Nothing Unsexier Than Corpses – 1

You’re Quinn, blessed demon of accidental orgies. You’re sitting in front of a fire of cooking meat. Latch offers you a piece from the giant spider’s grilled leg. The thing had jumped you and in a panic, you sicced your imps. As you struggled to maintain composure, the trio tore the spider apart.

You take a bite. There’s the echo of a taste, the pungent flesh almost promising a hint more of the awful flavor. If you could bear the overwhelming taste of ash and dirt. You take another bite and struggle to not spit it out.

“Sorry, only semen for me.” You groan.

Maybe there’s ways to eat more than white milkshakes. You promise to find a way to cook something that suits your tastes. For the past couple days of walking, you’ve been going over your powers. Trying to keep a list of it all in your head was surprisingly easy…and you quickly got bored. You’ve mostly been experimenting.

…Yes, some of what you’re thinking, but a lot of other stuff too! You’re not a completely cock-starved demon. Your soul, tainted though it may be, is still human and still subject to two of humanity’s greatest questions. First being: ‘What the hell is this?’

From the critters that jump you, to the strange weather (diamond rain?), to the variety of ways you can shape magic to protect yourself.

What you are is energy. Mostly. You’ve still got fleshy bits, its true, but an investigation reveals that your biology isn’t very complex. In fact, its as complex as you want it to be. Its as if your corporeal form is cradled by the energy, like water in a vase. But you also can shape the vase somewhat? Thinking about this conceptual nature of this energy gave you a headache, so you just call it magic.

The second question was: ‘Can I make a game out of this?’

Easily. Magic is incredibly malleable to your suggestions, so you shaped it into a system that tracks your progress. You swear you could hear the groans of leagues of horny people, complaining about yet another system. You’d just shrug and say its for you. It’s not like it levels up from monsters or anything like that. Technically, you could lose the magic if you use it, but that’s only if you don’t reabsorb it. An even then, it would be easily replaced by your own soul’s DESIRE as you masturbate.

…

Many experiments were done as you walked across a desert shifting into a savannah. You based your magic power on how much DESIRE you got from a day’s worth of masturbation.

A bit difficult to quantify, since you’ve been flying ‘backstroke’ as you played with yourself, but it’s about ten climaxes worth.

With a wave of your hand, a dark window appears before you.

· Hypnosis   – 5

· DESIRE   sense – passive

· Magic(?)   – Variable

· Pheromones   – passive

· Shapeshifting - (Self:   1 / Others: at least 10)

· Incite growth – 1 per 10 square foot (?)

· Soul sense – passive

· Cloth

· Tropo

· Latch

…Nah. That’s just stupidly complicated. Your powers are too loosy-goosy to be defined by numbers. Maybe if you needed to manage something more concrete. You dismiss the magic.

Are you even Quinn anymore? Sure, your sexuality just got sent through the wood chipper with a couple of other strange animals, and was then glued, stitched, and welded back together.

But when you think of ‘you’ you think of that hot, red-skinned buxom babe. Minotauress or human forms. So did you even count as the same person? The old you would have definitely said ‘Fuck this philosophy shit’ and faffed about.

But there’s the issue of Heaven and Hell. You’re pretty sure whatever route you choose you’re not going to be punished. Heaven is well, Heaven. There’s bound to be a bunch of stuck up assholes. Sure they’re ‘pure of heart’ but Vegeta got away with going super saiyan.

Then there’s Hell.

You’re definitely a piece in the Devil’s game.

And since you’ve been transformed into a Lust Demon, you’re bound to be the punisher, not the punishee. But considering you’ll lose free will…it’s more accurate to say you’re the punishment. And civil engineers will be your superiors. You don’t mind giving your soul to the Devil so he could order you to suck him off while he deals finances.

But serving civil engineers sends a shiver down your spine.

Damned if you do, holy if you don’t.

Or something.

You’re saved from falling into a philosophical black hole by feeling your body change once more. Your spawn fly away as you change.

Aaaand another suit falls apart.

Fuck. You’re starting to suspect they’re flimsy.

Your demonic horns recede back into your skull and your tail shrinks back into your spine. But now…your color scheme irks you. Sure black and red is edgy, and it’s right for a demon. Whirling stripes adorn your body, as if you were completely covered by intricate tattoos. You look down.

Yep, there’s a heart-shaped womb tattoo.

You magic up your suit again. Aside from your stripes and red skin, you are remarkably human shaped. But its not quite right. Maybe there’s a human variant nearby?

