DCBK C1 second

In the early morning mist, the foreboding mountain loomed even more menacingly, jutting up like claws from the land. Massive cave systems burrowed through the rock, the openings gaping like the jaws of monsters.

It was towards this that the armored man walked, a wide sword lashed to his back, above which a leather pack carried his supplies. He had journeyed far, and his master was money. He was a dragonslayer, a sellsword whose skills were particular to the killing of such beasts for the sake of the spoils of their body. Beyond the fact they were often considered dangerous nuisances, their organs were valued by alchemists for various properties, making them doubly valuable to those brave and skilled enough to challenge them.

This man was particularly good at it.

He also didn’t particularly look like it. Short, thin and slender, one’s first impressions of Citirad wouldn’t have been of a successful and accomplished hunter of wyrms, but perhaps of a seamstress, or maybe barmaid. Someone whose trade must certainly be one of a delicate and feminine nature.

Dragon hunting was anything but.

This particular contract was an interesting one, Citirad reflected as his steps took him closer and closer to the warrens of the mountain. He had slain many of the beasts, but never had he been tasked with claiming a clutch of eggs while at it. It was a strange request, but alchemists were also strange men. Who else could manufacture cosmetics from things like a dragon’s organs?

He had been attracted to this remote range of mountains due to the rumors it held a number of nests of smaller dragons, which usually meant younger. For some things an older, more mature dragon’s organs were desirable. But for the most part the younger and less weathered the parts the better. The sword he used was particularly suited to the task, instead of piercing the flesh and possibly damaging the organs within his broad blade was meant to lay open the flesh at the surface, lacerating and causing slow bleeding wounds that would eventually slow down the beast and eventually cause it to stumble to death, deprived of blood. Or he would get in the opportune strike and lop off the head after an ill-timed lunge. Then he would begin the process of skinning, gutting, and carrying off the most valuable parts.

It was a gruesome process, but a profitable one. The one thing Citirad had learned to trust most was profit. He had also learned not to trust others.

He worked alone, a dangerous prospect but this way he knew the only things trying to kill him were the beasts and dragons he faced. In the guild of hunters he belonged to, it was not uncommon for men going out in large groups to come back in significantly smaller groups. It was understood, albeit unsaid, that those men usually did not die of wounds caused by their prey.

So Citirad avoided the threat of being betrayed by allying with no one. It wasn’t so bad, he didn’t have to tolerate jokes about his appearance, or sleep with one hand on his sword. He also found that not having to worry about anyone else let him worry about himself more, and he felt strongly that meant he was in a better position as a result of that.

Maybe most importantly, he never had to split his spoils with anyone. It all went to him, and it all went to his wants, his desires. His brothels, his taverns.

Oh well, fuck anyone else, Citirad had always thought.

A cave entrance was close now, and it bore the signs of use. As good a place as any to start. Citirad checked his blade and adjusted his armor, a custom suit made mostly of flexible dragon scale laid out over tanned dragon hide. It was tough, durable, and most important, largely impervious to flame. It wouldn’t help against roasting temperature, but sweating a lot was better than catching fire. Across his face he pulled up a half mask that covered his nose and mouth made of more dragon hide with a brass frame that held a silken pad that contained various herbs and minerals which would help to mask scents and protect him from dangerous vapors and poisons, the mask fit snugly to his face with the brass padded by hide and not making contact with his skin in case it became superheated.

From his pack he produced a leather tube and opened it, the top half opening like a chest to reveal four glass orbs packed safely in felt padding. He carefully pulled one out, a translucent liquid shimmered within it, and a small blue bead rattled around inside. Citirad shook it vigorously and as the bead bounced about it began to disintegrate and the liquid began to glow brilliantly, shedding light around the dim opening of the cave. He secured it into a brass frame on his chest set in a dome of polished steel which reflected the light out brightly. With the light shining brightly, Citirad stepped deeper into the cave, his pack hidden away safely in some brush and his sword at the ready in his main hand.

