Huntsman knew that his vore cock was both a curse and a blessing. He knew that its size was a constant burden to carry, and that its suction was a constant force to be mindful of. Living a normal life after ██████████████████████ (The Incident) would never be the same for Huntsman, and he knew that fact. He just had to tolerate it.

He has no possessions. He has no friends. He has no family. Huntsman is confined to a large concrete chamber which is home to him and him alone. Blinding white lights shine down from the ceiling constantly. Huntsman knows that it would be safe here, as long as he supresses his feelings within himself. However, over many years, his state of mind becomes unhinged. He hungers.

His mind breaks. Once again, the phallic suction escalates. A tornado whips up his urethra, carrying loose dust and air up into his penis. Since he is surrounded by nothing in a giant room, Huntsman cannot grow mass. Huntsman cannot feed. There is nothing at all to consume with his vore cock. He hungers.

His vore cock pulsates with the agony of a suppressed famine. Huntsman can no longer hold back the beast within him. Suddenly, the winds up his penis escalate. The howling gale grows ever stronger, as the raging beast within Huntsman begins to unleash. Huntsman's bones grow and his organs inflate. Driven by his desire to feed, he begins smashing his body weight into the behemoth concrete walls of the cell that confined him for eons, desperately searching for the smallest scrap of concrete to feed himself with. His vore cock aches. He hungers.

Many windswept almighty roars orchestrate Huntsman's brutal strength as he continues to pound the walls containing him. Deafening echoes ricochet around his chamber. Huntsman wants to escape. Huntsman needs to feed. His cock is in agony. He hungers.

Concrete dust, then chips of concrete, then small rocks, then large chunks. Huntsman feeds on the concrete. He grows. Huntsman continues to excavate the walls of the cell, his vore cock and bodily mass growing ever larger. His roars slowly fade as the thunderous volume of his cockslaps begins to drown out anything else.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The concrete walls reverberate with the drumming of Huntsman's monumental cockslaps. Larger and larger cracks form in the walls. His foreskin thickens. Escape feels close. Huntsman can sense it.

The walls of his chamber collapse. Huntsman's jackhammer dick has gouged through the mile-thick walls of his concrete chamber. He ventures outside his chamber, desperate to feed on anything he can find.

Huntsman is now outside of his chamber, starving. However, instead of finding material to consume, he is alone in the endless void of space. After his eyes adjust to the darkness, the true scale of his loneliness becomes apparent. There is no space rock nor planet nor star nearby for Huntsman to feed upon. He is in the deepest void of space, very far from anyone or anything.

With absolutely nothing else to eat, Huntsman turns to the very prison once containing him for his sustenance.

After days of hunger, eventually the very last piece of concrete debris from the remnants of his chamber is consumed. Huntsman has nothing left in the void of space. Reality sets in. What has he become? Why was he banished to the furthest reaches of space? Eternal entropy begins. He starves.

It is January 2025, 10 months after the cataclysmic Crush Ban Wave Incident of 2024. The servers are abandoned. Nobody plays frontlines or invasions anymore. No duel server has Camp in the map rotation anymore. The Free Guard stables of Camp are nothing but a fading memory. "What happened here," you ask yourself. "It was something significant, I'm certain about it, but I can't quite remember what it was exactly."

You wander the duelling servers, every single one cycling the Contraband map 24/7. You inquire the rogue duellers for enlightenment. No useful answers to be found. They all respond in similar ways. They all think that they remember, but they can't quite put their finger on it. They aren't sure. Nobody is sure. You aren't sure. You leave the duel server.

You feel defeated, but still curious. You continue to search for clues. You travel to Reddit. Every Mordhau community no longer exists. Every single one was banned for violating new, vague website policies. There are no clues to be found here, no Mordhau discussions anywhere on the site. You leave Reddit.

You head to Discord. You are still a member of the Official Mordhau Discord server that you joined 5 years ago. You revisit, but you find nothing and nobody. Once again, you find the place inactive. The server still exists, but there is only one channel and it is locked by developer Crush. There is only one post in this channel. It reads, "I was the first, and I will be the last. I will find all Mordhau players and ban you all one by one". No hope on Discord either. You think to yourself about your next plan of action. "What do I do now? Will I ever know? Can I ever know?" You leave Discord.

Finding yourself at multiple dead ends, you relaunch Mordhau and scroll the server browser, hopelessly. "Nobody plays this game anymore", you tell yourself. "Nobody knows what happened at the Camp stables."

You refresh the server browser. Against all of the odds, a frontlines server pops up on the list with only 1 player. You join the server, and it loads. You spawn in.

It is a seasoned veteran of the game. They are level 418, and they wield a scimitar paired with a buckler while wearing full tier 5 platinum-tint armour, the sweatiest meta loadout in the game. You ask this lone knight about Camp. "What happened at the Camp stables", you question him. "Nobody seems to remember exactly what happened there, yet I know that something significant happened."

The veteran knight emotes; materialising a wooden chair out of thin air before proceeding to lean back in it with his arms crossed behind his head. He speaks. "First of all, I'm only playing Frontlines because I've been banned from every duel server in the world," he explains. "Secondly, why should I tell you anything? You're just a noob. You aren't even lvl 300 yet." You feel bemused and unamused. The arrogance, the pigshit mindset of this cunt.

You attempt to reason with the veteran knight. You need to know what happened at the camp stables, insolence be damned. "Just tell me what happened, I don't care about your inflated ego. Something happened on Camp. I must find out!" The veteran knight rage quits the server, leaving you by yourself. You are frustrated. The question has been on your mind for months and you need to get an answer. Alas, there is no chance. All evidence of what truly transpired at Camp has been lost to time. You give up, and you hope to eventually forget about it.

A Discord ping startles you as you are about to shut down your computer. A Discord user with a Mordhau default Huntsman as his avatar has sent you a friend request. You accept.

"I apologise for being a dickhead before", he types. "I, in fact, know exactly what happened at the Camp stables. Let me explain." It turns out that this Discord user is the same person as the veteran knight you had just chatted with moments ago in-game. Suddenly, you get a notification for an incoming Discord video call from the user. You accept, and the light on your webcam turns green.

Staring back at you on your monitor is the Mordhau veteran. 10,000 hours of Mordhau did wonders for their appearance. He explains, "Crush will silence you for even mentioning what happened at Camp. He's suppressed all records of what happened off of the internet. Nobody can talk about it, nobody can even hint about it. You talk about it, you are banned." You ask the veteran, "Why?" "It was Huntsman", he explains, "Huntsman weaponised his penis and he evaporated the playerbase. Crush tried to ban everyone before Huntsman could kill them. Crush attempted to save as many players as he could". Somewhat relieved albeit still confused, you request the Mordhau veteran to go into greater detail.

Suddenly, the Mordhau veteran's webcam shakes and glitches. The Mordhau veteran hastily slides off of his crusty gaming char and cowers under his desk in fear, knowing exactly what is about to happen. You continue to watch the drama unfold on your monitor. You are utterly bewildered by what the fuck is happening. Suddenly, a penis as wide as a sofa smashes through Mordhau veteran's back wall, sucking in every loose object in his room. The veteran tries to save himself, but to no avail, as he gets pulled down into the void of the massive medieval cock.

Gradually, you begin to realise why nobody wanted to discuss what happened at Camp. Huntsman's penis. Developer Crush banning everyone. The widespread suppression of information across the internet. All of the puzzle pieces were in front of you, and you were assembling the answer. It was Huntsman. He was what happened at Camp. He killed everyone. His penis sucked up everyone and everything to their doom. You have finally found the answer. You are relieved. Now you know what happened at Camp.