You feel the DESIRE from far away. Seems to be just over that hill in the distance. It’s different from the minotaurs, tamer. Mostly because they’re not pent up. You can sense males and females over there, doing their usual thing.

“Hmmm…Maybe I could just stroll in.”

You put on a cheery smile and approach. You reach the apex of the hill and look down into a quaint little town. It’s populated by striped people dressed in furs, their coloration anything strange and exotic. They had stripes of white or black on skin tones that shifted between blacks, grays, blues, and whites. The women had swirly stripes (though none as intricate as yours), while the men had rougher, angular stripes.

The people are milling about, pulling carts full of gourds and weird looking plants through streets lined by thatch roof houses.

Bleh.

Your secret desire of finding somewhere with electricity and making a living as an e-thot dies in your heart.

For now.

You make your way down, smile on your face, charm up to eleven. Then you remember the minotaurs and you consciously limit your pheromones. You can’t help but think you’re forgetting something. You trot happily towards the village as your thoughts nag you.

All of them freeze and look at you.

You lick your lips.

And your fangs.

“Aw SHEIT, it’s a demon!”

The townspeople rush about, flailing wildly while a few braver ones actually do something. You run back up the hill as a sparse precipitation of sticks, stones, and spears follows you.

Precipisatan.

Ha.

You take off into the skies, the artillery they send your way healing quickly with a few points of magic. Okay, so some people aren’t as accepting as minotaurs when it comes to weird bodies. You didn’t need to be heaving deep breaths, but it sure makes you feel better.

What the hell was that about?

Your three imps fly overhead and you mentally command Cloth to fly over to the town. Sure, they could be scared of you, but maybe you could dig into this. Maybe Cloth could spy for you? He mentally follows all of your commands, and he is just an innocent crow.

Or jackdaw.

Or raven.

Point is, he can fly, and maybe you can tap into his senses. You put a hand over one eye and you see double. Somehow, you can see yourself as you look at Cloth with his blazing green eye.

Not subtle.

And you look stupid: A panicked woman in a sexy business suit sticking her hand in her eye. The stupid makes you nauseous, even if you’re sexy. You send Cloth flying back to the village. From up high you see the townspeople warily moving in pairs, some with spears.

Did you seriously do all of this?

It doesn’t seem like it, at least not alone.

There’s a high concentration of guards where you tried to enter (and escape) the village.

But there’s a higher concentration of them up north.

Interesting.

You/Cloth banks towards the biggest hut in the center of the village, the one where you could hear intense conversations coming from. Taking advantage of the open center, Cloth holds his breath and dives in, his entry hidden by smoke.

He swoops in and settles in the shadows, unseen.

“This is outrageous, Elder! We must escape our village at once. The madman has already summoned a powerful demon and now we can’t go north or south!”

Five people sit in a circle, the oldest sitting closest to the fire. Also closest to the stick that he uses to hit on the townsperson’s head.

“The noble equints shall not cower nor flee! We are good where we be!”

Ugh.

“But Elder, Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark is powerful! His mastery of the dark arts could easily overrun our own shamanic powers.”

Ugh!

“Our powers lie in potions and healing, not fighting legions of undead and daemons!” Hmmm, sounds like they’re ill-equipped to fighting this cringy motherfucker.

“Nonsense, there is no honor in flight! I pledge, the dust we shall not bite!”

UGH.

“Now let us gather and then sing. Surely then evil shall take wing.”

“UGH!”

The five ‘equints’ turn around and look at Cloth.

“Oh shoot, did I say that out loud?”

They nod.

“I’m sorry, the rhyming was just too much for me too bear, added to the stupid-ass name the guy has.”

“What do donkeys have anything to do with Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark?” One whispers to another.

You ignore those two.

“Listen, I understand you guys are in a tight situation ̶ ̶ Unfortunately not me ̶ ̶ but I don’t think taking it out on me is the right thing to do. I’m honestly kind of hurt that you chased me out of your town. Not physically, though, I barely felt those spears."”

“You were the demon!” The elder exclaimed. “You foul beast, begone!”

“Woah, easy there!”

Cloth flies about to avoid the pots and pans being thrown in his direction.

“I’m willing to help!”

The old-timer finally breaks the obviously deep-rooted tradition of throwing stuff at the stranger. Mostly because the second I offered help, three other people pinned that guy down.

Some cultural habits are very hard to break, good for them for progressing.

“Thank you.”

