(Contains: Muscles, Vague Allusions to other IPs, Questionable Editing, Badly scripted combat!)
“We're dead guys, dead!”
Although it was said in a whisper, the sentence seemed to ring like thunder amidst the quiet of the tunnels, its speaker, a ratlike man whose face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, earning himself a half dozen angry glares from me and the other men of the militia.
“Shaddup Alrik.” our leader Bernard, a man built like a bison and just as hairy, growled back, pointing his spear at the twitchy man as we all came to a halt “I'm not dealin' with yer bellyachin' and the inquisitor, so be quiet and keep goin' or just let me put yah down now so I don't have to worry about yah givn' the rest of us away.”
The words were short, harsh, and maybe a little on the extreme end but right now I didn't disagree with them, what we in the militia were doing this evening was far more important than a known coward.
It'd only been a few hours since the militia of Burtold had been gathered for an emergency meeting, the lot of us roused from our beds to meet with a man from 'the church' who needed our strongest fighters as soon as was possible.
Trouble was brewing, something that even I could tell in my sleep fogged state, and this grim man, his body clad in a leather cloak and a wide brimmed hat atop his head, made it adamantly clear how big this trouble was going to be.
He talked of cults and heretics, foul rituals and the destruction our lands, the rampage of demons and the terror they'd wreak, flinty, gray eyes locking with ours one by one so that he made sure we understood the consequences of failure.
“I've tracked them to some ruins outside your village and I need strong men to ensure the safety of your village.” he'd told us, a small hint of disgust in his voice “The forces of the Chief God will be too slow to reach us before the ritual is completed, meaning that it will fall to you to stop the foulness seeping into your lands.”
Nervous glances were exchanged and, silently, the men of the militia prepared themselves, donning worn leather armor and faded, green tabards and grabbing old, dulling spears before we'd marched.
Fifteen of us left the village that cool, spring night and not one of us knew if we'd live to see the next sunrise, hearts thundering as we were marched off to explore some dark, damp caves within the woods.
As one could surmise, it was not going well, the dark choking out the lanterns and our sense of direction destroyed by the winding tunnels.
Lost and, as far as we knew, alone, it hadn't taken much for our nerves to start fraying, Alrik being the first to go.
“Come on boss, you heard that church guy, they're summoning demons down here!” our cowardly compatriot continued, eyes flickering from shadow to shadow “What kind of a chance do we have against those things!? Even Quintin over there is thinking about splitting!”
All eyes turned to me and I answered with a fierce shake of the head and a firm instruction to our brother in arms about how he 'Should stop putting his own thoughts in others mouths.'
Granted, I may have had a stray thought or two about making a break for it but my unwillingness to leave my friends behind, and my high chances of getting lost in the deep caves, keep me with the rest, leaving our sniveling friend alone in his cowardice.
“Like I said ya rat, we're goin' on,” our leader growled, drawing dangerously close to Alrik and causing the man to nearly drop his spear in fear “runnin'll do us no good at this point, they'd catch us if we split....Besides, you know what that inquisitor promised for runners...”
No other threats were needed, the entire group gulping at the thought of 'cowardice's rewards'.
Even Alrik's complaining finally stopped, although he still shook and looked behind him every other step as we continued.
Spears clutched in white knuckled fists, our group continued deeper and deeper into the darkness, the occasional prayer for protection whispered so quietly that not even the rest of us could hear them, let alone whatever god or goddess may be listening.
What we did hear, though, was THAT....although to say we heard it wasn't entirely correct, we felt it before even the first syllable reached our ears.
It gripped our hearts like a mailed fist, each beat a struggle against some invisible force, our calm breaths becoming rasping gasps and our knees trembling as primal fear caused our adrenaline to pump.
Even I was no exception, my grip on my weapon becoming slick and my body trembling in preparation for whatever was causing this unearthly feeling...
I was still doing better than Alrik though, the man having turned so pale in fright that I had to wonder if he even had any blood left in him.
