A Change of Perspective

It is the subject of debate amongst learned individuals throughout the planes as to the nature of the various realities that made up The Great Wheel. Scholars from myriad worlds, planar travelers and vagabonds would all congregate in the many alehouses, libraries, lecture halls and forums of Sigil and other planar metropolises to debate and share what they thought of the many realms of reality. A Briaur of Ysgard would preach the virtues of self-improvement, the sanctity of strife and how it made one stronger, made them appreciate the life they were given. To him, the planes were a test of strength and mettle, designed to make the weak strong and the strong virtuous. Arcadians would pontificate about cosmic order and supra-divine plans, speaking well rehearsed, categorically laid out lectures about discipline, law and goodness in the hearts of all. To them, all reality was laid out according to some benevolent will, with even the most bizarre, random events following a hidden set of rules.

But eventually, even the most self-assured philosopher would turn to the matter of one the one plane that did not, could not conform to their views. The place where hatred, rebellion, sadism and suffering were made tangible. The place where every rule was broken, where the only authority was the will of the strong. The slow death of the planes, the source of the incomprehensibly cruel monsters that poisoned and ate away at the universe. It was entropy, an infinite well of torment from which sprung the foulest things imaginable.

It went by many names; to the denizens of the Heroic Domains of Ysgard it was Nidhoggr, the taint that ate away at the roots of the world-tree. To the tranquil, obedient citizens of the Peaceable Kingdoms of Arcadia, it was The Asphodel, the bottomless hole into which all sin and imperfections were tossed upon the creation of the multiverse. Even the tyrannical, despotic Baatezu had a name for it, though it was one they uttered only in secret; to name the home of their mortal enemies was a crime punishable by demotion, something they feared far more than death.

To the endless jabbering abominations that made it their home, it was The Abyss. Seemingly infinite, with each layer totally unlike all the others save for the spine-chilling presence of hateful, insane malice. There were cold, dead layers, places where nothing could live save the most depraved and vile of the Tanar’ri, like Thanatos, home of dread Orcus. There were layers so fecund with twisted parodies of life it felt choking, where every breath a mortal took forced them to inhale so much more sin, such as the Brine Flats, seat of power to Demogorgon, prince of demonkind. There were layers that boggled even the most cynical of minds; palaces built out of the dreams of dead gods, spider webs so massive entire worlds were trapped within their strands, cities hewn from the flesh of the stillborn and miscarried.

And there were layers that were more or less identical to a prime material world to the untrained eye. It was one of these deceptively banal layers that Samak trudged through now, though he knew of the hidden dangers that lurked behind every bramble. Sure the knotted, thorny brambles seemed to actively scratch at every unprotected centimeter of Samak’s body, and the trees’ branches waved menacingly in the air like so many deformed hands, but to the githyanki this was an island of relative peace amongst the constant turmoil of the Abyss. The green-skinned mercenary reached reflexively for his silver sword, aiming to cut a swathe through the clutching brambles and noose-shaped vines, but found the sheath he wore empty. He cursed in the name of Vlaakith, his mind remembering his weapon had been stolen from him by the treacherous Yugoloths even as his body’s muscles remembered the quick draw he had practiced for decades. It was a crime equivalent to treason among the githyanki, allowing one’s silver sword to be taken by an enemy. The enchanted blades were a sign of favor from the Lich Queen herself, the immortal, cannibalistic ruler of the astral race. The weapon’s loss was seen as an insult to Vlaakith, and Samak dared not show his face to any of his kin without it.

It was for that reason he and his closest ally had journeyed here, the layer Twelvetrees, unimaginatively named after the circle of oaks at the heart of the layer. That was Samak’s destination; the center of this perverse forest, the unholy ring of trees where ancient fiends had done terrible magics for unspeakable reasons. The evil here was ethereal; an overbearing sense of dread, unease and corruption that made the githyanki’s skin crawl. Perhaps it was that same evil presence that made Tezrian choose this layer; the aura of wrongness that unnerved Samak likely made the marilith giddy. He could imagine her soaking in it, languidly splayed out within the ring of profane trees, basking in the invisible miasma of sin. The image of her occupied his normally focused mind for an unnaturally long time, his mind’s eye wandering lecherously over her dark scales, her serpentine curves, the way her six arms moved and ran over her body.

It was a distraction that lasted only a moment, but a moment of weakness is all it takes for the Abyss to punish a traveler. Samak gasped as thorny vines sprang to life and encircled his neck, their jagged spines cutting him and staining his green skin red. He tried to cry out, but the breath had been forced from his lungs, and only a pained wheeze escaped his thin-lipped mouth. The strangling vines lifted him off the ground, even as the gish struggled to pry them from his throat. Samak’s sandaled feet kicked and flailed, trying to find purchase.

