weavercobra

[weavercobra]

Varangian Files SH: Chapter 1: Dreams of Doomsday

Not much to add here. The first chapter of the story. Be forewarned that it does deal with dark themes, specifically serial killing.

Everything was blurry. Colours, sounds and lights, all mixing together with neither form nor function. And then in an instant, it crystallized, forming a clear image. A clear sound.

A knock on the door. She dropped what she was doing. Washing dishes? Reading the paper? She wasn't sure. It wasn't important.

She opened the door. Someone was there, waiting. He said something, something important.

She felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn't meant to... To what? Be late. Late with the money. Things just hadn't worked out. She invited him inside. They could talk, figure things out. She tried to clean the table, make it presentable.

And then, another sound. A click. She turned around.

A gun. A flash. Pain. She laid there, bleeding out, confused.

He bent over, smiled, almost apologetically. “It's going to be one Hell of a party, babe,” he remarked. “And you're all invited. For we...”

Then it all shifted. Dimmed. It was dark. Cold. Late. She was hurrying home.

Steps. She looked over her shoulder. Thought she saw something, someone.

She bit her lip and sped up.

More steps. Rapid steps.

She ducked into the dark. A side-street? Maybe an alley? She couldn't tell. She waited with baited breath, backing up.

She bumped into something.

She spun. There was a flash of metal. Agony blossomed as it dug into her stomach, carving through her flesh. She fell, whimpering, gurgling, trying desperately to keep it all in.

She looked up at the shape, his figure hidden by the dark, the bloody knife glinting in the street-light. “The ritual of the knife still reveals all,” he said passionately. “And we shall all learn from it. For we...”

She was home. Safe. Warm. The lights were on. The TV was on. Her favourite show was on. Or was it the news? All was calm, comfortable even.

Suddenly, all was dark. A blackout. Tension gripped her. She didn't dare move.

And then there was a sound. A scream. Was it from the kitchen? The bathroom? Was it her partner? Her child? She didn't know, but she had to help.

She rushed through the dark, only to stumble.

She fell. Looking, she saw the outline of a body. Their body. She heard breathing. Hands closed around her throat.

“Mommy says it's lights out,” a deranged voice told her, as she struggled to breathe. “We'll all live in the dark now. For we...”

She was out walking. There were others. Friends. Her friends. The sun shone through green leaves. There was bird song.

A sound. An explosion. A burst of blood. Screams as one of her friends fell.

They ran. More shots. Bodies falling. Bullets ripped through her body, puncturing her. She fell, gasping as blood filled her lungs.

A man towered over her, fingers wrapped around his weapon. “The war never ends,” he sternly said. “We shall all fight forever. For we...”

She was seated. A cake or slice of pie on a plate in front of her. Tea next to it. And a dinner guest. Such a sweet man. So helpful.

He said something and she laughed. She took the cup and drank it.

Bitter taste. Too bitter. Her eyes widened. The warmth left her body. She gasped, quivered. A feverish heat seized her.

He took her hand as her vision dimmed. “There will be a new order,” he assured her. “One we will all be part of. For we...”

Darkness. Older than the stars. Five pairs of eyes opened, staring at her. Filled with sin and cruelty. And then more eyes. More. More. Thousands. Millions. And as one they intoned: “FOR WE ARE MANY!”

Nettie opened her eyes, her entire body gripped by sleep paralysis. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breathing was heavy and ragged. Slowly, with effort, she sat up in the bed and swung her legs over the side.

There she sat. She didn't know for how long, as she slowly willed her body to calm. With effort, she stood up and staggered over to the doorway, opening up to the balcony. The cooler air of the night washed over her sweat-soaked skin. The sounds of New Orleans' nightlife, of club-goers, musicians and cars, reached her ears, soothing her.

She heard the shuffling of covers behind her. “Trouble sleeping again?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “The visions... They are getting stronger.” She took a deep breath. “It's as Belal said. Even I'm picking up on it now.” She leaned against the doorway.

“The end of days I believe you mentioned,” he noted, as he too got out of bed, the teal light emitting from his eyes and mask faintly illuminating the room.

“Yes. The end of days, heralded by the coming of The Five.” She turned around. “I see them in my dreams. Claiming victims. Each one a sacrifice to... Something dark and twisted.” She crossed her arms, her brows furrowed as she contemplated her options. “We must recover the Prophecy. And then... If Belal was right, I need to cash in my favour.”

“Dahlia,” Michael replied. It had been quite a while since he had seen the adze. “If it's as bad as you say, she'll come in handy. I trust you already know how to contact her?”

“I'll send out some feelers. She has her own people. She'll pick up on it,” Nettie replied, as she closed the door again. “I did do my research on her, thanks to your help. I traced her and her kin to Africa. The Ewe dubbed them adze. Folklore describe them as powerful beings that thirst for blood. Capable of shapeshifting, possession, you name it.” She began pacing. “First mentions of her in the states trace back to the seventeenth century. A couple of repeating stories. Some rich guy buys a seemingly beautiful, handsome or otherwise valuable slave. Days later, the slave is gone and the owner is found dead without a drop of blood in them. The name Dahlia popped up a few times in connection with the underground railroad too.”

“So quite the liberator, huh,” Michael noted.

“Perhaps. I do not pretend to know her motives. No matter how charitable they may seem.” She took a deep breath. “Her kind is rare, powerful and predatory. And she's left quite the trail of bodies. According to Deacon, she's on the most wanted list for a number of American paranormal agencies. But all that being said, she's too valuable an asset to ignore.” She looked out the window. “And we'll need all the help we can get.”

...

Michael swept the cloth across the desk one last time, making it as clean as he could. He took a moment to witness his handiwork. Chairs were neatly stacked, tables were cleared and the jukebox had been unplugged. Grabbing the keys, he exited the Wild at Heart while gently spinning them around his finger.

Outside, the light of dawn was slowly turning into the blue of midday. The noises of the city were picking up, as people went about their daily lives. He turned to lock the doors, when a voice read aloud: “The Wild at Heart will be closed for a number of days due to personal circumstances.”

He paused, then glanced to the side. Dahlia in her human form stood by the window, looking at the poster taped to the inside. “Didn't see you there,” he remarked, as he locked the door with a click.

“Believe it or not, I can be quite subtle,” she noted with bemusement. “So, didn't take long for Nettie to call in that favour. I expected I'd have that hanging over my head for decades to come.” She crossed her arms. “And now you're shutting the bar down. Seems rather serious. Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain vague doomsday prophecy we got thrown at us, would it?”

“As a matter of fact, it does.” He pocketed the key. “I'll explain as we go.”

“How much do you know?” she inquired.

“Less than I'd like. But Agnetta said she'd fill us in. Had some final information to dig up, I gather,” he explained, as he began heading down the street, Dahlia following him. “A couple of months ago, she started getting visions in her sleep.”

“So she's a seer too. A woman of many talents.”

“Indeed. And over time, they've worsened. She barely gets any rest these days.” He shook his head. “Usually wakes up in the midst of a panic attack. She says that she sees The Five, who are supposedly harbingers of the end of days.”

“And who are The Five?”

“A group of serial killers. She experiences their victims. And they are racking up quite the body count.”

“You'd think I would have heard of a band like that.”

Michael paused. It was a good point. “As I said, there's much I don't know.”

“Nettie likes keeping you in the dark, huh?”

“She gives me the information she thinks I need.”

“Is there a difference?”

“It's a matter of motivation.”

“Sounds to me like the real difference is that you don't care to know, Honey,” she remarked.

“You're right. I don't,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Agnetta runs this outfit. I'm just the muscle.”

Dahlia observed him for a moment, before returning her gaze to the street. “I trust you have a boat ready?”

“Yes. She'll be waiting for us at the church.”

...

It was high noon by the time they arrived, the warm sun illuminating the sky. As they approached the church, Michael noted: “You never mentioned how your search went.”

“You're right. I didn't,” she replied neutrally.

“Belal didn't...”

“Lie to me? No. It was exactly where he said it would be.”

Michael nodded and dropped the subject. It was quite clear to him that if he didn't, the adze would most likely drop him off something tall.

The church was its usual self. The guardian hounds laid among the graves, briefly raising their heads to check the newcomers.

Michael stepped up to the doors and opened them, the two of them stepping inside.

Mama Nettie stood by the altar, several papers spread out before her. At the sound, she turned, noting: “I see you've brought Dahlia. And here I thought I would have to send you in alone first.”

“I didn't have anything else going on,” the adze remarked, checking her nails. “Figured I'd check what would have you call me in so soon.”

“Did he fill you in on the basics?”

“That he did. Five serial killers who are the heralds of the apocalypse, or something like that.” Dahlia folded her arms. “You should know that I have people around the block. I'm pretty sure I'd have heard of a team of five serial killers running rampant.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you have heard of them,” Nettie noted. “But only recently has the police been putting together that they are a group.” She paused, before adding: “Besides, one of them is in England.”

“So four of them are stateside,” Michael remarked. “Why here?”

“That I do not know,” she frankly admitted. “Could be a coincidence, could have significant meaning.”

“Let me guess,” Dahlia began, leaning against one of the pews. “You want us to find out?”

“That and other things,” she confirmed, turning to the altar. “First, I need you to know who you're up against. I managed to get these files from one of my associates, one Thomas Deacon, who...”

A loud wooden crack echoed through the church.

“The Hell...?” Michael began, looking around, before spotting the source.

Dahlia had dug her fingers into the pew with enough force to split the wood. She stared at it, as if she was equally surprised, before carefully pulling her fingers from the furniture.

Nettie turned with an inquisitive look. “Familiar with him?”

“I mean... Maybe,” she said trying to sound casual, brushing splinters off her fingers. “Possibly. There's probably more than one Thomas Deacon out there after all.”

“He's wheelchair bound, a former member of the NYPD homicide department and currently works as a special occult consultant for a number of agencies, including the FBI, CSI, SCP and SPUCA,” she noted.

While Michael wasn't familiar with the language Dahlia used in response, he was pretty sure from the context and tone that she wasn't saying anything nice.

“So, you know him then,” Nettie remarked, gathering the files.

“We've... Met,” the adze admitted, the word dripping with loathing. “What is he to you?”

“A good friend whose been willing to give me a helping hand through the years,” the priestess replied. “Including now. Here, you better hold this, Michael. I don't trust our friend not to crumble them.”

“Let's see,” he muttered, looking it over. “Some police stuff. Can't imagine handing you this is entirely legal.”

“It is not,” she plainly admitted. “As a special consultant, he is afforded access to certain confidential information, which obviously isn't supposed to be handed out to some random voodoo priestess. But he understands how important my work is.”

“I've investigated the case on the Five as you've requested,” Michael real aloud. “And so far, I have been unable to find any signs of demonic activity.” He raised an eyebrow.

“His specialty,” Nettie explained. “He's a demon hunter. But he also deals with other supernatural beings.”

Dahlia snorted in annoyance.

Michael returned his attention to the documents. “While the five cases were initially thought to be unrelated, several commonalities have been found at each crime scene, to the point that even the department has excluded the possibility of it being a coincidence. Beyond symbols, the phrase 'For we are many' appear time and again.” He paused reading. “From the Bible, right? A demon banished from a man by Jesus if memory serves.”

“Mark Chapter 5,” Nettie confirmed.

“Let's see here, first file,” he commented, looking through the papers. “Doctor Viktor Karl Batrachian.”

“I have heard of him,” Dahlia noted. “He got arrested recently.”

“Says here he's an immigrant from Switzerland,” Michael continued. “Rich kid, went to Cambridge. Got his Ph.D thanks to his thesis on anti-social personality disorder. Now that's funny.” He scanned the pages. “Spent four years at the London Medical School. Expelled. Reason unknown, but I can't imagine it was anything pleasant. Immigrated to the states using falsified documents. Opened a medical practise under the name Dr. Arthur Falcus with fellow doctor Sean McRose. Sean then died under mysterious circumstances and Arthur vanished along with most of the clinic's money.”

“Don't need a detective to figure out what happened there,” Dahlia remarked.

“Resurfaces under a new identity as one Dr. Gunther Schaden,” Michael noted. “Dr. Harm. Guy's got a sick sense of humour. Became involved in a series of insurance frauds across Ohio. He'd become the doctor of wealthy widows, get into their will, then use medicine to kill them. Since he was their doctor, he signed off on their autopsy papers that claimed they had died of natural causes.”

“Stupid. Everyone was going to see through that sooner or later,” Dahlia remarked, shaking her head. “But then again, maybe if he'd read his own thesis he'd have realised he'd suck at long-term planning.”

“He was finally captured by state police, only to escape, killing two deputies and wounding a third in the process. How did the bastard pull that off?” Michael pondered. “Got put on the FBI's Most Wanted List.”

“Been there, done that,” Dahlia casually remarked.

“In 95, he sent a letter to the Dallas Morning News. Anonymously, of course, but his handwriting was later identified. Claimed that he would perform several blood sacrifices.”

“I believe that this marks the point he became one of The Five,” Nettie explained. “His killings stop being about personal gain, and instead becomes about something almost religious.”

“Might explain how he busted out,” Dahlia noted. “If he sold his soul, however much of one he had left, to something powerful.”

“Could be. Anyway, that's when the bodies started showing up. Left side of their chest branded with a unique symbol. Each killed with chemicals that caused severe damage in a variety of delightful ways. Organ ruptures, internal haemorrhaging, tissue liquidation. One guy had his head explode from internal pressure.” He frowned. “Wish Deacon hadn't sent the pictures. Twelve murders of this type over one and a half years. Finally caught and sentenced to the chair in 97.”

“Then why haven't they fried him already?” Dahlia asked annoyed.

“Well, he appealed the decision. Twice,” Michael noted. “That dragged things out.”

“Should just have ripped his head off and be done with it,” the adze opined.

“Your disagreements with the American justice system have been noted. He's currently on death row, making mint off paintings.”

“Making mint?” Dahlia echoed offended.

“Made several thousand dollars selling one of his paintings to the Golgotha art gallery in London.”

“What is wrong with people?”

“Charles Manson has groupies. Don't know what to tell you.” He perused the file again. “Here's his personal symbol. Looks like a stick figure lizard.”

The adze leaned over his shoulder. “That is actually kinda cute.”

“Probably less cute branded onto the chest of a guy with an exploded head. And here is a copy of the letter he sent. Let's see.” He held it up. “Dear sir. I have brought HIS Kingdom to Earth, and a bloody cleansing is nigh. Indeed, it is well overdue. I am the leader of the FIVE – the Watchers at the GATE OF SOULS.” Michael paused. “Neat handwriting, but the capitalization is all over the place. Watchers at the gate of souls, huh? Someone feels important. Then more rambling about his glorious army, blood sacrifices and so on, with a reference to the Biblical Apocalypse, an assurance that they are indeed many and then he signed it as The Lizard King.”

“Explains the stick figure,” Dahlia noted.

“So, if he's their leader, we're already one step in the right direction,” Michael noted. “We know where he is and he isn't going anywhere.”

“It's not that simple,” Nettie noted. “Checked where he's held?”

“Let's see. Well, shit,” he remarked. “Gardelle Country Penitentiary.”

“That was on the news recently. The prisoners broke out and took over,” Dahlia noted. “There's currently a police siege going on. Hostage negotiations and whatnot.”

“Okay, so we know where he is. It's just that where he is is inside a concrete fortress full of angry goons, surrounded by a ring of coppers who're not going to be happy to see us marching through,” Michael surmised. “Fantastic. And you have four more of these wunderkinder for me to deal with.” He opened up another bundle of papers. “Marco Roberto Cruz. Kidnapped and murdered ten people, mostly couples, in the Mojave and Death Valley area back in 96. Personal symbol looks like a lightning bolt, usually left near the victims in some manner. Known as the Repo Man.”

“Why?” Dahlia asked.

“That's apparently how he got access to his victims' homes. Claimed to be a repo man,” Michael noted. “And he apparently worked as an actual repo man for five years. And as both a DJ and an auto-mechanic. Incarcerated for seven years for armed robbery and aggravated assault. Implicated in some murders, but the charges never stuck. Too little evidence. Guy's been busy.” He scratched his head. “Apparently he's still at large. Next is Milton T. Pike. Former Green Beret. Electronic countermeasure expert. Vietnam veteran. Was discharged after severely wounding an officer due to a psychotic episode caused by PTSD. Then became a TV repairman.”

“So a real electronics guy,” Dahlia noted.

“Indicted in the shooting of his mother, Francine Pike in 79. Acquitted due to lack of evidence. Joined the American Knights of the Cross.”

“The who?” Dahlia asked confused.

“A survivalist militia group,” Nettie informed her.

“Oh, one of those groups. I see.”

“One year after joining, he split off to form his own group, the Knights of the American Heartland,” Michael continued. “Starting to think the guy has a fixation on knights. They were holed up in Florida. He got expelled by the group the next year.”

“By his own group? What did he do?” Dahlia asked.

“Killed eighteen of them with an RPG.”

The adze paused. “That'll do. I prefer the Flash myself.”

Michael glanced at her, before continuing: “Returned briefly to TV repair, while simultaneously subscribing to every electronics magazine and periodical at the time. Became a Forest Ranger in 86 under false identity as one Franklin P. Tyndall, with a speciality in alligator preservation. Then he got arrested for murdering a hiker.”

“The guy apparently just can't help himself,” the adze remarked.

“Escaped from custody, killing two deputies in the process. Vanished off the grid for four years. And then he really got into killing, murdering at least nine people from 95 to 96. He became known as the Video Nasty Killer.”

“What a name. And why was he called that?”

“Because he'd film himself hunting down and killing his victims, before sending it to the local authorities,” he explained.

“Asshole's got balls, gotta give him that,” the adze noted. “He's going to lose them once we find him, but he does have them.”

“FBI tried to catch him in October of 96, resulting in a pitched battle. Turns out, Milton had picked up a pack of people just as crazy and bloodthirsty as himself. Several people dead, more wounded. Milton and his posse escaped, despite the man himself getting shot several times. He is currently at large somewhere in Florida. Personal symbol is a pair of crossed spears, usually drawn on his iconic videotapes.” He opened a new file. “Name unknown. Has murdered twelve people in New York over a period of two years. Leaves behind a...” He paused. “A skull from a baby canary at every crime scene with a note rolled up in it. Agnetta, I swear, these guys are getting crazier with every file.”

“You will hear no disagreement from me,” she replied.

“And here's his insignia, which he left on those notes. Looks like a nail.”

“What kind of nail?” Dahlia inquired.

“The one that goes with a hammer. Psychological profile marks him as a recluse with a psychotic mother resentment. Possibly a former abuse victim. Highly organized in his killings. Some possible sightings and an artist's impression. Looks like a modern day Quasimodo.”

Dahlia leaned in. The sketch showed a hunched over, pale-skinned figure with squinting eyes and several missing teeth. “If that sketch is true, he probably suffers from back pains. Could possibly also be an albino, judging from his skin tone.”

“Prime suspect is one Avery Max, although with Max having vanished, it has not been confirmed that he's the killer. Indicted for assault in 97, then bailed by mother. Who was then subsequently murdered, at which point he vanished. Known as the Home Improvement Killer.”

“Oh, I gotta hear this one,” Dahlia noted dryly.

“Cuts the power to his target's house, then hunts them down with the aid of a pair of night-vision goggles. And also makes furniture out of people. Jesus. And again with the pictures.”

“Wow, a genuine human skin rug,” Dahlia commented, as she took a glance.

“And then we have the final one. Known as Jack 2,” the undead man read. “Preys on women around the London Underground. Four victims so far. Each had a name similar to one of the victims of Jack the Ripper and were killed close to were their namesake was. The guy apparently puts a lot of effort into being a rip-off.”

“I say we put the kibosh on this particular sequel,” Dahlia remarked.

“Indeed. Psychological profile indicates a person with strong misogynistic tendencies, who is socially and sexually inept.”

“Huh, maybe we won't need to do anything. Profiler already murdered him.”

“Post-mortem mutilation shows some signs of anatomical knowledge, due to precise removal of organs. Could be medical, could be working as a butcher. High likelihood that he returns to the scene of the crime. No prime suspect as of now. Personal symbol left at the scenes of the murders in chalk is... A dagger I think. Or a very badly drawn kite. Not much else. So, these five are connected?”

“Indeed. My visions have confirmed as much. The insignias they leave behind are not random either. I've seen them before,” Nettie explained. “But what you have learnt so far is only part of the story. If I merely wanted five human criminals dead, I wouldn't need either of you. Deacon's files only reveal what's happening here in Liveside.”

“But it's connected to Deadside,” Michael finished.

“Indeed. Now, I have something else to show the two of you.” She reached behind the altar. There was a click and with the sound of scouring stone, a large part of the floor slid aside, revealing a stairway into cavernous darkness.

“Wow, that is cool,” Dahlia remarked.

“I hope you understand the trust I place in you revealing this,” Nettie remarked as she began descending, followed by the other two.

“You ever been down here before, Mike?” the adze inquired.

“A few times. First was when Agnetta grafted the Mask of Shadows onto my ribs,” he replied.

The path lead to a cavern, illuminated by braziers which reflected in the still waters of a massive lake. Nettie lead them along the side to an alcove, which contained an altar, a few stone shelves full of bizarre objects and something covered in cloth, its surface inlaid with a thousand protective sigils. “Used to store this much further in,” she remarked. “Dragged it here while waiting for you two. It's an essential part of what is going on.” She turned to face the two. “What we're experiencing today is the echoes of a conflict that took place long ago, before civilization as we know it was even a twinkle in our ancestors' eyes. For the last few centuries this one has been my responsibility, but there were many keepers of it before even me.” And then she pulled the cloth away.

Immediately, a tense, uncomfortable atmosphere washed over Michael and Dahlia. The object in question looked like a sack of flesh, held in place by three wooden spikes running through it.

The adze looked simultaneous fascinated and repulsed. “What in the world is that?” she slowly asked.

“A govi,” Nettie replied.

“It feels... Wrong,” Michael noted.

“It is wrong. It's a container, holding something called a dark soul. In times long past, the most primordial of gods shattered... Something. Something foul, something utterly bereft of any concept of mercy, love or kindness. Something made from the purest malice, the coldest hate and the most undiluted spite. But it did not go away. Not fully. Its fragments, the dark souls, rained down upon our world. Eventually, they were tracked down and sealed inside the govi.” She turned to face them. “According to the prophecy, the Five seek to claim the dark souls to use their collective power to tear open the veil between life and death, leading an army of monsters for their master.”

“So you have one,” Michael noted. “And the rest?”

“Scattered. Some in Liveside. Most in Deadside. So, this is what I wanted your help with, Dahlia. I am calling upon the favor you owe me to help Michael and me stop the Five.”

Dahlia eyed the govi. “You know, I'm actually considering just doing this for free,” she admitted. “That thing shouldn't be. And I'd rather not find out what a deranged serial killer would do with that kind of power.”

“You may yet find out, unfortunately,” Nettie noted. “Michael, you and Dahlia must journey to Deadside to find the lair of your predecessor. The prophecy is stored there and will provide us with essential information. Jaunty knows the way.”

“Didn't know my predecessor had a lair,” he noted.

“You didn't need one. Better to let it lay fallow and avoid notice,” she remarked, handing him the teddie bear. “Return swiftly. We have much work to do.”

Dahlia sighed as Michael grabbed her hand. “Here we go again.” And then they were gone.

...

Dahlia opened her bleary eyes. Then she sat down on the grass and exhaled.

“Need a moment?” Michael inquired, as he took his sunglasses off.

“Yeah,” she remarked. “You sure it doesn't get better?”

“You get used to it if you do it enough. Don't know if that's exactly better.”

“Maybe. So, should I drop the disguise? I don't see much point in pretending to be human over here.”

“You'll probably scare Jaunty half to death,” he replied. “So be all means, go ahead.”

The adze smirked, before her body warped, bloated and hardened into her inhuman self, just as she had done months prior at the Stormstruck Cliffs. However, as she finished, Michael noticed something that was obviously different. A jagged crack ran along her torso, a scar in her exoskeleton that softly glowed with red light.

Dahlia noticed his stare. “A scar,” she remarked tersely.

“What happened?” the Shadow Man asked. He paused, feeling the sudden weight of her glare upon him.

“I got careless,” she finally stated and began walking off.

Michael followed, deciding that the wisest course of action would be to let the adze keep her secrets. After all, his mission wasn't to investigate his companion.

As the two of them journeyed through the hilly landscape, Dahlia inquired: “Can you drop in closer to Jaunty's gate? Or even at the gate?”

“I could,” Michael replied.

“Then why are we here?”

“Because Jaunty kindly asked me to. The dead usually arrive rather distraught and having a gun-toting revenant suddenly manifest on the scene can set them off,” he explained. “Plus, Jaunty sometimes has company over. Rather awkward to drop in while he's coiling up with someone. So I drop in out here. That way, he'll sense me coming.”

“I guess that...” She paused, then sniffed the air.

“What is it?”

“Blood. And lots of it.”

“Probably just another blood spring then.”

“Just another blood spring,” she echoed mockingly. “I'd give an arm to have a... Actually, I'm also hearing some noise.”

“So am I. Let's go,” Michael remarked.

The two crept over one of the hills towards the sound. Down below, they quickly spotted the source. One of the hills had a rift in it that was pouring blood into a pool, in which sat a group of huddled deadsiders. Surrounding them were several individuals. Most looked feral, their grey limbs lengthened and their sharpened teeth visible. They growled and stalked back and forth, keeping their prey surrounded.

“I remember seeing some of those last time we were here,” Dahlia quietly noted.

“We call them wailers,” Michael explained. “Some of the people who end up here, they just go feral. They become predators, feasting on other deadsiders.” He looked. “Though this pack seems to be corralled by that one.”

The one Michael referred to was another deadsider, wearing thick leather armour and wielding a rusty mace. She seemed to be counting the unfortunates her and her band had surrounded, before exclaiming: “Alright, seven. Excellent. You'll come along or I'll feed you to my pets here.”

“Where a-are you taking us?” one of the huddling deadsiders asked.

“Why do you care? You ain't got much choice,” she replied.

“Unless Jaunty's suddenly got an assistant,” Michael announced, as he stepped down the hill. “I doubt it's your job to take them anywhere.”

The woman whipped around. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I am the Shadow Man, Immortal Voodoo Warrior and...”

“You know what, I don't care. Kill him.”

The revenant sighed, as the wailers charged. He manifested his gun as the first leapt at him, blasting them in their face. They dissolved into red mist which harmlessly washed over him. He reared his fist back and punched the second one to jump at him, knocking their leap off course and sending them clattering across the grass, where they were easily finished off with a gut shot.

A third wailer got in close, swinging their clawed hand. Michael blocked it with his arm, shooting them with the other.

The woman growled in annoyance at her minions getting dispatched. Then there was a very loud thump behind her, accompanied by a pair of pained shrieks and wet crunches. She turned around, only to find that Dahlia had landed on top of her two remaining wailers. “W-who...?”

“I'd introduce my friend here, but I can't imagine you care about that either,” Michael dryly noted.

The deadsider looked from the Shadow Man to the adze, cursing as she raised her mace.

And then the ground under her exploded.

She yelped in surprise, a noise that was suddenly cut short as bands of emerald scales closed around her body.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Jaunty asked. “Another poacher in me backyard. Didn't you read the sign?”

“S-sign?” she managed to reply with much strain.

“Right, right, don't have a sign. Didn't think anybody would be so rude as to go hunt souls 'round here. Pretty stupid move, lassie,” he informed her. “So just remember, when you and your feckless goons pop back out, stay out of me bloody territory.” This was punctuated by a loud series of cracks as he tightened, crushing the woman so hard blood sprayed from her mouth, before he let her flop to the ground. He turned to the deadsiders staring from the pool. “So sorry 'bout that. We've had a wee bit of a pest problem lately. How are y'all doing?”

The deadsiders looked from the skull-headed snake to the giant sharp-toothed mosquito to the man with the glowing eyes. “What's going on?” one finally asked.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but yer all dead,” Jaunty explained. “This here is Deadside, the afterlife. And I'm the gatekeeper, here ta gave ya all a warm welcome. Which normally doesn't involve a bloody gang o' poachers trying to get ya.”

“Oh. I do remember my car getting pushed in front of that truck,” one the newcomers said.

“Yeah. And I... I remember getting crushed when a van slammed into the side of my car,” another said.

“Well, since y'all popped out of the same bloodpool, I figure y'all died from the same thing,” Jaunty mused. “Sounds like quite the nasty traffic accident. Well, once yer all good and ready, head for the Marrow Gate. It's that way,” he explained, pointed with his tail. “And we'll get ye all filled in on the basics of being dead. Now, if you'll 'scuse me.” He turned to the Shadow Man. “Mikey, good to have ya back. Been a while.”

“Sounds like things have been busy on both sides,” he noted.

“All too true.” Jaunty paused. “Anyway, Mikey boy, I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a rather large mosquito following ya.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that's Dahlia,” he explained.

“Ah. I see.”

“You don't seem surprised at all,” the adze remarked.

“Every morning I have to stare at a snake with a tophat in me mirror,” he replied. “I've learnt to roll with the punches.” He paused. “But I admit, when I saw you suddenly drop out o' the sky like an anvil and crush those poor duppies, my heart did skip a beat or two. Anyway, let's get to the gate. Got some info for ya and you've probably got places to be.”

...

As the trio approached the imposing Marrow Gates, Michael began the conversation by asking: “So, Jaunty, what was up with those assholes?”

“Well, you know how it normally is o'er here,” the serpent replied. “Slavers looking ta furnish some wanna be tyrant's household with slaves. Nasty business, looking for naïve newcomers ta bundle up.”

Dahlia snorted, her teeth baring slightly.

“But normally these guys wouldn't dare try to hunt in a gatekeeper's backyard,” Michael noted.

“Normally no. But things, well, they have changed lately. Somebody out there is pushing for bodies. Lots of them. 'Parently, they're offering some big incentives too. So, now these lil' blighters need as many souls as possible and that's making them reckless.”

“Enough so to try and get fresh souls straight from the source,” Michael mumbled.

“So, who's behind this?” Dahlia asked with a hint of menace to her tone.

“Ah, sorry lassie. Don't rightly know,” Jaunty replied. “But I'm looking into it. So, what can I do for the two of ya? Perhaps a glass of whiskey?”

“Agnetta sent me to acquire some items from my predecessor's lair,” Michael explained. “She said you'd know where it was.”

“Ah, that bad is it?”

“So you know something about it?” Dahlia inquired.

“Well, ta be honest, not much. Just that Nettie and Maxim Saint James, the previous Shadow Man, locked up some stuff there. Things she'd want kept secret until an emergency.”

“Well, according to her, apparently we're dealing with the potential end of the world,” Dahlia noted. “So, you know, a big emergency.”

“Sounds like me job's 'bout to become very busy,” Jaunty noted. “Alright, let me send ya both on yer way.” He turned towards the gate, loudly declaring: “Knock, knock”

With a loud creaking the gates opened allowing Michael and Dahlia to step into the dark tunnel.

“Wasn't the codeword Alakazam last time?” the adze asked.

“I think he changes it quite often,” the revenant replied.

“Why, because he's paranoid?”

“Because he thinks he's a comedian.”

The tunnel continued for a while, before letting the duo out in a cave. It was almost cylindrical, rising upwards. Brass braziers set in alcoves cast flickering lights across the stony surfaces, revealing a spiralling pathway upwards. And in the middle in front of them was an altar of stone, a sheet of paper and a stack of cards on it.

“Okay, cool,” Dahlia noted, looking around. “Not quite as grand as I imagined from the lair of the Shadow Man, but still, cool.”

Michael didn't respond as he looked around. He took a deep breath. “And behold, the echo of a generation lost. A hollowed out inheritance haunting the dark, finally brought to the light. New life breathed into old mysteries. And here we stand, to take upon ourselves this enigma, left behind by our predecessors. Like children, we stare in wonder at the relics of old and take up the mantle of our forebearer with reverence.”

“You just can't help yourself, can you?” the adze commented.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's fine. It's weird, but also kinda cute.”

Michael didn't respond as he approached the altar, picking up the papers. “If you're reading this, then I am forever gone and a heavy responsibility has fallen to you,” he read aloud. “I, Maxim Saint James, was chosen to be the Shadow Man and to safeguard Deadside from all threats. In the process of this, I have stumbled across a grim prophecy that foretells of the end of days.”

“Ah, here we go. The vaunted prophecy,” Dahlia remarked.

“It has become clear that my part in this is not to overcome it, but merely prepare my inheritor for this duty. And for that, know that I am sorry,” Michael continued to read. “As my strength wanes, I fear that my lair is not as safe as it once was. As such, I have scattered the voodoo artefacts across Deadside. The Shadow Man should have no issue tracking them down.”

“Really? Why wouldn't this be the safest place to store them?” Dahlia asked. “Seems like it's way riskier to spread them around like fucking breadcrumbs.”

“Because if that many voodoo items are gathered in one place, it's going to turn it into a beacon,” Michael noted. “Would make it pretty hard to keep the place hidden.”

“Hmm, point taken.”

The revenant continued to read. “Read and understand the prophecy in the cards and you may yet find a way out of the dark future they promise. I wish you well in your efforts.” He paused, as he put the paper down again.

“Did Nettie ever say what happened to him?” Dahlia inquired.

“No. I just know he wasn't the first to wear the Mask of Shadows,” Michael remarked, touching his chest. “Just like Agnetta wasn't the first priestess. It's a dangerous job.”

“Yeah, but what can kill someone who rules over death?”

“Ain't that the question.” He turned his attention to the cards and picked up the stack. The top one depicted a great, black mass, being torn asunder by several shining beings. He flipped it over and read from the backside. “In the beginning, there was a great nameless evil. And lo, the primordials rose up and smote it in battle. And the great nameless evil was laid low.”

“Great nameless evil,” Dahlia noted. “The thing Nettie mentioned. You know, if I hadn't been close to that damned govi myself, I'd have accused the card of laying it on a bit thick.”

“It does seem a bit ridiculous. But true none the less.” Michael flipped the card over to reveal the next one. It depicted several black stars raining down on the land. “But alas, fragments of the great nameless evil survived. And they rained down upon the world of mortals, tempting the innocent with their dread potential.”

“Dread potential is the right word,” the adze commented.

The next card revealed a hulking monstrosity seemingly made from dead flesh. “And he who was many gathered up the shards of evil. And he made from them a great army.” He paused. “He who was many. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

He revealed the next card. It showed three blue-skinned barely dressed women.

“Oh, that's my kind of card,” Dahlia commented with a grin.

“Noted.” Michael flipped it to read the backside. “But fortune smiled and the heroes of old bested he who is many and banished him to the dark. And the dark souls were taken from the monstrosities and divided between the world of the living and the world of the dead. And behold, the sisterhood of blood was entrusted to safeguard the dark souls forever more.”

“I'm noticing that there's more cards,” Dahlia commented. “So forever more didn't last that long, huh.”

The next card revealed a figure. He was sharply dressed and could have been mistaken for the quintessential noble gentlemen, if not for his inhuman eyes and the blood pouring from his mouth and down his suit. “And behold, in the age of the men of shadow, the one who is many should return to reclaim the shards of evil and rebirth his dark army.” Michael paused. “Men of shadow, huh.”

“I can see why they changed it to the Shadow Man. Rolls off the tongue better,” Dahlia remarked. “So, that's the guy we're up against?”

“Apparently.” Michael studied the figure. “Looks like he needs a bib.”

“Yeah. My diagnosis is that he has the mother of all gingivitis,” Dahlia added. “So, what next?”

The next card revealed a figure that looked much like Mama Nettie. “And lo, the oracle sensed the spreading darkness and flowing blood. And she called upon the man of shadows of the age.” The next card had two figures depicted, the oracle from the previous card and one that looked eerily similar to Michael. “And the man of shadow came to her. And she sent him as a hero of that age to fight the one who was many.”

“Right. So that's all what just happened.”

“Essentially.” He revealed the next card, which featured a green serpent. “And lo, the man of shadow took the serpent as an advisor and gained much wisdom from him.” He paused.

“We need to inform Jaunty he's supposed to dispense wisdom,” Dahlia snidely remarked.

“He'll probably be as surprised as we are,” Michael agreed, revealing the next card. It showed the man of shadow covered in purple lights. “And lo, the man of shadow took upon himself the power of the dark souls, gaining their strength.”

“I'm sorry, you what?” Dahlia asked. “Is that safe?”

“I doubt it.” He revealed the next card, depicting the man of shadow approaching a dark tower. In the air above hung five symbols, each one identical to one of the symbols of The Five. “So, that's where she's seen them before.” He flipped the card. “And lo, the man of shadow came upon the dark tower, which was the lair of the one who was many and his disciples.”

“So find their home base, kick in the front door. That I can do,” Dahlia noted.

Michael revealed the next card. It depicted the man of shadow lying the ground in obvious agony, the symbols of The Five hanging over him.

They both paused.

“I don't like this one,” Dahlia finally noted.

“Me neither.” Michael flipped it and read: “And behold, the man of shadow challenged the disciples of the five. But under the sun, he was powerless and they struck him down.”

“What, is sunlight your weakness?” Dahlia asked surprised. “Are you a vampire?”

“No. But it is true that my powers weaken during daytime,” Michael replied. “Well, daytime in Liveside. Over here, that's not a concern.”

“I suppose the answer isn't going to be as simple as wait until nighttime.”

“They're probably prepared for that.” He looked at the final card. It depicted the one that was many, sitting on a throne, the dark shards hovering around him. “And lo, he who was many took upon himself the power of the dark souls. And he ruled all that he saw.”

“So, doomed to lose,” Dahlia noted. “Lovely prophecy. But I can't help but notice something.”

“That you aren't mentioned at all,” Michael said. “So, that's Belal's game. He wanted to introduce a new element into the prophecy to change how it would play out.” He looked up at the spiraling path. “Hmm, I wonder...”

“Wonder what,” the adze inquired, as Michael began heading upwards.

“If my predecessor left anything.”

The two began ascending, the Shadow Man walking and the adze hovering in the air. Along the path was the occasional entrance into a room, many of them storerooms with shelves, but others seemed to have had more personal utility, like a kitchen and a bedroom.

And then they came to the top.

Looking inside, Michael saw what he on some level had expected from the beginning.

A govi stood isolated in the dark room, emitting its dread aura.

Dahlia looked at it with visible discomfort. “I know what you're thinking,” she said after a pause. “Are you sure that's a good idea? I know the prophecy said you'd take their power, but that's the same prophecy that said you'd fail.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “But these govi were supposed to seal them away forever. And yet somehow, the one who is many will get hold of them. It might just be the safest place to put them.”

“Inside you? Doesn't sound safe.”

“But it does mean they won't be able to get them all without dealing with us.”

“True. Still...” She sighed. “I just really don't like those things. They're wrong, Michael.”

“On that we agree.” He stepped into the room, examining it. “So, how would one go about opening it?”

“Does it have a lid? Or a seam?”

“No. That would probably be... Too...” He paused, then gently squeezed the govi with his hands. “It's flesh,” he said with dawning realization.

“And?”

He summoned the Shadow Gun and aimed it at the govi. “Flesh I can deal with.” He fired.

In an instant, the govi burnt away, the spikes falling to the ground as what lay within was revealed. Immediately, the uncomfortable atmosphere intensified a hundredfold.

Michael stood paralysed and Dahlia instinctually darted back into the middle of the tall chamber, as they beheld what had been hidden within.

A dark, churning mass hovered in the air, constantly uttering a series of inhuman noises ranging from demented whispers to blood-curdling wails. It snarled and growled, howled and raged, moaned and groaned, all while pulsating tendrils began extending in every direction, each twitching with primordial hunger and lust.

Michael stared at it, before taking a deep breath, willing himself to step towards it.

“Mike!” Dahlia called. “Mike, this seems like a bad idea! MICHAEL, STOP!”

He reached out and touched it.

Pain. Agony. Suffering. Cold as the heart of the void. Hot as the core of the sun. It flowed into him in a ceaseless stream. Emotions he did not think were possible to feel blossomed in his mind. Hatred, rage and malice beyond human comprehension settled into the core of his being. A desire to commit atrocities of unimaginable scope filled his heart, driven by a perverse glee that defied description. For a moment, he didn't just feel able to perform every horror known to man, but also driven to do so, just for the sake of the suffering it would cause.

And then it was over. He was lying on the floor, staring up at Dahlia.

“You okay?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

It took him a couple of times before he could manage to gasp out a wheezy: “Awful.”

“I can imagine. But you seem fine for now,” she remarked with relief. Then she grabbed and pulled him up with a snarl. “BUT YOU WON'T BE WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU! THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?”

Michael hung limply as the angry adze shook him. “Well,” he slowly admitted. “I wasn't. When I released it... I realised we couldn't put it back... And that it was... Too dangerous to leave here... So I... Just grabbed it...”

“Yeah. And do you know what happened next?” Dahlia angrily asked. “You hung in the air, writhing as that entire thing forced its way into your body. And then you fell unconscious. It's been three fucking hours, Mike!”

“Oh.”

“Don't you oh me you braindead zombie!” She exhaled. “I'd smack you, but I'm pretty sure that would just delay us even longer. So if you just get us back to Nettie now, I'll refrain from ripping your head off. Okay?”

Michael made a noise of confirmation, as he clutched the bear in his pocket.

And just like that, the cave was empty again.

...

Nettie looked up from her books, noting that she was no longer alone in the church.

Dahlia shakily put Michael down, before shrinking down into her human guise with a queasy expression.

“What happened?” the priestess asked, as she kneeled down to examine the revenant.

“The idiot absorbed one of those dark shards,” Dahlia remarked. “Did a number on him.”

“As I expected.”

“Expected? What, because of the prophecy?”

“I don't live my life according to divination,” she remarked, as she continued to examine Michael. “But I was aware that it foresaw that he would take on their power. And I could see why. Safer than leaving them around for the Five to find. The Mask of Shadows should allow him to tame the shards and draw upon their power without being influenced by them.”

“And if that doesn't work out that way?”

“Then we're doomed.”

“Delightful.”

“So, now that you've both read the prophesy, what are your thoughts?” she asked, as Michael sat up.

“Well, seems clear cut,” he noted, still a bit raspy. “I'm going to challenge the Five and their boss. But because I'll fight them during the day, I'll lose.”

“So why wouldn't we be able to kill them just because the sun is up?” Dahlia asked.

“Because I suspect that they have found a way to open the govi that does not require the powers of the Shadow Man,” Nettie explained. “And that in turn, each of the Five have been gifted with the power of a dark soul. With that, they'd be immune to conventional weapons and gain access to magic of the foulest sort. But the power of death could release the dark soul from their bodies, much like it can from the govi. However, in Liveside, the Shadow Man only has access to his full powers under the light of the moon.”

“So they'd avoid fighting him at any other time. Makes sense,” Dahlia agreed.

“I also noted that the two of us and Jaunty were mentioned in the prophecy,” Michael continued. “But no word of Dahlia. I figure that Belal wanted to throw off the prophecy by introducing someone else into it.”

“Yes. But there's more to it than that,” Nettie noted, eyeing Dahlia. “If it was just a question of changing the narrative, anyone would do. I think he chose her because he felt she had a way to specifically change the outcome.”

The adze stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“I've done my research. On a curious phenomena. Something the Ewe call Tohehe Ɣleti.”

“Punishing Moon,” Dahlia slowly translated.

“Correct. According to some stories, when the adze have been truly offended, it is marked by the appearance of an odd moon.” Nettie explained. “It will appear whether it be day nor night, bearing a different curse depending on its colour. And this phenomenon has also been observed here in the states. Connected to the death of a couple of prominent figures, usually non-human ones. But here's the part that stands out to me.” She crossed her arms. “The punishing moon seen in the US has only ever been red.”

Dahlia stood still, as if having a longer debate with herself. “Alright. I guess we're past deniability,” she noted. “Might as well fill in the gaps. Yes, we older adze can call upon these punishing moons, as they are called. Each one is a different color and is linked to a different one of us. Mine is indeed the red one.”

“As I suspected. And with it, we can turn day to night,” Nettie concluded. “At least, that's the theory I suspect Belal went with.”

“But it might not count as night in that sense,” Dahlia warned her.

“I know. So how about we run a quick test?”

“Don't you think the locals will be freaked out by the sudden appearance of a red moon in the middle of the day?”

“If I cared, I wouldn't have suggested we test out Belal's theory, now would I?”

The adze's mouth became a thin line. “Fine. Said I'd help out however I could, after all. Come on, let's go outside.”

Michael and Dahlia stepped out in front of the church, Nettie watching them from the doorway.

“Whenever you're ready,” the Shadow Man told his companion.

“Trust me, Honey, I'm not the one who needs to get ready,” she commented, raising her arms to the sky.

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, slowly swirling, a splotch of red began spreading, eating away at the blue skies. It kept growing, faster and faster like an infection consuming flesh. And then it appeared. Fading into view, a crimson moon manifested, bathing the land below in a baleful light, painting the ground as crimson as those accursed skies.

At once, Michael felt the invigorating rush of power as the Mask of Shadows blazed to life. But at the same time, he also felt a deeply unsettling oppressive force, like a primal part of him was screaming at him to run for cover. He could hear the whimpers of the undead hounds, as they pressed themselves against the tombs, unwilling to expose themselves to the cursed red light. And then he felt something wet on his hands. He raised them, watching as blood began pushing out from his fingernails. He blinked, red tears sliding down his cheeks and the taste of iron filled his mouth as his gums began bleeding.

Dahlia lowered her arms. Up above, the red skies receded from the horizon, returning it to azure hues. The moon faded like mist before the morning light alongside the dreadful feeling it inspired. “Now, personally I'm strengthened by the light of my moon,” she remarked. “Everyone else, not so much.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, wiping his bloody mouth. “Not sure how much I'll be able to fight if I'm going to be falling apart like that.”

“See, that's what I was thinking. Of course, if you stay in the shade, you're a little safer,” she continued, eyeing Nettie.

The Voodoo priestess still looked uncomfortable at the experience. “Yes. Is there any other way Michael may gain protection from your magic?”

“He could sell his soul to me,” Dahlia bluntly replied. “Anyone thus bound to me will share my bond with my moon. But I suspect that train left the station long ago.”

“Only had the one,” the revenant muttered.

Nettie rubbed her chin. “There may still be other ways. I'll need to do research. For now, I suggest the two of you rest. We will need to investigate the Five and their master further tomorrow.”

“And what if we find more govi?” Michael asked.

“It may indeed be for the best that you lock them inside yourself,” she replied. “We cannot allow more of them to fall into their hands.”

“Not looking forward to that,” he admitted, as they entered the church. “Shit's worse than dying.”

“Well, maybe you will get used to that too,” Dahlia offered with a shrug.

[weavercobra]

Varangian Files SH: Prologue: Puppet, Priest and Parasit

For those who read my overview of the settings I run, you may have noticed that between the original posting and now, the description of Varangian changed. That's because in that time, the scope of the setting changed. We added not only a lot a lot of classical mythology, but also incorporated a lot of modern fiction into the setting. So it's become a sort of massive crossover setting.

And that brings us to this project. You see, with all these stories sharing space, changes were inevitable, both because a somewhat consistent cosmology had to be created, but also because characters from those stories could interact with each other and the original characters of the setting. The question of 'How did this story go down in the Varangian setting' lead to this weird project, somewhere in between a original tale and fanfiction. It's been fun and I wanted to share them with you all. They are written so that no prior knowledge of the setting or the media is required.

This story also features as one of the major characters the OC Dahlia Damutamu, whom the amazing @thecreaturecodex did a great conversion into tabletop of here.

Go check out her other stuff too, it's great and creative. And for those interested, the prologue for this story will be right below.

Prologue: Puppet, Priestess and Parasite

Varangian File: 5GPS1SM Codename “Shadow Man”

In the year 1999, a serious imbalance between the Material Plane(Aka, Earth) and the Necrotic Plane(For more information, see file AD7: Deadside) occurred, with potential fallout that has been estimated to be in the range of either a Class 5 or 6 scenario. As most of the events that transpired happened in the Necrotic Plane, documentation is sparse. Most of the reliable documentation relates to the notorious group of serial killers known as The Five, who were deeply involved in this case. Based on discrete inquiries and a select few channellings of departed spirits, the following is our best attempt at summarising the events that transpired during this case. Further investigation has not commenced as of the date of this report's writing.

...

The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, bathing the skies in amber hues. Music echoed down the streets, carried on the warm air. And the cobblestone streets clacked with the sounds of footsteps, as a woman made her way through the town, passing by the other citizens.

Most people would probably notice her ebony skin and her fine clothes first, a fuzzy blue cloak over a dress in all the warm colours of summer. Other, ruder folk might notice, perhaps even call attention to her prominent nose. The gutter-minded might find themselves gazing longingly at her voluptuous and generously sized features. And the most observant might notice the look in her eyes, sharp, observant and with an equal mix of purpose and thirst.

The latter might very well guess she was not a person to be crossed.

She turned a corner and paused, looking up. Neon lights flash, illuminating the words 'The Wild at Heart'. She smirked, heading towards the door, a few patrons exiting and passing her by.

Inside was what she'd expect, plenty of seats, a pool table and a television above the counter. The smell of alcohol filled the air and faint clouds of smoke were kept visible by the light streaming in through the large windows.

Behind the counter stood the bartender, cleaning a glass. He was dark-skinned, his hair shaved and his toned body dressed in simple clothes. He looked up, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black lenses. “Sorry, we're about to close, Mam.” “Not many bars in New Orleans would close right before nightime,” she commented, stepping closer to the man.

“I know. Special circumstances today.” She reached into her pocket and pulled a card from it. “Honey,” she said, sliding it across the wooden surface. “I am the special circumstances.” She paused, taking in a deep breath. The smell made her cock her head slightly. It was a stale smell. A dead smell. Laced with a touch of the otherworldly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as the bartender took the card. After giving it a quick once-over, he remarked: “She's waiting upstairs,” before returning to cleaning the glass. “Second room on the right. Try not to burn the bar down.”

“I wasn't planning on starting any fires today,” she replied, heading for the door behind the counter. She paused at the threshold for a moment, before adding: “Well, not here anyway.”

Behind it was a set of old, wooden stairs, each step creaking under her weight. Following the instructions she had been given, she found herself in front of a plain wooden door, the white paint flecking slightly off. She raised a hand, only for a woman's voice behind it to calmly state: “Come in.” “Well, well, someone's prepared,” she noted with bemusement, entering the room. Simple green wallpaper covered the walls, with a single ceiling lamp illuminating it. To one side stood a large bed. To the other a table, two chairs flanking it. And in one chair sat the woman who had called her in.

She was dressed in a black skirt and top, allowing much of her dark skin to show. A few pieces of golden jewellery and strong make-up gave contrast to her features.

The newcomer sat down, and for a moment the two women sized each other up, like a pair of predators glaring at each other across the edges of their territories, scanning each other for potential weaknesses. Each saw strength in the other's eyes, even if it was strengths of two very different natures. If someone were to pass, they'd scarcely be able to guess that both women were centuries old, yet the two both recognised the look of an old soul.

“So,” the guest began. “You must be Mama Nettie, then?”

“I am. And you're Dahlia.” Her tone was warm, sensual and commanding.

“I do not believe any of my followers volunteered my name.” She smirked. “I'm curious. Did your boys dig this up or did the spirits reveal it?” “I'd prefer not to name my sources. You have done enough digging of your own, as it is.” She crossed her arms. “So let us get down to business. What is it you want?”

“I'm looking for a guy. Belal Harrison was his name.” She pulled a photograph out of her dress, twirling it gently between her fingers. “He hid some... Important stuff. And I'm looking into acquiring it.” “Sounds like what you need is a private detective,” Nettie replied, eyebrow raised. “No, you wouldn't dare bother me for something that trivial.”

“Correct. He happens to be dead. Found his tombstone and everything.” She sighed. “Which means I now need to get a hold of his spirit.”

“And that spirit is no longer among us, is it?” Nettie smirked. “I've learnt enough about you to recognise you as a fellow priestess. Binding the spirit of one man to pass on his secrets would be no challenge to you. So, he has passed on to the other side and there he stays in silence.” “You guessed it. Guy couldn't even hang around as ghost long enough for me to interview him,” she confirmed. “I've tried some mediums and channellers, but he is stubborn.”

“Which means, you've been digging around for a way to the realm beyond. You've heard the rumours and now want what I have.”

“Yes. The Shadow Man. Walker between worlds.” She paused. “Rare gift, as far as I know. The dead tend to keep their own.”

“So, what's in it for me?” She steepled her fingers. “I am not in the business of charity. Especially not with gifts of this nature.” “I suspected as much. So I'm gonna offer you a rare and precious thing.” She smirked. “A favour.” “A favour?” “Any favour you want. My unconditional help and aid with anything you might need. And you should know that could be a great boon.”

Nettie paused, considering the offer. She turned to watch as the sun dipped below the horizon, lights turning on in the streets. “You know I'll live long enough to collect,” she responded, gauging the other woman's reactions. “Even if I have to wait a long time for the right opportunity. What did this Belal hide that has you so willing to offer yourself to me?”

“What if I didn't feel like saying?” “Then I'd be a fool to accept. And I'd instead use my people to find out for myself. After all, I can always send him to find this Belal on his own, without you.” The two paused in silence, a thick tension mounting in the air.

Dahlia inhaled, her gaze locked with the other woman's, before she said: “Fine. I have come to understand that Belal managed to dig up a genuine Nephilim artefact. Every source I've interrogated has confirmed it to be real. Yet no one but him knows where he buried the damn thing. I suspect the Mojave, but even I can't very well comb through every square inch of that place. Assuming it's even there and not hidden away in, I don't know, Canada maybe.”

“The Nephilim,” Nettie echoed. “I see. How curious.” “And since I know you're going to ask, I've heard a great deal about the power of their artefacts. I've seen too often what happens when ignorant dumbasses get their hands on that kind of power. We both know these things come bubbling back up to the surface sooner or later. So my best bet is to be the first one there to catch it. Belal Harrison is my chance to do that.” “Hmm, intriguing.” Nettie was quiet for a moment. “Very well, I will accept you offer. A favour for a favour.”

“So, how long do I have to wait? Not to be impatient, of course, but I'd like...” “He'll be here in a moment,” Nettie cut her off. “He'll take you to my church. And from there, to Deadside.”

The floorboards outside creaked and the door opened, as the bartender entered. Yet something was immediately different, a cold glow emanating from behind his shades and through the white fabric of his shirt. “You called?”

“Dahlia, allow me to introduce you to Michael LeRoi,” Nettie said with a flick of her hand. “The one you also know as the Shadow Man. Michael, Dahlia and me have made a little agreement. She wants to take a trip to Deadside, to look for someone.”

He turned to look at her. “I hope you understand, this isn't going to be a walk in the park. Deadside is where everyone goes, even the worst. That place is crawling with all kinds of thugs, brutes and worse.”

“Honey, I can handle myself just fine,” she said, standing up. “I don't doubt that. But if this friend of yours has ended up in one of the real wretched places, we'll be up to our neck in the most psychotic monsters that have ever lived. And I doubt Nettie has explained just what kind of Stygian hellhole it...” He paused. A brief wind billowed through the room.

Dahlia's fist hung in front of his face, the woman herself frozen mid-swing, eyeing him with a satisfied smirk. He had not even seen her move.

“Well, I'll be,” he remarked. “Perhaps I should start out by warning everyone over there about you.” “See,” she said, unclenching her fist and patting him on the shoulder. “A human like you shouldn't worry.” She stepped past him. “I'll be right outside. Could use some fresh air.”

Michael paused, listening as she headed downstairs, before turning to Nettie. “So, can we trust her?”

“Digging up information on her was difficult,” Nettie admitted. “But she was telling the truth. That much I could tell. She'll pay me back what she owes. Beyond that, well, it remains to be seen. But I trust you'll be able to handle her. And while you're at it, see what more you can find out about her. She'd make a great ally, but also a formidable foe and I need to know more about where she stands.”

“I'll do my best,” he said and turned around, following Dahlia out into the streets of New Orleans.

...

The motorboat cut through the dark waters of the swamps, Michael steering it with a hand and Dahlia sitting at the other end, watching patiently. A simple lamp cast a cone of illumination across the waters, guiding them onwards.

Michael allowed himself a moment to glance at the woman he was sharing the boat with. He was by now well aware of the dangers of curiosity, of what happened when one stuck one's nose in other people's business. Yet his position often called upon him to dive head first into the most dreadful secrets that men took with them to the grave. He was no stranger to danger, and his every instinct told him that Dahlia was as dangerous as they came. It was in the air around her, the predatory glances of her eyes and the weight in her words.

The fact that she could apparently somewhat casually move so fast that the human eye couldn't follow was just icing on the cake.

And it was now his job to take her on a VIP tour of the afterlife while trying to ferret out as much information as he could before she found what she was looking for.

Michael could find many things to complain about his current circumstances, were he so inclined, but it being dull wasn't one of them.

“So, Dahlia was it?” he began. Receiving an affirmative nod, he continued with: “Agnetta didn't really give me the full picture. Why exactly do you want to go to Deadside anyway?”

“We're looking for a guy named Belal Harrison,” she replied. “He hid an important artefact that I intend to dig up. I just need him to tell me where it is.” “Right. Think I can fill in the blanks from there,” he noted, casually swerving the boat around an alligator. “You want to go over there and put the squeeze on him until he coughs up where he hid this artefact.” “Correct.”

“Then I'll have to warn you, they can be very hard to intimidate,” he noted. “They're already dead. You can kill him as many time as you want and Deadside will just reconstitute his essence and regurgitate him out again in a new body.”

She looked contemplative. “Michael...” “Just call me Mike.” “Mike, do they still feel pain? The dead I mean.” He paused. “They do.” She smirked unpleasantly. “Then I think I can get him to talk.”

Michael briefly felt nostalgic for his college days, when he still interacted with normal people.

The boat pulled up to a pier and came to a stop. The two got up, the creaky planks quickly transitioning to soft dirt snaking between the trees, ascending into hilly terrain.

“So, what's the deal with this artefact?” Michael asked, leading the way.

“You're a curious one, aren't you,” she replied casually.

“I gather from Nettie that you invested a great deal of effort into finding out about me. And she's not the sort of person you casually bother. Not unless you want to get to Deadside the very fast way. So I figured, it must be important if you're willing to go this far for it.”

“It's nothing personal, mind you;” she replied, after a moment of contemplation. “But everything leads me to believe the Nephilim created some very powerful magical items. Items that could cause a lot of problems in the wrong hands. So, I'll get it first.” “Nephilim,” he echoed. “Said by some to be the children of fallen angels and mortals. And that they ruled mankind before the Flood.”

“Yes. But who knows how much of that is truth?” She shrugged. “Whoever they were, they were good at what they did.”

“So, you're a collector then?” The two of them ascended the rocky road, passing into a tunnel.

“In a sense.”

The answer was evasive, but said in a very decisive way. He decided not to pursue the subject. It was rather obvious that she was keeping her cards close. Pushing harder now was only going to make it more difficult to get anything out of her, especially if she took a disliking to him.

Exiting the tunnel, the two found themselves before the church. Made of white-painted planks, a crucifix above the door and a bell-tower in the back. Surrounding it was rows of gravestones and tombs.

A growl caught the attention of the two, as several dogs peered from among the graves, intently watching them.

“Don't worry about them,” Michael remarked, as he walked towards the church. “They're Nettie's. They won't do a thing as long as you're with me.”

Dahlia paused, then took a deep breath, before following. “That stale smell again,” she noted. “They're dead, aren't they?” “Very.” He stuck a key in the door and opened it, allowing the two to enter. On both sides there were rows of pews, leading up to an altar.

“Speaking of dead,” Dahlia continued. “I can't help but notice you're smelling pretty deceased yourself.”

Michael paused by the altar, before taking his sunglasses off. He turned to Dahlia, his eyes glowing with a ghostly, teal light. “You have a fine sense of smell then,” he noted. “Just like the bloodsuckers who like slinking in when the sun goes away. But yes, I am quite dead. Comes with the job.”

“The job?”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “Of being the Shadow Man. Only one who straddles the line between life and death themselves can walk between worlds.” As he took his shirt off, the source of the glow beneath became visible, a gently glowing teal mask that seemed fused into his chest. “Now then, we're ready to cross,” he commented. “I need only the teddy bear.”

Dahlia paused. “The what now?”

Instead of answering, he headed into a side room, only to return with a small, slightly dishevelled plush bear.

“And for a moment, I thought I had actually misheard,” she replied. “Alright, I'll bite. Why do we need a teddy bear?” He eyed it. “It serves as a focus. A physical link to the world of the dead. It is steeped in lost life, yet remains a presence in the realm of the living. So much like me, it has one leg in the grave.” “Huh.” She frowned. “Seems rather grim for something that cute. What a shame.” Michael paused, eyeing the bear. “A god-damn tragedy is what it is,” he sighed. “It helps connect and transport me between here and there. And by extension, it will do the same for you as long as you're with me. Now, if we want to find this man, we'll need info. And for that, we'll have to head for the Marrow Gates.”

“Well, you're the expert here,” she said. “So, shall we?”

He nodded and took her hand. Then he focused on the bear. He heard faint voices, as a primordial coldness washed over his skin. At once, he felt what little warmth that remained in his body snuff out as all his thoughts shattered like glass. And then vertigo seized him, as he and his companion felt backwards into nothing.

The now empty church fell once more into silence and darkness.

...

Michael paused, taking in the sight in front of him. Rolling hills and grey skies, occasionally interrupted by clusters of trees.

Dahlia still held his hands. She blinked slowly, her legs quivering slightly. Her grip was like a vice and it took a moment before she managed to let go. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against a nearby tree. “What... Was that?”

“Dying,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Dying?” “That's how you get to the world of the dead.”

“Yes, Michael, I'm well aware of how that works,” she replied, rubbing her temple. “I just figured taking a ride with you would allow me to, you know, get here without dying.”

“No such thing exists as far as I know,” he replied earnestly. “But it skips out on a lot of the messier parts. And we can always go back, unlike most of the people here.”

She took another deep breath, then ceased leaning. “So, it's like that every time?”

“Every.” “That sucks.” “Quite so.”

“Well, at least this place looks nice. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought we were still back on Earth.” “He likes keeping things nice around his gate.” “He who?” “Jaunty. An associate of mine. And a well informed one. He's our best bet to get started.” He took a step forward, letting his gently glowing eyes survey the landscape. He took a deep breath. “And thus we behold the otherworld's welcome. A facsimile of the life we forever leave behind. Yet it is a mask, a facade. Poke its skin and the unique grotesqueness of Deadside cannot help but leap forth, eager to baptise the unwary in revelation. This is the land of the dead and whatever shape it takes, it can never be anything but that.”

Dahlia allowed a pregnant pause to fill the air. “Michael?” “Yes.” “What the fuck was that?” He coughed. “Sorry. I... The place speaks to me. I often find a sort of poetic inspiration on my journeys here.” He waited for a moment, before adding. “I was an English major.”

“Ah, that does explain that,” she conceded. “Anyway, the gate?” “Right this way.”

The two walked towards the cliffs in the distance, quickly finding a dirt road to follow.

“So, you said this Jaunty fellow liked keeping things nice around here,” she remarked.

“He's a gatekeeper. The gates being where the newly dead first arrive here,” he explained. “Each gatekeeper keeps their little slice of Deadside how they prefer it. Well, almost how they prefer it. There's a few things about this place even they don't have a say in. But Jaunty, well, he prefers to give people a soft landing. Settling in can be hard and for most folks, it's nice to see a place that looks like home before they go through the gates.”

“And beyond the gates?” “The rest of Deadside. Some go to become servants of various deities. Some go to become ancestral spirits looking over their families in Liveside. Most just do whatever they please.”

“Well, nice to know there's options,” she remarked. “Better than with some other... Other...” She paused, inhaling the air. A smell heavy in iron flooded her nostrils.

Michael paused. “You okay?” “Oh, it's just. I... Hang on a second.” She walked off the road, following the scent. Round a big tree, she quickly found its source. There was a crack in a hillside, like a jagged wound. And like a wound, blood poured from it, forming a little lake.

Dahlia stared at it intensely. She could feel her heart pumping rapidly with excitement, as saliva began flooding her mouth. The sudden sound of crunching grass, as her companion caught up with her, somewhat broke her out of her rapt fascination. “What... Is that?” she managed.

“All the blood spilt in Liveside ends up here,” Michael explained. “It's from these pools that the dead take their bodies, bursting forth like newborns. And if they die here again, well, then another pool just gives them form once more. As I said, once you're here, death ceases to mean much. You'll always come back.”

“I, uhm, I take it this is what you meant by things the, eh, the gatekeepers don't have a say in?”

“I think if Jaunty had his way, people would spring forth from pools of beer.” He turned. “Speaking of, we should keep going.” Dahlia paused for a while, before tearing her gaze from the pool with a: “Yes. Sure.”

...

The road lead to a canyon in the mountains, at the end of which the two came face to face with the Marrow Gates. These rib-like gates were big enough that a giraffe would find plenty of space and three elephants could walk in side by side without squeezing. Dahlia even suspected that they were made from bone, although whether it was the actual ribcage of some humongous giant or the result of tons of skeletons being fused together she couldn't discern.