“You said that you were willing to help. Are you trying to trick us? Swear to us that you do not work for Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark.”

“I, Quinn, swear I don’t work for him.”

Can you even lie?

As a general rule, demons that make contracts can’t directly lie, but since you have a soul and therefore, free will…

Eh, whatever, you weren’t working for whatshisface.

“So you can help us be rid of him?”

You could do it pro bono…

But they threw sticks and stones at you. And they didn’t find you hot. Honestly the second one hurt more, but it was the thought that really brought a tear to your eye.

Wait, is Cloth crying ethereal green tears?

“I can help you get rid of him, but for my safety as well as yours, I suggest you help me draft a contract.”

“Do not listen to its foul words! It will feed you to the carrion birds!” The old guy howled under his people pile.

Well what do you know. Their stripes did make it hard to tell where one ended and the next began.

“The elder holds a fair point…You are a demon…”

Time to up the ante.

“You can relax, I promise not to take your souls, I already have mine.”

His position is wavering, you can tell.

“No killing or taking unwilling virgins either.”

Unwilling.

Oh, you’ve almost got him.

“Still…”

Time to go all out.

“And I’ll put ‘Elder has to stop rhyming’ in the contract as well.”

“You’ve got a deal!”

The guy springs forwards and tries to shake Cloth’s wing.

“WHAT!?” The elder roars.

“I’ll be along shortly so we can officially draw up the contract. You can keep a bunch of guards around me if you’d like.”

You smile and call Cloth back as you cut the sensory connection. Of course, you can go in looking the same, but then you’d scare the villagers even more. You will a mirror in existence and see a -normal- hot lady looking back at you. With a bit more effort than your other minor transformations, you will some change. The edges of her irises are still black, but her sclera is white and irises are green.

It looks nice…

It looks…uncomfortable.

Plus you feel a bit of drain.

Hell with it, you’ll meet them halfway.

You’ll stick with black and red skin, but you’ll keep some noticeable nubs for horns. Your eyes stay demonic, but you can still see the sparkle of laughter and emotion in your eyes.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.

You’ll keep the wings and tail, though, just in case you need a quick escape. You magic up a cloak to hide those so you don’t get too intimate with rocks again. Keeping your three imps in their crow forms as they circle above, you walk over the hill once more.

A small contingent of guards waits for you at the bottom.

“I’m here for the contract.” You smile sensually.

The guards look nervous and inch a bit backwards.

“You look…different than before. Can you change shape?”

You’ve never tested the limit of your shapeshifting.

You know you can’t spawn anything like Mercer just because, you have to take root in DESIRE. You feel for that person’s DESIRE and take it into yourself. Your form shifts to that of another equist and the dude blushes. The others smirk at his expression.

“I-I guess that’s a yes.”

You smile and shift back. Interesting how his DESIRE increased. He knew you were a demon, and was attracted to you despite that, but once you shifted, the input increased. So, emotions definitely do take a part rather than just bodily hungers.

The guards form a square around you and lead you to the big hut. The elder is no longer under a people pile, but sitting in the corner, pot on his head, pouting. The one who accepted you smiles nervously as you enter but beckons you close to the fire and offers you tea. You smile and accept. It tastes like ash, but you sip at it to be polite.

“Thank you for coming, Quinn. I see now that I had little to worry about, you do indeed have a soul”

Curious one isn’t he? You return the favor by taking a peek at his soul. He’s desperate, but also hopeful. There’s a flexibility in there, he can adapt to situations, but he tries to please everyone. Except, apparently, his gramps, whom he finds annoying and stubborn.

“And capable of soulsight? You are the oddest demon I’ve ever heard of.”

“You’ve heard of others?”

You take a sip.

Still tastes like dust.

“Indeed. There is quite a bit of folklore about the demons of the deepest pits of Niflheim, but we’ve been forced to go over them. Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark summoned a few and sent them our way. They are much frailer than you, and we’ve managed to fight them off, but they increase in number every time he sends them. They lack souls, so they are incapable of doing anything other than what their master desires. They only take pleasure in hurting others and lack your shapeshifting or possession powers.”

He offers a biscuit, and somehow you manage to grab it. Tastes like dust, too.

Shit, it seems like only sexual fluids have any taste.

Well, that seems to be the only con to the demon tongue other than scaring away your dentist.

“For your information, I did not possess that crow. His name is Cloth, and he is one of my three imps. They might as well be extensions of myself. Familiars, if you will.”

