The World Wants Your Oyster – 2

You shift into an unassuming human form. Well, as unassuming as a ravishing beauty can be. Dark, clever eyes framed by feathery eyelashes and silky blonde hair that reaches your waist. Your dress is more toned down, a simple blazer breaking up your perfect hourglass figure. Though you can’t go without a tight pair of jeans.

You reappear in the alley. No witnesses save the raccoon munching on a cookie. When you poof in, it jumps up in surprise, then shakes a paw at your angrily before scurrying away. It’s nighttime.

Perfect.

One of the books you ‘borrowed’ was Horticultural Nightmares. In it were described a variety of plants, some of which you already had. Others, like mandrakes, holy oaks, crystal alder, golden apples, and norinth brushes were wholly unique to Avalon.

Why not ‘borrow’ a few plants? You can always come back and replant the offspring. You smirk and melt into the shadows. You remember passing by the University’s impressive greenhouse on the tour. It takes only a few minutes of slipping up walls and through the busier corridors when you’re at the door. You try to pass through the glass, but there’s something blocking you.

Shadowproof windows? Weird. But it won’t stop you! You chuckle evilly as you slip under the door.

It’s warm inside. Not as hot as the desert, but you’re guessing it’s the perfect temperature for these plants. The greenhouse is lush with plantlife, ranging from tropical to temperate in a variety of species you’ve never seen before. You recognize a few from the images you saw in the book and smile.

Yoink!

You’re not tearing the plants by the roots of course, but nabbing all the fruits and seeds you can find. It’s so nice of someone to label all of them! Red bananas, sapphire berries, even a small golden apple! You trek deeper inside the greenhouse and you notice that the walls are getting further away the deeper you go. Even the one on the other side.

Are you not the only one with spatial distortion abilities? And these guys are using it for a greenhouse…Cool, more for you.

You get a lot of interesting specimens. Some of them tingle with magic, but more of them just look like exotic fruits. Who says all you have to sell are drugs? It’s a lot safer too, it’s not like anyone has ruined a civilization through produce sales.

Except all those times they did. You put back the red bananas.

Eventually, there’s a fence. Not a very big one, it’s basically a sign hanging on a chain drooping across the path deeper in. Dean Sher’Khan’s face is on it, with the words ‘Private Garden. Please Don’t Enter.’

Pft, as if a sign could stop you. You hop over the chain. Easy.

Too easy. Your eyes narrow. You spread your senses in every direction, trying to detect any magic. Aside from the plants, there’s nothing of note. Speaking of, there’s a lot of plants that are in the book around here.

More loot!

You’re like a mad gardener, pilfering seeds and shoots everywhere you go. There’s even a sad looking plant that caught your attention from the name. ‘Horny Eggplant’. Unfortunately, not only is it drooping sadly, but its just a bunch of pale eggplants in a pot with small nubs dotting them.

It looks sad here, so you take it. The plant behind it is far more impressive. Its bulb is more than twice your size and its healthy green stem is thicker than your entire body. As you’re admiring it, you catch the name.

‘Greater Demontrap.’

“That’s a strange name.” You mutter.

That’s when the plant lunges forward and swallows you whole.

The bulb split open and closed around you, sealing you in darkness. You’re swirled around inside the plant, confused about where you are and what’s going on. You try to shoot your magic in a jet of black flames, or even teleport out… no dice.

Any time your magic tries to leave your body, its gets repelled and pushed back inside from the plant’s sap. You’re being swirled around like a turd down a toilet and you feel like slamming your hand into your face.

You’re an idiot.

You start weaving your holy energies to do something, but it takes a lot more concentration to do anything. You can’t even attack using holy energy, as it just heals anything non-demonic. You try to transmute the sap into water and it seems to work, but the sap is replenished faster than you can change it.

After a few minutes of being swished around, a force pushes your head through the tip of the bulb. You shake the goo from your hair and struggle to get out. The Demontrap has got you in a strong grip. No matter how much strength you try to put in your arms to pull apart the plant’s bulb, its immobile.

“How strange, someone inside Petunia?” Dean Sher’Khan smiles at you. “She’s usually such a picky eater.”

The dean is leaning on his cane, a bird with a long tail perched on his shoulder. He cranes his head up to look at you but doesn’t seem angry. Okay, you can work with this.

“Dean!” You sputter. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just so curious about the contents of your garden I had to see all the strange plants.”

“I see, I see.” He nods as his bird bristles. “There’s no sin in curiosity. I’ll let you out. Petunia, if you could let her go?”

Petunia grumbles and doesn’t move. A refusal.

