into her anus, the foreign sensation causing Constantine to arch her neck and let out a mournful groan. Her pink lips were now forcibly possessed by the bearded man before her, his disgusting tongue prying open her neat teeth and plunging into her mouth.

Constantine's rear was being wantonly fondled by the bearded men, a humiliation beyond words. Caught in the middle, she had no chance to resist. Her small hands were also seized by the two bearded men and pressed against their penises. These hands were completely different from the smooth, silky hands of the noble ladies or princesses of fallen kingdoms that these generals usually played with; they had a distinctly rough texture. It was the calluses unique to hands wielding swords and spears for years. However, this novel experience was undoubtedly novel for the bearded men. They enveloped those small hands in their own palms, then grasped their penises and began to stroke them vigorously.

The softness of their palms and the abrasive texture of the calluses intensely stimulated their sensitive penises, giving them an exquisite experience. Constantine, on the other hand, felt utterly disgusted. The penis was hot and enormous, almost impossible for her to grasp. How could her small hands, accustomed to wielding swords and spears, adapt to the feeling of holding a man's penis? She let out painful whimpers, powerless to change her situation, forced to submit to the man's defilement, servicing his penis with her small hands. The bearded man

behind her contentedly inserted his fingers into Constantine's anus, stimulating her sensitive nerves with his rough fingers. A throbbing pain shot through her rear, the shame causing Constantine's face to flush red. Her most private and shameful area was being played with by the man, and painful groans escaped her lips. The rough finger probed Constantine's burning hot sphincter; because the intestinal tissue was deep inside, its temperature was far greater than the surface temperature, and the bearded man felt as if his finger was melting inside that anus.

The sphincter muscles, already tight, gripped the bearded man's fingers firmly, let alone Constantine, a seasoned warrior. Beneath the beautiful flesh of this delicate body lay astonishing explosive power; the muscles of her buttocks clenched, and the bearded man could clearly feel the firm flesh. His rough hands caressed those upturned buttocks, and he patted them with satisfaction, as if treating a pleased ewe.

His already throbbing penis was rock hard, its large glans aimed at Constantine's anus, ready to push inward. However, his colleague was clearly one step ahead. The bearded man in front of Constantine first poked at Constantine's lower abdomen, feeling the tight muscles hidden there, then moved down, pressing against Constantine's smooth mons pubis, feeling the tenderness of the flesh. Finally, the thick penis aimed at the slightly parted opening of the vagina. The thought of sharing a woman with his sultan filled him with a sense of satisfaction, causing his penis to swell again.

"I've finally had my way with the sultan's woman, hehehe." With this wicked thought, the bearded man's thick penis, without lubrication, forcefully thrust into Constantine's tender vagina, eliciting cries of pain from the latter. It felt as if a rough wooden stick had been thrust into her tender vagina, the delicate vaginal flesh seemingly about to bleed. Constantine's body trembled. Even with her strong will, a warrior-like presence on the battlefield, she couldn't resist this innate weakness of women, and she cried out in pain. The penis, like a rough iron rod, forcefully rammed into her tender vagina, scraping against the delicate vaginal flesh and stimulating her sensitive nerves.

He completely disregarded the feelings of the beauty in his arms, brutally pounding into her vagina. The penis was pulled out, then slammed hard against her clitoris, causing Constantine to cry out in pain. The penis slammed recklessly against Constantine's clitoris, the penis transforming into a jade pestle that pounded down, as if trying to grind her clitoris into medicine. Constantine's once blood-red pupils were now brimming with pain, tears welling in her eyes. Her body trembled, and she leaned weakly against the bearded man behind her.

But how could the bearded man so easily let her go? His penis pressed against the entrance of Constantine's anus, then forcefully pushed in. Even after being stretched by fingers, her anus remained tight, and the large, purplish-red glans slowly squeezed into Constantine's sphincter. Constantine's beautiful blood-red pupils widened, her mouth opened, wanting to scream, but her mouth was already blocked by the bearded man before her.