And then it got worse, oh how it got so much worse.
They came as a whisper at first, those dark words that echoed throughout the caves, each one sounding as clear as day despite their lack of volume and filled with twisting, turning vowels that no human tongue could've managed on its own.
They caused my head to pound, my ears to feel as though they were pierced by pins, and my heart to nearly seize up, the slow pace of our party becoming a nearly nonexistent crawl as we faltered.
Our meager courage faltered and Alrik's suggestion of running suddenly seemed to be a whole lot more appealing.
Even I, as much as it pained me to admit, would probably have frozen up or run had we not had Burtold leading us, the burly man shrugging off what the rest of us felt without even flinching.
“Come on men, we're not lettin' the folks in the village down are we?” he'd growl, locking gazes with us as he turned down another tunnel “You wanna tell that girl back home how you quit and ran?”
The words weren't that much for us but they did what they had to, ensuring that we took one more step throughout the dark as the chanting grew louder.
It wasn't much longer till we say a light, an angry, red paint the covered the walls and beckoned us to the end.
I just hoped that the end was that of whatever foulness lived here and not the end of our group.
Raising one finger for quiet, Burtold pressed against the edge of whatever gap he'd found and urged us forward, each of us getting a peek at whatever foulness lay within.
This section of the cavern was larger than all the rest, chunks of rock and earth carved out until one could've built a tavern in the open space, torches in sconces chasing away the darkness so that I could see the runes dabbed on the walls.
I had no idea what dark liquid had been used, although I had more than a few ideas, but the symbols they made were unmistakably sinister, the sharp, sudden angles and broad lines creating some simplistic caricature of a skull.
I tried to ignore the fact that the paint was still wet, shoving those small, dark rivers that flowed down the wall as far as I could into the back of my mind and trying to forget the dozens of them that covered the walls.
Instead, I tried to keep my mind focused on the real threat in the room, eyes locked on the group of ten or so people praying around a stone altar where... where...
“Are they.... Are they fucking?”
I wasn't quite sure who amongst us said it, it could've been me for all I knew, but that didn't make the statement any less accurate for atop the altar that all these cultists were praying too, was a man and woman having 'relations'.
Dark Prayers, carnal grunts, and breathy gasps mixed in the air alongside the wet slap of flesh on flesh, the man, heavily scarred and packing more muscles than even Burtold, practically slamming the woman onto his member by her hips, his partner's back rubbing against the smoothed top of the stone.
Out of everything we could've run into in these dark tunnels, this was the last thing I would have imagined finding, my eyes shooting towards another of our compatriots, the young son of the blacksmith known as Nicholas, so that he and I could silently ask the other 'Is this for real?'
“S-so what do we do?” Alrik stammered as the woman on the alter, her own body toned by many a hard fight, hoisted herself up by her hips so that locked herself in a kiss with her partner “D-do we stop them?”
“Seems kinda rude,” our last member, a thickset, short man by the name of Reynold, grumbled “I mean, yah wouldn't want anyone walking in on you and a lass now would you?”
Burtold remained silent, his gaze still focused on the scene before him, although he wasn't ogling the action like the rest of us, he was too busy looking at the rest of the cultists in the cavern.
I suddenly realized why when I looked where he did, suddenly realizing that this congregation wasn't exactly the peaceful kind, leather armor peeking out from the red cloth and heavy, silver bladed axes hanging on their hips.
It looked like we were going to have a fight, and even now I could feel the strange grip on my heart.
“What are we going to do boss?” I whispered to Burtold as cry slipped from the woman, her body shuddering and nails scratching deep gouges into the man's back, “Do we wait for the inquisitor and take them by surprise?”
Our leader nodded, readying his weapon as he looked at the rest of us.
“We're going to have to be fast,” the man growled, slipping back behind the cave wall “I don't know what they're doing but it can't be go-”
My stomach revolted against the rest of me and, for the briefest second, all reality seemed to twist, the sounds of shattering glass and wordless roar of rage echoing down the tunnels, a barely audible, orgasmic screech hidden beneath the latter.