Again Samak reflexively reached for the void where his sword should be, and felt a cold wave of despair overtake him when he found it missing. Unable to speak, the arcane charms and invocations that composed his magical arsenal were inaccessible, leaving him with only his physical skills. Samak gripped the choking vines with all his strength, the thorns digging into his calloused green fingers. He swung his feet back once, twice, then flexed his sinewy abdomen as he flipped upside down, gripping the vines between his ankles. Though he was by no means muscular, his nearly skeletal physique bony and thin, he had a sinewy, tight strength to him not unlike a mountain climber or gymnist. Even with his vision blurring, Samak grabbed the vines that now squirmed between his ankles, and pulled himself up with both his arms and legs. The sudden slack in the strangling vines allowed him to open up his mouth for air and, after a greedy inhalation to fill his lungs, to speak.

Guttural, crude syllables sprang from his tongue, indicative of a rushed, panicked invocation. Such a spell was a gamble, likely to backfire or outright fail if Samak was unfortunate. It was for those reasons less martial spellcasters dreaded grappling with their foes, the loss of one’s magic just as frightening as having it betray them. Samak was familiar with betrayal, however, having been involved with a tanar’ri for so long, and coupled with the careless disregard for personal safety his nearly immortal lifespan afflicted him with, the gish had little fear of death and harm.

His hands burned as the spell took shape, his palms glowing red hot and sparks flying from his fingertips. Smoke rose from between his fingers as the thorned vine burned within his grip, turning black and brittle from the heat. Moments later, the weakened branches snapped, freeing the gish who tumbled to the ground in a heap. Samak groaned, rubbing his sore, aching neck and inhaling deeply to refill his strained lungs. His conical metal helmet had fallen to the ground, lodged in a malicious looking bush.

“Not again. I’ve had it with you” he muttered, shutting his eyes and calling on the limited telekinesis all gith possessed. At first slowly, but with hastening speed, the helmet was dragged by invisible tethers, freeing itself from the thorny bush, hateful little creepers and seedpods clinging to the inside of it. Samak snatched his headgear from the air and wiped away the evil little bits of plant matter, shoving the metal cone back on top of his mohawked cranium. After rubbing some salve into the numerous wounds around his throat, which he feared may have been poisoned, Samak trudged further into the woods, making for the center of the cursed forest, where Tezrian would be waiting.

It had taken days to prepare the ritual. A profane, three-dimensional mandala had to be painted not only upon the great stone slab at the heart of the ring, but upon the branches, trunks and twigs of the trees surrounding it. Paints made from coagulated unicorn blood and crushed planar larvae created a pattern so intricate it hurt to look at. So precise were the details that a casual observer may be trapped in it’s spiraling patterns, unable to tear their eyes away. The observer would follow the soul-entrapping spirals, until he saw them leave the ground and begin to twist over a massive, scaled form that lay curled at the center of the ring. The bloody paint swirled over the body of a black and red serpent, up it’s muscular trunk until the scales became thinner, and gave way to smooth tan skin.

Six dexterous, muscular arms dragged bloody brushes up a fit, strong body, spreading the entrancing pattern of blood and bile over a fiercely feminine form. The demoness licked her lips, taking a perverse pleasure in the act of decorating her body with the lifeblood of others. Sure, it was inferior to the raw thrill of becoming splattered with the blood of a fresh kill, but variety was something the tanar’ri valued, and if she could get some enjoyment from this, she would. The patterns spiraled past her navel, up her abdomen, encircling her with the pungent smell of death.

“Enjoying yourself there?” hissed Tezrian, her slitted, unblinking eyes never leaving her work. “I had hoped the assassin vines might leave you a bit bloodier, you always taste so much better with some gore on you.”

“You knew the weeds were there. Why didn’t you warn me?” Samak bit his lip and tried to tear his eyes away from the beautiful patterns entwining the equally beautiful marilith. Instead his pupils remained trapped in the profane decor, following the emerging pattern spiraling up his lover’s body. The bloody paint had reached beneath her breasts now, and he was sure the demon was lingering there, slowing her progress by increments to tease him. He dared not enter the profane circle, instead lingering at the fringes behind one of the horrid trees, voyeuristically watching his lover’s work.

“While I wish I had a more interesting answer for you, I just thought it might be fun.”

“I could have been killed Tezrian.”

“And if you were? If you had let some brainless weeds end your life? Then maybe you’d grown weaker, too reliant on that silver bauble. Were that the case, I’d know I’d wasted my time with you, gish.”

