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The swamp had appeared as if by magic.

Gnarled trees clawed out of the sodden dirt. Black vines twisted through dense, dark, leafy branches. Long, sharp blades of grass grasped at anything, man or beast, that passed by with a voracious hunger. Ooze drizzled along leaves, down stalks and across branches, the ground squelching underneath. An eerie white fog had settled in, clinging to the trees.

The fog, and distance, weakened the distinct smells and sounds of the place. It felt as though it was part of a different world, one that had burst juicily from where it had been originally, oozing and spreading around from some kind of hidden seed. Around the edges, the scents were as strong as a guardhouse bedroom crossed with a brothel. Even the sounds felt wet. Despite the environment, the area was not - at least, not yet - home to any of the insects that swamps tended to have. Frequent loud, bestial moans came from deep inside, their echoes reaching the observers on the rocky plateau

Surveying the corrupted landscape through the lens of the geoscope, Haralt waited for signs of movement. Flanking him were Stephaniel, who marked down Haralt's observations, and Oren whose strong hands gripped the bow so tight his arm muscles threatened to burst through his skin. Behind them, from the point of view of the mysterious swamp, Quinn and Nathanial stood at the table, copying across cartographic features from old maps, filling in what they could see from the warped areas.

"How much area has been affected?" Haralt demanded, shouting over his shoulder. The masking fabric around his face crinkled as he spoke, the leather straps holding it around his face tucked behind his long, well-kept hair. Streaks of grey cut through his shiny black locks, the only sign he wasn't as youthful as he appeared, although far younger to normally be given the honour of such an important task. Most of it was his chin, untouched by the beard most men started to earn by half his age: it was only dusted by the lightest of hair, the kind that even babes have. His wide, almost child-like eyes, did not help earn him much respect either. That was why he was so committed: this would be the chance to demonstrate the skill and determination he knew he had.

"Thousands of oxgangs, if my estimate are correct," Quinn reported, his ruler quivering in his hands. "This change in geography is unprecedented." He also wore a mask, as did the other men. Even this far away from the edge of the tainted lands, there could be no complacency.

Haralt agreed. The first inklings that something seriously wrong was occurring in this part of the world had happened only a little over a month ago. A knight and soldier escorting a prisoner had not returned. It hadn't helped that the incident had been initially concealed: it was assumed Sir Samuel's monstrous temper had gotten the better of him once again, and he had deserted his duty.

Haralt had smiled when he'd stumbled across that in the military records, feeling it was an important clue others would have overlooked. The main indicators had come not long after: shepherds and flocks had gone missing wholesale. While that was not suspicious on its own - the world was a dangerous place, after all - the land-owner became distraught as one of the missing lads had been one of his younger sons. A petition had been to send men to investigate, in case of foul play.

What had been reported back had fascinated Haralt. Five soldiers from the area had been ordered to track down the young men; during their search, they had discovered the edges of the corrupted lands. Two reported back. One had been sent to report in while the others continued their task.

He was the lucky one: the other man to return came back pale with terror, talking about how, one by one, the others had been picked off by terrifying creatures. Not by a clean, honourable death; no, instead the demons lured them in, forcing themselves sexually on the creatures. Once tainted, they seemed to quickly grow to enjoy it, their own bodies twisting into inhuman forms. This eye-witness had not escaped unscathed: whatever had befallen his brothers in arms had affected him, or potentially he had also been infected. He began to act strangely, until he eventually disappeared one night, leaving behind all of his clothing and a puddle of fluid.

Haralt had ordered that the guardhouse be sealed up, men and all, as soon as he had been granted the authority to deal with this problem. Blessing wards had been placed on the seals; similar blessings had been made on the face coverings they wore. None of this was a guarantee: there was nowhere near enough information about the demonic threat to know what was happening. That was one reason why they were here: to gather information about the threat they faced, documented so that it could be retrieved should the worst happen.

Since they had arrived, however, there had been no signs. Not of the missing men - and it was only men - from the affected area had been sighted during their survey. Nor had they seen anything but shadowy outlines of the demons they hunted. Even if only the men who had been in there had been twisted into these abominations, Haralt thought grimly, there was no way of knowing their strength in numbers: any number of wanderers or rogues could have been drawn to and corrupted by this area.

Nathanial added, "From what I remember, somewhere near the centre of the region, there are some old ruins of an ancient temple."