“Apologies.” Wow, he actually is sincere. “May I ask what type of demon you are?”

Why lie, you’re probably one of the more favorable types. Then again, why lie when you can reword?

“I’m a DESIRE demon. I feed on the DESIRES of those that are…attracted to me.”

“That explains your beauty.”

Awww, and he meant it, too!

“That’s so kind of you! You’re quite handsome yourself!”

D’awww, the widdle equwist is bwushing.

Definitely a virgin. Let’s see if you can change that via contract.

“Pleasantries aside, we should probably write the contract so that I can help you guys out.”

You magic up a paper and it appears, infused with more power than you intended. Apparently, your own powers are primed and ready to go when it comes down to paperwork.

Typical demon.

Where’s the pen?

Cloth flies down to your shoulder and turns into a ballpoint pen. You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Alright, so the first guaranteed condition: The elder has to stop rhyming aloud and on purpose.”

The old man in the corner grumbles louder. Who cares, he looks stupid with his pot helmet.

“Oh, definitely.”

The pen writes ‘The elder has to give up rhyming.’

“Next, I help you defeat Rastafanbarackobama.

“Rastazanfulbaracha.”

The pen scribbles out what I said.

“Pastazbarakka”

“Rastazanfulbaracha”

“Rastalavistabarracuda”

“Rastazanfulbaracha”

“Rastazanfulbanthechacharealsmooth”

“Rastazanfulbaracha”

“Rastazanfulbaracha”

“Ranathefullbronchitis—wait no, you got it right.”

The Cloth-pen seems really angry, having filled half the page with blacked out smudges, and it finally writes that bastard’s name correctly.

“I will be compensated for my efforts with a combination of non-perishable valuables that can be resold, or money equivalent to a month’s pay of your average townsfolk should there be no non-perishable trade items to give and acts that give me at least 110% of the DESIRE lost dealing with said individual.”

Damn, straight out of a contract.

Seems to have confused your people contractor, but that was partly intentional. Hopefully he’ll think the DESIRE is a choice rather than a bonus to your pay.

Gotta think about how to pay for whores in the future.

Or bus fare.

Mmmmm…bus orgy. You make a note in your quest log to do that eventually, along with the e-thot thing.

“Seems fair enough. We have a few spare gems in case of emergencies, like bribing roving bands of bandits to protect us from other bandits.”

And since you fucked the minotaur village into submission took care of those bandits, they’ll be safe after you’re gone. Cloth- pen writes down my contrived condition.

“You will not harm any member of this village.”

Oh this could be trouble.

“I’m sorry but that one’s a bit iffy. What if a couple decades down the line, a member of your village ends up exploring the world and falls into a mercenary group? I’ve got a long life ahead of me.”

“That’s true. How about: You will not intentionally harm a member of this village until Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark is taken care of, nor will you attack this village.”

“Until Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark is defeated. ‘Taken care of’ has a lot of leeway.”

Hey, might as well make it a bit fairer towards him. You’ve already finagled a way to have sex with a villager in there.

“Thank you, that’s correct.”

Cloth writes the clause down.

“Was Rastazanfulbaracha ever a villager here?”

“Oh, apologies! Yes, he was. That could have been bad.”

“Rastazanfulbaracha the Ever-dark is the exception to the rules applying to villagers.”

And that sums up your first contract. Now to sign. You take Cloth (he’s throbbing pleasantly) and sign on the dotted line.

He marvels the pen for a second before signing his own name, frowning a bit as Cloth pulsates.

Gallo

Cute.

He passes Cloth to the geezer, who grumbles about tradition and sacrifice for the greater good but signs ‘Elder Rulan’ anyways. And like that, you are all bound. Cloth turns back into a crow, looking a little worse for wear. Being a pen must have taken more of him than you thought, especially considering the contract looks like it was written in pitch-black demon blood.

Now what.

You had no fucking clue where to go from here.

Maybe Gallo should show you around.

“Gallo, show me around so we can come up with a plan.”

Your demon voice may be sexy as all hell, but it also comes in handy for speaking far more confidently than you actually are.

“That makes sense. I welcome you to Chanam, Quinn. Follow me.” He opens the tent and you follow him outside.

…

Damn, those guards are stubborn. They’re waiting for you outside, spears still pointed at your neck.

“At ease.”

They back off a bit, but still follow you. As much as you’d like to remove your cloak and swing your big thighs in front of their faces, tail moving aside so they’d get a glimpse of your drooling cunt…

Now is not the time for this. Gallo shows you around Chanam, showing you the various huts in charge of different duties.