Samak huffed and crossed his arms, tears welling up in his eyes as he tried to blink but found himself unable to. The demon’s constant toying with him could be infuriating, and had led to quite a few injuries on Samak’s part over the years. It could be intolerable at times, insultingly trivializing their relationship. But at the same time, whenever he truly was in mortal danger she would let nothing touch him; the only things allowed to harm him were things she sanctioned.

The lines of paint all joined in one point on her forehead, bringing the myriad, painfully detailed segments of the mandala together. Samak’s gaze followed the design to it’s terminus, lingering on the spot where all six patterns joined. Tezrian laid the brushes aside, calling upon her telekinesis to draw a small, dark sack that had previously lain on the edge of the clearing to her. Catching it in two of her right hands, she undid the twine holding it closed, then balled up the sack and hurled it at Samak. The damp piece of cloth hit him in the thigh, clinging for a second before falling limply to the forest floor. Samak watched as she tenderly handled the bag’s contents, clutching it between three fingers and eyeing it hungrily, before slowly raising it above her head and pressing it against the convergence point on her forehead.

The Arcanaloth’s eye flashed yellow for a moment, then blinked, life returning to the fiendish organ as it seemingly fused with Tezrian’s brow. The profane mandala pulsed yellow, channeling the profane magics of the layer into the yugoloth’s eye. The pupil held Samak’s gaze, the orb that once belonged to the treasonous canine fiend resting upon his lover’s brow.

“Is it working?” Said Samak, trying to tear his gaze away, but finding his willpower to weak, the oppressive evil of the layer forcing his eyelids open and holding his head immobile. His eyes hurt from being open for so long, tears dripping down as he fought against his lover’s spell, trying to blink.

“I can see it,” Tezrian murmured, her previous two eyes shutting as the attached one focused more and more on Samak, it’s pupil shrinking as it fixed him with cyclopean malice. “What the bastard Arcanaloth saw. But it is blurry. Come closer lover, let me see you better.” Five of her arms supported her weight as Tezrian reclined, the last one crooking a finger at him, inviting him to step into the unholy circle.

The githyanki obeyed, tentatively entering the ring, making sure to avoid stepping on the bloody patterns of the mandala. The moment he stepped in, the already oppressive weight of evil intensified, the dozen cursed trees forming the ring seeming to grow to impossible heights. Their twisted branches reached passed the clouds, dwarfing the gityhanki. His head hurt, his heart pounding as the air pressure changed, becoming uncomfortably dense and humid. His vision blurred further, barely able to make out shapes as he was bombarded by the sheer, horrible evil of the place magnified by Tezrian’s ritual.

“Closer lover, don’t be afraid. I cant tell you where your precious sword went if you don’t cooperate.”

Samak resisted the urge to chastise her about cooperation, and continued his careful, tenuous pace towards his painted lover. Though he was focused on the malign, hateful eye on her brow, he could see how the bloody lines twisted about her breasts, spiraled over each arm in their own unique way, traversed her neck and jaw in ways that only enhanced her already alluring features. The demon normally wore heavy, gaudy jewelry, an assortment of rings, necklaces and armbands that Samak found pleasing, somewhat similar to his own race’s love for ornamentation. She had discarded those for the ritual, even tossed away the skirt of sheathed blades she normally carried, displaying herself in decorated nudity to the awful forest.

He stood beside the marked marilith, his watery eyes transfixed by the magical eye. Tezrian’s other eyes remained shut, her mouth wordlessly mouthing something, a look of mild pleasure and arousal on her tanned face. One arm rose from her triple-shoulder and rested a hand on the gith’s pauldron, gently applying pressure, indicating he should kneel. Samak complied, his heart beating so hard and fast he feared it may rip out of his chest, beads of hot sweat covering his spotted, viridian skin. He tasted the foul blood in his nose, heard incoherent whispers at the edge of perception, saw Tezrian’s image warp and blur, becoming a million other things at once.

“Take off your clothes,” hissed the demon, her chest rising and falling in excitement as she spoke. The demon didn’t require breath, so the fact that her body was reacting the way it did spoke of emotion beyond mortal capacity.

“Take them off now. I wont ask again.”

Again Samak wordlessly obeyed, the malign power of the plane and her ritual choking him harder then the vines had not long before. It was difficult to think, to say nothing of speech. The twelve unholy trees watched him strip like great, silent voyeurs, their knotted bark like so many leering faces, their branches a million clawing hands.

“The eye will not show me what I wish without a show of strength,” whispered Tezrian, her brow furrowing as the Yugoloth’s hateful gaze bored into Samak’s soul. “You must show yourself stronger than it, and me, prove your dominance through a display of unrivaled strength.”