Haralt's mask covered his scowl: he hadn't wanted to have been burdened with the foolish old man, no matter what knowledge he possessed. It muddied things: Haralt had been placed in charge of the mission, but naturally the others would always turn towards Nathanial, just to see. He did not appreciate being tested in this way.

However, Haralt could grudgingly accept the information he possessed. Assuming, of course, that he was telling the truth: truth and age did not walk hand in hand. "Do you think these demons might have been servants of these evil gods?" he asked.

"Possibly," Nathanial answered doubtfully. "When I knew the affected region, I took a read-through of the historic texts in case this was an ancient evil. The temple here did sink into swamplands at some stage, but this is according to ancient reports of the people that used to live here. If these creatures, or their master, were worshipped in any way, it would have been just prior to the collapse of their civilisation. There were reports of creatures matching the descriptions, and none of the terms used to describe them venerated them in any way.

Scowling further in frustration, Haralt thought, "Another thing we do not know enough about concerning our enemy. At least the Church had placed me in charge." He was one of their best scholars: his name carrying with it a reputation for being studious, meticulous and patient when they were required, and ruthlessly pragmatic when other skills were needed.

Haralt considered the men he'd either chosen or been requested to accompany him: they were competent in their duties, but expendable should the need or the worst arise. He hoped it would not, as that would be a failure that would reflect poorly on him. However, this was war, and sometimes people and pride needed to be sacrificed for the greater good.

"Sir," Oren interrupted, the soldier seeming on edge. "Alexander has just signalled that he is in position. We should move, if we don't want to lose the element of surprise."

Answering with a nod, Haralt nodded. His almond-brown eyes lingered on the ground: by the shadows, it was already late morning. The longer they dallied now, the fewer sunlight hours they would have, and who knew how long it would take to even locate a demon, let alone lure one in range of the geoscope.

This was their one chance for their first plan, the one that risked the least number of them. Oren and Alexander would try to draw out one of the demons from the foggy shroud of the corrupted area into the land clearly visible from their vantage point. Every known material - metal, stone and wood - had been fashioned into arrow-heads, each blessed and warded in as many ways as the priests could devise.

The order the arrows would be fired in had been determined in advance: that way, they could learn of any weaknesses the demons had to the materials at their disposal. Telling injuries might be difficult - they had no way of really knowing how an injured demon would look different from an uninjured one - but it was a risk they needed to take.

However, once the first arrow was loosed, they would no longer be hidden: the demons would know they were there. Two men were being put at risk. Haralt's heart had already hardened: the price would be a small one if it weakened the enemy. He heard Oren's footsteps crunching across the loose stones as he moved away. Taking the opportunity to blink away the strain of his eye pushing up against the geoscope's lens, he ordered Stephaniel, "Get out a fresh piece of parchment now." Over his shoulder, he barked, "Quinn, get a crow ready."

The sprightly Oren moved quickly: it took less than fifteen minutes for him to get into his position, and for Haralt to see his signal. Nathanial, on Haralt's order, used a mirror to flash a light, signalling the two marksmen below to begin.

While they didn't hear the thud of the lobbed stone striking the soggy dirt encompassing the perimeter of the corrupted land, Haralt could clearly see it land. The dirt beneath it seemed to reach up for it; his mind imagined an oddly-pleasured moan as it sunk into the dirt. "Control yourself," he ordered, focusing his mind away from whatever fevered fantasy had grasped him in that moment.

Another stone fell, and another, a few seconds in between. Haralt breathed out slowly, unaware he'd been holding it. There was something marvellously intense about the whole situation that made his heart pound powerfully in his chest. The air was electric with it; he could tell the others were affected by it as well.

Eventually, the stones stopped. Haralt gritted his teeth: had the two soldiers run out of nearby throwable rocks, or had something happened. Somehow, he caught the whiff of failure in the air; it was a scent he despised. "Come on," he silently egged on the demon.

As though Haralt's wishes had been heard, he saw the first hint of movement, the first too-large shadow to just be a cloud passing lazily overhead or a stray leaf on the breeze. A large, shiny, cloven hoof slithered into view, black and menacing by its presence. Another followed, thick black wool billowing out of it: at least it had the shape of wool, because it glittered outside of the mist-drenched air the creature had come from, which gave it a metallic sheen.

More of the first leg appeared: to Haralt, it certainly looked as though it was the hind legs of a sheep or goat, although from this distance it would have been ridiculously large - even for a human - and with the next step it had become clear they were dealing with no lost lamb.