“Strange, strange, strange!” The dean shakes his head. “Do you have any idea why she won’t let go?”

Yeah, now you do. You’re not going to tell him that though. But he’s smiling. You’ve got a bad feeling. But you’d like to get out of this completely unsexy gunk.

“No?”

“LIAR, LIAR!” His bird squawks.

Uh-oh.

“Oh dear.” Sher’Khan chuckles. “My liarbird seems to disagree.”

Damage control! Bluff, bluff, bluff—Wait, no. Just don’t lie! Easy!…No it isn’t! You’re drawing a blank, and a powerful wizard is staring you down while you can do nothing! You’re fucked.

“Were you in the forbidden section of the library a few days ago?”

“There’s a forbidden section?”

“DEFLECT, DEFLECT!”

Stupid bird! The dean is doing a little jig of victory. He twirls around and points his cane at you.

“You’re a demon, right?”

You steeple your hands inside the bulb and prepare a statement.

“That’s debatable. If we look at what constitutes as a demon, one can—”

You don’t get a chance before the bird squawks over you.

“SEMANTIC DRIVEL, SEMATIC DRIVEL!”

“You’re a clever one!” Sher’Khan rubs his goatee. “How strange, how strange…”

He looks you over, noting your elven features for a few moments. He mutters something about shapeshifting, powerful demons, and some unintelligible magic-talk. Satisfied, he pokes Petunia with his cane and she lowers you down to the ground and slowly spits you out. Your clothes cling uncomfortably close to you, not even dissolving from the antimagic sap.

What sort of anti-perv plant is that?

“I must say, I’m glad you followed the trail of interesting specimens to the eggplant. I’d assumed that a plant with demonic origins would interest you, even in its reduced state.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve been in the palm of his hand the entire time. You try to get up, slipping on the sap in every direction. How can something be sticky and slippery at the same time? You grunt and stand up, cursing the master baiter before you.

He snaps his fingers and you expect to find yourself in chains. Instead, you’re sitting on a comfortable chaise by a fireplace. It’s covered in plastic, ready for your arrival. The dean is stirring a cup of tea as he stares at you. You’re surprised until you try to get up, a powerful force keeping you down. Still a prisoner, then. But as prisons go, this is the most comfortable one by far.

“You’re an interesting specimen.” His tone is polite. “Tea?”

“No thanks, not a fan of leaf water.”

He nods and drinks from his cup. The fire crackles behind him. The two of you are silent as a log cracks apart in the hearth. The liarbird dunks its head into its own teacup and gulps it down. You try old reliable; pulling at the DESIRE Sher’Khan may have. Twisting and shaping him to be subservient would put a lot of the university under your control.

Once more, someone’s DESIRE escapes you. It flickers on the edge of your awareness, not the DESIRE you’re used to. Not the DESIRE you crave. It’s like a whole new spectrum of color is on the edge of your eyesight and you’re just trying to sneak a peek.

“You present an awkward situation, demon.” He breaks you from your concentration. His eyes grow cold. “Prillian policy since ancient times is to destroy demons on sight. I would have smote you in the Demontrap…”

His kind demeanor returns a second later.

“Had you not displayed remarkable restraint on my youngest apprentice. For a demon to have prey, hypnotized and weakened in front of them and not take their soul? It’s…”

“Strange.” You finish.

“Yes.” He pauses. “You’re lust-aligned, aren’t you? Shapeshifting, hypnotism, the more subtle magics…hallmarks of the breed. Or so the ancient texts say.” He leans forwards. “Are there others like you?”

You glance at the liarbird. It’s staring back at you. You are technically the only one like you. A human turned demon after death. The only Lust Demon in Haven. But you aren’t the only lust-aligned, nor the only demon with a soul.

“No.”

The bird shrugs and keeps drinking.

“Strange.” Sher’Khan frowns. “A technicality. Could it have something to do with your strange energies? Holy energies, soul energies…are you even from Niflheim?”

This dude keeps digging more and more out of you without saying anything! So damned annoying. You decide enough is enough. You’re obviously outmatched, and every time you try to wipe the sap from you it just sticks tighter to your skin and clothes. There’s clumps forming in your ears, dammit!

“Fine, fine!” You groan and lean into the chair. “I’m not even from this reality. I got booted from Earth after a boring life because good and evil made a bet or something. I honestly thought it was really contrived—”

“Hold on, Earth?” He tosses the teapot in the fireplace and summons a coffee pot and pours himself a mug. “As in, origin of man, Earth?”