Samak nodded, a bit of understanding arcing through his blurred mind like a lightning bolt amongst rain. It was a mixture of both dragon and demon magic, both their fortes, both coming from cultures ruled by dominance, strength and fear.

“Take me Samak, prove to this treasonous organ that you are it’s master.”

Trepidation colored the gith’s mind, and as sure as he was that the telepathic marilith knew his thoughts, she did not seem to react to them. He desired Tezrian, that much had not changed, but the presence of that transfixing eye, the hypnotizing patterns of blood and ichor, made him fear if it was safe to lay with the marilith.

Still, his mind was too swamped by the heavy aura of malice that hung in the air like the thickest of fogs. Any resistance he might have mounted was quickly overwhelmed by his basest desires, and he bent over the reclining marilith, swinging one leg over her painted tail and seizing her enhanced shoulders with his bony green hands. The demon’s face surged forwards before he could react, forcing her long tongue into his mouth, her lips interlocking with his own nearly nonexistent ones. She tasted of blood and sweat, the cocktail at first revolting, but the rich, pungent sensations quickly wormed their way into Samak’s already overstressed mind, triggering his arousal. He writhed as his whole body tingled, pressing closer to the painted demon, resting his weight on her warm, powerful body. Her blood-decorated breasts pressed against his pectorals, her nipples already hard with arousal, her body quivering with profane excitement and need. She had no heartbeat, but a powerful, fiery warmth emanated from her mammalian upper half, suffusing the githyanki’s body and only driving him further towards that primal need.

He was already fully erect, his phallus a slightly lighter shade of green than the rest of his body, the head covered in dark spots. Though he was sure the unblinking yugoloth eye that had taken residence on his lover’s forehead couldn’t see the hard member, the demon reacted as though she had, her dark tail coiling around his right leg and waist, holding him tight and pulling him in closer. Two of the demon’s arms reached around his lower back, clenching at the tight skin that covered the sinewy warrior-mage. Her grip was strong, with just enough restraint to avoid breaking his skin, but only barely.

Samak pulled away from the kiss with some difficulty, a few strands of drool connecting their mouths, and he panted for a moment while he tried to summon speech from the depths of his clouded mind.

“I wont ask for it again,” huffed Tezrian, her one eye glaring at him as the bloody mandala pulsed again. “You must be the one in charge.”

There was no hesitation in the githyanki’s actions, his hips rushing forward to plunge his ready organ into the waiting demoness. He missed once, rubbing the hot organ on the strange area around her sex where mammal met reptile, feeling both the slick cold scales of her lower half and the firm, warm flesh of her upper body. Tezrian groaned, both in pleasure and impatient desire, as his testicles smacked against her. She needed no telepathy to express how much she wanted Samak, her body and animalistic vocalizations making it all to clear.

He withdrew and tried again, this time finding his mark, driving his organ as deep as their disparate anatomies would allow. A violent spasm went through Tezrian, causing her tail to thrash and writhe and her elbows to buckle, causing her to fall to her back, taking Samak with her. Wrapping one sinewy arm around her waist and grasping one of the demon’s breasts with the other, he began to spastically buck his hips, without any rhythm nor consistency, slamming against his lover and driving his member in deeper and deeper with each thrust. Each slap of flesh-on-flesh was like a thunderclap in Samak’s mind, the leering trees at the edge of his vision seeming to wave their limbs in approval. He could see the ecstatic expression on Tezrian’s face, though the implanted eye remained unblinking and cold. More arms reached around his back, five of those powerful demonic hands clutching, tearing at his back as Tezrian pulled him closer with each thrust in, scratched at his skin every time he withdrew. Samak squeezed her breast violently, knowing no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t harm the immortal fiend with his hands alone. Firm breast flesh turned white beneath his grip, and he pinched and pulled at her erect nipple in time with each penetration of the prone demon.

Through gritted teeth and bestial breaths, Tezrian hissed into her lover’s ear. “Harder, harder you fool. Slap me, choke me, bite me, don’t hold back an inch.”

Samak hesitated, unsure if he should obey, but felt his body comply before his mind could extricate itself from beneath the mental weight he suffered under. His hands, already stained with the smeared bloody paint that had rubbed off on him, quickly went up Tezrian’s body, wrapping around the demoness’ neck.

“Don’t you dare, by Dagon’s fangs don’t you dare hold back. Try and hurt me, do your damned best.” The tan monster’s face blushed and her mouth opened in pleasure as the githyanki’s fingers interlocked, not squeezing at first, just establishing his bony grip. Samak’s normally dry mohawk was dripping with sweat, his pupils dilated and unfocussed, a viridian vision of sexual madness. Swallowing, his wiry frame still hammering into Tezrian’s sex with hard, wet slaps, he began to wring his hands around the monster’s throat. Tezrian grinned and threw her head back, digging her nails into Samak’s back and drawing blood.