“We make our potions in that hut; you’ll find no better potion maker than Ranim for leagues around, except maybe Rulan… if he got off his butt and did something for once.”

Said potionmaker nods sagely in your direction.

“And Kukuna takes care of the mushroom hut. Any rare plants that thrive in the dark grow there. Suffice to say, she is very close to Ranim, and she is considering taking him as her third husband.”

Polygamy?

“What do her first two do?”

Gallo looks down sadly.

“Utapu is doing quite well as a forager, but Nil was taken by Rastazanfulbaracha’s first raid a few weeks back.”

You should feel happier about polygamy, but that later bit brought you down a tad.

“Taken? As in the demons picked him up and scrambled?”

“Correct. Nearly a dozen of us were kidnapped in the first raids, and we’re desperate to know their condition.”

Oof. This doesn’t sound good.

“Gallo! I’ve been looking for you!”

A pretty blue woman with a variety of swirling purple stripes walks past you and up to Gallo.

You take your time to appreciate that gracious badonkadonk.

“What’s this I hear about letting a demon in the village? I work very hard to keep them OUT, thank you very much!” A guard? “I drill my men day after day to get the best people warriors in the plains!”

A captain.

A captain who thinks throwing sticks, stones, and spears is Delta force material. Considering what the other people were doing at the time, it might as well be.

“And then you just let one WALTZ in here?”

She scrunches her face and puffs out her cheeks. She’s so short she has to look up to meet Gallo’s gaze.

D’awww.

You could taste the DESIRE coming from her, directed at Gallo.

D’AWWWWW.

This would be maximum cute if you didn’t pick up on her subconscious desire to jump his bones then and there. As fun as it would be to induce the pheromones that could make that happen, you’ve got a job to do.

“Excuse me? I’m right here.”

The captain turns around and stares at you with wide eyes.

“I’ve never seen a demon like you before. How do we know you’re a demon and not a sorcerer like Rastazanfulbaracha?”

Gallo sighs and points to the woman.

“Quinn, this is Keli. She’s the one who’s trained the guards and used to be our best forager. Now we’re just trying to keep ourselves together. Keli, Quinn is going to help us.”

“Yeah! And to answer your question—”

Your tongue shoots out of your mouth and sloppily licks the side of Keli’s face. Keli stands there, stunned, as the aphrodisiac gets absorbed through her skin.

“Umm, I-I ha-ave to g-go!”

She runs off, blushing.

“Make sure to think of Gallo!”

“Sh-shut up!”

Gallo shrugs, oblivious.

“Sorry about that, she can be a tad…prickly.”

Tsun, tsun.

You wanna see dere. Preferably while you stick your tongue deep inside her.

“That’s fine, Gallo. Is there a blacksmith or a fletcher here?”

Gallo cringes and rubs the back of his head nervously.

“Well, there aren’t enough trees in the Plains to make bows and arrows, and our blacksmith…well, he’s a bit…special.” Like a savant?

Gallo leads you to a hut furthest away from the center of the village. A column of black smoke drifts off into the sky from inside the stone hut.

“AYO, Gallo, where the big booty bitch at?”

You recognize that voice. You see a white guy with angular black stripes come out of the building.

Oh.

Oh geez.

There’s a spearhead in his noggin.

His pale skin healed around it. You didn’t notice that last time.

“Hello once more, Trepidik. I trust you are doing well.”

Trepidik grins.

“Mah man, you know you could call me Tea! Sheit! Where’s that small gorl with that fine rump that always hangs out with you? Keith? Kraykray?”

This is a small town.

Wow.

So this is ‘special’.

…

You’d still ride him until the sun set, but you’d be scared your Miss Bone’s Wild Ride might do even more damage.

“Trepidik, is there any metal that seems to be most effective against the demons?”

“Ayy, I know you’ve got some sort of deal, goin’ on here, but I ain’t gonna tell you that.”

Smarter than he looks. Considering he looks like he should be dead, that’s not saying much.

“But naw, all metals hurt em. They just fast as sheit.”

“Alrighty then. How many spears and shields do you have?”

“Pshaw, I’ve got like, twenty of each, but only ‘bout four of each in prime condition.”

So that makes four plus you, to lead the charge. This is going to be a toughie. And asking Trepidik for a weapon would be too cumbersome. You’d be better off with shadow constructs.