The two of you get to talking over cups of coffee. He explains humans aren’t native to Avalon. Long ago, there was a great king. He found the relic of a major god and brought it to his home, interrupting a coup. This started a massive battle. Like an apocalypse-inciting battle with demons and everything. A powerful wizard teleported the city to Avalon in the middle of a massive war between good and evil.

“It was this city, right? Camelot? With king Arthur, Excalibur, the holy grail, Mordred, all that business?”

“You know of Arthur Pendragon?”

“Yeah, practically everyone on Earth has. Aside from that, I could have guessed Camelot was the teleported city. Being in a crater and all.” You neglect to mention your first exposure to Arthurian tales was through a weeb waifu-generator franchise.

“Does Britain still stand strong?” He’s genuinely interested.

“Ehhh…” You just give a so-so gesture and shrug. “They don’t have a lot of good food.”

“My goodness, famine?”

“No, no, they just sacked half the world for spices and decided to use none of them.”

As it turns out, you can have a polite conversation about politics if what you’re talking about is a universe away. Hours pass as you talk about what’s been going on back on Earth. Eventually, he starts asking about how you got here.

You could keep secrets…but hey, you made a newspaper story about your sexcapades and Sher’Khan is genuinely curious and completely free of judgement. It helps that you’re no longer the most powerful person in the room, since there’s always the chance that the difference in power can shift opinions to keep you a happy little semen demon.

You spill the beans. About the minotaurs, the equint tribe and their necromancer, Aevum’s whole business with you after the Harpy empire ship got captured, your involvement in the Hacksonville affair, even briefly alluding to building a civilization in a pocket dimension. As you tell Sher’Khan about your misadventures, he rubs his goatee and frowns in thought.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle you made it this far.”

“That’s a bit rude.” You pout.

“I meant no offense.” The dean holds his hands up. “Avalon has a history with demons, and as such has developed extensive countermeasures. Furthermore, no country is more effective than Prillia. That golden ankh you were trapped by is standard issue on every Holy Knight ship.”

Holy what?

“Though it seems their detection spells are limited to demons from Niflheim.” He hums.

“Or it could be my holy powers. Or my soul.”

Sher’Khan nods. He snaps his fingers and a map flies over from one of his many bookshelves. It phases through the cups on the table and flattens itself out. For the first time, you have a map of Avalon. You make sure to memorize it so you can reproduce it later.

“I’ll hand you a copy later.” Well, its not like you’ll forget it. “The Holy Knight headquarters are located in the Central Temple, with the leadership acting from the Round table. Technically, they’re a branch of the Prillian military, but they act with very little oversight.”

He means that church you awkwardly slunk through on your way here.

“Sounds like it’s susceptible to corruption.”

“All institutions are.” The dean sighs and points out six spots on Prillia. One in the north, near what’s labeled as the ‘boreal colonies’. Two in the west, labeled ‘goblin coast’. Two in the southern reaches, called the ‘bloodsucker swamps’. The last was close to the east coast, but still quite far from Hacksonville. “These are their bases. Avoid them, they’ll make the remains of the harpy empire you faced look like children.”

You shiver. You were near-powerless on that cross, and if you were to guess, they’d probably have far more reliable methods of capturing you. Or killing you. Which begs the question.

“Why are you telling me this? Unless you want my help to destroy the corruption inside the Holy Knuts using me as bait—”

“Goodness, no!” Sher’Khan shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “What a strange idea. I am telling you this because you brought some interesting information to my attention. You see, magic has a way of correcting itself. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction…”

He goes on a long-winded spiel about the nature of magic and the history of Prillia. There’s a lot of tangents, but you got the gist.

Reality as you know it is propped up by magic and powerful, god-like beings called Empyreans. The ‘Celeste’ the Prillians keep swearing to is the Empyreans of the Night and Darkness, and the current monarch at the head of Prillia’s executive branch. For the most part, these Empyreans walk among the mortals while maintaining different aspects of existence. Fundamental forces and such. Some seclude themselves, others set up kingdoms to rule over. Prillia is considered the most powerful country in all of Avalon because it is officially headed by the Empyreans of Light and Dark, plus two more residing within the territories. They’ve all got ostentatious titles, too.

Queen of the Moon, she who shepards the moon and stars, mistress of night, dreams, and darkness, Celeste.

Celeste’s absent sister, Queen of the Sun, Lady of Light, she who heralds the dawn, Solaira.

The Dwarven Patriarch, King of the Forge, Sunderer, he who shapes the bounties of the earth, Bolin.

The Exiled Harpy Queen, Stormrider, Mistress of Winds and Tempests, Lady of the skies, Libra.