Haralt got a very good look at two pendulous balls dangling swollen between the two legs. They were so large, he first mistook them for an udder. But this was no pregnant ewe, for higher up was a large grey cock, beastly and deformed, that dribbled its corrupting juices onto the ground. It bobbed and throbbed as the massive creature moved closer.

Praying for the soul of whichever man had been twisted into this abomination - if it had ever been a man, for it was impossible to tell - Haralt hoped that the two marksmen would begin firing soon. A heavy ovine head, with terrifying yellow, goat-irised eyes appeared, looking down at the pile of stones curiously. Heavy horns, with a metallic sheen, curled out of his head.

Once the creature had come into full view, Haralt's hand made a small gesture. It was enough, for Nathanial flickered the mirror's reflected light across the beast's short, grotesquely-muscled torso.

An arrow shot out from the right. Haralt scowled: Alexander had fired too early, throwing off the order that they had decided upon. Cursing, he called out the two sides the ram-demon was being fired upon, to serve as a record should any of the arrows strike their mark. None did: the creature's wool was too thick for the arrow-heads to penetrate, and the creature advanced with such astounding speed onto the location of Alexander that neither soldier had enough time to aim true.

Haralt watched helplessly as the demon fell upon Alexander; to his credit, he had drawn his side-weapon, but the ram-demon was too big and too fast. It seized his wrist, the dagger falling from his hands, moving down towards the creature's crotch. A large, semi-hooved fist grabbed the back of his head, Alexander's face forced down onto the demonic cock.

Alexander's fate was sealed, but Haralt did not shy away: instead, he continued to watch as Alexander was corrupted, the frantic struggles of escape becoming the grinding motions of pleasure. Because of the ram-demon's massive body, there wasn't much Haralt could see of Alexander. Not, at least, until the creature shifted, and a new huge, aroused and inhuman cock could be seen of the figure lying on the ground.

"Fascinating," Haralt thought; what he had seen had matched the reports, so now he knew for certain a little about the enemy that they faced. The creature Alexander had been twisted into was quadrupedal: it - for it was no longer a person, but a thing - slammed its long, neck along the ram-demon's shaft, like a hungry lamb feeding from its mothers teat. The fluid it was after was certainly not milk, and the "lamb" resembled a fully-adult ram that was growing as it fed to the size of a bull.

Haralt continued to watch the display, ignoring his own growing arousal as he watched the final moments before the newly-born demon's corruption was completed. Demon seed coated the ground, which quickly became sodden and tainted, an isolated patch of the current cursed grounds. "That's very telling," he thought, watching the former soldier rolled out of the remnants of his armour, following its new master returning into the fog, leaving a hot trail of seed in their wake.

Finally, Haralt turned away, glad that the thick robes, bearing the angelic symbol of his faith around the affected area as well as on his shoulders, had hid his shameful reaction to the display he had watched earlier. A terrified Oren had returned, panting out of breath, his bow and the remaining arrows discarded in his haste to get away. Under normal circumstances, Haralt would have upbraided him for his careless disregard a weapon that might have injured them. However, he did not want to get to close to the man, in case Oren noticed Haralt's arousal.

Raising up his hands, Haralt addressed the group. "We have learned a few things. The weapons we were able to test were all useless against at least one of the creatures, and I suspect against all of them. That suggests the demons may be immortal in that sense. We also have verified the eye-witness reports - men can be corrupted into more of these creatures by close contact - so the one who disappeared probably returned here and is lost. Importantly, the presence of the demons and the spread of the swamp are linked: although demons can leave, they seem to treat it as a safe haven or a base of operations.

"Now, the demons are aware of our presence," Haralt concluded, "so I suggest that we evacuate this area as soon as possible, in case they try to target us. Grab our notes and everything else we can easily carry."

The other priests followed his orders quickly, gathering what they could carry quickly. Oren's eyes, however, still bulged in the same frantic, close-to-unblinking way they had been since he had returned. Haralt walked up to him - now that his tumescence had gone down, he had nothing to worry about - and clasped him on the shoulder. "Alexander's sacrifice will not be in vain," he told him. "We will pray that his soul was able to escape his body."

When Oren didn't respond, Haralt slapped him across the face. Startled out of shock, Oren looked at the priest, mumbling, "We can't kill them, I don't think we can kill them."