In fact, the cage was such a notable sight that it took her a moment to notice the creature in front of it, an emerald-scaled snake with a human skull, a pair of red eyes and a top-hat completing their bizarre image.

“Hello there, Mikey,” they greeted her companion. “Been a while since you've visited these parts. Suppose Nettie's kept you close to keep topped up on that voodoo juice, eh?” He turned slightly to look at Dahlia, then returned his attention to the undead man. “Now, I know that ya rarely take my advice, but I have ta say, I like this place, but it ain't the best place for a date.”

“She ain't my date, Jaunty,” Michael corrected him. “Her and Agnetta made a deal. We're helping her find a dead guy.” “Well, ya come to the right place. Lots of those 'round these parts.”

“A specific dead guy.”

“Right, right, don't get ya knickers in a twist. I assumed as much. What's the bloke's name then?”

“Belal Harrison,” Dahlia responded.

Jaunty curled up slightly, allowing him to rub his jaw with the tip of his tail. “Belal Harrison you say. I think I remember that name. Can't say for sure it's yer guy, but could be worth checking out.”

“It's worth a shot. Now where is he?” “Can't rightly remember. But I'll find out in a jiffy. Mikey, mind helping me out with me papers? Got it written down over here somewhere.”

Michael followed the serpent over to a pile of seemingly assorted stuff, including crates of various materials and several caskets of whiskey. “Since when did you have papers?” he quietly inquired.

“I haven't kept paperwork since me school days,” he replied, making an effort to visibly shuffle through the stuff. “Just needed a wee chat with you alone Mikey. So, that lady, what's her deal?” “That's what I'm trying to find out.” “Ah. Nettie's trying to get the scoop on her.” He paused. “She ain't human, that's for sure.” “She hinted at as much.” He paused. “How did you figure that out?” “It's her eyes. I get ta look a lot of people in the peepers ya know, keeping me gate and all. And let me tell ya, if she's human I'm the Queen of England. But I couldn't tell ya what she is.” “No. And neither could Agnette. But so far she's friendly enough. But she is planning to make Belal talk, one way or the other. That's for sure.”

“Poor guy. So, she single?” “I haven't asked her.” “Figures. Well, I suppose with Nettie, you've already got enough to handle without her walking all over you too. Might have a chance then.”

“She's going to skin you, you know that right?” “I've dated women like that before. Besides, I'm already dead, right? Ah, but that can wait. Let me just get this and...” He turned around and, with some effort, unfolded a blank scroll. “Right, here it was. Belal Harrison moved up to the Stormstruck Cliffs. Real original name. It's on account of all the great weather they have.”

“Not the first neighbourhood I'd consider,” Michael noted.

“Yeah, well, its got a bunch of wisemen and mystics. Apparently, it's good reception for visions. Living in a lil' commune.” He stuffed the scroll back into the pile. “But the way I hear it, that 'lil community of theirs might not last much longer.” “Oh?” Dahlia asked.

“A warband of shiverers, walkers and other neer-do-wells have set their sights on it for some bloody reason. So they plan to throw them out.” He paused. “Well, kill all of them, actually, but 'round these parts that's pretty much the same thing.” “And if that happens, we're going to lose our trail,” Michael commented.

“Won't he just pop out somewhere?” Dahlia inquired. “As you said, no one dies here permanently.” “The operative word being 'somewhere', lass,” Jaunty informed her. “Deadside house a lot of dead people. Like, a whole lot. It's vast, dangerous and I've never seen a complete map of the place I could trust. That's the dangerous part about dying here. Ya might well come back in a den full o' duppies who think skinning people is hilarious afternoon fun, and before ya know it, yer hanging from a wall with hooks through yer hands watching someone use yer stomach lining to make bongo drums.”

Dahlia paused. “Alright, I see the problem. How do we get there?” “Ah, glad ya ask. Ya got options.” He pointed with his tail, back out of the canyon. “Ya can pick a direction and when ya get to the edges of me realm, you can wander into the mad unknown of Deadside and see if the loa take enough pity on you to put you were ya need to go.” Michael sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Or, I can open these here gates and let ya go straight there,” he finished, gesturing to the gates.

Dahlia looked to the Shadow Man. “Is he...” “Always like this? Yes, unfortunately,” he replied. “Jaunty, just open the gates. We've apparently got a time limit.” “Right, right. No need to bite me skull off, just a lil' joke is all.” He turned to the gate. “Alakazam!”

With a creaking, the gates opened, allowing access to the dark tunnel behind it. “Won't even bother asking if the two of ya want ta share a drink before you head out.” “Well, maybe I could drop by for a sip later,” Dahlia noted with a smirk.

“Oh, I'd be right pleased ta have ya as me guest.”

Michael rolled his eyes and walked towards the opening, gesturing Dahlia to follow him while commenting: “Let's go before Belal gets strung up and we have to comb through the pits to find him again.”

As the two entered the dim light of the tunnel, Dahlia commented: “Festive friend you've got there. Who made someone like him the gatekeeper?” “Nettie did.” “Really?” she replied, surprised. “That's something she can do?” “Yep.”

“Huh. Hmm, I might actually have underestimated her, if she has that kind of influence.” “A lot of people do.” Michael paused. “A lot of those people get to chat with Jaunty real suddenly.”

...

It had been about six minutes of walking in silence, when the two spotted a light in the distance. It was a further four before they reached it. And the moment they set foot beyond the darkness of the tunnel, they were immediately buffeted by wild winds.

Before them towered a great, jagged mountain. On various plateaus were buildings, connected by a network of ladders, ropes and bridges. Above twirled dark clouds, occasionally releasing a payload in the form of a blinding bolt of lightning, which struck one of several metal rods jutting out of the structures.

“That's quite some weather,” Dahlia commented, her hair whipped back and forth by the currents.

“Stormstruck Cliffs,” Michael echoed. “I suppose we can hardly blame the people for such an appropriate name.” He rubbed his chin. “And behold the stormy cliffs, where nature's rage brings with it furious enlightenment. As the skies above churn with a furious storm, unabating, unceasing, relentless, the wise contemplate in the shadows of stone. Wisdom delivered at the tip of the lightning, a flash of inspiration made manifest. Calm and chaos, united beyond life and death, as primal disorder begets knowledge.”

“Have you ever actually been here before?” Dahlia inquired.

“No.”

“Could have fooled me with that verse.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” “You should. Now, let's go find this guy before we get blown away.”

The cliff-side they had emerged on connected to the main mountain by way of a rope bridge. A bridge which swayed back and forth as the winds shifted. The two began moving across the creaking structure carefully, hands on the ropes at all times.

Dahlia chanced a glance over her shoulder, noticing that the tunnel they had arrived through was gone. “Hey, Michael,” she called over the wind. “How do we get back without the tunnel?” “The bear,” he replied. “With it, I can go anywhere I've ever been with it.”

“Sounds useful.” “Yes. Though... There are some limitations.” He paused, as a particularly vicious gust almost turned the bridge sideways. “But I'll tell you later.” Carefully and slowly, they managed to get across, the creaking ropes and planks providing an ominous symphony. Fortunately, the craftsmanship was sound enough that the duo could arrive on the other side unharmed. The wind, while still fierce, abated somewhat as the mountain blocked most of its fury.

Dahlia took the opportunity to get her now quite messy mane of hair in order, while looking over the buildings and the citizens who were starting to pay attention to the newcomers. “Michael,” she began. “What's up with them?”

The undead man looked to the people in question. Their skins were waxy and unhealthily pale, their eyes sunken and lifeless. Some wore various garbs, though plenty also just walked about naked. “They're dead,” he responded. “That's what's up with them.”

“So this is what people look like over here?” “Some. Others... Change. Let's go introduce ourselves, lest they start thinking we're here to cause trouble.” He approached the throng, speaking aloud: “I am the Shadow Man, Lord of Deadside, Walker between Worlds. I have come here to speak with one of you, the one called Belal Harrison. Where may I find him?”

There was a nervous mumble among the crowd, as they quickly conferred with one another. Finally, one stepped forward. “Sage Belal lives at the mountain's peak, my Lord. I do not believe he is presently busy.” Michael looked upwards, noting the hut far above at the very tip of the mountain. “Of course he does,” he sighed.

...

It was a long, arduous climb. The two had to climb ladders, ascend staircases and cross more rickety bridges. All while slowly losing cover from the wind, each step becoming more challenging than the previous.

As they began going up the final set of stairs, a spiralling affair carved directly the mountain, Michael turned to his companion: “I wanted to go over how we're going to approach this.”

“Yeah?” “I figure, before you get to work flensing the poor man, that we'd offer to help. What with the incoming vandals.” He paused. “Besides, keeping some semblance of peace over here is part of my job.”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure.”

“And here I almost expected you to protest.” “Nah, Honey. Less risk he gives me some bullshit lie your way,” she explained. “A lie I'll only see through once I've combed through who knows how many square miles of terrain looking for an artefact that won't be there. So sure, sugar over vinegar and all that.” He nodded. “Alright. Good to know we're on the same page.”

Finally reaching the top, they beheld the hut. It was small, surrounded by several rods that dispelled the frequent lightning into the earth.

Michael approached the door and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice croaked.

Exchanging one last glance, the two travellers headed inside.

The interior was minimal, consisting only of a bookshelf filled with tomes, a small table with a chair and a soft mat, upon which sat the house's owner. Like the other residents, he was a pale being, with a long white beard. He opened his eyes, two dark pools with only the barest hint of a pupil, and said in a withered voice: “So, you've finally come.” “You already know who I am then,” Michael surmised.

“I know who the both of you are.”

“Really now?” Dahlia replied, eyebrow raised. “And how, pray tell, have you gotten to know us?”

“I studied prophesy, even when I still walked among the living. I sought out sages on matters of fate and destiny, learnt of the patterns that bind us all.” He slowly stood up. “And how those patterns might be undone. I'm ready to tell you where you'll find your prize.” The two exchanged slightly confused glances.

“That's it? After how much of a nuisance you've made of yourself, hiding away here, negating every single attempt to channel you or call upon you, you're just gonna tell me?” she asked with annoyance.

“Of course. You have done exactly what I wanted of you.” “I what?” “You have met with the Shadow Man. Just as I foresaw. That is all I needed of you. I have no reason to withhold the information you seek.” She inhaled sharply. “Michael, could you take over for a moment before I throw him off the fucking mountain?” The undead man coughed. “So, why was it so important that Dahlia and I met?”

“Dark days loom ahead of us. Fate is dragging us all towards tragedy. For the two of you to overcome destiny itself, you'll need each other,” he replied.

“Could you be more specific than that?” The Deadsider shook his head.

“Typical. Well, then I guess you're getting what you came for,” he said to his companion.

“And yet I'm still annoyed,” she replied. “Fine. Where did you hide that damn artefact?”

“Missouri, near the Mississippi. I'll show you on a map, if you have one.”

“I do,” she tersely remarked, pulling a piece of paper from under her shawl. “Figured it might come in handy.”

“Alright. It should be... Around here.” “Noted. Have fun. Let's bounce, Michael.”

“Not yet,” he said. “First, I have been informed of the threat that your community here is facing.” Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Oh come on now, Honey. We got what we came for, didn't we?”

“We did,” he agreed. Then he refocused on Belal. “I am willing to lend you my power in defending this place. What can you tell me about these raiders?”

Dahlia threw her hands in the air with an exasperated expression.

“They are led by a man named Yort. He's made a name of himself as a minor warlord, trying to carve out a personal fiefdom,” Belal explained. “Now, he's decided that his fiefdom will be built on the ruins of our home. When we heard they were coming, we destroyed several of the outmost bridges. But it has only slowed them down.”

“I see.” Michael turned to his companion. “This should give me enough time to transport you back to Liveside.” She looked contemplative for a moment. “Nah, Honey. I'll be honest, you might need the help. So I'll stay. Besides, could be fun to get to flex in front of you.”

“You have my gratitude,” Belal noted with a nod.

“Can it, Mr. Vague. I'm not doing it for you,” she remarked with annoyance. “I'm already owing Mama Nettie a favour, but you're the one doing the heavy lifting, Michael. Seems only fair I give you something too. So I'll help you keep this little podunk village safe.” She smirked, a hungry gleam in her eyes. “But if there's something else I could do to reward you, I'm certainly up for taking suggestions.”

“I'll stick with you giving me a hand here.” “Suit yourself, Honey.”

“Now then, I must admit, your people didn't exactly strike me as a fighting force,” Michael remarked, returning his attention to the bearded Deadsider.

“We can hold our own against the odd horror, but against a band like the one that follows Yort...” He shrugged. “We're researchers and scholars foremost. We've relied upon the very nature of the mountain to deter others. But now, Yort seems to find that those very same features makes for an excellent fortress.” “So we'll be mostly on our own. I can work with that.” He rubbed his chin. “Where will they be coming in from?”

“The only feasible way after we cut the bridges will be the path up the mountain. It's broad enough that we can drag a cart up it.” “But it'll still bottleneck them. Alright. I'll get down there. In the meantime, try to move everyone up into the higher buildings. If me and Dahlia have to fall back, then we'll still be able to raise Hell without risking you lot getting caught in the crossfire.”

“I'll spread the message. Thank you once again, Shadow Man.”

As the two left the hut, Michael turned to Dahlia. “So, I'll be blunt. What can you do, besides move fast?”

“A lot of things, Honey,” she coyly replied. “What about you? You're the Shadow Man. You must have something impressive up your sleeve.”

He opened his hand and in a flash of bluish flame, an object manifested. It had the rudimentary shape of a handgun, but made from bone, its muzzle a small opened-mouthed skull. “I have a gun.”

Dahlia managed almost two seconds of composure, before a chortle escaped her, quickly transitioning into becoming full blown laughter.

Michael weathered it with stoicism.

“Sorry,” she said, still giggling. “I'm just... Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Really? That's it? You can summon a really edgy pistol?” “The Mask of Shadows does allow me to channel voodoo magic. With the right enchanted items. Of which I currently have this.” He lifted his weapon. “But don't underestimate it. The Shadow Gun channels the power of the mask, the power of death itself, into every shot. It reaps the life from my foes, allowing me to feast upon it.”

Dahlia rested a finger against her face. “Does it now? Fascinating.” “Now, I think I've been very gracious in regards to you evading the question,” Michael continued. “Whatever you may look like, you're not human. So I want to know what you're bringing to the table.”

“I suppose there's little reason in keeping up this charade,” she admitted. “Not like I need to keep a low profile here. Alright, you wanna see the real me, Michael? Then I'll show you.” She smiled again, but this time, it began growing wider, much wider than a human should be capable of. Her nose began enlarging with the creaking sound of shifting flesh and cartilage. Her eyes grew bigger, taking up more and more of her skull. And then the surface of her eyeballs seemed to fracture, as the colour deepened into a dark red. Her hair receded, while her skin turned black and bumpy, slowly hardening into exoskeleton. With the exception of her fuzzy cloak, her clothes began slowly shifting around her, fading into nothing. Her entire body enlarged, quickly growing in size to be a couple of heads taller than her companion. Gossamer wings unfolded from her back, flickering as muscles grew to anchor them. The nails extended into claws, the flesh of her fingers becoming covered in segmented plates. The flesh of her torso rippled, as with a gruesome sound of tissue tearing, a second pair of arms unfolded. Her rear bloated, the skin turning translucent as red fluid filled the swiftly ballooning abdomen.

Michael found himself taking a step back. “Jesus Christ.” “So,” Dahlia began as she stepped closer, having now shifted into a form that could best be describes as an anthropomorphic mosquito with the dentures of a great white shark. “What do you think?”

“I think I have a lot of questions,” he replied. “If you don't mind me asking, what are you?” “We're just us. Although, if you prefer something you could report to Nettie, the Ewe did call us adze,” she replied. “I did always like that name.”

“Duly noted. Well, I'm starting to like our odds,” he commented. “Alright, here's my plan. I'll confront them, see if I can intimidate them into backing off. If they're smart, they'll take that out.” “And if they don't?”

“Then we fight. I'll keep the frontlines busy. Meanwhile, since you can fly, you can hit them from other angles.” He paused as lightning ripped through the air with a deafening boom. “Unless of course this is no fly weather.” “Honey, I've flown through hurricanes,” she replied, cracking her knuckles. “A little bit of wind ain't gonna stop me from having some fun.”

...

A broad path snaked around the lower levels of the mountain. And up this path marched a throng of various Deadsiders. Some were like the villagers, pale-skinned and dark-eyed but still close to their once mortal forms, clad in tattered armour and wielding rough weapons. Others were more feral looking, with spindly limbs, sharp claws and sharper teeth, savagely growling at the prospect of battle. And at the front walked, or rather crawled, Yort. Easily standing almost three meters tall, his legs had merged and melted into a fleshy, grub-like mass that tapered into a long tail.

However, he paused as something appeared on the path ahead.

Michael looked down on the group, arms crossed. Attempting a quick headcount, he guessed there was probably between thirty and forty of them. The usual kind of lowlife that made Deadside such a rough neighbourhood, and certainly more than the village could handle, but it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Well, except for the guy in front. He couldn't remember seeing anyone with that particular malformation before. “I am the Shadow Man,” he announced to them. “Lord of Deadside. Immortal Voodoo Warrior. I have sworn to safeguard these villagers. You lot are not welcome here. Turn back now, or I will send your souls scattering across the entirety of the afterlife.”

A murmur rippled through the throng.

Michael allowed himself a smirk. The goons had come expecting to easily kick the people out. Now that there was suddenly someone like him there, not all of them were as eager.

Yort snorted derisively. “I've heard of you. Lord of Deadside my ass.” He pointed a clawed finger. “You're nothing but an errand boy. A messenger.” “You're right. I am a messenger,” Michael agreed. “And the message I bring is simple enough even you should be able to get it through your thick skull.” He lowered his head slightly, glaring at the warlord. “Begone.”

Yort looked at some of his followers, then signalled with a wave of his arm. “Get him!”

A couple of goons on each side broke into a charge.

Michael raised his gun, teal energy gathering in the skull's mouth with an uncomfortable whistling noise, before firing its projectile.

It struck one of the attacker's in the face. Their body began convulsing as the energy surged through them, dissolving them into red mist, until with a clank their armaments fell to the ground.

Michael held up his hand, absorbing the small cloud of essence, feeling the surge of rejuvenation. “I warned you,” he remarked, aiming the gun once more.

Yort scowled, then yelled: “ATTACK HIM ALREADY!”

Michael fired another shot, striking one of the goons in the stomach. His next shot hit a raider in the legs. They fell to the ground, clawing at their limbs as the energy ate through them.

A third had managed to close in, swinging a club at the undead man. Michael raised his arm, blocking the blow. He could feel something crack in his arm, but he was used to the pain. The important part to him was preventing any attack that might instantly take him out. He jabbed his gun into the club-wielders guts and fired, leeching their lifeforce as their body was consumed. This was accompanied by the immediate feeling of his bones resetting into their proper place.

He began stepping backwards as more of the invaders tried to close in. One got struck in the shoulder, but her demise allowed another to move into melee range, one of the more feral Deadsiders. They swung their hand, aiming to eviscerate the Shadow Man.

Michael pulled back, instinctually curving his spine and sucking his gut in. He felt the claws scrape against his skin, enough to draw blood. It smarted, but he didn't let it distract him, instead seizing the opportunity to fire his gun now that his assailant was too close to evade.

The back-rows of Yort's bandits started shuffling nervously, realising that the front-lines had so far only forced the Shadow Man to cede a couple of meters of road, all while getting decimated by the guardian. Some began readying bows, weapons that had initially been deemed useless due to the weather, but at this point it seemed safer than approaching the Voodoo Warrior.

A buzzing whine, steadily increasing in volume, suddenly got their attention. Some looked up, realising with horror that they were seconds from being struck from the one angle they hadn't imagined.

Dahlia descended with great speed, slamming into the column. Two unlucky deadsiders were immediately crushed under her weight. A couple of more were pushed over the side of the mountain, as their comrades backed away from the giant mosquito.

Her teeth bared in a feral grin, Dahlia lashed out with her limbs. One raider was decapitated, while another fell to the ground, clutching their entrails. One of the feral Deadsiders leapt at the adze, more out of desperation than bravery. She snatched them out of the air before closing her teeth around their neck. She felt blood explode into her mouth and greedily drank it. It tasted stale compared to her usual fare, but still delighted her on an instinctual level. She then hurled the body over the side and turned, her dentures still marinated in crimson.

This was too much for the raiders, who broke rank to either run back down the path or attempted to climb down the mountain sides, most without success.

Realising that his band was falling apart, Yort snarled angrily and slithered forward towards Michael, pushing some of his own minions out of the way as he did.

Seeing the warlord charging, Michael aimed and fired. Yort, however, proved more nimble than his fellows, dodging the two first shots. As he was about to bear down upon the Shadow Man, the undead gunslinger fired a third time, catching him in the chest.

Yort recoiled, arms wrapped around his chest as a cold pain burnt him. He snarled and rebounded, faster than Michael had anticipated, lashed out with his clawed hands in wild and unpredictable swings.

The Shadow Man raised his gun again, aiming for the cavity of burnt flesh his first hit had created, only for a strike to knock his arm aside, carving a vicious gash in the process.

Yort swung his body, catching his unbalanced opponent's legs with his tail, sending Michael to the ground. He rose above him, getting ready to tear into his flesh.

Dahlia saw what was happening and dropped the Deadsider she had just sucked dry of blood. She dug her claws into the ground, her wings vibrating intensely with energy. It was like the world around her slowed, as she focused her entire being. And then she shot forward.

She slammed proboscis first into Yort's back, running him through. The Deadsider managed a gurgled roar of pain as his spine shattered, one of his lungs collapsed and his ribcage splintered outwards.

Michael wasted no time in seizing the opportunity. Using the protruding proboscis as leverage, he jumped up and shoved his gun in the warlord's open mouth.

Yort's eyes widened in futile realisation.

The back of the Deadsider's skull exploded into fragments, gore and teal flames. He went limp as his body became rapidly consumed by the energy of the Shadow Gun, dissolving into a red mist that seeped into Michael, restoring his arm in the process.

“There,” he said, un-summoning his weapon. “I doubt they'll be back.” He nodded respectfully to his companion. “Thanks for the help.” “Like you needed it, Honey,” she replied. “I saw you fight. You know, if you can do that with just a gun, I'd love to see what kind of carnage you could unleash with a full arsenal.”

“Hardly need that for dealing with these kinds of assholes,” he replied, gesturing to the few survivors still running full speed down the road. “And I kinda hope I won't need more.”

“But then there's what our friend, His Holy Vagueness, said to us,” Dahlia responded.

“Yeah. I need to report that to Agnetta, see was she makes of this. But speaking of Belal, we should inform him that his village is safe for now. And then we can go home.”

...

The church was quiet, illuminated only by the moonlight.

And then, the next instant, Michael and Dahlia stood there. The adze wobbled for a second, before leaning against a wall. “Why... Why does the return trip feel just as bad?”

“Because you're getting resuscitated,” Michael explained, as he walked off with the bear. “Passing through the veil, whatever way you go, is going to be uncomfortable.”

“So I gather. Spirits, my head is spinning like a merry-go-round,” she replied. “Anyway, before I go doll myself up again, I had a proposition.” “And what would that be about?” he inquired as he returned to the room.

“I'd like a sparring match with you.”

“Is that so? Why?” “Because I'm curious. I know those dumbasses back in Deadside weren't even close to pushing you. And as for what's in it for you, I know Nettie's asked you to get as much info on me as possible.” She smirked, showing off a bit of her jagged teeth. “Trust me. You can learn a lot about a person by squaring off. And besides...” The smirk became a grin. “I don't need to worry about accidentally killing you. So I can let a bit loose.”

“Right. I can see the appeal. For you.” He folded his arms, contemplating the offer. Dahlia wasn't wrong that he had been told to gather information. Trying to figure out how powerful she was fell under that. He had seen her fight, true, but what she had said about him held true for her too. The raiders had not even been close to a challenge. “Alright then,” he finally said. “Out back.”

Behind the church, which it took a moment for the adze to squeeze herself out of, lay more graves and beyond them lay a glade.

“Now that's a nice little place you got here,” Dahlia noted. “Perfect for a little skirmish.”

“Yep. Didn't want to knock over any graves. Afterlife's rough enough without us desecrating their final resting places,” Michael noted, as he turned around to face her. “So, any rules?” “Unless you became mortal within the last five minutes, I really don't think we need rules,” she remarked. “After all, I can't kill you.” The smile returned, like that of a cat cornering a mouse. “And you can't kill me.”

The Shadow Gun reappeared in Michael's hand. “And you're sure of that?” “Very.” “Alright then. Let's dance.”

Dahlia leapt into battle, her wings buzzing and claws outstretched.

The Shadow Man jumped to the side, barely avoiding being pinned under her bulk. Quickly lifting his weapon, he squeezed the trigger and fired.

The teal bolt struck her arm. She hissed, as a jolt of pain went through her body. Eyeing the spot that had been hit, she noted how her exoskeleton had warped and even melted, like plastic exposed to fire. She snarled and closed in, swinging her claws.

Michael ducked under one limb, only to be caught off guard by a strike from her second set of arms. It struck him from the side, sending him bouncing across the grass with a bleeding gash on his side. He managed to halt his momentum with his limb, skidding to a halt, quickly raising his weapon and fired a couple more shots, now confident that he could injure her.

Dahlia's wings buzzed as she quickly slipped from side to side, evading the barrage. She darted in, grimacing as a fourth shot clipped her side. She began attacking again, relentlessly alternating strikes from her limbs to keep her opponent off balance. Another shot struck her chest. She growled, stepping forward, using her sheer bulk to force Michael to quickly step back. Seeing a moment of unsteadiness, she swung her hand outwards, smacking him in the head and sending him crashing to the ground.

The voodoo warrior's head spun and he was pretty sure he just got a concussion. He was still trying to remember which direction the sky was supposed to be, when he felt himself being picked up by Dahlia, who made sure to keep his gunarm pointed away from her.

“Well, that was fun,” she remarked. “And now the part I was really curious about.” Her eyes practically glowed with hunger. “How does a Shadow Man's blood taste?” She opened her mouth wide and pulled him in.

Michael could think of only one way to prevent her from closing her oversized beartrap of a mouth around him. Quickly, he unsummoned his gun and recalled it to his other hand.

The sudden explosion of pain caused Dahlia to instinctively hurl her prey away from her. She reflexively reached into her mouth, tasting blood. Her own, this time. And part of her tongue was definitely missing.

“Sorry,” Michael commented, as he got back on his feet. “Just figured, what with you being so curious, maybe you wanted to know what death tasted like.” He raised his gun to fire again.

She snarled and focused, feeling energy crackle through her body. To her perception, reality slowed down, her opponent's finger almost frozen as he tried to pull the trigger. Her wings buzzed as she took off, shooting towards the undead human at full speed. She pulled her fist back and slammed it into his stomach, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his flesh rippled from the impact.

And then reality returned to its normal speed.

With a slam that echoed like a gunshot, Michael was sent flying back across the glade, crashing into a tree hard enough to splinter it.

She took a deep breath, focused on composing herself, then sauntered towards the pile of splintered wood. “I must admit, that was clever.” She towered over the mess that had buried her opponent. “But unless one of your powers as the vaunted Lord of Deadside is an immunity to trees, I believe victory goes to me. And I'll take as my prize a nice, long sip of your blood.” She heard a click and felt something poke her abdomen.

“Now I'm the curious one,” Michael noted. “What happens if I fire a fully powered shot into this thing? You seem to keep a lot of blood in there.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Okay, how?” He smirked and raised his other hand, holding the bear in it. “You just killed me, you know. So I decided to come back here, right behind you.” “Didn't you leave that in the church?” “Did I?”

She paused, realising she had never seen him actually put it away. “Well, fuck,” she muttered. “Sneaky lil' bastard, aren't you.” She shrugged. “Alright, we'll call this one a tie. Mind you, puncturing my abdomen wouldn't kill me, but I admit it would hurt like nothing else.” She turned, observing him. ”That gun is actually quite potent. Consider me impressed. And trust me, I'm not easily impressed.” “Then we're done here I take it?” he noted. Receiving a confirming nod, he turned while adding: “Alright, let's get to the boat. Just need to drop this off at the church first.”

...

By the time they were back in town, the sun was rising once more.

Dahlia, back in her human guise, eyed her companion. As the skies were overtaken by the soft glow of dawn, the light in his eyes faded and the subtle glow under his shirt vanished. “You stopped glowing I noticed.” “Yep.” “Why?”

“Daylight.”

“I did wonder if that was just a coincidence.” They stopped outside the Wild At Heart. “So, guess I'll be heading off. I have an artefact to find.” “Best of luck with that,” Michael replied.

“I'll probably be back sooner or later. Still owe Nettie that favour and I might require your service again.” She smirked. “Or maybe other services. You seem very talented.”

“I'll keep that in mind. You have a good day now, Dahlia.” With that he headed inside. He took a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of booze and tobacco, before heading upstairs to Nettie's room.

The moment he stepped through the door, she asked: “How did it go?” “We found the guy. Surprisingly forthcoming with info,” he replied. “Chose to help them out with some duppies causing havoc.” He sat down across from her. “And then once we got back, she wanted to duel me.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, my reaction too. I think she wanted to get a better read on my skills. And an excuse to drink my blood.” He paused as the priestess handed him a glass of cool beer. “Thanks. So, Dahlia, she's something called an adze. Or at least, that's what she told me. Turned into a Michael Jordan sized mosquito once she dropped the human act.”

“An adze,” Nettie echoed. “I will have to do some research. What else did you learn from her?” “She was very guarded with information. But she's powerful, brutal and very willing to get her hands dirty. I managed to get her a couple of times with the Shadow Gun while we were fighting. And it stung her, make no mistake. But I was nowhere close to doing lasting harm until I managed to surprise her. And even then...” He shrugged. “And with how close she held her cards to her chest, I suspect there's a lot I've not seen yet.” “I see. At first I suspected she might have been another bokor like Papa Morte, out to encroach on my territory. Or perhaps a new wannabe vampire lord, seeking to stake a claim in New Orleans.” She folded her hands. “But with what you and I have learnt, I'm realising that I've probably underestimated her.”

“Maybe. But for now, it seems she'd rather be an ally than an enemy.” “Good. Anything else?” “Yeah. It's about Belal. Turns out, the reason he was giving Dahlia the runaround is some sort of prophesy.” He took another sip. “Said that he needed Dahlia and me to meet to avoid some future tragedy. Know anything about that?”

“I might know what he's referring to,” she noted. “Your predecessor and I tracked down a most dire prophecy back in the day. It foretold of the coming of the end of days.”

“Yeah, had a feeling it would be something like that,” Michael remarked. He finished his drink. “Well, if the end of days are coming, at least we'll be able to call in our new bloodsucking friend for backup.”

[weavercobra]

Original art by Aria Wraithe, modified by Shinris Starlight

Myoticia

Mother of Vampires, Great Hunter in the Dark, The Bloody Bat

Vampirism, be it considered a curse or a blessing, is not a natural condition. It fundamentally transform those who receive it into something else, something predatory, something powerful, something ageless. And the patron of these dark beings is Myoticia.

On Myoticia

The chiropteran goddess is an ancient deity, born in the primordial past of the universe. A predator at heart, she stalked the darkness of the chaos, preying on the great monsters and other deities of the era, feeding on their blood to grow stronger. Sometimes she traded favour for favour, lending strength in exchange for the intoxicating taste of ichor. Other times, she ambushed and hunted, taking by force what would not be freely given.

As the world settled and mortal races began multiplying, they caught Myoticia's eyes. Among them were those who were hunters like her, people of strength and will, of cunning and brutality, who by varied means chased their prize,whether that chase be literal or metaphorical. Myoticia found herself fascinated by these beings, so much weaker than her, yet striving so hard none the less.

The exact story of what happened next varies. Certainly, the number of vampire families who claim direct descend from this event are far too numerous for all of it to be true. And the story has been muddled by the passage of time. But broad strokes are that Myoticia was so taken in by a hunter that she offered a drop of her own essence. Why they choose to accept is also a matter of debate. Some say it was an old hunter, longing for the power of their youth. Other an arrogant but accomplished noble, who wished for more power. And yet others suggest a dying warrior, desperate to prolong their life. Whatever the case, they accepted and was forever changed.

The first vampire had been born, but alongside their new strength, enhanced senses and magical power came also a prize. Myoticia was a deity of the dark and so her new children were also tied to it, weakened and even harmed by the sunlight. Their hunger too became as great as their progenitor's and vampires were to forever hunt and chase the lifeblood of others to sustain their immortal life.

Myoticia truly sees vampirism as a gift that elevates those who receive it and her policy on the embrace is that it is a mutual process. The vampire must embrace a mortal as much as the mortal must embrace vampirism. Forced conversion is a good way to earn her ire. Myoticia has often offered vampirism to mortals whom she's grown fond of, but has always accepted a no.

The Myotician Faith

Central to the Myotician faith is the concept of predation and the hunt. The exact tenets of these can vary depending on the local congregation and, especially, how much they deal with vampirism. But in broad strokes, the faith holds that rarely are things in life freely given and that one must be prepared to take. This can take many forms. More beneficially, its an encouragement of ambition and personal development. If you have goals you want, strive to achieve them. Figure out how to accomplish them. Don't hold yourself back. Less so, some variants of the faith encourage taking advantage of others, however you can get away with it. If you want something, take it. Their pain is not your concern.

It is however important to remember that Myoticia is a hunter, not a parasite, despite that being a common comparison. The faith heavily disapproves of those who do nothing to earn, who just take and take without actually putting in an equal amount of effort. In some areas, this puts the faith at odds with the upper classes and the powers that be. The faith is not inherently against hierarchies, as such is seen as a natural expression of power, but a leader who does nothing but eat what their underlings bring them is not a leader at all. If the church doesn't attempt to oust them, they will often back whomever will. Not even vampires are immune to this, as Myoticia takes a dim view on any of her children who'd squander her beautiful gifts by sitting back on a silken pillow and letting the blood and money just roll in.

Vampirism is an unavoidable but thorny subject. In areas where vampires are disliked or hunted down, the Myotician faith is rarely welcome and worshippers are often treated as vampire allies by default. This is not entirely unearned. In lands where vampires rule, the Myotician faith often gains power, in return supporting such rulership theologically. How well that works out for the common people depends then entirely on the nature of their vampiric rulers.

Myotician churches tend to be dark, lit by enchanted candles that glow red or, for especially important rooms, purple. Sermons are usually held at night, especially under the new moon. Facilities vary, but usually at least one room is equipped with a blood font. This basin is filled with blood which never putrefies. These a said to be direct links to Myoticia and her faithful freely give of their blood to these fonts, either as an act of worship or penance. Some churches, especially those with wealthy patrons, can be quite elaborate. Many vampire castles often include a dedicated church as part of them, though some extremely grand projects involve adding entire cathedrals to the structure as a demonstration of either faith, wealth, status or all of the above.

Worshippers

Vampires or people who aspire to be vampires are unsurprisingly common. Many even relatively faithless vampires offer at least lip-service and the occasional offering to Myoticia, just to stay on her good side. But besides them are also those who worship her in her aspects as a goddess of the hunt or the night. This can include big game hunters, adventurers, anyone on the night shift and so on.

The colours of Myoticia are red and purple, and so her priesthood tend to wear the same. Capes are popular, especially designed to mimic the wings of bats. Some worshippers, especially those following her more predatory tenets, may file their teeth if their species don't generally have sharp fangs.

Paradoxical as it may seem, some vampire hunters also worship Myoticia. All her aspects are relevant to their job, after all, and Myoticia do not consider vampires above being hunted themselves. While they are more likely to receive her blessing if she's personally annoyed with their target, she has also been known to aid those who just displays the traits she favour. Other vampire hunters find this blasphemous to say the least.

Associates

Leo Carver: Myoticia sometimes develop such a fondness for a given mortal that she elects to court them, or let them court her, depending on circumstances. By the time most mortals can even attempt to try and get her attention, however, they're usually at least middle-aged, and thus most dalliances are either short lived or end in vampirism. Not so with Leo, who during one of his adventures was cursed with immortality(Cursed in Leo's opinion, anyway). The stubborn, grumpy treasure-hunter slash shopkeeper has steadfastly refused giving up his humanity and Myoticia has fully respected his opinion, though she is delighted that she can keep him around anyway. Leo in turn finds comfort in having an intimate relationship he won't outlive yet again.

Myoticia in my Settings

Spheres: While still goddess of all vampires, she is especially considered the patron of the vampires of the sphere of Arnyekfold. Each lineage of vampire in the Spheres setting takes after a specific blood-drinking animal, bats in the case of those of Arnyekfold. The Sanders family can claim the most direct lineage from her, though all families that have splintered from them claim some descent. Her church, likewise, is most powerful in Arnyekfold and is in a state of open war with the Soarelian Compact, a powerful alliance of faiths that would see vampires eradicated.

Panepithumia: The Myotician faith is most prevalent in Überwald and it is where most vampires can be found. The land is ruled mostly by various vampire clans, houses or whatever they choose to call themselves, and the church often has to use its influence to get everyone to play nice with each other. Her most famous church is the Church of the Night in the town of Greyburgh, which has grown considerably through donations by several powerful groups, such as the vampiric Sanders family.

[weavercobra]

Shock and Awe

Another story about Paige Hawkins.

Paige Hawkins sat down on the tree stump. It was another nice day, blue skies above, with the sun spreading its warm rays. She knew summer was ending and it was all about enjoying it as long as she could. Which she planned to do. She put her backpack down and opened it, pulling forth a foil-wrapped sandwich and a bottle of beer. Just the delicious lunch she'd need to fill up on before exercising. She put them down besides her and began fishing her bottle opener out.

The bottle made a strange noise.

The redhead raised an eyebrow and observed the beer. It made the noise again. And then again.

As she started feeling distant thumps travelling up her body, she realised it was vibrations from something large lumbering in her direction. Confused, she checked her watch, then scowled in realisation.

If a certain someone wanted to make sure she was good and ready to stab people, it was working.

The giant, chimeric, flaming, divine, mutated arachnid aberration that was Freyja walked into the glade, her every footstep creating a thundering sound.

Following in her shadow were two other spiders. One was the metallic spider Frigga, whom Paige was happy to see. The other was new. They looked like a jumping spider with black fur, which was broken with bands of yellow. It reminded the marshal of a bee. They were also wearing several belts, bags and similar, strapped to their body at various points with bands of leather, brimming with unknown contents. Size-wise, they were still big, though smaller than both Frigga and, obviously, Freyja.

The gargantuan arachnid stopped right before the redhead, then adjusted her stance so she was roughly face to face with Paige, even if her own face was larger than the human. “Hello, Paige.” “What is your major malfunction?” the redhead angrily inquired, pointing to her watch. “Now you're twenty minutes early!”

“Don't you always complain that I'm late?” the massive mutant inquired.

“I'm complaining you're not on time and that the only reason is that you have some sort of fetish for being obnoxious.” Annoyed, she drew her sword and used the blade to pop the lid of her beer. “But you can damn well wait until I've had my lunch. We can duel afterwards.” “And if I were to force the issue by just attacking you now?” the flaming arachnid inquired.

Paige glared at her. “Then you'd get a broken beer bottle shoved right through your eye.”

The divine spider responded with a rumbling chuckle. “Very well. You get your lunch break.” Then she rose up to her full height and stepped back again.

As she did, Frigga approached. “Hello, Paige. Sorry about intruding on your lunch.” “It's fine. Should have seen it coming to be honest.” She took a sip of beer. “Your sister likes to vary how she pisses people off. But I guess the company is nice and...” She paused, looking to the side, where the other spider was standing and watching her. She wasn't even sure when they'd approached.

“Hello. You must be Paige,” they said in a mellow tone. “Would you like some coffee with your sandwich?” “What? No, I'm good,” the redhead replied nonplussed.

“Are you sure?” “Quite sure. I had my coffee for the day this morning.” “But coffee is not just a morning drink. I can suggest several brews that would go well with a lunchtime snack .What did you use for your sandwich?” “My... Sliced chicken, but I don't need coffee.” “I have a nice aromatic red eye brew that could give a nice boost of energy for your upcoming duel.” “Are you deaf? I don't need any coffee right now.”

“Now that's misinformed. Everyone could use some coffee. If you want something light of caffeine, I have one cortado variant that I believe will contrast against your beer nicely.” Seeing that Paige looked just about ready to shove said coffee somewhere, Frigga intervened: “Uhm, perhaps I should introduce you. This is our brother Odin. And yes, he rather likes his coffee.” She paused. “It does actually taste nice.” “Well, good for him.” She took a rather aggressive bite out of her sandwich, before asking: “When did you two get a brother?” “It is quite the story. I was hired by a business man to reacquire a set of magical items he'd lost,” Odin explained. “And he hired the Society to escort me in finding one of them. To keep it concise, I decided to stay since we'd need to collaborate on future retrieval projects. And then I found out that I had family here. It truly was an amazing discovery.” He paused, taking a sip of coffee from a cup. It looked weird, as he didn't have any fingers, but Paige figured that he held it the same way spiders held onto walls while crawling. “We should celebrate this reunion with a cup of coffee. I think a nice mocha would fit the occasion.”

Ignoring the suggestion of ingesting more caffeine, the redhead returned her attention to Frigga. “Reminds me a bit of how you got picked up.” “Yep. The Seer even personally delivered a prophesy about finding Odin to the two who were sent off,” the metal spider explained. “He told them they'd find another link in the chain. Not that they understood what it meant, so they imagined the magic item they were looking for was the link. I mean, it was a magical ring, so I suppose I could see why.” “Links in a chain.” She paused, brows furrowed. “Has he said how long that chain will be? Because I'm starting to get worried.”

“No,” Freyja rumbled. “Though the thought of finding more family members does... Appeal to me.” “Indeed. I was only happy to have my family suddenly expanded with two sisters,” Odin said, before sipping more coffee. “It was quite amazing. So I do hope there are more and that in time we will find them.” “Well, maybe the Seer will tell.” The redhead paused, taking a sip of beer. “Does he even have a name?” “If he has, he has no desire to share it,” Freyja noted. “Then again, he might genuinely not have one.”

“And why the vagueness? Why not just say that they are about to pick up a coffee addicted spider to add to the nuthouse that is your family tree?” the redhead inquired.

“Maybe he didn't know,” Frigga suggested.

“Or he knew it wouldn't matter and decided to mess with Yaras and Vugin,” Freyja suggested. “He does like to mess with people.” “Perfect fit for you then,” Paige noted. “Anyway, so...” She paused, eyeing Odin who was holding a can of what she assumed was coffee next to her. “What?” “Just in case you need a cup,” he said.

“Maybe you should get into rehab.” “Oh, I'm not addicted.” He took another sip. “I have just realised the truly wondrous power of coffee. It improves everything. With coffee, we could bring the world together as one. A principle I have termed Pax Capulus.”

Paige stared, then looked to her beer. “I should have brought more alcohol.” She then immediately cut off the black spider with: “And no, coffee is not an adequate substitute for beer, so don't even ask.” “Fine,” he sighed, stepping back. “But you will need my coffee eventually. And when you finally crave a cup, I'll be ready. It is inevitable.”

Paige finished off the sandwich, rolling her eyes.

“So, you're ready?” Freyja asked.

“Just a moment.” The marshal downed the last bit of beer. “There. Ready.” “Good.” Freyja began stepping back, taking her place in the other end of the glade. “You just begin when ready. I won't need a warning.” “Right.” The redhead readied her sword by her side. And then she pulled the black wakizashi she had been gifted by Olivia out and prepared it by her other side.

“Oh? A new weapon. That is interesting,” Freyja noted. “I was wondering if all the training you had paid off. Or if it just meant you'd gotten to fuck a wider array of people.” “Oh, laugh it up. But I'll show you just what my training has gotten me.” She drew her main blade and eyed her arachnid opponent.

Frigga and Odin pulled back to the sides to avoid any hypothetical crossfire, the latter pulling out a notepad and pen.

The two women stared each other down, both ready to throw down.

Then Paige charged, hand ready on her hilt.

Freyja lifted her two front legs and prepared. She hammered one down, slamming it into the grass with quaking force, but unsurprisingly, Paige dodged it. Then she brought the other one down, only for the redhead to evade it too. She swung her first leg again.

This time, Paige side-stepped it, then grabbed it, using its long hairs and gnarled surface to get a hold of the massive spider's limb.

Freyja began insistently stomping the leg in an attempt to shake the redhead off. It didn't work, as Paige clung on, using the break between jerks of the leg to climb higher.

Noticing that her adversary was not being flung off, Freyja began trying to scrape her off with two other legs, which Paige responded to by nimbly moving back and forth across the limbs to get higher and higher.

“It is a unique fighting style she is using,” Odin remarked at the sight, before taking another sip.

“Yeah. She has to be creative, due to the size-difference,” Frigga remarked.

“And how does she fare against an opponent who is more in her own size-category?” “Very well. I mean, she didn't last long against me, but to be perfectly fair to Paige, she had never encountered someone with my skill-set, so it wouldn't even be fair to hold that against her.” “Intriguing.”

Paige held onto the joint of the legs, ducking under another sweep. Then she pulled herself up and ran along the lengths of exoskeleton towards the main body.

Freyja's stinger tail swung in from the side, ready to run her through.

The redhead drew her blade, spun and struck the venomous point as she did, knocking the blow off course. Then she jumped forward, landing on the massive arachnid's thorax, before running for her softer abdomen.

Freyja noticed this and began increasing the heat her body generated.

The marshal felt the effects almost immediately. The air surrounding the spider instantly became almost too hot to breathe, drying out her throat with every inhalation. She could feel her boots slightly stick to the divine arachnid as the soles began melting. Even with her training, she wouldn't last long.

But she didn't need long.

She jumped towards the side of the abdomen and began sliding down the side. As she did, she drew the wakizashi with one hand and hammered it into the softer flesh and used it to control her descent, while at the same time plunging her longsword in to do some real damage, carving open a wound with her own weight. The rush of air helped mitigate the effects of the heat, buying her extra seconds in the spider's presence.

Frigga couldn't help but gasp at the sight of her sibling getting injured, while Odin observed intently, silently drinking his coffee.

Freyja felt the flare of pain in her side, her legs twitching involuntarily at the sudden sensation.

Bubbling fluids poured out of the wounds, before Paige finally fell off, landing on the ground with a thump. Quickly, she leapt to her feet and pulled back, both to get away from retaliation and to give herself distance to cool off.

Freyja too stepped back, rubbing the gash with a leg, black liquids dripping to the ground with a sizzling sound. “Well, well, somebody is upping their game. Seems like I will have to do the same. You do know how to make things interesting.”

The marshal raised her blade, preparing for the massive chimera to strike at her. But instead, the aura of heat around her opponent intensified and then ignited, becoming a coat of white-hot flames.

And then some of those flames shot out from her back and hurtled towards the human like blazing meteors.

Paige's eyes widened for a second, before she began running across the glade. The burning projectiles hammered into the ground, incinerating the grass and cratering the ground. She looked over her shoulder, trying to predict the path of the attacks as the fireballs spiralled through the air. She leapt aside, feeling the heat wash over her as one impacted the ground near her, then jumped forward in a combat roll to avoid another.

While Paige danced across the meadow trying to avoid the attacks, Freyja slowly stepped closer, as she sent more and more projectiles shooting towards the human.

The marshal tried to figure out her next step. With the spider now being completely engulfed in fire, she had no idea how to approach without causing significant injury to herself. She might be able to hurl her sword or something, but that would only last for two attacks and then she'd be out. As she tried to solve the dilemma, she noticed another flaming blast heading towards her. She jumped backwards, as the fireball slammed into the ground in front of her. The combination of light, heat and dust forced her to close her eyes for a second, the strength of the impact halting her movement.

And that's when Freyja struck. Her tail surged forward with precision, the stinger lancing through the temporarily stunned human's right arm, eliciting a scream of pain. The redhead could only stare with morbid fascination and horror as the bulging tissue around the stinger pulsated. She could feel liquid being pumped into her. And then the pain intensified, a hot, burning sensation, causing her to writhe, her muscles beginning to quiver from the effects of the dangerous chemicals now flowing through her.

“Are we sure they're not trying to kill each other?” Odin inquired slightly concerned. “Because I've seen sparring matches and they usually don't involve people maiming each other like this.”

“Believe me, I was shocked too,” Frigga admitted. “Actually, I still am. But no, they're only training.” She twitched uncomfortably as Paige screamed in agony again. “And no, I don't get it either.”

The redhead stumbled, clutching the bleeding wound in her arm. The burning sensation rapidly spread through her body. It felt like molten metal ran through her blood. At the same time, she could feel her muscles go numb, even if her nerves were far from. She tried to lift her sword, as she stared defiantly at the flaming arachnid.

“You still have much to learn, Paige,” the divine chimera rumbled. “Even for all your new skills, it will take much more than that for a human to match equally with a godling. Now let us finish this.”

She opened her mouth and thousands upon thousands of smaller spiders poured out in a wave of arachnids.

As the wave of skittering spiderlings approached, Paige stared. She raised her blade as they approached, unsure of the morality of the situation, and began swinging it as well as she could at the swarm, her muscles barely responding. Her blade crushed a few, but even more closed in. She tried to stomp on them, but for each one she crushed, five more crawled up her legs. Soon, she was wildly flailing to get them off, as the smaller spiders kept biting at her, injecting more and more micro-doses of venom into her body, weakening her more and more.

The redhead stumbled forward, covered in a thick layer of spiders. And then, she collapsed.

Immediately, Freyja dismissed the swarm, the spiderlings dissolving into smoke. Her flaming aura died down and she approached the prone marshal.

Seeing that the fight was over, Frigga and Odin rushed over.

“Sister, are you okay?” the metal spider asked concerned, eyeing the still dripping wound in the arachnid's abdomen. “Yes, yes, I'll be fine,” she insisted. “Tend to Paige first.” “Okay. Odin, do...” Frigga noted that the black and yellow spider was already by the human's side. “Uhm...” “There we go,” he said, gently tilting her head upwards. “What you need right now is a nice cup of coffee to help you recover.” “Whll... Gmuh... Nuhh... Coufff...” Paige gurgled weakly, barely able to move her lips.

“No protesting. This is healing coffee,” Odin insisted.

Paige tried to stare, but at this point, she didn't even have the muscle-control to properly adjust her eyes.

“Come on. Drink,” the spider gently insisted, holding a cup to her lips.

With little choice, Paige did her best to swallow the brew. She felt a pleasant, soothing warmth spread down her throat and then from her stomach and into her body. It concentrated around the bleeding hole left by Freyja's stinger, initiating a tingling sensation as the brew began slowly re-knitting the tissue.

“There we go, shot number one,” Odin stated. “Now for cup number two. Double espresso with a little something extra.”

Already feeling better, Paige allowed the brew to be poured into her mouth. Now that she was feeling better, she took a moment to enjoy the taste. The coffee was strong enough to potentially punch anybody trying to drink it.

The moment the liquid settled in her stomach, she felt it almost detonate. It felt like electricity flowed from her gut into her body. Charges ran along her veins, her heart beating faster and faster. Her intestines groaned and gurgled aloud, as her organs began working overtime. Her eyes opened wide, as her neurons lit up like a festival of fireworks. Her skin reddened slightly as her temperature shot up. She felt a burning sensation, but it was not unpleasant, like the venom. It was purifying. She felt her muscles hum with energy, her hairs standing on end as goosebumps formed on her skin. She sat up, her entire body wound up like a spring. And then she felt the call of nature. “BATHROOM!” she yelled as she jumped up and leapt across the glade like a gazelle, heading for the nearby treeline.

Frigga and Freyja stared at the redhead, as she charged towards the forest.

“Told her,” Odin noted.

...

A while later, the redhead returned. Her skin-colour had taken on a more healthy and less red colour and there was slightly less spring in her step.

“Are you okay?” Frigga asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” Paige replied. “I'm just coming down from whatever rush that was.”

“That was my special brew,” Odin noted proudly. “Guaranteed to give you the kick you need.”

“A kick? Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” the marshal replied. “How do you make that stuff?” “Well, as I said, it is based on double espresso, using a blend of robusta coffee beans that I have personally selected for quality and excellent flavour,” the spider explained. “It is then blended with select alchemical ingredients in order to combine the caffeine with the energising effect and active agents in order to accelerate the absorption into your system.”

“Sounds neat. What ingredients would that be?” The spider fidgeted a bit. “Oh, you know, some esoteric alchemical ingredients. I can assure you that they were all safe for human consumption.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “You're an alchemist?” “Among other things.”

“I see.” Paige turned her attention to Freyja. The considerably larger arthropod's abdomen had been mended while she had been gone. “You look like you'll recover.” “Paige, if cutting me once would have taken me down, I'd not be here today,” she rumbled in response.

The marshal crossed her arms. “Every time I start to think I've figured you out, you pull something new from your abdomen. No wonder your one of the Society's greatest assets.”

“Oh, Paige, I hardly need to give it my all to beat you,” Freyja mirthfully replied. “But that being said, you're certainly proving yourself more skilled than your average human. With the speed you're progressing, you might even be able to become dangerous before the end of your natural lifespan.”

“Right, just rub it in. But I'm not done getting better.” She pointed to Freyja. “Consider that wound a warning about what will happen to you in the future.”

Though the aberrant arachnid was physically incapable of smiling, her tone of voice certainly indicated unbridled glee. “I'll look forward to that, Paige.” She seemed to ponder things. “Still, I feel I overdid it. I had to stop the duel before I could put you properly in your place. Seems almost a shame to miss out on that. It's almost tradition by now.” “And I'm sure if you're that thirsty there's no end to the number of personnel back at base who'd be happy to oblige you,” the redhead responded. “But for now, we're done.”

“I suppose so,” Freyja agreed, sounding a tad bit disappointed.

“Anyway, I must say it was quite fascinating to watch you fight,” Odin noted, regaining the redhead's attention. “I found it to be very inspiring. Despite the physiological limitations the human body has, you managed to scale my sister and you displayed an impressive level of endurance when faced with her ability to generate heat. Your skill at adapting to changing circumstances certainly wasn't exaggerated.” “No. But I floundered in the end,” the marshal sighed. “Things just went too fast and hit too hard. Couldn't come up with something before I was suddenly covered in spiders.” “Of course. That is understandable.” He paused, then jotted something down on his notepad while mumbling something about processing power. Then he asked: “If you're feeling better and have the time for it, I'd actually like to engage you in a duel myself. Although, if we could perhaps keep the maiming to a minimum, I would be much obliged.” “Seriously? You want to fight me too?” Paige asked.

“Oh. That would be interesting,” Freyja noted. “I have yet to see what my brother can do.” “Well, sure. Might be educational,” the redhead agreed.

“Are you sure?” Frigga asked. “I mean, even if that coffee healed you, you're probably still not on top.” “I'll be fine. Even if he kicks my ass like you two did,” Paige replied.

“Excellent. This should also allow me a chance to study your style up close,” Odin noted pleased and scurried off to give the marshal some distance.

The redhead turned to the two other spiders. “Study my style?” Both of them lifted their legs in an arachnid shrug.

“Whatever. Being studied would hardly be the worst thing that's happened to me during one of these things.” She stepped forward while the two modified arthropods stepped back to give the two more space. Drawing her blade, she asked: “Any rules or limitations you want out of the way?” “None that shouldn't be obvious,” the spider alchemist noted, sipping some more coffee. “We're allowed to use what we've brought and fight until one yields or is obviously disabled.”

“What we've brought.” Paige pondered the words, eyeing Odin's bulging packs. “What, you're gonna throw scalding coffee at me?” The spider sputtered indignantly. “How could you even suggest that? Waste perfectly good coffee on something like that. If that's what I risk giving you a cup, perhaps I should just keep my coffee for myself.” He paused. “Nah, I could never deny anyone the sublime joy of caffeine. How about some long macchiato?” “No thanks. Though I might just need a cup of that healing coffee depending on how much you can rough me up.” “You don't believe you'll win?” “I believe I'll try, but...” She smirked. “Call it pattern recognition I guess.”

“Very well. Give me your best shot.” The spider reached up and began opening one of the bags.

Paige decided she wasn't going to give him time to do whatever it was he was planning. She rushed forward, blade drawn and leapt at Odin as he was still reaching into his bag.

Her sword planted itself in the soft dirt.

The redhead stared, noting that not only had she hit nothing, she wasn't even sure where Odin was now. Looking around, she realised he was now behind her, assembling metal parts he was pulling from his pack. She briefly looked to his two sisters, pondering what had just happened.

“Don't look at us,” Frigga noted confused. “I haven't got a clue.”

“I would have said I blinked,” Freyja remarked. “Except that I can't.”

“Alrighty then.” Paige charged again, even as Odin kept assembling something. She swung once more, this time keeping her full attention on the black and yellow spider.

He became a blur as he dodged again, coming to a halt behind her half a second later.

“Well, you're a fast one, aren't you?” Paige asked, turning around. “Here I thought you were teleporting, but no, you just move so fast its hard for the eye to follow.” “Astute observation. Yes, I am capable of accelerating to a degree that usually outwits the common optics of most species,” he noted. “Now behold. Science!” He threw the thing he had been assembling into the air.

Two wings unfolded, each containing a rotor contained inside a metal ring, which immediately began spinning to keep the thing airborne. It overall resembled a mechanical bee the size of a small dog, aside from the wings.

“That's, ehm, cute,” Paige tried.

“Thank you,” Odin replied.

“But does it do anything?” “Oh yes.” The two turbines audibly increased in speed. The next thing thing Paige knew, she was flung across the grass, rolling over several times, her sword landing not far from her. “Okay,” she gasped, brushing daffodils out of her hair. “The fuck?”

“The IA-003 Electro Bee is a marvel of engineering, if I may brag a little,” Odin noted, taking a sip of coffee. “Its revolutionary rotor design is inspired by the windmills of my home. It not only provides sufficient lifting power to allow full scope of mobility in any imaginable direction, but can also generate powerful air-based shockwaves, sufficient enough in force to knock a human off their feet, without sacrificing its ability to retain its position in the air. Took quite a bit of number-crunching to get the math right on that.”

“Uhuh. And what's the math on me shoving my sword right through it?” Paige asked, as she grabbed her blade.

“Dunno. Have yet to see the end to that particular equation.” He took a sip of coffee. “But please, do help enlighten me.”

The redhead charged forward. The mechanical bee began spinning its rotors faster again, firing another shockwave. This time, the marshal was better prepared, dodging to the side. She could feel the displaced wind wash over her. The mechanical contraption adjusted its position, trying to hit the human with a third shot.

Paige leapt forward as it did, rolling across the ground. The blast from the shockwave helped propel her forward. She slammed her feet into the ground and jumped up, trying to run the construct through. With a metallic clang, it blocked her blow with its stinger.

She retracted her blade and prepared her guard, as the electro bee adjusted its abdomen. The sharp point began humming slightly, as it made its move, trying to ram it into Paige.

The human countered with her sword and began trading blows with the mechanized insect. It was fast, which it tried to use to quickly swoop around to attack her from a blind angle. However, the swords-woman deftly followed, spinning around on her heels to halt the incoming attacks.

She returned with her own sword strikes but the machine countered not only by deflecting with its stinger, but by quickly flying out of range, only to return to engage her in melee.

The fight went on like this for a couple of exchanges, neither gaining an advantage.

And then Paige got an idea.

She stepped forward, swinging her longsword. As she had expected, the electro bee parried with its stinger. But as it did, she drew the wakizashi from her sheath and threw it in one fluid motion. The smaller blade slammed into the rotor, jamming the device with a mechanical whine, making the robot dip a bit in the air.

Paige grabbed her blade with both hands and thrust it forward. Her sword pieced through the outer metal plates and sliced through its innards, cutting circuitry and splintering components. She pulled her weapon out, leaving the mechanical insect to flounder in the air. Then she swung her blade. This time, it carved through its head, shattering its eyes. Her next strike separated its still functioning wing from its body, causing it to fall. A final stab ended it. She withdrew her weapon from the now still rotor and sheathed it again, before facing Odin again.

“Fantastic. I imagine a foe like that is outside what you usually have to deal with. Yet you managed to exploit weaknesses in its design to deal a decisive blow,” he noted impressed, sipping coffee and writing notes.

The redhead eyed her blade. It was slightly dented and chipped from having to pierce metal. “Is that all you've got?” she asked, trying to give the weapon time to repair itself.

“Oh, far from it,” the spider replied, reaching into his bags.

Paige realised she didn't have time to wait. Odin would just use it to assemble another contraption. She ran forward, aware that he'd try to dodge again. She tried a sweeping motion, hoping to catch him while he would dash around her.

Instead, Odin rapidly back-pedalled.

“Thank you for you patience,” he said, having rapidly put the pieces together. “May I present to you, the IA-001 Lightning Spider.”

Indeed, the mechanical creature he had put on the ground was a metal spider about the size of Paige's torso.

“Is this a duel or an exhibition?” Frigga pondered aloud.

“This is one of my earliest automatic creations. I mirrored it after myself in a way. You know, make what you know. “ He chuckled. “But in all seriousness, modelling it after my own anatomy was a natural starting point for learning data collection for the purpose of converting it into an automatic frame. Finding ways to simulate and even, dare I say, improve upon the arachnid body was quite a hurdle, but an important step towards further understanding automation and its applicability.” He took a sip of coffee. “Their intended primary purpose is maintenance and general assistance, but I imagine you will find that it holds up well in direct combat as well.”

“Great. At least this one doesn't fly,” Paige muttered.

The metal spider skittered across the ground, rapidly approaching her.

She raised her blade, pointing it at her enemy.

It paused, observing her with its artificial eyes.

She stared back, wondering what trickery was afoot.

With a mechanic buzz, its thorax opened and a strange coil was hoisted up like a mast.

Paige stared at it confused.

“Is it... Is that its dick?” Freyja pondered aloud.

“I mean... I... Ehm... I... I don't... Think so,” Frigga guessed, fidgeting with her pedipalps. “Seems like... I mean... An illogical place for, you know, something like that to be.”

The redhead kept still, ready to react. Then she heard a hum in the air and noticed arcs of electricity dancing across the coil.

Lightning exploded in every direction from the mechanical spider. As it shot through her body, Paige felt her muscles tense up, her nerves sending her brain numerous error messages. Her sword clattered to the ground and she fell over, momentarily struck senseless.

She lay on the grass, trying to get her brain to function again.

Then she felt a heavy thump on her stomach as the spider landed on her, its sharp mandibles crackling with electricity. She barely managed to react by grabbing its legs and holding it back as it tried to bite her.

“The lightning spider comes with an impressive internal power supply,” Odin noted between sips of coffee, as Paige kept struggling to get her mechanical adversary off. “It can go for days without needing recharge, even if it deploys its secondary weapon. That was, of course, the real challenge, making the lightning coil a viable weapon without compromising internal reserves of energy through rapid depletion. I went through a lot of battery designs trying to figure that one out. However, that challenge laid the foundation for my understanding for how to keep later creations powered even through taxing tasks. And that's not even getting into the trouble with creating the ionization necessary to generate that sort of multidirectional lightning. I actually had to consult some of the local druids for that one. Plus draw upon my own extensive experience with lightning.”

“Amazing,” Paige grunted, still barely managing to hold the robot at bay. She pushed against the ground, flipping her and the robot over backwards in the process, causing it to land on its back with Paige on top. It struggled underneath her, but Paige just drew her wakizashi and began repeatedly stabbing it in the underside. Finally, it went still. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her longsword.

“That was quite amazing. You're resourceful, even when you have been put at a disadvantage by sudden developments,” Odin noted. “I thank you for the demonstration. It was educational.”

“Demonstration?” Paige asked and turned around. She froze, eyes widening.

“Wait, when did he do that?” Frigga asked perplexed.

“I'm... Honestly not sure,” Freyja admitted.

“Yes, demonstration,” Odin repeated, now flanked by two more mechanical spiders and two additional robot bees. “Now the duel begins for real.”

“You really are related to those two,” Paige commented.

“Oh? In what way?” “It's just the way all of you keep pulling the most insane bullshit right out of your asses just when I think I figured you out.” She swung her blade. “Still ain't quitting though.” And then she charged.

The two bees were first into battle with her. She blocked a blow from one with her blade, then ducked to avoid the sting of another. The first one flew back, propellers spinning hard. Paige rolled to the side, avoiding the blast. She got up on her feet, barely managing to raise her blade to deflect the robot spider jumping at her. It landed on the ground and began correcting its posture, which Paige took as an opportunity to attack.

She saw something glow, just as she raised her blade. She looked to the side.

She didn't adequately know how to describe the sight, other than that Odin was holding a lightning bolt.

The arachnid hurled the sparkling charge, which flew through the air with the speed befitting a thunderbolt. It struck Paige in the chest, launching her backwards. She landed on the ground, her muscles cramping from convulsions.

“I'm sorry, I feel the need to clarify,” Odin noted calmly, as his robots advanced on the prone redhead. “When I said I based the IA-001 on myself, but improved the design, one could take it to mean that I added the electric burst feature. That part was actually also inspired by myself.” He lifted a leg, lightning dancing across his exoskeleton, before collecting at the tip in a new bolt. “As you no doubt have noticed, I possess the ability to generate a natural high voltage and charge it into a projectile capable of causing potent damage.”