“So you may be a demon, but you’ve got dat phat behind that just won’t quit. How ‘bout I give you a ride.”

This ride is not safe for those with head injuries.

Sex is good.

Killing is bad.

And if he dies before he climaxes, then that’s even worse.

Like teasing a puppy with a bone before shooting it in the face.

“Uuuuuh…”

“Demons spotted! Ready your weapons!”

Thank God. Ow.

Or, well, fate, since you’re basically out of God’s reach. You rush over to the north end of the village and spot a horde of imps and shambling bodies making their way to you.

These imps look like tiny humans with horns and glowing yellow eyes. Not nearly as intelligent looking as your imps.

Gallo is by your side, atlatl in hand.

With practiced ease, he swings a sharp rod into a faraway imp, skewering him into the ground. Others follow his lead, a swarm of arrows and rocks crashing into the feral crowd. Imps fall left and right, too stupid to avoid the fire. The zombies just tank the hits.

You mentally command your own imps to avoid fire and attack the others.

They’re actually quite useful, pecking the eyes out of other imps and even throwing back zombies four times their size in their base form. You see that Tropo used his massive dick to knock another imp to the ground.

You’re so proud.

They’re getting a bit close. Better actually do something.

You concentrate on forming a black ball of destructive energy. It forms in front of your face, about the size of an apple. You shoot into the crowd of undead.

The pellet zooms into a zombie, immolating it in a burst of black flames. It takes a lot more energy than transforming, or even making clothes or mirrors.

Maybe it’s an affinity thing? You’re quite literally a lover, not a fighter.

An imp gets a bit too close, and you kick it with a foreleg in the head. It goes flying into another imp, and they both collapse into a pile of broken limbs.

So what? You’re basically a bard with super-strength?

You could work with this.

You will a giant, heavy dildo into existence. Technically, as your affinity, it’s not a weapon, but an instrument of sex. Doesn’t matter if it weighs two-hundred pounds and is studded, you’re kinky like that.

The line of demons finally clashes with the people and chaos reigns. You slam zombies and imps alike with your dildobat. For some reason, abusing a technicality fills you with bliss.

Demons are weird. Oddly enough, when you look into the eyes of the imps, they don’t look at all like Cloth, Tropo, or Latch’s. These are empty, devoid of emotion.

Your own spawns’ are more animalistic, but still had a bit of a spark. So maybe souls are an inheritable trait? But why do they obey you?

Questions for another time.

Finally, the clash slows down and stops. Your imps are a bit bruised, but fine.

The townspeople had suffered only a few casualties, and four deaths. You had a few bruises and scratches, but a bit of energy healed them. The villagers got in the motions, carrying away their wounded and igniting the dead.

“That was the worst wave by far, yet we managed to beat them off without having any people kidnapped.” Gallo approaches you.

“Then now is the best time to strike back.”

“What?”

“We gather a small team. Trepidik told me that he had four good shields and spears. So me, you, and three others go to where Ranst—That jerk is and we kick his shit in.”

“I hate to say this,” Keli says as she approaches, “But the demon is right. We have the best chance now, even if her weapon is…such a strange club.”

They both look at your club. They’ve probably never seen a human penis before? It was a bit studded but the form was definitely there.

“This is a cast iron mold of a penis.”

Their reactions and residual DESIRE from eavesdroppers is enough.

“But yeah, looking at you, Keli, I know you want to come along. The question is who the other two will be, while sixteen others guard Chanam until we come back.”

“I, Eguoretsev, wish to avenge my brother, Trih’Sder.” A guy with no injuries approaches.

Keli nods.

“Eguoretsev is quite capable. A pity your twin died, he could have been our final man.”

Another comes forwards, with only a few scratches on his legs.

“I wish to aid you as well. My skill with a shield and spear is only second to Keli’s.”

“Alright, let’s go suit up.”

Five minutes later, Eguoretsev, B’Maliaicifircas, Keli, Gallo, and yourself are running north to a cave in the side of a plateau.

“In the time of my grandfather, a great dragon slept here.” Gallo said between breaths. “But when Rastazanfulbaracha eloped, he took the dragon’s lair as his own. It is there he discovered an ancient necromantic book. Whether he used it to slay the dragon or it died of other causes is unknown.”

Okay, fighting what was basically a demon summoner slash necromancer already put you ill at ease. But a dragonslayer…

You swear, if he’s a lich, you’ll fuck…something.

Honestly, you’d do that anyways.