"From what Nathanial knows," Haralt answered, "we believe they have been here before. That means that they can be beaten, and that is what we will do. Make sure you have your things ready. You are our only protector now, and we will need you more than ever."

Bowing slightly, Oren pulled out his sword. Haralt sighed: the weapon would not do any good - the demons were far to strong, quick and resistant for that - but it would give Oren something to focus on other than what the two have them had witnessed. Deftly disassembling the geoscope for travel, he handed the tripod base to Stephaniel to fold and carry, cradling the geoscope itself in his hands.

"Let us move," Haralt declared, as he looked around and hoped everyone had enough of what they needed to travel. Nodding his head down the hill, he waited for Oren to walk past him before following quickly after him, the rest of their party quickly following suit.

They moved at a brisk pace, at least for men of their standing. While most of them were young, and all had been chosen to have had sufficient fitness to perform their duties, most of them were not soldiers, used to long gruelling marches. Haralt frowned after turning, noting that Nathanial and Stephaniel were falling behind, the former because of age and the latter because of his burden. "Gentlemen," he shouted, deliberately trying to sound pleading, encouraging and recriminating all at the same time, "we need to move quickly. The demons could be on to us at any moment, and we must get down to the donkeys."

Haralt then turned, stepping quickly down the narrow path. The mountain cropping had been too narrow to bring the donkeys along the trail they walked; he had also thought it tactically advantageous, since the reports of the demons suggested that they tended to be large, unwieldy beasts and if the worst should happen, one of his men could have charged at it, taking them both off the cliff side, buying the rest of them time to get away. He hadn't considered what a nuisance it was going to be getting back down with all of their gear: it was much harder falling off if you were heading upwards, after all.

However, they all eventually reached the bottom, the asses busy grazing on the grassy patch around the tree they had been tied upon. After everyone had unloaded the precious equipment into the cart, Haralt gathered them together into a group.

"Now that the demons know that we're here," he said, "but have no way of defending ourselves, we need to come up with a new plan."

"Retreat?" Quinn suggested.

Haralt snorted: that was simply not an option. Instead, he turned his mind to the problems with their predicament, ignoring that the others were watching him expectantly, as if he could somehow magic up answers out of thin air. He ignored them: good plans, he believed, required careful preparation along with the dedication to carry them out, no matter what the sacrifices. Looking at the meagre resources at his disposal, Haralt knew that he was going to have to be creative.

First, he needed to ensure they could move quickly, save the valuable devices and the intelligence they had gathered up to this point, and hopefully remove any equivocations there might be from the others about following his orders. "Nathanial, take one of the donkeys and the cart back, along with the equipment. We will need to move with a lot of haste, and we don't need them slowing us down." Silently, he added, "Or you." Instead, he argued his selection, "Of all of us, you're the one who knows the most about the legends that have been here, if something should go wrong, we would need to preserve that knowledge."

"Certainly," Nathanial agreed, although to Haralt's non-surprise, he tried to argue about his relevance, "but wouldn't that knowledge be useful for those remaining here?"

"Our next plan," Haralt informed him, fetching his ornate staff from the cart and pulling on his gloves he had been unable to wear while working the delicate controls of the geoscope, "will be incredibly risky. There is a good chance of being killed, or worse, but it is something that must be done, if only to buy you time to get everything home safely. However, we would be glad to hear of any advice you have to share." He smiled then, believing that would placate the old fool.

He continued to outline his reasoning for the new plan he was proposing. "The demons know Oren will still nearby. They will either assume that he has fled - either to report back in failure, or just out of terror - and that any right-thinking person would be apprehensive of running towards that danger so quickly. Let us suppose that Alexander's memories have survived past his soul, in his monstrous new body. Then they will know that a bunch of bookish priests are all that were sent here. I'm quite sure they would not expect us to be proactive, and instead retreat back and obtain more troops."

"So, what will the rest of us be doing?" Oren asked warily.

"So far, nobody has ventured into the swampy area," Haralt argued. "I doubt the demons expect anyone to deliberately venture inside, especially after the terrifying display we have been witness to. Let us work under the principle - a reasonable assumption, I believe - that the swampy, misty lands is the native lands of the demons."

"Hmm, that might have precedence," Nathanial contributed. "The temple that is in there was, or had been until recently, almost completely submerged into the earth. While there might have been a collapse in some underground cavern that caused it, a swampy terrain suddenly intruding on the area would certainly explain that far better. Especially given this new knowledge."

