A request from a friend, Maribelle's attempts to intercept Plegian soldiers goes even worse than in canon.
“Plegian troops, crossing the border to pillage and loot? I hope your captain understands this is an act of war!” Maribelle says, tall on the back of her horse. The rank and file soldiers look up at her, dazed by the noble’s sudden appearance.
“And who’re you to stop us?”
“A noble of Ylisse! I demand parley, before you take any more innocent lives.”
Another soldier steps forward, a bit better groomed than the others. Taking him for the captain, Maribelle turns her horse to face him.
“Are you the one in charge here?”
“Yes. So if you've got something to say, spit it out. We've got orders to follow, after all.”
“I'll do nothing so vulgar as ‘spit it out,’ we're talking life and death here! You and your men had best turn back for Plegia, lest you bring war down on all our heads,” Maribelle says, hoping to appeal to the men's reason.
“Gangrel wants war. And if we know what's good for us, we want what the king wants,” the man says, shaking his head. “‘course, a noble bitch seems like a much better target than some stinking village.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and that hesitation would spell disaster for Maribelle. When his men grew so near to her, she isn't sure, but their hands around one of her ankles, tugging her from the back of her horse. She falls to the hard earth, tangled up in her saddle, and the sudden commotion is enough to spook her horse. Her mount flees, leaving the noble dazed and immobile.
Worse yet is the group of Plegian soldiers surrounding her, distasteful expressions plain on their faces. She struggles to rise, extracting herself from the tangle of rope and leather that is her now-useless saddle.
“What do you think you're doing?!” she asks, incredulous.
“A declaration of war, like you said. This is easier on us, and likely to be a lot more effective anyway.”
“W-what are you referring to?”
“Raping and killing a noble, and leaving her mutilated corpse practically within sight of her keep? Even your peaceful bitch of a ruler can't stand for that.”
Panic seizes her heart. She turns, frantic, looking for any opening, and when finding none, bolting for the smallest looking enemy. With a shove, however, she's sprawled on her back in the center of the circle. The captain moves first, straddling her.
“This'll be easier if you stay still, girl,” he promises, but Maribelle isn't a submissive young lady. She drives a fist upward, catching him in the jaw, before he can grab her wrists. There's not much force behind the hit, clumsy as it is, but it's enough to anger her attacker. He grunts, grabbing her wrists firmly and wrenching them above her head.
“I did warn you,” he says, drawing a dagger from his belt with his free hand. Maribelle's eyes watch the bright steel in horror, as he aims his strike. With a flash, it moves down, and she feels intense pain as her hands are pierced, and the blade is driven into the earth.
She screams, then, her voice shrill and panicked, full of pain the likes of which she's never felt before. Still, any attempt to move her hands now will only ruin them further, and she has been effectively immobilized.
The captain reaches a hand back, then, and one of his soldiers hands him their blade. He works quickly, cutting Maribelle's clothes from her body even as her frantic heartbeat pushes blood from the wounds in her hands. In a moment, she is naked, and the men's eyes pore over her hungrily. Her face grows bright red, exposed to strangers in such a horrible way.
Her screams give way to sobs, as her assailant trails the tip of the dagger over her naked breasts, lingering at her nipple. Her breath causes her chest to rise, pushing the razor sharp blade into her, making her wince in pain.
“P-please, unhand me!” she begs, but the men only laugh.
“No chance of that, Missy,” one of them says, “Now that we are what you're hiding under all those clothes.”
“That's right. My men and I have gotten all worked up, seeing you naked like this, and I'd hate to see them frustrated. So I'm going to break you in, then they each get a turn.”
“Please, Gods, no! I'm begging you!”
“Never should have ridden out here, milady,” the captain spits. He reaches down, freeing his cock and stroking lightly, until he's fully erect. Maribelle's eyes dart down, toward his erection, widened with horror.
“But I've never…” she protests weakly, as the tip of his cock presses against her cunt.
“Don't see how it'll matter to you before too long, so just lay back and enjoy it,” he says, sneering. He thrusts in, then, and Maribelle feels only pain as he forces himself in. In spite of herself, she pulls her hands towards her in reflex, dragging them over the dagger's blade and causing herself even more pain. And yet… there's some give, the blade moves just slightly. Feeling a desperate flash of hope, Maribelle tugs even harder, timing it with the man's thrusts, hoping he won't notice. The pain is unbearable, both from the widening gash in her hands and from his efforts between her legs. But finally, finally, she feels the dagger slip up, leaving the earth.
She yanks one hand free, gripping the blade and pulling it from the palm of her other hand. The captain's eyes widen, as she slashes at him, but he manages to rear back at the last second. He bats her hand aside, and the blade slips from her grasp, slick with her blood as it is.
“Well, that wasn't very polite, was it boys?” he says. Maribelle lets out a choked sob, as the last of her hope is picked up by one of her audience. He hands it to the captain, who takes it eagerly. “What were you hoping to accomplish, milady?”
“You won't get away with this. They'll hunt you down, and gut you'll like dogs for this.”
“The only dog I see here is you, bitch,” he spits, and the blade flashes down once more. It sinks into flesh between Maribelle's perky breasts, sticking into her sternum with an audible thunk. She gasps in pain, but he only raises the blade once more. Thunk. It rises, and falls. Crack. The bone splits, allowing the blade into her chest. It nicks the wall of her heart, and the organ struggles to pump her life's blood even in its compromised state, tearing itself apart. She sputters then, the last of her breath coming in ragged gasps, as everything fades away. The last thing Maribelle sees is that damn sneer, the last thing she feels, the distant heat of his seed spilling into her.
“Can't believe she pissed herself,” one of the soldiers says, taking his turn pumping into her slack mouth, lifeless eyes gazing at nothing.
“Closest thing to lube we're gonna get,” another answers, fucking her cunt roughly.
Of course they would have preferred her alive, but hell if they were going to let a fine noble like this pass them by. Each soldier took at least one turn, with many coming back for seconds long after the last of her life's warmth had faded. These two would be the last, and were on their third round.
“Sure we can't take her with us, captain?” one of them asks.
“Wouldn't be much of an example then, would she?” he says. “We want a war, after all.”
The men grumble as they fuck her, spilling their seed freely when finished. They leave her then, her body ravaged and ruined, with a dagger still sticking from her chest.
I dearly wish Liz finds her first, which brings me another question do you do shota too cause I would love to see if that kid would take his turn with the body after going crazy with grief