The plateau towers over you.  The cave entrance looks like it could fit a commercial airplane. Already, you feel scared about what used to live there. The five of you cautiously trot inside, darkness surrounding you. You could see just fine, night vision and all, but your companions seemed to be less capable. You call upon a light, and the prickling sensation on your skin confirms that light is not really a demonic spell.

They nod in thanks as the light hangs above your head, right between your ears and you continue onwards. The tunnel leads downwards, getting steeper and steeper. A light at the end of the tunnel glows brighter as you approach, and you turn off your own light. Slowly you approach and the five of you gasp at the sight. You stand on the edge of a cliff, a cavern extending before you.

The dark is chased away by rolling hills of gold and jewels.

This landscape extends far into the cavern, bigger than any stadium you’ve ever been in. You feel a burning DESIRE next to you. But this DESIRE, you can’t consume, can’t use. Eguoretsev’s eyes are filled with greed.

“Eguoretsev, no.”

He starts walking down a set of stairs into the piles of gold. He’s going to Scrooge this up!

“Eguoretsev, get back here!” Hisses Keli.

“Just a second. With a satchel full of gold, we can become the richest equint village in the Plains!”

This idiot.

Doesn’t he know how many tropes—erm, traps he’s going to fall into?

Keli tries to follow him down the stairs, but your grab her.

“If it’s a trap we might lose the both of you.”

“Then you save him!”

Ugh, contracts!

Sure it says ‘You will not intentionally harm a member of this village’, but you’ve got to cover your bases. You begin walking down the stairs. You cringe as Eguoretsev’s foot makes first contact with the gold, but nothing seems to happen.

Walking faster, you try to stop him before he tempts fate any further. He starts scooping handfuls of gold into his bag. Just as you’re about to step onto the gold, a loud thrum echoes throughout the cave.

In an instant, some sort of red circle of text appears above Eguoretsev.

Everybody freezes as the circle turns faster and faster. You shed your cloak and fly towards him, but in a flash, it’s all over. Some sort of neon blue liquid falls upwards out his nostrils, eyes and mouth, collecting into some sort of stream flowing to the back of the cave.

Eguoretsev just stands there.

Eyes sunken in, flesh clinging to his emancipated frame. He slowly turns his head towards you. You flap just out of his reach.

“Hey buddy…are you okay?”

Stupid question, you’ve got a feeling that he’s not really Eguoretsev anymore.

He moans.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy…”

Maybe he’s okay.

His jaw drops.

Quite literally, the sinew and skin just tears and it drops to the ground, tongue still writhing about.

“Don’t quote me on this, but I think Eguoretsev’s undead now.”

“What?!” Keli cries out. “What makes you think that?”

“Did you not see his jaw fall off? I can’t rekill the poor sod because it might breach our contract!”

The equints look at each other and sigh.

“We expected to lose somebody, but not before we faced Rastazanfulbaracha!” Gallo says.

So obviously, the cavern is trapped.

Very trapped.

Luckily for you, you’ve got wings and three imps that are quite strong by themselves. Before anybody could raise the question on how they’re supposed to find Rastazanfulbaracha, you will your imps to pick them up by the barrels and follow you.

“Woah! What are you doing?” Gallo asks.

“We’ll fly over the gold. I’ve got a feeling that if we follow that stream of blue stuff it’ll lead us right to him.”

The flight over was about as comfortable as any other flight.

“Umm, I think his thingy is rubbing against me.”

“Did he just lick my ear?”

“If I put my hand in his mouth will he stop breathing so heavily?”

“Are there peanuts on this flight?”

“I don’t know how, but I hear a crying baby and an irresponsible mother.”

After ten minutes of trying not to fuck them via your imps mid-flight, you landed on the lip of another tunnel, much smaller than any before, yet worn down by countless hooves. The four of you plus the imps continue on your way, until you turn a corner.

“What…”

“The…”

“Fried fuck?”

Your allies don’t even acknowledge your strange exclamation. All along the walls of this room are green pods. They look as if they started out biological in nature, but then had metal bits added on. Most notably, tiny tubes, about the size of IV’s, plugged into each of the pods.

The same neon blue streams float from the pods towards the end of the hallway. Gallo approaches a pod and wipes away a layer of grime on a window that seems to have been forcefully installed.

“There’s someone in here.”

What?

But you couldn’t sense their DESIRE.

Soulsight showed them as merest flickers.

What’s going on here?