You’re strong, but you’d be a fool to take on the Empyreans. You imagine running into some glowing Amazonian woman on the beach instead of Grounded Spark. Unlikely to be as sexy as your imagination lets on. You wipe away the drool from your mouth. Best keep that day long from now.

Sometimes, Empyreans die. Sometimes, they are killed. Nature hates a vacuum, so a being is uplifted to replace them. When this happens, there’s some growing pains. Storms, magic shortages, earthquakes, mass death, typical near-apocalypse stuff. After all the dust settles, the calendar starts from zero onto a new Age.

You are currently in the Fourth Age, year 1529.

The problem, according to Sher’Khan, is that there was a series of slap-dash solutions to start the Fourth Age. Some guy really fucked everything up towards the end of the Third Age. Undead, demons, goblins, vampires, mad dragons…A whole clusterfuck. So, the Space Empyrean decided to isekai a whole city of heroes in the middle of their own fated final battle. The apocalypses, by some miracle, cancelled each other out.

Mordred’s forces, the demons after Camelot’s holy relic, the local demons, the hordes of undead, the vampires, the goblins, and that one big bad evil guy…all the forces of evil could not work with each other. As they struggled for dominance, the forces of Camelot and Prillia joined together to defeat their enemies.

The wizard of the round table, Merlin, cast a spell that significantly weakened the demons, vampires, and goblins. A spell that cut their power at the source of their infernal hungers.

“The chastity spell.” You realize.

“As I suspected, you recognized it.” The Dean pumps his fist. “It’s quite a clever spell. We’d known about Prillia’s declining birth rate for over a century at this point, but nobody could pinpoint the reason. To think there was a time people enjoyed reproduction. How strange!”

“They still do outside your borders.” And inside them, bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“For now.” Sher’khan adds gravely. “When I knew what to look for, I found that the spell had been accelerating in growth and potency. I estimate we’ve got about two centuries before all of Avalon is made chaste.”

Two hundred years? That’s not too bad. Still, that’s a grim outlook for the future, especially for a sex demon. Heck, you’d go out of business at Nancy’s long before that! The dean looks into his empty coffee cup and sighs when the pot pours the last few drops. He swirls his finger around and the cup fills up again.

“My peers call me a genius. Unfortunately, Merlin was a genius among geniuses. I have no idea how to start undoing it. Add to that there’s that fiend who is gathering prana for some reason…Which is what brings us to you.”

You sit up straighter in the chair. Or you try, but the sap has you stuck in that position. You swear that you’ll make a horny version of the plant and focus.

“You have the best senses when it comes to detecting the spell. Furthermore, you can break it without drawing attention from the Holy Knights.”

“They probably don’t want the spell broken, huh?” You chuckle. “Less people to corrupt, less DESIRE…a starving demon must be easy prey.”

“Which is why I’d like you to stay in Camelot. There is someone I’d like you to keep close by and observe; her unique heritage should make studying the intricacies of the spell easier.” He cracks his knuckles and offers a hand. “In short, I’d like to make a deal.”

A part of you is excited to make a deal with Sher’Khan. If he loses his soul, you’d get all that power in one fell swoop. But the dean is no sucker. When you call Latch to act as a pen again, he pulls out a contract thicker than your thighs. The table groans under its weight. It’s easy for your demon brain to read through it all, but understanding it is another matter.

For the first time since becoming a demon, you’ve got a migraine. It’s not just iron-clad. It’s adamantium-clad. And fair. Beyond fair, considering the power imbalance. There’s one section that raises an eyebrow.

“Uniform requirements?”

Sher’Khan pulls out a set of vestments. Thick, black nun clothes with long billowing sleeves. The only skin people would see if you wore that would be your face.

“Everyone who gets close to Star must dress in a similar manner.” He pats you on the back comfortingly (wiping off the sap with a floating rag). “I understand it must be hard, but it is standard procedure when dealing with young vampires. Especially for a dhampir like her. They are prone to violence should they be tempted too much.”

You grumble and hold up the outfit. Maybe if it hugs your curves just right…No, it’s too baggy.

“I’m willing to help get you or any others of your kin into Camelot, so long as you follow the rules.” Your eyes brighten. A chance to set up a reliable trade route and spread the word of Haven! “And we should probably discuss how you intend to build your society. I’ll sign you up for a few classes you can attend in absentatia. Having a demon as powerful as you running about is too risky.”

“Huh? I thought I was doing pretty good!”