"Most of our weapons seem to have no effect on the creatures," Haralt added, nodding in acknowledgement at Nathanial's contribution. "These are from our world. I suggest that, perhaps, there is a weapon in their world that we can obtain that will damage them."

"But we don't know that for sure," Oren argued.

"We don't know anything for sure!" Haralt snarled. "That's the reason why we need to go in there! To find out new things about our enemy that we can use to exploit their weaknesses and defeat them!"

After Haralt's loud, angry outburst, he scowled, glaring at them. It seemed to work as he hoped, as the others remained silent, any dissent suppressed for the moment. That was enough, however, for things to start moving: Nathanial and Stephaniel turned their attention to hitching the cart to one of the donkeys, Oren patrolling the perimeter, the others milling about in an attempt to look busy. Haralt closed his eyes, trying to calm down.

"What should we do with the other donkey?" Stephaniel asked, voice straining as his arms trembled, trying to keep a rope taut.

"We'll take it with us," Haralt declared. "Perhaps it can be used to distract some of the demons? After all, we found no trace and heard no news about the fate of the sheep the shepherds were supposed to be tending. They may eat them, or..." He didn't want to consider the alternatives in any detail.

Once the donkey and the cart were ready to go, the party bid farewell to Nathanial. They all then turned, Stephaniel's hand gripping the leather straps of their other beast, as their minds focused on the tasks ahead of them. Haralt gritted his teeth: he knew he would be the one who would need to take the first step.

Wordlessly, they began to file, using Quinn's maps to trace a circuitous route; Haralt wasn't foolish to have them barge in their and stumble right into the retreating demons' paths. Mist oozed out of the area; as they walked, there was no mistaking the smell. Even priests were at least aware of what sexual encounters smelled like, if only from cleaning their brother's sheets.

Whitish tendrils beckoned to them as they skirted the area, enclosing slowly onto the entry. Shadows loomed large: wherever these demons came from, the land was particularly vibrant. Haralt wondered if perhaps they should have brought a botanist amongst their number: having some clue about any healing properties or otherwise of the florae they would encounter would have been a boon. "Perhaps," he thought grimly, "if we get out of this, I will make the recommendation. He turned to Stephaniel, admiring the younger man's determination as he lead the clearly frightened animal, mouth bound, as they headed towards the clearing.

Taking a short break, they stared at each other in silence, draining some of the water supply they had brought with them. A terrifying shriek screamed overhead: a large, brilliantly-scaled serpent sporting equally-gaudy wings flew through the air above them. Haralt felt it: a wave of fear prickling the skins of his group; blinking, he forced himself to remain calm, holding a finger up to his lips. The monstrous creature either ignored them or hadn't noticed them, soaring far above them, screeching its terrifying cry as it flew roughly towards a nearby settlement.

The rest of his party turned to Haralt, anticipating him sending one off to warn the villagers of the approaching menace. However, he knew it was already too late. Pointing forward, they used the distraction as a sign to keep moving.

The mist became thicker as they curled closer, the smell stronger and harder to ignore. Haralt coughed, feeling his manhood starting to stir again. He wondered if it was due to these mists - it would make more sense, given how deviant the demons in it were - or whether it was due to the racing of his heart. Never before had he felt so alive, so certain that he was performing a vital duty in the service to which he had dedicated his life.

As they entered the demon swamp proper, the foreignness of the land they walked on became abundantly clear. Around their feet, there appeared to be hundreds of bloated cocks of many different sizes thrusting out of the ground. They appeared to be the source of a lot of the smell of the mists. Each touch seemed to lead to a perverted moan. Haralt gave one a sharp strike; an intensely loud moan followed the fungus as it fell over, emitting a huge spurt of spores into the air.

The rain seemed to absorb the spores, leaving the land covered in a white sticky fluid. It clung to their clothing and their boots as they walked through, dripping from hulking branches that seemed to grab at them from overhead. Haralt quivered, feeling as it dripped onto his hood.

A loud sound grabbed everyone's attention: the donkey was the first to succumb to the environs. His massive, beastly organ throbbed hard, slapping against his chest, spraying his seed against him. Stephaniel was struggling to hold on to it; Haralt noted the young man struggled with his own erection. The others, he could tell, were in various states of arousal. Walking up to Stephaniel, Haralt rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "Let him go, he's of no use to us here."