“Yes. Okay. Great,” Paige growled, as she began forcing herself up.

One of the lightning spiders leapt at her.

The redhead's lips curled into a feral snarl.

Her hands shot out, grabbing its legs. She twisted her body, swinging the spider, using the momentum of its attack against it. She twirled, inertia seizing the machine's heavy abdomen. And then she threw it.

The spider sailed through the air, slamming into one of the mechanical bees, instantly weighing it down, both machines trying to course correct in the face of the confusion.

Paige leapt through the air with a yell, her sword hoisted over her head with both hands. She brought it down, using the force of her leap to lend her attack extra weight. Her longsword went through the machines like a knife through butter, splitting them apart.

As their parts rained down on the ground, she charged towards Odin.

The arachnid inventor responded by hurling the charge he had already created.

The marshal tried to evade it, but it was still too fast. It slammed into her shoulder, knocking her back. Then another shockwave from the remaining bee slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground.

She groaned, her fingers digging into the earth as she tried to get up.

The remaining spider leapt on top of her and bit into her shoulder.

Paige screamed as electricity spread from its fangs.

Fighting the pain, she grasped her wakizashi. With her jerky movements, she ripped it out of its sheath and then slammed it backwards into the spider. She figured she had hit something important when its grip loosened. She swung her entire body, causing it to fall off.

As it clattered to the ground, she grabbed her longsword and rolled, using the move to swing it, bring the blade down and guillotining the spider's robotic head off.

Then, she tried to push herself back up, coughing all the while.

A glint of light caught her attention and she looked up.

The thunderbolt Odin had flung struck her, sending her bouncing backwards across the ground. She groaned in pain, her body begging her to just lie down and sleep already.

She rolled over on her stomach. She had no intentions of obliging her body. It would just have to keep up.

She shot forward, every movement protested by her muscles.

The remaining robot bee began spinning its propellers quickly, then fired.

The redhead jumped forward, rolling across the ground, the shockwave blasting up a cloud of dust. She grabbed her longsword, rose up and raised it.

At that moment, the aerial machine plunged its stinger into her midsection.

She screamed as more electricity was pumped into her, alongside a burning liquid she could only imagine was venom.

She forced her eyes open, staring into its merciless synthetic eyes. It was right in her face, too close to swing her blade at.

With a cramping hand, she grabbed its wing. And then, she slammed her pommel into its face, denting the metal. Then she raised her weapon and brought the pommel down again and again, splintering its eyes and impacting the metal, using her pain to fuel her relentless barrage of blows. The bee tried to pull away, but her vice-like grip kept it close, as she pummelled its face until it had practically inverted, finally shutting it down.

Then she swung the machine, hurling it into an incoming bolt from Odin, stopping it from hitting her as the machine detonated.

Having gained a moment, she unsteadily charged with a gargled warcry, swinging her sword at the spider.

She hit the ground. She snorted, raising her weapon again. But then she noted something. A strand of something was attached to her wrist. She followed it with her eyes. The other end was attached to Odin's spinnerets.

The arthropod alchemist stood still for but a second, before he began running circles around her, his body a continuous blur. As he did, more and more silk wrapped around the redhead. She began struggling, pushing against the webbing. But even as she managed to snap a strand or two, ten times as many layered her. Soon, she was completely wrapped, a thick sheet of spider silk locking her limbs to her body, caking her body in a cocoon of webbing, leaving only her head free.

She managed to balance for a moment, before she tipped over, landing on the ground with a thump. She struggled a bit more, before she realised that unless Odin walked over to her and put his legs in her mouth, it was over.

Knowing that gave her a sort of peace. She stared into the blue skies above, her eyelids heavy as adamantine, before she exhaustedly slipped into sleep.

...

The darkness of unconsciousness slowly faded away and Paige opened her eyes. She saw shapes and colours, but it took a moment for her brain to run at the level where it could recognise what it was seeing. Numerous tiny robot spiders were moving across the glade, dragging parts from the shattered robots and gathering them in a pile. She managed a bewildered, if sedated: “Bwuh?” “Oh, you're awake,” came Odin's voice.

The redhead managed to roll her cocoon over.

He was currently going through an already collected pile of robot parts, carefully inspecting them, checking what could be salvaged and what had to be scrapped and recycled. “How are you feeling?” “Like shit,” the marshal admitted.

“You took quite the beating, so no surprise. I managed to pour a bit of healing coffee into you while you rested, but I did not want to risk you choking. Downside of that obnoxious throat design you humans are burdened with,” Odin noted. “It is quite frankly irresponsible that the trachea and the oesophagus are placed right next to each other like that. And it's prevalent in so many species to boot. Just goes to show the power of life I guess.” He turned to face her. “But now that you are awake, I can give you a proper cup.” “Thanks. Can I get out of these bindings first?” the redhead asked.

“Of course.” He waved his arm and several of the smaller spiders scurried over, cutting through the bindings and liberating her.

“Thanks,” the human said gratefully, rubbing her skin to stimulate the flow of blood. “What's up with them?” “The IA-002 Shock Spider design,” Odin elaborated. “Like the 001, they are based on the arachnid body, but shrunken down. Their primary function is assisting with the maintenance of machinery and cleaning of areas, taking advantage of their smaller frames to access difficult areas. They are more vulnerable than the larger models, but in a combat scenario, their numbers give them a clear advantage.” He handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “Now, drink. We have things to discuss.” “Sure wish you also had some healing beer,” the redhead remarked and took a sip, feeling the restorative brew spread through her body. “Guess I'll have to ask Harm for that.” “I suppose beer is an acceptable drink, yes,” the black and yellow spider noted a bit stiffly. “But I still insist coffee is the superior choice.” “I am not surprised the way you down that stuff by the litres.” She paused, looking around. “Where are the two others?” “Well, to be perfectly candid, seeing you all wrapped up and rendered helpless awoke our appetites,” Odin admitted. “Instincts, you know. I had brought some supplies just in case, but that was not the case for the two others. Freyja wanted to wait to lord your powerlessness and prey status over you, but then Frigga got kinda stern and insisted you had been through enough as it was and that she wasn't waiting around to indulge Freyja's habitual sadism while hungry.” He paused. “She got kinda intense. Freyja capitulated to her, though I suspect mostly out of concern for her sister's well-being.”

“She does care about her family. Heck, she cares about the Society,” Paige stated. “Even if she's occasionally a bitch about it.”

“Yes. Well, they're off hunting.” He fetched his notepad. “I must say, you did far better than I had imagined. You managed to demolish all six deployed robots. And you even got close to hitting me. I'd say that what really hindered you was your unfamiliarity with me and my robots, which caused you to take some hits you'd otherwise avoid.” “Yeah. I know.” The redhead sighed. “It is a problem. I've gotten blind-sided more than once by capabilities I did not see coming. I need to get better.”

“Understandable,” Odin remarked. “Outside of a training match, it could be deadly.” He flipped through his notes. “By the way, I got a lot of interesting data out of watching you fight. And I was wondering if you would help me complete it?” “How?” Paige asked.

“Nothing complicated. I just need to get a proper close-up study of your physique and take some measurements,” the arachnid alchemist explained.

“Uhuh,” the redhead replied with suspicion. “And what do you mean by close-up?” “That you will have to get naked,” Odin admitted. “If it makes you feel any better, I've not worn anything but my bags this entire time.”

She sighed. “I knew I'd have to drop my pants sooner or later. No, it's fine. Kinda used to it at this point.” She tried to get up, only to find her legs wavering, finally forcing her to sit down again. “Or maybe not,” she woozily gasped. “I think I'm still all kinds of beat.” “I see. Of course. The healing coffee would repair your body, but it would not replenish your lost energy.” He grabbed her empty mug, fiddled with another can of coffee and poured its black content into it. “Here you go. My special brew.”

The redhead took the cup and stared into it. “Alright,” she began. “What's in it?” “Oh, you've already had this once,” Odin noted casually. “So drink up. It's good for you.” “No, you were very vague about those alchemical ingredients you mentioned,” the marshal noted. “And I'd like to know what I'm pouring into myself.” “Come now, don't you trust me?” Odin asked, sounding a bit hurt. “I'm not trying to poison you if that's what you're worried about.” “Fine then. Keep your secrets.” Paige put the mug down and smirked. “But then I won't drink it. And then I won't have the energy to help you. And then your notes will be unfinished.”

Odin sputtered. “There's absolutely no reason to take my research hostage,” he insisted.

“Then tell me what's in the coffee,” the human repeated insistently.

“But... Fine,” he sighed. “I use my own haemolymph as the energizer. The natural presence of electrical charges lends itself well to that. And I use my own silk as a binding agent, since it has incredible conductive properties. Happy?”

“Yes,” she said, grabbing the cup again. “Far from the weirdest thing I've ingested at this point.” She gulped it down.

“Oh. And here I was concerned it would make you less inclined to drink,” Odin admitted. “Well, fortunately that isn't the case.” Paige felt the rush again, warming up her body and firing up all her organs. She jumped to her feet and started jogging on the spot. “Wow, this stuff kicks ass,” she said. “Alright, I feel like a million coins. Let's do this.” She quickly began taking her clothes off.

“Sure. I'll just need my measuring tape,” the spider noted, withdrawing the yellow line from one of his bags. “Alright, here we go.”

The redhead had by this point discarded her clothes, now standing completely naked. “Alright, where would you like to begin?” “If you could put your foot up on this treestump. Yes, like that.” Odin wrapped the tape around her shin, two other legs writing down notes. “Very well defined muscles. Good ration of length in limbs. Yes, clearly trained for mobility and endurance. A lot of callouses on your foot.” He gently let his furry leg slide across her foot as he inspected her toes. “Slight deformation of first and second toe. Accident?” “Yeah. Kicked a cinderblock,” Paige admitted. “Boy did that hurt.” “An old injury. As I suspected. Now please, the other leg.” He studied her feet, then moved up her leg. “Toned physique. Not completely bereft of fat though, but that is only healthy. The living body is really ingenious, with its capacity to store nutrients across the body like this.” The measuring tape was wrapped around her thigh. “Hmm, you must have quite the potent kick I imagine.”

“Yeah, there might be a couple of people who can confirm that,” the redhead noted. “I see.” He continued to take measure of her legs while scribbling things down. The feeling of his furry legs sliding across her skin, which had been rendered sensitive by the coffee, was very stimulating. She tried not to focus on it.

“Sit down, please,” Odin instructed and Paige obeyed. He began measuring her stomach and back. “Good muscle support. Spinal shape seems fine. Any back injuries?” “I mean, I've hurt my back, but nothing permanently damaging,” Paige remarked.

“You gotta be careful. A whole lot of your ability to function relies squarely on this singular tube of calcium and cartilage,” he said, letting the claw on his leg slide down her spine. “But overall, excellent supportive musculature. I don't foresee you'll have many problems remaining active in your later years unless you start overdoing it.” “I'll... Keep that in mind.”

Odin scurried around her and inspected her front. “Stomach looks fine. Fat deposits present, but that is healthy. And then there's your breasts.” He lifted one up. Paige had to suppress a gasp at the feeling. “A curious mammalian bipedal feature. Do they ever get in the way?”

“No, I'm a size B. It's very manageable,” Paige noted, trying to ignore the feeling of the fuzzy limb against her nipple. She could feel the energy from the coffee circulating in her, and as Odin prodded and poked her, it was starting to gather in her nethers. She felt herself get fidgety.

Odin mumbled something about superfluous features while writing more notes. “Alright, stretch your arms out, please.” He began measuring her muscles. “Again, you are a fine example of your species, if I may say so. Very healthy and with few deformities. Amazing considering the harsh life you live.” “Well, the Society takes good care of me,” the redhead remarked, trying to ignore the damp feeling between her legs.

“Calloused hands. No surprise. Automatic response to repeated stress. Protects sensitive skin,” he remarked, slowly spreading her fingers with his pedipalps. “Nails are a bit frayed. To be expected.” He began investigating her other arm. “The wound my sister inflicted is healing up nicely, by the way. There won't even be scar tissue.” “Eh, not that I'd care if that happened,” Paige noted. “I've gotten my fair share of scars anyway.” “So I've noticed.” He gently looped the measuring tape around her neck. “Well-developed muscles here. Your skull also appears fine. Slight asymmetry in facial features, but that is hardly unusual. A bit chipped off your earlobe. A close call?” “Yep. One centimetre to the left and that meat-cleaver would have cut my neck,” the redhead replied.

“I see. Well, overall, I can see why you are as powerful and tough as you demonstrated during the two fights,” Odin noted, stepping back and packing away the measuring tape. “I might want some x-ray scans too, but I do not have the equipment for it here. You have a solid structure, your body is well-maintained and it is exceptionally adapted for fighting and enduring high levels of stress.”

“Awesome,” she said, sounding a bit strained, as she rubbed her knees together.

“And... Are you okay?” he finally asked. “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.” “No. But your damn coffee is,” she replied.

“Ah yes, I suppose you didn't get a chance to burn that surge of energy off.” “No I didn't. And combined with you rubbing your legs all over me, it has somehow made me horny as fuck and it is really annoying.” “Oh. I see. No, that does make sense. Energizing of skin and nerves would make stimuli more potent. Energy with nowhere to go. And your genitals would be affected as well by its overall stimulating effects.” He packed away the notepad. “Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you humans experience that.” “I take it you don't from that line?” Paige remarked, trying to ignore the craving for additional stimuli she was feeling. “Correct. While I can have a desire to impregnate a female and pass on my genes, it is not quite the same. Especially since I can ejaculate at will, rather than having to trigger a biological mechanism,” Odin said. “Efficient and practical. Though I suppose by the same token also a bit more sterile and cold.” He paused. “Do you need any assistance with that? I am not a expert on human sexuality, but I'd rather not leave you in discomfort if I can help it.”

“No offence, but aren't you rather ill-equipped to help?” the redhead asked. “Unless you can do what Frigga can with her legs and just push my buttons.” “True, in that regard, I'm probably useless.” He reached into one of his bags and pulled out an oblong object, covered in a soft layer of red silicon. “But I have quite the collection of items with me.” Paige eyed it. “Is that a dildo?” “Not primarily, no. It is a massaging device designed to elicit a physical response. I've used it for various tests.” He paused. “Though I suppose that description would also fit a dildo. But I digress. It is clean, so do not worry. Feel free to use it. There are buttons to control vibrations here.” Then he handed it over to her.

She stared at it. On one hand, it felt very weird to suddenly just masturbate in front of someone else. On the other hand, she felt like she had a hole in her needing to be filled and the massage tool Odin had handed her looked like it would fit said hole just fine.

She sighed. She had no idea how she kept ending up in these ridiculous situations.

“Sure hope Freyja and Frigga don't come back right now,” she muttered, as she turned it on.

“Never to worry. I sent some of my shock spiders with them, just in case anything happened,” Odin replied. “They are far away, currently enjoying the deer they managed to catch.”

Paige held the thing down, gently rubbing its vibrating surface against her clitoris. She hissed. She was still sensitive, but she also craved the stimuli, even if it felt overwhelming. She ran the object along her soaking fold, gently parting them. Her toes curled as she did.

As she kept stimulating herself, she couldn't help but notice that Odin was looking. To be fair to the spider, she acknowledged that between the many eyes and lack of eyelids, it was probably rather hard not to. But the fact he wasn't doing anything other than occasionally downing another mug of coffee made her feel like that his attention was on her. She inhaled sharply and asked: “So you're just going to be watching? Or what?” “Sorry, it is rather fascinating. If also rather alien to me,” he admitted. “But I was also considering if perhaps I could be of assistance. You seem to know what you're doing with that, much better than having me be fumbling about. But I wondered if visual aid would help stimulate you into achieving release.”

“What?” Paige managed, pressing the tip of the massager against her opening.

“I have expended some of my energy and I need to recharge. And while I could just touch one of my batteries, I've found more stimulating ways to energize myself,” he explained. “While I may not have all the same cravings as a human, I still enjoy stimuli and certain parts of me are more sensitive than others. It would be rather analogous to masturbating, to be frank. And since my sisters certainly indicated that you did not mind an arachnid partner, perhaps it would also help you get off.”

“Are you proposing...? Why am I even asking?” she asked, her face heavily flushed. “Of course you are. Sure. Why not at this point?”

“Excellent.” He reached into his back and withdrew a long, coiling rod, but like the one the lightning spider had deployed, ending in a bulbous orb.

Paige kept watching, part of her genuinely curious, as she watched the spider fish a tube out of another bag. He squeezed it, clear liquid dripping down on the tool, which he began rubbing all over it. The redhead figured it was a lubricant.

He turned around so that his abdomen was facing her, then positioned the bulb so it pressed against his anal opening. Slowly, the bulbous tip slid in, forcing the opening to expand around it it, before it was absorbed completely. He held it for a moment, then pushed the rod in deeper. His opening kept flaring to take in the lubricated coils as they were pressed in one by one, until it had been pushed in to the hilt. And then he slowly began retracting it, only the orb at the end was halfway out, before pressing it back in with a bit more vigour.

For Odin, there was two reasons to start out slow. First of all, he figured the human was probably as curious about him as the other way around and would appreciate understanding what he was doing to himself. Secondly, it gave him time to adjust and get the lube spread properly. He began pushing the rod in and out, increasing in speed, feeling how the orb and coils pressed against his insides, massaging his abdomen internally.

Paige, for her part, felt slightly weird masturbating to the sight of a spider pleasuring himself. On the other hand, she had grown even more appreciative of the differences of species as of late and there was no doubt that it looked hot. She bit her lips as she kept watching the rod being vigorously slammed in and out of Odin's rear, pressing the tip of her own toy against her opening. She spread her legs, allowing it to slide itself, her canal naturally lubricated. She couldn't help but gasp, feeling that craving void in her be filled out by the vibrating instrument. She too began pumping it in an out of herself, feeling the stimulation build up in her.

While the massage itself was nice for the inventive arachnid, it was only part of the reason. He plunged the rod in as deep as was safe and then with one flick of his rearmost legs, activated the device. Immediately, it buzzed to life, its battery pouring electricity across the coil, and by extension, into Odin. Tamed lightning licked across the inside of his intestines, tickled the underside of his heart, massaged his lungs and leapt across his silk glands. He could feel the energy soaking into him, not only energizing and invigorating him, but stimulating him to his core.

For Paige, it was obvious that the spider was enjoying himself. Even if it looked kinda extreme, what with the device lighting up and releasing its stored power with a very audible electrical hum. But the way his abdomen pulsated and his legs twitched made it clear that to him, it felt good. Had he the eyes for it, she would have expected them to be rolling up into the back of his skull. And she had to admit, it looked good. She flicked her thumb across one of the device's buttons, increasing the vibrations. She pumped the device in and out of herself,the speed quickly increasing, as she watched Odin's abdomen jiggle from stimulation. Her breathing increased, sweat forming on her brow, as the combination of sight, sound and feeling pushed her further and further towards climax. Finally, she hilted the device, her face scrunching and her muscles tensing, as the feeling that had built up in her finally detonated. She gasped, pulling the device out of her vagina, turning it off. “Okay,” she gasped. “That's better.”

“Glad I-I could be-be of assista-stance,” Odin managed, finding it hard to talk with the constant stimuli. “Excuse me-me a mo-moment.” With quivering legs, he reached back and managed to turn the device off. The moment he did, he allowed himself to collapse on the ground.

The redhead eyed the device still lodged in the arachnid's anus. “Do you need help with that?” “No, no, I'll get it. But thanks for the offer.” He slowly pulled the device from his innards. “So how do you feel?” “Relieved,” she responded. “I guess that actually did help, even if it felt kinda weird.” She looked around. “Better get dressed. I'd never hear the end of it if Freyja saw us like this.”

...

Freyja was, as per usual, heard before she was seen. And the gargantuan, glowing, mutated spider was seen long before she was even in the glade. Paige briefly pondered why she had been concerned of Freyja sneaking up on the scene, as the aberration was the antithesis of subtlety, but then again, she'd be able to spot things at quite the distance.

Frigga was following her sister, only herself visible once she exited the treeline.

“So, you found something to eat,” Paige surmised, looking up from her boot, which she was checking for damages.

“Yes. You should consider yourself lucky.” She leaned closer. “You looked really tempting all wrapped up like that. It suits you.”

“Yes, well, I'm not anybody's dinner,” the redhead replied.

“Really? Could have fooled me. You do smell ever so tasty.” She paused. “Hmm, what's this scent? Oh.” While she did not have the facial structure to smile, one was certainly audible in her voice. “Going for the entire set are we?” “You might wanna clarify,” the marshal responded nonchalant. “Are you trying to tell me you didn't fuck my brother while we were away?” the massive arachnid challenged.

Paige looked her straight in her massive, luminous eyes. “I'll tell you exactly that. I did not have sex with your brother.”

The two glared at each other, Freyja's pedipalps twitching slightly.

She emitted a pondering rumble as she pulled back. Then she turned her attention to her brother. “Odin, did anything happen while we were away?” The spider alchemist was still scribbling down notes. “Well, I got some measurements from Paige. Slight incident with the coffee I gave her, causing intense arousal due to unintentional stimuli. But she managed to fix that.”

“And did you do anything to her?” she interrogated.

“Well, as I said, I caused accidental stimuli. Hadn't considered the effect the energizing would have on her skin,” he remarked. He wrote something more down and absent-mindedly muttered something about gyroscopes.

Paige could feel how Freyja's attention shifted from her to her brother. The chimera knew they were both telling the truth and she also knew she was missing part of the picture. And it annoyed her.

“Hey, by the way, Odin,” the redhead began. “I'm rather curious about all the gear you're carrying.” “Oh?” he responded.

“Yeah, it just seems that, well, as a giant spider, you're so well-equipped to begin with. What with your fangs, exoskeleton and so on,” the human continued. “Why bother with all that extra stuff?” “Now what kind of question is that? Honestly, I would have imagined you'd understand,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed. “Yes, I am obviously gifted, but natural means such as these are only the product of random genetic selection. Unintended and chaotic. It is through the harnessing of tools and the understanding of the underlying principles that governs reality that we can truly elevate ourselves. Through the crucible of science and reason, we can exalt the flawed products of nature to a higher state. Every single invention of mine is based on a natural design, but also aims to streamline and improve upon it. That is how we elevate ourselves as a species.” He paused. “That and coffee.” He took a big sip as if to punctuate his statement.

There was a moment of silence. “Stop smirking,” Freyja rumbled.

“What?” Paige asked innocently. “I just think he had some wise words to say.” “It's not the same and you know it.” “Tell me again how my species' reliance on tools is a mark of our status as prey.” “I could stomp you flat right now if I so wished.” “But you wouldn't have actually proven anything. And that'd annoy you.”

The ivory arachnid looked positively fuming at this point. She leaned in, poking the redhead in the chest with a fang for emphasis. “I was nice to you this time because my sister insisted,” she warned the redhead. “But next time, I'll remind you just where in the food chain you belong, human.” “Go ahead and try me. But I'll be even stronger next time. And you might just find me too spicy a dish to handle,” the marshal shot back.

“I feel like I lack crucial context,” Odin admitted.

“That's just them being... Well, them,” Frigga sighed. “You get used to it.”

“Anyway, if I may change the subject for a moment,” Paige remarked, ignoring the heated Freyja. “I couldn't help but notice something kinda odd.” “And what have you observed?” Odin asked.

The redhead raised her finger and pointed at the three siblings one after the other. “Fire, ice and lightning. And as far as I know, neither of you three were born that way.” “True. I was... Altered. Against my will,” Frigga managed to admit. “Though these powers are useful. And you chose to change yourself, if I remember.” “Yep,” Freyja answered. “Though I must admit, Brother, that I was unaware of your powers until you threw that lightning bolt at Paige.” “Yeah. Were you altered too?” the redhead asked.

“Well, I wasn't born like this. It is a fascinating story,” the black and yellow arthropod stated. “It all started when a freak storm hit the village I live in. Hurricane winds, flashes of lightning and so on. Nearly knocked the whole place over. Plus, fires started breaking out. It had been a rather dry summer up until that day. Anyway, we were evacuating when I noticed these kids trapped on the balcony of a burning building. And several other people were trying to set up a ladder to get them down. That's when lightning struck a nearby building. And I realised there was a very real risk that the kids could be next. The balcony was reinforced with metal and so on.” He sighed. “Blasted wind had blown off the building's lightning rod. So, I decided to improvise. I jumped on top of the building, wielding a metal pole I had grabbed and then held onto the conduit that would discharge the lightning into the ground. I had hoped to be able to web them together, but also knew that if I couldn't, the lightning would still have something else to hit. And it did. Quite the painful experience. I had to cling onto the roof with cramping limbs. Then it struck again. I think that was when they got the kids down. My memory is a little fuzzy. Was halfway fried at that point. And that's when I got struck a third time.” Paige winced. “Must have hurt.” “Probably. But I was too clocked out at that point to care or notice.” He took another sip. “That last blast more or less punched me straight through the building with large parts of it collapsing on top of me. Everyone expected they'd be digging out my corpse. But to everyone's, including my own, surprise, the repeated lightning strikes had in fact infused me with electricity. And, well, that's how I got my powers.” “That was so brave of you,” Frigga noted.

“Yeah, you were very courageous,” Paige agreed.

Freyja didn't add anything, but seemed to softly glow with sisterly pride.

“It was the right thing to do. The powers were just an additional bonus,” Odin remarked a bit bashful.

“Though I can't help but notice,” Paige began, looking the arachnid siblings over. “You lot seem very prone to changing. You just take to alterations like fish to water.”

“I had not considered it,” Freyja admitted. “But you are right. It does appear that we have all been altered, one way or another.” “I wonder... If we still have siblings to find, what will they be like?” Frigga pondered.

“I suspect we'll find out at some point,” Paige noted. “By the way, Odin, you've been working on something all this time. What is it?” “Oh, I was inspired by your performance,” Odin said and turned the pad around, revealing several sketches depicting a humanoid robot, with notes on movements, wiring, materials and so on. “The IH-001. Or, as I've dubbed her, Database.”

The three women stared.

“I think it will be a fine addition to expanding both my robotics and A.I. development with the creation of an android,” he continued and downed the last of his coffee, heedless of the stares. “You've really been an inspiring subject to work with, Paige.” The three women kept staring.

“I need a beer,” Paige finally sighed.

“I have more coffee.” “No. Beer!” “Alright, alright. Sheesh.”

...

“Crix. Another beer please,” Paige ordered.

“That would be your fourth one,” they noted, handing it over. “Are you okay?” “Yeah. Just had a... Rough day. A weird, rough day.” She opened the bottle and gulped down half its content. “Freyja's brother is going to make a robot version of me. I cannot figure out whether to be flattered or worried.” “I'm sure whatever he can make wouldn't be able to replace you, if that's your concern,” Crix offered supportively.

“Well, of course not. Still...” She sighed. “Anyway, thanks.” “No problem, Ms. Paige. You just holler if you need something.”

Paige took another big gulp, then felt something poke her back. She looked over her shoulder, spotting the emerald-eyed deer behind her. “Huh. Kindeyes. Hey, how's it going?” “Oh, just fine if I do say so myself,” the dragon druid responded. “Are you okay? You seem to be on a bit of a drinking binge.”

“Yes. Today has just been very... Spidery,” she replied. “It's nothing, just trying to unwind. Anyway, what are you doing here? Just dropping by to say hi?” “I am in fact here to say hi to some people, but I was seeking you out because me and my sister got a letter for you,” Kindeyes explained. “She still has it, so if you have a moment...” The redhead emptied the bottle. “I'll come along now.” She followed the deer out of the mess hall and outside, where the red-scaled dragon Chronoclaw was awaiting.

“Hello again, Paige,” she began, seeing the human. “We have a letter for you. From our father.” She handed over the letter.

Which was big enough in Paige's grasp that she had to hold it with both hands.

“Yeah, he tried to make it as small as he could, but you know how it is,” Kindeyes explained.

“Wouldn't be the first time I've had to deal with large mail,” Paige said, slowly managing to open it. “Reminds me of the time I accidentally ordered a lottery ticket meant for giants.” With effort, she opened the envelope and pulled the letter out. “Alright, let's see here.” She leaned it against the fort's wall and began reading. “Dear Paige Hawkins. Your exploits and deeds have come to my attention through the words of my children. I believe my family owe you a personalized thanks for what you have done and you are therefore invited to a feast at Castle Emberscar. We hope this advanced notice will allow you to make room in your schedule, as we feel it would be a great shame if you missed out on this opportunity. We can only highly recommend you make the necessary preparations to go, so that we can reward you as you deserve.” She paused. “And here's the date. Yep, this is advance notice alright.” She paused, looking to the two siblings. “Is he going to eat me if I don't show up? Because that's how this sounds.” “Well, no, he wouldn't. That's just... How he comes across,” Chronoclaw noted. “Even in writing. He's a really nice guy though.” “And a scary one,” Kindeyes added. “Oh, but it will be fun. There'll be food, games, sex and everyone will be there.”

“Well, I... Wait, hang on,” Paige said and blinked. “What did you say?” “Well, you know, we always make sure to cover the three basics,” Kindeyes said casually. “Food, fighting and fucking. You wouldn't want to miss out on any of those, would you?” “Don't let her scare you off,” Chronoclaw insisted, almost pleading. “You can participate or refrain from participating in any activity you choose. Our family respects that everyone has their limits. Its just... Some of us don't have any.” She coughed, looking to her sister. “In fact, some of us could do with some.” “Hey, I'm just spirited,” Kindeyes replied.

“You're insatiable. I think the only one in our family who's worse in that regard is our mother,” the magus replied.

The deer playfully stuck her tongue out. “Getting jealous, Sister? Perhaps we could help you work on your stamina. I'm sure Paige would be more than happy to give a hand. Or an entire arm, more like.”

“My stamina is fine,” Chronoclaw replied, looking a bit bashful at the mentioning of the redhead. “And stop roping Paige into this. She's an honoured guest, not a new toy for you to play with.” “Oh, don't be like that. We'll just share her,” the druid suggested.

“That's not what I meant,” the other dragon muttered, trying not to look her sister in the eyes.

“Hello! Can I come back into the conversation?” Paige asked. “I haven't actually said yes yet.” “Oh, but you will, right?” Kindeyes asked.

“Please,” Chronoclaw said. “I promise it'll be fun. And we'd really like to all meet you.” Paige sighed, then smiled. “Sure.”

Immediately the two dragon sisters erupted in cheerful jubilations, leaving the redhead to wonder what exactly she had signed up for.

[weavercobra]

On Edge

Continuing the story of Paige Hawkins.

Paige walked into the mess hall, a small towel wrapped around her damp, red hair. A good workout, followed by a warm bath and then a nice meal. The mess hall itself was bustling, many of the regulars having shown up to get their rations, exchange stories, play cards or watch the local news on the small television in the corner. Despite primarily functioning as a bar most of hours of the day, it was still adjacent to the kitchens and the easiest place to pick up food as long as one could fit inside the building. The redhead made her way up to the desk, sat down and asked: “Hey, Crix. What's on the menu today?”

“Oh, a couple of things,” the green-scaled kobold responded. “There's still a couple of pheasants left we've grilled in the oven. If you're not up for bird, we also have grilled pepper and mango beefs. Got a crate of snow flounders from up north, which Angus decided to bread and fry. If you're in a vegetarian mood, I've imported some shadow pea and mushroom yoghurt from the south. It's quite the interesting thing. Very creamy. Or some of the fire-roasted carrots.” They paused. “Let's see. Rozaline recently returned with some aether pikes from her homeworld. Very unique flavour. Shallow-fried, to preserve consistency. And we've also got some bugbear whip.” “Bugbear whip?” Paige repeated.

“You should totally try it,” Carlos said, sitting down beside her. “It's like whipped cream, but with a hint of alcohol. Very delicious.” The marshal raised an eyebrow, studying the man's face, which was the very image of innocence. She turned back to Crix. “So I know he's lying, but how much is he lying?”

“Well, it is a cream,” the bartender replied. “So there's that.” “And how exactly would it hurt me if I ate it?” she asked.

“Do you really think I'd try to convince you to eat something that would hurt you?” Carlos asked in a wounded tone. “How could you think that of me?” “Pattern recognition.” “Oh, you wound me.” “I just might if you keep this up.” He chuckled. “Fair enough. Alright, so bugbear whip is, obviously, a classic bugbear dish. Very spicy, burns all the way through your body.” He paused, smirking. “Here's the thing. That spice. It's sorta delayed. Half a minute after eating it, it hits you all at once. Like a single intense flare. That's why they call it whip. Because it'll hit you like one.”

“I see. And how bad is it?” the marshal inquired.

Carlos didn't answer. Instead he jumped off the chair and sauntered over to the nearby bathroom door. He opened it, asking: “Hey, Johnson, how's it going?” “IS THERE NO END TO LIFE'S SUFFERING!?” came the howling reply.

“Just checking,” the rifleman said, closing the door again. Then he nonchalantly returned to his chair. “It's popular with some people around here.” “Mostly the ones who have cast-iron stomachs or a fondness for pain,” Crix remarked.

“Yeah, I think I'll settle for two of those snow flounders and a couple of carrots.” “And would you like a drink?” “Yes. But... Hmm...” She tapped her chin. “Give me a moment to think about it.” It didn't take long for the bartender to return with her food. Paige cut into the flounder and stuffed a piece in her mouth, enjoying the crunch of the bread and the tender meat underneath.”

“Decided on a drink?” Crix inquired, as they began cleaning a glass.

“Eh, no, not really. I'm not in the mood for anything alcoholic tonight,” Paige admitted. “But not sure what else to pick.” “How about some bone apple tea?” the kobold suggested.

“A what now?” Carlos asked, looking up from the piece of pheasant he had been eating.

“Bone apple tea. Recent import from across the mountains. Very popular among orcs,” Crix explained.

“I didn't know orcs drank tea,” Paige admitted.

“Well, admittedly they are more well known for their... Grog,” the kobold replied, their tone indicating they were none too fond of the stuff. “But many an orc shaman or monk enjoys bone apple tea for when liquefying their brain with the near-toxic swill they call alcohol is not ideal. It hasn't spread much, since the bone apple tree doesn't just grow anywhere and the fruit itself is... Challenging.” “Challenging?” Paige echoed.

Crix nodded, putting the glass they were cleaning down and headed for the back. Soon after, they returned with a weird fruit. It was round, smooth and ivory white. They set it on the table with a notable clonk.

Carlos grabbed it, experimentally turning it in his hand. “It's quite smooth,” he noted, handing it to Paige.

“Yeah,” she replied, drumming her fingers on it. “It's like marble.”

“You'd need quite the jaw to eat it as it is,” Crix continued. “Certainly not something your average orc would be able to pull off. Honestly, I think even the likes of Praz or Pwyre would risk chipping their teeth on it.” “And they make tea of it?” “Yes. It's very good if you can wring the taste out of the apple. Would you like to try it?” “Sure. You got me curious.”

Crix nodded and went off. Only to return, rolling a log from a tree ahead of them. They set it up, then placed a cast iron tray on top. They then placed the bone apple on it, before digging into a nearby closet, pulling a metal mallet out.

Paige and Carlos couldn't help but stare, as the kobold hoisted the metal instrument.

Crix looked to the apple, then to the mallet, doing a few calculations in their head, their expression the very image of calm professionalism. Then they brought the blunt instrument down with a loud slam. Without pause, they brought it back up and then down again, over and over, almost mechanically. Conversation in the mess hall died down as the rapid thumping of the bartender working on the bone apple caught people's confused attention. Down and down again the hammerhead went, Crix moving with the determination of a stubborn miner working on an obstinate boulder. The bone apple itself, for its part, held up well against the assault. Only after the sixth or seventh slam did cracks form, and it took until the eighteenth for it to shatter, its insides as white and hard as its outsides. Even then Crix didn't relent, smashing away again and again and again, until after several minutes they finally managed to reduce it to a fine white powder. Powder which was quickly stirred into a cup with some boiling water and served to the marshal. “Here you go. Give it a few minutes.” “Ehm, I... Thanks,” Paige replied slightly in awe.

Seeing the spectacle was over, the rest of the mess hall returned to its usual buzz.

Carlos whistled impressed. “Nice. But I'll stick to something I can get to drinking in ten seconds or less.” He noted the redhead giving it a sip. “How is it?”

She paused. “Sweet, but with a hint of bitterness to it.” She put the cup back down and returned to eating her carrots. She was working on masticating her third carrot, when she suddenly noticed something. Or rather, someone, who had quietly snuck up on her. She looked over her shoulder at the looming figure.

Clad in rough clothes and leather armour, his face obscured by a red hood, the ghast Ricktor made for an ominous sight. Even though she couldn't see them, Paige still felt their eyes meet. He nodded briefly, before stalking off again.

“What was that about?” Carlos asked.

“I have no idea,” the redhead responded, inattentively spearing another carrot, only to pause, as the carrot made a distinctively un-carrot crinkling sound. She held up her fork, noting the roll of paper that had been speared by the utensil's prongs. “I guess he wanted to deliver this.” “When did he do that?” Carlos asked surprised, looking around. “I swear, those Latrones guys are all part ghost or something.” The marshal unfolded the paper. “Huh. He wants me to go to Lake Ellingwood.” “Lake Ellingwood? What for?” “I dunno. There's just a map and an instruction to go there,” Paige said, pointing to the paper.

Carlos paused contemplatively, then smirked. “Perhaps he's setting you up for another romantic encounter.” Paige's mouth became a thin line. “Carlos...” she warned him, her voice a threatening low rumble.

“Just imagine. You. An innocent maiden. Doe eyed and blushing. By the water's edge. Vigorously...” He tried to dodge away, but this time, the redhead was quicker. In one smooth move, she had grabbed his wrist, wrenched his arm painfully against his back and proceeded to slam him face first down into the bird he had been eating.

“You know what I think would be real funny, Carlos?” Paige continued casually, while holding him down. “How about we force-feed you a bowl of bugbear whip for desert?” “Ah, I gotta, ah, say, I'm not really fond of that, ah, idea,” Carlos admitted, writhing slightly from the agony she was inflicting on him.

“Then repeat after me. I'm sorry Paige for constantly making fun of your sex life. I'm just really sad I don't have one of my own,” the redhead instructed him.

“Come on, do you really think I'm jaough, ouch, ah, okay, okay,” he said, as the marshal wrenched his arm even more. “I'm sorry Paige for constantly making fun of your sex life. I'm just really sad I don't have one of my own.”

“Good boy,” she said, finally letting him go.

“Damn, you almost broke my arm there,” he said, shaking the hurting limb, before wiping bits of fowl off his chin with a napkin. “I swear, all those brutal women you hang out with are starting to rub off on you.” “That's the point.”

...

The leaves crinkled pleasantly under the marshal's feet, as she approached her destination. Lake Ellingwood was a small lake close enough to Fort Varrick that one could walk there, but also far enough away that one was unlikely to be disturbed. It was a place Paige was familiar with, having gone there to fish more than once.

As she crested the rise she was ascending, she saw the place. A calm little lake, fed by a stream coming down from the mountains, a winding flow carrying the water further downwards. The surface was very still, as the great trees surrounding it and the rising terrain protected it from the wind.

Surveying the serene sight, the redhead spotted the other person almost immediately. In fact, it would have been hard not to, with the way the other person stood out against the surrounding greenery.

They were kneeling by the lakeside, either intently studying the lake or far away in their own thoughts. Their face was obscured by the red hood that marked them as a high-ranking member of the Latrones, not that Paige was surprised one of them would be awaiting her. They was clearly prepared for the possibility of battle, clad in black plates, scales and lamellar tied together with cords into a complete set of armour. Underneath, they wore a dark-red silken dress, decorated with images of flowers. They was armed too, with four sheaths holding their blades, two medium and two small. One was green with golden trims, looking very much like the sort of thing a noble or royal would commission. The other was rusty, frayed and looked ready to fall off, an equally sorry looking handle matching it. Paige figured that the rusty one was either a dear memento or an attempt at deception.

The two smaller blades were holstered in a red and purple sheath respectively. It was all very colourful.

The marshal took a moment to guess the person's race. She noticed the muzzle poking out of the hood, covered in short red and white fur and terminating in a black snout. The person's hands, currently placed on their knees, either for support or just as part of the pose, was similarly furred and ended in short claws. As did their bare feet, sticking out from under the hem of their garment. All of which gave Paige plenty of hints as for what she was dealing with, but what truly clinched it was the bouquet of six vulpine tails blooming from the person's behind. Whomever the person was, it was obvious to Paige that they were a kitsune. It was one of the races Paige was less familiar with. She knew they originated from somewhere in the far east, but she had only encountered one or two of them at the bigger markets. Their vulpine looks and their very distinct tails made them stand out however.

The redhead nodded and then approached. She noticed a slight twitch underneath the person's hood, probably from an ear, as her arrival was registered.

“You must be Paige,” she said as she got up, her tone measured and controlled, but not emotionless. “I am Olivia Cattanei, the Flurry of Dancing Blades, captain of the Latrones.” It was said clearly and without hesitation, without a hint of bragging, only stating the facts.

“Right. I suppose you asked Ricktor to deliver me that message?” the redhead replied. She paused, scrutinizing what she could see of the woman's face under the cover of her hood. It was near impossible to make anything out, the thick cloth of the garment layering the kitsune's face with a thick coat of shadows.

“That is correct. Through my group's association with the MPS, I have heard of you and your fascinating project,” Olivia explained. “I furthermore gathered that you were looking for more venues for training. As a fellow practitioner of the art of sword-fighting, it seemed we could both gain by helping each other.”

“I see. I wouldn't mind that,” Paige replied. “But...” “But how will this benefit your training, given that I am obviously only slightly taller than you?” Olivia finished the sentence. “You have primarily chosen to engage your opponents with your sword, a field in which I myself am quite experienced. By studying your technique, I'll be able to help you adapt your methods towards larger opponents.”

The redhead hesitated. “Yeah. That's what I was gonna ask. So what... “Am I going to get out of it? It is true, I suspect that my knowledge of swordplay is vaster than yours,” Olivia stated matter-of-factly. “That being said, the challenge of engaging another sword-wielder has always had a certain siren's call for me. Besides, strengthening an ally of the Latrones is ultimately helping ourselves.” Paige paused, before closing her mouth and folding her arms. “Right. Yes, that does make sense.”

“Do you want a moment to rest?” the kitsune inquired. “The path up here can be rough and I'm more than willing to be accommodating.” “You know what? Would be nice to rest my feet for a bit,” the redhead said, finding a smooth boulder to sit on. “So, how did you even get to hear about me and my project in the first place? I don't have much contact with your group.” “Word gets around. The Latrones has had a long and fruitful alliance with the MPS so far, which has greatly benefited us both. So it's only natural that we would be on the lookout for opportunities to strengthen you,” Olivia explained, still gazing at the lake. “To be honest, it would have been more of a challenge not to know. While your fights with Freyja are seen as the stuff of legends by your subordinates, it has not escaped people's attention that you have sought training from members of the Emberscar family. While the exact events that played out are far less detailed, mostly guesswork based on hearsay, it was still obvious that you were seeking more opportunities to grow. I therefore contacted Ricktor and asked him to deliver a request.”

“And here we are,” Paige noted. “Well, I guess I haven't exactly been subtle.” She stretched her feet, feeling a slight popping in her ankles. “So... I must admit, I haven't met a lot of kitsunes before.” “Yes. We're a rather rare kind around these parts,” Olivia replied.

“Yeah. But, ehm, is it true about your tails? That they split as you age?” the redhead inquired.

“True. Once every century. I'm currently five hundred and fifty-four years of age.” “Wow. Makes me feel almost young again.” The marshal couldn't help but think back to what Chronoclaw had pointed out. She'd be lucky to live a century. Meanwhile, she was talking with someone who had already existed for at least five human lifetimes. Made her feel rather ephemeral.

She shook her head and jumped up. All the more reason to get stuff done now. “Okay, I'm ready.”

“Excellent.” The kitsune stood up and turned to face her. As she did, she drew the two curved blades by her sides. They matched their sheaths, one a long and sharpened piece of jade, the other a rusty, chipped mess that looked like it would break if Paige sneezed at it, let alone if she hit it with her own sword. So of course, she was extra suspicious of that one.

She drew her own blade, grasping the hilt with both hands.

Olivia stepped forward and let loose.

Immediately, the redhead found herself fully on the defence, as she realised just why her vulpine opponent was called the Flurry of Dancing Blades. She moved with grace and precision, weaving together attacks from both her weapons into a relentless series of strikes. Paige found it hard just to keep up with the assault, let alone find room to counter-attack. As she suspected, parrying one blow, the rusty blade was by no means as fragile as it looked. And a missing lock of her red hair testified that neither was it as dull as it looked.

She kept stepping back, trying to give herself room, but Olivia just followed, never truly letting her disengage.

Paige was starting to figure that defence would only protect her for so long. Olivia did not seem like she was gonna tire anytime soon. So it became clear that her best option was to counter-attack. She waited for one blow to pass, before stabbing forward. But Olivia evaded the attack, smoothly slipping to the side, both weapons ready.

Leaving Paige with her only means of defence stretched outwards where the kitsune had been. The redhead knew immediately that she wouldn't have any time to raise her guard, as the blades came down towards her. So instead, she leapt to the side, evading the blow and gracelessly rolling across the ground, before quickly jumping to her feet again, a couple of twigs now stuck in her hair. She got into position again, but as she did, she felt a slight, throbbing pain. She looked down her right side. A fine cut had been made in her armour and in the skin beneath it, resulting in a steady trickling of blood. She took a deep breath and steadied herself again, before charging. She raised her blade and brought it down against the kitsune in a powerful overhead blow.

Olivia raised her rusty blade, as if intending to block the blow. But when the swords met, she instead let her blade be pushed with it, all while dancing to the side and lashing out with her jade sword while Paige was still trying to recover from the attack. The redhead was left stumbling forward, having earned another slash across her back. She knew that the only reason she had gotten away with a light wound and not been bisected was due to her opponent's mercy. She gritted her teeth and turned around, blade raised. The kitsune was smooth and slippery, both on the offence and the defence, attacking with flowing combos and defending with lithe evasions. It made it hard for Paige to pin her down, leaving her with few ways to actually control the fight.

So she needed to find some way to turn that around. She tried to use the short break she now had to analyse her opponent, find some sort of opportunity.

And that's when she noticed something.

In a duel like this, one would naturally be predisposed towards keeping one's gaze on the opponent. But Olivia wasn't. If she was looking at anything, it was somewhere slightly to the left of Paige, as she awaited the marshal's renewed assault.

A thought struck Paige. She raised her hand and carefully waved. Getting no response, she experimentally made a face at her opponent. No reaction. “Do you need a break?” Olivia asked. “Or are you merely taking the opportunity to think?”

Paige didn't respond. She lightly waved her sword up and down with her right hand. Then she raised it and brought it down hard, the sound of its edge cleaving the air loud in the quiet meadow.

The kitsune immediately reacted, turning towards the sound. The redhead could even see her opponent's ears slightly twitch underneath her hood.

And then Paige realised it. Her opponent was blind.

The redhead bit her lip, nodding. She could take advantage of that. “Yes. Yes, I'm ready.” She stepped forward, as her opponent readied herself. Paige could only assume that her opponent had extremely well-developed senses, allowing her to compensate for her lack of sight through hearing and potentially her other senses. That allowed her to still fight as well as she did. But it was still a literal blind spot. The question for Paige now was if she could do anything in a subtle enough way for it to be missed by the kitsune, while at the same time being impactful enough to have an effect. All while she was having to participate in a intense sword-duel. It made her pause. And then an idea formed in her head.

As she stepped forward, Olivia launched into another series of graceful slashes.

Paige responded by attempting to parry them, while slowly giving ground. But differently from before, she held her free hand out, carefully trying to set up her counter-attack. It was all a question of timing. If done right, she should be able to throw the kitsune off long enough to overwhelm her. If done wrong, she'd need to see a doctor about having her fingers reattached.

As their blades met again, Paige took action, launching her hand forward and grabbing her vulpine opponent's right wrist, quickly yanking it to the side.

Olivia's attack was brought to a sudden halt, as her balance was destabilized by the unexpected grab.

Seeing an opportunity, Paige raised her blade and brought it down with fearsome force. Held in place, Olivia couldn't deflect it as she had done up until now and was forced to try to block the attack. As the swords met, Paige could see the kitsune's arm quiver and waver. The redhead tried to capitalize on this, stepping forward to use her superior strength to bowl the lither woman over.

It seemed to work, as Olivia was forced backwards. It seemed to work a little too well, Paige suddenly realised.

The kitsune wasn't being forced back. She was letting herself down, using the marshal's own momentum to take her with her. The moment she landed on her back, her feet was pressed against Paige's stomach, before launching her off. The redhead flew over her opponent, before landing on the ground on her back, her breath knocked from her lungs, her sword clattering across the ground away from her.

“A brilliant manoeuvre,” Olivia noted, as she leapt back on her feet. “You almost had me.” She tilted her head. “Shall we take a break? I have a couple of points I'd like to discuss.”

“Sure. Would be nice to be able to enjoy my break for once, instead of spending it on recovering from being stepped on for the hundredth time,” Paige replied, as she grabbed and resheathed her sword. “So, points?” “Yes. I notice you strike with a lot of strength. You're probably used to fighting enemies with some degree of armour you have to pierce,” Olivia noted. “Which against a more mobile opponent leads you to accidentally committing too much to your attack. Between your wind-up and recovery, that gives your opponent a lot of extra time that they can use against you. And yes, even very large opponents can be surprisingly adroit. A powerful attack is meaningless if it never hits anything.” Paige shut her mouth. The kitsune had dismantled her argument before she even had time to make it.

“Second, you keep your right hand free. Most likely so you can easily shift between a one and two-handed grasp for more power and stability,” the kitsune noted. “Which is fine. But that is an entire limb you can do much more with. Your attack on me should prove as much. I suggest you start thinking on ways to use your free hand more. Or potentially invest in a second weapon. Something small and simple to use. Easily drawn and resheathed as needed. Increases your available options without committing too much.”

“Hmm... Might actually work,” Paige noted. “Haven't got a second weapon right now though.” “It is fine. It was merely a suggestion.” The kitsune rubbed her chin. “For now, let's focus on training you in making quicker, less powerful strikes. We'll need to adjust your muscle memory and repetition is the best cure. So we'll go through some basic stances and strikes.” “Sounds fine by me,” Paige replied, drawing her blade.

...

“You're improving,” Olivia noted, as she analysed the swing Paige made. “The trick is to switch between heavier and lighter attacks as necessary. It requires you to adapt as the battlefield shifts, but that already seems to be a skill you possess.” “Great. Even if I'd never be able to get through Freyja's armour with this, it'll still come in handy,” the redhead said happily and stretched, before flinching. “Dammit, this wound is annoying me. Every time I move I can feel it flare up.” “Oh. Why did you not say so?” the kitsune remarked, before heading for her backpack. “If I had known you were suffering, I'd have procured a remedy immediately.” “I wouldn't exactly say that I'm suffering,” Paige tried. “Just minor discomfort.” “Still, I'd rather not have your training be diminished by any injuries you've sustained.” She fished out a bottle filled with a thick, brown mixture. She returned, holding it out to Paige. “Here, drink this.” The marshal stared at the concoction. “Are you... Sure you got the right one? I mean... Given that you can't see and all.” “I may be blind, but that doesn't mean I can't find my way around in my own backpack,” the woman replied. “It's mudwort. A healing concoction created by the Latrones.” “Well... Okay then.” The redhead took a sip. Her eyes widened as she hastily removed the bottle from her lips. “Blauergh... I've never tried it, but I think this is what it tastes like when somebody shits in your mouth. Are you sure this is the right stuff?” “If that's your reaction, yes.” The kitsune took the bottle back. “Mudwort tastes horrible. But do you feel better?” The redhead paused, letting her fingers glide across her back. The wound was gone. “Yeah. Everything but my poor tastebuds feel better.”

“Good. Let's take a short break to recuperate.” The kitsune kneeled down on the grass. “I must admit I'm curious, how did you notice I was blind?” “Well, I realised that you weren't really looking at me. Like, your head was always slightly off. So either you were always giving me a side glance or something was off,” Paige explained. “Then I made a couple funny faces and you didn't react.” “I see. You are very observant.” “Heh, thanks.” Paige scratched the back of her head. “But I also recognised it. My younger sister, well, she's blind too.” “Oh?” “Yeah. A disease. Slowly destroyed her eyesight. We tried to get it fixed but...” She shook her head. “The local doctors really tried. But it was potent. And there was nobody around who could cure it.” She sat down, resting her hand on her chin. “I've considered maybe buying her a new pair of eyes, but even with my generous pay that stuff is either really expensive or prone to coming with side-effects. I know Freyja loves body modifications, but she's also paid for it in various ways. Her body is so bloated with alterations by now that she can barely move with anything resembling speed. Well, except her tail.” She eyed her companion. “What about you? Were you born blind?” “No. I was on a mission. I won't bore you with the details,” Olivia replied. “We got into battle. One of my fellows got under attack. He would have died if I hadn't pushed him out of the way. Unfortunately, that put me in the way and the strike destroyed both my eyes.”

“Have you considered having your eyes fixed?” the redhead continued.

“I have of course considered it,” the kitsune replied. “But after so long, my body has attuned itself. My senses have adapted to compensate. I changed my entire way of fighting to suit my abilities and take advantage of my situation. At this point, getting my sight back would be just as much a hassle as when I lost it.” She shook her head. “I've found peace with it. I'll miss out on some things, but not even the gods could experience everything the world has to offer anyway.”

“Hmm. I wonder if she feels the same way,” Paige pondered aloud, looking to the sky above.

“Where is your sister currently?” “Right now? She recently moved back here after travelling for a while.” The redhead paused. “Mind you, she's still on the other side of the country, so back here is relative. I've considered visiting her soon, but you know how it is, finding time and so on.” “I'm sure you will have the opportunity soon enough,” the kitsune remarked. She looked contemplative. “Anyway, I wish to train you in using a second weapon in combat.” “Well, I'll make sure to bring one next time,” the redhead remarked.

“No need. I am willing to gift you one of my wakizashi,” the kitsune remarked, removing the two smaller blades.

Paige looked to them. “Are you sure?” “Yes. You show much talent and I am willing to help you realise your potential. Which one do you favour?” Paige studied them. “I'll take the red one,” she said, retrieving the blade. “It goes with my hair.”

“Ah, you have red hair,” Olivia noted. “Something we have in common.”

The marshal unsheathed her new weapon. The blade was obsidian black. “It's cool.” “It has been reinforced, so it should not break so easily,” the kitsune informed her. “Now bear in mind that despite the reinforcement, blades like these and my katana are meant for precise slashing, not powering through. If you treat it like your longsword, you risk breaking it.”

“Wakizashi. Katana,” Paige repeated, as if tasting the words. “So that's what they're called.” “Yes. I take it you're not familiar with eastern blades.” “No, can't say I am.” “It is fine. For now, let us try incorporating it into your fighting style.” The vulpine woman got back on her feet. “Wielding two weapons at once is not common among our species, due to the difficulty of dividing our focus between the weapons to use both optimally. Raising a shield is for the most part easier. This of course also means one might have to adjust their defensive manoeuvres, but you don't appear to use a shield.” “No. In my experience, it just weighs me down when I'm on the move,” Paige replied.

“So that's why. The wakizashi I gifted you should be light enough to not cause any difficulty, but if you do have issues, we could always try shifting to something lighter,” Olivia commented speculatively. “But to return to the subject at hand, you must be mindful of both weapons at once.” “Alright. I'll try to keep that in mind,” the redhead stated. “So... Do we start with some stances or what?” “No. I'd rather experience for myself how skilled you are,” the vulpine woman noted, drawing her blades. “Any skill you can learn on your own is more valuable than anything I can say. And it will say more about what you need to learn than me just going over everything.”

“Learn by doing.” Paige smirked. “I like that.” She drew the blades and held them for a moment, testing their weight. “Okay, I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

“Very well.” Olivia stepped forward, spinning her twin blades.

Paige stepped forward, ready to meet her head on. She swung her main blade upwards, knocking one katana off course. But Olivia was already swinging the second blade. The redhead prepared to dodge, only to remember that she had a second blade, awkwardly trying to raise it.

With a metallic clang, it was sent flying out of her hand and Paige retracted the limb with a hiss, the blade having delivered a cut across her knuckles.

The kitsune stepped back and lowered her weapons, nodding in the direction of the lost weapon.

The marshal paused for a second to confirm, before hurrying over to reacquire the lost item. “Okay, ready again,” she said, as she came back.

Olivia nodded in confirmation and began attacking again, starting out with a swift downwards strike from her rusty blade.

The redhead tried to raise the wakizashi and use it to, instead of directly blocking the blade, push it away from herself while sidestepping, attempting to mirror what the vulpine duellist had done.

And she in turn responded with a quick strike upwards with her other blade.

Paige had been so focused on using her secondary weapon properly that she hadn't gotten a proper grip on her sword, and her blade ended up landing point first in the ground.

Again, Olivia gave Paige the opportunity to rearm herself.

“How does Rozaline make it look so easy?” the human muttered to herself. “She's wielding, what, three or four weapons at once.”

“Some species tend to be naturally ambidextrous,” Olivia remarked. “It's especially common with species that have multiple sets of arms or corresponding limbs.”

“Must be handy. Ehm, hmm, pun not intended,” the redhead remarked. “Anyway, ready.”

Olivia came in with an overhead swing.

Paige tried to make things easier for herself by using both blades for the same task, crossing them to catch the kitsune's incoming katana.

Only for her to respond by using the other blade to stab between the crossed weapons, letting the point of it rest gently against the redhead's throat, before stepping back. “You seem to get the idea of using both weapons. What we need to do is getting your mind and body to work with it until it becomes second nature.” “I take it that will take more than just an afternoon duel,” Paige remarked.

“Yes. For now, keep the wakizashi as a backup weapon. But do keep training. I think you could learn it.” “Will do.” The kitsune tilted her head. “Were you injured? I suspect as much from the smell of blood.” “I mean, a little bit,” Paige tried. “I mean, it's okay, I'm barely... Please just give me some bandages,” she moaned, as Olivia fished the mudwort out of her backpack again.

“I need you at your best for the next exercise. It will also help combat exhaustion and internal wear and tear,” the kitsune remarked, handing the bottle over.

“Fine. But only because you insist,” Paige remarked displeased, sighing deeply before bringing the bottle to her lips.

...

The redhead lay on the grass, observing the sun as it began its descent. Afternoon was passing by. She didn't know what the exact time was. She could check her watch, but she also realised she didn't care that much. She raised her head, gazing at the nearby kitsune, who once again spent their break on her knees, seemingly meditating. “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course,” she responded, turning her head in her general direction. “What do you wish to know?” “I kinda figured that your two swords...” “My katanas?” “Yeah, those two. What's their deal?” “Their deal? I presume you mean why they look like they do?” the vulpine woman inquired.

“Well, yeah. That, and I figured at least the rusty one gotta be enchanted,” Paige elaborated.

“They both are. They are, hmm, I suppose they can best be described as family heirlooms,” the kitsune replied. “We have a number of such enchanted items, passed on from caretaker to caretaker. I was handed these because my family believed I'd be best able to make use of them.”

“And what do they do?” the marshal continued.

“It's a bit hard to explain,” Olivia began, resting her head on her hand in contemplation. “They are the Blades of Fortune and Misfortune respectively. Each draws power from me succeeding or failing.” “So one blade gets power from you... Failing?” Paige repeated. “So me yanking you around actually made you stronger?” “In a way. The Blade of Fortune grants me protection, the Blade of Misfortune makes my enemies vulnerable. Each manipulates luck in its own way. So yes. You getting the better of me could directly contribute to your own injuries.” The kitsune paused. “The interesting thing is that both give a boon. But that boon vanishes if I'm lucky or unlucky.”

“So you can never benefit from both blades at once,” the redhead surmised.

“Precisely. Beyond that, they should be able to store fortune and misfortune respectively, allowing me to manipulate events a bit more directly.” “Should?” “Yes.” Olivia drew the green blade, letting a finger glide across it. “All kitsune have magic in them. But I've never developed that side of myself, focusing on strengthening my body. That neglect means I cannot draw upon their full potential. Not yet.” “Interesting. Best of luck with that.” Paige's brows furrowed. “Wait a moment. The luck blade gives you protection and the unlucky one makes your enemies more likely to be hurt. But you'd only be hit if you're unlucky and you'd need to be fortunate to hit an enemy.” “It is as I said. The katana work forces that are... Difficult to explain.” The kitsune shrugged. “It's not like I can just throw a die and see what the result is. I just have to trust that they are protecting me and that in time, I will be able to tap deeper into their power.” “Manipulating luck and misfortune? You'll be even more terrifying.” Paige paused. “Then again, even more terrifying can describe most people I know.” She got back on her feet. “Well, thanks for sharing. Got any more ideas for training?” “As a matter of fact, I do.” The vulpine woman got back on her feet and looked to the lake. “I was thinking that we could try fighting underwater.” “Underwater?” the marshal slowly repeated, as if trying to be sure she had heard correctly.

“Yes. It's an intense exercise for your body. You're fighting the pressure of the water and pushing your stamina to its limit,” Olivia explained. “It's hard. But gainful.”

“Might come in handy next time I fight a shark,” the human remarked.

“I acknowledge that it might seem a bit preposterous,” the kitsune admitted. “But I assure you, my experience tells me that there's much to gain, even outside hypothetical underwater encounters.” “What? Oh, wait, no, I wasn't being sarcastic,” the marshal clarified. “I did actually fight a shark once.” “Oh? I'm curious, how did that happen?” “I was having a duel with Kindeyes. She's a druid. We ended up underwater and she turned into a shark.” “I see. Then you should already be acquainted with the stresses of underwater fighting.” “Boy am I ever,” Paige sighed. “So how do we do this?”

“We'll swim out far enough that we can dive,” the kitsune explained. “Once we're both underwater, we'll fight. This lake is not too deep, so if you drop anything, it should be retrievable.”

“Good to hear.” The redhead eyed her sword. “I'd feel bad if I lost my weapon.”

Olivia didn't respond. She just turned around and waded into the water, her silken clothes gently blooming around her as the water lifted it up. She leaned forward and began swimming, her armour doing nothing to slow her down.

Paige stepped in after her. The water was a bit on the chill side, instantly soaking her legs. She had considered leaving maybe her boots or something else behind. But it's not like she would always be able to pick and choose. Her duel with Kindeyes sprung to mind. So she dove in fully clothed and followed. She found the kitsune waiting for her, carefully treading water.

“You ready?” the now thoroughly soaked kitsune asked.

“As ready as I imagine I'll ever be,” the human responded.

Her opponent nodded and dove in. She took a deep breath and followed.

Seeing underwater was hard. Not only did the water itself obscure, it annoyed her eyes to keep them open. But she figured her opponent was in a similar bind. After all, it was harder to hear things underwater. She took a moment to analyse the vulpine swordfighter, as they both drew their blades. The kitsune hung in the water with her dress gently floating around her, like the ghost of a drowned maiden. Having struggled against her, Paige knew the woman wasn't physically strong. And she was wearing heavy armour. Even if she had trained, the redhead figured it would hamper her underwater mobility significantly.

She was proven wrong an instant later, when Olivia shot towards her like a torpedo, both her blades pointed forward.

Paige raised her blade, trying to deflect the rapidly approaching blades. Her sword slammed into the incoming attack with a dull, metallic thud, forcing them off course, slicing across the redhead's shoulder. Paige winced. The pain made her want to curse out loud, but she managed to restrain herself. It would only cost her precious oxygen.

Now up close, the kitsune kicked off from the human's chest, launching herself backward as Paige began tumbling through the water. The redhead flailed, trying to reorient herself, eyeing her vulpine opponent. Despite her predictions, Olivia was slithering through the water like a fish, unhampered by armour and cloth. It would have been fascinating to observe, if it wasn't for the fact it was the prelude to another attack.

The kitsune dove in again, charging through the water. Paige kicked away, trying to move away from the strike. She felt one of her boots slide off in the process, before making its lonesome journey towards the bottom of the lake. And then she felt Olivia's twin blades slide across her side, leaving bleeding cuts behind.

The redhead tried to lash out, but her sword wasn't even close to hitting the vulpine woman before she had already passed by.

Paige felt frustrated. And pained. Not just from the cuts, but from her lungs demanding to know why she wasn't breathing more. Her instincts scratched furiously at the back of her mind, demanding that she open up and breathe in the life-giving air.

Except there wasn't any. She was halfway down a lake fighting a fox woman, who was doing laps around her despite wearing heavy armour, to the point that if she revealed she'd secretly been a mermaid all along, the redhead would have been thoroughly unsurprised. There were moments where Paige wondered how her life turned out the way it did. But she figured she'd have time to go soul searching once she wasn't fighting. There was no doubt that she'd have to get up for air soon. But something stubborn ingrained into the back of her head demanded that she wasn't gonna pull out of the ring without at least getting a shot at the other woman, who was currently swimming towards her at great speed.