Four of us stumbled towards the cultists as our instincts screamed for us to run, one of us listened and turned towards the black, Alrik leaving us all behind with a scream of terror.
The man and woman now lay spent upon that smooth, stone altar, the latter now sporting a wicked pair of curling horns atop her head and a set of limp, batlike wings sprouting from her hips, a crimson shade slowly bleeding across her pale skin.
It was a curious sight but one that was ignored thanks to a far more interesting one right above it, a great, human sized tear in reality hanging above the pair, flames and thick, red ichor bleeding through the gap.
And what fell through was a demon, a creature from the beyond summoned into our world.
It's skin was the same color as freshly spilled blood and a pair of digitigrade legs ending in hard claws had replaced human legs and feet, hard, lizard-like scales the color of burnished brass speckling the outside of its thighs, shoulders and forearms.
Six feet tall the creature must have stood, discounting the curling, black horns that sprout from its head, and on hand gripped a blade that was as long as the thing that held it, the metal glowing as if it had been ripped straight from the forge.
It was a horrifying creature that would haunt my nightmares..... Or at least it would've had the figure not been distinctly feminine.
Instead of the needle toothed, vaguely human beasts that I'd been warned about by the man from the church, I was looking a creature that was far more beautiful than even the fairest of barmaids in the village, although this one had the benefit of being nude as a newborn babe.
Full, heavy breasts the size of grapefruit hung on the demon's chest and wide hips on thick, muscled thighs created a pleasing hourglass figure, its midsection tight and fit with toned biceps that had no more fat than was necessary to look cute.
It's features were more tomboyish than womanly and its wide eyes were black as charcoal with little circles of fire that made up her irises, features twisted in a look of confusion as it scanned its new surroundings, it's 'hair', a series of strands that looked like liquid fire, flowing around its horns and ending somewhere around the middle of its back.
A cheer from the cultists greeted the creature and, as it stepped down from the alter, an almost exact copy fell from the gash in reality behind it, the newcomer just as tall but its features a tad more youthful, along with its chest being a cup-size smaller and it's hair held back in single, thick rope that fell down its back, this one just as naked as the first and its womanhood on display for all to see.
It didn't take long for the first demon to notice our intrusion into the cave, a vicious, fang-filled smile crossing its face before it let out a terrifying war cry, its junior following it and the cultists scrambling for their weapons as they noticed our sudden intrusion.
And from that moment, chaos ensued.
The world became a blur of clashing weapons, fearsome shouts, and pained groans, the two groups finding their opponents and engaging in personal duels.
Burtold met the first demon with a shout and stab of the spear, an attack the creature sidestepped with ease, and the rest of my brothers in arms found themselves locked in close combat with the cultists.
I got that second demon, a too wide, manic grin on the creatures beautiful face and the thick, fiery rope of hair waving as she came.
Hours of training came to the forefront and the fear that had gripped my heart was thrown off by the adrenaline coursing within me, hands gripping the weapon at the middle and rear while assuming a wide stance, meeting the fearsome charge my opponent with a quick, deadly thrust towards her heart.
The..girl(?) saw the attack and shifted to the side, momentum barely slowing as swung the great blade with one hand in a vicious horizontal slash, my dodge a far less graceful dive the sent me tumbling past the girl.
Only scant centimeters existed between me and the edge of the weapon, it's unbearable heat felt by me even through my worn leather armor and fraying tabard.
The world spun and I came to my feet as quickly as I could, swinging my weapon like a club as I did, striking the creature's crimson bicep with a meaty 'thwap'.... Not that it did much to stop the smiling woman, diverting the thrust of her great blade so I ended up with a shallow cut on my side instead of being skewered in the gut.