“Quinn, you’ve been in Avalon for less than six months and you’ve nearly died at least four times.” The dean gives you a disappointed teacher look. And goddammit (ouch), it’s working. You should be getting turned on! “What do you think will happen to your kin if you die?”

He’s right. The demons love you. They worship the ground you walk on. Even the mortals see you as some sort of savior, or at least divine-adjacent. Shaping Haven around them probably didn’t help matters. If you disappeared one day…chaos.

“Fine, fine.” You grumble.

The two of you talk about how you’ll organize bringing some demons over. He emphasizes that he will never meet them, and you toss out the idea of organizing cells of demons to cover more ground. None of the cells would interact with each other with any familiarity, and they would each act in their own ways. All to keep the extent of demonic spread secret.

Plus, the dean offered some plants from his personal collection. Bonus!

You both notice Latch looking at you two guiltily. You promise to reward him if he keeps his secret. You were going to reward him anyways, but his pinky promise convinces Sher’Khan. Organizing a conspiracy is difficult!

When you return to Haven, the first thing you do is appear in your terminal room and clean the anti-demon sap. You make sure to keep plenty of samples for study. The second thing you do is Latch. So is the third, fourth, and fifth.

Once he’s nice and tuckered out, his semen bubbling from your pussy, you set your plans into motion. Codifying a lawbook with Cloth and Tropo, creating an automated job board for demons to maintain Haven in your absence, setting automatic growth milestones as the population increases so that Haven develops the way you’d like in the future…all that.

The lawbook is made available in the library. You outline the rights of sapient beings in Haven, including some very specific laws about consent for your demons to follow.

As for Haven itself, there’s some quality-of-life changes. Regular seasons to help mortals keep track of time, as well as irregular seasons to show how time was passing outside. Plus some weird things that happen on certain seasons or days; normal weather like snow during winter, rain during spring, dildofall…

In the square below your floating palace, a marble pillar with moving carvings of your sexy self holds up the job board appears. There’s the normal jobs that demons are already taking care of, with the option for them to pass it on to another person. There’s terminals at the foot for requests, though you have yet to figure out a way to give everyone a mobile terminal. At the top are five requests embossed in gold.

Five important jobs that you will need to test your demons for. You emphasize the importance of each mission, and that cooperation to find the best suited candidates is necessary. All of them are long-term duties that pay well.

The first is R&D. Research on magic and alchemy based on local properties, demonic abilities, development of new abilities. Discoveries must be shared. This guarantees everyone gets more skilled. It’s set to take place in the school building, with information being dropped off at the library.

The second is design. Those working on this one will develop art projects: sculptures, architecture, poetry, painting. Is it for building a cultural identity, or selling them off as exotic demon relics? You’ll see!

Third is to help Typeface with entertainment. Stories, radio, songs, theatre. You already have Cloth, Latch, and Tropo writing down (heavily edited, very smutty versions) of the stories from Earth. You’re tired of being the only one who gets your references. Just talking about king Arthur with Sher’Khan was therapeutic. Thank goodness you set up the radio building to have so many floors for different types of entertainment.

Fourth was something you weren’t really a fan of. Most of your kind are lovers, not fighters. But its becoming increasingly clear that you’re going to need to learn how to defend yourselves in the future. It’s ridiculous how many people you’ve run into are immune to demonic charms. It comes down to a training regimen, playing wargames and organizing themselves into groups to hone their offensive abilities.

Last one was special. Limited time only, failure could mean death. Infiltration. Supposedly a lust-aligned demon’s best aspect. Of course you’re going to teach them some basics to preserve their lives and identities, but you won’t be able to protect them if they mess up.

Outlined underneath you set the objectives for the mission. First was to not get caught. Second was to absorb as much information as possible in the heart of Prillia. Third was to subtly release details on summoning Haven demons to start up a customer base. They have to go in and set up hidden caches of knowledge. Finally, they are encouraged to break people free very stealthily from the chastity spell.

The last one was bound to be trickier. You didn’t want to yet, but Sher’khan insisted to help alleviate some of the ‘conceptual pressure along a leyline nexus’.

You’re not a fan of nerdy crap, but your demonic mind is perfect for learning. A perfect memory, superhuman reflexes and senses. In the war against Aevum, the chastity spell, and whatever else may come your way, it is best to be prepared.

All that’s left is to wait for some volunteers to touch the marble stele. You sit back and sigh, watching Cloth and Tropo scribble the laws hastily as they spare a few jealous looks to Latch, still snoozing happily with his flaccid cock covered in your juices.

Before you could give the pair some attention, your terminal beeps. You grin.

They’re taking the jobs.