She raised her blade with one hand, the other resting on the second blade the woman had given her. She steeled herself.

She moved her sword, deflecting the attack to the side. Once again, the katana stabbed into her, leaving two bloody cuts in her side. But this time, Paige was counting on it. Instead of shifting her sword to try to hit Olivia before she could pass, Paige opened her hand slightly and grabbed. The kitsune's passing was brought to an abrupt halt, as the fabric of her clothing was pulled, yanking her up close to the redhead. The marshal seized the initiative, drawing the black wakizashi and taking a stab, even as she pulled her opponent closer.

Flaring pain informed the blind swordswoman that her arm had just been wounded. She snarled and did the first thing that sprung to mind to free herself before Paige could attack again.

Vulpine jaws closed around the human's wrist painfully. The redhead lost her grip, both on her opponent and her sword, which began its own trip to find the boot. Paige pulled her legs back and kicked out, catching her opponent in the chest. Olivia felt her lungs compress, bubbles of precious oxygen expelling from her mouth. She opened her jaws, letting the force of the attack separate the two.

And then they both immediately went for the surface.

Paige gasped as she broke through, allowing her lungs to partake in the fresh, blessed air once more.

A moment later, Olivia joined her. “You okay?”

The redhead responded with a dignified and composed combination of sputtering and gasping, much like a stranded fish.

“I see... Make for... Solid ground... Be right... There.” The redhead didn't respond, she just began moving, forcing herself back to shallower ground, crawling up the muddy side before rolling over on her back, greedily swallowing breath after breath, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

Moments later, the kitsune stepped out of the water, though the human did notice that she was walking a bit more slowly and a bit less gracefully. With a wet plop, she dropped the boot and sword next to the redhead, before collapsing.

“So...” Paige managed. “How did I perform?” “Well... Despite... Greater... Mobility... Disadvantage... Underwater... Than...” the kitsune tried. “You managed... To.... Turn...” She paused, trying to regain control of her breathing. “Very well. You did very well.”

“So what now?” “Mudwort.” “Seriously?” “Yes. Injuries.” The two lay on the ground for a bit more, seized by exhaustion.

“Well?” Paige asked.

“Right. I'll... I'll get it.” Olivia turned around and crawled towards her backpack.

...

The two had sat there in silence for quite a while, watching the water. In distant trees, birds sang. The sun was getting ever closer to meeting the ground, slowly turning the blue skies above pink. The clothes of the two women was still wet and clung tightly to them, but neither could be bothered to do anything about it, instead just resting in silence, as the foul elixir did its job healing them.

“So,” Paige began. “You're an excellent swimmer.” “Many thanks,” Olivia replied.

“But when we fought earlier... I gotta admit, you didn't come across as particularly strong.” The kitsune observed her hand for a moment. “I suppose it is true. My training has focused more on agility and precision. In a competition of raw strength, you would probably win.” “Right. So how can somebody, who by your own admission isn't that strong, shoot around underwater like a fish?” Paige asked. “Because that seemed weird to me.” “Training.”

The redhead chuckled. “Of course. But could you elaborate? What kind of training?” “As you have no doubt surmised by now, this armour is on the heavier end,” she responded. “But it offers good protection. I have trained my body to move in this for so long, it is practically a second skin. I combined that with my underwater exercise until I could move as if I wasn't worn down by it at all.” “I see.” Paige paused. “That's a real rough exercise. I was actually worried I overdid it with that kick.” “It will take more than that to take me down, I assure you.” She rubbed her chest. “But I do acknowledge that that was rather painful.” She paused for a bit, then reached up for her hood and pulled it off.

It was fascinating for the redhead to watch. It was not just the cloth. It looked as if the kitsune was pulling back a layer of shadows, giving the human the first real glimpse of the woman underneath.

Olivia's head was very much like that of a fox, her fur a deep shade of red and an equally crimson band of cloth wrapping around it, hiding her ruined eyes. The marshal couldn't help but think back on her sister at the sight. Not wanting to dwell on it, she forced herself to refocus her attention. “That hood. It hides your face pretty well.” “It does. Beyond indicating camaraderie and rank, all our hoods are enchanted to help obscure us.”

“Is that to hide your identity? Or make you all look scarier?” Paige inquired.

The vulpine woman smirked, just enough to give the human a glimpse of the sharp teeth that lined her mouth. “Yes.”

“I see.” Paige stretched and yawned. “You know, even after drinking that muck thing, I feel beat.” “Not unsurprising. You would need some potent stimulants to truly make up for the energy expenditure.” The kitsune turned her head in the marshal's direction. “Still, I hope you have enough energy to join me in some aftercare.” Paige paused, before slowly turning to face Olivia, eyebrow raised in suspicion, not that the blind swordfighter could see it. She just sat awaiting a response, her numerous tails occasionally brushing across the grass.

“Aftercare?”

“Yes. An important part of maintaining your body is managing to calm down afterwards. Activities that helps guide your body into relaxation, essentially.” “Like, getting a massage or taking a hot bath?” Paige asked.

“Those would be very good suggestions,” Olivia agreed.

“Right. I see,” the redhead replied while nodding. “Well, obviously a warm bath would have to wait until I got back to base. So, what did you have in mind?” “Sex,” came the instantaneous and blunt reply.

“Knew it,” Paige immediately commented. “I somehow just knew it. All my training exercises seem to end with me getting horizontal with somebody as of late.”

“It was merely a suggestion. If you're not interested, I'll accept your refusal,” Olivia responded earnestly.

“I mean...” Paige paused. “It's... I mean...” She scratched the back of her head. “Honestly, you're cute and I wouldn't mind. I'm just... I guess I'm kinda flabbergasted. I mean, I lost my virginity years ago, but I've never had so many different partners so quickly as this last year. It's just... Kinda weird.”

“Maybe you should just consider yourself lucky,” Olivia offered.

“I guess. Anyway, no, I wouldn't mind having sex with you,” the marshal replied. “Just wanted to get that off my chest really. At this point, any time I mention training, everyone else at the base starts doing finger quotes.”

Olivia scratched her chin. “Why not have them try out your new exercise routine?” she replied with the ghost of a predatory grin on her face. “I'm sure that would keep them busy.” Paige smirked. “I like the way you think.”

“Thanks. But anyway, since you agreed to my suggestion...” She got back on her feet and reached for her shoulders. With practised movements, she undid the bindings that kept the shoulder pieces of her armour attached and gently placed them on the ground. Then she began on the main chest armour, loosening the bonds until she could open it up and gently set it on the ground.

With less armour in the way, Paige could better make out the kitsune's lithe body underneath the layers of tough silk. The material flowed over her breasts just tightly enough to reveal their presence, but loose enough to leave much to the imagination. The redhead had no doubt from the way she moved that the kitsune was putting effort into showing herself off, taking the extra time to turn the act of ridding herself of her armour into a tantalizing extension of the foreplay.

Slowly, Olivia unwound the knots holding her arms guards and slid them off. In the process, her clothes began sliding down her shoulders, revealing more and more of her fine crimson fur, but just as it looked ready to fall down and reveal it all, the blind woman caught and adjusted it.

Paige had to admit, Olivia knew how to put on a performance. Just seeing the kitsune display herself like this and knowing what was to come next made her heart pump faster in excitement. She could feel the rushing streams heating both her face and her nethers, as she sat back to enjoy the display.

Reaching down, Olivia undid the knot on her thigh guard, letting it slide down her thigh, briefly revealing their outline. Then she bent over to untie her shin guards. As she did, she gently raised her six tails, allowing Paige a hint of the shape of her rear. Now freed from her armour, Olivia stretched, emitting a low moan as she did, allowing her clothes to hug the curves of her body all the while.

And then she slowly walked towards Paige, each step calculated to be neither hasty nor slow. It was an act meant not to tease, but much like a chef making the food in front of a hungry customer, increase the excitement for the eventual pay-off.

The kitsune kneeled down in front of the marshal, pausing for a moment to allow the both of them to experience this last moment of intimate closeness without either one actually touching the other.

Olivia leaned in, her nostrils flaring slightly as she gently sucked in air for a deep breath. “You smell nice,” she commented quietly, not as if she was shy, but as if this exchange was a secret meant only for the two of them to enjoy. “I noticed that about you almost immediately. It's very...” She paused, taking another moment to enjoy her partner's scent. “Alluring.” She smirked, an action that was almost imperceptible to the redhead now that the woman's muzzle was pointed at her. “And it's only getting stronger. It's one of those things I find fascinating about humans. You never smell like you're quite done being in heat.”

Paige could feel her face flush. “I, ehm, must admit... That's quite the.. Unusual compliment to get.”

The kitsune didn't reply. Instead, she reached out with her hand, gently grabbing hold of Paige's chin. Her fur felt pleasantly soft against the human's skin. And then the vulpine swordswoman let her hand glide across Paige's jaw and under her ear. Olivia took her time, enjoying experiencing the human's shape, feeling her skin slide underneath her touch.

Paige shivered as the kitsune's claws gently scraped across the skin of her neck. The combination of the hard point and the furred pads caused her nerves to ignite with sensation. And then, the kitsune grabbed hold of the redhead's neck, gently, but still firm, before slowly pulling her closer, leaning forward as she did.

Paige could feel her heartbeat race even harder. Even as she was pulled closer, she herself reaching up to the kitsune's head, gently mirroring the gesture, feeling the soft fur between her fingers, her thumb gently stroking the closest ear, eliciting a twitch of delight.

It almost seemed like an eternity passed. The kitsune was a mistress of pacing, not to tease or provoke, but to make sure each moment was enjoyed to its fullest.

And finally, their lips met. It was an interesting experience for Paige. The short fur rubbing against her skin, the wet snout pushing against her cheek.

Olivia opened her mouth slightly, letting her tongue gently run across the human's lips.

Paige responded by opening her own mouth slightly, her own tongue dancing across her partner's gum, feeling the hard shapes of the kitsune's pointy teeth.

Olivia's hand slowly slipped down from the human's neck, gently exploring the curves of her back, while pulling her into a warm, yet slightly damp hug.

The two continued to kiss, locked in a mutual embrace. Paige could feel the kitsune's tongue slip into her mouth. It was in many ways like a human tongue, but much longer. Olivia let it glide across the roof of Paige's mouth, taking in her taste, far enough in to show off the impressive length, but not so far as to make things uncomfortable.

The redhead was so distracted enjoying the feeling that she realized that she had completely missed the vulpine woman hooking her fingers under her leather armour.

Olivia broke the kiss, leaning back a bit as she gently lifted the whole thing.

Paige responded by raising her arms, allowing Olivia to remove the armour. As the vulpine swordswoman lifted it, she let her fingers gently glide up along the sides of the redhead, eliciting a low gasp from her.

She carefully placed the leather armour on the ground, then pulled Paige closer again, this time nuzzling her neck.

The redhead shivered, as she felt the kitsune's sharp canines gently graze across her skin. There was something about the experience of having a predator nibbling at her exposed throat that both evoked excitement and hints of a primordial fear. She leaned forward, taking one of the kitsune's ears into her mouth. She gently began nibbling and sucking on it, carefully working it over with her entire mouth. Hot air wash across the skin of her neck as the kitsune blissfully breathed out.

The redhead could feel Olivia's hands slowly wander across her body, building in her mind the image of the woman she was gently embracing. Slowly rubbing her muscles of her arms, sliding across her shoulder, thumb tracing her collarbone. Then they slowly went down along her back, gently massaging the tissue, feeling the way they expanded every time Paige breathed in. They swept along her firm rear, grasping gently with her hands. The redhead had to pause nibbling Olivia's ear for a second, the soft squeeze of a butt causing her to groan softly. The kitsune's hand moved on, sliding along her hardened thighs. Then up they went again, her thumbs carefully sliding along Paige's stomach, the rest of her fingers gently exploring the bumps of her ribs. She paused her exploration of Paige's body just under her arms, before sliding them behind her back. She ceased nuzzling the human's neck and leaned back, freeing her ear in the process.

Paige felt the kitsune pull at her and followed, as the other woman laid back on the grass, the marshal now hovering above her, supported by her arms. Olivia reached up with her hand, gently running her fingers through the human's crimson mane of hair.

As she looked down at the attractive fox woman, Paige noted that the top of her silken robes had gotten loose, having slid down her partner's furred shoulders and opened up slightly on the front, just enough to reveal the edges of her breasts. She shifted support to one arm, lifting the other hand and slid the fingers under the soft edge of the material, allowing her to gently cusp the other woman's breast. It felt very much like her own, except the layer of fur, which felt ever so delightful in her hand. She gently massaged it, her thumb carefully flicking across the nipple, before tracing the sensitive skin on the underside. She was rewarded for her efforts with the sound of Olivia taking a deep breath, before exhaling in delight, her own hand still gently caressing the marshal's head.

Paige lifted her hand, brushing the silk aside and exposing the breast to the air, then did the same to the other. The fur on her belly and chest was a creamy white.

The kitsune reacted to the exposure by splaying her arms, allowing the redhead to fully enjoy the sight before her.

Then the human leaned down, enveloping one of the nipples with her lips, gently sucking on it, running her tongue in circles around it.

Olivia reached up with her hand and gently stroked Paige's head, encouraging her to enjoy herself.

The redhead felt even more motivated and began moving her head around, gently massaging the soft flesh with her mouth.

The human suddenly felt something that caused her to pause, a sudden sensation that sent sparks of pleasure through her body, making her emit a muffled moan into the other woman's chest. While she had been suckling on the kitsune's breast, Olivia had raise one of her many tails and brushed it against Paige's crotch. Then she brushed it back, slowly moving back and forth with gentle strokes. The redhead gasped again, almost falling on top of the kitsune. She could feel the great tuft of soft fur pressing up against her clothes and vagina. And every time she could feel how the stickiness left her clothes almost glued to the skin. She tried not to forget her partner, tried to keep suckling, with every stroke sending new waves of pleasure crashing up along her spine.

Olivia, for her part, took the moment to thoroughly enjoy the effect she had on the human. Her fingers gently brushed her throat, allowing the vulpine woman to feel her pulse beat faster. Every breath she took was laden with the redhead's scent, the smell of her excitement growing heavier and heavier as the lovemaking progressed. She reached up,gently grabbing hold of Paige's chin. She could feel the heat radiating from it, as the excitement had the marshal completely flushed. She pulled towards her, guiding Paige into another deep, passionate kiss. She could feel the bursts of ragged breathing from the redhead intensify with every stroke of her tail. She reached up with her bare feet, hooking her claws around the waist of the marshal's pants, even as she continued both stroking the human with a tail and passionately making out with her. She pulled downwards slowly, inches by inches exposing the marshal's undergarments and the bare skin of her thighs.

Paige could feel the cooler air rush between her legs, dissipating the heat that had been building up. Her vagina felt like it was throbbing at this point, aching with a need to be touched and stimulated. Even as she thought it, she could feel the kitsune's bushy tail rubbing against her soaked panties, the soft fur almost tingling the skin of her thighs. She felt herself almost instinctually press against it, trying to increase the friction.

She wasn't the only one starting to feel needy. Slowly working up her partner into this state had gotten Olivia plenty excited too. Being months away from mating season made it easier to control for her, allowed her to focus on her partner's enjoyment, but listening to Paige's ragged breathing and moaning, smelling the scent of her excitement, feeling her strong body press up against her own, all of it had slowly gotten the kitsune severely turned on and she felt her own vagina tingle with a demand for attention. An idea sprung to mind that she felt could solve both of their needs at once. She ceased stroking, reaching up with her feet and dragged down the human's panties.

Paige shuddered as her glistening genitals were exposed to the air. Then she felt the other woman push up against her. She leaned backwards, curious where Olivia was going with this. It didn't take long for her to get her answer, as the kitsune pulled her silken robes up, exposing her own vagina, the white fur around it slightly matted with fluids. As they both sat up, the vulpine swordswoman kept one of her legs under Paige's, but lifted her other one up over the human's other leg.

It was a classic scissoring position, except for one thing. Olivia had kept one of her tails up, trapping it between the two women's genitals.

The two women wrapped their arms around each other and pressed themselves together.

Paige had to gasp, as the furred tail was forced up against her exposed nether, stimulating her clitoris and labia. She pushed back, grinding herself up against it, in turn increasing the friction that Olivia experienced.

The kitsune tried to keep herself composed, but the increase in stimulation caused her to emit an involuntary yip.

Paige couldn't help but grin. The sound was unbearably cute and just made the vulpine woman seem even more attractive. She began intensifying the movements of her hips, rubbing her vagina intently against the other woman's genitals and tail, both to increase the building pleasure she was feeling and hopefully make the kitsune make more sounds.

Olivia couldn't help it. She began breathing more heavily as the stimulation increased, each thrust building up her own excitement. Again and again she found herself accidentally vocalising just how pleasured she was, emitting small yips and whines, the tension in her building.

The sound of her partner's enjoyment was blissful music to Paige, driving her even further. She pushed against the other woman again and again, more vigorously each time. She felt like a spring was being wound in her, more and more. Until finally, it unwound. She gasped, as pleasure flooded her body, her muscles tensing, her legs tightening around her partner. Then she collapsed backwards on the grass, breathing heavily.

Olivia was happy for her. But she also could feel her own need build as the other woman fell away, collapsing in post-orgasmic bliss. She immediately reached down, inserting a couple of fingers into her wet vagina, vigorously rubbing it.

“You... You okay?” Paige managed to ask from her position on the ground.

“Yes... I... Just a... I just...” Olivia responded breathlessly. She knew her body well enough and the redhead had done more than enough to get her close. She threw her head back as she reached her own climax, cutting a howl short by forcing her jaws shut, resulting in a strange muffled sound. She she let out a gasp and breathed heavily. “Much better,” she sighed relieved. “I trust you had fun?” “Yes. I wouldn't mind that again. Plus, I still have a lot to learn.” Paige grabbed her panties and pulled them on. “Though by now I seem to have built up quite the circle of women I train and sleep with.”

“And I am happy that I can help with both,” the kitsune replied, as she adjusted her clothes to properly cover herself again. She paused briefly, before asking: “I've been thinking. Would you be up for one last exercise?” “Ehm, sure, I guess,” the redhead responded while pulling her pants up. “But I though the whole point of, well, us having sex was because we were done.” “Yes, but this is a bit different.” Olivia grabbed her green blade and put it on. “There's a technique I know. I wonder if you yet have the skills to counter it.” “Okay,” Paige said slowly, grabbing her own sword. “How do you want to do this?” “Just try to block my attack,” the kitsune responded. “Don't worry, I will not harm you. Just see if you can stop me. Are you ready?” “Sure,” Paige said, raising her blade. “Bring it on.”

The other woman nodded, placing her hand on the blade's hilt.

Paige blinked.

The kitsune was gone.

And the marshal realised that the cold edge of a blade gently rested against her throat, Olivia now standing beside her.

“No,” she concluded, withdrawing her blade. “You're not at the level where you could counter such a move yet.” She resheathed it. “Do not feel ashamed. Few are the people who could.” “I'm sorry, what just happened?” the redhead asked confused. “Did you teleport?” “No. Though I understand how it must seem that way,” Olivia replied. “I can push myself to a level of speed that far outmatches the vision and reactions of most beings, allowing me a chance to strike with impunity.” “Well, why didn't you just do that while we were fighting before?” the redhead asked.

“Well, two reasons,” the kitsune responded. “One, it puts an enormous amount of stress on my body in a very short span of time. If I do it too often, I risk damaging myself. And secondly, well...” She shrugged. “It wouldn't have been fair. You're a great and experienced soldier. But I suspected you didn't yet have the e. I reserve it for my greatest opponents.” Her voice lowered an octave. “Or for those who I wish to mercilessly dispatch.” She paused. “But for most common folk I duel with, it just wouldn't be honourable to use such a powerful technique, when they have no chance to defend themselves.”

Paige cocked her head. “You know, I mean no insult,” she began. “But why is such a principled sort as yourself a member of a gang like the Latrones?”

“Hmm, I can see why you would ask.” She folded her arms behind her back. “Tell me, what are the Latrones to you?” “A band of brigands, thieves and smugglers,” the redhead replied. “A gang of criminals that the MPS has allied with.” “True. We are often on edge with the law.” She paused. “How to explain it? The Latrones, we do what we do because of how the world is. It is full of injustice, terror and, yes, crime. It's a harsh world. We do what we do, because in such a brutal world, you have to be brutal to thrive. But we also use that brutality to help improve it. We smuggle drugs and weapons, yes, but at the same time we smuggle in supplies to people in need. We steal and plunder, yes, but only from those who have plenty to spare and never freely give. We commit crime, yes, but often in this world, law and order is used to oppress people, not protect them.” She crossed her arms. “I feel like that's a noble mission. And let's be honest, the MPS has crossed the law of several different nations more than once.” “That's not untrue,” Paige admitted. “Alright, I get it. I'm not sure the Latrones would be a place for me, but I get what you're saying.” She looked to the sun, which was starting to hide behind the trees. “I should get back to base. Thanks again and I do hope we'll meet again.” “I will work towards making it happen,” Olivia replied kindly. “Keep up your training and I'll look forward to see how you've grown.” “Will do.” Paige turned around and left the lake and the kitsune behind.

...

Paige walked down the last few steps of the staircase, entering the basement. It was a semi-spacious room, with tables, chairs and other basic office furniture available for use, mostly for whomever was watching over the fort's jail. It was not a large facility, as it rarely fell within the MPS' jurisdiction or work to keep prisoners for any large amount of time, meaning it was mostly easier to keep them locked up on site rather than dragging them back to base. Instead, it was for the most part used as a place to throw people who'd gotten a little too rowdy after a drinking binge and needed to sober up.

One corner of the office was semi-dominated by a number of large webs, strung out along the walls to contain a large collection of books. And hanging from it, currently perusing the book, was another giant spider. Why nowhere near as large as his mother, Loki was still about the size of a chair and therefore qualified for being giant compared to the average spider. His head, thorax and abdomen reflected his mother's legacy as a giant jumping spider, before Freyja had truly embraced her addiction to extreme body modifications, including the very large and very perceptive eyes. His legs, however, were thinner and spindlier, having inherited those genes from his father, a giant web weaving spider. Fastened around the connection between his thorax and abdomen, the closest the spider had to a neck, was a cape divided in colour between red and purple, which flowed across the rest of his body. Beyond just being fond of it, the younger spider also used it to distinguish himself from his sibling, as some people had trouble telling them apart. He didn't even need to look up as the redhead entered the room, having more than enough eyes to notice the human. “Hey, Paige. How's it hanging?” “Just fine, really,” the redhead replied. “Is your mom home right now?”

“Yeah. She's back in her cave. I think Aunt Frigga was visiting her,” the arachnid commented. “Dunno why, but you can ask them.” “Thanks,” she replied. She was about to head out the door into the fort's cavern complex, when she heard rapid footsteps thundering down the stairs. She calmly stepped aside, noting Carlos hurrying past her.

“You!” he declared, pointing accusingly at the reading spider. “You little eight-legged gremlin. You did this, didn't you?” “Me? Why would I do that?” Loki responded in a gentle tone, folding two of his legs and tilting his head, appearing as the very image of childish innocence.

Paige, however, knew that as a relative of Freyja's, he was physically incapable of anything resembling innocence. It didn't matter that he was only a little more than two years old. He was at the level of a young human teenager and more than willing to use that against those who'd underestimate him.

“Private Valoran, what are you moaning about now?” she sharply said, hoping to cut the shenanigans short.

Carlos almost jumped, having not noticed his superior at all in his haste, and turned around. His face was expertly painted with make-up to give him the classical face of a clown. “Oh, Paige. Well, I was taking a nap in the lounge. Woke up about ten minutes ago with this on my face,” he explained, pointing to his head.

“This what?” the redhead asked.

“This make-up. I look like a clown.” “Carlos, you always look like a clown,” Paige replied flatly.

The soldier paused. “Walked into that one,” he admitted. “Anyway, I asked around and he was seen at the scene of the crime.” He pointed to Loki.

“But I was just picking up some new books to read,” he said angelically, holding said book up. “I'd never, ever do something that hilarious to someone like Carlos.”

“And let's say that you could prove it. Then what?” the redhead asked. “Are you going to complain to Freyja that her kid is messing with you? She'll laugh her abdomen off. Or are you gonna go make your case to command? I can tell you already, we're far too busy to give a damn.” Carlos sighed.

“Now go wash that off,” Paige commented walking past him.

“Don't you think I tried?” he asked.

“Well, then you'll look hilarious on the field tomorrow,” the marshal responded, opening the door out of the room. As she did, steam began to flow out around her ankles.

“Come on, Paige, help a guy out here?” the man complained. “At least tell the kid off or something.” “Sorry, Carlos,” the redhead replied, looking over her shoulder with a smirk. “Guess I'm too busy thinking of all the women I keep banging to help.”

The soldier sighed, realising that he'd probably on some level earned his current predicament.

Paige closed the door after her, heading into the steamy caverns. They used to be a secret escape route in and out of the castle, most famously used by the MPS to end a hostile occupation of the fortress, shortly before they joined forces with the Blackshots. Now, the vastly expanded caverns served as the lair of Freyja and her sibling Frigga. Their strange powers altered the area and for this reason, they lived in separate ends. Freyja's half heated up and was often used by the people of the fortress as a sauna. Frigga's part cooled down and had been co-opted by the personnel as an expanded freezer. And in-between, the clashing elemental forces created a permanent haze of humid steam. Navigation was slightly obnoxious as a result. Fortunately, having to accommodate the terrifyingly enormous bulk that was Freyja's body meant that the tunnels were fairly wide. It didn't take her long to find her way into the heated caverns that Freyja and her immediate family, her mate and their children, lived in, helped by the sound of an animated discussion.

Stepping into the fiery arachnid's main lair was always a sight. Most of the cave was dominated by a humongous web, its main feature the enormous skeleton of a dragon. Chronoclaw and Kindeyes' brother, Longtooth. A vicious and greedy dragon who had clashed with the organisation multiple times, almost killing Freyja during a raid on a village and killing the wife of one of her fellow commanders in another attack. He had been the one to initially inspire Freyja to alter herself with pure elemental fire, to resist his deadly breath. Finally, after many battles, the MPS had gotten the better of him, engaging him in a cave where he couldn't utilize his mobility as well. He had finally been killed when Freyja had latched onto him and ripped his throat open, where after she had taken his body as a trophy.

The second thing to catch her attention was the massive aberration herself, currently discussing something with her much smaller, literally colder sibling.

“All I'm saying is, this strikes me only as an option if you'd otherwise starve,” Frigga explained, gesturing to a can she was holding up with one of her legs.

“You're too picky,” Freyja insisted. “I eat them all the time and they taste just fine.” “But it's all... Processed and full of preservatives,” Frigga replied with disdain. “It tastes too artificial. And the metal does it no favours either. It tastes abhorrently.”

“Look, you just need to get used to it,” the larger spider argued. “Then you'll be able to enjoy all kinds of foods. Not every meal has to be a dripping deer carcass.” “Why not? Venison tastes fantastic,” Frigga said. “You should forage more. It would make for a healthier diet.” “Sister, I'm lucky if there's enough megafauna around to sustain my needs,” the divine spider replied. “And I do like fresh meat. But this also tastes great and it's nice to have a can at hand.”

Paige eyed the corner, where a few of the aberration's aforementioned cans stood. It seemed almost disingenuous to call them cans. Most would probably refer to something of that size to be a shipping container.

The redhead coughed, gaining the two large arachnids' attention.

“Ah, Paige,” Freyja said, noticing the human. “So you decided to come visit me.” “Yeah.” The redheade paused. “You know, funny how you mock us humans for using tools, yet isn't canned food just as much a tool?”

“She's got a point,” Frigga agreed. “I could also go pick up five cows and dissolve them with my own venom, but I have better things to do with my time,” Freyja responded. “And I rather think neighbouring farms would be less than pleased if I started raiding them. But remove your weapons and you humans have what exactly? Flimsy nails and some sub-par teeth, combined with a thin, easily broken layer of skin. If you two can't see the difference, then I don't know what else to say.”

“I'm just saying, if it could taste well, that would be appreciated,” Frigga noted, before sheepishly admitting: “Though all this talk of meat is making me rather peckish.”

“Anyway, so why have you come to visit? Unless you just thought of that argument and just had to rush down here to inform me,” the gargantuan arachnid asked the human.

“Simple,” the redhead responded. “I wanna talk about setting up a rematch.” Freyja turned around, her full attention focused on the unyielding human. “Really now,” she said, leaning in close. “What did you have in mind?”

[weavercobra]

A Time for Reflection

The continued saga of Paige Hawkins. Featuring another of my boyfriend's characters, whom he asked to include not only because he liked her, but because he wanted to pivot her character and figured this story could help develop that.

Also, fair warning. While there is smut in this, there's also some messy battle scenes in this story and I don't mean in the fun sexy way.

Marshal Paige Hawkins sat at the edge of the clearing, sharpening her sword. Tension hang heavily in the atmosphere. The redhead was well aware that she might just be about to embark on one of the dumbest ventures she had ever participated in, challenging Chronoclaw to a sparring match. Kindeyes had certainly indicated as much when she got back to her to inform her that her sister had accepted. The dragon druid had offered to cancel the whole thing, warning Paige that not only was her sibling powerful, but she was also unlikely to hold back. And that there was a real risk she could die.

But the redhead accepted that. Every day, she woke up knowing her vocation might just end up costing her life.

She observed herself in the sword's reflection. She briefly wondered what she was trying to prove with all this. Kindeyes was the one of the few who had supported her idea and even she thought this plan was pure lunacy. All this just to be able to defeat Freyja? She shook her head, as she returned to sharpening her sword. No, to her it was more than that. The world was full of dangerous, powerful beings, many times stronger than any common man. She needed to know how to even the score. To turn the table. To survive. It was how she got out of bed every day, knowing it might be her last. She risked her life so that others might keep theirs. And if what she had learnt could keep even one of her men alive, it would be worth it.

Still, she'd rather avoid dying if she could.

The marshal cast a glance around the glade. It was the same that she had met Kindeyes in. She had figured it would be easiest to just set the thing there. The druid knew where it was and so did Paige. No reason to overcomplicate matters.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps and cracking branches. She looked up as a massive, crimson shape stepped out of the thick forest and paused.

Paige got on her feet and sheathed her sword.

The dragon Chronoclaw was, like most of her kindred, at once both a majestic and terrifying sight, with red scales covering bulging muscles, powerful limbs ending in sharp claws and a mouth full of teeth designed by nature to tear things apart. But there were also several marks of a hard life. The patagium of her wings were pockmarked with small tears and patches of scar tissue. Worst was her right wing. Not only did it have a massive, ragged hole in it, the structure of the limb was in many places bent at slightly wrong angles, giving it a mangled, broken appearance. And when she walked, there was a rather noticeable limp whenever she placed any weight on her left hind-leg. A massive x-shaped scar bore mute witness to what must have been a gruesome wound. Still, despite these injuries, the dragon carried herself with the inborn regal pride her kind was known for. And when she laid her eyes on Paige, it was with the gaze of an exalted monarch observing some slimy, misbegotten thing that had dared intrude upon their presence.

The marshal struggled to push down the combative urge the attitude awoke in her. She was well aware that she was better served being diplomatic. She coughed, before starting with: “Hello, I am...” “Yes, I know who you are,” Chronoclaw replied dismissively. She began inspecting her claws. “I'd rather not waste any more of my time than I have to.” The redhead gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. “Well, I mean, if this is cutting into your schedule, we can...”

“No, this won't take long,” the dragon stated matter-of-factly. “Especially not once we cut out whatever introduction you had imagined you needed to tell me. I can assure you that my sister has already informed me of what this is all about, so I'd rather we skip what you imagined to be pleasantries.”

Paige sighed frustratedly. “Alright, fine, let's get right to it then. When you are...” “I was the moment I entered this glade and long before then to be frank,” the red dragon coldly informed her. “If you'd actually pay attention, then you'd realise that I already told you I know what this is about, so cease wasting my time, draw your sword and do whatever it is you've convinced yourself will actually hurt me.”

Paige could feel her face heat up as her blood began boiling. The dragon's attitude was insufferable. She drew her blade with a harsh: “Fine.” And then she charged. She figured she could take advantage of the dragon's wounds. She was unlikely to be a good flyer what with her wings crippled and she could probably take advantage of the fact that her mobility was hampered by her wounded leg.

But she never got far enough to implement any of that.

Halfway across the battlefield, exhaustion suddenly seized her. Her legs began buckling, as her equipment suddenly felt like it weighed tons more than usual. The redhead's heart hammered away in her chest, desperately trying to keep her body functioning. She fell to her knees, gasping for air. She saw her skin. It was wrinkly and pasty, veins bulging against her epidermis, joints stiff and inflexible. She noticed the hair framing her face had lost its ruby colour, now instead reduced to withered, white strands.

“It's almost funny,” Chronoclaw remarked, idly sharpening her claws on a rock. “I'm seventy-eight years old and still not yet in my prime. But a seventy-eight year old human? A bag of bones in a wrinkly sack of skin.” She walked closer, as Paige struggled to make her suddenly aged body function. “Are you surprised? Did you do anything at all to understand what I'm capable of? You probably didn't. Your kind rarely takes the time to understand anything. I suppose my name should have warned you, but that's human density for you.” She had walked all the way up to the weakened marshal, her massive shadow completely covering the human. “I told you it would be quick. But if you ask nicely, maybe I'll give you your years back before I leave you to continue this inane project you've convinced my sister actually matters.”

Paige looked up. Her vision was blurry, her head slightly fuzzy and she could feel how her bones protested at the movement. But despite these disadvantages, she heard everything crystal clearly. And the marshal felt that boiling anger starting to take hold. She focused all she could, her dry throat aching as she forced herself to speak, resulting in a dry, rasping utterance.

“What was that?” the dragon asked. “Could you mumble that again?” “I SAID SHUT UP!” Paige roared, suddenly lunging forward. For one brief moment, all the weariness and pain burned away in white hot fury, as she with both hands planted her sword into the crimson foot of her opponent's front limb.

Chronoclaw recoiled with a hiss, withdrawing her appendage, leaving Paige to stumble to the ground. She took a brief moment to inspect the wound, noting the blood starting to flow, before she returned her gaze to the marshal, the cold disdain now replaced with an equally glacial fury.

The aged marshal managed with some effort to get back up and defiantly returned the glare. It was all she could manage before the red dragon backhanded her, sending her flying across the meadow with a meaty thwack accompanied by the delightful sound of several dozen bones breaking. She landed in a crumpled heap in the grass, her body feverishly trying to sort out which of the many agonies she was currently suffering was the most painful and therefore the most urgent. She struggled to move, feeling the scratching of shattered ribs grinding against each other, the vicious shooting pains of jagged edges stabbing into internal organs and the white-hot flare of her broken bones pressing against muscle and skin, threatening to tear her open.

Suddenly a bizarre feeling seized her, as she was ripped backwards, bouncing across the grass towards the dragon as she felt her bones retake their proper places in her body.

And then she stood in front of Chronoclaw again, whole but still aged.

She did not hesitate. Meeting her opponent's hateful gaze, she raised her blade to attack again.

The dragon's limb struck her with the force of a truck, slamming her to the side, the great claws digging into her flesh, releasing sprays of blood from mortal wounds.

Paige landed on the side, skidding along the ground. With dismay, she noted as her left arm flew by. She had planned on using that against the chronomancer.

Then it flew back again, moment before the marshal too was pulled from the ground. Her blood flowed back into her body and her arm reattached itself, leaving her standing right in front of the red dragon again.

Just as Chronoclaw's massive tail hit her in the face, launching her to the right this time. She could feel her skull fracture. Cerebrospinal fluid burst from her nose and she vaguely registered how one of her eyes popped like an overripe fruit from the impact, as her teeth left her ruined mouth in a great cloud. A pleasant sort of numbness seized her as her brain began shutting down.

Then she flew backwards, the tissue of her brain re-knitting as the lost fluid flew back up her nose, while her missing teeth re-entered her mouth.

She barely had time to appreciate having a functional mind again, before a wave of flames from the dragon's mouth engulfed her.

It was quite painful, as her eyes exploded from the heat and all her nerves flared up and died. But at this point, pain was so constant it was becoming nothing but white noise. Then she was back to normal, only to be blasted with a bolt of lightning, scoured with acid, drowned, frozen, cut, crushed, torn, slammed, disintegrated, detonated, warped, dissolved and liquefied. Whenever she had the wholeness of mind to actually think, the marshal realised that she had quite frankly lost count of how many deaths the dragon had essentially subjected her to. She wondered if it still counted if you were chronologically rewound out of it? Would she, once she reached the afterlife, have a mile-long sheet on the multitude of causes of death she had experienced? It was an amusing thought. So amusing that it took the elderly human a moment to realise that Chronoclaw had briefly ceased the bombardment of attacks, now observing her with a sort of restrained loathing, as if waiting to see what would happen next.

The marshal met the dragon's gaze, raised her sword and leapt forward to attack again.

“WOULD YOU CEASE YOUR OBSTINATE RESISTANCE!?” the dragon roared, as she unleashed her powers once more. This time, it was neither an attack with her body or an element of nature conjured up to harm her. This time, it was a wave of pure entropy, the inexorable march of time itself blasted into her. She stumbled back, as lines of rust ate into her sword, causing it to fall apart. Her armour rotted and decayed, falling from her body. The white strands of hair fell from her head, as her body withered, skin stretching thin across bones. Her teeth rattled around in her mouth and fell to the ground when she opened it. Her muscles, now barely more than strands of tissue, ceased holding her aloft and she fell to the ground. Even drawing her breath was a monumental exercise, her muscles just barely capable of maintaining them. Each heartbeat was like a stab in the chest, as the organ struggled to sluggishly pump her blood. Her eyes barely perceived anything, the world a mix of shadowy, blurred shapes without distinction.

Chronoclaw paused, ceasing her assault. This, she was certain of, was it. The human was only just alive, kept on the brink of death only by her magic. Through everything else, the human had showed defiance, as if she truly believed she stood a chance. As if she was, somehow, an equal. But now, she had to realise the futility of this exercise. She could never even come close to matching the likes of Chronoclaw. And as far as she was concerned, that was for the best. The world ill needed humans to have that sort of power. They were bad enough as it were.

And then Paige slowly lifted an arm, before pressing the palm of her hand against the ground. She slowly tightened her grip around the hilt of her blade. All that was left of her favoured weapon was a jagged, rusty point. She pressed her knuckles against the ground. And she pushed. Slowly, with great exertion, she pushed herself up. She pulled her legs in, using her knees as support. Now on all fours, she forced one leg up, placing her foot against the grass. And then she pushed herself up.

Chronoclaw stared in dumbfounded surprise as the human slowly, but surely, rose from the ground.

Her legs buckled, as she pushed herself against them, forcing her knees to lock, straightening her spine, looking up to again stare at her opponent, who by now was nothing but a reddish blur. She grasped her weapon with both hands and then marched slowly forward, each step harder to take than the last.

The chronomancer herself was at a loss of words. Despite everything, the now ancient human, reduced to a withered shell, was still trying to fight. Neither fire, cold nor time itself seemed capable of quelling her determination. She didn't even move, as Paige stumbled up to her and with a momentous surge of energy, fell on her foot while trying to drive her ruined weapon into her.

Obviously, this did no harm.

Chronoclaw grunted in annoyance, then focused.

Paige stumbled back as her lost years flowed back into her. Her wrinkled skin filled out, ruby hair flowed from her head like water and her senses cleared up like clouds vanquished by the sun. She took a deep breath, feeling the truly wondrous joy of being herself again. And then a slight chill, causing her to realise than her equipment, and indeed all her clothes, were still lost to time.

She did not have time to figure out what to do about this predicament, as the crimson hand of Chronoclaw suddenly closed around her and lifted her up before her face. “What. Is. Wrong. With you?” she asked, as the marshal stared back without hesitance or fear. “Any one of your kind with even half a functional brain would have realised the folly of what you're doing ages ago. Do you think you stand a chance?” “Honestly?” Paige replied. “No. But if you think that I'll let you walk all over me just because I'm a human, then you've got another thing coming.”

“Oh please,” the dragon replied with a disdainful eye-roll. “Acting the victim are we?” She pulled the marshal in closer, letting the warm air from a furious snort wash over her captive. “As if you have room to talk. The moment your kind has any power, any advantage, you use it to hurt others. You don't get to complain just because I treat you like you'd treat me.” “Like I'd treat you? Perhaps it's just memory loss from the uncountable times you just destroyed my head, but I seem to remember me trying to be courteous, accommodating and welcoming,” Paige indignantly replied. “You started off by being an arrogant ass, talking down to me, interrupting me and more than once implying that I had to be some kind of idiot. All I asked for was help and you could have said no. But according to your sister, you couldn't resist the opportunity to hurt a human. So I imagined that at least we'd both get something out of this. But no. You clearly wanted to ruin my project from the get go. You only came here to see how many pieces you could break me and my efforts into. And why? Because I'm a human? Because I'm smaller than you? You're nothing but a cruel bully and for the life of me, I cannot imagine why your siblings speak so highly of you. You know what, I must really be stupid, imagining for even one, slight second you had anything of value to contribute to...” “SHUT UP!” the dragon roared, tightening her grip. “You... You little...” She had to fight the urge to crush the marshal into liquid. “Your kind are usually only this confident when you're hiding behind one of those fancy toys you make just so you have a chance to compete with the likes of us. Do you realise that with the slightest effort I could pulp you? Do you?” The marshal was fully aware that she was stark naked and caught in the grip of a dragon that seemed to desire great harm upon her and her entire species. So yes, the situation was very dire. Still, Paige couldn't help but take some pleasure in the fact that she was obviously getting under the dragon's skin. “Look, I have no clue what happened to make you this bitter, but whatever it was, I had nothing to do with it. And if you think I'm gonna ignore that and start grovelling just because you're approximately fifty times bigger than me and can breathe fire, then I guess you know me about as well as I know you.”

Chronoclaw just stared at the human. It would be so easy to snuff out that annoying voice of hers. She could just bite her head off, or tighten her grip until she turned to jelly. But something about the human's defiance frustrated her in ways she couldn't quite articulate. She couldn't just hurt her and be done with it. She needed the marshal to give in, to fold, to admit wrong. So she snorted again and said: “Fine. I guess if you're going to be like this, I'll just show you.” “Show me?” the marshal replied confused.

“Yes. My memories. And then you'll see just how loathsome your kind can be.” And then she closed her eyes, concentrating, dredging up the images of yesterdays long gone.

...

And just like that, they were suddenly standing on a mountain range.

Well, Chronoclaw was standing. Paige was still firmly lodged in her grip.

Around them was a beautiful view. Rocky cliffs baked by a hot sun, with clumps of sparse vegetation stubbornly growing. The occasional crack in the stony surface of the area revealed the glimmering minerals hidden away.

“It's beautiful,” Paige noted. “But where are we? And when?” “After I spent some time learning the arts of magic, including my chronomancy, I decided that I needed to see the world,” the red dragon explained. “Widen my horizons and experience things for myself.” The last sentence was laden with bitterness. “I chose here because I had heard of the area's mineral riches, though none had formally claimed it. I suspect due to how hard the area is to access. The temperature was also a lot more to my liking. My parents live too far north in my opinion. And there was still the possibility that I could fly to nearby cities and trade. All in all, it seemed ideal for what I wanted.”

A shadow passed over them and Paige looked up. Another Chronoclaw flew across the skies towards some unseen goal.

The older dragon stared at her younger self. The cold fury briefly melted away, replaced by melancholy. “I used to love flying,” she quietly commented.

“What?” the redhead asked.

Chronoclaw's features hardened again. “Nothing. So one day, I was returning to my lair.” She concentrated and they were suddenly elsewhere. The rocky cliff they stood on overlooked a great cave opening. On the ground in front of it, several humans had surrounded one of their fellows, who was lying on the ground, mumbling and writhing.

“He looks ill,” the marshal noted.

“Yeah. He does look ill,” the dragon mumbled and looked up. “And right on cue, there I was.”

The memory of Chronoclaw landed in front of the people. “Hey. Is something wrong?” she inquired concerned.

“Great dragon,” one of the other people beseeched her. “Our friend has had a fit and we're miles away from any help. We don't know what we can do. We hoped that you'd be able to heal him.” “Heal him? Ehm... Okay. I guess I'll try,” the memory dragon said and slowly approached, looking uncertain.

“Something's wrong,” Paige noted, eyes furrowing. “Why would they just assume you could heal him? In fact, how did they find your cave? It seems to be out of the way. And that way of addressing you? It sounds more like a play than an honest request.” “Good to see you're paying attention;” Chronoclaw grumbled. “I just wondered what I could do for the man. I imagined maybe I could lessen his symptoms or something. But then...” The moment the memory dragon reached out, the guy suddenly rolled over, jamming a sword into her hand. The younger Chronoclaw recoiled in shock and confusion.

Paige couldn't help but notice she had managed to take the red dragon by surprise by stabbing her in the exact same foot.

That was when the rest of the group suddenly pulled their weapons and jumped the bewildered red dragon. It was obvious from the way she fought back that she was desperately trying not to hurt them, even as she had no clue what was going on or why they were attacking her. A far cry from the treatment Paige had gotten.

Finally, the battle ended. The red dragon was left standing, the humans too beaten and exhausted to continue fighting. The memory of Chronoclaw breathed heavily, clearly shocked.

That's when the second ambush started, several people having hidden among the rocks higher up, jumping out with weapons ready.

The red dragon panicked and lashed out with her tail. One of the humans didn't get out of the way in time. Her head was caught between the flailing limb and the rocky surface of the mountain. Her skull burst like an overripe cantaloupe.

Paige winced, both at the gory scene but especially at the horrified look on the younger dragon's face when she realised what had happened. It wasn't easy killing somebody for the first time. Doing it unintentionally was probably hundred times worse. She looked up at the current Chronoclaw. She was watching the scene with a thousand yard stare, seemingly lost in both remembering the event and watching it as a spectator.

Another of the attackers made a swing for the younger dragon's throat and Chronoclaw backed away. Behind her, another attacker fell on his ass, trying to get away. The dragon didn't even see him. Her foot came down on him hard, compressing his torso with a gut-wrenching crunch, fluids bursting from his mouth.

Paige winced at the sound, as the memory of the red dragon looked back at what she had accidentally done with a look of absolute horror. The marshal could even feel the current version shake a little bit, her breath trembling just ever so slightly.

The other people were beaten down by the younger Chronoclaw. There was a brief moment of respite, where it seemed she had won. Then another guy leapt off a cliff, a spear in his hands, ready to attack from above. Reflexively, she knocked him away, her claws cutting open several vicious gashes. He bounced across the rocky ground, blood spraying from his wounds. The younger dragon stared in shock, before rushing over with a panicked: “Not you too, not you too.” She placed a hand on him and concentrated with all her might, willing time to turn back, as the man's body began healing.

“You really didn't want to hurt them,” Paige commented, noting the visible relief on the memory's face.

“No,” the dragon of the now replied, her voice sounding slightly hollow. “I had no clue why they attacked me, but a thousand possibilities ran through my mind. Perhaps they had claimed a stake here and thought I was trying to force them out. Maybe they were locals fearing that I would hunt down all the local animals or maybe that I'd claim nearby watering holes as mine and mine alone. That it was all some sort of... Stupid misunderstanding.” Paige was quiet for a moment. “I'm guessing that wasn't the case?”

The older red dragon didn't respond. Instead, she said: “I did my best to tie them up, then interrogated them. Said they were from a nearby city. So I brought them back. Them and the bodies. I just... I just wanted to do the right thing.”

She waved her hand and the imagery shifted.

They were now at the gates of a big city, a massive wall obscuring most of the place, armed guards patrolling it. In front of the gate, a very uncomfortable looking younger Chronoclaw stood with the incapacitated people and the two bodies. In front of her was a man that Paige identified as a captain by his uniform.

The man nodded. “Thank you for the assistance. We'll make sure they're taken care of.” “That's... Good to hear,” Chronoclaw tried. “I'm.. I'm so sorry about... Those two. I really didn't...” “No no, I understand,” the man said with a dismissing gesture. “If you would return in a couple of days, I'm sure we will have more info on the attack. Make sure it won't happen again.” “Oh? Oh, that would be nice,” the memory of the red dragon noted relieved. “Well... Then... I'll leave them in your hands. Many thanks.” She turned around and set off, flying away.

The captain didn't move, just following the slowly vanishing dragon with his eyes. Then he made a gesture with his hands.

“Oh no,” Paige quietly mumbled. She could feel Chronoclaw's muscles tense, preparing for what would come next. The scenery shifted, the two of them now standing in the air, as the younger Chronoclaw flew by.

In the distance a loud boom could be heard.

The memory looked over her shoulder, curious as to the origin of the sound.

The projectile ripped a massive hole through her right wing. The red dragon began flailing in the air, trying to stay airborne, even as equal amounts of pain and panic flooded her mind.

Back at the wall, the guards began firing. Shot after shot hit the dragon, splintering her scales and shredding her wings. She fell with a pained roar, landing on her already profusely bleeding right wing with a loud snap, like a hundred dry twigs being trodden underfoot at once.

She got back up, dizzy, agonized and confused.

Paige could only stare in a sort of horrified fascination as the harpoon slammed through the memory Chronoclaw's rear left leg. The massive chain it dragged with it tightened and the younger dragon fell to the ground with a scream.

From the gates, a large group of soldiers stormed out, weapons ready.

The dragon looked up at her pursuers with fear in her eyes and focused. The massive chain rusted and splintered as the crew manning it tried to reel her in. Then she turned around and became a blur as she shot through the air.

“I spent so much energy trying to escape,” Chronoclaw mumbled. “Expending that much energy, so suddenly, so drastically, actually did its own sort of damage. I've spent years since then trying to regain the control and potency I had. It was painful. I had to jump and glide with a shattered wing. And the harpoon...” She breathed out deeply. “I would later find out it was poisoned. Caused severe nerve damage to my leg. Ever since then, I have been unable to fly or even walk properly.” Paige paused, uncertain if she should ask the question that popped up in her mind. Finally, she decided to bite the bullet and say: “I assume there's something about time magic I don't know that means you couldn't just fix it?” The red dragon looked annoyed. “Yes. Yes there is.” She sighed frustratedly. “Something that has just happened is easy to fix. But the longer it has been, the more time that has passed, the harder it is to fix. A couple of hours alone can make it next to impossible. Especially if it's part of a system. Repairing a singular and simple object can be done, even years down the line. But fixing just a part of my body, hours after the damage had been done? I couldn't.” “I see,” the marshal noted.

The scene changed again. They were in a cave. Chronoclaw's cave, the marshal figured.

The memory of the dragon herself stumbled in, exhausted and worn out, before she fell over, thoroughly burnt out.

She twitched as she heard a sound, forcing herself back on her feet.

About twenty more people had shown up by her cave, armed. A guy in front, holding a sword, looked to be the leader.

The younger dragon stared in surprise and horror at the intruders. And then, something visibly snapped. “WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME BE!? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU!?” she roared, tears visible in the corner of her eye. “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” The leader idly picked his teeth. “What did you do? You're a dragon, you probably did something. You kind's always causing trouble. Especially you reddish ones.” He stepped forward, testing the weight of his sword. “Fortunately, you hellkites are worth something. Can always make some nice armour out of your hides. Only real reason not to wipe you overgrown reptiles out, really.” He looked around. “By the way, before you die, I'm curious, do you have any eggs?”

The younger dragon's eyes narrowed as she hissed: “What?” “You know, eggs. Dragon eggs makes for good potions, especially when fresh,” the man replied with a smirk. “I just figured you'd want to make yourself useful for once and save us the trouble of having to search for them. Mint condition, you know.” “Is that man still alive?” Paige asked, her voice a low rumble.

“No,” Chronoclaw replied in a similar tone.

“Good.”

The memory of the red dragon seemed like she had been slapped in the face, as realisation set in. That everything that had happened was because some people saw her and figured she'd make for a nice pile of stuff once dead. Her face contorted in a predatory snarl, her claws splintered the ground as they dug into the hard surface, smoke poured from her nostrils as her internal temperature rose.

With a roar, she leapt forward.

The man was taken by surprise, having expected Chronoclaw to be too weak to fight back. He was unceremoniously batted aside with her first attack. The others tried to strike, but the infuriated dragon fought back, now without any mercy or hesitation. One person was incinerated, another was bisected and a third crushed to a pulp.

Then, the people dead, she turned to look at their leader, as he tried to crawl for his sword.

With a crunch, her clawed limb came down hard on his outstretched arm, pulverising it and forcing a howl of agony from the man. She grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, her face close to him as he struggled to get free.

“Dragon's cause trouble?” she asked in a dangerously low hissing tone. “No. I did nothing. It's you. It's all of you. IT'S ALWAYS YOU DAMNABLE LITTLE MONKEYS!” And then her jaws closed around his head, cutting his panicked scream short with a wet crunch. She paused briefly, looking at the decapitated body, before she bit into it, crushing the whole thing between her jaws before devouring the bloody mess.

And then the whole scene blurred.

...

And just like that, Paige found herself back in the now.

Still holding the naked marshal in her grip, the red dragon sat down and stated with finality: “There.”

“There?” the redhead echoed.

“Yes. There,” Chronoclaw insisted, as if that was the indisputable winning move in a game.

“What there?” Paige asked nonplussed.

The chronomancer emitted a low growl, her grip slightly tightening. “Did you even pay attention? To anything?” “Yes. It was horrifying,” Paige responded. “Deceiving you, ambushing you, taking advantage of your kind nature, attacking you, backstabbing you. All of them were a right bunch of assholes and I can safely say that I do not feel the slightest bit sorry for them.” She folded her arms. “Now if you'd kindly explain to me why that means I deserve to be treated like shit, that would be nice.”

The red dragon stared at the redhead with slowly mounting fury. She instantly desired nothing more than to just slam the woman into the ground over and over again until she'd stop talking. But she couldn't “You humans,” she snarled. “Are always pulling shit like this. How many have suffered and died, just because you wanted another mantelpiece? Huh?”

“Too many,” Paige replied, meeting the dragon's glare. “And it's awful. But you know what? Doesn't justify a thing. I get that you're angry. I get that you are hurt. I get that every day you're reminded of that, quite frankly, terrifying event. And you know what? You have every right in my book to be pissed. But not at me.” She stared Chronoclaw in the eyes, before asking: “Tell me, what did I ever do to you?”

The red dragon recoiled as if she had been slapped, dropping the redhead. She snarled back: “You humans...” “You humans, you humans,” Paige angrily echoed, standing back up. “What did I do? To you or your family? Nothing, as far as I know. I get that there are many humans who have done some stupid things. But you don't get to shit on me for that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or should we talk about some of the horrible things dragons have done, huh? How about your brother, for example?” Chronoclaw pulled back, wings and tails curling close to her. “You-you... I...” “Yeah, you know what he did,” Paige continued. “One of my fellow commanders lost his wife to him. And that's far from the only thing. Yet you don't see him blaming every dragon or even every red dragon for it. He's not even blaming your family for what your brother did. And neither do I. So is it too much to ask for that courtesy to be returned?” The red dragon made some sort of strange gargled noise as she tried to process how to answer. “Stop, just shut up,” she snarled, turning around. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

Everything was quiet for a moment.

Then she heard the sound of slowly approaching footsteps. She looked away, intent on not meeting the human's glare.

“Hey,” Paige said a lot softer, placing a hand on the dragon's front leg. “Look, I get you. What you went through was a horrifying and traumatizing ordeal. And I don't blame you for being angry. But blaming all humans is as unfair as me blaming you for the actions of some random dragon burning a town down to steal its treasure. It's not fair and it's not our responsibilities to bear the guilt of others, just because they happen to be the same species. I get that you don't want to be hurt again and that it's easier to just assume we're out to get you. But I'll be honest, I couldn't live like that. There's too many people I care for that I would never have gotten to know if I'd been thinking like that. If you can't work with me, that's fine. I'll respect that. But the closest I've gotten to want to hurt you is wanting to smack you for treating me like dirt.” She sighed. “Look, I'm not asking for much. Just... Don't blame all humans for the actions of some stupid ones. Even if there were a lot of stupid ones. And if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'd offer a shoulder, but I doubt you'd want it. But I'm sure Kindeyes or Ironhide would be more than happy to hear you out. Because, I'll be honest, what you've got inside you, it's toxic. I get being angry, I even get hating someone. But hating all humans like that, that's just not healthy. And...” She shrugged. “That's all I got to say. Dunno if you even want to listen to me, but I've done what I can.” She turned around and walked off. “Well, I'll be going back to base. Need to get some pants. Best of luck with whatever it is you do.” She had almost made it to the forest when she heard a slightly hesitant: “Wait.” She paused, turning around.

“I... Should probably repair your clothes,” the dragon said, not looking. “It's... Safer for your kind. That way.” She lifted a slightly shaky leg and concentrated. Motes of dust began circling Paige, before condensing back into her outfit.

“Oh. Well, thanks,” the redhead said.

“And... Your sword has been fixed too.” Paige paused, then looked around. Indeed, her weapon lay gleaming in the sunlight. “Whew, am I glad to see that,” she noted, picking it up. “Heh, it's kinda silly, but this was the first weapon I wielded as a member of the Black Shots. I'm kinda fond of it, to be honest.” She looked it over. “But... It looks good as new?” “Yes. It looked... Rather dented and chipped,” Chronoclaw noted in a wobbling tone, still not eyeing the human. “I... Restored it to prime condition. Might as well. Humans need all they can get. After all.” “Well... Many thanks,” the marshal said earnestly, sheathing it. “Happy to hear that. I've tried to keep it in good condition, but... Well, it was starting to get worn down. So thanks. And maybe I'll see you around.” She turned around and began walking off again.

“I'm...” Chronoclaw began, and Paige paused, turning around once more. “I'm curious. Why... Why did you ask for my help?” “Well, I just heard you were skilled in a variety of magic,” Paige explained. “I'm trying to toughen myself up and I figured you were a good choice. I knew you didn't like my kind, but if you got to work out some frustrations and I got to learn something, well, then we'd both win. But...” She shook her head. “Never mind that. I'll come up with something else.”

She only managed to halfway turn around, before the dragon added: “Maybe... If I tone it down a little... It'll be more fair for you. It'll still be rough, but... But I can fix just about anything if I'm quick enough. Would that... Would that work?”

Paige paused. “If you let me have a break first. I'm still kinda exhausted.” “Oh, that's... Fine. I'm... Kinda tired too,” the dragon said in an unsteady voice, still insistently not looking at her. “I'll... I'll go find some water. Maybe food. I dunno. Just... Stay here and... And I'll be back.” Then she walked off, never once looking back.

Paige paused as the red dragon vanished into the thicket. Then she looked to the spot where the chronomancer had just been sitting. The grass was slightly wet.

...

It was quite a while before the red dragon returned.

Paige had spent the time going over all parts of her equipment. It wasn't just the sword that the dragon had restored to mint condition. Her uniform and clothes were also good as new. And as Chronoclaw came back, the marshal looked up and asked: “Hey, did you find water?” “Water?” the chronomancer replied. “Oh. Yes. Water. I found some. Was thirsty.” She coughed, trying not to look at the human. “So, you wanted to enhance your endurance, did I understand that correctly?” “Yes. I've found in my battles with Freyja that one way she can keep me at bay is by increasing her own body temperature,” Paige explained. “I figured that maybe if I can learn to take it, even just in short bursts, I should be better able to inflict some real harm.” The red dragon scratched her chin with a contemplative expression. “So, is Freyja just your gold standard for a tough enemy? Since this is all about defeating her?” “That's how it turned out. Didn't plan for it,” the redhead admitted, folding her arms. “She's big, she's powerful, she's very skilled and she's also quite clever. The exact sort of opponent we need to understand how to fight.” “I see. Well, as a red dragon, I do have a natural association with fire,” Chronoclaw offered. “I can try using that. Maybe combined with some of the other elements.” “Sounds good.” “Well then, are you ready?” Paige paused for a moment. “Think so. I am as rested as I can be, my equipment has never been better and... Yeah. So if you are ready, then...” “Oh. Sure. I'm prepared,” Chronoclaw confirmed. “You just... Try to attack me and I'll respond.” The human nodded, drew her blade and charged.

The dragon responded by concentrating, before unleashing a wave of heat.

The warmth washed over the marshal. In an instant, it had become as if on the hottest of summer days. Her stride slowed a bit as she tried to focus, the sudden change in temperature having hit her like a hammer. Shaking her head, feeling beads of sweat starting to form, she continued.

Chronoclaw adjusted her posture and raised her front leg, before taking a swing at the human.

Paige jumped back, avoiding the swipe. Then she had to duck, avoiding an incoming blow from the dragon's tail. Then she set off, trying to manoeuvre around her red-scaled opponent. Like the marshal had imagined, Chronoclaw was slower to turn. She felt a bit bad taking advantage of the dragon's handicap, but a battle was a battle.

Then her footing vanished, her legs went in two different directions and she landed on the frozen ground with a thud. “Ouch.” It was a strange feeling, the cold contrasting with the warm air. She tried to get back up, but the ice that had suddenly appeared was flat as a mirror and afforded precious little grip.

Though getting backhanded by Chronoclaw again certainly helped with that, sending her bouncing across the grass.

The dragon paused, wondering if she'd need to patch the redhead up again after that. She noted that Paige got back up on her feet and charged again. Allowing herself a small smirk, she raised the temperature some more.

The sudden change smashed into Paige. It had gone from hot summer day to midday in the desert. She could instantly feel herself starting to grow slick with perspiration. Every breath she drew was uncomfortably hot in her lungs. Her grip tensed, as she continued her charge.

Chronoclaw focused, small projectiles of ball lightning manifesting in her hand, which she threw.

The marshal dodged from side to side, each shot detonating a small patch of ground, leaving a crater behind.

Noting the redhead was getting close, the red dragon took another swipe with her claws.

This time, Paige slid under, taking a swing with her blade as she did. It only managed to nick the dragon, but it was still something.

Chronoclaw began trying to back up, hoping to keep the human within eyesight, as she tried to bat her away. When that failed, she tried to slam down on the redhead with her sheer bulk.

Having learnt from Freyja's use of the tactic, Paige rolled to the side, avoiding the attack. Now with access to the dragon's side, she raised her blade to drive it in.

And she hit only air.

Paige blinked, confused, removing a sticky strand of hair from her face.

Then Chronoclaw's tail hit her back, sending her flying forward.

“Damned time magic,” she mumbled, voice muffled by the grass.

As her opponent got back up, Chronoclaw concentrated, once again raising the temperature.

“For fuck's... Sake,” Paige gasped as the heat enveloped her. She felt like she was in an oven. Salty sweat kept running into her eyes, burning them. She gritted her teeth and charged again, with slightly less spring in her steps.

Chronoclaw focused, lashing out with blasts of water. Paige managed to stumble out of the way of the first and the second, but wasn't capable of dodging the third. She was slammed back, flipping in the air, before hitting the ground. She was unsure how to feel. On one hand, that hurt. On the other, it was very refreshing. She gritted her teeth, unsteadily marching towards Chronoclaw.

The red dragon paused, wondering how much further the human was willing to push herself.

Then the redhead lunged for her leg.

The chronomancer responded by retracting the limb, leaving the redhead to fall awkwardly to the ground. Then she brought it back down to finish the fight.

Then there was pain.

Instinctively, she pulled her hand back up. Paige had exaggerated her weakness, tempting the dragon into trying to end the fight. At the last moment, she had rolled around, sword pointed straight up, using the momentum of Chronoclaw's own attack against her.

Now hanging from the blade and the wounded limb, the redhead used her entire weight to swing herself, dislodging her weapon from the dragon's scaled flesh and launching her onto the Chronoclaw's back.

The chronomancer lashed her head around, attempting to bite the human now suddenly on top of her.

Paige met her attack with one of her own, leaving the red dragon to pull her head back with a bleeding cut on her face. Then she followed up by driving her blade into the flesh underneath her.

Chronoclaw roared in pain, then inhaled sharply, before letting a wave of fire wash over her back.

Paige was forced to jump off to avoid the attack. She landed, her legs shaking. Her head was starting to feel woolly, the heat sapping her of energy. She turned, ready to face the dragon, but found her to be gone. She spun, swinging her weapon to meet the attack she was sure was coming.

It seemed like the moment took an eternity as time slowed down to a crawl.

Then Paige realised that it was just her, the rest of the world was moving on just fine. Chronoclaw seized the opportunity, swinging her body, lashing out with her tail.

In her mind, watching the incoming limb, the redhead decided that time magic was really an advanced form of cheating.

It struck her in the chest, lifting her off the ground and launching her backwards, knocking her out of the semi-stasis she had been locked in. She landed hard, kicking up a cloud of dust, sliding along on her back. Coming to a rest, she paused for a moment. She was starting to feel dizzy, sweat pouring from her body. She began forcing herself back up, when the heat once again intensified. She gasped, shakily raising her blade.

And then she promptly fell to her knees, as she vomited up her lunch.

Immediately, the warmth vanished.

“Okay, I think we should stop,” Chronoclaw noted with a hint of concern. “You're clearly suffering from heat exhaustion.”