His knuckles turned white, chocking as hard as the vines had constricted him, flexing whatever sinewy strength his limbs had. Every heartbeat sounded like a war drum in his head, and his eyes stung from salty sweat. He could feel his muscles straining to keep up with his breakneck pace, his sex burning from how quickly he dragged it in and out of the drenched marilith’s depths. Every time he buried his length inside her the mandala pulsed yellow, sending foul energies coursing along it’s length and into the fiendish eye occupying his lover’s brow. His lover’s mouth opened and a throaty gasp escaped, her whole body convulsing in pleasure. This spurred Samak on, both driving his member in harder and deeper, causing the demon’s scaly lower half to recoil and twist from the blow, and intensifying his grip on the monster’s neck.

The marilith was thrilled. The violence, the madness of their coupling was stirring things inside her long dormant. She enjoyed this far more than the mundanity of their usual intercourse. Samak’s frenzied thrusts into her and rough grip, mauling and kneading her breast bordered on the demonic. It brought her great pleasure to evoke such chaotic a reaction from the normally stoic gith, the satisfaction of her actions as ecstatic as the physical pleasure he was giving her. Again he thrust deep into her, and again her tail constricted around his leg, the cold scales cutting off blood with how tight they gripped. When her telepathic senses peered into his mind all she saw was a chaotic soup of emotion and confusion. It was like looking at a thunderstorm as it rolled in from the sea.

Tezrian laughed internally; the power of Twelvetrees had wormed its way into him, making him a frenzied, demonic mess of emotion, desire and action. It was, in a way, better than sex with another tanr’ri, with all the fury and passion of the insane outsiders but without the inherent danger in opening oneself up to another. Samak wouldn’t harm her, and if he tried would find himself far outclassed, even in the compromising position she was in. One strong twist of her tail, and that was all it would take.

There was no thought to his actions, and with every thrust of his burning hot organ she felt him growing closer and closer to release. She groaned, partially in pleasure, but also in disappointment. He would cum soon, and then this would be over. Still, the anticipation of hot seed splattering her interior was as tantalizing a thought as any. Her mind drifted, though not far, fantasizing about that wonderful filling sensation she would feel when he came. Perhaps she would allow herself to become saddled with his spawn; allow his seed to take root within her. She would let it fester and curdle, growing malign and rotten within her dual natured womb, filling it with the spite and hatred characteristic of her kind. A handsome hybrid of marilith and githyanki, she would raise the half-fiend to be her murderous right hand, her spawn like a trophy commemorating her own power and ego.

But, sadly, she knew such things couldn’t come to pass. Bringing the half-fiend into the world would destroy their relationships, and she knew the hybrids to be patricidal, awful little things. No, she wouldn’t allow his seed to take root, at least not yet. She would keep that in mind for later, especially if she needed to betray him, ruin his reputation.

Two hands left his back and gripped his strangling vice, adding their considerable force to the gith’s chocking grip. Samak wanted to say something. He wanted to ask if she was ok. If this was alright. If he should stop. But the words caught in his dry throat, were forced back into his gut by the intimidating presence of those twelve awful trees.

“Hit me,” gasped Tezrian, even as her face turned redder and redder. “Hit me hard.”

Again Samak found himself powerless to disobey, and relinquished one hand’s grip on her neck, flexing his fingers and eyeing the ecstatic demoness beneath him. His back screamed in agony as her nails punctured him, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood leaking from a dozen small wounds. Some part of his mind said this was wrong, he should stop, but that was drowned out beneath the thunderous cacophony that overwhelmed him.

He slapped Tezrian across the right side of her face, leaving a bright red handprint where the blow landed.

“Yessssss,” Tezrian hissed, her inner walls clenching tighter around Samak’s prick. “Yes, more. Hurt me lover, show me your force.”

Again he smacked her, his other hand still constricting her throat to the best of it’s ability. Beneath him he could feel the marilith’s back arch, pressing her chest further into his. With a mighty thrust he drove his prick down to the very base, biting his lip and still pressing forward. Tezrian gritted her teeth and squeezed down harder on her own neck, and Samak delivered a powerful slap across her scaly rear. Tezrian screamed, a primal, guttural noise of primal need, an expression of the basic desires that ruled the tanar’ri mind.

“I want you to bite me,” groaned Tezrian, still unsatisfied, rolling her serpentine hips upwards to take in more and more of Samak’s sex. Panting, Samak hesitated, his lover’s shriek of ecstasy briefly unclouding his mind.