It was some distance in that Citirad became worried. He had seen signs and his instincts told him they were here. He knew there were dragons in this mountain. The tunnel went deep and winded its way down like a snake. He was deeper now into the cave network than he ever had been before in pursuit of a dragon, but then he had never gone after a dragon’s nest. He had no idea how deep nests lay within a lair, so for the sake of his master he kept going. There had been no branches, no forked paths, so he wasn’t worried about being lost, though he was aware of a growing sense of being watched. He felt nervous, and he hated it, a shiver crawling up his spine.

The light was shining brightly ahead of him, directly forward and away from his face by the harness on his chest. He could see clearly, there was only the gentle slope, there was no crevasse to fall into. Which is why he was even more surprised when he took a step forward and found himself falling.

“Fu-!” was the cutoff cry before he tumbled down, sliding down a long chute of smooth rock at a nearly vertical angle. The light illuminated the tunnel around him uselessly so Citirad could only imagine what he would fall into at the end. Spikes? An endless chasm? A deep well of festering spirits locked beneath the earth? Whatever it was he clutched helplessly but tenaciously onto his sword.

Then the floor of the tunnel gently smoothed out and opened up into a flat, pervasively dark cavern and Citirad found himself first rolling then sitting on the floor, heart pounding, hands clenched in death grips on the items in his possession as he strained to regain himself.

It took some time to recover but he began to use his free hand to push himself up when he became aware of something. The sweat on his palm from where he had balled his hand into a fist felt cool all of a sudden. Then didn’t. Then cool again. There was a gentle rush of air, in and out. He tuned in to this now and listened intently. There it was, the gentle but unmistakable sound of something drawing in air. It sounded big. Very, very big. His eyes strained against the inky black of the cavern but it was so overwhelming that he couldn’t make anything out at all even with the brilliant beam of light from his chest to penetrate it. He knew dragons had excellent vision in any environment so he felt especially naked now, having tumbled into the room on his bottom.

Then he heard it, also unmistakable in what it was.

A soft, derisive, chuckle.

Citirad growled and as adrenaline flooded his system once again he snatched the light orb from its harness and flung it deep into the cavern. The glass shattered and its liquid contents spilled out onto the floor. Unrestricted it now created a huge volume of light for a brief moment of time. It was enough for Citirad to see what was there though.

The light spilled out into the room as far as it could, trying to reach into the deepest pockets and shadows of the cavern that Citirad was now realizing to be monolithic in its scale, and it failed. It only illuminated a tiny segment of it, but even that was now shedding light upon the mysterious other occupant of the cavern. Even as it did Citirad found himself desperately wishing he had stayed ignorant.

For as the light had only trickled to some of the far reaches of the cavern, so too did the light strain to illuminate even the faintest details of the vast, equally monolithic dragon that occupied the space so close to Citirad. It was so large that its head, held high above, was still just a dark shadow in the light, and while he could make out the details of its huge forelegs he realized its vast body seemed to travel endlessly back into the blackness.

He wanted to cry. This was no ordinary dragon, no ordinary dragon by any means.

Then the light began to fade, and even as the light had illuminated this terror, he realized he wanted to be trapped in absolute blackness with it even less. Why hadn’t it moved!? It was just watching him! Breathing. Watching. Had it been the thing to make the noise he thought sounded so much like harsh laughter?

Citirad was frozen. He knew to move, to even think of moving, was futile. He could barely breathe, paralyzed with fear and the rationale that between the sudden illumination of his light orb and the noise he had made there was no possible chance he had gone unnoticed. Citirad was dead.

But time ticked by, seconds turned into long, agonizing minutes, all the while his heart refused to stop pounding. Now it was the trepidation, the endlessly repeating question “Why?” Why hadn’t it done anything!?

Citirad dared to hope, he tightened his grip on his sword and shifted the weapon.

There was the sudden rush of air sweeping past Citirad and towards the dragon as it inhaled deeply, creating a storm of wind. The exhalation was almost enough to knock him back off his feet.

No, he thought as he froze, he couldn’t move.