“Okay... Sound's good...” Paige gasped. “Just... Take me... To the water... You found.” “Found? I don't need to find water, I can just conjure you some.” The dragon paused. “I mean, I still had to look for water before, because, ehm, you see, I, that is...” “WATER, PLEASE!”

The dragon hurried to summon some nice, cooling water for the marshal.

...

Chronoclaw watched intently as Paige chilled not far from her. Literally. The dragon magus had conjured a small pool of cooling water for the marshal to relax in, kept in place by some minor adjustments to the ground. It wouldn't last long, but long enough for the redhead to cool off. The human had removed all her clothing and was now intently sucking down the content of the third and final drink she had brought from the base, in order to replenish her salt.

It struck the dragon as rather strange. Most humans seemed ever so shy about being seen without clothes, yet Paige didn't have a care in the world. Then again, with everything she had been through, between Freyja, Frigga and her own sister...

She shook her head, dislodging the distracting thoughts from her mind.

Finishing the bottle, Paige threw it carelessly out of the improvised pool. “Thanks. I really needed this,” she said. “I don't know if it helped, but... It was worth a try. And hey, we can always go another round again later.” “It's fine. Honestly, I...” Chronoclaw paused. “Honestly, it's the least I can do. After... How I... You know...” She paused, looking away.

“It's okay,” Paige noted with a dismissive hand gesture.

“It really isn't. Even now...” She sighed. “I'm angry. Every time my leg aches or every time the pain in my wings flare up, I get angry. Every time I look in a mirror or see another dragon happily glide through the air, I get... So angry. And there's... Nobody really for me to be angry at. I don't even know who the people responsible were, so I couldn't even hunt them down if I wanted to. So I... Just took out all that anger at humans. You were correct. It was easy. But it wasn't right.” She lowered her head, staring at the grass. “I'm sorry. You just wanted my help and I treated you most unfairly. But now... I'm still angry. I just don't know what to do with that anger.” She exhaled deeply. “Maybe seek out my old mentor again. He's lived for so long, he's bound to know something about how to handle that.”

“Maybe. That the one who taught you time magic?” the redhead inquired, having swum to the edge of the improvised pool to better talk.

“Yes. Me and my siblings were all personally tutored by a dragon my family knew of,” Chronoclaw explained, looking quite proud. “Our parents believed it would help broaden our horizons and let us see more of the world.” She paused, deflating a bit. “They must be so disappointed in me. My parents work with humans every day and I just ended up hating them all.” “I don't know your parents personally, but from what I have heard about them, I honestly more imagined they were worried,” Paige said.

“You think so? No, you're probably right. I guess... I just feel like a disappointment right now.” She chuckled humourlessly. “It's funny. Before, I thought I knew better than them. That I'd really figured humans out and that they were just too naïve to see it. So stupid.”

“We all make mistakes,” Paige remarked.

“That's very kind of you to say, especially considering the... Rather brutal way in which I treated you,” the dragon noted, sounding slightly uncomfortable.

The marshal tried to change the subject. “So, you all went to different teachers, yes?” “Yeah. Most of them were red dragons, but not all. I know Kindeyes was taught by a beast dragon. Deriephurth. Heard of him? No? Not that surprising. But it was fun. I learnt a lot beyond just my magic. Although... To be honest, my brothers really didn't take too well to it. Leaving to pursue their own interests. And... Well... You know what happened to Longtooth,” she remarked sadly.

Paige winced. “Hey, sorry for bringing that up. I was trying to get a point across, but using your dead brother was not okay.” “No, you were right. What he did was wrong and... It would be easy to blame the rest of us. But you don't.” She idly pawed the ground. “And... That's very gracious of you. There are many who would not be so considerate. So... Thanks.”

“Come on, that's really not something you need to thank me for,” the redhead insisted. “It's just common decency.” “Which is rather uncommon. Not even I could exhibit it,” Chronoclaw remarked.

“Hmm... Point,” Paige admitted. “But, look, you're trying now. And... Yeah...” “Yeah,” the dragon echoed. She was quiet for a moment. “What you said... It hurt. But it hurt because it was true... And... I needed to hear that... Even if it did...” She coughed. “But, yes, I'll try to do better.” “That's all I'd ask for,” the marshal remarked, then stretched her arms. “Well then, I should get dried off and start heading back. But thanks for the training.” “Huh?” the dragon asked, as the human began getting out. “Oh, ehm, well, I mean, you might as well stay a bit longer.” Paige looked confused, pausing with one leg out of the earthen tub. “Why?” “Because...” The dragon paused for a moment. “I'd... Like... To go over our training.” “Oh. Of course. Completely forgot about that,” the redhead remarked, slipping back into the water, floating on her back. “I think I learnt something about working under pressure.” “Yes. You handled yourself extremely well, considering that the human body does not take well to such temperatures,” Chronoclaw agreed, eyes flickering between the naked human and their surroundings. “You also countered many of my attacks with a variety of tricks.” “Your sister helped teach me that,” Paige remarked.

“You didn't do so well against my time magic, but I'll be fair, few can do anything but endure it. And even then...” The dragon paused. “So, yeah, very well done.” “Right. Well, guess I'll get up then.” “Wait... Surely there's more material we need to cover?” “Like?” “Hmm... I'm sure there was something.” The marshal chewed on her lip. “Okay, listen, I don't mean to put you on the spot,” she slowly said. “And your comments have been very helpful. But it's kinda obvious you've been checking me out for a while now.” “Sorry,” Chronoclaw sighed. “It's just... Now that I'm not hating you on sight and... Have gotten to... Know you better... Well... And...” She absent-mindedly drew some circles in the ground with her claw. “What with... Kindeyes talking about your... Ehm... Encounter...” “Of course she did,” Paige sighed. “Look, apparently, big powerful women are just attracted to me. I don't mind, honestly, but pretty soon, people will think I'm only training as a pretence to find women to sleep with.”

“I mean... That would clearly be a misjudgement of your intentions,” the chronomancer commented. “Your desire to finish the program and beat Freyja seems to me to be very genuine and backed by unquenchable enthusiasm. But... I mean... You are cute...” She coughed. “In that... Kinda small squishy way...” Her claws clacked together. “And... I mean... I've never been... With a human... My mate can take human form, but... Obviously we... Didn't fool around with her in that shape...” Paige shrugged. “Well... I mean, I wouldn't mind. Could be fun.” “Really? I mean, yeah, I'm quite sure it could be fun,” Chronoclaw agreed. “I'm honestly surprised you'd so readily agree. I mean, my sister did make it sound so easy, but... Hmm...” She paused. “Upon reflection, I realise that phrasing might have come off as rather insulting.”

“I'm a go with the flow kinda person,” Paige noted. “Besides, at least you and your sister ask and don't jump straight to shoving me into various orifices like Freyja does.”

The red dragon slinked closer to the basin. “Soo... How do you want to start?” “Me? Eh, this might surprise you, but I don't consider these things a lot.” The marshal rubbed her chin. “Should probably start to. I've gotten more sex these last couple of weeks than the rest of the year totalled. Really, I'll just go along with whatever you come up with. As long as I'm comfortable with it.”

Chronoclaw rested her head on the improvised tub, watching the human float around. After her moment, her forked tongue snaked out of her mouth, before gently moving across the bottom of the redhead's feet, causing her toes to twitch slightly. The dragon noted the reaction and repeated the movement, gently massaging the marshal's soles. She gently tugged the human in a little closer, before letting her tongue explore the rest of the feet, digging in between the toes, rubbing the tendons, sliding across the top.

The redhead breathed out, enjoying the gentle attention she was receiving. She felt herself get pulled in a little closer, before the dragon's lips closed around her feet. Dragon lips were not like human lips. They completely faded in with the rest of the facial structure, without significant colouration or shape. They weren't even entirely as flexible as those of humans. Though the same held true for most of their facial muscles, which dragons usually compensated for with rich voices and dramatic gestures, leaving little to no doubt about how they felt.

The inside of the dragon's mouth felt warm. The chronomancer's tongue kept darting across her feet massaging the tissue and basting it in soothing hot saliva. Sucking her in a bit more, the red dragon began exploring her shins, sliding across the back of her knee and gently prodding the slightly plumper flesh of her thighs,

It was a paradoxical feeling for Paige. On one hand, the dragon's maw was quite comfortable. Between the tongue massaging, the heated air and the warm saliva being rubbed across her, she was feeling quite relaxed. On the other hand, she was now waist deep in the mouth of a predator more than capable of snapping her in half. She could occasionally feel the pinpricks of teeth slightly grazing her flesh. It made her heart beat faster, not that she didn't trust Chronoclaw to not harm her. Every time the dragon breathed, the redhead could feel the air in the mouth reheat. It was like being halfway inside a sauna that massaged you and could also eat you if it wanted to. Her own breathing became a bit sharper, as Chronoclaw's curious tongue began exploring her nethers. Sliding up and now, gently probing both her vagina and anus, flicking back and forth experimentally.

Paige wondered if she should be concerned about possible contamination, but decided she was already being marinated in the dragon's drool. If she was gonna catch anything, it was probably too late. And she imagined that any microbes hardy enough to live in a dragon's mouth would eat for breakfast whatever infectious organisms she herself had picked up.

Sucking the human in a bit more, the dragon pushed against the woman's opening, sliding her tongue inside her vagina, exploring its shape and drinking in its taste. She began pumping in and out faster, listening as the redhead's breathing became more erratic.

It was exciting to explore a human outside the context of learning how to hurt them. Chronoclaw had an encyclopaedic understanding of the human body, how to break it and how to make it feel pain. But that same knowledge also meant she knew just how to make it feel good. She could feel herself aching for attention, but she wanted to play with the redhead for a bit longer. Instead, she let her tail slide over her own wet opening, before plunging it in. She instinctively curled her claws as she slid the tail in and out, enthusiastically masturbating as she kept tongue-fucking the human. She pulled her in a bit further, letting her mouth envelop Paige's breasts. She began gently sucking on the human, using her entire mouth to gently squeeze the redhead, all the while excitedly pumping her own vagina with her tail.

Paige kept slowly sliding deeper into the dragon's warm mouth, now enveloped by it up to her neck. Her breathing became more and more ragged, the full body massage combined with the dragon's relentless yet thorough ministrations slowly winding her up like a spring. Her toes curled as the buildup intensified, her mind fogging over as she got pushed closer and closer to the brink. She exhaled, riding the wave of her orgasm, feeling the relaxation spread through her body.

The dragon could feel it too. The moment where Paige's entire body tensed, then relaxed, almost melting in the chronomancer's mouth. She held her hand up and titled her head, letting the human slide out of her mouth and into her grasp. She shuddered slightly as she pulled her tail out of herself, before she carefully rolled over on her back. Then she reached down with the human, gently pressing her up against her own soaked entrance.

Paige paused a moment, taking in the view and the heady smell the excited chronomancer was generating. The dragon's slit was quite indistinguishable from the rest of the body, only truly visible because of the fluids, Chronoclaw's directions and the fact that her eager self-pleasuring had left it slightly dilated.

The redhead reached out with both hands, sliding them along the folds, before leaning down, letting her own tongue run across the football-sized clitoris. She could feel a slight shudder in her partner's breathing. She wasn't sure how much she could do, given the size-difference, but she clearly had an effect. She pulled one arm back and gently let her hand slide across the fleshy globe. She could feel the heat radiating from it, the dragon's very warm blood rushing to it as her excitement mounted.

Paige could feel Chronoclaw gently pushing against her back, towards the deeper end of her vagina. She let herself be guided, pressing against the surrounding slick tissue. She kneaded the clitoris behind her between her legs. Her hands slid across the bottom, finding the now actual vaginal opening. She could feel herself be pushed towards it. Not insistently, but as if the dragon was testing the waters, unsure of what she'd be up for.

The redhead figured there'd be no harm in playing along, as long as Chronoclaw didn't get so excited she forgot that her companion would need to breathe. She grasped the rim of the opening with her hand, slipping in, massaging the tube's insides with her fingers. It was very warm inside. Not scalding, but still quite hot.

Finding the human to be receptive, Chronoclaw kept pushing. Paige took a deep breath, before allowing herself to be plunged into the opening, head first. Despite the size difference, it still felt quite tight around her. The dragon's own juices did make entry easier though. She could hear the intense rush of the dragon's blood and the smell of her excitement had become almost overwhelming. Now pushed in to her waist, the redhead began to writhe around, using her entire body to stimulate Chronoclaw. She opened her mouth, licking and suckling on the tissue, drinking in thick gulps of the dragon's lubricants. The intense heat surrounding sank into her skin, into her body, into her very bones. It was exciting and soothing.

It was also airless.

Feeling that her time was almost up, she paused her massaging, before trying as best as possible to squeeze, hoping the chronomancer would catch on.

Seconds later, she was pulled out. She took a deep breath, enjoying the much cooler air of the outside, as she was gently placed on Chronoclaw's stomach.

“You okay?” the red dragon asked slightly concerned.

“Me? Yeah, I'm fine,” Paige said. “Just, you know, needed to breathe.” She touched herself, noting the long strings of sticky fluid clinging to her hand. “I'm gonna need another bath.”

“That should be no issue,” the chronomancer noted, leaning back. “I'll make you another one.” The redhead paused. “So, did it feel good for you too?” “Me? Yes, do not worry. I enjoyed it too,” the red dragon noted. “So yeah...” They lay in silence for a moment.

“Paige?” “Yeah?” “If you need more training, which I suspect you will, I'll help.” “I'm glad to hear that. Maybe I can build up some more tolerance for heat.” “Yes... And... Thanks... For everything.” “Heh, you're welcome.”

Chronoclaw coughed. “And... You don't have to use it, because I know you people have trouble with it and it is very grating to get it wrong, but... I'd like to share with you my actual name.” “Oh?” Paige perked up.

“Yes. Akdatuliaith. So... yeah.” “Neat. Though I'm probably gonna stick to Chronoclaw.” “That's fine.” The dragon paused, before reaching over for something.

Paige looked up curiously, as the dragon delicately held the marshal's sword between her claws.

“This sword... You mentioned liking it,” the chronomancer noted.

“It's mostly affection,” the marshal admitted. “Got it the day I was accepted in the Black Shots. Just, you know, it's kinda been with me through thick and thin since then. So I guess I'm kinda attached. Kinda silly, I know. I mean, it's standard issue and...” She paused, feeling a slight thrum go through the air. “And... And... What was that?” “It is not silly,” Chronoclaw noted, handing the blade over to the redhead. “I enchanted it. The spell is not as powerful as what I can do in person, but given time, the blade will always return to its prime.” Paige admired the weapon for a moment. “Heh, thanks. That'll come in handy.” “My pleasure.”

...

Paige entered the mess hall of Fort Varrick, yawning all the while. Despite the second soothing bath, she was sore all over and in need of a stiff drink. She paused to look around, the hall somewhat empty. Calling it a mess hall was actually a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a bar than anything else, complete with bar desk. A bar desk that she was resolutely marching towards to get a nice shot of alcohol to knock her out cold until the sun deigned to rise again.

“So, another successful conquest?” came a smarmy voice, causing Paige to sigh. She turned towards the voice. Sitting in a chair, face hidden behind the magazine he was reading, was Carlos Valoran. He was a tall, olive-skinned man, with a mop of short brown hair, though with enough of a fringe that it obscured his left eye. He lowered the magazine, flashing her a smile and revealing his most notable feature, his vibrant eyes. One was ruby red, the other a beautiful violet. Some said it was due to magical ancestors, others said it was due to demon blood in his veins. Carlos himself said it didn't matter to him.

“It was not a conquest, it was a training session,” the marshal insisted.

“Sure, 'training session', gotcha,” the soldier replied, doing airquotes with one hand. “So you're telling me you didn't bang this one?” The redhead hesitated.

“I knew it,” he said, a smug grin lighting up his face. “You know, dating sites and personal adds are such a waste of time. You've figured it out. Just lure some innocent maidens out into a meadow, fight them and then they'll be all over you.” “First off, shut up,” Paige began. “Secondly, there's not a single one of them that could be described as an innocent maiden, perhaps with the exception of Frigga, and even then I think you'd have to be charitable. Thirdly, I go out there with the express purpose of training. Training which will keep people like you alive in the long run.” “Well, I do hear that sex is good for your cardio,” Carlos agreed. “By the way, before you start throwing the furniture at me, like I can see you're tempted to, you have a visitor.” “I have a visitor?” Paige repeated. “Well, where are they?” “Here,” he replied. The redhead looked around, confused. As far as she could see, there was only her, Carlos and their green-scaled kobold barkeep Crix. She looked back to the soldier, confused.

He had resumed reading his magazine, but deigned to point up.

Paige followed, finally noticing the large spider on the ceiling. “Oh. Ehm, hello there. You're the guest?” The spider lowered itself from the ceiling on a strand of silk. As it did so, its thorax and abdomen bloomed, opening up into a new shape. She detached from the thread, landing on her feet, now looking quite human, except for the great spider legs sticking out from her back. She was tall, with long pink hair and tanned skin, her dark eyes meeting Paige's as she lightly adjusted her suddenly manifested clothes. “Good day to you. I am Layla, Akdatuliaith's mate.”

“Oh. Chronoclaw,” Paige noted.

“Yes. I spoke with her today and it seems you have managed what I, sadly, could not. I suppose in the end it took a human to undo what a human had done.” “Ehm... Thanks,” the marshal tried uncertainly.

“It will take time for her to let it go completely, but I must admit, her irrational hatred towards humans was getting inconvenient,” the woman continued. “Our work shall be much improved without that holding us back.” “Well, sorry to hear her intense desire to mangle humans was inconvenient,” Paige dryly replied. “That must have been hard on you.” “Oh no, not at all. Just frustrating on occasion,” the jorogumo continued. “I hope it was not too much of a trial. I did tell her before she left to be gentle with you, but I gathered that was not how it ended up.” “Considering I had my head pulped at least once, no, it was not very gentle at first,” the redhead noted.

“Oh, the dangers of dating large women,” Carlos remarked.

“What was that? Sounded like you wanted to clean all the toilets tomorrow,” Paige shot back.

“Yes, I rather feared that would happen, but it seems that despite my worries, you have managed to make progress. I do hope you will continue to train with her, as it seems that she has grown rather fond of you and that fondness might be key to continuing her development,” Layla continued.

“She'll have to get in line at this point,” Carlos snidely added.

“Swear to the gods, Carlos, one more word and you're going out the window.” “Please don't,” their bartender sighed. “It gets so drafty in here whenever somebody breaks the windows.”

“But, yes, that was all. I'd just like to pass along my personal gratitude and earnest thanks for your assistance. I do hope to see you around and I can certainly say that Akdatuliaith feels the same way. Have a nice day.” With that, the pink-haired woman turned around and left the room.

Paige paused, chewing on what she had said. She hadn't given it much thought, but it gave her a warm fuzzy feeling inside, knowing that she had helped the dragon at least take steps to overcome so painful and deep-seated issues. She only hoped she could continue down that path. For her own sake as much as everyone else's.

“Come on, marshal, can't you leave some for the rest of us,” Carlos sighed theatrically, before having to jump out of his seat to avoid getting grabbed by his superior.

“CARLOS, I ORDER YOU TO COME BACK HERE AND HAVE YOUR TEETH PUNCHED DOWN YOUR THROAT!”

“And I thought sex was supposed to be de-stressing. Come on, Paige, put that chair down, it hasn't done anything.” “I concur!” Crix called nervously. “And please watch the...” There was a crash and a sound of shattering glass as the chair missed its mark. “Window,” they sighed.

[weavercobra]

Campfire Tales

A fun little story that elaborates on some backstory for the Expedition.

Once more, darkness covered the jungle like a blanket. Having moved deeper into the ruins, the Expedition had set up camp in a long abandoned feast hall. Julius had spent most of the day transcribing the few remaining symbols on the walls and sketching the decorations, trying to make sense of things. By the time night had fallen, he had already started on translating the text, when Fulla had decided to drop by to give them an update on everything else happening in the lost city.

“...and then she more or less broke the flask over the statue's head,” she explained. “And wouldn't you know it, the thing was a petrified demonic gorilla, who promptly woke up and decided that now his time to rule had come.” “And what happened?” Wan asked.

“We kicked his ass until he wouldn't be able to conquer as much as the surrounding flowerbeds,” she replied, stretching her front limbs out in a gesture indicating she had imagined that result to be obvious. A gesture that was also hard for everyone but Julius to see, as the shadowy arachnid kept her distance from the campfire, leaving barely anything but her crimson eyes to pinpoint her location. “Also got the local charau-ka to agree to behave. For a given value of the word.”

“Explains why we haven't had to fend off those monkey bastards all day,” Wan noted.

“A nice story,” Lena commented. “Reminds me of when I still had my ship. Me and the crew would gather together on quiet nights and swap stories before hitting the sack. Share some rum while at it. Good times.” She took a sip from her bottle. “Mind you, pretty sure half of them were bullshit, but we'd run out of stories pretty damn quick if they all had to be true.”

“Eh, a good story doesn't have to be true,” Lillian noted, wearing a chef's outfit as she stirred the stew the group was going to have for dinner.

“Right. Speaking of stories, there's one I'd like to hear.” The pirate hunter crossed her arms. “How the fuck did you guys get friendly with that spider?” “Well, we hired her for a job,” Harold explained. “Simple as that.” “Is it? Is it really?” she pointedly inquired.

“No, but...” Xavier trailed off, eyeing Julius.

The cleric sighed. “Fine. I'll tell the story.” He took a sip of coffee. “So here's what happened...”

... The day was sunny. And the day was also warm.

Fulla entered the camp. And Fulla said: “Hello.” And Julius said: “Hello. I am Julius.” And Julius said: “Who are you?” And Fulla said: “I am Fulla.” And Fulla said: “I am here for the job.” And Julius said: “For the job? Do you mean the archaeological job we are doing here at the camp where we are?” And Fulla said: “Yes.” And Julius said: “Good.” And then Julius and Lillian and Harold and Xavier and Wan and Bogdan and Fulla went into the ruin.

The ruin was dark. It was hard to see because it was dark.

And Julius said: “I've brought a light.” And Julius turned the light on so they could all see in the ruin which was dark.

And Harold said: “Good idea, Julius.” And Julius said: “Thank you, Harold.” And then Julius and Lillian and Harold and Xavier and Wan and Bogdan and Fulla went deeper into the ruin.

And then Lillian said:

...

“Cut, cut,” Lillian interrupted, suddenly wielding a megaphone. “Julius, what was that?”

The cleric was now leaning away from the elf, arms held up in an ineffective attempt at keeping her magnified voice at bay. “I was trying to tell a story,” he tersely noted.

“Tell a story?” Lillian asked, wearing a puffy outfit reminiscent of the type a bard of the court might wear. “Where were all the descriptions? Why did you use the same phrasing so many times? What was with the dialogue? You're good at many things, but a storyteller you ain't.” She sat down. “How about you make sure our dinner doesn't burn and then I can tell the story of how we met Fulla?” “Sure,” the cleric sighed and got up.

“Okay, let's start over,” the elf said. “It was a warm and sunny day, heat rising from the rocky cliff sides. And far above the dusty roads flew the devil Dringraun, scouting the area for trouble. And as she rounded a boulder strewn hillside, she saw...”

...

It was a warm and sunny day, heat rising from the rocky cliff sides. And far above the dusty roads flew the devil Dringraun, scouting the area for trouble. And as she rounded a boulder strewn hillside, she saw something peculiar. A rather large black spider making its way down the road. She immediately lifted her rifle, ready to end the predator before it could jump one of the workers, but then she paused.

The spider was very much following the road.

And then it stopped, adjusting its thorax to look up.

Which the erinye knew was rather unnecessary. The arachnid's eyes were arranged so that it had no doubt spotted her. Which meant it was a display purely to inform the flying fiend that she in turn had been spotted too.

“Who goes there?” she challenged, daring to fly a bit lower.

“So, decided not to shoot, have you?” the spider responded in Taldane. “Oh well.” “Oh well?” “Guess I'll have to wait a bit longer to find out what erinyes taste like.”

There was a brief pause.

“You'll end up tasting a bullet if you don't answer my question,” Dringraun warned the black arachnid.

“I'm Fulla. I'm here because of a job notice,” came the answer, as she pulled out a piece of paper she had webbed to her side. “Archaeological aide to new digsite. That around here, yes?” The devil descended a bit further, enough so that she could both read the notice and have time to react should the spider decide to try and jump her. “That's us, yes,” she said, having studied it. “I am Dringraun, currently assigned to scouting the area for potential threats. Main camp is around the corner, just down the road. You'll be looking for Julius Leroung. He's the one leading this excursion.”

“Right. Thanks.” And with those words they parted.

...

“Wait. How do you know the part you weren't there for?” Lena asked.

“I read Dringraun's report, asked Fulla what happened to make her being termed an obnoxious bug and extrapolated from there,” Lillian replied.

“It's surprisingly accurate,” the shadowy spider herself commented. “Though I did also ask her if I could get a nibble before she flew off.” The pirate hunter raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, she started out planning to shoot me on sight,” the umbral arachnid continued. “I felt it was only fair to give a little back.”

“One imagines that calling her an obnoxious bug was done with some measure of restraint,” Wan remarked.

“I did have to read an archived version,” Lillian noted. “So it was probably... Toned down for propriety's sake. Anyway, how did she react to your question?” “I'd say she was glaring daggers, but it was more like glaring full on greatswords,” came the bemused reply.

“I think we're getting a bit off track here,” Julius stated, as he added some spices to the mix. “And furthermore, this whole bit has absolutely nothing to do with the events in question.” “It helps set the scene,” Lillian replied. “Introduces one of the main characters, establishes a bit of personality. You know, makes it more digestible. Everyone else gets introduced next, so it helps break things up.”

“Seems needlessly roundabout to me, but apparently I don't know storytelling,” the paracount said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, do go on.” “Right. So anyway, Fulla continued down the road and...”

...

Fulla continued down the road and soon after found the camp. Several tents and temporary structures had been raised around a big digsite, from which the sound of clanging tools and rocks breaking could be heard. At the road, two soldiers stood guard, engaged in conversation until they spotted the approaching spider. They put their hands on their weapons, but hesitated to actually draw them.

“I'm looking for Julius,” Fulla stated. “I'm here for the job offer.” “Oh,” one of the guards said surprised, visibly relaxing. “Ehm... Big black and red tent over there.” “Thanks.” And with that exchange finished, she continued into the camp.

The appearance of the large, black spider waltzing into camp caused an immediate reaction. Many of the workers stepped away and stared, yet the fact that she had come this far without being stopped caused most to hesitate to try to interfere.

Fulla took the opportunity to investigate the camp closer. The post itself had been vague on details, but from what she could see, they were digging for something. The fact that most of the diggers were slaves and hired workers rather than professional archaeologists told her that either the camp's leader was an utter buffoon or that whatever they were digging for couldn't be easily broken by a clumsy swing of a pick. Most of the camp was dedicated to support personnel, with very little in the way of equipment for the storing and transfer of valuable objects. Again, either incompetence or this camp was merely an initial expedition. If the latter was the case, it probably meant they were trying to locate a larger site and that following expeditions would be better equipped to catalogue any finds. She figured she'd get her answers once she spoke with the one in charge.

Approaching the tent, she found a muscular orc and a human with a hat playing cards outside. Both of them looked up at the approaching arachnid.

“Can we... Help you?” the human inquired.

“I'm looking for Julius,” Fulla replied.

“I see,” the orc noted, before calling to the tent: “Hey, Julius, a giant spider wants to see you.” “Oh, what is it now?” came a voice from the tent, as a man exited. He was dressed in practical, solid clothes and had black hair, which matched his...

...

“Yes, thank you, I think we all know how I look,” Julius interrupted. “Also, why are you being coy about Wan and Harold's names? We all know who they are.”

“Because Fulla didn't at the time,” Lillian replied, slightly annoyed at having been cut off mid-story. “And the story is from her perspective.” “Does it really need to be from anyone's perspective?” the paracount asked. “Hell's bells, Lena just wanted to know how we met.” “Hey, I like a good story,” the sailor noted.

“Though how did you pick up on what Fulla thought of the whole thing?” Wan asked.

“She asked. I told her I figured either Julius was looking for a specific site or he was a complete idiot,” the spider clarified.

“Now, if I may continue without further interruptions,” Lillian said sharply. “Julius exited the tent...”

...

Julius exited the tent and stared at the spider. “Yes?” he finally asked.

“I was told to talk to you about this,” she said, handing over the notice.

The paracount carefully took the sticky paper and read it. “Ah, that,” he said, handing it back. “You wish to be hired as an archaeological aide.” “Provided this whole affair isn't a complete joke,” Julius looked rather miffed at the insinuation. “And by that you mean what exactly?” “The people digging probably couldn't even spell archaeology, let alone document anything. Equipment around here is mostly to support the staff. Food, sleeping tents and so on. That tells me you're doing one of two things. Either you're looking for a site which will then be explored by a follow-up expedition or you're about to pulverize some priceless ancient find, in which case I will have to eat you.”

Julius glared at the spider, caught between admiration at her insight and offence at her even thinking he would be that careless. “I can assure you, I know what I'm doing,” he informed her. “And consider yourself hired. We're looking for an old access tunnel, which we believe leads to the lost city of Rachikan.” “One of the lost Jistkan cities,” Fulla noted. “Fascinating. However did you come upon this digsite?” “I have my sources,” the paracount noted.

“Devils then I take it.” He paused. “Yes.” “Interesting. So what do you need my help for?” “Once we find the access tunnel we can descend into the city. But as you pointed out, much of the personnel here would be ill-suited for such a task. Me and my associates are therefore planning to go down there ourselves for a preliminary survey of the site.” “I hear a but coming.” “But the Jistkan civilisation were known to specialise in the creation of constructs and I therefore suspect any intrusion on our part will be met with resistance,” he explained. “So getting additional help who can also assist in documenting finds would be helpful. So far, you're the only one to respond to the notice. We'll see if more show up while we dig. For now, I should introduce you to the rest of the team.” He gestured with his hands to the two cardplayers. “This is Wan, our team's sharpshooter, and Harold, our defence specialist.”

The two gave their greetings.

“Now come along,” Julius said as he walked off, Fulla following behind as they headed for one of the bigger tents.

Inside, the smell of food filled the air. Standing by a large pot was a massive, muscular man clad in a tanktop, while next to him an elf in a cook's uniform was busy chopping greens.

“Julius. Good to see you,” the man said as he waltzed over and patted the paracount on the back, which almost knocked him over. “How is digsite going?”

“It's going fine, Bogdan. We're making progress,” Julius said, rubbing his sore shoulder. “We have gotten some potential help in Fulla here.” The massive man looked to the arachnid. “Oh. Is spider. Welcome. Not know what you like, but you say if you get hungry, yes?”

“I will,” Fulla commented.

“Bogdan here is our healer and medic,” Julius said. “And also our main offence when in battle. And over there is Lillian, who does a little bit of everything, but primarily serves as our diplomacy and deception specialist.” He looked around. “Where's Xavier?”

“Seeing if perhaps some explosives would speed up the digging,” the elf noted.

“Of course he is,” Julius replied. “Xavier is our stealth and demolition specialist. He's also a few lines short of a pentagram.”

“Is funny guy,” Bogdan noted. “Good mood. Doesn't afraid of anything.” In the distance, there was an explosion followed by the sound of yelling.

“But perhaps like bombs too much,” the large man continued unaffected. “No one perfect.”

“I better go see how much of a problem that just became,” Julius sighed and turned to head out again. “Feel free to spend your time however you like, Ms. Fulla. I'll inform you when we have had a breakthrough.”

... “Bogdan sounds like a good guy,” Lena remarked. “Wish I could have met him.” “Yes, well... He was,” Julius noted, focusing intently on the stew. “And he sure was our best cook.” He tasted the mix. “Bland. Lillian, I'll need a hand with the spices.” “Sure, sure,” the elf said, now back in her cooking uniform. “Harold, sum things up while I save our dinner.” “Huh? Sure,” the orc replied. He scratched his head. “What is there really to say? We spent the next couple of days getting to know each other while the digging went on. We got along with Fulla and the opposite seemed true too. Not much to add.” “Me, Harold and Fulla went hunting once. Got to see how a spider eats their prey,” Wan said. “What a terrible day to have eyes.” “Come on, don't be so sensitive,” Fulla remarked in an amused tone. “I figured you' be curious.”

“Yeah, no, reading about it was enough. I didn't need to see external digestion in person, thank you very much.”

“Anyway,” Lillian said, sitting back down in her bard costume. “So a couple days later...”

...

A couple of days later, Fulla found herself trying to play a game of gnomish origin called Clockwar with Xavier. It was a strange board game reminiscent of chess, but all the pieces were mechanical and moved via intricate mechanisms that had to be wound and set correctly to get the pieces to go where it was desired. If done wrong, pieces could end up charging off course or shooting allies. And having very little in the way of manual dexterity left the spider very much at the mercy of chance, a fact she reflected upon as her paladin bravely charged right off the table. “That means that piece is out, yes?” “That it does,” Xavier confirmed. “Still, you're doing better.”

Fulla stared at the bloody aftermath of her berserker using one of her clerics to beat up her wizard. “If you say so.”

“Alright everyone, breaktime is over,” Julius said as he entered. “They've found it.” “Great. Then I can stop standing here embarrassing myself,” the arachnid noted, as Xavier began packing the game up.

Following the cleric outside, they found the rest of the team at the bottom of the digsite, where the stone had cracked like the shell of an egg to reveal a dark tunnel.

“Now then, according to historical sources, Rachikan was an important forge town, built underground to be closer to the veins of metals that fuelled its production,” Julius explained. “These access tunnels were used as means of transportation to and from the surface. So unless it has suffered further collapses, we should be able to follow this straight to the site itself. Any questions? No? Then let's get in.”

“I should probably go first. Don't need no rope anyway and I can spot if there's anything waiting in the dark while you guys get set up,” Fulla offered.

“An excellent idea. Well then, after you,” the cleric replied, gesturing to the hole.

The arachnid stepped forth and descended, clinging to the ceiling of the revealed tunnel. She took a couple of steps to turn her body, her many eyes scanning the room. It was a long tunnel descending at an angle, a wide track of rusted iron following the floor. It reminded her of traintracks.

“Well. Any problems?” Wan asked from the hole.

“Nothing I can detect.” “Good. Seems like we'll get at least a couple of minutes before we get fucked.” A rope ladder was unfurled into the hole, letting the others enter the tunnel.

“Let's see what we have here,” Julius noted, turning on his torch. “Ah. Tracks.” “Mining carts, perhaps?” Harold guessed.

“This was an access tunnel, yes?” Lillian asked. “So probably more for transporting people.” “Like a train,” Julius agreed, writing notes down. “If we could find the vehicles used for these it would help, but it is an excellent hypothesis for now.”

The team began descending. Bogdan and Harold took the front, Wan and Xavier the middle, followed by Julius and Lillian. Fulla took the unusual position of following along on the ceiling.

“So, how far do we have to go?” Xavier inquired.

“No idea. Rachikan was described as being underground, but how far... Who knows,” Julius replied. “And that's if we don't get stopped by a cave in.” “There's something up ahead,” Fulla remarked.

“Where?” Bogdan asked, raising his own torch. “Ah, there. Fulla is right. There is train wagon ahead.”

Attached to the tracks was a cart, a mixture of wood with flaking paint, rusted iron and once beautiful windows now shattered.

“Has seen better days,” Harold noted, opening a door with a tortured whine of metal. “Seems pretty unused.” “Still, this does indicate we were right. The Jistkans had invented a rudimentary train system for transportation,” Julius said, stepping onboard. “Lillian, take some pictures. I'll begin drawing sketches.”

“On it,” the elf said, wearing a brown jacket and hat as she fished out a camera.

Fulla stepped into the wagon, still walking on its ceiling. “I see it once had some carpeting.” “Yeah. All moulded and ruined. Unsurprising. These damp caverns are not gentle to such materials,” Julius noted, investigating a pile of rotted clothes in what had probably once been a closet for passengers to put their clothes in. “Hey, I found a button,” Xavier called.

“Pick it up and we'll take a look at it,” the cleric replied.

“Okay.” There was a click.

There was a rumble.

There was a slow, metallic screeching sound as the wheels of the wagon turned for the first time in centuries.

There was a lurching feeling of the entire thing moving.

“Uhm, he mean machine button. Not jacket button,” Bogdan offered.

“So I realise,” Julius sighed.

And then the wagon picked up speed, descending downwards into the tunnel.

Everyone clung to rotten seats and metal poles, as the momentum of the wagon threatened to hurl them out the back.

“Fucking dammit all, someone hit the brakes!” Wan yelled, as the ancient wagon noisily rumbled onwards.

“I think I see it!” Xavier announced, hanging onto a chair. “The lever.” “I'll get it,” Fulla said, slowly crawling forward. Around them, plates of wood loosened and flew off, as the metal frame creaked ominously, rusted components slowly splintering under the strain.

“At this rate, the whole thing will come apart around us before long,” Harold noted, holding Lillian with one arm and maintaining a grip on a metal pole with the other. With a scraping snap, the top of the pole came loose, bending ominously. “Maybe sooner than that.” “I got it!” Fulla called, wrapping her mandibles around what they hoped was the brake. “Just a good pull and...”

There was a loud clunk as she pulled.

“It's not slowing,” Wan remarked. “The brakes must be busted.” “I mean... That's a word for it,” Fulla noted, turning around holding the now detached lever.

“Well... Damn,” Julius squeaked.

“Don't worry. The track's ending,” Xavier yelled and pointed.

Everyone else looked up and saw the rapidly approaching barrier at the end of the tracks.

And they began screaming.

...

“And then what happened?” Lena asked.

“We crashed. Hard,” Wan said. “I'd say I still remember that ride in my nightmares, but at this point, there's pretty stiff competition for that with everything we've been through.” “Suffice to say, it left us all rather addled,” Lillian noted. “In fact, I don't remember much of what happened between us impacting and me waking up to Julius healing me. So anyway, in the middle of the pile of debris that...”

...

In the middle of the pile of debris that had once been the wagon, Julius called upon the powers of his deity to mend Lillian's bleeding wounds, as Bogdan and Harold were digging Xavier out of the twisted frame of the cart.

“Wow... That was fun,” the spiky-haired gnome said as he was pulled out. “Let's do that again.” “Let's not,” Wan groaned, as Fulla handed him a bandage for his bleeding forehead. “Where are we anyway?” Julius looked away from the remains of the cart with a grin. “Rachikan,” he said.

The others followed his gaze. Illuminated by the occasional light was a skyline of towering structures, crumbling palaces, massive pillars and plazas and everything else one would expect from such a grand city.

“It looks spectacular,” Harold noted.

“Yes. I imagine our arachnid friend here's got the best view though,” the paracount noted.

“That I do. I also see signs of inhabitation and plenty of movement,” Fulla noted, as she observed the sprawling ancient metropolis. “Julius, I think there might be more than just constructs here.”

There was a scraping of stone as something moved in the dark. Several shapes slinked forward, growling angrily. They were of humanoid shape, their skin pale and their hair bleached white. Their eyes were large and red, their bodies dressed in scraps and furs, each one wielding a club or pipe.

“Fascinating. Morlocks,” Julius remarked, taking a step back as the threatening humanoids began closing in. “It would seem the Jistkans never left the city.”

“Maybe they friendly,” Bogdan suggested.

One of the morlocks roared and leapt forward, ready to smash the man's head, when Wan's rifle rang out. A bullet caught the attacker in the chest, launching them backwards.

“I'm gonna go with a hard fucking no on that one,” Wan remarked and aimed again, as the rest of the morlocks charged.

Drawing his revolver, Harold fired into the crowd, catching a couple of blows on his shield as he shifted to his scimitar.

At his side, Bogdan let loose with a hearty laugh and a couple of swings from his massive splitting maul, its head featuring an axe-blade on one side and a blunt maul-like square surface on the other. His attack was devastating fracturing skulls and slicing off limbs with every swing.

Julius paused to get an overview of the situation, as Fulla pounced on an attacker to his right and Xavier shanked a morlock in the throat to the left. He felt Lillian poke his shoulder. “Yes?” The elf pointed up.

The human followed her finger.

Several morlocks were crawling down the cavernous wall, seeking to encircle them and cut them off from the exit.

He grabbed his mace, a beautiful, bejewelled weapon that he had commissioned upon completing his clerical training, and drew it. The gems magically lit up, casting a scintillating light around it. Immediately, the morlocks on the wall began recoiling and retreating away from the unfamiliar shine.

The paracount took the opportunity, conjuring a ball of hellfire in his hand, before launching it at the cluster. The fiendish fire exploded, launching several of the cave-dwellers off the wall with grievous wounds and sending the rest scurrying away. “Of course. Xavier, flash grenade,” he ordered.

“Wait,” Fulla called. “I...” Whatever she wanted to say disappeared into a loud hiss as the area was filled with a blinding light, the gnome having thrown the explosive the moment he had gotten permission.

The morlocks howled as their eyes were burnt by the flare, those on the frontline suddenly finding themselves unable to fight back. They began to run, howling in pain and agony.

“And do not come back!” Harold yelled as a final salute at the retreating cave-dwellers.

“Well, that went well,” Wan noted.

“Julius,” came a low hiss.

“Hmm?” the cleric indicated, turning to Fulla, who was looking kinda wobbly.

“I. Don't. Have. Eyelids,” she hissed.

“Oh... Sorry,” he replied forlornly. “How are you?” “Blinded.”

“Ah.” “This is why spiders like the dark. Seriously.” “Well, at least you can comfort yourself with the fact that the fight is over.”

This statement was followed by the barest moment of silence, which was interrupted by a thumping sound, one that steadily got louder and louder.

“You just had to say something,” Wan groaned.

With a loud slam, a massive shape burst through the nearby boulders, shattering them. A tall stone statue stepped forward, each step echoing through the vast cavern.

“That would be golem, yes?” Bogdan asked, holding his maul high as the construct approached.

“Looks like it,” Harold said, holding his shield up.

The stone statue swung a massive fist, slamming into the orc's defences, launching him backwards. Bogdan took the opportunity to step forward, swinging his weapon at the construct's exposed legs. The blunt side smashed into its calf, sending cracks through it. The golem responded with a backhanded blow, sending the large man stumbling backward.

Meanwhile, Wan was firing shot after shot into the construct, blasting off chips of stone. “We need a new plan, like right fucking now,” he called.

“Does it look top heavy?” Fulla asked.

“What?” Julius asked perplexed.

“I still can't see anything but blurs. Does it look top heavy?”

“I think every part of him is heavy,” Xavier noted, launching a pebble with his sling, which did little to the construct as it tried to hit Bogdan with a haymaker.

“Then give me a moment,” Fulla said, as she began pulling a string of webbing from her abdomen.

Harold fired a couple of shots from his revolver, each bullet splintering part of the golem's surface. The lumbering construct turned around and stomped towards him, taking another swing, which the orc elected to dodge this time.

The flagstones splintered as the solid knuckles of the statue slammed into them.

“Now,” Lillian called, as she and Julius ran towards the golem, each holding onto one end of a long length of spider-silk.

Behind them, Wan and Xavier kept firing, more to overwhelm the construct than do any damage.

Stumbling back, it blindly raised its hand as its face was peppered with projectiles and swung it wildly at the group.

However, Bogdan charged in with a swing of his maul, knocking the blow off course as his comrades ran past him. The two began running around the golem, the string of silk attaching itself to its legs and tying them together as the two kept circling. The construct tried to move, but the thick, sticky substance completely threw off its movement, causing it to fall over with a loud crash.

Not wasting any time, Bogdan leapt at the fallen construct, bringing his weapon down on its head. The golem tried to get back up, only for the massive man to smash it again. And again. And again.

At the fourth blow, the head crumbled and the golem went still. From its shattered neck seeped a glowing green mist, which vanished into nothing.

“What was that?” Xavier pondered.

“A fiend. The golem's source of power,” Julius noted, writing something down in his journal. “So it is true. The Jistkans did use captured fiends as power-sources for their golems. This might explain my commission.” He turned to Fulla. “Thanks for the assist. How are your eyes?” “Oh, I can see again,” the spider noted with a concerned tone. “And that means I can see that the guys that escaped before are coming back with some friends.” Julius paused. “How many?” “A couple of hundred of them.”

“A couple of what?” “A couple of hundred of them.” “How about we call this preliminary investigation a success and get out of here?” Wan suggested, as the sound of running became louder.

“Good idea,” Julius agreed. “Let's fall back. Very quickly.”

...

“So then we had to run uphill all the way back to the entrance,” Wan remarked. “Couldn't feel my legs for the entire next day.”

“But better than getting bludgeoned by morlocks,” Harold noted.

“By the way, sorry about the blinding,” Xavier noted. “I think I forgot to say that back then.” “It's fine,” the shadowy spider replied. “Just be careful if we end up fighting together. I'm actually even less fond of light nowadays.”

“As is rather typical for shadow creatures,” Julius remarked as he tasted the stew. “Almost done.” “Then I'll finish up,” Lillian remarked. “Having safely returned home, they spent the rest of the day recuperating. The workers...”

...

Having safely returned home, they spent the rest of the day recuperating. The workers sealed up the tunnel entrance, so nothing would accidentally get out.

The next day was calm. With the digsite a confirmed success, work was halted to wait for more personnel and equipment to be moved in. Which meant that for the most part, people were just relaxing. Julius was sitting outside his tent, putting the finishing touches on his report. “So, what are you gonna do now?” he asked Fulla, as he closed the report. “You could earn a lot more money staying here as a full-time archaeologist.” “Thanks for the offer, but I'm heading southwards for now,” the spider replied while sucking the liquefied flesh from a cocooned catch. “I might just return someday though. It's a big site and there's probably a lot to be discovered.”

“Fair enough. It's not like we'll be staying either. Getting all the equipment set up and getting the right personnel would take a while even without bureaucracy slowing things down,” he noted. He looked up. “But for the people here, it means a long vacation. Good for them, but I have other things to do.” “Another reason why I won't be staying. Any plans for your next find?” “Well, I currently have my eyes on securing a...” “Julius, guards say a guest has arrived,” Xavier said as he ran up to them. “Some guy from the court who wants your report.” “That was quick,” Julius remarked.

“Guards at the gate say his papers all check out,” the gnome added.

“Must be eager to hear if we have found anything of value. Xavier, invite them in and offer them a cup of tea while I go get copies taken,” the cleric said as he headed off. “Will do.”

The gnome returned moments later with a man in tow, a human male dressed in a black jacket with lightly curling red hair cascading from his head.

“Can we offer you a drink, Mister...?” Xavier inquired.

“Zadimus Black. And no thanks, I'll be leaving shortly,” he replied. “My ship will be setting out in a few hours, so I must return as soon as I have the report.” “I see.” “Has there been any... Hello there,” the man noted, eyeing Fulla. “Unusual. I don't remember a spider being posted here. Who do I have the pleasure of talking with?” “Fulla,” the arachnid replied, finishing sucking her catch dry. “I'm a mercenary archaeologist.” “I see. And how would you describe the site?” “Fiercely guarded. Already had to eat a couple of people.” “I see,” Zadimus replied unperturbed.

Fulla eyed him. “So what's the court's interest in this?” “The Jistkan Empire was known for its mastery of constructs. Such devices would be valuable to anyone possessing them.” He looked up as Julius approached with a stack of papers. “The report, yes?”

“Indeed. Bring my regards to the court,” the paracount said, handing them over.

“So I shall. Best of luck with your future endeavours then.” The man nodded and walked off.

Xavier watched him leave. “Hey, Julius, since when did agents of the court wear badges?” “Badges?” Julius inquired confused.

“Saw it under that jacket. Was orange with an A on it.” “Might be a new division or something. It's not like they tell me everything,” Julius replied with a shrug.

“Well, I've had my fill. I'll be off then,” Fulla said, discarding her dessicated catch. “Best of luck with your future missions. Maybe we'll team up again some day.” “I would most certainly appreciate your assistance. Your contributions yesterday were invaluable,” Julius noted. “Safe journey.” “You too,” the spider said, as she walked off towards the camp's entrance.

The two watched her leave.

“By the way, you said you had something lined up,” Xavier remarked.

“What? Oh, yes. I've already sent Lillian off to do some preliminary work,” Julius noted, returning to his chair and opening his journal.

“And what are we going for this time?” The cleric smirked. “A dragon's hoard of valuables,” he replied, eyeing the name Ironhide on one of the pages.

...

“Did you have to end there?” Julius sighed.

“It sets things up for our next story,” Lillian replied.

“I rather don't care for that one.”

“So then you went off and then...” Lena paused, gesturing to Fulla's body. “All of that happened.” “Yep. Fun times. Then I went off to investigate a lost pyramid before finding my way here,” she said, before briefly pausing. “Sorry to hear what happened, by the way.” “It's in the past,” Julius sighed. “Nothing to be done about it now. Dark Lord willing, we'll meet him again on the other side someday. But for now, we have all of this to attend to.” He finished stirring. “Food's done. You want some?” “No. I prefer something... Fresher,” she said. “But I can always drag whomever I catch back here if you want the company.” “Thanks, but no thanks,” Wan remarked, scrunching his face. “Watching you suck some poor boar's intestines out like it was a juicebox will ruin my appetite.” “Have it your way. I'll see you all around again later,” Fulla noted, as she faded back into the dark of the jungle.

“Well, that was fun,” Lena said and yawned. “But I think I'll hit the sack once I've had some of that stew. Fucking tired, you know.”

The evening continued in peace as the expeditionaries enjoyed their meal, exchanging a few more stories before settling in for the night.

[weavercobra]

Animal Season

The continued shenanigans of Paige Hawkins, featuring another of my boyfriend's characters.

Session 4: Animal Season

Paige Hawkins crept ever so quietly through the undergrowth, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. She was surrounded by forested woodland, her only company the sound of birds and insects in the background.

After her last encounter with Freyja, the marshal had decided to give herself some time to rest with a relaxing hunting trip, for two reasons. One reason was for the quiet environment to give her mind time to work out how to adapt what she had learnt into the Black Shot training program. She felt she had learned a couple of things, about how to scale larger creatures to reach weak-spots, how to fend off their attacks and, most definitely, how to handle taking a hit from a creature the size of an average two-story house. The second reason was closely tied to that. To give herself the peace and quiet necessary to figure out what to do to get the better of Freyja for once. There were methods to mitigate the issues she had encountered, but she liked to rely as little on equipment as possible. Not because she had any problems with utilizing equipment, but because she truly believed that she and the Black Shots needed training that didn't rely upon what items they could bring along besides their essential equipment. After all, one never knew what opponent one would square off against. So the current question was, how to harm Freyja when she could reach the temperature of a red-hot stove with but a thought.

She didn't have the answers. But she hoped to come up with some, while also bagging some venison to bring back home. She had managed to stumble across the tracks of a deer. Female, young. Outside their mating season. She wouldn't risk leaving any fawns to starve. Only one set of tracks, so it must have gotten separated from the herd. Possible survivor of another predator's attack.

She paused at the edge of a clearing, keeping herself obscured by a bush. There it was. Grazing. Alone as Paige had surmised. It was a pretty animal, it's fur having a red tint to it, giving it an autumnal hue.

Slowly, the marshal removed her rifle from its holster on her back. She held it up, aiming. She briefly considered a headshot. It would drop the deer instantly. But with the way it was rummaging around in the grass, there was too much risk of her missing. Or worse, hitting improperly. She had no desire to see the animal suffer. Instead, she aimed for the front of the body. One shot and she could take out the heart and both lungs. It wouldn't live long after that. She held her breath and took aim.

She squeezed the trigger.

The rifle shot echoed through the woods, sending several birds flying away in a panic.

The deer froze.

And then, slowly, it turned its head to stare at the bullet wound.

Paige found herself staring too. She had hit it, she could even see blood. But it was obvious the bullet had failed inflict anything but a mild wound, somehow.

And then, the deer turned to look at her. Their eyes met.

Paige felt the hairs on her neck rise. She had not noticed it before, what with it grazing, but its eyes were green. A really lush green.

And then the deer smiled at her.

All the alarm bells went off in the marshal's head. Not only should a deer not even have the ability to smile, nor a desire to do so, but its mouth was completely unlike anything a deer should have, full of jagged, pointy teeth more befitting a dedicated carnivore.

Paige realised that whatever she was looking at, it wasn't a deer. She was unsure what it was. But she was out here, alone, equipped with a hunting rifle, staring down something she didn't even know what was. Protocol was clear on what one should do in such a situation.

One should run.

Paige leapt up and ran away at full sprint, eager to put as much space between her and the un-deer as possible. Trees passed by her in a blur as she charged through the forest, no longer caring whether about keeping a low profile. She chanced a glance over her shoulder. She wasn't being pursued. Looking ahead again, she suddenly froze.

There was a deer in front of her.

It had green eyes.

It was smiling.

It had sharp teeth.

Hawkins didn't know whether she had just stumbled into the forest of the carnivorous deer or if the one she had shot had just casually ignored physics to get ahead of her. Not that it mattered much, she didn't intend to quiz the damn thing.

Changing direction, she set off again.

She leapt over a log and slid down a decline covered in withered leaves, kicking up a small cloud. She could feel her heart pumping like crazy as she cleared a small stream of water.

And suddenly there was a green-eyed deer in front of her.

Smiling.

Reacting on instinct, Paige tried to quickly run a new direction. Reacting a little too quickly. Her flight was brought to an immediate halt by her running face first into a thick branch, knocking her on the ground.

She lay there dizzily staring into the sky as she tried to reorient her thoughts, even as a massive headache hammered away at her mind. She could already feel her eye swell shut from the damage of the impact.

She heard something disturb the leaves and barely managed to register the deer walk up to her, leaning in over her head. It had stopped smiling, actually looking a bit concerned. It took a deep breath and exhaled. A cloud of light green mist flowed from the un-deer's mouth and enveloped Paige's head. It smelled like flowers. She felt a strange tickling in her head and face, as the swelling subsided and her thoughts cleared, the migraine she had earned from her close encounter with the tree fading into nothing.

The marshal sat up, rubbing her head. It was like she had never had that unfortunate encounter with the branch in the first place. She looked to the not-deer in confusion.

“There, isn't that better?” the creature said in a feminine, but still deep voice, now smiling again. “You did a good job trying to get away. Had you not run into that branch, I might actually have had to put some real effort into catching up to you.” The redhead remained silent, glancing down the creature's flank. She could still see the bullet wound. “Ehm... Sorry about that,” she tried.

“Oh, that?” the deer-thing said, looking to it. “It will heal just fine.” She looked back to Paige. “Besides, you did think I was just a deer.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you?” “Oh, a little bit of everything,” the green-eyed creature coyly replied. She tilted her head, looking Paige over. “Say, that uniform. You're with some official group, aren't you?” “Yeah,” the marshal confirmed, as she got back on her legs. “The Black Shot Brigade. Military branch of the MPS.”

“Interesting. I myself am an associate of the MPS,” the deer explained. “Several of my family are actual members and I have helped out in person on a couple of missions. Does the name Kindeyes ring a bell?”

“It does. Popped up a couple of times over the last months.” Paige folded her arms. “Let's see, what did it say... Right, you're that dragon druid. Member of the Emberscar noble family.” “Oh, you have heard of me,” the deer replied happily. “Well, I suppose I left a bit of an impact. Quite the impact actually. But let's not make this all about me. What's your name?” “I'm Marshal Paige Hawkins,” the redhead introduced herself. “Current head of the Black Shot training program.” “Well, then I'm not the only one with a reputation,” Kindeyes replied. “I've heard of you. You're currently trying to perfect techniques to allow beings of your stature to go toe to toe with much larger opponents, yes?” “That is true,” Hawkins confirmed. “Though... How did you know?” “Oh, people talk. In this case, my brother Ironhide mentioned you,” the druid explained. “He heard about you from Freyja herself. Sounds like you've been through a lot.” “Of course that blasted spider wouldn't keep her mouth shut,” Paige sighed. “Wonder how many people now know me as that redhead who got fucked by the goddess spider? Oh well, I've still picked up quite a few lessons. I actually decided to go for a hunting trip to give myself time to think it all over.”

“Interesting. Anything you can share?” Kindeyes inquired. “Or is that top secret or something?”

“Nah,” the marshal replied, shaking her head. “So what I've learnt so far is that mobility really is key. Not only to avoid attacks, but also to reach vulnerable points. I mean, someone like Freyja, she has most of her body-mass hoisted above the ground. And those legs are not soft.” She folded her arms. “Last time, I managed to get on top of her body, but then she turned the fight around by raising her temperature. So I gotta come up with some way to get around that.”

Kindeyes tilted her head. “Have you considered just shooting her?” “Of course I have,” the redhead replied in a tone indicating that she found it obvious. “But there's no guarantee that you'll always have such weapons at hand. My training helps make sure my people can handle large creatures, even with minimal equipment. It's about being able to take on the unexpected. I might feel safe going up against a dragon with a flight of combat helicopters on my side, but that's doesn't matter one bit if I get jumped while I'm all alone armed only with a spork. My men have to be prepared to be surprised.” The druid nodded her head thoughtfully. “Okay. I see where you're coming from.” She lowered her head, as if mulling something over. “Alright, I'll help.” Paige blinked confused. “I'm sorry, what?” “I'll help,” Kindeyes repeated. “I mean, not only am I a dragon, but I also can take a variety of forms. You could get a wide variety of experiences from trying to best me in battle.” The marshal chewed on the inside of her cheek as she mulled it over. “That's not untrue,” she slowly said. “Alright then. I suppose that to finish the program, I would need much more than just fighting Freyja. So okay. I'll accept your help. How do we do this?” “We can start back in the meadow where you shot me,” the druid said, as she began walking away. “And then we'll just see where things go from there.” “By the way, still sorry about that,” Paige added awkwardly.

“Oh, it's okay. As I said, it'll heal.”

...

The redhead marshal stretched her limbs, feeling a couple of satisfying and audible pops. “Alright then. So, any rules?” “Oh no, not really,” the deer responded. “Just do your best. Really, if you want to use your rifle, I'm okay with that too. And don't be afraid of hurting me.” She smiled again, revealing her sharp teeth. “I'm hardier than I look.”

Even though she had accepted that the druid was friendly, the sight still made Paige's hair stand on ends. Probably because a deer that looked like it could tear your throat out just looked wrong. “No,” she said. “I shall forego my rifle. If I need that to fight you, then I'm not ready to fight you.” She leaned the weapon against a tree.

“How brave. Most humans would prefer to have a deadly weapon between them and a dragon,” Kindeyes noted. “I can see why Freyja finds you fascinating.”

“Really?” the marshal inquired, eyebrow raised. “I thought that was just because she enjoyed sitting on me.”

“Well, no doubt she does, but, well, most humans seem well aware of their limitations.” Kindeyes looked thoughtful. ”You seem to see it more as a challenge to overcome. Or maybe that is the wrong word. It's not like you're trying to become as strong as, say, Freyja. But to instead fully embrace your limitations and find a way to leverage what you've got to the point where you can fight her. Fight me. That is inspirational.” “Huh. Well... Hehm...” Paige felt a slight blush spread in her cheeks as she mulled over the compliment. “Hey, thanks, that's nice to hear. But really, I am just trying to keep me and my men alive. Size is a game changer on the battlefield, after all.” “Oh, I quite agree. Now then, whenever you're ready.” Kindeyes strode a bit away and turned around.

Paige drew her sword, then paused. “Are you... Going to stay a deer?” “Of course not. But I'm not telling you what I'll turn into.” She smiled again. “After all, you did say you had to be prepared to be surprised.” The redhead chuckled. “True, that. Alright, I'm ready to go.” She drew her blade and charged.

Kindeyes reared up on her hind-legs. At first Paige thought she would try to kick with her hooves, but then the druid transformed. The front legs grew in size, the fur flowing into long feathers. The hooves on her hind-legs split open, becoming gnarled talons. The skin around her mouth and nose retracted to reveal a beak. Her body bloated and grew, rapidly increasing in size, until she towered over the human in the form of a majestic roc.

Paige had to pause for a second. “Okay. I guess I did ask for big.” She tilted her head as she noted that despite her new form, the green eyes and teeth remained. It looked rather odd in the beak of the bird. “So what, those chompers are your trademark or something?”

“Oh, I guess that's one way to put it,” the avian druid responded, right before she set off from the ground, flying into the sky. The redhead kept an eye on her opponent as she circled the glade, before suddenly diving with great speed. Paige paused, tensing her leg muscles, before leaping to the side at the last moment. The roc's massive claws cut into the meadow, leaving several deep furrows, before flying straight out of the meadow again.

Paige's eyes stayed on the massive bird as it came around for another attack. It seemed that Kindeyes was leveraging her ability to fly to try and win through hit and run attacks, trying to exhaust her. She leapt out of the way of another dive, fragments of grass and dirt spraying in every direction.

As she got back up again, watching the gargantuan bird circle once more, she got an idea.

Kindeyes swooped down again, trying to guess which direction the human would try to dodge so she could adjust. She was slightly surprised when the answer turned out to be at her.

Paige could feel a small shock go through her body as she hammered into the leg, wrapping one arm around it. The talons under her tried to close around her leg as they took off into the sky, but the redhead managed to pull her limb up in time, before slowly crawling up the massive leg. She chanced a glance down at the forest far below them. The view was great, but she didn't fancy testing what the fall would do to her.

Kindeyes began trying to shake her off, spinning through the air while trying to kick at the redhead with the other leg.

Paige could feel her inner ear protest, as she ducked under one of the razor claws taking a swipe at her. Clinging to the gnarled limb with one arm, she lashed out with her blade as Kindeyes tried to hit her again. The sword cut into the druid's leg, forcing a screech from the bird's beak. The roc began beating its wings and ascended, going into a loop. Paige could feel her stomach protest as the horizon spun before her, forcing her to wrap all of her limbs around the tree-trunk thick bird leg. At the loop's end, Kindeyes unfolded her wings, braking hard in the air.

The sudden stop was too much for Paige, who was hurled away from the airborne druid. Shooting through the air, she noticed the rapidly approaching forest lake, before she smashed into it, spraying water in every direction. The impact nearly knocked her unconscious and the speed sent her plummeting towards the bottom. She felt her entire left side turning into a bruise and she was pretty certain something had broken, though the impact had numbed the pain.

With effort, she began reorienting herself, wanting to reach the surface before what little air she had managed to breathe in before impact was spent.

As she approached the surface, she saw something massive smash into the water near her, descending into the lake in a great cloud of bubbles. Paige figured it was Kindeyes diving down to find and catch her.

What she didn't figure, what she hadn't seen coming, was that out of the cloud of bubbles swam the massive piscine form of a megalodon. It's eyes were two solid disks of green and somehow, for some reason, Kindeyes had managed to modify her form to have even more and even sharper teeth than the original animal.

The redhead marshal stared in disbelief as the submarine-sized aquatic hunter shot towards her like a torpedo, her massive jaws opening into a gluttonous black hole.

As the primordial predator swallowed her, Paige's limbs shot out, briefly halting her descent into the druid's stomach, even as the constant water pressure threatened to dislodge her from her precarious position, as Kindeyes continued swimming on with an open mouth in an attempt to force the issue.

The marshal was starting to get real tired of getting shoved into orifices.

She could feel her lungs burn as they strained to squeeze what little oxygen they could out of them. She was steadily running out of time.

This would require drastic measures.

She let go.

And then she raised her blade, the water now pushing her along like a lance.

Kindeyes halted her swim as she suddenly felt a sword being lodged firmly in her oesophagus. She began writhing, trying to force the stubborn marshal through, but that just made it worse, as the redhead hammered her remaining limbs into the surrounding matter.

It became too much and her body instinctively sought to eject the obstinate matter.

Inside, Paige felt the entire body cramp around her, before she was suddenly pushed forward as the druid's stomach everted, the tissue roughly shoving the marshal out back through the megalodon's mouth.

Immediately, Paige began swimming as fast as she could, taking only a brief moment to glance back to see if Kindeyes was still trying to get her stomach back into place again. Seeing she was not being pursued, she pushed on, breaching the lake's surface.

She gasped and coughed as she dragged herself onto land, her entire body shaking, as she greedily sucked in mouthful after mouthful of fresh air. With great effort, she slowly managed to get back on her feet. She raised her sword, eyeing the lake with suspicion. She knew for a fact there was no way she had defeated Kindeyes.

Although, she did admit to herself that it was not impossible that the druid would feel that their duel had gone on long enough and would want a break.

As Kindeyes stomped out of the lake in an explosion of water, having taken the shape of a tyrannosaurus, Paige concluded that was probably not what had happened.

The dinosaur roared, before charging forward. As was her trademark, even the gargantuan predator's mouth had been enhanced with even more teeth, making for quite an intimidating sight, which did not become any less horrifying as she shot forward, trying to snap up the marshal.

Paige leapt to the side, even as her body protested and demanded a break, barely evading the massive jaws, which closed shut behind her with a terrifying sound.

She rolled across the ground and got back on her legs, even as they threatened to collapse under her, her eyes focused on the great predator in front of her.

Kindeyes roared again and charged forward, her jaws open wide.