“No,” He replied, relinquishing his grip on her neck and planting a kiss on her bruised cheek.

“What?” Tezrian grunted incredulously. A look of shock crossed her face, her eyes still shut save the yugoloth’s. The bloody paint had smeared, making her upper torso a mess of red splotches and sweat. The twelve profane trees seemed to crane in to see why the show had stopped, what reason the gith had for delaying the profane sexual ritual.

Samak wheezed, gathering his breath and thoughts before continuing. “I’m supposed to be in charge of this. There’s more to leadership-or dominance-then just sheer force.”

“Bullshit,” spat Tezrian, trying to sound aggravated but merely coming off as whiny. It was clear she was enjoying the violence of their coupling, and wanted more. “The only law is the word of the strong, the only authority the strong’s enforcement of it.”

“I don’t really feel like talking philosophy. But if I’m going to keep doing this, I’m going to do it how I would like.”

“But-but,” stammered the marilith, her tail thrashing in confusion and frustration. Her bloodstained hands slid from behind Samak’s back, coming to rest beside her or laying across her chest.

“No buts. I’m the dominant one, remember?” He kissed her softly on the lips, his hands sliding over her hair and caressing her cheek. He could feel the demon convulse underneath him, vainly struggling to simulate the violent coitus she just been enjoying.

His pace slowed, still sliding in and out forcefully, but without the frantic rapidity of his previous motions. His hands slid down her arms, fingers interlocking with Tezrian’s bloodstained hands. At the apex of each thrust he squeezed her hands, gripping her and holding her tight against himself before drawing his member out of her fluid-drenched cavity.

“Don’t be mad Tezrian.” Samak whispered in her ear as he rhythmically thrust into his lover, the profane mandala pulsing brighter and brighter with each insertion, the foul trees waving as if in gale force winds that emanated from the center of the circle. “I love you. I really do, even if you cant understand that. I cant bring myself to hurt you, I really cant. I value you too much.”

Tezrian hissed, turning her head to look away from his sincere, warm gaze, his inviting smile. They disgusted her. But still, she couldn’t hide the redness that flushed her cheeks, the way her lower body writhed under his touch. Was it the amplified sensation of the layer that made his soft, tender loving appeal to her body? She hoped that was the cause; the alternative, some weakness within her, was too awful to consider. She had to grit her teeth to stifle the moans and whines that rose from within her chest, though telepathically her mind bombarded his with those sensations, with images of her passion and pleasure.

Samak took these mental images as a signal, and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, breathing against her neck and adding a bit more pressure to his thrusts, doing the best he could to make the experience as pleasurable as possible for Tezrian.

“Please don’t be mad,” he whispered, squeezing two hands tight while the marilith’s other four clutched at the grass and earth surrounding them. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me to be independent. Rebellious even. Not to take orders. Not to rely on others.”

The demoness scrunched up her face and grunted gutturally, feeling a spine-tingling knot of pleasure building within her. Tezrian recoiled internally as she felt that pleasurable ball expand and grow with each of Samak’s thrusts. It was an affront to her pride, to be so humiliated, brought down to the level where bland, mundane sex was enough to get her off. Still, her higher functions were beholden to her most common instincts, and they told her to enjoy what she was experiencing, to revel in the pleasure her mortal lover was bringing her. Her whole body tingled, her stomach fluttering as though she teetered above a precipice as grand as the Abyss’ deepest chasm. She knew what was coming, despite her best efforts to resist. The irony was not lost on her; despite all the amoralizing she gave Samak, tempting him, pushing him to give into his most animalistic instincts, to cave in and follow what his gut told him, she was incredulous that he had forced her to do the same.

Outrage burned within Tezrian. The eye’s visions were coming clearer now, yes, but that was beside the point. He dared to deny her what she craved? Rob her of that raw, demonic rutting that brought her to the edge? She would not allow this, would not let him get away with this, not without taking her revenge. Her magic amplified by the power of the layer, she called upon the art central to the discipline of transmutation; shape shifting. With a hiss, she shoved Samak off her body, twisting her tail beneath her as billowing green smoke enveloped her body. The githyanki panted, clutching his head as the thrumming intensity of the layer reasserted itself on his mind. Through his blurry vision he could see Tezrian’s form as the familiar plume of smoke that accompanied a polymorph spell dissipated. His lover still took the form of a half-serpent warrior, but some important details had changed. The details of her face had shifted, her chin growing slightly broader, her cheekbones lower, her lips less feminie but still with their trademark smirk. Her shoulders too were wider and her arms a bit more muscular. His eyes drifted down to her chest, and was shocked to find her breasts had vanished, to be replaced by smooth, strong pectoral muscles. While her chest had broadened, her hips and shrunk, becoming noticeably less feminine, and the space her entrance had previously occupied now was inhabited by something else entirely.