More time passed and his body burned with the strain to keep himself frozen. He breathed as little as he dared, he began to feel awful, lightheaded, overwhelmed. Citirad knew he couldn’t keep it up.

His body gave in and he stumbled, falling to a knee as his impossibly heavy blade clattered to the stone floor, the noise echoing through the chamber. Citirad sucked in deep, gasping breaths of air. He didn’t care now if he died, he thought, he just didn’t care now. He was exhausted.

Then he heard a deep rumbling and his eyes were blinded with the sudden glow of light. Fire burned in midair around the chamber, igniting in pairs and traveling their way around the perimeter, moving away from Citirad. Blinking he struggled to see in the sudden light after absolute blackness, Citirad was aware of the form being slowly illuminated as the fire coursed its way around.

As each wisp of fire cast more and more light, the details in the form were being made clear. It was as monstrously terrifying as Citirad had feared. Its body was like a mountain range, the scales that armored its body were as thick and hard as rock forming crags and precipices along its form. Along its back a ridge like the peaks of mountains covered in quills that bristled like massive dead trees followed its form till they bunched together and coated its tail in bristling spines that looked like an imposing forest of spears made for giants.

Its head was perched upon a powerful, graceful neck, covered in plumage with stiff feathers the size of draft horses. A set of horns, curved back like a ram’s, jutted out from the side of its skull, partially obscured by the mane of feathers. Its jaw was strong, narrow, and vaguely cat shaped, with imposing tusks protruding slightly up from it. The eyes were unspeakably large, drinking in every detail and locked in position on Citirad, with no room for objection as to whether or not they saw him.

Citirad was frozen in fear, and truth be told, he could feel himself losing control of his bladder, staining his trousers with urine as fear overtook him.

Then the cavern shook, and for a moment he was thankful because he thought a cave-in might come to save him from the monster’s cruelty. Then he realized the thing was laughing. Laughing at him, in his all too pathetic state. With crushing reality, Citirad concluded that death would be too easy an escape, and he had fallen into the clutches of something with a cruel design.

The head dipped down, and he found himself being inspected all too closely by a massively beautiful eye, a gold ring bridging the sky blue iris to the deep inky depth of the pupil which was clearly fixated upon him.

“Oh gods save me,” he squeaked as he was locked in place with fear.

Then he heard words. Or at least he felt words, it wasn’t like it was spoken. It was a deep rumbling he felt in his chest and understood as language. It was speaking, but in a voice that went beyond sound, words imbued with power beyond the ages of man.

“Oh poor unfortunate soul...” There was a warped sense of humor in the tone. “How is it you came to drop in on my abode?”

“I came to slay dragons and take away their eggs.” Despite himself he answered truthfully. Unable to resist he was compelled by that primordial force.

Citirad felt an intense scrutiny from those massive eyes as they inspected him. They took in all the details from the wide blade next to him, to the armor he wore made from the hide and scale of dead dragons.

“How interesting. What wrong have these dragons done to you, to warrant such an attack?”

“No personal wrong, I work for money.” Citirad was unable to resist answering, enthralled in its presence.

“Money. For simple coin of man you would slaughter innocent, break the clutches of unborn open, butcher the remains and desecrate them. All for coin.” The humor was no longer there.

Citirad knew his existence was going to end.

“So how do I punish you?”

The dragonslayer no longer felt the primordial force compelling him. So he could only whimper fearfully in reply.

“Perhaps I ought make you flay and skin yourself, pulling out your organs with your own hands till your body finally gives up, butchered like the so many of my kin you butchered before?” The voice seemed to enjoy those thoughts, and Citirad found his mind invaded with vivid images of the pain as he processed himself.

“But how is that a suitable punishment? I see...” The invasion pushed deeper, no longer shoving images into his conscious mind but pulling them out, invading and deflowering the depths of his soul. He was laid bare, naked before the creature.

His vice, his sin, his pride. His greed for coin, the lack of trust in anyone and anything but himself. The way he spent his coin, on nothing but himself. The boasting of his slaughter and trophies in brothels, the way he took woman and boasted to them of his “dragonslayer” endowment and then took them in bed and thrust and thrust with no regard for them. Their pain, his pleasure. His selfishness, his conceit. All laid open for the dragon to peruse like a gallery.