“He seems to be in a coma. There’s a bunch of strange tubes connected to him, and a good part of him is wrinkly.”

You trot forwards and look around.

This is really foreboding.

There’s way more than a dozen people here.

“I found a minotaur!” Keli calls out from another pod.

“And I think I found Nil! He’s balding as well, be he looks recoverable.” B’Maliaicifircas says.

He readies his spear to cut open the pod, but you rush over and grab it.

“Not until we’ve defeated Rastazanfulbaracha. For all we know, all of these pods are trapped.”

B’Maliaicifircas frowns, but remembers what happened to Eguoretsev. He backs off and you fly up to the glowing blue IV’s.

It seems to be flowing towards the big door at the end of the hallway, all the IV’s merging together into a basketball-sized tube. The others follow you and you push open the door and gasp.

“Audible gasp!”

Like that.

A massive glass flask filled to the brim with this weird blue liquid.

You know that fact about being able to swim through a blue whale’s aorta? Well a blue whale could swim in that, along with her three best friends, on their way back from a McKrills.

The four of you are stunned into silence. Tearing your eyes away from the receptacle, you fly around the room, examining each of the doors in turn. You concentrate on your senses, spreading your awareness and soulsight in a considerable radius. Your soulsight picks up a very bright presence far behind one of the doors.

But your other senses pick up a large amount of somethings moving towards this room…

“Shit!”

They jump just as a door burst open, a dozen zombies and imps scurrying towards them. You soar down and knock two into a wall, and they fall back to the floor with a thump. They try pathetically to get up, but their bones are too broken.

Imps jump onto Gallo, but he pushes them back with his shield before shish-kebabing two of them. You try to use your pheromones to ‘turn’ the zombies, but it doesn’t have any effect.

In fact, most of them are aggroing you now!

Maybe the lack of blood flow stymies their ability to get aroused and you just pissed them off. Erectile dysfunction is a real problem among the undead, it seems. If you know an undead that suffers such problems, support them the best you can with Viagrana. Viagrana! It works even for rotten corpses!

Prescription required.

After beating in many undead skulls with your dildobat, you look around to see the others in good condition. But you hear more shuffling. Coming from all the doors but three.

“We’re in trouble, guys. They seem to be coming from all directions, and there’s a lot more than we’d anticipated.”

“What should we do?” Keli asks Gallo.

“I’m…I’m not sure.” Gallo is crestfallen.

“I am.” B’Maliaicifircas states. “Where are they not coming from?”

You point to the two doors that aren’t where you came from.

B’Maliaicifircas nods sadly and opens the door closest to him.

“I’ll lead them away, while you three hide. If I’m quick enough, I’ll be able to strike them as I run away.” He stands resolutely. “May we meet again.”

”But…But…”

He has so much potential character development!

“Thank you, B’Maliaicifircas. May the lions cower.” Gallow bows.

“And the crows fly.” B’Maliaicifircas bows in return. “Now go.”

Gallo pulls Keli and you towards the other door and you all rush inside. From inside you can hear doors being beat down and B’Maliaicifircas howling as he banged his spear against his shield. Slowly, the sounds faded and you all released your breaths. You took your time to look over the room. Cursing silently at the lack of any other exit, you investigate further.

Beakers and tubes everywhere, but nothing near the level as what was seen on the pods.

Gallo and Keli somberly look through sheets of paper and strange devices. You come across a large book, bound in equist leather.

Tacky.

The book was laying on a bunch of papers that, once cleared, revealed a bed. There’s thumping at the door.  Your heart(?) leaps in your throat and you attune your senses.

The bright soul is still far away, but there’s a huge crowd outside the door, trying to beat their way in.

“Oooh, this is bad.”

Thanks for stating the obvious, Keli.

The three of you, plus your imps, inch yourselves until your backs are to the wall.

Thump!

The wood splinters.

Thump! Thump!

The nuts in the door come out a bit and you all grip your weapons a bit tighter.

THUMP!

A bit of the door falls off, revealing a roiling mass of dead equists and minotaurs banging on your door, more than you’d ever seen before. Sort of obvious now that Chanam was just one of many, maybe even less hit because of sentimental attachment.

The zombies snarl, spitting rotting blood and pus everywhere.

THUMP! THUMP! CRAAkrAKCRAK!

Finally, the door gives, and the swarm of necrotic flesh rushes towards you.

You close your eyes and wish you were anywhere but there.

Anywhere.

But.

There.

You feel an intense pull in your gut and darkness consumes you.