Where her slit was, now there were two erect, pink rods, slick with their own lubricant. Samak swallowed, his own singular manhood feeling inadequate by comparison, his mind racing to figure out what Tezrian was up to. The demon approached him, all three eyes wide open and glaring with smug superiority. Four arms crossed her-or was it his-chest, the other two resting on his new more masculine hips. His body still swayed with the same feminine grace, at odds with the demon’s new appearance.

“What will you do now, lover,” said Tezrian, saying that last word like a curse. She stood over Samak, her erect manhoods level with his navel, glaring at him with cruel eyes. “The ritual won’t be complete until we finish.” A chuckle from deep within sprang from Tezrian’s mouth, as she leered at Samak’s still-hard manhood, still wet with her own fluids. She wanted it, wanted it so badly, to feel it deep within her again, but her penchant for disorder and mischief overpowered that urge. Even though she set up the ritual, spent days drawing the mandala and enchanting the foul circle of trees, the opportunity to sabotage it all was too tempting.

“You said you loved me Samak. Did you mean it, or did you just love my body? I wont judge you if you did, but be honest with me.”

“Be honest with The Liar?” Samak Murmured, rising to his feet and holding her triple-gaze. “I was Tez. I wouldn’t think of lying about that. I do love you.”

“Then come lover, finish me off,” she said huskily, crooking three hands’ fingers. “Or were the only thing you cared for my curves?”

“I do love you Tezrian,” Samak replied, holding his ground. “But, well, I don’t find other men attractive.”

“Do you think I ca-” began Tezrian, but the gish cut her off.

“I’m still the one in charge, remember? I dictate how this goes. And I don’t swing that way.”

“Well lover, what will you do about that? You wont know where your sword is until the ritual is finished, and the only way to finish it is to finish me.”

Samak remained silent, calling on one of his own spells. A cloud of green smoke enveloped his body, and he felt his skin and bones buckle and warp. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, the alien feeling of his hips broadening and his hair growing longer, silkier causing his whole body to shiver. His toes itched as he felt his facial structure shift, his nearly nonexistent lips becoming fuller, more kissable, though still thin like all gith’s. His back strained to accommodate the weight that was shifting to his chest, as a few small pounds of fat grew beneath his green nipples, giving him small, firm breasts. The transformation was completed as his phallus shrunk and retracted, his new, broader hips opening to reveal a vagina.

When the smoke cleared, the newly female Samak stood before Tezrian, still bony and sinewy, with small breasts and a longer, smoother mohawk. The firmness of his now vanished penis had become wetness in his vagina, his green cheeks flush with arousal.

“No, Tezrian,” he said, his voice higher and softer, “now you can fuck me.” He lowered himself to the ground, resting on his hands and knees, raising his rump towards the masculine marilith, bearing his drenched opening.

“Samak, you deviant,” hissed Tezrian, gripping his spotted hips with four limbs and feeling the softer flesh between her fingers. Her dark tail twisted around his lower legs, holding them in place and applying a mildly uncomfortable amount of pressure to the presenting gith. “I never imagined this side of you, even when I probed your mind I couldn’t find this.”

Samak bit his lip as he felt the heat of Tezrian’s twin rods by his rear, one prodding at the entrance to his nethers, the other at his anus. The marilith’s fifth and sixth hands reached beneath him and plucked at his newly sensitive nipples, causing him to grunt in pleasure. The intensity in his member he had felt earlier had become like a building wave in his new female parts, and his body craved stimulation, every touch exacerbating his condition.

“Have you done this before?” Crooned Tezrian, prodding the heads of her serpentine members against her lover’s entrances. His face scrunched up in anticipation and a bit of discomfort. He hadn’t taken anything in his rear before, and feared that it might hurt. Fortunately her shafts were slick and thin, and lacked the bulging heads of mammalian members, and he theorized that the insertion would be less painful.

“Once,” he whined guiltily, shutting his eyes and focusing on the new, alien sensations. He felt a phantom twinge in his loins, muscle memory willing him to thrust forwards as though he still had his penis. It was bewildering, the way his body reacted to new, different things. His nipples had become so much more sensitive, the temperature and the wind brushing up against them and sending waves of pleasure through his body. The tight, cold coils constricting his lower legs causing his body to react with heightened sensitivity.