A foreign sensation came from her rear. The penis, disregarding Constantine's ability to bear it, forcefully shoved itself inside. The penis forcefully forced open her sphincter, separating the soft flesh inside her anus. Bright red blood slowly dripped from her vulva. The delicate flesh of her anus was torn by the thick penis, flowing out crimson blood. Constantine involuntarily clenched her legs, her buttock muscles contracting, but this only intensified her pain.

The bearded man behind her breathed heavily in pleasure. Her vulva, tight and warm, gripped his penis, and the bearded man was almost speechless with pleasure. The penis forcefully separated Constantine's buttocks sphincter, pounding against her burning intestinal flesh. Constantine couldn't help but let out a muffled groan.

Disgrace, disgrace, utter disgrace!

How could the proud city princess, the brave Byzantine war goddess, endure such humiliation? She was being forcibly penetrated in her dais by a heretic's penis. Her long, silvery-white hair fluttered in the wind, making her look like a goddess, but her current wretched state only reminded one of Persephone, who had been forcibly abducted by Hades.

Her daisies were warm and burning hot, and the bearded man behind her was breathing heavily with pleasure. Unlike her vagina, her anus was much more unobstructed; the penis could be inserted without any resistance and directly penetrated to the deepest part of Constantine's rectum. The penis forced its way through the warm, writhing intestinal flesh, the glans reaching the very depths of Constantine's rectum, pressing firmly against that part of the intestinal flesh. His astonishingly long penis went in all the way, his lower body pressed tightly against Constantine's upturned buttocks.

The feeling of being penetrated caused Constantine's face to contort in agony. Her mouth gaped open, her face flushed a lustful pink. The penis was pressed against the bottom of her rectum, making her feel as if a sharp sword had pierced through her completely, as if the thick penis had stabbed into her stomach. She writhed in agony.

The bearded man in front of Constantine was also thrusting his penis rapidly, the two thick penises ravaging Constantine's vagina and anus through a thin membrane. The double pleasure overwhelmed Constantine, completely destroying her will. At this moment, she was no different from a lowly prostitute, and she cried out in wanton pleasure. Even sandwiched between the two bearded men, her body was still lifted up by their penises, twisting up and down to accommodate the two penises thrusting in and out of her vagina and anus.

Her pupils rolled back, revealing a large amount of white in her eyes, her pink tongue protruding, and her body swayed wildly with each thrust of the penis, a classic image of someone being fucked to the point of absurdity. The Ottoman generals on the platform laughed with glee, while the Byzantine commoners below buried their heads in humiliation. However, the noble Lady's moans still reached their ears.

Two penises ravaged Constantine's two orifices, constantly stimulating her sensitive nerves. The two penises repeatedly sent Constantine to orgasm, eliciting cries of surprise. As if walking on clouds, Constantine felt lightheaded, her soul almost leaving her body. Tears of joy streamed down her face as she let out ecstatic moans.

The two Ottoman generals exchanged a smile, then resumed their synchronized thrusting. The penis pounded repeatedly into Constantine's core and rectum, causing him to scream as his body trembled uncontrollably. A torrent of fluid gushed from his genitals, drenching the bearded man's penis before him. Both men's penises pressed firmly against the deepest parts of Constantine's vagina and anus, the hot, white semen shooting in and filling them completely. Constantine screamed again, his body trembling violently before collapsing onto the bearded man like a rag doll. The

bearded man withdrew his penis, a large amount of semen leaking from Constantine's vagina and anus, the two openings slightly parted, continuously oozing a large amount of white, cloudy fluid. Constantine gasped for breath, his eyes glazed as he stared at the sky. The other bearded men also reached their climax, their penises throbbing, glans aimed at Constantine's delicate body, copious amounts of white semen gushing out, drenching Constantine's face and snow-white skin.

It was like snowflakes falling on Constantine, who couldn't open her eyes from the spray of semen.

The once high and mighty female warrior had now been reduced to a semen-soaked bitch, and the Ottomans laughed heartily, leaving Constantine lying on the ground, covered in semen.

[The End]

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