“Oh my, such a proud and haughty thing. And you... Oh yes, I am beginning to think of a perfect punishment for one such as you. But first, remove those filthy garbs, your odor offends me.”

Citirad rose and of his own volition scrambled to shed his clothing. He was humiliated and terrified, but for the moment he was alive. No amount of pride was worth trying to reach for his sword, it was like trying to fight a mountain with a dinner knife. The only thing he could do was cooperate and hope to whatever gods above that--

“Whelp, there are no gods here. Only dragons.”

The dragonslayer froze, but a moment later with trembling fingers and tears beginning to roll down his cheeks he stumbled out of his clothes, naked and quivering.

“Step aside.”

He obeyed meekly. A moment later a brilliant inferno consumed his possessions and all was incinerated in an instant. A moment later all that was left was the ashes and slag of the metal.

He had no chance.

“Now what, boy? What shall you do naked and terrified?” The lights began to wink out in the room, casting darkness in the chamber as the creature chuckled with malicious humor.

Beginning to sob, Citirad fell to his knees prostrating himself before the creature. “Please... Please...”

Silence met his pleas.

“Please... Don’t... Don’t hurt me... Don’t... Kill me...” He kept groveling.

“Keep begging.”

So he did. For hours, maybe for days. In the darkness with his head rushing from fear he begged and pleaded till his knees gave out and he was flat on the cold stone floor, voice hoarse and cracking.

“And what shall you do to please me human so that I might show you mercy?”

“Anything!” Citirad croaked into the stone floor. “ANYTHING!”

“Pay your respects, and polish my talons.” There was the sound of a mountain moving and the rush of air, and a dim glow of fire illuminating a boulder sized forepaw inches from Citirad’s face.

He hesitated only a moment before crawling forward, tentatively reaching out to touch the claw.

Then the sound of thunder rumbled.

“Do you think your bloodstained hands are worthy to touch me?”

Citirad squeaked in reply.

“Bu- but how am I to-?”

”You know how you are to pay your respects.”

His mind raced and came to only one conclusion. Swallowing his pride he leaned in and with his tongue began to lick the dust and dirt off the claws of the mountainous beast. His throat stung and he coughed throughout but he licked and licked till his tongue was dry and bled. Citirad began to whimper from the pain and humiliation, but so far he was alive and he could only hope to live further on.

“Pathetic. You’re clumsy and idiotic. Like an over-indulged child, you have no sense about you. No concept of the delicacy and grace of the draconic form.” The voice scolded Citirad like he were naughty child.

“What lesson shall you be taught next?” The voice mused, Citirad quivered.

“Hm... The grace of the form of a dragon...”

There was a moment of ominous silent. Then a sinister laugh shook the chamber.

“Perhaps that is the way to atone for your sins? How perfect. Mmmm...” The voice hummed to itself in satisfaction as Citirad was suddenly grasped by the polished talons and brought to the dragon’s head.

Vulnerable, shivering and terrified Citirad found himself being inspected thoroughly by the dragon, the eyes boring into him, its snout drank deep of his scent. Then the mouth opened like a nightmare cavern, teeth bigger than him gaping and he found himself screaming with shrill fear as its tongue darted out and tasted him, slathering him in hot saliva.

He felt drunk and exhilarated, quivering and shaking with fear and something else.

A low hum, like a chant, deeper and lower than the depths of the earth shook Citirad to his bones. The ancient dragon’s breath deepened and as it exhaled a thin vapor enveloped the humiliated man. His head felt foggy, his body felt hot. Somehow his loins stirred in the dragon’s grasp and it noticed.

”Kill a dragon with that? Well, you’ll find out if something like that could ever happen soon enough,” the dragon noted smugly.

The world spun and shook, and Citirad became aware of the massive body twisting, his blood rushed to his head as he was swung down, further towards the massive tail of the creature.

With what rational thought he had left, Citirad could only wonder what it meant by “find out” as he blacked out.