The demon ran past me and now we stood face to face, the brief but furious exchange leaving me a tad breathless and my opponent seemingly unphased, her eagerness only greater than ever if anything while I was dealing with an odd sensation at my side.
As quickly as possible, my eyes fell to the cut, peering past the torn armor and ripped cloth to catch a sight of...nothing.
Despite the damage to my clothes, my flesh looked untouched by the blade, only a slight reddening of the skin and a lingering, tingling feeling marking where the blade had kissed me.
And, stranger yet, the feeling wasn't painful in the slightest, the brief gusts of wind that touched it feeling...pleasurable more than anything.
I must have stared at the 'wound' for too long as the eldritch horror came at me again, screaming wordlessly in exhilaration as she brought her sword down in an overhead slash, the suddenness of the assault almost causing me to be caught out of stance.
I momentarily failed to decide on attacking or defending and, as such, ended up doing both, albeit poorly.
I jinked to the right of the swordswoman, awkwardly stabbing the spear onehanded so that I left a small cut on the demon's side to match where I'd be struck earlier, although I lost much of the cloth on my bicep to her blade.
Once again the tingling returned, the whole of my bicep flaring up as if to tell me 'You would've lost all of me to a normal blade', my heart beating quicker and a shriek of pleasure tinged rage escaping the demon at her own wound.
Even with her momentum carrying her forward, the demon reversed her grip and spun on her heel, the heavy blade flying towards my neck.
Or at least, where my neck should've been.
As my little hop had ended, I had turned to face the demon just as she'd turned to face me, my entire body locked in a low crouch as drove forward with my spear.
The molten sword flew by, my spear-tip found her gut.
It wasn't pleasant.
I followed through the strike and drove the demon into the dirt floor of the cave, my spear skewering the woman there while I panted.
There was no pain on her face, no screaming or rage, just a simple look of shook, her charcoal colored eyes wide and the burning circles at the center locked on me.
Dark, rich, blood flowed flowed from her wound and still she looked at me, the screaming and vicious smile gone and a childish curiosity in its place.
In that moment, she looked like just another girl from the village, someone I could've run into on patrol at noon.
The thought made me feel sick.
“I guess I overdid it, huh?”
The voice was almost whisper quiet, not an ounce of anger or disgust in it, the crimson demon's soft lips moving with every word.
I grit my teeth and nodded, hands trembling on the shaft of the spear.
I joined the militia to chase off bandits and beat up drunks, not fight oddly cute demons and kill people.
The demon's brow furrowed at my expression, the fire in her eyes slowly dimming bit by bit.
“Hey! Don't get all weepy on me now, you won!” the horned girl said, a hint of indignation kicking in “I don't want folks to think that I lost to some little crybaby!”
“So I'm supposed to be happy?” I growled back, a nerve touched “I'm supposed to feel good about this? “
The smile returned, sharp, shark-like fangs locked in a another manic grin.
“It beats bitching and whining like some sort of child!” the growl came, the demon's body trembling as one arm stretched for the fallen weapon “This is a FIGHT, get ANGRY!”
And angry is what I got, the whining and guilt thrown from me and replaced with a cool, burning anger as I yanked the spear from the gut of the creature.
“Is THIS what you wanted?” I snarled, boot-pressing down on the outstretched wrist of monster “Is it?”
And to my horror, I got an answer.
The word was said with a hiss, the demon's body seemingly melting into a pool of wet gore, smiling all the while.
My first kill.
There was no time to savor or reflect on such a thing, the battle was still going on around me, although a great many more bodies filled the cavern.
While the group of Burtold and me had fought, the man in the wide brimmed hat and the rest of the militia had converged on us, meeting an ever growing tide of crimson demon that spilled from the tear in reality.
The man was a hurricane of hate and violence, his leather hat knocked aside at some point to reveal shortly cut, steel colored hair, a heavy warhammer in one hand and a small, strange looking crossbow with a cylinder clutched the other, the inquisitor easily dueling two of the creatures with heavy blows and quick, precise shots.