The redhead ran forward, before leaping, rolling under a second bite. Now underneath the dinosaur, she ran towards the legs.

The druid began stomping around, trying to reorient herself so that she could see the much smaller fighter. Or at least step on her so she could keep her in one place.

The feeling of a sword being stabbed into her foot notified her where her opponent was.

She kicked forward, launching the marshal across the ground, where she dizzily tried to get back up.

The druid attacked, seeking to finish the battle off while the battered redhead was still trying to get her bearings.

But Paige, though weakened, was ready, leaping up at the last possible moment, lodging one hand in each of the dinosaur's nostrils as the dragon went in for the finishing bite.

Kindeyes instinctively tried to reach up to smack the human off, before realising that her currently assumed shape didn't have the capability. She tried to snort and bite, attempting to dislodge the redhead from her nose. When that failed, she began whipping her head around, hoping to fling Paige off with sheer force.

Her arms burning from the exertion, the human still clung to the twin orifices, fighting against the force of the dinosaur's wild head swings, waiting for an opportunity. As Kindeyes threw her head back in frustration, the marshal saw her chance and let go, clumsily vaulting up over the tyrannosaurus' head. She began sliding down the neck and lashed out with her sword as she did, resulting in several superficial but painful cuts.

She landed on the dinosaur's back and prepared to stab for a more serious wound.

That's when Kindeyes suddenly collapsed.

The marshal landed on the druid with a thump, feeling her already sore body protest at the continued battering. She looked around confused, wondering why the little damage she had dealt had been enough to knock the druid to the ground.

As Kindeyes rose up, looming over her, she realised that the druid had merely now assumed the form of a titanoboa.

Paige knew that she had asked for the duel to be surprising and unpredictable. But it was all starting to become a tad bit ridiculous.

The serpentine druid shot forward, trying to ensnare her opponent in her crushing coils.

Paige began running, even as the scaled flesh under her began shifting like a treadmill from Hell. She leapt over the druid's long body as one coil tried to squeeze her, then dodged under a vicious strike from her tail. The snake's head came in from the left, mouth wide open, revealing it to as per usual be full of sharp teeth.

Paige evaded by sliding down the side of the titanoboa's body, ducking under another length of scaled flesh as Kindeyes tried to squash her against the ground. Finally, she was out out of the clutches of the snake. She sprinted a couple of steps before spinning around, sword ready.

Kindeyes calmly watched her from within the scaled knot she had tied on herself, her forked tongue dancing in and out. Then she seemed to tighten her coils, before her rippling flesh began merging, condensing into a more solid and stocky form.

A bulette.

Paige sighed as the landshark thundered towards her.

She waited until the last moment, twirling to the side to evade the attack, lashing out with her blade as she did. She hit, but she could feel how it barely dug into the druid's now armour-thick plated hide.

Kindeyes dug her claws into the ground, swirling around. She paused for a moment, then jerked forward, swiftly digging into the ground, vanishing from sight in mere seconds.

The redhead paused, her grip on her sword tightening. Her ears picked up the distinctive sound of churning earth, as the druid closed in, unseen.

She set off in a run, deeper into the forest. She hoped the dense network of treeroots and such would delay her shapeshifting opponent, perhaps even force her to surface. Behind her, the churning sound intensified, getting ever closer.

The ground exploded as Kindeyes shot out like a voracious cannonball, diving through the air for the marshal. Hawkins responded by rolling across the mossy ground. The predator landed with enough force that the marshal could feel the thump echo up through her body. She leapt over a fallen log, as behind her the bulette dug into the ground again, initiating pursuit once more.

Paige kept running, trying to wrack her head for useful information. She wasn't too knowledgable on bulettes. Perhaps she should have run into the lake. Despite being termed landsharks, they weren't good swimmers as far as she knew. But then Kindeyes would probably turn into a whale or something like that. She was unsure if that would be an improvement or not.

She cleared a large boulder and dashed through a thicket, hoping to at least outpace her pursuer until she could formulate a plan.

But at she ran into the open, she found herself pausing, recognising the nearby furrowed ground. She had accidentally made it back to the glade.

The sound of shattering earth caused her to spin around.

Kindeyes dragged herself out of the hole she had made, eyeing the defiant marshal with her ever toothy grin on display. “Well,” she started. “You are harder to pin down than I imagined. From the way I heard it, it sounded like Freyja had no trouble putting you in your place.” “Well... I have learnt a few things,” Paige noted.

The bulette just nodded. Then her back split open, unfolding into wings. The armoured plating cracked, settling into smaller, crimson scales. Her tail telescoped out, becoming longer. Her head launched forward, her neck lengthening. Manifesting out of her were several bags, hanging onto her via a harness of leather strips. She stretched her limbs, having now taken on her original form of a red dragon.

Even then, Paige noted some peculiarities that set her apart. Her build seemed more dainty and less stocky than was normal of her kin. And small plants sprouted from between her scales in a few places.

Kindeyes leaned backward like a cat ready to pounce, then shot forward. The redhead ducked under a strike from the dragon's claws, then lashed out with her own blade, leaving a cut in Kindeye's foreleg.

The druid responded with a flick of her body, lashing out with her tail, catching Paige by surprise. The scaled limb struck her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

Seeing an opportunity, Kindeyes tried pinning the human to the ground with one of her rear legs. The redhead evaded by rolling to the side, then stabbed backwards, holding her sword in a reverse grip.

Kindeyes hissed and backed away, giving herself a moment to inspect the wound.

The marshal corrected her grip and stormed forward, taking the initiative.

The dragon druid considered trying to bite again, but experience had taught her that getting her head too close to the human was a recipe for injury. With another flick of her tail, she attempted to knock the redhead down.

Paige leaned back, the limb swishing over her, before she grabbed it and jammed her sword into it. Kindeyes reacted instinctively and pulled the tail back, dragging the redhead with it. Holding on, the marshal eyed an opportunity, letting go just as the tail was pulled behind the dragon again, launching herself into the air towards her opponent.

The green-eyed dragon was momentarily confused and looked around, trying to figure where the redhead had gone after injuring her tail.

She got the answer when Paige plunged into her shoulder, gravity and the force of the throw combining to lend strength to the attack. Her blade dug in and cut open, leaving a massive gash behind before Paige dropped to the ground.

The druid gasped and backed away, eyeing her now bleeding shoulder. It was nothing serious, but it hurt considerably. “Okay. You are good,” she said, smiling. “You might actually be able to beat Freyja at some point. But for now, I think it's time to put an end to this game.”

The green colour of her eyes seemed to intensify, even glow. Paige was pretty sure this was a bad sign.

The small growths began sprouting into prickly plants, curling along the crimson scales. A circlet of thorns began pushing up through the scales of her head, giving the vague impression of a crown. With a slight creaking, her body expanded, growing in size. Around her feet, the grass seemed to get greener, with small flowers starting to bloom.

Paige couldn't help but stare in surprise.

“The funniest part is, this isn't even the limit of my powers,” Kindeyes noted nonchalant. “But I feel like pushing beyond this would be overdoing it. You already look kinda wobbly.” “Right. Wobbly is the word,” Paige muttered, raising her sword.

An instant later, Kindeyes brought her foot down. Not hard, but swift and forceful enough to push the marshal into the ground. The druid waited a bit, feeling the human struggle, before movement ceased. “So, breaktime?” “Sounds good,” came Paige's muffled reply.

...

Paige lay on the grass, staring at the sky, enjoying the breeze washing over her. It was nice to end a training session without feeling like she'd just been through a meat grinder. Once combat was officially over, the dragon druid had exhaled another cloud of healing goodness.

The redhead furrowed her brows and sat up, eyeing Kindeyes, who was now back in her deer form. “Hey, how come you can breathe healing anyway?” The deer looked up, her mouth full of grass. “Oh, that?” she asked, before swallowing. “Well, I didn't always have that. Like my dad, I was born with a defect that meant I couldn't exhale fire, unlike most of my siblings. But then I went into training as a druid. During that time, I wandered the land and met many fey. I learnt a lot from them. And once I started bonding with them, they started inviting me into their realm. Ever been there?” Paige shook her head. “Nope. Only read the stories and so on.” “You're missing out. It's a fantastic and vibrant place.” She paused. “And dangerous. You gotta stay on your toes. Fey have a habit of forgetting that people are... Fragile. Anyway, longtime exposure started to alter me. I'm now just as much fey as I'm dragon.” “Is that also why you have plants growing out of you?” the redhead inquired curiously.

The deer nodded. “And as I said, you haven't seen all I can do just yet. And to be honest, I don't think even I know what I'll be fully capable of at the end of things. It really is a fascinating journey.” She began pacing around the marshal. “So, now that you've rested, any opinions on the fight?” “Well, you managed to make it unpredictable. That much I can say,” the redhead replied. “I think I need to work on my stamina. At the end, it wasn't even really a fight.” “Well, you still managed that strike to my shoulder. That was pretty impressive,” the druid noted. “If you want my perspective, your most notable assets in this are your endurance and your stubbornness.” “What do you mean?” Paige asked.

“I think most people would be ill-equipped to deal with a giant shark after being dropped out of the sky like that,” Kindeyes continued. “And then, after almost drowning, you could still throw down with me as a dinosaur. Honestly, you were beaten and bruised, but it was only at the end you really faltered. And that was after a lot of effort. That is your greatest asset, so far. You just keep going. Capitalize on that. You could in fact end up outlasting a larger opponent. Honestly, the only place you were lacking was on the offensive, and even then, not by much. That could easily be fixed with some better weapons or developing your skill with your sword.” “Endurance huh? Hmm...” Paige rubbed her chin. “I'll keep that in mind. Thanks.” “No problem.” “Now I just gotta figure out how to endure being roasted by Freyja.” “Yes, I suppose adding the element of fire to the mix does change it up a bit. But I'm sure you'll find a way.” “Heh, thanks,” Paige said, blushing slightly. “You know, it's nice to hear someone believe in this project. Plenty of my men suggested the best option was to stay at a distance with big guns and call it a day.”

“Right. I'm sure that would do a lot to keep Ironhide at bay,” the deer sarcastically said, rolling her eyes. “We don't call him that because he can be knocked over by a sneeze.”

The marshal shook her head, chuckling. “Did you know he sometimes lets himself be used as target practice? I hear he occasionally teaches at a nearby adventure school, so the students have something live to hit. “ “That is so him,” Kindeyes agreed. Her toothy smile grew slightly wider as she approached the redhead from behind. “So now that we've both fought and rested, what's next?” “Dunno. Haven't planned any post-battle activities,” Paige replied with a shrug.

“Is that really so? I've heard there's a certain after battle activity you really enjoy,” the druid said innocently, letting her tail brush against the marshal's neck.

The redhead felt a shiver dance down her back from the touch. “Okay, that's not me. That's that damnable spider and her out of control libido,” she corrected, scratching her neck.

Kindeyes leaned her head down besides the human's, eyeing her with a smirk. “And Frigga?” “Hell's bells, can I bang anybody without everybody having to know?” Paige sighed frustratedly. “No, I admit, that was different. She offered, I was worked up and it was nice. But I wouldn't go as far as to say I make a habit of it.”

“Oh, of course not,” Kindeyes responded, retracting her head. She leaned down on the other side. “But on that note, I am offering. And you must admit, you are curious now, aren't you?” Paige coughed. “I mean, I'd be lying if I said no. But...” “Afraid you'll seem weird if you have a deer eat you out?” the druid asked nonchalant.

“I mean, I was trying to find a different way to phrase it...” Paige said. “But, yeah, I mean, you know, animals and such, it's just...” “Oh no, don't worry, I get you. Not wanting to take advantage of a defenceless animal and such.” She leaned in closer, her breath washing over the marshal's ear, causing her to slightly shiver. “But I don't think you need to worry about you taking advantage of me.”

The redhead turned her head, noting how close Kindeyes suddenly was. The druid pushed forward, their lips meeting. Paige could feel the druid's tongue dance across her lips and opened her mouth, slipping out her own to meet the dragon's in a messy kiss. The deer's tongue was quite a bit larger, easily filling the marshal's mouth, but Kindeyes was quite gentle with it, careful not to cause her partner distress. The shapeshifter kept gently pushing against Paige, and the marshal found herself leaning more and more backwards, until she lost balance completely and fell over.

She lay in the grass for a moment, breathing heavily and her face flush with colour, looking up into the druid's green eyes.

Kindeyes just smiled again, before leaning down, continuing to make out with the human. The redhead's hand reached up and began gently stroking her neck, enjoying the sensation of the soft fur. She reached for the ungulate's ear and began gently playing with it, massaging it between a couple of fingers.

Kindeyes breathed out a sigh of pleasure at her partner's ministrations. She could feel the heat building up in her nethers as blood began rushing to it. She let her tongue slip out of the human's mouth, before using it to gently massage the exposed skin of her neck, teasing out small gasps from the redhead.

Feeling happy with her work for now, she pulled her head back and turned around, before pausing., staring down at the marshal's pants.

“Hmm, this is the problem with your kind's habit of wearing all these layers,” she noted. “Pretty hard to be spontaneous when there's always something that needs to be pulled off. I mean, I get you, it's probably really cold without them, but still.”

“Well, I'll be honest, I wasn't exactly prepared for having a deer want to get in my pants,” Paige noted. “Might have worn something more convenient if I knew my hunting trip would turn into this.”

“Of course you weren't. All the same, mind helping me out by pulling these down? I'd try doing it myself, but I think that would be more awkward than just asking.”

The marshal obliged by hooking her thumbs into her waist and pulling both her pants and panties down with a bit of wriggling, exposing her vagina to the outside air.

Now having access, Kindeyes laid down on her legs, careful not to put too much weight on the human underneath her, before she began letting her tongue run over the redhead's sensitive folds. She pressed harder, parting the labia, allowing her to taste the marshal's wetness.

At the other end, Paige breathed sharply at the feeling of Kindeyes eating her out, all while looking directly up into the deer's opening, trying to figure out where to start. She reached up with her hands and let them run over the druid's furred rear. Using her thumbs, she traced the outline of her vagina, before experimentally digging in. The inside was slick with wetness. As she let her fingers gently explore and probe the druid's opening, she came to the conclusion that it was pretty similar to her own, though obviously larger. She leaned up, taking a moment to enjoy the heady scent, before using her tongue to massage the ungulate's vagina. Taking in the taste, she quickly found a little bump, which she took for her partner's clitoris. She pursed her lips and began sucking on it. The satisfied moan Kindeyes emitted indicated she had been right. Reaching up with her hand, she inserted two fingers into her and began gently pumping them in and out, slippery wetness quickly lubricating them. With her other hand she grasped and began gently massaging Kindeye's soft tail.

“Ah, you're enthusiastic, aren't you?” the dragon gently teased, breathing out excitedly. “This is what I like about partners with hands. Worth all the clothing trouble, really.”

Paige stopped sucking for a bit, commenting: “Glad to hear that I'm worth having to wait a few seconds for me to get my pants off.”

They continued like this for a while, pleasuring each other.

Then Kindeyes paused again, with a satisfied sigh. “This is really good, but, don't you want to take advantage of my abilities?” “Huh?” Paige asked, ceasing pleasuring the druid for a moment.

“Well, I am a shapeshifter,” the dragon continued. “I can become so many different things. Why not use the opportunity?”

The marshal paused. “No offence meant, but I haven't spent a lot of time considering what animals I'd like to fuck.”

“None taken. But there must be some animals you like, aesthetically if nothing else.” The deer turned around so that they were facing each other. “Okay, what's your favourite animal?” The redhead pondered the question. “I admit, I'm rather fond of crows,” she replied. “Clever animals, really. But...” She didn't get to finish the sentence, before the druid shrunk, her body changing much like when she had assumed the form of a roc.

Paige stared down at the toothed crow. “Ehm... Well, you are cute like this,” she admitted, rubbing the bird's head. “Even if a beak full of teeth still looks weird.”

“I know. But it's my thing,” Kindeyes admitted. “So, ready to continue?” “Ehm... Aren't you a little... Small for that?” Paige asked diplomatically. “I mean, I'm just concerned I'll accidentally hurt you.” “Oh, so you're worried you're too big, eh?” The corvid hopped closer, looking into the marshal's eyes. “You know what? That's fair enough.”

“Okay, so what... What do...?” Paige felt strange. It was like her entire body thrummed with energy. Her inner ear began softly weeping as around her, everything seemed to grow bigger. Fur began pushing through her skin, as her own clothes seemed to melt away. Her ears grew and her tail bone projected out of her, followed by a wave of new flesh and nerves. Finally, the transformation finished, leaving her looking up at the now again slightly bigger Kindeyes.

“There. Problem fixed,” she insisted.

The redhead stared down at her paws, then around at her body. “What... What did you do?” “Oh, you're a mouse now.” “A mouse?” Paige squeaked. “Why am I a mouse now?” “Well, mice are smaller than humans,” the druid explained matter of factly. “Now you have less to worry about.” “Yes. Now instead I just have to worry a passing fox gets the munchies,” the marshal complained.

“Aw, don't worry. I'll keep you safe,” Kindeyes cooed, before nuzzling the rodent's head with her beak. “Besides, I'll be honest. If it came down to that, pretty sure you'd win.” She kept rubbing the tip of her beak against the mouse's body. “On top of that, even you must admit this is a different experience.” “Well... True,” Paige breathed out, enjoying the feeling of the bird massaging her back. “It was just... You know... Surprising...”

“Oh, I do try.” Kindeyes grasped the rodent's backside with one of her feet, softly squeezing the tissue. As she did so, she bent down, grasping Paige's newly gained tail in her beak, gently squeezing it.

“Ah, that... That's different,” Paige gasped.

“Right. You've never had a tail before,” Kindeyes commented. “You can do a lot with a tail, honestly.” She moved her leg to the side of the mouse and gently pushed, rolling the rodent over on her back, before repositioning herself over her.

Paige stared up at the crows opening, a single glistening orifice. “Oh, right. Bird. Cloaca. Ehm...” She paused for a moment. “Is it... Sanitary?” “Don't worry. I mean, I know how birds work, but I shapeshift so much that everything I eat just gets folded into me,” Kindeyes explained. “So I'm as clean as I can be.”

“I see. Well, then...” She leaned upwards and tried to lick the opening. It was difficult at first, as she was still trying to get used to how different her head was. Made it even more impressive how Kindeyes seemed to just flow from shape to shape.

Said dragon enjoyed the attention from the transformed marshal, clumsy as it was. She had guessed it would take her partner a bit to get used to her new form. Meanwhile, she began rubbing her beak against Paige's vagina, gently stimulating it, before carefully pressing against the opening, feeling it slowly give.

Paige, for her part, had slowly begun working out how to properly move. Her new paws were not as flexible as her hands, but they did the job, allowing her to grab hold and bury herself in the bird's cloaca. She managed to lick the rim of the orifice, before plunging her tongue into the tube, pressing against the slick tissue of the crow's insides. As she did so, she could feel Kindeyes press harder and harder into her, pumping in and out of her vagina with increased speed, as her muscles began relaxing and her juices lubricated her beak.

The shapeshifter pulled her beak out and turned around so she was facing her partner again. She pressed her cloaca against the rodent's vagina, the swollen walls of the orifice sliding up and down against the human's genitals. As they continued grinding against each other, Kindeyes leaned down and began carefully nibbling the large ears Paige had gained.

Returning the affection, the marshal began licking and gently biting at the crow's neck. They continued like this for a while, rubbing against each other while exchanging soft bites and kisses.

“Okay,” Paige finally gasped, leaning back. “This has been... Fun. But I'm starting to run low.” “Already? Well, I supposed I can't be too surprised.” The crow ceased humping for a moment to stare at the setting sun. “It's getting late and you've had a rough day. But do you think you can handle a little more? If I'm the one doing the work?” “Maybe,” Paige guessed.

“Good.” The druid touched her and Paige felt herself growing again, her body reshaping back into her human form. Her pants were still around her ankles, just as they had been before she had transformed. “Man, that feels strange both ways.” She rubbed her tail-bone. “Almost strange to not have a tail any longer.” Kindeyes flapped a bit away, before growing, now retaking her draconic form. “Just thought we could have a little fun in our original shapes,” she said, closing in on the human. “You just lie down and enjoy this.” The redhead nodded and leaned back on the soft, cool grass.

As she did, the red dragon stuck her snout to the human's still soaking vagina, taking a moment to enjoy the scent, before lashing out with her long, forked tongue.

Paige breathed out in pleasure, as the soft organ danced across her sensitive issue, before forcing itself into her. The twin tips wriggled around, exploring every nook and cranny of her genitals it could reach. It dug deep into her vagina one moment, then slipped out to play with her clitoris the next, only to plunge deep inside her again.

Kindeyes grinned, seeing the effect she had on the human. It was always fun watching her partner squirm. Meant she was doing something right. She let her tongue slip out again, before going lower, leaving a sticky trail across her perineum.

The redhead could feel the tongue sliding between her ass-cheeks, the twin prongs teasing her sphincter. She wanted to ask her partner if she was sure she wanted to go there, but cut herself off with a sharp intake of air, her back arcing as the dragon's tongue slithered in.

Kindeyes let her muscular organ slide across the slick walls of the human's rectum. She knew that the human would be especially clean right now, having just recently been transformed. And even if she hadn't been, the dragon wouldn't have cared. She was fully capable of eating a human raw and whole if she so desired, her body easily capable of handling any waste material she'd devour in the process. Sliding her tongue back out, she took a moment to inspect the redhead, who lay gasping in front of her, her fingers having dug into the soft ground. “You look just about done.” “Yeah... It was... It was nice, but... Can we stop for now?” Paige asked, managing with some effort to sit up.

“For now? Oh ho, so you do want more at some point?” Kindeyes inquired with a toothy smirk. “Well, I guess you did only get to try out a limited selection of what I have to offer.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the marshal responded, pulling her pants back up. “What, are you telling me you didn't intend to seek me out again at some point?” The smirk became a smile. “I would be lying if I said I wasn't interested. Plus, I'm really curious to see how you'll develop this program of yours. And if you manage to beat Freyja, well, that would be a feat worth watching. Not just anybody can stick it to that inflammable arachnid. So, what's your plan?” The redhead rubbed her chin. “I need... To get tougher. I can take a hit now. But her fire... If I want to be able to get close enough to strike her, I'll need to be able to take what she dishes out.” “I mean, as I said earlier, the simple solution would be to just shoot her,” the druid remarked. “Heck, you're not a bad shot. I should know.” “I know, but... We can't always count on having a gun at hand. Or ammo.” Her brows furrowed. “I need someone... To put me through something a bit more... Extraordinary.” “Anything particular in mind?” “Actually, yes. Ironhide gave me the idea, but...” Paige looked up to Kindeyes. “Do you think you could speak to your sister Chronoclaw on my behalf?” The smile vanished. “Oh boy,” she said. “Look, if you want, I can just bite your head off right now. Would probably be less painful.”

“Hey, I know that she has... Her opinions and so on,” the marshal tried, standing back up. “But her powers and the level of control she has over them are just what I need to test myself. I'm sure you could phrase the idea in a way that would make her agree.” “I could but... I mean, asking her to put you through the wringer.” The druid looked uncertain. “She'll do it. No doubt about that. And it will be painful. Really painful. I don't think you've ever quite experienced anything like what she will do to you if you try this.” Paige nodded. “I'm counting on it.”

[weavercobra]

Encounters in the Jungle

A series of smaller, off screen events that happened during the last Pathfinder campaign. They take place over a span of time, so one doesn't directly follow the other.

Gnedaveeck Benyvoc, a gnome dressed in jungle gear with his smooth black hair squashed under a helmet, finished buttoning his shirt. Today was the day the expedition would officially start. Off to find lost Saventh-Yhi.

Of course, for Gnedaveeck, this was far from the start of his involvement with the whole affair. Between the accidents, the battles and the kidnapping, he had been quite busy as of late. But the gnome was not one to let anything get his mood down. Besides, he was an adventurer. People would balk at any adventurer that couldn't handle a little impromptu wilderness survival. And in Gnedaveeck's opinion, they'd be right to.

Leaving the hotel behind, he headed towards the meeting point, the sun-lit streets of the city swarming with people. The recent troubles had certainly done nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of the citizenry.

What did dampen the spring in the gnome's step however, was the sight that greeted him at the meeting point. Standing in the middle of the expedition giving out orders was a dragon and a dangerous looking one at that. Gnedaveeck had him pegged as a red one, but several things stood out as odd. The colour was far deeper in hue than was usual, the scales looked far bigger and even at a distance, a faint hint of brimstone was carried by the wind.

Yet everyone else was packing up supplies and getting stuff in order at the massive dragon's orders. Ergo, they were either supposed to be there or the dragon had assumed control and no one was objecting.

Either way, Gnedaveeck had a feeling he would know soon enough. “Hello there,” he announced, as he walked up to the ominous giant. “You're new around here, yes? I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if you had been here earlier. I'm pretty good with faces, see.” The dragon chuckled. “Yes, I am new here,” he replied. “I am Ironhide. I have been sent to lead the expedition.” “Ironhide? Hmm, that does ring a bell.” Gnedaveeck crossed his arms. “I think HQ forgot to mention you'd be a dragon though. But where else have I heard that name?” “Does the Mystical Peacekeeping Society ring a bell?” “Right, right. That's you, then? Amazing. I've heard of your exploits in the news. People would never trust an adventurer that doesn't keep up with the news. And they'd be right to.” He nodded. “So how did you end up with this gig?” “Archaeological interest, really,” he responded. “I started looking for something and discovered a passion for the subject. Collaborated with the Pathfinders and ended up accepting a position among them.”

“Aren't the MPS also here?” “Yes, but they're supporting one of our allies here instead. I'm not here in an official capacity as a member.”

“I see. Quite fascinating.”

“By the way, I was looking for you. From the report, I gather you were essential in discovering the information on Saventh-Yhi,” Ironhide continued, before casually handing out some more instructions.

“Quite so. Though I was hardly the only one.” “What do you think we'll encounter?” “Eh, the usual,” the gnome responded. “Curses, ruins and a whole load of traps. Nothing people wouldn't expect adventurers like us to handle. And they'd be right to.”

“Yes. On a more personal note...” The dragon paused. “How was Vek last you saw him?”

“Vek? That lil' firestarter? He did great. But, ehm, how to put it? The whole ordeal did... Change him. He was way more... I dunno how to put it. I guess savage, maybe? Still nice, still polite, still cute as a button. But also more violent. Wasn't there for the whole thing, had to pick up a lot through the grapevine, but he did end up wrecking some idiots. Permanently.” Gnedaveeck nodded sombrely. “He's strong. Impressively so. But he was in a good mood when we parted.” Ironhide nodded. “That is good to hear.” “Why the interest?” “Well... He's my younger brother.” “Oh? Oh, I see.” The gnome rubbed his arm. “Right. No, don't worry. He's... Handling things. I had to have a serious talk with him, but he was managing.” “Serious talk?” “Ehm... I dunno how delicately I can put this, but... He was kinda freaked out by... How much he ended up liking... Hunting... People.” The gnome vaguely gestured with his arm. “I said that was probably normal for dragons. I'm not an expert, but... You guys can be pretty wild, you know?” “True. Well, he's returning home for the festival. I'm sure Mom and Dad will be able to help him if there's anything.” Ironhide nodded. “Alright then, thank you. For helping him. Shall we get going?” “Of course. People would expect a proper adventurer to be able to leave at a moment's notice.” “And they'd be right to?” “Why, most certainly.”

...

Julius examined his face in the mirror, letting the tip of his claw slide along the scar he had gotten. The sight filled him with a mixture of feelings. On one hand, he had gotten it from Ironhide, a subject which inherently roused the half-dragon's temper. On the other hand, he had gotten it from their newest duel. And while Julius had lost, he had pushed the dragon further than ever before. The gap between them had rapidly closed thanks to his new training. Soon, they'd be equals. And then Julius would exceed him in capability. The thought alone caused the paracount to smile, revealing his sharp teeth.

Just then, the flaps of his tent was disturbed as Harold poked his head in. “We have a guest.” Julius sighed. “Is it another dragon?” “Nope. It's Admiral Bridget.” He stared. “What in the blazes is she doing out here?” he inquired, as he got up from his stool and exited the tent.

Standing by the campfire was their visitor. She had heavily simian features, covered in light brown fur with a tail slowly swaying behind her. A cape of white hair marked her head and she was dressed in a blue uniform, a revolver by her side. Julius was aware of who she was. Her presence in the court was a well-known curiosity. One of the vanara from a mysterious island known as Monloon. His country had briefly entertained the idea of incorporating the land into their empire, but a thorough report on the vanaras' military capabilities had confirmed to all but the most stubborn warhawks that such an endeavor would have been too costly. Instead, an alliance had been struck, with several of the simian people's military personnel being attached to the army. Admiral Bridget had been one such case. Already a famed naval commander in her home, she had quickly proven to be an equal of any Chelish admiral and Her Majestrix had given her a position where she could use that.

So seeing her in the middle of the jungle was quite peculiar.

“Admiral,” Julius greeted her. “I was unaware you'd be visiting us.”

“Heard you were in the area, Julius. Involved with Sargava, of all things,” the vanara responded. “Unusual company for you.” “Not much company anymore,” Xavier remarked. “What with them being blown to bits by that phoenix.” “Indeed. Officially, this is a purely Chelish expedition now,” Julius agreed. “All finds are now solely the property of the Chelish crown.” “I see. Will do little to convince the Sargavans you didn't screw them over, but I hardly imagine you care. I, for one, don't.” She folded her arms. “What I care about, however, is this Ironhide business I heard about. You look like somebody's run you over.”

“To be fair, Ironhide wasn't looking much better,” Harold noted.

“At least he was still standing,” Wan commented.

“Yes, thank you for the observation,” Julius sharply noted. “Ironhide, in case you haven't heard, is an oversized lump of coal who has on several occasions interfered in official business. I have endeavoured to ensure that he will not be able to do so in the future.” She cocked her head, staring at him. “I see. And how do you feel that particular project is going?”

“It's advancing steadily.” “Right.” She sighed. “Julius, you're usually a very sensible man. I don't need to tell you that everything I've heard about Ironhide indicates you'll have about as much luck beating him as eating you way through a mountainside. You do realise this errand of yours is bound to get yourself hurt a lot more”

“Eh, no pain, no gain,” Lena noted. “Besides, those dragons think they can just pull all kinds of shit. It's about high time we took them down a peg, sir.”

“Right. Lena Spinello, yes?” Receiving an affirmative, Bridget continued: “You used to be assigned as a pirate hunter until you recently transferred to the Expedition because, and I quote what you wrote, you had to 'go beat the shit out of the dragon that stole your ship'.” “That's right. We even found her,” the pirate hunter affirmed.

“Well... She found us,” Lillian noted, stirring the camp's massive pot. “And then she ate you.” Lena scowled.

“To be fair, that fight was bullshit,” Wan noted. “I mean, she just covered the entire camp in fog. I couldn't see my hands, let alone anything I was supposed to shoot.” “Sounds like this operation is going splendidly,” the admiral noted, rubbing her temples. “And the dragon would be Vorelia, yes? Look, I'm currently assisting the MPS with the actual archaeology around here. And I happen to have seen her around. This place is far too dangerous and the last thing we need is everyone running around beating each other up. I don't have the authority to order you, but I would strongly suggest that you cease the personal vendettas until we're done with this city. I doubt we've dealt with the last of its dangers.” Julius' mouth became a thin line. “Do not worry, I had no intentions to pursue a second fight with Ironhide,” he noted. “We shall focus on canvassing the area and discovering more finds for now.” “Good to hear. Take care.” “Likewise.” The vanara turned around and shook her head as she walked off again.

“Well... That was unexpected,” Xavier noted. “So I take it from that she's going to shoot us if Lena runs off to try and stab her dragon?” “Most likely,” the pirate hunter grumbled. “Fine. So be it.” She poked Julius' chest. “But you promised me revenge and I now have a double-sized heaping of payback I'm gonna serve that bastard seabeast.”

“Yes, I quite understand,” the paracount noted, gently sweeping the finger aside. “You have my word that we will continue to support you in this endeavor.”

...

Night time had fallen over the jungle, cloaking it in deep shadows. Above, the cloud-less skies were a picturesque canvas of stars. A campfire gently billowed, illuminating the clearing. Harold, Lillian, Xavier and Lena were in the middle of a card game. Julius sat in his chair, thumbing through one of his books. And Wan scanned the darkness of the jungle, looking for dangers.

It was not the most exciting of jobs, but he was a sharpshooter for a reason. By far, he had the best eyesight of them all and it was only natural that he'd often be the team's lookout.

And it was a vital position, trying to differentiate between what was merely darkened shapes and what was the lurking forms of dangers unknown. It took a very specific set of skills not to miss the obvious threats, nor jump at every shadow.

Of course, even the most near-sighted bookworm would have been hard pressed to miss the series of crimson orbs currently staring at him.

Wan's rifle was in his hand in seconds, barrel aimed at the ominous shape. “We've got visitors,” he called to the others, keeping steady and not letting the observer out of sight.

The others were armed and on their feet the moment their sharpshooter had called out, each ready to face the danger. With a few large steps, Harold was next to their lookout, his big shield planted against the ground to safeguard his comrade if the unknown being charged.

“Is that how you greet old friends?” the dark shape inquired bemused.

The expeditionaries paused.

“Hey... That voice,” Xavier stated.

Branches slightly creaked, as the shape slithered down to the ground, revealing by firelight an arachnid shape, the finer details of their body lost in their black colouration. The numerous red eyes stood out, as did a notable red dot on her abdomen. But otherwise, her shape was blurry, the edges of her form wavering like gently flowing water.

Lillian paused. “Fulla?” she finally asked.

“Right, Fulla. There's the name,” Xavier said, snapping his finger. “How's it going? You're blacker than I remember.” “Yes, well, it's been a while,” the spider noted. “On that note, Julius, what did you go and do to yourself?” “I was born,” he noted dryly.

“Hang on, timeout,” Lena interjected. “Is anyone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here, or am I just supposed to guess?” “Apologies. Lena Spinello this is Fulla. A mercenary whom we had the pleasure of working with some time ago.” He turned his attention back to her. “Though as my associate noted, you have changed.” “Got infused with the power of darkness. Was kidnapped by a rakshasa. Turned tables on his furry ass,” she explained. “Fun times. But, eh, don't care much to repeat myself. Where's Bogdan?” Immediately, an awkward silence descended over the camp.

“Oh. I see,” she noted quietly. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“It's fine,” Julius sighed. “You couldn't know.” He shook his head. “Nevermind. I don't much care to think of it. What brings you to the jungle?”

“I was following a... How to put it, a gut feeling,” she remarked. “Comes with this new body. I can sense things. And something about this place just called me.” “So you found Saventh-Yhi before us, huh?” Harold asked.

“Her and everybody bloody else,” Wan remarked, rolling his eyes. “How many people have we discovered live here now?” “Plenty.”

“I live over in the residential district. Been there for a while,” Fulla noted. “It's been nice.”

“So you've just moved in here?” Xavier asked.

“Pretty much. Haven't found what drew me in yet, but maybe with everyone here, I'll figure it out.” The group arranged themselves around the campfire, as Wan returned to watching the jungle. “I'm helping those MPS guys out right now, but I'll try to keep you all in the loop.” “Much appreciated,” Lillian noted with a grateful bow.

“No problem. Seriously, Julius, what happened to you?” “His mother banged a hermaphrodite dragon and that just kinda blew up recently like a very late onset of puberty,” Xavier explained. “It was awesome.” “I don't remember having to have my body wrapped in gauze for months being awesome,” Julius noted.

“Well, no, but the part where you spat fire was cool.”

“You're actually a half-dragon? For real?” Fulla asked. “Guess that explains why you like collecting things.” “I doubt that has anything to do with it,” Julius replied, after a moment of hesitant consideration.

“And the scars?” “Ironhide. A dragon whom I've... Clashed with on numerous occasions.” He steepled his fingers. “But I've entered a harsh training program to leverage my newly gained draconic powers. I should soon be able to best him.”

“It's a thing they've got going,” Harold noted. “Ironhide got mad because we... Kinda robbed his hoard.” “That's both very brave and very stupid,” Fulla noted.

“Yeah.” Harold went quiet. “That's also when... You know...” “I see,” she replied sombrely.

“So since then, we've been cursed,” Wan noted. “Bloody fucking dragons won't leave us alone. Ironhide constantly shows up to fuck us over or just kidnap Harold for a lark. I got shot by that tunnel-dwelling stick figure of an half-dragon elf, right before that lil' rugrat kobold ran off with my hat. And Lena here keeps getting eaten by this other dragon.” He spat. “I've had it from here to fucking Aucturn with dragons.”

“Wow. Sounds like you guys got stuck with all the bad luck,” Fulla remarked.

“I choose to see it in a less negative light,” Julius commented. “Lord Asmodeus has allowed these things to befall us for a reason. Overcoming these challenges are no doubt part of his design for us.”

“And yes, he really believes that,” Lena commented.

The paracount rolled his eyes. “We'll turn it around soon enough. Our work here discovering Saventh-Yhi is just part of it.” He paused, before admitting: “For a given value of discovering, that is.”

“And afterwards?” “We will continue to get stronger. We will overcome this.” Fulla watched him quietly. “I hope you will,” she remarked. “Anyway, it was fun catching up. I'll probably drop by again soon.” “Yeah, see you around,” Harold noted, as the shadowy spider walked off.

“Don't be a stranger,” Lillian called.

“She's strange enough as is,” Xavier remarked.

The elf paused, before she returned to the card game with the others. “That is not untrue.”

Julius kept staring into the fire, lost in thought.

“What's on your mind?” Wan asked.

“Just... Thinking about how we got here,” the paracount noted. “Before we met Ironhide, I thought I had things figured out. We'd continue digging up amazing finds, travelling the globe, earning honour and accolades. And now... Everything has been turned upside down.”

“Well, prophecy is dead. The future doesn't exist yet.” Wan sighed. “Who knows where we'll end up?” Julius peered deep into the flames, his eyes easily adjusting to the light. He thought back to the things Nashandra had said. “Who indeed,” he quietly echoed.

[weavercobra]

Hot and Cold

Pretty much a direct sequel to Heavy Press. Basically, my boyfriend just requested that I wrote more like that,

Even before the massive arachnid mutant named Freyja stepped into the glade, she could see that Marshal Paige Hawkins was less than pleased. This did not surprise the divine hybrid. The only thing that had managed to surprise her was how quickly the woman bounced back from their last encounter. She idly wondered what it would take to keep her down.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the redhead's agitated statement of: “Twenty. Minutes. Late.” “Wrong. Ten minutes late,” Freyja responded non-caring.

Paige blinked. “What are you talking about? I've got my watch right here and I told you we'd start twenty minutes ago.” “Oh, true. But of course, you were lying, because you expected me to be ten minutes late again,” Freyja explained. “So the actual time was ten minutes ago.”

The marshal's eye twitched slightly. “So you are admitting you're doing this on purpose.” “Well, obviously,” she replied, as she nonchalantly began cleaning one of her legs. The redhead's thoughts were immediately consumed by questions of how far a custom deep-bore drilling machine could be inserted into one of the spider's spinnerets and how much grease it would take.

Her furious imagination was cut short by her noticing a second figure, one she had until then completely overlooked. It wasn't just that Freyja's companion was much smaller than the gargantuan hybrid, their demeanour also made them seemingly take up less space. Despite being a metal-grey jumping spider the size of a van. In a way, it was kinda impressive. Paige noted that not only was the other arachnid coloured like steel, they actually had a slight metallic sheen to them, obscured by what seemed like a faint layer of dew.

“Ah, you have noticed my sister. She's only recently become part of the organisation,” Freyja elaborated. “I decided to bring her along.”

The grey arachnid lifted one of her front limbs and softly greeted her with a: “Hello.”

The redhead let her gaze wander back and forth between the two. It would be hard, if not impossible, to make the two any more different, short of one of them ceasing to be a spider altogether. “Ehm... Hello to you too. Freyja, in the future, I'd like to be informed if you decide to bring guests along.”

“I just informed you.”

“You're being obnoxious on purpose.” “My, you're catching on quick. Apply that to your, ahem, fighting skills and your project will probably go somewhere.” Thoughts of drills returned to the marshal.

“Ehm, if I'm in the way, I can leave,” the other arachnid suggested.

“No, it's fine, your sister just seems to find endless joy in flaunting anything resembling protocol. You can stay if you want... Ehm...” Paige paused. “I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name.” “Frigga.” “Okay, Frigga, you can stay if you want. I'll just suggest you move to the side of the meadow.”

As the metal spider put some distance between the two, the marshal turned to Freyja. “So why did you decide to bring her along?” “Well, we met some time ago, but things have been very busy as of late. I figured we could spend some quality time by teaching her how to hunt.” “You're gonna go teach her hunting after we're done?” the redhead inquired, eyebrow raised.

The massive arachnid adjusted her head slightly, her massive, blue frontal eyes looking straight at her. “Oh no, that won't be necessary. My sister is quite used to capturing animals. Lived out in the wilds for most of her life. So I figured she could use some pointers on, well, humans.”

“This is not a hunt, it's a sparring match,” Paige replied.

“Darin and Draskar having a swordfight is a sparring match,” the alabaster hybrid stated. “What you did last time was the panicked flailing of an animal stuck in a predator's jaws. Perhaps when you become as skilled as someone, say, like Leslie, then it would actually be more even.” “Are you quite done mocking me?” the redhead inquired through gritted teeth.

“No.”

Normally the marshal would be kind enough to give a formal warning when she started sparring with someone, to minimize the risk of her opponent getting injured. But as she sprinted towards the gargantuan chimera, she really didn't think her opponent deserved the courtesy.

Freyja, for her part, was curious. So far, it seemed the redhead was repeating her performance from last time. Either Paige had learned nothing, which even she had to admit didn't seem right, become too angry to think or perhaps this was part of her plan. She hoped it was the last one. She was genuinely excited to see what the redhead would try and pull. But to start out with, she figured she might as well do the same thing as last time. So without further ado, she raised one of her massive legs and brought it down.

On the sideline, Frigga twitched nervously, hoping her sister remembered how frail humans could be.

With a deafening thump, the leg smashed into the ground, obscuring the marshal in the ensuing dust cloud.

For a moment, Freyja almost expected the redhead to try and flank her again.

Then she felt tugs on her leg.

As the plated limb was retracted from the ground again, Paige kept climbing, using the numerous hairs to drag herself upward.

The massive arachnid twitched her leg, trying to shake the marshal off, but Paige clung to the hairs. Capable of assisting the great spider in climbing surfaces, they now also aided the redhead in securing a strong grip. Between twitches, she'd grab another tuft of strands and pull herself up the limb. She was well aware that this was a strategy that threw subtlety out the window. Not only would the arachnid be able to feel her just the same as if somebody pulled her own hair. But the hairs covering Freyja's body was also part of a complex network that allowed her to hear, smell and taste. So there really was no way she could do so undiscovered. As she clung to the limb to avoid being hurled off, she briefly wondered what it was like having a combined nose, tongue and ear that also served as skin. And furthermore, how it felt for someone to use it as a climbing wall. She hoped it was really annoying.

Noticing that the redhead was making her way up regardless of leg twitches, Freyja brought the limb up in front of her and tried to grab a hold of her opponent with her pedipalps.

But the redhead proved surprisingly nimble. Not helped by the exoskeleton covered limbs being kinda stiff. She brought in her other foreleg, trying to swipe her off. But Paige jumped, using the second leg as a stepping stone to make a jump for Freyja's head.

That's when she was painfully reminded of the one limb that was not covered in stiff plating and limited by joints.

The thick tail the arachnid had once gotten alchemically grafted onto herself slammed into the marshal's midsection, instantly displacing the air in her lungs. She was sent cartwheeling away from the spider, the horizon spinning like a propeller before her eyes. She hit the ground, bouncing along the soft grass. One of her shoes flew off in one direction, before she finally came to a rest.

Frigga winced again, considering briefly to rush in and check on the woman. She was pretty sure humans had trouble enduring the kind of punishment her sibling was putting her through. Then again, Freyja seemed pretty calm about it all as she approached the fallen woman. She was sure she'd be called in if anything was actually wrong.

Paige tried to get up, but her inner ear protested at the notion. It felt like the whole planet had been seated in one of those rotating teacups one sees at amusements parks. Her first attempt at finding anything resembling footing resulted in her crashing forehead first to the ground. The second time, she tripped over her own feet. Third time seemed to be going better, until Freya's leg crashed down on her, forcing her down once more. Her massive claws were hinged upwards to avoid impaling the human, but now that she was firmly put in place, the divine hybrid allowed their sharpened points to rest on the marshal's head, increasing for her the feeling of being stepped on.

Paige responded by awkwardly drawing her sword and attempting to stab backwards at the leg pressing against her back.

It wasn't very successful.

Freyja leaned down, snatching the blade from her opponent's hand and hurled it away. “Here we are again,” she said. “Still just prey. How does it feel?” “I'm going to shove a chainsaw up one of your tubes one of these days,” the marshal threatened.

“Ah, yes. Swords, guns, clubs, explosives,” Freyja sighed, before with a swift move turning the redhead over so they were facing each other, before pressing down on the marshal's arms with her pedipalps, pinning her to the ground. She let one of her hooked fangs slide across the redhead's chin and neck. “Let's be honest, Marshal, you're all just trying to catch up with the rest of us. Without all your little tools, you, the elves, the dwarves, all of you would just be digging around in the ground for grubs, jumping at shadows and hiding in whatever corner you could secure. And even with all your fancy tools, well, you can barely keep up. I saw how you struggled last time. It wasn't your will that ran out, it was your body.” She let her fang rest point first on the redhead's throat.

“What are you getting at?” Paige managed to ask.

“Just, if you wanted to, I could change you. It wouldn't even hurt much. Just a brief stab and you'd drift off. And when you awoke, you'd been reborn, no longer human. How does that sound? I'm sure you'd find your new self much more impressive.” “Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stick to being an unimpressive human.” She paused, locking gazes with the spider. “And I will find a way to beat the snot out of you.”

“Sounds like we'll have a lot to do in the future. Good. I find myself having so much fun with you.” She placed another fang on her, slowly letting them glide down the smooth skin of her throat. Paige shivered at the feeling. “But if you insist on being prey, well... Then that's how I'll treat you.” She pushed against the bottom of the marshal's shirt, revealing the sensitive creamy skin of her stomach, which was rapidly changing to a yellowish and blue tinge, as the bruises she had earned in from her battle began manifesting. The spider let her hooked fangs slide playfully across the exposed flesh, watching the redhead twitch. One point briefly stopped by her belly button, circumventing its rim, causing Paige to inhale sharply. The other fang brushed up against her side, gently bouncing over her ribs.

In the distance, Frigga had to move to the side to get a good view of what was going on. She was kinda confused why a sparring match had developed into her sibling seemingly attempting to tickle the human into submission. Then again, she had more than once seen sparring matches between some of their allies swiftly descend into vigorous and enthusiastic sex. Sometimes, sparring just seemed like a pretext or excuse really.

Meanwhile, Paige could feel her heart galloping crazily. It wasn't that she thought Freyja would kill her, but something primal in her was triggered by having a gargantuan predator rub her teeth all over her. Not helped by the knowledge that both of those fangs contained potent venom or that the arachnid was skilled enough at using them to suss out just where she could get a response out of the marshal's body.

Pushing the shirt further up, Freyja let her fangs reveal the redhead's breasts, kept in place with a sports bra. She let the points rest briefly on her captive's nipples, before slowly teasing them with small circular movements. Then she slid them down, caressing the sensitive underside. Even with the fabric in the way, she still managed to force a gasp from the redhead. Then she let them slide further down, brushing across her stomach again, before catching the waist of her pants, pulling them and the underwear underneath down with one smooth move.

With an annoyed grunt, Paige tried to clamp her legs shut, but Freyja easily spread them apart again, letting the hairs of her chelicerae brush against her inner thighs. It wasn't like the redhead thought she could keep the much stronger hybrid off, it was mostly just resistance for the sake of showing off that she wasn't beat yet. Just pinned to the ground and almost naked.

Having gained access to her captive's vagina, Freyja let the point of one of her fangs rest just above it, before letting it slide down. A shiver strong enough to cause Paige to arc her back set in, as the fang bumped over her clitoris, before slowly parting the folds of her labia. Then she used both fangs, spreading the lips open as she moved upwards again, before gently squeezing the clitoris between them. She continued rubbing them up and down like this, forcing hisses and gasps from the redhead. It was impossible for Freyja not to notice the effect it had, her hairs easily picking up the scent of lubricant as the redhead's pussy reacted to the stimulation.

Deciding she had teased the marshal enough for now, the alabaster hybrid swiftly moved her pedipalps from pinning Paige's arms to wrapping around her midsection. And then she yanked her upwards.

Warm clammy darkness surrounded her as she was shoved face first into the spider's mouth. It took her a second to figure out where she was, causing her to utter another prolonged string of curse words, cut short as the divine abomination's maxillae began softly clamping down on her and working her over, squeezing and rotating her body while pushing her in and out of the orifice like she was a lollipop.

Freyja herself enjoyed the feeling of the marshal's angry flailing inside her mouth. It was one of the few times she wished she had an actual tongue so she could keep tasting her, but she settled for the relaxing feeling of the marshal pounding against the sides of her mouth. It was mostly designed for liquid or semi-liquid sustenance, but she figured suckling on her did no harm. “So, having fun?” she asked. The chimera could speak freely despite having her mouth full of angry marshal, since rather than using her mouth for speaking, she instead did so through the complex vents that led to her lungs, all of which were situated on her abdomen. “I admit, perhaps it is best you remain human. You make for such a delightful treat.” She felt the marshal furiously rake across the inside of her mouth, trying to rip something open in order to get back at the ivory arachnid.

Frigga still watched, trying her best to parse the situation. At least this part made sense to her. Several larger creatures would more than happily attempt to straight up eat their opponent. The problem was that spiders wouldn't. At least not in the traditional sense. Their dependency on their diets being liquefied meant that just shoving prey in their mouth was hazardous at best. But perhaps this was all part of the scenario. Or perhaps her sister just enjoyed lording her power over the marshal. She couldn't deny the larger arachnid had a thing for bullying people. Paradoxically enough, especially when she liked them. People she didn't like usually ended up in pieces.

Finally, Freyja pulled the redhead out of her mouth again, holding her tightly between her pedipalps. Now free of the clammy gloom, Paige glared daggers at the arachnid holding her captive.

Then she was unceremoniously dumped to the ground.

“Getting real sick and tired of you,” the marshal muttered in a muffled voice through the grass. She rolled around, only to be greeted with the sight of the spider's rapidly descending abdomen. With a thump, she was once again squished between the warm leathery skin and the ground she lay on. Pressing against her head this time was the opening to one of the divine hybrid's epigynums. Out of frustration, she opened her mouth and bit down on the edge.

“Still haven't got proper teeth,” Freyja noted. “But do keep doing that. It feels good.”

Paige groaned and briefly considered just trying to ignore the hill-sized super-heated arachnid lying on top of her. As said arachnid pressed harder against her, squashing her body even more and almost forcing her head first into the tube, she reckoned that wasn't going to work. Resigning herself to playing along, she continued gnawing on the edges of the tubes, pausing to let her tongue caress the rim. She could feel the massive abdomen pinning her down vibrate as she pleasured the gargantuan chimera. Her teeth dug into the rim, working it over much like a oversized rubber chew toy.

Freyja sighed pleased, then pressed down hard again, adjusting her position as she did.

Paige found herself almost scooped up into the spider, now sitting with most of her body inside the epigynal tube. The air was thick with the scent of the spider and the redhead found it hard to breathe. She managed to get one arm up and began massaging the slick and soft tissue, while also letting her tongue slide up and down the fleshy wall. The satisfied rumblings of the alabaster aberration now reverberated with an almost deafening intensity.

Outside, Frigga was now quite unsure what her sister was doing to the poor human, but she seemed to be having fun doing it. She wondered if the marshal shared the sentiment.

Inside the alabaster arachnid, Paige found herself gasping for air, as she kept stimulating the spider's tissue. For obvious reasons, it wasn't an oxygen rich environment, and even though the fire-infused chimera kept it at a tolerable temperature, the heat was definitely not helping

So it was an immense relief that Freyja lifted off her again, allowing a rush of fresh air to overtake her.

Then she was forced to the ground again as the massive arachnid slammed her abdomen spinneret first into her face, one of the spigots jammed into her mouth. She paused briefly to reorient herself, then began suckling on it, figuring she might as well get it over with.

Barely had she started before a thick wad of silk shot into her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. She worked it over in her mouth, before managing to swallow, only for more of the substance to be blasted into her mouth, forcing her to suck down long, sticky strands of the warm material. She only had time enough to swallow a load before another load filled up her mouth, her jaw protesting at having to accommodate it all. Her stomach soon began aching from the influx of material and Paige couldn't help but groan as her body began sending warning messages to her brain. Finally, as she felt about ready to burst, Freyja pulled off her.

“How about we take a break?” the ivory arachnid suggested with obvious amusement. “We wouldn't want you to end up like last time. We've only just gotten started.” Paige seriously considered ordering the custom drill. She knew one of the kobolds on the team who could build it. That was the easy part. The challenge was getting to the point where she shoved the whole thing deep into one of Freyja's orifices. She had become unsure about which one it was going to be.

“Why don't you try something... Easier,” the spider continued. “I'm sure my sister wouldn't mind sparring against you. And who knows. You might even learn something that'll make you last longer against me.” “Ugh...” Paige groaned, managing with effort to sit up. “Is that why I had to get pumped full of your damn webbing? To make me easier for your sister?” “No,” Freyja admitted. “That was purely for the fun of it.” She reached out with one of her pedipalps and poked the marshal's stomach.

“Blegh...” she uttered, before loudly burping. “Don't... Do that.”

“What, this?” she asked, poking again.

“Ugrl... Arpf...” Paige groaned, curling protectively around her stomach. “That's... Guh... Yes, that's...” She gasped again. “Yes. That. You... Fricking...” She moaned in discomfort once more, before slowly getting back on her feet. “This... Is gonna be Hell on my stomach.” “It's full of protein. Will help you become strong. Well, sort of.” She jabbed the human with one of her legs and the redhead stumbled over. “Strong for a human, I suppose.” Paige muttered some suggestions for anatomically impossible actions the arachnid could perform, as she forced herself back up again.

Leaving the marshal alone for now, Freyja turned and waved her sibling over with one of her legs.

“Oh. Are you done?” Frigga asked, as she scampered over.

“No. I thought it would be fun for the two of you to fight now,” the white arachnid suggested.

“Oh. Ehm... Shouldn't she have a break first?” the metal spider inquired. “You were kinda rough on her.”

“Well, maybe she does,” Freyja pondered, turning to face Paige. “That fragile human form must be drained by now. We could always try again tomorrow.”

“As if I don't have other things to do,” the redhead commented, as she began pulling her pants back up and her shirt back down. “I have actual duties beyond sparring with you.” “Oh, well, then you two should go right ahead.” The gargantuan spider stepped back, giving the two some space.

“That's not what I... Ugh, fine,” she sighed, turning to the smaller spider. “Okay, whenever you're ready. Should I refrain from using my sword or...?” “Oh no, it's okay,” Frigga responded. “Actually, I was more concerned if I needed to hold back for you?” “No. With the way your sister manhandles me, I think I can handle it.”

“Okay then. I'm ready.” Paige nodded and drew her sword. She took a couple of steps forward and attempted a thrust at the metal-grey arachnid.

Frigga's movements were almost a blur as she deftly slid to the side, before striking out with a leg, the attack so fast the redhead barely saw the blur. She felt a faint soreness in her arm where the spider struck, like a faint bruise. It didn't really hurt. Which made it so much more disconcerting that her left arm went completely numb, hanging limply from her side.

“I... What...?” Paige tried confused, attempting to move the unresponsive appendage.

“Don't worry. It's not permanent,” Frigga assured her, before rushing in, attacking with a barely perceptible barrage of strikes from her four front legs.

Paige was forced on the defensive as the metal arachnid advanced. She found that she could barely manage to block some of the attacks with her sword, though striking against the spider's exoskeleton revealed that it didn't just look metallic, it was metal. Metal hard enough that the marshal quickly began seeing chips in her blade. But even so, for each strike she blocked, one or two slipped past her guard, hitting her. None of them really hurt, but whatever Frigga did, it left the marshal's body feeling more and more sluggish, her muscles slowly failing to respond.

A final strike to her torso knocked her over on her back. She lay on the grass, unable to get back up. “What? The? Hell?” “Told you she didn't need any help from me,” Freyja repeated.

“Sis, I really think she needs a break now,” the metal arachnid insisted.

“Yeah, seems about right. But it was fun to watch. I'll go for a walk, look for something to eat. You can patch her up if you like.” With those words, the massive arachnid turned and lumbered off.

Frigga waited as her sister walked into the surrounding woodland, then turned to the prone redhead. “How are you feeling?” “Well, I'm not,” Paige dryly replied. “What was that?” “Oh, I'm trained in hitting pressure points,” the martial arts spider explained. “It has numbed your body.” “Pressure point? Where in the name of Asmodeus' crimson ballsack did you learn martial arts? Freyja said you lived out in the wilds. Did the local trees give you instructions?”

“No. No they didn't,” Frigga muttered, seemingly annoyed by something the marshal reminded her of. “Trees are rarely that helpful. Ehm, how about I help get you moving again?” “Would be nice rather than laying here all day,” Paige admitted.

Frigga crawled up to her and gently held her arm between her legs. Her exoskeleton was cool to the touch. Slowly, she let the tips of her legs glide across the limb, stopping occasionally to do a hard and quick press.

Paige could feel how the numbness faded, replaced with the sorta prickly itchiness associated with a sleeping limb. “So, where did you learn this?”

“I didn't always live isolated in the wilds,” the metal spider replied. “Used to visit nearby villages and so on. Talk with people. Learned some of the basics of self-defence. Read up on others. Started developing from there. Then...” She paused, moving to work over the other arm. “There was an... Incident. A series of incidents. It...” She hesitated.

“Look, if it's uncomfortable, skip it. I don't need to know that badly,” the redhead stated.

“Thank you. Suffice to say, I wasn't always... Like this.” She knocked her two pedipalps together with a metallic clang. “One of the side effects of these changes were that... I don't know how to describe it. A better innate sense of anatomy. It's like... I can see where the body comes together and how I can disrupt it. Combined with my own training, it allowed me to develop a way of fighting by causing my opponent's body to cease responding.” She began working her way down the human's torso, slowly undoing the effect of her attacks. “And that's all there is to it. I've refined it over time, of course, grown in experience and learnt some new tricks.” She stepped away from the marshal. “How do you feel now?”

“I'll need a moment. Ugh, my body still feels sore all over,” she groaned, rubbing her back. “Not helped by your sister working me over. Or force-feeding me her damn silk.” “It is rather harsh training,” the metal spider agreed.

“Yeah. Though I'm sure she could cut out a few of her stunts and it would still work.” She clutched her mid-section. “Damn, that hit from her tail really did a number on me.” “Do you want a cold wrap? It might help with any swelling,” Frigga suggested.

“Huh?” “Oh, I'm infused with elemental energy, much like my sister. Except, well, colder.”

Paige blinked. “Well, sure, why not.” “Okay. Ehm... Could you remove your shirt entirely? It'll work better if I can put it on your skin. I mean, I know you humans are sensitive, so if you'd rather...” “Look, you've already seen me being shoved head first up your sister's business. It's a little late for me to be all shy now,” the redhead noted, removing her shirt. The usually pale skin of her stomach was now pretty much one big bruise.

Frigga began pulling a gossamer strand from her abdomen, using two sets of her legs to move it up to her pedipalps, allowing her to place it on the sore skin. Then she slowly began walking around the sitting redhead while wrapping her in webbing.

Paige sighed as the material was applied. Unlike Freyja's, Frigga's silk was indeed cold, soothing her sore muscles.

“If you don't mind me saying, you seem rather tense,” the arachnid noted.

“Well, beyond getting completely trashed, your sister keeps using these sparring sessions as an excuse to treat me like her own personal toy,” Paige grumbled. “But the thing is that shit like this can happen in the field. So I can't say it doesn't fit the purpose of these sessions.” She rested her chin on her hand. “And I am learning. I'll get her yet.” “I see. But no doubt from what she said, she intends to fight you again when she comes back,” Frigga noted. “And your muscles are so... Stiff. Do you want me to help?” “Help? How?” “Well, my skills do actually translate into competency at massage.” The redhead blinked. “Alright then. Sure, why not.”

“Let me just finish the wrap and then you can lie down on your stomach.” She made sure to keep the end extra sticky to help glue it to the overall wrap. “There.”

Enjoying the comfortable cold, the marshal leaned over and laid down on the soft grass.

Frigga crawled forward so she stood over the prone human, then leaned down, placing her pedipalps against the redhead's neck. Gently, she began rubbing them in circles, massaging the tissue. “You have such knots in your neck alone,” the metal arachnid commented. “This must really tax you.”

“Yes, well, that's military life for you. Iahhh...” she moaned. “I think I felt something pop.” “In a good way?” “Uhm, yes. Felt like something gave.” “Good. Now do tell if it gets too much. I know my limbs are cold and that some find prolonged contact uncomfortable.” She moved her head to the side, tenderly working on her shoulder.

“No, it's fine. Afaahh... After the heat your sistahhh... Put me throughhguhhh... Some cold is juhaahhh... Just what I need,” the redhead admitted. She started to feel light-headed as her body began completely relaxing.

“Okay, I'm gonna switch to my legs now to work on your larger back muscles. Again, just tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”

“Right now I'm more worried I'll get too comfortable,” Paige admitted. “You're not wrong, you are good at this.” She yawned. “Have you considered a side job as a masseuse for the Society? I could imagine a lot of people who'd like that.” Frigga pushed her front legs against the top of the woman's upper back, while using her third row legs on the lower part. “I'll have to think on that. I'm still quite new to the organisation.” She began pushing against the soft tissue with her tarsus, allowing her claws to dig in for more pin-point stimulation.

“Just... Ahh... Don't presssss... Too hard. My stomach is... Still kinda... Kinda...” Paige mumbled.

“Don't worry, I'll be careful.” After a while, the metal spider was satisfied with her work and moved to the side. She grasped her upper arm between her pedipalps and began gently squeezing and stroking the muscles, working her way down the limb. Finally at the hand, she began using her maxillae, carefully but firmly pulling at the digits until she earned a pop.

“Gods...” Paige moaned, as Frigga moved over to her other arm. “I don't think... I'll be able tooooooo... Ahh... To fight when your sister comes back.”

“You should have enough time to recuperate, but if you're not up for it, then that's fine. I'm sure the two of you can arrange for another day,” the metal arachnid explained, as she finished the other hand. “Now, I'd like to move on to your legs. It would be easier without your pants, but it is your choice.” “Look, I've got... Nothing to hide,” Paige sleepily mumbled.

Frigga gently hooked her fangs into the clothes and pulled them off. Then she began massaging one of the legs much like she had with the arms, using her pedipalps to work over the muscles of the redhead's thigh and shin, switching to her maxillae to massage the foot. Then she did the same with the other leg. “Okay, only your chest and stomach are left. I saved them for last so my wrapping would have time to work.” She paused, waiting for response. “Paige? Paige?” She waited a bit, before skittering up to the human's head. She gently shook her shoulder, once again calling: “Paige.” “Huh, what?” the redhead slurred, before yawning. “Sorry 'bout that. I dozed off. What did you say?” “I wanted to work on your chest and stomach muscles, now that the wrap has had time to combat the swelling,” Frigga explained. “Can you roll over? Or should I assist?”

“I... I think... I got this,” the marshal muttered, before pushing against the ground with a hand, slowly managing to tip her body over.

Once the human was at rest again, Frigga stepped in and began massaging the muscles, using her pedipalps to softly knead the tissue without aggravating the bruised skin or upset stomach. With the lightest touch she could use while still working on the tissue, she worked on the midsection where the impact from Freyja's tail had been worst. The marshal groaned lightly. The spider couldn't quite tell whether it was from enjoying the massage or suffering the aching of her muscles. Perhaps it was a little of both. Finally, she stopped. “There, how do you feel?”

“I feel... Good.” Paige yawned. “Look, even if you're not going pro, can I come by occasionally and get another massage? I think I could use that after marching around in the wilderness for a couple of weeks.” “Sure. Ehm... But now... Hmm, I'm not sure how to say this, but...” Frigga folded her pedipalps in a ponderous gesture. “I couldn't help but notice... And smell... That, well, my sister managed to get you quite worked up.” “No point in denying that, I suppose,” the redhead admitted.

“Yes, well, I did notice that she, well, didn't quite finish the job, so to speak. And I know that can be quite frustrating for species that have that capacity,” Frigga continued. “So, I was just wondering if you wanted me to help you out with that.” The marshal paused, parsing the inquiry. “Are you offering to get me an orgasm?”