Citirad’s mind raced with nightmare scenarios in his unconsciousness, whether fed by terror or inserted by invasive will of the dragon he underwent thousands of ways that he could be tortured and killed. It was still better than reality, since then he would have to face it for real.

Unfortunately he drifted back into consciousness, head pounding, disoriented and shaking. It was dark and he couldn’t tell if he was upside down or not in the dragon’s gasp. But something terrified him even more as he came to. The dragon was panting.

“I never imagined I who had birthed so many would find myself needing to warm up...” He felt the rumblings muse. “I suppose it’s a sign that time weathers all.”

Citirad was not liking where this was going.

“This is a bit awkward. Let us...” In the darkness Citirad couldn’t tell what was awkward. A moment later the chamber was lit by a brilliant orb of light, like a sun shining down, hovering in the center of the cavern. He was blinded, seeing stars for a moment as his unprepared eyes were flooded with the light.

As his vision cleared he became aware of the full mountainous scale of the creature, and he wasn’t sure what was more terrifying. The partial glimpse he had before or the full scale of it before him now, and he was still in its grasp, naked and panting.

Then smoke began to wisp out from between its slab-like scales before it billowed, until its whole form was obscured and the Citirad was coughing. He felt the rocky skin and flesh around him shift.

“WHAT’S GOING ON!?” Citirad screamed, his voice shrill. A moment later and the smoke cleared and he had his answer. The dragon’s form had shifted to a quarter the size it had been before and more slender, flexible. He was again brought to the dragon’s face where its lips curled up in a human smile.

“Penance,” it whispered, no longer speaking to his core but in a voice soft and sweet but with a bitter edge, like a bad aftertaste. It breathed a fog over him again and he coughed as he felt himself become lightheaded, mind spinning.

No, the world was spinning, the dragon was shifting its massive bulk to lay on its back as it twisted its torso. It was moving down to its tail.

No. Not quite its tail.

Maybe it was willful, maybe it was just the fog, but Citirad didn’t fully grasp what was happening till his head was inches away from the slit of the dragon’s cavernous vagina. The smooth scales were bulging with her heat, and he could see a thick gloss of wetness coating them.

“No...” Citirad whimpered, shaking his head as if he could ward off what was coming. “No! No! Nononono-” His voice was cut off as his head was shoved in, shoulders and torso following soon after.

Then he was pulled out gasping, crying, his hair and half his body soaked in the hot fluid of the dragon’s wicked cunt. It felt like being plunged into a slimy hot spring and Citirad was only able to suck in a lung full of air before being shoved in again, this time deeper before he was mercifully pulled free. Adrenaline flooded his system as panic set in, and his body was in full fight or flight mode. He flailed with his arms, only being held by his legs now, as he was used to fuck the dragon with his own body.

This went on, until finally he was spent, exhausted, unable to resist further. He simply wanted it over and awaited the end. Citirad dangled limply in the dragon’s grasp.

“Take a deep breath. You wont be getting another for a while.” The voice commanded, and before he could comply Citirad felt himself shoved more roughly, deeper into the flesh cavern.

First it was his torso, then he was shoved by his legs even deeper, fully submerged in sweltering flesh, the long talons now gingerly, tenderly pushing him deeper even as he felt the fleshy walls suck him in. Every moment or so he found a pocket of air to gasp at desperately, but it was a dreadful, heart pounding experience as he felt himself sucked deeper and deeper into the womb of the ancient creature, towards the birthplace of monsters.

Now he couldn’t breathe and his lungs burned, his heart raced, he was pulled deeper and deeper into the creature’s anatomy. Then he felt something slither up his leg, tracing a nervous line up past his manhood and up to his navel. His body tensed before he felt a violent penetration followed by a sudden flood of warmth and comfort. Like being embraced by the tender arms of a mother, it felt like being tucked into a warm bed.