He was the only one of us that was holding his own.
All around me, the men of the militia were beating beaten back by the creatures, their armor ripped to shreds and their bodies cast to the ground where they were being savaged by the otherworldly monsters, the beautiful, red skinned monstrosities straddling their hips and....and...
I came to find that savaged was perhaps the wrong word to describe what was going on, the grinning, muscled creatures mounting themselves atop my comrades in an act that could only be described as carnal.
Confusion couldn't even begin to describe what I felt.
Nicholas, Reynold, and even Burtold were engaging in such acts with the blood red demons, our leader pinning one to the ground with his body and thrusting into her at a fearsome pace, the woman's eyes upturned and a pointed tongue longer than any human's lolling from her mouth.
The feeling of guilt tried to resurface but I throttled it back down as I readied myself for the next opponent, turning towards the portal as another figure dropped through.
Even from here, I could see that this newest arrival was taller than the rest by a full foot, it's biceps more pronounced and a set of trim abs on its stomach instead of a tight core. Thick thighs that more accurately resembled slabs of muscle and tight calves flexed as it stepped from the alter, its womanly slit dripping some clear liquid onto the floor.
Deceptively small breasts the size of oranges hung on her chest and a great, molten braid of hair flowed down her back, two long, curving horns the color of coal splitting the locks while her glowing eyes locked on me, a frighteningly familiar face sporting a hungry, sharp toothed smile as the beast strode towards me.
It couldn't be.
I'd killed her.
Those few demons and cultists unoccupied by battle stopped and stared at the creature as it came towards me, her womanly hips shifting from side to side as she approached.
My grip on the spear tightened and I assumed my stance as the creature came to a halt, heart thunderously loud in my chest as it spoke those fateful words.
“Hello husband, ready for round two?”
- - - - - -
If round one had been a clumsy dance between us, round two was a bar brawl, defense discarded for a blitz of stabs and slashes, neither of us giving any quarter for the other.
The great blade flashed quicker and was swung harder by the demon as she came for me, the heavy strikes and quick footwork making it quite apparent that her new muscles were for more than show.
I would dodge as best I could at first, the outer parts of my armor whittle away by the 'wounds' but I soon found that her blade could cut me but not kill me, the heat I caused only to make my heart beat harder, my breath to quicken, and a rather 'special' part of me to come to attention, the realization allowing me to cast aside the fear of death for a fury all my own.
The pommel of the sword, an elbow, the butt of my spear, all of this an more became the tools of our trade as we engaged in an all-out slug-fest, the onlookers watching in awe, and even cheering in some cases, at our battle.
Time became irrelevant and fatigue was ignored as I pushed myself to the limit, the disciplined spear-work cast away and a berserker barrage taking its place.
And just like the first round, I came out the winner.
Following a punch to the jaw that sent me stumbling, I gripped my weapon and launched into a two handed swing at the demon, the spinning strike catching her in the head and shattering the shaft of the weapon thanks to the force of the blow.
It was a far less graphic 'death' than last time but the end result was just the same, the crimson colored woman giving me another fang filled smile as her body trembled and collapsed into a pool of red ichor, the crowd around us cheering as she vanished.
My breaths came in rasps and the broken weapon fell to the floor, gazing far beyond the ring of people around me to stare at the portal, waiting for her to return.
And return she did.
Once more my opponent fell from the portal, a half foot of height added, her biceps bulging, and her form heavy with muscle, her chest, hips, and rear scaling up to her new proportions, that damnable grin still on her face and her eyes now burning with something more than simple fire now.
The crowd parted as the woman came to me, gaze unwavering and that large sword now easily held by one hand.
I returned the gaze, unwilling to back down as she came to a halt.
“Two wins, I must say that I'm impressed mortal,” the woman said, her tone nothing less than pleased “a shame that you had to break your weapon.”
“A win's a win,” I responded with a shrug, “it's not like it'd be anything permanent anyway.”