“Well, I understand that it is quite satisfying, not to mention relaxing,” the altered spider explained. “But I know the issue is... Sensitive for some people.” The marshal mulled it over. “Sure. Why not. If you're even half as good at this as massaging, I'm in for a treat.” “Well, I do hope that I can satisfy you,” the metal arachnid noted. “Again, if it gets uncomfortable, I do not mind stopping.” “Yes, yes. Do I need to do anything?” “Just relax.” Frigga hooked her fangs around the woman's still damp panties and pulled them down, exposing her slit. The arachnid approached again and began massaging the redhead's inner thighs with her front legs, while stimulating the skin surrounding the opening with her pedipalps.

Paige took a deep, relaxed breath as the spider went to work. Her cold exoskeleton took some getting used to, but it honestly wasn't worse than some of the massage instruments or sex toys she had used on herself. The difference being that Frigga never seemed to get warmed up no matter how long she worked on the marshal.

Frigga kept stimulating the marshal, slowly moving her pedipalps closer inwards with each passing stroke, until she reached the labia. She began parting them, then let her limbs glide up and down the side, pausing to gently rub the clitoris. She quickly began getting a feel for what had the best effect on the marshal, where to touch and with how much pressure.

Paige's breathing got heavier, as pleasure began building. She wasn't even sure she could do herself as well as the spider was. Even if the cold metal covering her was slightly uncomfortable, the sheer pleasure she began creating was more than enough to compensate.

“Just so you're warned, I'm gonna have to turn around for the next part,” Frigga informed her. “That angle works better with how my limbs curve.”

“Su-sure,” the redhead breathed.

The altered arachnid turned so that her abdomen hovered over the prone woman. She kept rubbing her folds and nub with one pedipalp, but then reached down with the second one to her soaking opening. She gently rubbed the tip against it, testing it, slowly applying pressure. The flesh gave way and she managed to insert herself into her.

Paige shivered. It was like someone stuck a hairy dildo that had been left out overnight into her.

Frigga paused her insertion, still keeping a steady rhythm with the other pedipalp, trying to get a feel for the woman's anatomy. She curled her inserted limb upward and then applied pressure.

Paige gasped loudly, almost sitting straight up. Her hands shot out, grabbing and squeezing the spider's legs as pleasure exploded in her body.

The spider continued unheeded, using one pedipalp to stimulate the outer structure of the vagina and the other to do the same to the inner parts.

The redhead writhed. All thoughts of how cold the metal arachnid felt was blasted from her mind. She arced and bent, while a feeling of a spring being wound intensified in her genitals. Finally, the tension gave way as the pleasure peaked and Paige uttered a half-strangled cry, before going limp, occasionally twitching.

“There. Do you feel more relaxed?” Frigga asked, taking a step away from the panting marshal.

“Holy... Ho...” the redhead tried. “I... Wow... That...” She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “I've had... I... I mean...” She breathed in and out, forcing herself to relax. “I've had people... Practically rummage around down there with a magnifier and a flashlight, and they've never come close to that. Fuck, I don't think I've managed to do that to myself.” “I could teach you how. You might even have an easier time, since you have fingers,” Frigga suggested.

“Not... Right now. Give me... A moment and... I'll need to get dressed.”

It took a while before the marshal felt ready to do anything. But as she pulled her clothes back on, she felt relaxed and well rested. Even her stomach only suffered from a faint aching. “Gotta say, you know your stuff. I feel better than ever.” “I'm always happy to assist,” Frigga noted.

“And you're certainly much more gentle than...” Paige paused, a thumping noise interrupting her. “Speaking of.” She turned, as the massive form of Freyja entered the glade. “You took your sweet time. Local wildlife a little sparse for the mighty predator?” “Oh, no, I've been done for quite a while,” the hybrid replied. “Got close, heard moaning loud enough to wake the dead, figured I'd give the two of you ten more minutes to get done.” She paused and despite not having lips, Paige could swear that she somehow managed to smirk. “So, you sure you don't have a thing for spiders? Perhaps that's why you were so eager for a second match.” “I don't have a 'thing' for spiders,” the redhead retorted, with finger-quotes. “I'm just not particularly picky when it comes to partners.”

“Really? You sure you don't just enjoy being helpless prey? A plaything for those stronger than you?”

“I'd hardly call your sister giving me a massage making me her plaything,” the redhead replied. “So quit trying to mock me and get ready for our next fight.”

“Is that so? Perhaps then... Yes. Yes, I'll get ready,” Freyja continued bemused.

Paige couldn't help but feel a weird sense of foreboding.

“Whenever you want to get started,” the massive mutant called. “Or rather, whenever you want to get finished.”

The redhead glared at her opponent, before setting into a run.

Freyja noticed that once again the marshal opened up the same way. She herself could try something different. Like blast her with fire. But she was genuinely curious to see what the human would try and therefore decided to start the same way as she had before. She lifted a massive leg and brought it down.

She wasn't surprised when Paige grasped her leg and began ascending. Going into melee, the marshal had little choice if she wanted to get at her main body. She began moving in with her pedipalps and a second leg, attempting to grab the redhead or at least scrape her off.

For Paige, tension was high as she scampered up the leg, all while avoiding the spider's other limbs. She didn't benefit much from surprise at this point, but she hoped the idea she had would be enough. One pedipalp brushed against her, almost dislodging her. Freyja adjusted the leg and Paige manoeuvred into position, crouching on top of it as if to jump. She saw a blur of movement.

Freyja swung her tail, attempting to punt the redhead straight off her again. She felt impact.

She felt pain.

On the sidelines, Frigga winced.

The gargantuan chimera reflexively retracted her tail, even as she registered what had happened.

Her tail was comprised of muscles and cartilage, much closer to a mammalian limb in that regard than that of an arthropod. This allowed it a greater degree of flexibility than some of her other, stiffer limbs.

It also meant it wasn't covered in protective plating.

Paige had rammed her sword through the limb and when Freyja pulled back, the human held on. Now hanging above the spider's abdomen, she let go, letting her weight rip the sword out from the wounded tail. She landed on the leathery flesh and raised her blade, ready to cause some damage.

That's when the temperature of the alabaster aberration went from pleasant warmth to blazing furnace.

Paige yelped and began jumping from foot to foot, trying to endure the sudden heat blasting her. Focused on enduring the unexpected assault, she didn't notice how close she was to the side, before her foot slid down.

There was a moment of vertigo as weightlessness set in.

This was followed by the quite weighty feeling of slamming into the ground, followed by the even weightier feeling of a spider leg wider than a steel girder being firmly placed on the back of her head, keeping her in place.

As the redhead struggled, Freyja inspected the tail. The wound was already cauterised and healing, and it was by no means a dangerous wound. But it was a wound none the less and it had got the marshal dangerously close to being able to hurt her for real.

She wondered what the redhead would think of next time. These fights were getting really interesting. She returned her attention to Paige. The aftermath was also getting interesting, now that the redhead had given her an idea. Keeping the squirming marshal down, she signalled her sister with the wave of her limb.

The metal spider approached, her attention shifting between her sister's wounded tail and the fallen, still struggling woman. She was kinda impressed with how both of them just took what looked like quite painful attacks in stride. Halting, she looked to the other spider questioningly.

“I figured you could help,” Freyja stated, answering the unspoken question.

The metal spider refocused on the redhead, who was trying to angrily yell something, though her voice was muffled by a combination of the dense grass and the massive tarsus placed on her. She was pretty sure it involved the word drill though. “That seems unnecessary. You've already beaten her. Again.” “Beaten her? Well, depends on how you look at it,” Freyja continued. “If she gets the chance, she'll break free and come out swinging. Can't hold a candle to Leslie, of course, but still...” She paused, briefly, lost in fond memories. “Anyway, what she said got me thinking. Many dangerous creatures pick up servants and so on and they'll help them in such a situation. I'm sure it would be educational to have you in that role.”

“Really?” “Yes.”

“So... I just do what you did?” “Also yes.”

“Hmm... Okay then.” She carefully approached the rear of the pinned redhead, trying to think of something that fit with what she had seen Freyja do.

The larger spider for her part found it quite adorable seeing her sibling approach the problem. It was gonna be quite fun sharing their prey together. She'd have to thank the marshal later for inspiring her, though she already knew she wouldn't get much in the way of gratitude.

Having taken a moment to consider her actions, Frigga finally had an idea for how she could contribute to dealing with the redhead. She reached out with her chelicera, hooking her fangs into Paige's clothes and pulled down her pants and panties in one swift move, exposing the human's nethers. She placed her pedipalps around the woman's vagina and began massaging the tissue vigorously.

Trapped underneath the spider's leg, Paige's moans were severely muffled, her body attempting to writhe in response to the smaller spider's ministrations. She seriously considered convincing one of the others to ambush Freyja when she arranged for their next sparring match. Perhaps that would convince the divine hybrid not to take so many liberties with the protocol.

As lubricants began flowing from the orifice, Frigga once again inserted her pedipalp. The angle was slightly more awkward than when she had helped the marshal get some relief, but it still worked. She thrusted the limb in and out, using the other to keep up the stimulation. Once it was properly soaked in the lubricating fluids, she retracted the limb and ceased the massaging. With her front legs, she spread the redhead's ass-cheeks and placed the slick limb against the now revealed opening. She moved across the puckered surface in small circles, encouraging the sphincter muscle to relax. She softly pressed against it, gauging how receptive it was. Finally, she pushed against it, the opening giving way to the lubricated limb, allowing her to insert herself in the human's rectum. She kept pushing in, gently as not to endanger Paige. Then she paused, before bending her limb.

The muffled sounds the marshal made intensified tenfold, as Frigga successfully began stimulating the structure of her vagina through the tissue. Her legs began twitching, her hands beating into the grass.

For Freyja, it was fascinating to see how her sister with a surgeon's precision managed to exploit the human's anatomy.

The metal arachnid made a final press and Paige seemed to attempt to tie a knot on herself as her orgasm smashed into her a full speed.

“Well done. How about we switch ends?” the larger arachnid suggested.

“Okay. I think I know what do to,” Frigga commented, withdrawing her limb from the redhead's asshole with a plop.

The redhead gasped heavily as Freyja withdrew her tarsus. Massive beads of sweat poured from her face, a mixture of being exposed to the heat of the hybrid's body and having her genitals so heavily stimulated. She barely even noticed as the divine hybrid pushed her over, leaving her lying on her back and staring at the blue skies, trying to catch her breath. She did, however, fully notice when Frigga backed up and pushed her spinnerets in her face, forcing two of the spigots into her mouth. Like her exoskeleton, the metal spider's abdomen was partially infused with metal, though more like a flexible mesh than hard plates, allowing it to retain many of its natural properties. And much as Paige would have expected, if she had imagined tasting Frigga, it was cold and hard, though lacked the iron flavour she would have thought would be there. Having the arachnid's rear press against her face did make for a nice alternative to the heat Freyja produced, although she would have distinctly preferred a bit more say in it, sparring session or not. She began sucking, figuring that really was the only way out. She didn't dare risk chipping her teeth. She had already seen what the spider's altered exoskeleton did to her sword. She pressed her tongue against the tip, gently rubbing saliva slick circles. Unsurprisingly, Frigga's flesh was much more rigid and it took the marshal greater effort to push her tongue into the opening.

Freyja, meanwhile, leaned over, prying apart the human's legs with her pedipalp to give her a full view of the thoroughly soaked vagina. She let her fangs glide across the sensitive folds once more, before pinching the clitoris.

Paige responded with a strange, slightly high-pitched sound, as she immediately and futilely attempted to clamp her legs shut. Fascinated with the reaction, Freyja squeezed again.

In between her thoughts being interrupted by another jolt of sensation, Paige mentally went over a list of curse words. Frigga had so thoroughly stimulated her vagina that it had been left extremely sensitive and the giant hybrid was now taking advantage of her refractory period to get reactions out of her. Her tongue slapped wildly against the spigots in her mouth every time a new wave of discomfort hit her. From the way Frigga slightly vibrated with a faint metallic hum, she was enjoying that.

This was further confirmed when small spurts of silk sprayed from the spinnerets. She was once again reminded how different it was from the webbing spun by Freyja. It was cold, feeling much like flavourless ice cream. It slid down her throat and settled in her stomach like a snowball. She couldn't help but groan. Her organs had still not recovered from having to work with Freyja's silk. She could feel the scent of hormones teasing her nose, but it was nowhere as intense as with the larger spider. She could feel Frigga press down, trying to force her tongue deeper into the sensitive hole. Between having two fights, the orgasms and the general rough treatment, she could feel her reserves of energy run dry, even with the reprieve Frigga had granted her.

Freyja continued her assault on the human's genitals, pinching and squeezing mercilessly, making the human twitch and cry out. It was quite fun. But she figured they had been at this for long enough. The day wasn't getting any longer. But she had one last thing she wanted to try and with her sister present, she had an idea how to accomplish it. “Hey, Frigga.” “Ye-yes, Sister?” the metal spider managed, despite the human's mouth being ever so distracting.

“I have one last thing I want to try out before we go home,” the heated aberration noted conversationally, still working the redhead's vagina over. “Ice is slippery, right?” “Ehm... Ye-yes. Of course. Why?” “Could you cover her in ice?” “Yo-you want me to freeze her?” “No, not entirely. Just enough to be slippery.” “It wo-wouldn't last long.” “It doesn't need to.” Trapped between the two altered spiders, Paige felt some concern about where the conversation was heading.

“Sh-should I do it now?” the metal arachnid inquired.

“As soon as you've had enough,” Freyja replied.

“Well... Uhm, it-it does feel nice. But I, ah... I think this is enough.” She pulled herself out of the redhead's mouth and turned around, focusing her innate magic.

Paige felt the chill set in, as a thin layer of ice formed on her.

Freyja's tail shot forward and quickly wrapped around the prone human. Even if the ice was created with magic, it wouldn't last long exposed to her heat. She pulled back and Paige felt a rush of dizziness at the speed.

The redhead shook her head and tried to focus, tried to figure out where she was. That's when she noted that Freyja was angling her towards a hole located between her spinnerets and the base of her tail.

Paige stared. “You wouldn't.” “Don't worry. Fire cleans everything,” Freyja noted, before sending the redhead upwards.

The marshal was shoved headfirst into the spider's tubular anal opening, the layer of ice covering her causing her to slide in with minimal resistance.

The gargantuan arachnid shivered. The cold quickly faded and she was left with the feeling of the human writhing and pressing against the tissue, her limbs pushing against her insides.

Frigga wasn't entirely sure how this fit with the whole training thing, but did concede that there was a possibility that larger enemies might deal with defeated enemies by shoving them up their ass. Though reading her sister's body language, it also seemed to pleasure her greatly. Her abdomen vibrated happily as the human's struggles massaged her rear from the inside. “Ehm, aren't you going to pull her out?” she inquired.

“What? Oh, I figured she could stay until we got back,” Freyja responded, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Ehm... I'm reasonably certain she can't hold her breath that long,” the metal spider pointed out, fidgeting with her pedipalps.

“I know. I'm just kidding.” With a tug she pulled the redhead free and deposited her on the top of her abdomen again. “There we go. Hope you learnt something.” Paige just lay there as the arachnid began lumbering off, breathing in fresh, oxygenated air again. She managed to roll around on her stomach, despite its protest and supported herself with her arms, allowing her to glare at the spider's head. “Really? Really? The fuck is wrong with you?”

“It seemed like it would be fun. And it was.” The divine chimera paused. “Maybe with some training you'll be able to hold your breath for longer.” “I'm training to help develop techniques for the organisation,” the redhead sharply responded. “Not to be your personal buttplug.” “True. But if we could have both...” The spider chuckled. “Or maybe you've given up on the idea of beating me?” “You wish,” Paige muttered, curling up and letting herself rest, the nearby beat of the gargantuan arachnid's heart once again helping her relax.

Freyja was quiet for a moment, before responding: “I actually don't.” She noted the woman's silence and figured she had drifted off. She turned her attention to her sibling, who was managing just fine to keep up with her sister. “Did you have fun?” “Yes. But, well, I admit, I'm not as much for playing with my prey as you are.” She paused. “In as much as she is prey.” “Prey enough for this. And you did seem to enjoy her.” “She is... Cute, yes. Also a hard worker.” Frigga paused. “Do you think she could ever beat you in a fair fight?” “I'm curious to find that out for myself.”

[weavercobra]

I have, after a unintended two-year hiatus, finally posted part 9 of my fanfic. Basic summary is, how I would have written Naruto, if that concept holds any interest. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428409/9/Naruto-Rewrite-2-In-the-White-Snake-s-Coil

[weavercobra]

Training from Hell

This story is a follow-up to What Am I? and details what happened to Julius afterwards.

Julius Leroung stood in the small chapel of his estate, his fingers locked around the handle of a ruby knife. Slowly and meticulously, he traced the shape of a pentagram across his chest with its blade, letting the blood pour into a bowl he was holding with the other hand.

He had long gotten used to the feeling, even if cutting his skin had become notably harder since his transformation. It was a devotional ritual, of servitude and loyalty to his deity. It was proof of the power that his god had over him, an obligation and a sacrifice to those higher in the hierarchy than himself. A reaffirmation of the ladder of power. Julius knew plenty of his fellow believers who preferred to harness the blood from those they in turn had power over. But during his travels, the paracount had realised that despite being the leader, he couldn't honestly say that he considered his fellow expeditionaries to be lower than him. He was just another part, one that functioned in tandem with the others. To claim superiority would be a hollow lie.

And so, he had instead turned to a display of his own servitude to his deity rather than display his powers over others. In the end, he had gotten used to it, even starting to consider it a more humble and pious display. And given that he was planning on cashing in favours owed from Hell, reaffirming his own position in its hierarchy seemed prudent.

Dipping a finger in the blood, he drew a pentagram on the stone floor, following the lines of dried blood from earlier rituals. The sigil complete, he kneeled within it, focusing his thoughts on what he could do to serve his god.

The answer was obvious to the cleric. He'd best Ironhide and return home from a successful expedition. He'd bring honour and glory to his country, and through that, to Asmodeus. Part of him was uncertain whether that would truly be the upcoming journey, but he knew that doubt could not be allowed to shake him. He knew his Dark Lord must have a plan for him and that his setbacks had to have taught him a lesson. Certainly, it had been humbling. But he could also not deny that it had made him and the others stronger. Especially with his new draconic traits coming to the forefront.

And it was those traits he had to master if he were to have a chance. That was why he needed a teacher who would be able to push him to develop, faster and more successfully than any mortal could.

Fortunately, one advantage of his servitude was that he was occasionally rewarded with promises of future favours rendered. In this case, Julius had launched an expedition into the south purely on orders from the other side, in the process finding an ancient ruin nobody had discovered for centuries. The place was still being slowly investigated, due to a variety of local issues, but for finding it Julius had been promised aid should he ever need it.

And now he did.

With his thoughts focused, he reached out to a nearby table and grabbed a piece of paper from it. It was the precise contract he had signed back then, dense red text covering the piece from top to bottom. He held it aloft and loudly stated: “I, Julius Leroung, hereby call upon the favour I have been promised for service rendered. I call upon the gates of Hell, that I might seek the recompense that I am due. Open to me and take me to the infernal circles.” There was a tense moment of silence. And then a rumble, as a sulphuric smell spread through the room. Suddenly, crimson flames exploded in front of him, enveloping the altar.

He did not move, his draconic eyes allowing him to stare into the roiling flames without issue.

A shape bulged up from the ground, splitting open like a mouth, revealing a pulsating tunnel.

A hellgate.

Without hesitating, he put his shirt and jacket back on, before stepping in the glowing opening, sliding down the exposed passageway.

Around him, a multitude of colours passed him by as he passed from his own world into the realm of Hell, moving at great speed through the softly pulsing tunnel.

He'd never admit it, but this part was kinda fun.

Finally after he knew not how long, an opening presented itself and he slid out, landing on his feet on a soft purple carpet.

He looked around. It was a stately room, richly decorated with fine sofas, elaborate brass chandeliers and a long front desk. Several other beings of various natures sat around the room, seemingly waiting, while behind the desk hovered two devils, their upper bodies humanoid and their lower a cage of tentacles.

The cleric went over to a nearby ticket dispenser and drew a number. Then he sat down in one of the sofas, picked up a nearby magazine and began waiting.

...

Julius was unsure how much time had passed. There was no clocks, and even if there had been, he could hardly expect time in Hell to correspond perfectly with his homeland. A big window did afford him a view of the near endless infernal metropolis of Dis, but that didn't give him much of an idea either. Once his number had come up, he had quickly been by the desk to give his name and purpose for being there, before being asked to return to his seat.

He had to be armed with patience. But he was also far from bored. The stack of magazines covered a broad array of topics, from news to fashion to cooking. He was hardly interested in all of them, but it was a good way to pass time. Free cold water was dispensed from a nearby brass contraption and a bowl provided an array of exotic fruits without ever seemingly running out.

“Mr. Leroung,” one of the devils behind the desk said, looking up from her computer. “Mr. Larc will see you now. Down the hall to the right, fifth office on the left.”

“Thank you,” he responded and exited the waiting room. Beyond was a long carpeted hallway, pictures of infernal bureaucrats of note decorating the walls in-between doors. From some of the doors, soft mumbling and the clinking of glass could be heard. From others, far more visceral and wild sounds could be heard, muted by the solid doors.

Negotiations took many forms in Hell.

Finding the correct door, the paracount headed inside.

The office behind the door was a mid-sized one, with a prominent bookshelf in one end, several filing cabinets and a big desk with chairs surrounding it. Behind the desk in an imposing chair sat the devil Larc Chalice, an androgynous red-skinned humanoid in a business suit. From his back stretched several black appendages that looked much like horns, but which occasionally moved around with a faint creaking sound. “Mr. Julius Leroung,” they greeted the cleric, as he took a seat on the other side of the table. “Welcome. How has your day been?” “Just fine,” he replied.

“I hear that you have had some difficulties at home due to your new personal development. You have my sympathies,” Larc noted.

“Yes, it's been.... Challenging,” the half-dragon admitted. “But despite my concerns, Her Majestrix has chosen to retain all my services.”

“Good to hear. Now then, you were requesting recompense for a favour you did for us, yes?” the devil tapped something on his keyboard. A nearby brass printer spewed a strip of scroll paper out, which was quickly plugged by one of the fiend's long appendages. “For performing an archaeological expedition. How was that?” “A fascinating find. And quite a dangerous one,” Julius remarked. “Full canvassing of the ruins has not yet been accomplished due to numerous difficulties. Though I confess a slight curiosity as to why you wanted me to do this.”

“We trust that shall be clear in due time. You will be returning to that place, no doubt.” “I see.” The paracount furrowed his brows, but did not press the issue. If he was not to know at this point, then that was how it was.

“Now then, you were offered a favour, which you have now come to call upon,” Larc continued, studying the paper. “You have read and understood our terms of service, yes?” “Of course. Including following the reference to Entry XXIII of the chapter Favour to Greater Beings from the Codex Contractus Infernos,” Julius noted. “I am well aware of the limitations on what I can ask for. And what I have in mind is well within those limits.” “Good. So, what do you have in mind?” “I need a teacher.” “Interesting.” Larc rubbed their chin. “I imagine you have something specific in mind.” “Yes. I believe I can harness these new draconic powers of mine to best certain... Rivals I have acquired over my career.” Two puffs of smoke escaped his nose, as his mind turned to thoughts of Ironhide. “So I need a teacher who can competently teach me those skills within a relatively short timeframe. Already my team is heading out on our next expedition and that... Infuriating bloated skink of a dragon will be there.” “I see. Do you imagine that you could complete such training before you will have to return?” Larc inquired.

The cleric paused. “No,” he admitted. “No, I do not. But I imagine I could get a comprehensive start and then... I'll have to take it from there.” “I see. Well, Mr. Leroung, your request is fully within our stipulations. I shall have the request sent and we'll find someone available for you before long,” Larc noted, as he turned towards his computer. “You'll be allowed seating in waiting room 43B until the message goes through. Go left out of the door, first corridor on the right, three floors down and then thirteenth door to the left.”

...

The inner waiting rooms, or at least the one Julius found himself directed to, was notably better furnished than the first one. A large table with carved chairs surrounding it, a massive bookshelf with reading on various subjects, a huge television screen with numerous entertainment devices hooked up to it, a big sofa with a marshmallow softness to it and several large plates and cups that would on command conjure whatever food and drinks one could desire.

The human couldn't help but feel slightly important at being allowed to wait in such a seemingly prestigious location, though he held no illusions that furnishing such a place would barely even qualify as an expenditure for the city given Hell's riches.

He passed the time with ease, digging into the numerous tomes, focusing on history and other such subjects. They were all pertaining to his home planet, which Julius suspected was intentional. Much of it was supremely detailed, with personal accounts from civilizations that had long faded into dust and ruin. Each book provided more true insight into the past than any one of his own expeditions. In truth, if Hell wanted they could probably supply a complete overview of the past, enough to render him out of work. But the infernal forces had no interest in coddling their servants and spoon-feeding them the truth, when instead people like Julius could prove themselves by digging it up. And he was also pretty sure that the collection was curated with this in mind. Still, he noted several things he'd keep in mind when examining certain structures in the future.

He was ripped out of a particular account of Azlanti naval technology when suddenly crimson flames engulfed one of the walls, as it yawned open to reveal another long passage.

He entered without hesitation and let himself be swallowed up by it, sliding through the inner workings of Hell to wherever he was now destined to end up.

Moments later, he was deposited in a grand room, almost temple like with massive obsidian pillars holding up the roof, open braziers filled with hellfire providing dim light and statues of fiendish warriors decorating niches in the walls.

In the middle of the room, currently lying while observing the newly arrived human on a pile of silken pillows, was a feline creature. It looked much like a sabre-toothed tiger, but its flesh was a transparent, glowing yellow mass, allowing its orange skeleton to be seen.

Julius paused only briefly to take in the sight before bowing.

“I am Vilmanath,” the hellcat informed him. “Your request for a teacher in the martial arts has been passed to me and it is therefore my duty to see that you are rewarded with the intense training that you desire. This is my monastery and as my pupil, you will refer to me as Master Vilmanath. Is that understood?” “Clearly, Master Vilmanath,” the cleric echoed, bowing again for emphasis.

“Good. I shall be instructing you in the arts of harnessing the powers of your body. As will my co-teacher.” Julius raised an eyebrow.

“It was believed that the breadth of education needed would require more than my expertise, so a second teacher were to be called up.” The hellcat idly scratched his chin with a sharp claw. “Though intriguingly, she decided to take the post before we could even think of assigning anyone else to it. You are fortunate, my student. Normally, to earn the right of her attention would take far greater service than what you have provided. But as she herself chose to take the job, well... I present to you your second teacher, Nashandra.”

Having waited for this moment, the teacher in question chose that exact moment to strut out from where she had been waiting and Julius immediately found himself thoroughly distracted by her.

For one thing, when he had heard the name and the importance she held, he had suspected her identity. Nashandra was hardly an uncommon name, even in Hell, but Julius was aware of one particular fiend by that name, even if her presence here would be mystifying to him to say the least. But seeing her confirmed that she was indeed the infamous granddaughter of his chosen deity. Black, leathery skin stretched over athletic muscles, a long tail swished behind her and large ears and a small nose gave her face bat-like characteristics. All these traits identified her as a nabasu. But where she stood apart were two curved horns, one of which was broken and her six wings. A pair of white feathery wings, a skeletal pair enveloped in flames and a pair of leathery, dragon-like ones. All marks of her exalted ancestry.

The second thing that threw Julius off was her skimpy dress. Not to say that the cleric wasn't used to seeing people in clothing so skimpy it almost seemed pointless. Certainly, there were always a fair share of men and women at official events looking to score themselves a benefactor and displaying themselves to aid their cause. And while that could be quite interesting, Julius had the composure and dignity not to be taken in by such base and cheap manipulations. Even showing up in a thin one-piece bikini was not too surprising, even from a royal fiend. No, what truly threw him off was that it seemed composed of metallic hooks, which he suspected were made of cold iron. And they were pointed inwards, digging into her skin and flesh, all the way from her neck to her genitals, the last part in particular made the cleric wince internally.

The trails of blood also made it quite obvious that this was no mere trick. Yet despite wearing such a ghastly piece of clothing, she moved as if it wasn't there at all.

“Hey, Julius,” she greeted him, holding out her hand, which the dumbfounded cleric limply took. “I'll be your teacher here. See if we can't get those new draconic instincts working.” “I... See,” he replied. “When do... We...” He paused, feeling an uncomfortable pain in his midsection. Looking down, he started realising that Nashandra had used her other hand to casually slip a ruby dagger between his ribs.

“We started five seconds ago,” she continued casually, withdrawing the weapon and letting the human crumble to the floor. “First thing's first, don't expect your enemies to ever give you a fair warning.” Julius gurgled in agony.

“Don't worry, this place is enchanted to fix you right up.” She paused, as the ambient magic healed him. “See. You'll be fine. In pain, but fine.”

“I.. See,” he noted shakily, getting back on his feet. He let his hand brush over the hole in his shirt, where the knife had slipped through.

“So, learnt something?” she inquired with a smile. “I think... So...” Julius looked down again. While replying, she had once more stabbed him.

“That would be a no then,” she remarked, as he collapsed again. “Second, don't expect timeouts just because things are hard.” She turned to Vilmanath. “Well, that should do for my first lesson. See you later.” And then she walked off.

The hellcat looked to the cleric, as he slowly forced himself back up. “Do not expect my teachings to be any gentler, my student,” he warned him. “So, are you sure this is the path you want to follow?” Julius took a deep breath, as he composed himself. “Yes, Master Vilmanath.”

“Then we shall start with a simple meditative exercise to make you more aware of your body. You can perform it in your assigned room. Follow me.”

...

When Julius had heard the words meditative exercise, he had imagined something akin to what he did as part of his clerical rituals, calmly focusing on a mental exercise meant to bring him in balance with the divine.

This was not what Vilmanath had meant.

Julius had been assigned a simple room, with a cot, a shelf and a desk. The hellcat had pointed to a stack of papers, briefly gone over a few notes and then left him to try them out in peace. So now the cleric was slowly crab walking from one end of the room to another, feeling the ache in his limbs from the unusual strain on them.

According to his new teacher, the point was to strain different parts of his body to force Julius to develop a constant awareness of his body's position, which would be necessary to further his development. The cleric trusted this to be true, even as he felt somewhat silly.

The door to his room popped open and Nashandra poked her head in. “Hey,” she said. “How's it going?” “Slowly. This is a... Inefficient method of moving,” he grunted.

“Trust me, give this enough time and you'll be able to move in any position,” she noted with a grin. “If you think you can stick with us for that long.” “I will. I intend to finish my training no matter what,” he responded in a strained voice. He paused, before slowly getting up with support from his bed. “May I ask a question?” “Of course you can ask a question,” she replied, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the door frame. “Listen, Julius, I like keeping things casual. You don't need to be such a stick in the mud around me.” He paused. “I... Well, okay, I'll try,” he noted. “So, my question is, why are you here?” “I'm here to train you.” “Well, yes, I know that. What I meant was, why would you personally decide to train me?” He scratched the back of his head. “As Master Vilmanath said, getting the aid of someone like you is... Beyond anything I've earned.” “Well, yeah. But I personally asked to be allowed to step in once I noticed your request coming through the system.” She smiled. “And very few people can say no to me.”

“Yes, but why?” “Well, as you know, we here in Hell have a vested interest in your country, as a legitimized political representative of infernal influence if you want some technical terms thrown in,” she explained. “But let's be honest for one second here, many of your fellow nobles think you lot pulled a fast one on us and came out of this as the big gold medal winners, complete with a fucking trophy and everything. Often acting as if Hell serves you. It's gonna bite you all in the ass one day soon. Real hard.” “That is true, I'm sorry to say,” Julius admitted. “Far too many thinks that the terms of the contract renders us immune.” She folded her arms. “But you know the truth, don't you? If anyone can find a way around a contract to hit where it hurts, it's Hell. And boy, your country. You've done some stupid shit. Especially after that little stunt with the pit fiend blew open last year.” “Yes. Technically legal, of course, but in poor taste,” the cleric noted.

“And I was there, personally aiding in his breakout. He was not happy, no siree,” she noted. “And he has petitioned our highest courts for actions to be taken against you lot.” She looked to the ceiling, briefly lost to imagination .”Boy, will there ever be some fireworks when that finally happens.” “And I presume that even if I asked, you wouldn't tell me anything about what's happening,” he remarked.

“Of course not. Where would the fun be in that?” “Figures. But that doesn't explain why you'd teach me.”

“Because you're smarter than most of them. At least, smart enough to know your place. No illusions there, just loyal servitude.” She stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder. “I think your country would benefit from more people like you. But that requires you to stay alive, so if I can help with that, I will.” “Oh. Thanks. That's really... Nice... Of...” Julius slowly paused and looked down. He had been stabbed by her again.

“By the way, if you keep falling for this, you won't survive for long,” she noted, letting him fall to the floor. “Just saying. Anyway, I'll see you later.” Julius gurgled a pained farewell as she left him to recover.

...

Training with Vilmanath consisted, broadly speaking, of two things. One was the slow and deliberate training of specific moves and manoeuvrers, designed to teach Julius the most effective ways his body could be used as a weapon.

The other was applying those moves. In an actual battle. Against Vilmanath himself.

It was for this reason that Julius now found himself lying on his stomach, watching through pained tears how the healing magic of the place kindly dragged his jaw back towards him so it could be reattached. He felt a soft click as the bones re-socketed and the surrounding tissue knitted itself together.

“Get back up. We're not done,” came Vilmanath's voice from nearby.

With a grunt of exertion, Julius got back into position. The braziers blazed brightly, illuminating the pillared room fully. Unfortunately, this was no advantage, as the bright light rendered the hellcat invisible. This was all part of an exercise to attune his senses and his movements, allowing him to react to attacks he could not see.

Which at the moment translated to him standing around nervously, only to be gruesomely battered about by a giant devil cat that he couldn't see, usually earning what would be a fatal wound if the healing wasn't so effective.

He took a deep breath and concentrated, trying to hear or smell the presence of his teacher. But the hellcat's padded feet made him very quiet and everything in the room smelled like brimstone thanks to the braziers. So very little besides being gutted would reveal Vilmanath's position. And Julius didn't need instructions to figure out that any manoeuvrer that relied on one getting skewered by the enemy only worked if you could recover from that.

He closed his eyes, trying to detect something, anything.

For a moment, he thought he had something. Then he definitely felt something, that something being the pain of having his stomach cut open by sharp claws, as Vilmanath slashed him again. The cleric stumbled back, trying to keep his insides inside, before his stomach healed up again.

“Concentrate,” the fiend informed him, before falling quiet.

The human took a deep breath and tried to focus. He had asked for intense training and neither of his teachers were pulling any punches. He was truly in the deep end. But there had been something. Just before the pain. He concentrated, focusing not on his sight, hearing or smell. But on the feelings of his body.

Of the displaced air washing over his skin.

He made a quick motion, trying to block an incoming swipe with his arm.

And stumbled back with the now wounded appendage, four deep gouges carved into it, the scratched bone of his arm briefly showing before the injury began healing.

“Better. You reacted,” his teacher noted. “Your entire body is a sensory organ and you must learn to listen to it. If you can master this, you can learn not only to sense incoming attacks, but also know whether that is an attack to block or dodge.” He paused. “In this case, blocking was the wrong option.” “So I noticed,” the cleric hissed, rubbing his newly healed arm.

“Now, again.” The human was unsure how long he spent in that chamber. Even when he tried to dodge, he'd often end up with a new series of slashes across his skin and his blocks often ended with lost limbs having to come rolling back to him like a dog returning with a stick.

But slowly, Julius began to be able to just feel the incoming attack, even if his ability to deal with them was far from efficient.

...

There was a meaty thwack as Julius collided with another pillar and proceeded to plummet three meters in order greet the stone floor face first. He lay briefly in a crumbled heap of broken bones, until the healing magic realigned his everything.

“Blasted things,” he hoarsely cursed, as he got back up. “How do dragons make it look so easy?” “Because they're born with wings,” Nashandra remarked, swooping past him. “Written into their brains and souls how it works. If you ever had anything like that, well, probably atrophied in your youth, what with you not having wings back then. If you're lucky, you'll awaken your instincts and it will just click.” “And if I'm unlucky?” “Then you'll get really familiar with the feeling of breaking your neck.” “Figures.” The cleric looked up at the rings the nabasu had arranged for him to fly through. Although even he had to admit that currently, flight was too charitable a term. Flailing through the air swinging his limbs like he had ants crawling up his back would probably more accurately summarize what he was currently capable of.

“Maybe we should take a break from that,” Nashandra suggested.

“I thought there weren't breaks here.” “There aren't. But you're getting frustrated and that's not going to do your flying any good.” She gestured to a nearby set of target dummies. “Let's practice fire breathing. Frustration will help you there.” Julius eyed them. “How so?”

“Dragons are emotional creatures and their emotions are often linked to their powers. Surely you have noticed by now. Whenever your temper starts to boil, you get all fired up. Literally.” She landed next to him. “What you need to do is focus that energy inside you, breathe in and then exhale it.”

“Sounds simple,” Julius remarked. “I assume it isn't.” “Well, depends on what you mean. But for now, let's see you do it.” She leaned against one of the nearby braziers, letting its red hot decorations dig into her back. “Go on.”

Julius returned his attention to the targets. He tried to focus on the frustration his lack of success with flying had awoken in him. Then he inhaled and exhaled. And then he began coughing, a few puffs of black smoke exiting from his mouth.

“Well... It was something,” the nabasu remarked.

The half-dragon tried a few more times, with similar results.

“Hmm, let's try this from another angle,” she suggested to a wheezing Julius. “What are you focusing on?” “My frustration,” he hoarsely replied.

“I don't think that's gonna cut it,” she noted. “No. Not at all. See, your problem is you're way too damn compliant. We tell you this will be hard and you just roll over and accept it. Expect it, even. So you can only get so frustrated because failure is exactly what you'd expect to happen when you throw a clergyman with noodle arms into a battle arena and expect him to do backflips.” She paused. “See, I'm insulting you and you're not even getting that mad because it is actually true. What kind of dragon would act like that?” “I mean... I would maybe not exactly describe myself as weak,” he remarked, rubbing his arms with a hint of wounded pride. “But compared to what I am aiming for, yes, I am somewhat underdeveloped.” “You know who has a well-developed body though? Ironhide,” Nashandra informed him.

Julius stiffened notably. “I... Don't see why he needs to be brought into this.” “Well, you two keep running into each other,” she noted. “And you keep failing to defeat him. So, you know, comparisons are natural.” The cleric's hands clenched. “I am trying to fix that,” he tersely noted, his draconic eyes glowing like embers.

“You know, maybe you should just go home and send him here instead. I'm sure he'd do really well.” “I WILL NOT BE REPLACED BY THAT BELLOWING RED CLUMP!” Julius yelled, his skin turning a shade to match his scales. “NOT NOW! NOT EVER!” “Awesome. Breathe fire. Now,” Nashandra instructed.

Julius paused for a second before quickly turning to the dummy, inhaling and exhaling as instructed.

And then he was knocked on his back as the pressure of the spray of flames overwhelmed him, the stream of fire shooting into the air as the elemental breath died down.

“See, that's the part that makes it complicated,” Nashandra informed the gasping Julius. “Four legs really help stabilizing.” “I... See,” he croaked.

...

Julius felt sweat rain from his forehead in big drops, as he kept attacking the training dummy in front of him, constantly switching which limb to strike with.

“You must kick harder, my student,” Vilmanath informed him, his softly glowing body visible in the dimmer light. “A dainty attack like that is only giving your enemy a break and an opening. You need to be relentless with your strikes.”

Julius kept pummelling his artificial opponent, trying to absorb and apply the instructions. He had lost all sense of time, his life now divided between training sessions and the breaks he were afforded both to rest and attend his mortal needs. He could no longer honestly say how long he had been there, his inner clock completely set out by the alien nature of Hell, the isolation and loose schedule his teachers operated by. The fact that there were all alone in the temple, which seemingly had no exits at all, only served to enhance the feeling of isolation.

There was nothing but the three of them and the temple. It allowed for a form of focus the half-dragon had never experienced before, an almost feverish one where the entire rest of the world had faded into nothing but mist. The only thing preventing him from suspecting that years were quietly rolling by were that he would need to return to the expedition at some point before that much time could pass.

“Hey, Julius,” Nashandra called, as she entered the room. “You team will be setting up base camp soon, so we're sending you back home to join up with them.” “Oh?” he responded, as he ceased attacking the dummy. “I see.” He paused. “When shall I return?” “Whenever you feel your duties on the Material Plane have been settled,” Vilmanath informed him, getting up and stretching his back, finishing his sentence with a toothy yawn. “Then you may call upon us again and you shall return here until your duties draw you back to the Material Plane. Or that your training is completed.” He sounded almost bemused as he added: “Which will not be anytime soon. Nevertheless, you have made much progress already. I look forward to hearing how you find your skills to work in life.” “And hey, if things go really wrong, you'll just move into Hell permanently,” Nashandra noted.

“Yes. I'm aware that this is my soul's destination,” he remarked. “But still, I have duties in life I need to attend to. I thank you for your time, Master Vilmanath, and you too, Nashandra.” “You're welcome,” the nabasu noted, padding him on the back.

Reflexively, Julius grabbed her wrist, barely keeping the knife from fully sinking into his body.

“And you're getting faster. Only halfway in this time,” she noted, retracting the weapon to let the pained human heal. “Anyway, a hellgate will take you back.”

As she said that, there was a flash of flames, as a yawning maw opened up in one of the walls.

Julius bowed to the two and headed inside, vanishing from sight as the hellgate closed.

The two fiends watched where the half-dragon had been.

“He's not ready,” Nashandra noted. “Not by a long shot.”

“Of course not,” Vilmanath noted, lying back down. “And he knows it. But it will be valuable experience none the less.” He eyed her. “So, what are your plans for him?”

“Well... He'll be a useful piece later on. We intend to teach Cheliax a lesson they won't soon forget,” Nashandra remarked. “But we don't want things to completely collapse so, you know, people like him will be valuable.”

“And you think he'll be strong enough when the time comes?” “Dunno. That's up to him. But if he needs help, well...” She grinned viciously. “We'll be ready to help him.”

[weavercobra]

Heavy Press

My boyfriend got inspired to ask for this chapter by what was a rather innocuous comment from yours truly. It is also the introduction of one Paige Hawkins, who was invented purely for this chapter without any plans for her to be involved in anything else.

It's rather hilarious in hindsight that she would become one of my iconic NPC's.

Marshal Paige Hawkins of the MPS's Black Shot Brigade checked her watch impatiently. It was a sunny day, a few white tufts of cloud rolling across the azure expanse. So waiting in the glade she was in was far from unpleasant. Still, the lateness showed by the one she had called out to meet her frustrated her. Not because the marshal couldn't imagine there being a legit reason, but if there were, she probably wouldn't know until she had wasted too much time just standing around.

She sighed. No reason to get herself worked up over hypothetical problems.

Sudden vibrations shook her out of her thoughts. It was faint, but she could feel the rattling make its way through the grass and snake up her legs. And it was slowly intensifying.

She looked to the distance, using one hand to both shield and keep her fiery red hair out of her eyes.

In the distance, a humongous figure lumbered towards the glade. The mighty being named Freyja.

Impossible to overlook, she had once been something approximating a jumping spider of considerable size. By now, she was only a spider in the broadest possible terms, as years of unlocking her divine potential, combined with experimental infusion procedures and liberal applications of fleshgrafts, had dramatically transformed her. She had kept growing in dramatic spurts, now towering over the tree-line, her once dark exoskeleton now a pure white, while her numerous eyes glowed like blue fire. From her joints, strange black liquids occasionally bubbled forth, the sizzling substance flowing down her body before vaporising entirely. Her legs each bore massive claws, good both for digging and for disembowelling her enemies. Great wings, much akin to that of a dragon, sprouted from her thorax, a slight red tint breaking up her otherwise ivory colouration. At the end of her abdomen, just above her spinnerets, her tissue twisted into a cartilaginous and muscular tail, punctuated by a massive stinger surrounded by softly pulsating sacks of potent venom.

She was quite the fearsome sight, one that easily managed to stand out.

Freyja stepped into the glade, each one of her steps echoing through the warm air, the earth cratering underneath her considerable weight.

The great arachnid came to a halt and Paige felt no doubt that she had been noticed. She coughed, before addressing her with: “You're late.” Freyja's legs slightly contracted in what was an arachnid approximation of a shrug. “And?” “And I'd appreciate it if we could try to keep things on schedule,” the redhead continued, using her finger to indicate her watch. “Or at the very least some manner of apology for not showing up on time.”

A rumbling chuckle erupted from the divine mutant. The marshal had something in common with the MPS's lead secretary that the massive arachnid found ever so fascinating. The human seemed truly unafraid of others, no matter how big, powerful or important they were. Freyja truly did respect the gumption she displayed. She did also find the reactions she got by intentionally showing up some ten minutes late hilarious. “You seem to have survived just fine.” “Not my point,” Paige sighed. “Alright, whatever. You're here now. Anyway, as you know, the Black Shot Brigade was originally founded as a military organisation specifically tasked with keeping out giant incursions.”

“Yes. So why are you telling me this?” Freyja inquired.

“I'm getting to it. So, despite certain hardships, I believe we have so far managed to stick to that role, even after being absorbed into being a branch of the MPS,” the redhead explained. “But I believe that expanding our role is necessary if we are to retain our relevance to the organisation.” “Fascinating,” the aberrant arachnid flatly commented. “Do you have a point you're getting to anytime soon or should I come back in five minutes?”

The marshal took a deep breath, restraining herself from going over and kicking the other woman in what she figured was the spider equivalent of the shin.

Freyja found herself amusedly pondering what it would take for the woman to actually attempt to smack her.

“My point is, I believe that we can expand from just having specialized in fighting giants to fighting giant creatures in general. The reason I called you out here is because I figured a sparring match with you would be a good way to figure out deficiencies in our current techniques and possibly get ideas for how to fix it.” “Oh? Well, why didn't you just say so from the start?” Freya uttered intrigued. “You'd think you'd begin with someone closer to you in size. Why not Ironhide? Or Morrigan?” “A mixture of scheduling issues and the fact that I feel that with you, any flaws will become blindingly obvious. I'm not trying to completely revise our training regimen just yet, just figure out where we can start improving.” The redhead slightly adjusted her uniform. “So, do I have your cooperation?” “Sure. But don't expect me to hold back. Or for you to get that far,” the divine spider responded bemused. “You just do whatever you think will help when you're ready.” “Alright then,” Paige muttered, drawing her sword. “Let's do this.” She set into a full sprint, quickly approaching her gargantuan sparring partner.

Freyja lifted one of her massive forelegs, before bringing it down. She didn't intend to eradicate the marshal, but she sure as Hell wasn't gonna make it easy on her.

Paige noticed the massive clawed limb rapidly descending on her position. She waited until the last moment before jumping aside. With a loud thump, the leg slammed into the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The marshal kept running. It was a classic, if risky, technique. Dodging at the last moment and then flanking the attacker while they were still trying to figure out if they had landed a hit. But as she tried to move in, Freyja lifted her second-row leg and attempted to bring it down on her. The marshal evaded, realising why the massive arachnid had so easily foiled her plan. Because she could still see her. Unlike the eyes of a human, they weren't just clustered on the front looking forward, though those were her best developed eyes. Along the side of her thorax were additional eyes, greatly expanding her field of vision to near complete all around vision.

She gritted her teeth. The main advantage a smaller target had against a bigger one was being less noticeable. But that was made so much harder by a target that could see in almost any direction. She kept running and dodging limbs, hoping to close in from the back, the only direction Freyja shouldn't be able to see.

The humongous aberration quickly figured out her opponent's ploy. As her much smaller sparring partner threatened to leave her sight, she easily adjusted her position, her great size allowing her to turn faster than Paige could run.

The marshal uttered a string of words unfit for polite conversation. She kept running scenarios through her head. The only way she had a shot of getting at her body was to climb one of her massive legs. But she would be easily brushed off if Freyja knew where she was coming from. So she had to get out of sight. But that also proved to be incredibly hard. And she had no doubt she would tire of running before her opponent tired of turning.

A desperate gambit formed in her head. She began running straight towards the massive chimera. She dodged one leg, then another, as she sprinted into Freyja's shadow. Now that the divine spider had lost sight of her, she just had to pick a leg and ascend before she was noticed again. She was fairly certain the thick layer of exoskeleton would make somebody like her hard to notice.

Movement caught her eyes and she looked up. Her eyes widened as Freyja's body descended.

With a dull thud, the white aberration let her body rest on the ground. Feeling an insistent wriggling underneath her, she called out: “So, Marshal, how does my abdomen taste?” For her part, Paige found herself pressed against the dirt. The massive arachnid's hindquarters were not as hard as her front parts, but weight alone kept her effectively paralysed despite her attempts at fighting back. The warm, leathery skin pressed against her. She could feel sweat dripping from her forehead. It wasn't an unpleasant heat, more akin to a warm bath temperature wise.

Still, putting such a vulnerable part near her was a mistake.

She wriggled some more, trying to adjust her sword for an angle that would actually do something.

Normally, putting such a vulnerable part near somebody who could do anything about it was a mistake. Paige, however, was stuck and thus couldn't actually do anything about it. She briefly tried biting, but her teeth harmlessly scraped against the white flesh. Even the air was beginning to heat. It was like being trapped in a sauna. A sauna that held you down and mocked you.

“So, any insights?” Freyja asked. “I think your first mistake was fighting me. Second was thinking that you had a chance. Running underneath me was definitely the third.”

The marshal renewed her infuriated struggle.

Freyja allowed herself a small pleased sigh. Feeling Paige struggle against her abdomen felt quite good. Like massage done with a single finger. Plus, it was quite fun keeping her down, especially since she was still doing what little she could to fight back. Most enemies she'd fought would give up upon being buried under her weight.

She had always preferred her prey putting up a fight.

An idea sprung to life in her head. Despite the marshal's insistent attempts at escaping, she had practically won. But cutting things short would be a waste, especially with such a spirited woman. She found her mandibles twitching delighted at the notion. Pressing against the ground she lifted herself up again.

Paige gasped as relatively cooler air rushed in. She rolled over, trying to grasp her sword before her arachnid opponent decided to smash her into the ground again, figuring Freyja was just checking on her.

One of the great spider's massive feet slammed down on top of the sword before she could hoist it. With an almost dismissive twitch of her leg, she sent it flying. “What? Did you honestly think that little needle of yours would do anything?”

The marshal gritted her teeth, before setting off, desperately hoping she could recover her weapon.

Freyja's abdomen slammed down on her again. “So, ready to give up yet?” She felt a brief spike of activity accompanied by muffled cursing. “Still kicking? Good.” Slowly, the massive arachnid began moving her abdomen, enjoying the sensation of the much smaller woman pressing against her flesh.

Underneath the oversized chimera's bulk, Paige found herself being rolled around like a cigarette, as the thick sheet of leathery flesh pushed against her. She was grateful she had chosen a place with soft ground and grass to challenge the divine spider, even if she had never imagined that this would be how it would benefit her. She felt frustrated. On one hand, by all metrics, Freyja had won. But at the same time, the marshal had to admit that some larger beings would take advantage of a vulnerable smaller opponent. So seeing if she could free herself from such a situation could be considered to be within the scope of the training exercise.

Even so, the redhead knew damn well that the gargantuan aberration did this to her because she enjoyed it.

She was rolled over again, her limbs pushing against the warm flesh of her opponent as she was moved around. She felt the texture pressed against her change, become harder. Trying to orient herself, pushed against the alabaster arachnid. However, her hand and her forearm slid inside something. She could feel the heat from Freyja intensify, though still not uncomfortably so. She sighed as she realised where she was. The damn spider had rolled her around to her epigynum.

Again, it would not be out of character for certain larger creatures, like dragons, to celebrate defeat by rubbing their genitals all over their defeated opponent. Even if the spider only did it as a way to dominate the marshal, it was still an opportunity. Genitals were general weak spots on creatures and the Black Shots had taken that into account, allowing them to turn a enemy's aroused victory celebrations against them. General advice was that the genitals of giants were comparable to most humanoids and had similar weaknesses. Getting a testicle in an arm-lock was enough to get most male giants to pay attention and no female giant could ignore a human chomping down on their clitoris.

But Freyja was a spider and was therefore far different. Her genitals consisted of a harder plate on her underside, from which twin ducts lead inside her.

Paige began writhing her arms around, trying to dig her nails into the softer inner flesh. But even the insides of the spider was tough and her neatly trimmed nails didn't even come close to be able to do damage.

She sighed. In cases like this, people were advised to play along and look for an opening. Perhaps if she could get the alabaster arachnid off, she'd be distracted enough to let the redhead get the drop on her. She managed to find the second duct with her other arm and reached inside, while fantasizing about introducing the other woman to a redwood-sized flyswatter.

Freyja could feel her abdomen vibrate as the woman's fingers raked across the walls of her epigynal tubes. It wasn't quite comparable to a vagina and she was completely incapable of getting an orgasm. Still, the area was sensitive and getting them stimulated was very pleasurable. She pressed her abdomen down, forcing the marshal's arms deeper inside her.

Underneath her, Paige was now beyond elbow deep in the arachnid mutant's insides, feeling kinda squished as the hardened plate flattened her against the ground. Rivulets of sweat flowed from her skin, as she let her fingers wildly run across the inside of the ducts. She could feel the vibrations seizing the divine arachnid's abdomen and figured that meant she was doing something right.

Freyja slightly lifted her abdomen before lowering it again, sliding the woman's arms in and out of the tubes. Paige responded by pumping her arms as much as her cramped environment allowed, while still pressing her fingers against the inside tissue, rubbing and squeezing it as much as possible.

The white spider rumbled in pleasure. It was quite different from having her mate penetrate her with his pedipalps. The marshal could cover much less ground, so to speak, but her fingers digging into her insides gave a sort of pin-point pleasure that was quite fantastic in its own right. She pressed down again, allowing Paige to almost reach their first curve in her ducts, rumbling in satisfaction. “Having fun down there? It certainly feels like you're getting into it. Perhaps that was the real reason you decided to challenge me?” She could feel the other woman attempt to grab a fistful of sensitive flesh to twist around, without luck. “Still fighting? Heh. Good. Wouldn't be any reason for the next part otherwise.” Underneath her abdomen, Paige froze. “Next part?” she mumbled, head pressed down by the hardened plate.

Freyja lifted herself up again and the marshal felt cold air rush in. She tried to jump to her feet, but her limbs were wobbly and unsteady, the heat and pressure having combined to slightly numb them. She staggered for a bit, before suddenly Freyja's muscular tail snaked around her, constricting her to the point she could barely breathe. She tried to press outwards as she was pulled from underneath the gargantuan arachnid, but even if her arms hadn't been weakened from intensely fisting the alabaster chimera, she doubted she had the strength to break free.

Wasting no time, Freyja swung her captive towards her abdomen again.

The redhead had but a moment to register the protruding organs before her face was pressed up against them. The gargantuan hybrid's spinnerets had a slightly rubbery texture, and being so close allowed Paige to feel the muscles inside eagerly twitch in anticipation. Not wanting to give her opponent the satisfaction of using her as a toy again, she opened her mouth and bit down hard on one of the spigots.

The lack of effect was kinda disheartening.

Freyja chuckled. “Perhaps you should grow some real teeth before trying that.”

Paige sighed. Once more, she was out of any option but playing along. Or playing dead, but she was pretty certain she wouldn't be able to fool the divine hybrid.

Resigning herself to her role for now, she began sucking on the protruding organ. She let her tongue slide across the opening, before pressing it inside, rolling it around and stretching the tissue.

Freyja rumbled in delight once more. While she did not produce much webbing most of the time, her spinnerets were still sensitive organs. They had to be, in order to allow her to properly regulate and adjust the flow of silk. As the tinier woman worked it over, she could feel the muscles twitch with delight, involuntarily releasing strands of webbing.

As Paige sucked on the spigot, she could feel a warm, slightly sticky substance flow into her mouth, accompanied by a heady smell. Unlike most spiders, the divine hybrid's silk was supernaturally imbued with warmth akin to a soothing hot towel. With her face mashed up against the spider's spinnerets, she had little choice but to swallow. It was not like the substance was harmful. As the thick substance slid down her throat, she could feel the warmth spreading from her insides. Between the near constant heat, now both from Freyja's body and the swallowed silk, and the overwhelming compression from the mutant's constricting tail, she could feel her body starting to give in. Not helped by the intoxicating aroma. Every time the spinneret pumped a bit of silk out, it was accompanied by a heavy smell that smacked her directly in brain. She started to feel her mind fog over, barely registering as Freyja yanked her over to another spigot to get it some attention. Her nose was overwhelmed by the pheromone-laden scent of the aroused spider's webbing. She could feel it jolting some of the most primitive parts of her. Her underwear quickly became soaked as her vagina began leaking fluids, a heavy arousal triggered by the intense scent. Her mouth worked pretty much on auto-pilot, sucking and nibbling at the protruding organs, while her tongue pumped in and out between jets of silk. Her stomach bulged from the protein rich diet she had suddenly and unexpectedly been subjected to, sapping her of even more energy as her body began digesting the dense material.

Finally satisfied, Freyja unfurled her tail, allowing Paige to fall to the grass.

The redhead fought against gravity, as she tried to get up, only for one of the divine arachnid's feet to smash her down again.

“Ready to surrender?” she asked.

The marshal tried to push back, but her body had given up. It just couldn't summon any more reserves of energy. All she could manage was a slurred: “Uh-huh,” as she acknowledged her utter and total defeat.

Freyja had no doubt that it was only the limitations of her body that prevented the redhead from throwing herself at her. It was a strange feeling of frustrated satisfaction, knowing that she managed to push the marshal this far and yet she still didn't manage to completely beat her. “Well, now that we're done fighting, if you'd call your flailing that, I think it's only fair if I give a little back.” “Sure... Whatever,” the redhead muttered, before being scooped up by the hybrid's pedipalps. She could only lie there, gently breathing as her drained body was bathed in the light of the aberration's softly glowing blue eyes.

Holding up the redhead with one of her limbs, Freyja carefully pulled down the marshal's pants and underwear, exposing her vagina, still glistening from the lubricants it had produced. Now given access, she began gently rubbing her pedipalp against it. Paige's back arced slightly and she sharply breathed in, her now sensitive opening sending sparks of pleasure through her body, as the spider's massive limb stimulated her. The many strands of hair added a fuzzy feeling, some of them parting her labia and rubbing her clitoris.

As she watched the redhead react to her ministrations, Freyja began channelling the ichor that flowed in her body, using her control over fire to direct a gentle warmth into woman's sore muscles.

The marshal felt almost like melting, her entire body relaxing as her sore body were soothed by the divine heat.

As she continued stroking Paige's vagina, Freyja reached up with her hind legs and plucked a thick strand of silk. She manoeuvred it up to where she was working the marshal over and used one of her legs to dangle it in front of the redhead's face.

The thick, pheromone heavy scent fell over her like a heady blanket. Between it, the engulfing warmth and the constant stimulations of her genitals, she felt herself succumb to the fireworks going off in her body, vocalising a vaguely gurgling moan as the spider triggered her orgasm.

Seeing the redhead had been pushed over the edge, Freyja remove the strand and tried tucking the marshals clothes back on. It was not entirely successful, but she figured that Paige could do the rest at some point.

Many people would probably protest about having their ass visible for everyone, but Freyja had little understanding of what so many peoples' issue was, walking around naked herself all the time. Instead, she deposited the almost unconscious redhead onto her abdomen.

There, Paige could feel the comforting rhythm of Freyja's beating heart, as the spider began striding back towards the base, pausing only to scrape up her sword with her pedipalp. “You,” the marshal managed to mutter. “Are terrible.” “Told you I wouldn't hold back.” The spider would have smirked had she the requisite facial features. “So, did you learn anything?” The redhead had to mull it over. “Yeah. The underside of a giant creature... May be... A blindspot... But it's not... A safe one.” She paused, the rhythmic beating lulling her into sleep. “Next time... I'll have a... Better strategy.” “Next time? Well then...” She felt her pedipalps twitch slightly at the thought. “I'll be looking forward to that then.”

[weavercobra]

The Burden of Divinity

This story follows up events that happened in one of our games. And if you're familiar with Pathfinder lore, then it probably requires a bit of explaining about some of the changes in our settings.

So first off, Maya is a snake goddess we've invented for the setting. She's the mother of Ydersius.

Speaking of Ydersius, there's been some adjustments there for a number of reasons. Evil gods in Pathfinder(And other similar settings) often suffer from a problem I like to sum up as: "Who the fuck would worship this guy?" Setting aside any personal opinions, I can't think of any deity considered evil by their followers outside of some extreme edgelord cases. In fact, the idea of an evil religion worshipped by evil idea has more often been an attempt at discrediting others. So we've been going through the pantheons with a surgeon's kit and a saw to rejigger things.

And as for Ydersius being evil, well, hard to find any information on the fan wikis of what he's done that's so evil or which of his creeds that are so bad. Really, I guess he's evil because he's the patron deity of the sekmin, aka the serpentfolk.

So let's talk sekmin. They are evil. Their wiki pages contains sentences like : "it is unknown how many races the serpentfolk exterminated for pure pleasure.", "view all non-telepathic creatures as slaves or food," "They feel no love or attachment towards other serpentfolk, even their own mates or children." I mean wow, laying it on thick here aren't we?

Now, I'm not saying the sekmin empire wasn't problematic. Empires tend to be problematic. No doubt the sekmin, even removing their inherent evil alignment, would have a sordid history. But if they aren't inherently evil, well...

Here's a line from the wiki I find relevant. "The destruction of Azlant caused by Earthfall saved the remaining serpentfolk from complete elimination."

And if the serpentfolk aren't inherently evil, then you might have to call this what it actually is.

An attempt at genocide.

Which brings us to Azlant and Aroden. And I'll be honest, our read on both of those don't paint either as good guys. Azlant had Xin banished for daring to suggest they had anything to learn from non-humans and we have no reason to doubt it was an isolated case. The fact their descendants turned into space Nazis in Starfinder seem like a natural conclusion.

And Aroden, beloved hero of humanity. The list of things he's fucked up, both before and after divinity is quite long. There's the stuff he did in Arcadia with the Veins of Creation. Stole the aeon orbs from the xulgaths because humanity would use them better, condemning the land of Vask to death by radiation. And his patronage of humanity is probably why you can't throw a rock on Golarion without it landing in a human country. So our conclusion is simple.

Aroden was a racist, imperialist douchebag who favored humanity at the cost of all other sentient beings and the universe is better off without him. And Azlant was a empire morally no better than the one it sought to eradicate from existence. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

If you managed to make your way through all that opinionated rambling, thank you and here's the story. Oh, and if you happen to notice any similarities to plot points from Paizo's Serpent's Skull campaign, then that's because I borrowed liberally from it to set up our own campaign in Saventh-Yhi.

Unconsciousness had been a mercifully numb experience. Her mind had just floated through the void, briefly unburdened by memory, by sorrow, by duty and by anger. For the first time in a long while, she was at peace, cut off from anything that could hurt her. But then reality slipped painfully into her mind, like a white-hot dagger between her ribs. Awareness of how her body ached bedevilled her, from the tip of her tail to the fork of her tongue, every muscle pulsating with an unpleasant aching. And as her pain dragged her mind kicking and screaming out of the numbing depths, thoughts started to flow in. And with them, the ceaseless memories. The memories of the invasion, seeing wounded after wounded be dragged in from the frontline, watching five of her countrymen bleed out in the time a healer could mend the wounds of one. She remembered offering words of encouragement to those going to and arriving from the battlefields, but towards the end, her sermons had sounded hollow and deceitful even to herself. And she remembered the fall, the devastation and the evacuation. Helping seal her fellow sekmin in stasis chambers, promising they would be safe, promising they wouldn't be found. All lies, of course. It was a desperate gambit and there was no certainty. She had half expected never to see the light of day again as the magic of the pod took hold, sealing her in dreamless preservation. She remembered her awakening alongside others of her kind, their confused staggering into a new, alien world, so different from the one she had left behind. She remembered the mission, to resurrect their empire now that their hated enemies had vanished from the surface of the planet. And how she had been sent out to gather information about their lost capital. It had been a harrowing journey. Everything had been so different and she had to apply all her skills and powers to pass herself off as a human scholar. She knew the future of her kind hinged on the success of her work. It had gone well, until the island. She had managed to get off the accursed rock, but her mission had depended on the kindness of a human. And they had let her go. She felt that was only the case because they didn't know the truth, but still, she had remembered it. And she had tried to warn the human's fellows, that only death would await them in the jungle and the lost city hidden therein. They had ignored her warnings. She had been anxious. And angry. For with them had travelled a being, a serpent, an avatar. An avatar of her. The one who had abandoned them in their hour of greatest need. And then they had finally met face to face. And Aethaxise had unleashed all her frustration, pain and feelings of betrayal in once venomous tirade aimed at the divine figure.

And Maya had smote her in response.