Citirad, despite himself, began to forget where he was. As he relaxed he began to forget everything. The fear, the pain, even breathing. As blood, nutrition and oxygen began to flood his system from his surrogate mother’s umbilical connection, Citirad began to drift to sleep, like a child in the womb. Blackness finally engulfed him as he slept peacefully, surrounded by warm flesh, life flowing into him, naked and curled in the fetal position

He dreamed. Some were nightmares which rivaled the worst he ever had, some were sweet memories of times brief but happy. Others were vague, but never once did his mind stop. The last thing he dreamt of was running, rushing towards a warm glowing light and then he was coughing, sputtering and wheezing as lungs that had not been required for who knows how long were suddenly forced into action. He felt weak, unsure of himself, soaking wet with the fluid he had been floating in for days or weeks. Maybe even months.

Years?

Citirad tried to gain a sense of his surroundings. It was dark and the floor was cold and hard. Near as he could tell he was back in the chamber he had encountered the dragon in but it seemed frighteningly vacant.

He listened for its breath as he tried desperately to make sense of the inky blackness. The man wanted to make sure it, no, she wasn’t around.

It seemed he was alone. Maybe. Hopefully.

He scrambled to his feet before staggering and almost falling over. His equilibrium was all over the place, between the darkness and the fact he hadn’t used his legs in who knows how long it was an ordeal just to stand. But somehow, after a few minutes, he managed.

He needed to get out and in the pitch blackness he wasn’t sure how. It was only after a little time, though, did he realize that there was a faint, dull glow emanating from the distance. He began to walk slowly, uncertainly, but he made it. The glow was trickling forth from a small tunnel. He would never be able to walk through it. But it looked like daylight, and he could crawl out.

Feet and skin raw from walking on rough stone, he dropped to his knees and began to crawl out the winding tunnel. There were times he had to drop to his belly and scramble, knees and elbows scraped and bloody by the time he finally burst free, the sight of the sun drooping down to the horizon indicating how late in the evening it was.

But he was free. Citirad lay on the ground gasping for air, when he heard the shifting and sliding of rock. He scrambled away fearing a landslide but when he turned  to look behind him he saw that the tunnel had abruptly collapsed.

Thankful he had escaped in time and with little light to work with, he tried to regain his bearings. His head was still foggy but he still vaguely recalled where he had left his travel gear so he made his way, trying to use whatever landmarks he recalled to guide him in the dying light.

He barely found it, covered in overgrowth and ravaged by the elements and whatever scavengers had found it, but a few things were intact. He pulled out his oilskin cloak and wrapped it around him tightly, the only clothing he’d worn in who knew how long. The flint and steel were fine as well, even if the steel had rusted it only took a few moments to scrape away enough to make a spark. But with dying light and little tinder he was terrified of not being able to make a fire.

He scrambled away, trying to find enough material to create a fire for the night. It was dark by the time he got back, and with quivering fingers he managed to somehow get a spark to take, and a few moments later a small fire was growing as he carefully fed it. Between feeding the fire he searched through the pack for anything useful, the pack itself was ruined but a few things were still intact.

A small knife mostly used for utility but possible for self-defense in a desperate spot, it was still in its sheath and well oiled so no rust had built up. The wool blanket that the oilskins had been wrapped around were safe as well, so Citirad had something to sleep with for the night. But his clothes, having been in a different part of the pack, were ruined by claws and the weather. The food had spoiled, but the waterskin seemed to have escaped harm. Other tools, like his hunting crossbow, his fishing lines and hooks, snares were all ruined. He had packed lightly and nothing he had was meant to sustain hardships for so long unprotected.

Citirad finally felt like his mind was clearing, ever since returning to consciousness it had been a mad scramble from one crisis to another. But for now with the warmth of the fire and the thought of a normal night’s sleep, even if it were so close to the den of the beast, he began to unfold the wool blanket and pull the cloak off of him to sleep.

That’s when he saw it. Or rather, when he didn’t see it. His cock, his penis, his “dragonslayer.” It was completely missing. The only thing there was a smooth, cute mound of flesh. A pussy.

Then he felt it, the echoing laughter in his chest rumbling from the mountain as he screamed in rage at the events that had transpired.