The demon laughed, a throaty, honest laugh peeling from her lips and that smile looking more normal than all the rest, stance loosening ever so slightly at the banter.
“You do have a point there,” the flame haired woman said once her laughing had died down, a warm grin on her face “although that does make one wonder what you're going to do without the spear.”
A flurry of calls came from the crowd offering me their weapons, one of them I noted as belonging to Reynold, but they were quickly cut off by a slash of the demon's arm as she watched me raise my fists.
“No running?” she asked, a brow quirked.
“Wouldn't do any good,” I responded, briefly nodding at the back of the ring of people behind me “may as well go down swinging.”
The flames in the demon's eyes brightened, smile widening to show off her fangs.
Her sword arm rose and fell, driving her weapon deep into the hard packed dirt of the earth as she strode towards me, flashing the black talons on her fingers as she assumed a fighting stance.
“I will not speak the full name here,” the woman said, her body trembling with barely contained enthusiasm, “but for now you may call me Naene.”
“Quintin.” I simply stated, heart hammering.
As one we charged.
Flesh met flesh as we met in a grapple, the reddened, sensitive parts of my skin rubbing against the surprisingly soft skin of my opponent, the pair of us locking each other in a grapple, my arms about her waist and hers about the center of my back, our legs crossing as each tried to wrestle the other to the ground.
A tad predictably, Naene was the one who won the contest of strength, her newly enhanced musculature and seemingly limitless stamina allowing the demon to throw me to the ground, the impact shaking me just long enough for the woman to straddle me.
My wrists soon found themselves locked in a vicelike grip and a weight pressed down as the demon lay upon me, her lips bare inches from mine and her scorching breath tickling my nose, the scent strangely sweet like that of cinnamon instead of the sulfur I'd been expecting.
A long, pink tongue that looked far too large for Naene's mouth rolled from her lips and ran along my skin, getting a full taste of the sweat that I'd built up and sending pricks of pleasure down me whenever it touched the reddened skin left by her weapon.
“Fresh meat,” the woman growled, blazing eyes locking on me “I want to taste MORE!”
Our lips met, the long tongue battering my own into submission while her bare breasts pressed against my chest, her rock hard core pressing against my trim midsection.
I struggled in the woman's grip but it was too tight, her tongue exploring every inch of my mouth and her hips grinding against me as I fought.
My thoughts grew fogged and my lungs burned as the kiss continued, the pressure on my lips almost painful.
It was with one final, desperate roll that I finally managed to turn the tables, the demon's eyes widening as my legs pressed off the ground and flipped us, me laying atop her and her legs wrapped around me.
The kiss broke and I sucked in a deep breath of air, the screaming of my lungs lessening while Naene looked up at me.
“Still got some fight left?” She purred, right hand releasing my wrist and slicing the leather breeches with a black nail, “Good, I wouldn't want anything less!”
My hard member was freed, the air of the frigid air of the cave kissing it as the demon moved her hand towards her waiting entrance, parting the lips and looking up at me expectantly.
My heart pounded, my thoughts were confused, but my body knew what to do, my freed arm pointing myself towards her waiting spot and thrusting.
The cold air was replaced by a blazing wetness as I slid into Naene's waiting tunnels, the walls gripping me with a tight, but not unpleasant, pressure as I delved into her.
Passion took over as my thrusting began, my body pressing against the crimson skinned demon while my hips pistoned into her, soft moans slipping from her lips and her breasts positively crushed due to the pressure on them.
Her left hand still held my right by the wrist and my left soon clamped down on her's wrist locked in a mirror, her reverse jointed legs scrabbling against the ground while her thighs locked on me.
My nerves sang with pleasure as her womanhood grappled me, my rod gripped by something that almost felt like it had been molded for me, not an ounce of free space to be found, although I could not find her deepest points due to the difference in size between us.