“You’ll need to tell me everything,” Tezrian hissed, punctuating her statement with an eager thrust into Samak. Her lover gave a pained whine, his forearms buckling for a moment as she rammed her twin phalluses into his body. While his vagina was slick and accepting, her pink rod slipping past his transmuted walls, his anus offered more resistance, making her rapid penetration painful for him. Tezrian licked her lips in pleasure knowing that. Still, the tight pressure of that passage constricting around her new member was a wonderful feeling, coupled with the warm, slick tightness of his sex. She could faintly feel her other member as it slid into Samak, the warmth of his newly formed sex pleasurably enveloping her.

Samak grunted, primal and guttural as his lover thrust in and out of him. He was thankful of the demons’ many arms keeping him upright, clenching at his waist and buttocks, wrapping around his chest and playing with his nipples. Without them he would have collapsed, so intense were the myriad sensations making his transformed body buckle and quiver.

Tezrian’s thrusts were sloppy and imprecise, the thrusts of someone who was not used to the action. She bucked so far forwards that it caused Samak to whine in pain, order her to go slower. The feeling of complete fullness was as overwhelming as the evil of the plane, perhaps more so. He was aware of the chafing, the loss of sensation in his lower legs as the shape-shifted Tezrian squeezed tighter and tighter, but all that was nothing compared to the two hot, slick rods embedded in him. His body jerked, one arm losing it’s strength and causing his torso to fall to the ground, impacting on the soft earth below. A small scream escaped his feminine mouth, one which quickly turned into a needy series of pants in time with the demon’s vigorous thrusts. That wave of pleasure he had felt building was growing with each one, becoming more and more unbearable, threatening to wash him over and drown out his senses. His sex sucked and clenched on Tezrian’s member, his anus offering much less resistance as it loosened and allowed deeper and deeper penetration. The muscles around his rear stiffened, trying to clench and draw on Tezrian’s sodomizing member, his back arcing in pleasure as the sensations intensified. Beneath the waves of overwhelming pleasure, he was glad he could allow Tezrian to go wild again. He didn’t need telepathy to realize how frustrated and upset she was, and nothing made him feel worse than seeing the demoness upset.

“We-ah-need to do this-ooh-again Samak,” grunted Tezrian. Samak could recognize the telltale signs of an oncoming male orgasm, see how she clenched her face together, shut her set of three eyes and gripped tighter on his breasts and rear. With a crude, forceful thrust that slapped her scaled lower half against his rear, she bottomed out both of her rods, burying the pink organs in his entrances. This forced a whine from Samak, whose legs buckled and went limp, supported only by Tezrian’s coils. The wave overwhelmed him, exploding out from his nethers and through his body, an ecstatic rush setting every nerve in his body on fire, causing him to curl his toes and bite his tongue. His sex clenched tight around Tezrian, squeezing the burning iron rod as hard as it could.

Her nails digging into his skin, the marilith pulled him upright, holding his female form against her body as she too came, emptying two loads into his body as her organs spasmed and shot. Samak groaned and pressed back against her, his more sensitive feminine body accepting every drop. When she finally relented and released him, her organs already going limp, she sighed and dispelled her transformation, curling up besides the still-female Samak.

“Did it work?” Groaned the panting gith, rubbing his vagina and massaging his sore rear.

“Did what?” hissed Tezrian, encircling him lovingly-or perhaps possessively-with her many arms and long, powerful tail. She preferred him male, but variety and change were the essence of her being, so she could appreciate his change of gender.

“The ritual, did the ritual work?” Samak replied, his nose getting a whiff of the bloody pigments mixed with their own sweat and other bodily fluids.

“Oh, that? The visions came through clear the moment you stopped obeying me. I just wanted to play with you, lover.”

The female Samak sighed, and reached one hand out over Tezrian’s triple-shoulders, holding her tight and resting his weight against her warm humanoid half.

“Tezrian?”

“Yes?”

“Where is my sword?”

The marilith chuckled and kissed the female gith’s thin lips, gently rolling her tongue along the interior of his mouth. It felt mildly different than it had when Samak where male, the proportions shifting in numerous miniscule ways. When she withdrew she ran a hair through his sweaty mane of brown hair, all three eyes gazing into his.

“It’s traveled a long way; first taken by a Slaadi scavenger, who sold it in the City of Brass. Its come to rest in the Upper Planes of all places, the Domains of Ysgard.”

“That’s upsetting,” muttered Samak, his eyes and thoughts elsewhere as he considered the implications of Tezrian’s vision. “We could get there via the Great Staircase; I know of an entrance in Zelatar that we could-”

Tezrian put a finger to his lips, feigning a yawn as she nuzzled against the transformed gish. “That can wait lover, there are more important things then some bauble at the moment.”

Initially stunned by her affections, Samak smiled, rubbing his lover’s shoulders and returning the embrace.

She was right.