That was the second time she slipped in the dark expecting never to wake up. So the return of her consciousness was as surprising as it was unwelcome. Slowly, her eyes began registering the sunlight shining down on her. She hissed weakly and turned her head to avoid the direct glare of the overhead light. It took her a moment to ponder the oddity of the sunlight, before realising that the roof was missing. She groaned and tried to move, her body protesting the action. Her neck slowly bent, giving her a chance to observe what was left of her surroundings. Most of the walls and the roof had been blown clear out, even taking with it some of the adjacent outer masonry, exposing much of the inside of the structure to the outside. Her inner ear began registering the distant sounds of birds and bugs, alongside other noises of the jungle. She rolled over on her belly, splaying out her limbs to soak up the warm rays, feeling its heat sink into her body, slowly helping her wake up. Her tongue darted out of her mouth, catching nearby scents and delivering them into her mouth, letting her register them. She could smell that Krathus was nearby, though she was uncertain of his condition. Mingled with it was the smell of his companion Xantheithes. They were really close, by her estimate. She hoped they had survived. But mixed in was another scent. One she had only gotten familiar with very recently, but that none the less immediately filled her with rage. Her anger fuelled her strength, allowing her to plant the palms of her hands against the stone floor, pushing her upper body upwards, straining her neck to lift her head up and slowly turn it, while uttering a hoarse and exceedingly venomous: “You.”

The person she was speaking to looked like a giant cobra, her scales a pure, alabaster white, her eyes a vibrant purple save for the black slit in the middle. The pale serpent had been eyeing something in the distance, but upon hearing the utterance, had turned her attention to the speaker. Maya took a moment to note the sekmin's appearance, that of an emerald-scaled snake with arms and legs, before addressing her with: “So you're awake, little one. I trust that you will have learnt to behave, at least enough to have a civil conversation. Otherwise, I am more than capable of banishing you into unconsciousness again as many times as I need to make my point clear.”

Aethaxise responded with a growl, as she slowly rolled over on her back, trying to eye the other two in the demolished room.

She noted Krathus nearby. A sekmin like herself, though his scales were a combination of red and black. He was lying up against the only remaining wall in the room, one containing a detailed genealogy of the invading humans, which he had found amusingly interesting. Still protectively wrapped around him was the massive ophidian Xantheithes, a great white cobra. One that in many ways resembled Maya's current form. Not too surprising, as Xantheithes' species had been sacred to her faith, empowered over many generations by the divine waters of her temples. They were a clever species, with more than a few developing full-on sapience, Xantheithes being one of them.

Maya followed her gaze. “Your companions are both alive, little one, that I can assure you. Though painful, that attack could not have killed a fly, much less any of you.” She paused, her tongue flickering in and out. “And it seems they are waking up too.”

The prone form of Krathus stirred slightly. Reflexively, his tongue darted out of his mouth and his limbs twitched. He managed to roll the back of his head along the scales of his serpentine companion, giving him a chance to inspect the room. There was a moment of quiet, before he with a dry voice stated: “We're alive I see.”

“That you are,” the divine serpent confirmed. “And I have no intentions of killing you. All I want to do is talk.” Her voice took on a sharper edge, as she added: “However, as I informed your friend, I am more than willing to demonstrate what the wrath of a deity feels like if a polite conversation is too much to ask for.”

Krathus weakly held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I'll vastly prefer that we have a polite conversation.”

Aethaxise hissed angrily, but said nothing.

The red-and-black scaled sekmin leaned to the side to inspect his ophidian companion. With the inability to close his eyes, it would have been hard for a human to see whether Xantheithes was awake or not, but for one who shared many physical similarities like Krathus, it was easy enough to detect the tell-tale signs that the massive cobra was slowly beginning to register his surroundings. The entire length of the ophidian's body jerked slightly and with some effort, he managed to lift his massive head slightly. “You hurt?” he managed to croak, still dazed.

“No. The pain is merely superficial.” Krathus twitched slightly as he moved his tail. “But ever present. I suspect it shall pass very soon though.” He turned his gaze to observe the avatar. “So, you wanted a talk.” “In a moment, little one. My own companions will be with us shortly,” Maya said, looking to a nearby set of stairs going down. “I'll advice that you gather your strength in the meantime.”

“Oh, and what exactly would we be gathering our strength for?” Aethaxise pointedly inquired.

“Mostly sitting up. But if you prefer to lie on the floor as you do now, far be it from me to tell you to do otherwise, little one,” Maya replied. She turned away again. “And there he is.”

Yet another oversized white cobra slithered up the stairs. To one unfamiliar with dealing with serpents, he might have seemed identical to Xantheithes, but for everyone present, the exact pattern of his scales was different enough to mark him as a completely unique individual. As he slithered across the ground, the back of his hood became visible, upon which the colouration of his scales formed an insignia of a snake holding an arrow in its mouth, encircling a bow. He made his way over next to Maya and curled up in what among snakes passed for a sitting position. “I've checked up with everyone else in the building. Nothing serious for most of them. Though Random has taken some considerable damage, including massive cracks in her exoskeleton. It'll take some time to heal.”

“I gather she also managed to dish out some considerable damage,” Maya commented. “I was concerned Yaras might develop spheksophobia. But I digress. Good job, Lechaim.” She refocused on the others. “Now then, I guess saying you have a bone to pick with me would be an understatement.”

“You... You...” Aethexise managed with no small amount of venom, as she struggled to push herself off the ground. “You abandoned us. We were slaughtered by the hundreds and you were nowhere to be seen. Even when your own son died you... You weren't there. Am I supposed to be grateful because your priests ran around trying to fix things? AM I SUPPOSED...!” “AETHEXISE!” Krathus managed. “Calm... Calm down. I do not want to be blasted again and if I have to get Xantheithes to gag you, I will. I've already been punched by a deity once today, I do not care to repeat that experience.” The other sekmin growled, her claws scraping across the stone floor. Silence reigned for a while. “Where were you when we needed you?” she finally managed to ask, her voice barely a whisper.

Maya sighed. “Little one, I did everything I could. But if I had stepped in more than I had, what would the results be? You think their gods would have sat on the sideline? No. Had I stepped in, I would have ignited a divine war. It would have been a catastrophe.”

“Some would say it already was,” Xantheithes commented grumpily.

“True. It was grim,” Maya agreed. “The fact that things could be worse is, I understand, little comfort for all of you.”

“And what about your son?” Aethexise managed venomously, slowly getting up on her feet. “Even if all our suffering meant nothing, shouldn't his death have meant something?”

Krathus winced, almost prepared to eat another bolt of divine retribution from Maya.

Indeed, the ophidian avatar's tail swayed dangerously and her hood flared slightly at the provocation. But she took a deep breath and continued with: “Despite what you think, the harm done to my son has been a painful memory beyond description for all these passing aeons. It would be arrogant of me to claim that my pain was greater than what was felt by any of you, but it was there. And while I wanted nothing more than to bathe them all in poisonous vapours until their meat dripped from their bones, I am subject to responsibilities far beyond your reckoning. For one thing, we deities have an agreement among us that limits our ability to directly influence the mortal world. Even this avatar, which I created to circumvent that, is pushing against what is considered acceptable. Had I interfered more than I did, and I did everything I could, I would have started a divine war with the Azlanti pantheon, which would have benefited no one, not even you. And no, little one, I do not expect that to suddenly make the attempted genocide of your people seem less severe. I am merely trying to get you to understand the position I was in and to some degree, still am.” “But the Azlanti Empire fell,” Krathus stated inquisitionally. “According to the history books, they're gone. Not that I ever believed you owed us anything, but why not aid us in the aftermath? It cannot have passed you by that we barely managed to survive.”

“Again, it comes back to divine politics. Any attempt by me to help you would be opposed by... The Last Azlanti,” Maya managed grimly. “By the time there was a world worth coming back to, he was a deity. He did not dare move on you because I would visit retribution, but the same was also true the other way around. And even after he died, there was still limits to what I could do. In fact, I've searched for an opportunity such as this for a long time.” She paused. “I think Ydersius has given you the wrong impression of the burden of divinity. You were his creation, his children. He cared only for you and was with you through thick and thin. You might have come to expect similar levels of attention from the rest of us. But my concerns go far beyond you. If I had acted out of hand, even if I had shielded you with all my divine power from retribution, others might have suffered. For example, by targeting my followers among the skittermanders.” “The... What?” Xantheithes managed to ask, utterly perplexed.

“They're not even native to this solar system,” Lechaim replied. “Cute fellows. If silly.” Aethaxise just stared.

“I have followers across the entire universe,” Maya continued. “I must always consider how my actions will affect all of them. I am not saying this to diminish your suffering. Only to enlighten you to the burden I carry. My followers number more than you could count in a lifetime and every single action I take can have consequences for them. That is the true cost of divinity. And that was why I couldn't throw everything away to help you. That is why it has taken me so long to find a way to help at all. Didn't matter what I wanted to do, because I had the responsibility to care for all who worship me. And even for the world beyond my faith, for surely a divine war could have rend the planet in two and that is at the small end of the scale. You think you know what devastation looks like, little one? I have witnessed what happens when gods and titans make war, when entire clusters of stars are vaporised by stray shots and the very fabric of time and space buckles under the blows of warring combatants. I would not wish that on anyone. Not even the Azlanti.” She went quiet, her head lowering slightly. “But I am trying to make things better and that is why I am here. I truly just wish to help.”

Everyone was quiet for a while.

“Well... I guess... Maybe I understand,” Aethexise managed, her voice hollow and drained. “But we don't need your help.” Maya shook her head. “No, little one, you do. I know what you and yours are planning, and if it would work, I would be more than happy to stay out of your way. But you are about to make a grave mistake that could very well create the type of disaster I was trying to avoid.”

“So you know of the operation we've started then,” Krathus surmised running his claws along his lower jaw in a contemplative gesture. “Fascinating. And you're saying there is some sort of flaw in this plan then?” “Indeed. But before we get to that, I know someone you ought to meet.” Maya returned her attention to Lechaim. “Is she ready?” “She is,” the other white cobra confirmed.

“Alright then.” She turned towards the stairs. “You can make your entrance now.”

Silence reigned in the ruined room, as the sounds of someone ascending the stairs was heard. A figure made their way into the light of the distantly setting sun, a human woman. Her head was framed by short-cropped brown hair, her body clad in dull coppery plates of metal that looked like they had seen their fair share of wear and tear. A torn leathery cloak enveloped her and a massive sword was sheathed on her back. Bandages were wrapped tightly around the left part of her head, obscuring one of her eyes, and her left arm hung limply in a sling.

The patient quiet in the ruined room immediately changed character, taking on a grim and cold mood.

Krathus tried to jump up with a hiss, only stopped by Xantheithes protectively curling around him, the serpent's hood flaring open.

Aethexise was not so hindered. Instead, motivated by a burst of adrenaline and unyielding rage, she leapt from the floor and galloped forward, claws outstretched and fangs unfolding in her mouth, deadly venom dripping from their tips. She leapt, ready to tear the woman's face off, only to find herself caught in mid-air by Maya's tail, which quickly wrapped around the struggling sekmin. “Let me go,” the green-scaled cleric hissed furiously. “Why is she here? WHY IS SHE HERE!? WHY ARE YOU NOT DEAD!?”

“Well, that went about as well as expected,” Lechaim muttered.

The woman, for her part, stood unfazed, though with a forlorn expression.

“I must concur,” Krathus hissed, finally untangling himself from his aide. “Don't tell me you brought her of all people back.” “Oh no, little one, this came as quite the surprise to me too,” Maya said, shifting her tail to maintain her grip on the furiously screaming Aethexise. “But I brought her here because she has something important to say.”

“So, what, we hear her out and then kill her?” Xantheithes venomously commented, bundling up behind the red-and-black scaled sekmin.

“If that would fix anything, I'd tell you to go ahead,” the woman said. “But as it is, I suspect it would make things much worse.”

“Indeed. So, are you willing to hear her out?” Maya inquired.

Krathus eyed his fellow sekmin. Aethaxise was now little more than a pair of serpentine eyes glaring murderously from atop the rim of the avatar's pale coils. “We're not getting much choice here, are we?” “No.” “So be it.” The sekmin wizard sat back down, leaning against the piled body of Xantheithes. “This is not a case of mistaken identity, right? You are Savith, the very same one who lead the campaign against our people. The one who murdered our deity.” “Guilty as charged,” she said in a tone of voice indicating that she indeed thought it something to be guilty of. “As for how I survived, I'd say barely. After my fight with Ydersius, the divine backlash left me on the brink of death. Your people found me before my fellow Azlanti did. Dragged me away from the site of battle and stuffed me in one of your stasis pods. I figure it was to interrogate me later. Or punish me. Probably both. Either way, they never came back for me. And I was never found by my comrades.” She went quiet, as she began to pace. “Once I was freed from the pod by happen-stance I began wandering this new world. That's how I ran into the Mystical Peacekeeping Society and through them, Maya.” She paused again, looking contemplative. “Well, first of all, I feel I owe you an explanation for what happened. From your perspective, our campaign must have seemed quite unfounded.” “What? No apology?” Xantheithes sourly inquired.

“Could any apology I could come up with ever truly suffice?” Savith asked. “I am sorry, but I can't imagine that means much to you.”

The serpent didn't respond, instead just lowering his head as he kept observing her.

“So as I was saying, Azlanti seers predicted that enemies of our people were gathering to unleash a devastating weapon upon us. Our leaders determined that those enemies had to be your people. I was asked to lead the campaign. And I did. Because I was convinced I was protecting my people from a grave threat by doing so.” She shook her head. “I've had many centuries now to contemplate how foolish that was. Me and my squad were, well, for us the goal was strictly military. To take out any part of your empire that could be used against us. But for most of my fellow Azlanti, that translated into making sure none of you were left alive. And I claim no innocence here, because I paved the way for those that burnt your cities and butchered your people. And I let it happen, because ultimately, I valued Azlant more than anything else. That's as bad as if I had done those deeds myself. And to make things even worse, turns out the whole campaign was founded on animosity. Our leaders had picked you as the target, not because there was any actual evidence of you preparing to attack us, but because our nations had had... Issues getting along.”

Maya heard a murmuring from her coils. She shifted them slightly, allowing Aethexise to get her entire head out. “It was the aboleths, yes? I've read all about it,” she hissed venomously. “They uplifted you and then decided to cast you down again.”

“Can't say I blame them,” Savith admitted. “But yes, that was the case.”

“So why are you here?” Krathus pointedly asked. “Think you can somehow make up for your actions?” “No. I can't imagine what I would have to do to accomplish that,” the Azlanti general replied. “I could do good deeds from now until the end of time and I don't think it would make up for the blood I have on my hands. But that is not going to stop me from doing the right thing. And the right thing to do is helping you people not unleash a disaster upon yourself.” “Really? The Azlanti general wouldn't want to see the sekmin self-destruct,” Aethaxise commented. “Why do I find that hard to believe? Even if what you said is true, which I doubt.” “As I said, I've had a lot of time to think.”

“What do you mean by that?” Xantheithes inquired.

“The stasis pod was flawed. It stilled my body, but not my mind. I've had the passing of many centuries to think and I've come to realise that, as different as we are, a lot of the things I looked down upon the Sekmin Empire for were the same sins that the Azlanti committed,” Savith explained. “Azlant is never coming back. And that's for the best. But your kind has a chance and your current plan risks snuffing that out.” “Enough with the vagueness,” Krathus demanded. “What is it you claim to know?”

Savith sighed. “Alright. Sorry. You're planning to resurrect Ydersius by reconnecting his skull with his body, which you lot managed to preserve in one of your hidden vaults. But it's not going to work. At least, not in the way you think it will. The thing is, you have his body and you might find his head, but what you don't realise is that a piece is still missing. His soul. The Ydersius you'd resurrect would be a divine being without thought, without memory, a soulless wild husk. Barely a wild beast, but with the power of a god. Such a being could wreck a horrendous amount of havoc.” “That's nonsense,” Aethexise hissed. “His soul is still among us. My connection may have faded, but I can still call upon his power.” “As could Tovkuc and he was a recent initiate,” Krathus added.

“The charau-ka?” Maya added, her hood vibrating slightly. “Yes, you sure taught him well. Between the attempted human sacrifices and generally unpleasant demeanour.”

Aethexise harrumphed indignantly.

“To get back to the subject,” the human added, trying to disarm the brewing conflict. “You are right, but his soul did not lock itself away in his skull or his body. It instead fled into a nearby vessel, one that was not dying. It...” She paused and sighed. She grabbed the bandages around her head and began unwrapping them. As the bandages gave way, stunned silence filled the ruined room. Underneath, her hairline had receded and much of her skin had changed into brown scales, her left eye a softy glowing orange orb, the pupil slightly misshapen. Taking the opportunity to continue, she unwrapped her arm, revealing more scales and that her nails had twisted into semi-sharp claws. “The nearest vessel,” she stated with finality. “Was me.”

Krathus looked like he was trying to say something, but he only succeeded in moving his jaws.

Maya looked to Aethaxise and slowly let the stunned sekmin loose. The green-scaled cleric slowly stumbled over towards the human, seeing in her alterations fragments of her deity. Carefully, almost as if she was afraid to break a pleasant dream, she reached out and laid a hand on Savith's scaled arm. Immediately, she retracted the appendage, as if she had gotten an electric shock. She stared, first at Savith, then her hand.

“Well?” Xantheithes asked. “You have the closest connection to him. Is it true?” “I... Yes. I could sense him,” Aethaxise said slowly, utterly befuddled. “But... How?” “As I said, I was closest. I am not chosen or favoured by Ydersius if that's what you're worrying about,” Savith said. “It's sheer coincidence. But we've had the passing of millennia to get to know each other. And Ydersius would very much like you to not resurrect his body without his soul present. So I need you to contact your fellows and tell them the news.” “Well, that is amazing,” Krathus said. “Ehm, slight problem. We can't.” “You can't? Of course you can't, that would be way too easy,” Lechaim sighed. “So what is it?”

“We have no way of contacting our leader in the depths of Ilmurea,” the red-and-black scaled wizard explained. “We were to set up an outpost and gather local resources and subjects in order to dissuade intruders into Ilmurea. But for safety's sake, we have no way to contact them, to minimize risks of them being tracked if, say, we were to be killed.” “And even if we were to get into contact with them, what do you think they'll believe? Your ridiculously improbably story, or that you're there to finish the job and has managed to brainwash us?” Aethexise asked. “Or, what, you gonna let every single priest we've got feel you up to confirm our Lord of Coiling Poison's presence?”

“I would have preferred that over having to storm your sacred sanctuary. Again,” Savith sighed exasperated. “Sicva must be blessing my journey, because you're making it sound like I'll have to storm in there and jam Ydersius' soul back into him myself and that every single one of your people will throw themselves at me to stop me. Again.” “That is an accurate summary of this stupidity,” Xantheithes commented. “Of course, you're also forgetting that you have no way to actually getting to Ilmurea. And even if you got there, you alone would not be enough.” “That is true, little one,” Maya agreed. “However, I am sure we can gather allies to help us, with a little luck. And as for a way down, we'll just have to keep an eye out for opportunities.” “Great. Seems like it's gonna be war all over again,” Savith noted in a tired voice, as she sat down on a piece of the wall. “I came here to help, not to fight you.” “Sadly, you Azlanti managed to impart on us the importance of not trusting humans,” Aethexise noted. “So, what now?”

“We need a plan. First, we must canvas the city. No doubt the Azlanti made many changes during their occupation,” Krathus noted, looking back to the wall with the genealogy.

“You do that, little ones. For now, I have someone else I'll need to talk with,” Maya said, as she moved towards the stairs, Lechaim following her. “I trust that I can leave you be without you all attempting to kill each other.” Aethaxise emitted an annoyed low hiss, as the two serpents slithered downstairs.

The avatar and her companion made their way through the repurposed ruin, finding in the middle of it a massive structure like an oversized wasp-hive. Maya observed it for a moment, turning to her companion and asking: “She's in there?” “I presume as much. I tended to her wounds out here, but I wasn't going to shove her into the hive,” Lechaim replied.

“I see.” The divine cobra turned back to the hive. She noted a faint buzzing sound. “You can come out, little one. I merely wish to talk.”

From the dark depths of the hive, several crimson hexagons lit up, outlining two massive compound eyes. “Forgive me if I don't feel in the mood to entertain any more intruders.”

“My apologies. But I had little other way of talking with you,” Maya noted. “I gathered from the others you put up quite the fight. I saw the wounds you inflicted. You're skilled. And I respect skill. To keep things short and sweet, I wish to for us to cooperate.” “Cooperate?” came the doubtful, thrumming reply. “You invade my home, strike down my children and now you want to cooperate?” “Well, you made a deal with the sekmin. Surely you understand the benefit of working together?” Maya explained. “And your children are alive, if dazed. I dare say we did our best not to cause them undue harm. But I get you. You want something more from me. And I'm willing to provide. After all, this ruin must impose certain... Limits. What if I offered to help secure you a better nesting ground?”

There was a pause, followed by a clacking sound as a massive wasp crawled out of the hive, her cracked exoskeleton wrapped in gauze. “You have my attention.” “The Mystical Peacekeeping Society, the ones who I'm helping and whom you fought, could use the assistance of a powerful predator like you. And they in turn possess a lot of territory, a lot of which is unsettled and which I can guarantee you they'd be willing to hand over to you in exchange for assistance,” Maya explained. “How does that sound, Random?”

The mutated wasp queen named Random paused as she mulled it over, her wings twitching occasionally. “I can see little reason why you'd lie,” she admitted. “You'd all just have killed me when you had the chance if this was to get me out of the ruin. And I admit, it is getting kinda cramped. I could do with a bigger nest for me and my brood.” “Sounds like a yes to me,” Lechaim commented.

“Yeah. But if I find out you lied to me, the last thing you'll see before I puncture your eyes will be my stinger,” Random asserted. “So, when do we start?” “When can you start?” Maya asked.

“In a while. Some of my brood has been out hunting and I'd like to do a full head count before going anywhere.” “Good,” Maya noted, coiling up slightly. “Should give us time to go over some of the finer details.”

[weavercobra]

For those interested in that kind of thing, I've posted a NSFW story and I've therefor put on the community label for mature and sexual content. So if you're interested in that kind of thing, make sure your settings are set properly.

[weavercobra]

First Do Harm

This story is the first pornographic story I've ever written. The scenario was thought up by my girlfriend and then my boyfriend asked if I could write it. So I did.

The mercenary and quite tall ratfolk Greil strode along the gravel path, the sun shining down upon him from cloudless skies, warming his black fur. It was one of the last warm summer days of the year and the veteran soaked up the heated rays with joy. He had always preferred the warmer summer season.

He turned a corner, spotting a small building with a mailbox out in front. Approaching, he inspected the name, which read Annie H. Cailean.

He nodded. Then his directions were correct. This was the apartment of the one who went by the nickname Harm, a name Greil had to admit she had earned after reviewing her profile, and where ostensibly his brother was currently located.

The large mercenary approached the door, then paused, his ears twitching slightly as he listened. Moaning. And not of the pained kind. Sounded like they were quite busy. He could make out the sounds of his brother and he was pretty sure he also recognised noises from his brother's lover, the fire-loving renegade Pwyre.

He considered things, then knocked. It wasn't that he was shy. In fact, he'd walked in on his brother having sex more than once. But he was unsure how Harm would feel if she was also involved and therefore he figured that knocking first would at least give her time to cover up if she did not want to expose herself to him.

There was no response. Either his brother hadn't heard, which the veteran mercenary doubted, or he didn't care. And if Praz didn't care, then it was unlikely anyone else did. His brother was too much of a gentleman to let anyone be caught in a compromising situation if that would make them severely uncomfortable.

He put a hand on the doorknob, briefly thinking that if it was locked, he'd have to spend some time outside soaking up sunshine while they finished up. But the door opened without protest, the sounds of pleasured lovemaking intensifying.

Greil let himself in, closing the door behind him, and followed the noise, leading him towards the kitchen. By this point, he knew Praz had to have heard him. After all, he made absolutely no attempt at masking his presence and his younger brother was very attentive.

He turned a corner and found himself in the apartment's kitchen, from where the noises originated. He took a moment to survey the situation.

His brother Praz was on the floor with the albino ratfolk Pwyre on top of him, facing one another. It looked like they had been at it for some time, their respectively black and white fur slightly matted with sweat and other bodily fluids. Their tongues slathered saliva over each other, as they wildly and messily kissed, in between pants of delight. Between them, their visible erections rubbed against each other, sticky precum causing their fur to clump as the friction filled the two with pleasure.

By Greil's estimate, they'd be at it for some time and he knew better than to talk about work with his brother while Pwyre was going to town on him. Never lead anywhere productive.

He turned his attention to the apartment's owner, Harm, who sat by the kitchen table, sketching on her electronic pad. She was completely naked and from her dishevelled hair, Greil figured that the woman had been the third part of the lovemaking not long ago and was currently taking a break. It gave him a moment to note her unique look. While built like a human, no one would confuse her for one. Her skin smoothly and sequentially transitioned all the way from pale peach to ivory black. No matter what skin colour a human could have, Harm had it somewhere on her body. Her hair was no different, going from red to black to blond depending on where on her head it was growing, all of it coming out of her scalp in a wild, untamed mane. Some would maybe think her sewn together from various bodies like a flesh golem, but according to everything Greil knew, she was born like that. Or rather, created like that. He was unaware of all the details, but he knew that she had been part of some sort of breeding experiment. Beyond that, he was clueless, but he did not intend to pry. If he needed to know more than what the report stated, he was sure somebody would tell him.

She withdrew her attention from her sketching and looked at him. Like everything else, her eyes where mismatched, one a combination of blue and brown, the other grey and green.

She tapped on her pad, its synthetic voice saying: “Hey, Greil. How's it going?”

“Quite fine, actually,” the mercenary replied. He knew Harm was psychologically mute, unable to speak unless in a setting of extreme comfort or extreme emotion. The rest of the time, her pad had to speak for her. “I came by because I had some questions for my brother, regarding the reports I've been handed.” Harm raised an eyebrow as she typed: “Couldn't Sofia help you?” “No doubt, but I appreciate my brother's perspective. As he's been with the MPS for quite a while, I decided to seek out his insights.” “Then you'll have to wait.” “Yes, I gathered as much. It's okay, I am not in a hurry.” The multicoloured woman looked speculative, before she with a smirk typed: “Why don't you join in while you wait?”

Greil eyed the two ratfolk. Praz had reached down with one hand to increase the friction, gently rubbing his partner's dick. Pwyre, meanwhile, softly bit into the black-furred ratfolk's neck, eliciting a sharp intake of air from the bottomer. “I'd just be intruding, really,” Greil noted.

Harm rolled her eyes, before typing the message: “That's not what I meant.” She leaned forward across the table, lifting her rump from the chair as she did, giving the mercenary a full view of her rear and her vagina. She looked coyly back at him over her shoulder.

“Ah. I did wonder, but I didn't want to presume interest,” Greil noted. Just looking at her like that, he could feel his blood flowing to his genitals. “But yes. That is a very tempting offer.” He walked forward, as the multicoloured woman returned to her sketch. “One I intend to take you up on.” As he closed in, he could see that she had been trying to capture the image of his brother and his partner. It was quite a good recreation too. He moved the chair out of the way, before letting a hand softly cop a feel of one of her buttocks. His brother definitely had good taste in partners, that much was certain. He took a deep breath, the enticing sight before him exciting him. Slowly, his dick began standing erect. It was a smooth looking organ, without much the in the way of bumps or ridges, his blood lending it a warm colour that made it stand out from his black fur. He let both of his hands glide up her lower back as he closed in, extra gently with his left arm, which had been permanently damaged in a previous skirmish. He paused briefly as the tip of his erect organ poked against her labia. He gently grabbed hold of her sides and pushed, feeling himself sliding inside her. He waited for a bit, letting her get used to the feeling, before pulling back, then pushing forward once more. Slowly, he got into a rhythm, taking a deep breath, soaking in the feeling of his penis gently sliding in and out of Harm's vagina, her wetness easing the process considerably.

From his position on the floor, Praz looked up at his brother gently having sex with the multicoloured woman. “It is...” he softly panted. “Rather rude of us to ignore our guest.” “I think he'll survive,” Pwyre muttered, before softly nibbling his partner's ear.

Praz breathed in sharply at the jolt of pleasure spark from the albino's ministrations. “Still... How about we join them at the table?”

“Oh?”

The black-furred ratfolk slid out from under his partner and crawled to the table. He leaned over it, mirroring Harm's position, lifting his long tail, exposing his anus in the process.

Pwyre smiled hungrily, as he approached the other ratfolk. “I see what yer getting at.” He pressed himself up against him, taking a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Praz' black fur. With one hand, he guided his dick to the bottoming ratfolk's rear, then gently pushed forward. Already slick with precum, it slid into the sphincter with little resistance.

Praz took a deep breath, slowly adjusting to his boyfriend's organ. As he felt Pwyre's rhythmic pounding intensify, he looked up at Harm.

The woman smiled at him, then lifted her pad up so he could see the sketch she had made of the two ratfolk's previous romp.

“It's... Hng... Very well.. Hah... Made,” Praz managed, tensing as Pwyre's dick massaged his prostate. He began softly moaning as the albino, having found a good rhythm, suddenly reached around, grasping the bottom's erect shaft and began gently rubbing it.

Harm for her part turned her pad around again and saved the finished sketch, contemplating what to draw next.

From behind her, still gently sliding in and out of her, Greil commented. “I am quite impressed that you can keep drawing while also having sex. You must be good at concentrating.” She looked over her shoulder with a teasing smirk, before typing: “Don't flatter yourself. You're not that good.”

As she returned her attention to her sketch program, she could feel the mercenary ratfolk slow down and then stop. She briefly wondered if her comment had knocked the wind out of his sails.

With unexpected swiftness, Greil grabbed her leg and flipped her over on her back. It was a strange feeling for her, the slick walls of her vagina sliding around the mercenary's penis.

Now face to face, his right hand dug under her back and effortlessly lifted her up. She could feel the weight of her own body driving Greil deeper into her.

He looked into her eyes, before softly saying: “Do not mistake gentleness for weakness.” Then he leaned over again, pushing her to the floor. Down on three of his limbs, being careful not to support any of his weight on the left arm, he began using his entire body to pump into her again and again.

Back on the table, Praz briefly considered the irony that he and his partner had moved to the table to be sociable, only for Harm and Greil to end up on the floor. He pondered whether or not to follow them, but between the feeling of Pwyre pounding his ass and gently massaging his dick, his mind was too fogged over from pleasure to be bothered. He could feel his loins spark, as he began getting closer to climaxing. His claws dug into the table as he sharply inhaled, pushed over the brink. Sperm splashed from his genitals, as the black-furred ratfolk blissfully deflated onto the wooden surface. Behind him, Pwyre retracted his hand, sucking his fingers clean as he kept working towards his own orgasm.

Back on the floor, Harm found her toes curling as her ratfolk partner fucked her into the floor. She wrapped her legs around his pelvis, her fingers digging into his soft, black fur. She panted as her vagina was thoroughly worked over by the relentless pounding the mercenary had initiated. Pleasured shivers shot up and down her spine as Greil let his large teeth scrape across her neck. In turn, she moved her hands to his ears, lightly pinching the sensitive folds of cartilage and flesh.

With a final vigorous thrust, she could feel him come inside her, warm sperm coating her insides. The ratfolk took a moment to breathe, before pulling out. Getting back on his legs, he slightly wobbled before regaining his balance. He walked to the table, grabbing a piece of paper-towel with which he began cleaning his slowly shrinking penis. “So,” he began. “Was that better?”

He looked to the table, where Harm's hand reached up over the edge, before blindly groping around. He pushed her tab closer, allowing her to reel it in and pull it down to the floor. A few seconds later, she had managed to type out: “Very.”

“Good.” “Though try lasting a bit longer next time.” Greil sighed and shook his head. “Everyone's a critic.” He looked to Praz and Pwyre, the latter still pounding away.

The albino glared back, his crimson eyes almost daring the mercenary to comment.

The veteran just held up his hands, signalling that he should just take his time.

Pwyre returned his attention to his partner. It wasn't like it would take much longer. He could feel the pressure in him building up. “Almost... There...” he gasped, before finally going over the edge. He groaned, as he came inside his boyfriend's ass. Panting, he retracted himself, grabbing some paper to dry himself.

Sighing in satisfaction, Praz pushed himself off the table, his stomach fur sticky with his own cum. “So... Now that we are done, what can I do for you, Greil?” “I've taken some copies of some of the files I found most interesting and I'd like to gain your opinions on them,” the mercenary said, withdrawing some paper from his backpack. “But, ehm, perhaps we should clean the table first?” “Sounds like an excellent idea,” came the synthetic voice of Harm's pad. “I'll be right with you all once I can walk again.”

[weavercobra]

Dawn of Freeland

This story was written when I first got ready to GM in the Shattered Age setting. Basically, this story is meant to set the tone for the area, give a glimpse of the current status quo and give some cursory information to what notable people are in the area.

So it would not be incorrect to more describe it as a series of short scenes rather than one whole complete story, but I hope people will still find it an enjoyable read.

The first golden rays of the sun peaked over the western horizon, painting the green grass with an orange hue. Its light reached the town of Journey's End, signalling a changing of the guard. Those who had been active under the starlight crept home to their beds, while those who had been sleeping slowly opened their eyes and greeted the new day.

The brief quiet of the morning was cut off by the roar of an engine, as a motorcycle drove into town, a trail of dust kicked up in its wake. It drove halfway through the settlement before coming to a stop outside a semi-large house, the sound of the vehicle abruptly ending with the turn of a key. The driver, a small, lizard-like creature with red scales covered by leather clothes, was one Vrogusz Bouldercrusher. And from the scowl plastered on his face, just about anyone could tell he was in a foul mood. And if not the scowl, the way he stomped up towards the house would also be quite the clue.

The building had looked quite stately at some point, but over time, numerous walls, windows and patches of roofs had been somewhat haphazardly fixed, as if to quickly repair it after some great damage. Two of the beams holding up the porch roof had been replaced with a solid branch and a less solid-looking broom, something the kobold noted as he made his way up to the door. He hammered it with his fist, wanting to make sure the occupants heard him the first time.

It didn't take long for a response, as a human woman opened up. She had straight, light-brown hair and was dressed in rugged leather and wearing a pair of mittens. “Vrogusz,” she commented, as she recognised the guest. “How's it going?” “Terribly,” he replied, as he stepped in. “Where's your mother?” “In the workshop. Been at it all night,” she replied, closing the door after him. “You know how she gets. Why?” “I need to talk to her about those blasted troynts.”

“It's getting worse I take it.” “They think they can just show up and just declare part of Freeland theirs,” the kobold snorted. “That they can just take it. I was fucking chased off by their warriors. They're lucky I was alone. If I had a posse with me, I swear...” The rest of his grumbling drowned in a furious hissing noise.

“Mom would still prefer if we could talk to them,” the human noted, as she headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, well, they're not talkative, Kenya,” Vrogusz insisted.

“Maybe not. Bread?” “Huh?” “I baked some bread for me and Mom. But there's enough if you'd like a piece.”

The kobold paused, tapping his foot as he contemplated the offer. Then his stomach loudly growled. “Damn, I haven't actually eaten in a while,” he admitted. “Eh, sure. Hit me up.”

“Coming right up.” She handed him a piece. “Here you go, freshly baked bread.”

“Thanks,” he said and popped it in his mouth. A decision he regretted moments later when he tried to bite into it. He spat the piece back into his hands, licking his teeth with his forked tongue just in case one was missing. “That's some tough-ass bread.” “A bit too crunchy?” Kenya asked, as she put the mittens back on a slightly lopsided shelf.

“The only thing going crunch was my chompers,” he replied, inspecting the unscratched surface of the bread. “Might make for good ammunition though.”

She sighed. “Sorry 'bout that. Still trying to get a hang of it. Would you like something else? We still have some sausages from yesterday's dinner, if you don't mind them cold?” “Not at all. At least I can eat those.”

“Well, let me...” An explosion rocked the house, sending several of said sausages bouncing across the kitchen.

“THE FUCK?!” Vrogusz exclaimed, having fallen on his rear from the shock.

Kenya, who was leaning against a doorframe, didn't comment, instead rushing off, the kobold quickly following her.

Reaching the other end of the house, she threw open a door, blinking as the sunlight blinded her. Where there had been a wall, there was now a hole, broken planks and rubble spread all around.

“MOM!” Kenya called.

A nearby pile of debris coughed and shifted. “Right here, sweetie,” came a hoarse voice, as an older woman sat up. She was wearing a big duster, covered in splinters and dirt, and had hair much like her daughter, though with more grey streaks.

“Mom, what happened?” Kenya asked, as she helped the older woman up.

“Think I knocked over the jug of nitro.” “See, this is why my workshop is nowhere near yours,” Kenya noted with a roll of her eyes. “You gotta be more careful.” She sighed and eyed the hole. “Well, at least the room's well ventilated now.” “Yes, yes, we'll get someone to fix it,” the older woman said, as she fished a cigarette out of her coat. “Now where's my... Ah, here.” She lit the smoke and inhaled. “Ah, much better. Anyway, I see we have guests. What can I do for you, Vrogusz?” “Well, if you're quite done blowing your house up, I was out west here tonight, doing a bit of hunting,” the kobold explained. “Only for, what, six, maybe eight of those damn troynts to sudden call me an intruder and chase after me.”

“Them again,” the older woman commented.

“Yes, Emma, them again,” Vrogusz said in a tone clearly indicating the subject had been brought up before.

“They still haven't made any demands.” “I beg to fucking differ. They're quite demanding.” The kobold stepped forward. “Look, they're claiming more and more territory. It's a fucking invasion, I tell ya. We have to do something.”

Emma paused, pulsating contemplatively on the smoke. “Look, there's room enough in Freeland for everybody. I get they're kinda testy, but they're not all bad. Geng talked with one of their shamans and...” “They attacked me,” Vrogusz cut off.

“Which is not okay,” Emma agreed. “I'll send them a message. And I will keep what happened in mind. But I don't think we're quite at the point where we need to round up an angry mob.” The kobold snorted. “Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me if you won't.” He turned around and stomped out the door.

The two humans waited.

“Anyway, since you've blown a hole in the wall, might as well go this way,” Vrogusz said as he returned and exited via the damaged wall.

The two humans waited a bit longer.

“He's pissed,” Kenya commented.

“Eh, I get him. But I'm not quite ready to start a war over this,” Emma noted, taking the cigarette from her mouth for a moment. “Might send a message down south, see what Catherine thinks.” “But Vrogusz is not wrong, Mom. They have been aggressive and they've certainly not been talkative. If they think they can get away with pushing us around, they might just stake a larger claim.” “All true. But, counterpoint,” she said, holding up a finger. “Starting a pointless conflict might just be a waste of people.”

“Very true. If it's pointless.” “Yeah, see, that's the tricky thing. Here's how I view it.” She leaned up against one of the room's remaining support pillars. “The troynts just showed up here one day. Gotta be a reason. Even something as simple as they just saw we had some nice land. If we can find out why, maybe we don't have to fight. Everybody wins.” She paused. “But if I am to tell our fellow townies that it's us or them, then I want to make damn certain I ain't spouting bullshit. And for that, I need to know more.”

...

A blue skull grinned on the tattered flag that hung over the bombed out shell of the military base, crumbling cement and rusted iron making up its poor excuse for walls. It could be quite the noisy place, but at the moment, most members of the Sapphire Skull Crew peaked out from various covers with bated breath.

Trampling back and forth across the yard, occasionally stopping to chew a new set of teeth marks into his shield was their leader, Mad Man Weller. A short but broad boulder of a man, his skin was a patchwork of scar tissue. His bloodshot eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull, his yellowed teeth scoured against each other, froth occasionally dripping into his patchy, messy black beard and his every feature was like a bomb one second from going off. He'd occasionally stop to wildly swing at something nearby with his axe or scream curse words at the sky, before continuing his grumbling.

It was clear to his followers that he was rather agitated.

Finally, one brave soul dared poke her head out of the old dumpster she was currently residing in. “B-boss?” “WHAT!” came the loud reply, as he swung around to stare at her with such force that most of the other gang members expected her to burst into flames.

“Eep!” she squeaked, diving back into the dumpster. “Uhm, I, eh, you just se-seem kinda angry, Boss.”

“YOU KNOW WHAT!? I AM PISSED!” He kicked a rusty can, sending it careening through the air, forcing a couple other gang members to duck as it sailed by. “BUT I DON'T KNOW WHY! AND THAT PISSES ME OFF EVEN MORE!”

“Are we... Are we out of anything?” one gang member asked.

“No, stocks good,” another replied

“Did we forget his birthday?” “Nah, that was last month.”

“We didn't lose any fights recently.” At the last comment, Weller paused and turned towards the speaker. “You there,” he said, pointing.

“Ehm... Me-me, Boss?” the scrawny man replied.

“Yes. Finley, right?” “Y-yes, Boss.” “What did you just say?” “I, ehm...” He adjusted his collar nervously. “I just... I just wondered if we'd lost a fight recently or something.” Weller just stared. Then he turned towards the rest. “Men,” he began. “When did we last have a good fight?” There was a lot of hemming and hawing.

“I don't remember,” the woman in the dumpster finally said.

“EXACTLY!” their leader yelled, causing everyone to jump. “WE HAVEN'T HAD A GOOD FIGHT IN DAYS! WEEKS MAYBE! THAT'S WHY I'M PISSED!” He hoisted his axe. “LET'S GO FIGHT!”

Everyone cheered and hollered for the suggestion, as instantly the oppressive mood lifted.

Until Finley asked: “Ehm... Who do we fight?”

There was a brief, somewhat contemplative pause.

“BRING OUT THE WHEEL!” Weller yelled.

“THE WHEEL!” a lot of the gangsters echoed, as a massive, wooden wheel was rolled out of their garage, numerous names spraypainted on it. The woman from the dumpster grabbed the edge and pulled down, making it spin.

Weller reared his axe back before throwing it, its edge slamming into the wood with a thunk.

...

If one was to observe the thick, gnarled forest of Llafny Goedwig, one would be forgiven for thinking it an ancient place, with trees that must have watched many generations of Freelanders come and go. And yet, in truth, a year had not even passed since the spot was as flat and bare as many other in Freeland. But all had changed with the coming of the troynts.

Deep inside the forest, cultivated by their shamans, they had set up camp, humongous tents of beast hide raised in the few clearings that existed in the thicket.

And it was to this clearing Aderyn Reese made her way. Like other troynts, she was a muscular, boar-like being the size of a car, her front limbs a rough inbetween of hooves and hands. Sharp bristles poked out from her brown fur, each one poisonous, and her personal comb and scissor hung from the belt wrapped around her midsection. She shoved a tent flap aside with one of her great tusks and walked in, noting that a number of her fellows were gathered around the table therein.

And behind the table, towering over everyone else, were her mother, Angharad Reese, chieftain of the Choroinsnathaide. She snorted in acknowledgement of the presence of her daughter, before with a deep voice asking: “What do you have to report?” “The defenders informed me a Freelander approached late last night, but was summarily chased off without issue,” Aderyn replied. “Scouts also returned.” She leaned on the table and observed the papers. Maps, crudely drawn, of the surrounding area. “They've checked out the nearby town. No walls or natural barriers. Just open plains and hills.”

“Then they shall not be much of a problem,” Angharad declared. “We must send scouts southward next. I want to know where the centres of power are in Freeland. Everyone, get to it.” The other troynts grunted in agreement and wandered out of the tent, but Aderyn stayed.

“Something on you mind?” Angharad inquired, as she studied the map.

“How much?” “How much what?” “How much land will this take? When will we have enough?”

At this, the huge troynt sighed, seemingly shrinking a bit. “I don't know,” she admitted. “I've sent a runner back home. Maybe we won't need as much as I fear. But we need more than we have.” She gestured with her snout. “These lands... They are more fertile than any´our ancestors ever ruled. We can grow strong trees here that will feed our squeakers for many years. We can draw water from the earth such that we will never go thirsty. Here, we can grow a strong army. A powerful army.” She slammed her hand into the table. “And then,” she snorted, fury sparking in her eyes. “Then we will take back what is ours.”

...

Gently, the beaker was tipped, pouring the red liquid into the boiling blue. Then ever so gently, the mixture was stirred, sweet-smelling fumes filling the air. And slowly, the mixture took on a royal purple.

Lucky Pamela smiled. Another successful mixture, gently crafted by her hand. All the more impressive considering her hand was the size of a cutting board. Pamela had, once upon a time, been merely human, until she had volunteered for an elite training program. Injected with alchemical ingredients and subjected to experimental surgery, she had earned the nickname Lucky for being the first to survive the procedure. Her limbs had stretched painfully, her torso had expanded as her organs grew nauseatingly large, arcane crystals had torn through her skin to protect her from danger. All so she could serve her country.

But her country didn't exist anymore. She couldn't even remember the last time she had met someone who had heard of it.

She frowned at the memories, before stopping the bottle, sealing its content. That was the past. She had a future to make.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she demanded.

A minotaur, an imposing bipedal bull, made their way in, their skin covered in sandy fur. “Just got back from Tread City,” he started, leaning against the wall. “Our dealer says they're running low. Shit's popular.”

“I am not surprised.” She shelved the flask. “And our take?” “Loads of supplies, including a crate of the highest quality White Kiss,” he said. “The really good stuff.”

“Is that so?” She scratched her chin with a crystalline nail. “Let me see it.”

Outside the log house she had her workshop in awaited a wagon, a massive woolly creature with a spiralling horn attached to it. Several crates was stacked on the wagon, most currently being unloaded by the crew.

“Here we go,” the minotaur said, grabbing a box and opening it, revealing it to be densely packed with white flowers. “As I said.” Pamela leaned in, her nostrils widening as she took in the smell. “They are pure,” she agreed. “Good. Good. Who was ever so kind as to 'donate' that to our cause?” “Tirzel. They've been deep in the cups with our products,” the minotaur stated. “And Stonewatcher is gonna get us those Brett and Masons he promised. Just getting them all fixed up first.” “Good.” She paused for a moment, mentally going over names in her head. “What about Armani?” “What about her?” “You said her number was coming up. What did she give?” “Ugh, excuses, as usual.” He snorted. “She's getting flaky on us.” Pamela harrumphed. “Well then. Next time you drop by Tread City, tell her that the Blossom Posse will be sending her flowers soon.” She leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Some nice daisies for her to push up if she doesn't pay her tab.”

The minotaur grinned. “You got it, Lucky.”

...

Fields of red grass gently billowed in the wind, almost giving the impression of waves on a crimson ocean. This field of red came to an abrupt halt at a great wall, it's surface made from many sheets of metal welded, screwed and nailed to each other and to a patchwork framework of steel beams and wooden poles. On top of these fortifications, spaced out with some regularity, were a series of guns, their automated parts gently whirring in the lukewarm morning air. Each one was slightly different, having been handcrafted rather than spat out by a factory, not that this reduced their menacing appearance.

A signal went through the air and one of the guns beeped in response. It first lowered, then raised its gun. Then it spun around to the right, before it began repeatedly clicking.

“Busted servo. Figures,” a voice from below it grumbled. With a series of thumps, the commentator scaled the wall, his long arms and legs lending him excellent mobility. The blue crystals jutting from his skin glinted in the morning lights, as he carefully began disassembling part of the machinery. Pulling some gears from the turret's innards, he noted their teeth had snapped. “Stress fracture,” he commented, holding one up to his eye. “Metal fatigue, obviously.” He sighed, as he pocketed the item.

“Hey, Bruno,” a female voice called from below.

The mutant leaned back slightly, so he could more easily look downwards. “What is it now, Catherine?”

“Well, good morning to you too,” the woman replied with a hint of sarcasm. Her dirty-blond hair was tied up in a ponytail, her brown eyes intently watching the person above her. A leather vest covered her upper body, a pair of denim pants her legs. “So, gun's busted I take it?” “Gear snapped under stress. Some of this junk they bring in folds faster than an ogre at a spelling bee.” He leaned back in to inspect the machine. “So what are you bothering me for?”

“I wanted your opinion.” He clicked his tongue. “There's a rarity. 'Bout what?” “Them Glimmerspore people. Some of the outriders had been out last night, saw some of their crew moving about,” Catherine explained. “Taking measurements, photographing things. Kinda shady stuff. And I know they've approached people from time to time, inquiring about who owns what.” “And where does my opinion come in?” he asked, as he began his descent.

“Do you think they're gonna be a problem?” she inquired. “You've dealt with way more goblins in your time.” “That I have.” He sighed. “Goblins. They look damn harmless, waltzing around, squeaking about this and that. The next thing you know, they taking to the battlefield with some giant-sized doom engine spewing beams of fire left and right. Or claim the skies with some gravity-defying warmachine that rains down death.” He turned towards the woman. “They'll be a problem if they want to be a problem. So what we need to ask ourselves is, what do the runts want?”

“So far, they seem to have settled into the western mountains,” Catherine noted. “Seems they're mining the area. And they ain't too keen on trespassers.”

“Well, let's hope they'll settle for hollowing out the mountain. But knowing goblins and from what you tell me...” He chuckled mirthlessly. “They'll want more. A whole lot more.”

“Then I'll tell the outriders they best keep an eye out and report anything right back to me,” the woman noted. “I'm not letting them take us by surprise if I can avoid it.”

...

Bleary reptilian eyes opened, then immediately shut with a hiss. Kobolds already didn't like daylight at the best of times, so being greeted by the morning sun while nursing a hangover was just the worst. She rolled over, her blue scales glinting in the morning light, trying to make sense of her surroundings. From around her, she registered a number of noises. Snoring from others deep asleep. Grunts from the sparring ring. Moans from whomever still had it in them to get frisky.

She, however, just wanted to crawl into one of the tents and sleep away from the merciless glare of the sun. She grabbed her bottle and tipped it, figuring a nice swig wouldn't hurt.

And then she slowly realized the alcohol wasn't coming.

She forced her eyes open.

One single drop of alcohol hung tantalizing from the bottle's opening, before being seized by gravity, splashing against her tongue.

“Well, shit,” she cursed, before dismissively hurling it away. Forcing herself up, she staggered over to the crew's bottle crate, looking for a stiff drink. Reaching in, she found an empty bottle. Then another. Then yet another. And then her claws furtively scratched against the wooden planks at the bottom.

Her eyes widened as she looked inside, confirming her fears. The crate was empty. Desperately she looked in the next crate and the next. One was empty, the other filled with vomit. She looked up. “Fuck.”

Seconds later, the ramshackle campsite was slightly stirred, as the kobold charged across it on all fours calling out: “THUNDERCLAW! THUNDERCLAW!” She dashed over to the largest tent in the entire camp, throwing open the flaps.

Inside, was a pile of sleeping people in various states of undress, the most notable being a truly enormous, long-legged, long-necked avian, with a bony crest and a large beak, currently using a naked and heavily snoring human as a pillow. Their body, easily allowing them to look giraffes in the eye, was covered in a mixture of feathers, red, yellow, basil and honey. One of their eyes opened, turning to gaze at the intruder with annoyance. “What is it now?” “We have a problem,” she responded, waving her arms in the direction of the crates.

“Is the camp on fire?” “Ehm, no.” Thunderclaw turned his head so he looked the other way. “Then come back in an hour or five.” “But we're out of drinks,” she continued.

The kobold fell on her tail with a squeak as the ratite's head shot out of the tent. “What do you mean we're out of fucking drinks?” “It's all gone,” she said. “We've got nothing left.” The avian stepped out of the tent, rising to his full, imposing height. He stalked over to the crates and looked into them with dismay, as all around other members of the crew started noticing the ruckus. Thunderclaw hissed in annoyance as he squashed one of the boxes under his table-sized foot. “Blast it. We are out.” They tapped one of the boards with a talon. “Oh well,” they said with a gesture of their wing. “Guess tonight's party will be without drinks.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Really?” came a disappointed question.

“Of course not, you fucking oaf,” Thunderclaw snorted. “Party without drinks? Seriously.” He turned towards the open plains that surrounded their simple camp. “Looks like the Wild Ones are going shopping today. All of you, start fanning out. There's gotta be some wimp around here with some half-decent booze on them. And while you're at it, get everything else we'll need. Drugs, food, whatever. We're going to party and I don't mean the limp-dick kinda partying with teacups and nice talks about the weather. I mean a real party. One so loud even the gods won't be able to sleep on it.” He looked around, before stomping the ground with a loud thump. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get your asses in gear already.”

The various Wild Ones excitedly ran for their vehicles, or in the case of the members who were already fleet of foot, just ran for it. The whooping, cheering horde spread out from camp in all directions.

Thunderclaw craned their neck, resulting in a few popping sounds. “Well, ain't gonna let them have all the fun,” he remarked, before dashing out, every footstep accompanied by a loud thump.

...

A large claw tapped against the paper and then slowly slid down across it. Green eyes peered through a pair of glasses, unhindered by the darkness of the room. A pen was spun between digits, before being put to the notepad. The goblin began rapidly adding numbers up and doing calculations.

She smirked, revealing her sharp teeth. “So productivity is up twelve percent. Promising.”

There was a hefty knock on the door to the office. She finished her current equation, then looked up: “Come in.”

The door opened, allowing light to fall on the small woman, illuminating her bronze skin and the yellow-dotted fungal cap on her head.

Standing in the doorway was a massive bipedal woman. Her skin was covered in rough scales, with the ones on her pudgy belly being a creamy white and the rest a sandy brown. Her head was notably pointed forward, with a pair of black eyes and a maw full of sharp teeth. A thick tail with fins on them dragged after her, poking out from under the loincloth she was wearing. “Supervisor Grilx. Our prospectors have returned.” “Ah, great. Let them in then.” The ogre noted and stepped aside, letting a motley crew of people enter.

“So, what do you all have to report?” the supervisor asked.

A slightly hunched-over, hyena-like biped, a gnoll, stepped forward. “Lots of food in the area. Rabbits, birds, fresh fish. Even large sheep.” “Noted,” the goblin replied, writing on her notepad.

“There's also lumber. Though that mostly seems concentrated towards the mountainous areas,” a human reported. “There's also some small springs up there.” “Lumber, stone, freshwater,” she muttered as she wrote down. “How large are those streams?” “Not too large,” came the response. She tapped the end of her pen against her chin. “I'll have someone from engineering check out if we can maybe get something hydroelectric going. Anything else?” “The locals have dug a number of wells across the land,” another goblin informed her. “I think there's a lot of water underground. Would explain why the land keeps so fertile despite the heat.”

“We should probably take some samples, check the water table once our new equipment arrives,” Grilx muttered. “That reminds me, Glamerek, has the message been sent back to high command?” The ogre nodded. “A few hours ago, yes.” “Excellent. I cannot imagine my request would be denied.” She wrote a note. “Now then, Rocco, yours is the report I am most curious about. You went to... Red Rim Station, was it? Did you learn anything?” “I did,” the grey-haired human replied. “The locals appear to be skilled scavengers. The place was surrounded by a big scrap-iron wall with, I shit you not, functional turrets. Local economy is barter based. No coinage whatsoever. I also didn't see a lot of precious metals.” “Curious. Prospector reports noted both gold and silver in the region,” the supervisor remarked. “Local veins are probably untapped then.”

“Anyway, I started asking around, see who owns the land and so on,” the human continued. “And it's the darnedest thing, they insist that no one owns land in Freeland.”

The gnoll glanced. “But they live in a city. With houses. Someone must own them.” “That's what I thought, but apparently people just claim an empty house if they want one,” the human replied with a shrug. “Local peace-keepers are all volunteers and half the people of the city seem to be somewhere else most of the time.” “Interesting,” Grilx mumbled, them smirked. She jumped off her chair and hurried over to a nearby computer. With a few button presses, an incomplete map of Freeland popped up. “Now, first rule of acquisition is what?” she asked, turning to the group.

“First come, first serve,” Glamerek stated.

“Exactly. Now, who would that apply to here?” “The, uhm, Freelanders?” the gray-haired human asked uncertainly.

“Normally, yes. But they have elected to claim nothing. Which means there'd be no-one to contest our claim, if we were to make one.” She smiled predatorily, her emerald eyes almost glinting. “So, people, who's ready for a land-grab, hmm?”

...

Slowly, more and more of the mountainside was illuminated by the sun's amber rays. As it reached the cavern entrances that dotted the side, there was a stirring. A large shape lumbered out, their body obscured by a massive, woolly pelt, hiding all but the most rudimentary signs of their identity. They stepped forward to the cliff's edge, taking in the fresh scent of a new day. And Terry the Fang, chieftain of the Cougartooth Clan, smiled. Turning around, they grabbed a spear leaning against the cave wall just inside the opening, then leapt over the edge. They skated down the cliff-side, pebbles and dirt bouncing around them, their massive pelt billowing heavily, as they slid down to a lower level.

There, sitting around a campfire, were several other people dressed in rags and pelts, who bowed as Terry descended, greeting him with a respectful: “Chieftain.”

“Morning, lads,” they greeted them. “Who've been successful during their hunt?” “Blake caught us some spring pheasants. Three,” one of them said, pointing to a young man barely done being a teenager, who smiled with pride at the attention.

“And Kayla managed to down a prowler,” another said, gesturing to a woman armed with a bow. She proudly grasped the necklace of feline teeth around her neck.

“And the rest?” the chieftain asked.

“No hunt worth talking about,” one of the others said, shaking their head.

“What a shame. But today is a new day and a new hunt.” Terry sat down by the campfire. They ripped a leg off one of the roasting pheasants and bit into it, barely acknowledging its warmth. “So, anything new to hunt today?”

“There's more and more of those strange mushroom heads,” one of the others began. “They bring with them strange machines. Good fight, but probably not good eating.”

“There's also more boars. They've been lead here by these bigger boars,” another reported. “They've summoned a forest. Good place for a hunt.”

“Excellent. Then you know what you must do. Eat, rest and then bring back new totems for our tribe. These newcomers will lend their strength to ours the same as everyone else. Now then...” Terry grasped their own necklace of teeth, a large empty spot in the middle. “Any new sightings of Daggerclaw?” “Found the remains of a tachash lamb. Shredded to bloody giblets,” came the response. “Definitely the work of Daggerclaw. But that was three days ago. She might have moved on.”

Terry smiled. “Do not be so sure. She likes to linger after a proper meal. What about the others?” “No sign of Red Scars. Old Longhorn has moved south, probably gonna start gathering a herd soon.” “I hear the Usowa Roha might try and hunt him this year,” one of the others said. “Chieftain, what if they succeed?” “They won't. Old Longhorn has managed to fend them off every year.” They chuckled. “Too stubborn to die, too strong to yield. That's what makes him worthy prey.” They got up and hoisted their spear. “I shall journey out to hunt for Daggerclaw. Expect my return in a week, successful or not.” “Blessing of the hunt be with you, great chieftain,” they replied.

Terry laughed and then leapt down the mountainside, letting the pull of gravity add to their stride as they stormed into the lowlands. Today was the start of another great hunt. To become the greatest hunter of all the land, to be blessed by the strongest, fiercest spirits, they'd have to hunt the greatest beasts to claim the lands as their home. Only by claiming their remains would they be immortalized as the greatest hunter and secure their tribe's place as the greatest clan of hunters. Daggerclaw, Red Scar and Old Longhorn. And then one other. A worthy foe, a powerful beast, a champion of the land. Adding her talons to their amulet, binding her powerful, independent spirit to their soul, would grant them strength beyond measure.

Under their hood, they smiled blissfully, their fingers tracing a set of jagged scars on their chest. “I'll get you yet, Foulbeak. You will be mine.”

...

The hooded figure took in a deep breath. Only the faintest hint of the morning light penetrated the dirty windows, so covered in grime and dust that they had long lost their transparency. The room was illuminated by a select few candles, place equidistantly along the rim of the ritual circle. The robed person looked over the many occult glyphs that made up the circle in front of them, then looked to the tome again, cross-referencing the design with the one on the ancient, mouldering page. Satisfied that they had made as accurate a replication as they could determine, they lifted the tome up and turned to the circle. Their eyes went over the incantation a dozen times, before they dared to open their mouth, finally chanting the demonic verse hidden in the book.

The flames of the candles took on an ominous red glow. The room seemed to darken, what little sunlight that managed to enter now completely eclipsed. The symbols began crackling with energy.

The hooded figure repeated the chant, louder, more intensely. He could feel it, the very air in the room buckling as the fabric of the universe was twisted. Droplets of sweat began forming on his skin, as he repeated the chant again and again, beckoning forth a figure from the abyss.

The crimson flames on the candles blazed into pillars of flame, illuminating the room with a diabolic light. Arcs of black lightning danced between them, centering on the middle of the circle. A smoking orb of dizzying colours began growing, twitching and roiling as it expanded.

He was practically yelling the chant, his heart pounding like crazy, his voice threatening to give in. But he kept at it, repeating the words again and again.

He'd finally get a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. He was honestly not too picky anymore.

The orb crackled and then detonated, sending the robed figure stumbling back. As one, the red flames intensified and then died out.

For a moment everything went dark. For a moment, as he held his breath, he worried he'd made a mistake.

But then he saw the new arrival, the massive figure now occupying the circle. The robed figure looked to the page with the chant, where there was a illustration of a muscular, winged, scantily-clad female leaning suggestively against a halberd. Then he looked back to the figure.

There were quite the number of differences.

The figure was large, their broad body easily out-sizing the circle on the floor. Their massive, multi-faceted red eyes scanned the room, their face featuring a notable, needle-like proboscis, under which there was a mouth full of teeth that easily looked capable of chewing a car to pieces. Massive, glassy wings flickered lightly on their back and protruding from their rear was a great, bulging abdomen. They stood on a series of six legs, the end of which were occupied by hands with four clawed fingers each.

And yet the most eye-catching thing for the robed figure, was the equally large hoodie the newcomer wore. It was just about the only thing he didn't expect from a demon.

The hulking fiend finally noticed the summoner. “Are you the one who have conjured me?” “Ehm... Are you a lilin?” he managed to ask.

“Heck no,” came the response, accompanied by a smirk. “I'm an adze.” He looked around at the ritual circle. “A lilin you say? No, I think I see what happened. You've switched the glyph of the dawn and the glyph of the black road around. And this is the glyph of swarm, not the glyph of union. It lacks the line through it, see. And here... The glyph of the silver monkey. I see you substituted the glyph of the groaning one. Was that even intentional? And your glyph of the spider's candelabra is missing a set of legs.”

“Oh,” the robed figure replied, slightly disappointed. “So-sorry about that. I'll send you back.” “Hey now, my man, let's not be hasty,” the demon said, refocusing their attention on the human. “What's your name?”

“Y-Yousef. Yousef Perkins.” “Well, then allow me to congratulate you and shake your hand,” the demon said, stepping out of the ring with a front-leg extended. “And no, I'm not bound by the circle. Your glyph of the headless emperor is upside down.” He gently grasped the surprised human's hand and shook it, careful as to not hurt him. “I'm Kito, archdemon of the Crimson Needle.”

“Wait, archdemon?” Yousef repeated, eyes wide. “Ho-how?” “Beats me. Anyway, can we step outside? Seems a bit cramped down here and I'd like to stretch my legs.”

“Oh, sorry, this way,” the summoner said, as he lead the insectile demon up a flight of concrete stairs to a rusted, iron trapdoor. With some effort and a lot of metallic whining, he pushed it open, allowing the two to step outside. Around them were overgrown boulders and decaying buildings, rusted hulks of war-machines littering the open spaces.

“An old military base,” Kito surmised.

“Ye-yeah. I figured I could, uhm, summon in peace,” Yousef remarked.

“And you were trying to summon a lilin? Something tells me that you wanted privacy for more than just the summoning.”

Yousef nervously twiddled his thumbs and looked to the side, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Ah, seems I was right. Well, maybe I can arrange something for you.” Kito took a step forward, taking a deep breath. “Smells good. Lots of life in the area. But not so much as a hint of other demons. Now that's exciting.” He looked around. “Will need to fix this up of course. Place has more holes than the last guy grandmother threw to the bloodfeasters. We'll need more people.” “Ehm...” Yousef began. “What... What are you talking about?” “Huh? Oh, I'm moving in,” Kito replied. “This place seems way to fun to leave behind. What country is this?” “Freeland.” “Freeland? Oh, I think I... Right, grandmother talked about the place. Highly recommended it even. Of course, that was, what, sixty years ago, so basically an eternity for you humans. Looking forward to see if the place is still as fun as she recalled.” He smiled. “I tell ya, you're something else, kid. You screw up your summoning circle and still call in an archdemon. You must have quite some talent in you. I'll train you. Teach you the arts of summoning. And then you can finally have a lilin to snuggle up to.” He leaned over, a slightly hungry look on his face, as he cupped Yousef's chin. “Or maybe... You wanna snuggle up with someone else?” “I, ah, ah, uhm...” the young conjurer replied, his legs starting to shake and an entire colony of butterflies exploding in his stomach.

The mosquito demon leaned further in and exhaled, his warm breath washing over the human's skin, causing goosebumps to form. “I'm not hearing a no.”

“I, uhm, m-maybe,” Yousef managed to squeak.

“Cool. Looking forward to it,” Kito said, as he let the summoner go. “But first, I need to bring in some staff. And then, I'm gonna go recruiting.” He smiled and took another deep breath, allowing the scent of living blood to fill him. “Oh, we're gonna have so much fun.”