Passions flew, her gasps heightened and then, with a groan of effort and ecstasy, the world spun as Naene turned the world upside-down, retaking the top and launching her own assault, spearing herself on me in a style known as cow girl, her grip on my wrist slipping so that her black clawed hands could lock fingers with me.
And so the dance of flesh went, each of us battling for supremacy upon the ground, our bodies twisting and turning in a fight to be on top.
Sometimes Naene would be on top, sometimes I would, the demon wiggling smashing her hips against mine and I thrusting back against her, each edging the other onwards towards release.
Every caress of her walls, every touch of her lips, all the pressure of her breasts upon my chest, each little bit pushed me on, although I made sure to give as good as I got.
Still, every man has his limits, and soon enough I met mine.
The demon's walls trembled and spasmed while my own rod began to twitch, the dam within me breaking.
Who was on top, who was forcing the kiss, I could no longer tell who was doing what and, to be honest, I didn't care, my body pressing on with all my might.
The demon gasped and panted with sweet sounds, my lips muffling her sounds through the kiss...although one sound was heard above all.
It was with a final scream that the girl finally found release, my twitching member locked tight by her walls while the rest of her body tightened, leaving no escape for me as the walls broke and a river of seed flowed into Naene, her thighs locked tight and her arms holding me in a bone-crushingly tight hug.
My nerves sang, pleasure fried my brain, and the exhausted, wreck of a thing I called a body finally collapsed, the darkness taking me as I lay against warm flesh.
- - - - - -
I would later awake in a realm that was far from my own, the skies blackened with smoke and the land a blasted hellscape of iron and molten metal, although the bed I found myself in was quite comfortable.
Following the 'tie' between me and Naene, she claimed that she came first but I passed out so no one won, the demon had carried me back through the portal and left her many 'sisters' to go fourth to the village and claim it, the land outside warping into a demon realm of her dark goddess, the fires of industry and the drums of war beating as they prepared to grab more lands..... Or that's what she'd told me at least.
The village itself was largely untouched and the citizenry, but for the now demonic looking women, remained largely the same but for their more open throws of passion, something I found myself engaging in with Naene.
According to the demon, defeating her in battle had marked me out as her husband, the powers that be in her hellish realm granting her the strength she'd need to triumph every time I'd beaten her.
I'd insisted that such victories were due to luck and nothing more but Naene wouldn't have any of it.
“Luck is the excuse of the modest, so just own up to what you did!” she'd say, hands on her hips and her cheeks puffed out in a surprisingly childish pout.
No matter what I said, the demon would stubbornly state that I was her husband, keeping me in her home, treating me to hand-cooked meals of an eldritch nature, and joining me in bed each evening, many of which would end in the rough loving we'd engaged in back in the tunnels.
I actually came to enjoy that life we lived in that realm she called home, my unease and nervousness dying down bit by bit with each passing day, the large, well-muscled woman keeping me company until I'd recovered enough to head back to my home in the 'real world', the village long since claimed by the demons and.....surprisingly unchanged.
Sure, the women now had horns, tails, and wings while all the men engage in more 'public' displays of affection with their wives but I could still go to the taverns, bakeries, and blacksmiths that I once knew.
I even found the members of the militia, barring the still missing Alrik, and discovered that many of them had taken the same demons as wives, explaining how they could not move about the village without issue thanks to it becoming a demon realm.
“Apparently it even allows they to get pregnant!” Reynold had boasted, the short, thickset man slapping the much taller next to him on the rear “How strange is that?”
It wasn't nearly as strange as the even deeper shade of crimson his wife turned at the action but it did explain a few different things, as well was what had happened that night.
As the sun had set, I'd returned to my old home in the village to find Naene lying upon my bed, the only light present caused by the dying sun, the molten locks of her hair, and the blazing irises in her eyes.
“Husband,” she'd growled, a familiar, shark-toothed grin on her face “tonight battle will be to the creation of our daughter, are you prepared?”
The door shut, my clothes fell, and our lips met.