Quickly gesturing for the others to spread out, so that the aroused donkey would not hurt more than one of them if it bolted. Escape, however, was not what it planned to do once Stephaniel had released him: the young man was knocked over before any of the could react, the jack standing above him, his erect cock flailing and dripping onto him.

Oren moved first, drawing his weapon to strike at the beast. Fear of danger managed to cure the animal of its lust, at least long enough for Haralt to pull Stephaniel's seed-splattered body from the ground without joining him. While the donkey fled, the men braced themselves on the ground, trying to remain inconspicuous in case the noise drew the attention of any demons. Haralt felt Stephaniel's hands grabbing on to him tightly, fear and arousal and shame apparent on his face. He went to open his mouth, Haralt quickly holding his finger up to Stephaniel's lips to keep him silent.

Once the beast had been driven off, they continued. Their maps were useless: even the gradient of the land had been changed by the curses. Their pace slowed, the moist air weighing them down. Haralt noticed a lot of pauses to "stretch strained muscles"; he knew they were all chafing in their clothing, the desire growing in each of them to strip and submit to the demonic influence scrabbling at the edges of their soils. "Well," he thought, "they may submit, but I shall not." He gave them all what he hoped was a suitably judgemental glance at the next of these stops, hoping to shame them into toning down their feelings. He felt tempted to lecture, "If I can do it, you should be able to with some effort."

Walking beside one of many large, phallus-shaped rocks, Haralt heard a cry as the rock suddenly moved. Angered as everyone seemed to freeze for a moment, he leapt away but it was too late. The "rock" moved, a large reptilian creature, whose scales swiftly changed from a dull grey to a brilliant, blood-tinged red, grabbed Quinn with suitably giant hands that curled out of the groove it had created in the ground. As soon as the creature moved, the heavy scent of demon fluid intensified.

Haralt did his best to dodge around the seed-coated rut in the ground, but by the time he found his foot, he realised even he had moved too slowly. The fight had gone out of Quinn's eyes, helping the creature to remove his clothes, slowing off his rotund - though freshly-muscled from their quest - body and the small erection begging for attention between his legs.

The demon's thick tool drooled obligingly onto the prone, naked priest, who opened his mouth. Haralt quickly pulled the others out of their daze, pushing them along from the demon as they fled. He looked behind him, a brief fiery burst of jealously followed by a calm, detached fascination, as his previous colleagues skin was suddenly lined, new scales spreading as his cock grew while he feasted on the demon's fluids straight from the source.

"We have visitors!" the demon shouted, the calls to his fellow demons mixed into moans and hisses of pleasure. In a panic, they fled, legs pumping. Haralt saw Oren struggle with the heavier of his armour pieces, turning away as he saw heavy shadows coalesced into thick, muscular demon.

Leading the charge, with a fearsome scowl on his red-eyed face, was a gigantic monster of a demon: huge muscles covered in horns, thick spikes of flesh, and massive muscles. Veins pulsed across the creature, hands dropping away from the enormous cock that dropped from his grip. Large hoof-shaped dents appeared in the ground as the grey demon bounded across the land, eating up the distance between them, tail twitching in excitement.

Flanking this creature, and following hot on his hooves, were two equally powerful, even more twisted demons. Their leader, at least, had a nominally human face. The others were distorted, dangerous tusks poking out of their mouths. One's face was familiar to Haralt as that of a wild boar, covered in bristly brown fur and with a snout at the end of his muzzle. The other had a ridiculously elongated nose that swung up, its long grey, thick skin covered in slime that, no doubt, had come from the creatures grotesquely huge cock that still remained aroused and ready.

Their leader pointed his thick, gnarled index finger towards Oren. "Catch them all," he bellowed, "But save that one for me!" The three charging on hooves or thick, round feet towards the unfortunate man.

More creatures appeared from the gloom. A bipedal, stag-headed beast whose body looked like a skeletal abomination in the poor light charged in on a massive, fearsome elk. Their bodies, one strong but slender, the other hugely muscled and on four heavy hooves, dashed towards Stephaniel, easily sprinting across. The young man screamed in terror as the elk's rider's fingers plucked him off of the ground, carrying him off into the gloom, disappearing almost as fast as they appeared.

Struggling to breathe, Haralt tore at his heavy robes, loosening his belt and throwing it away. They were only getting in the way of his flight, and if they were to have any chance at being saved, he would have to be the one to do it. Having removed the heavy layer, he watched. Surprise widened his eyes: instead of what he expected, the horrible beasts immediately corrupting their captives, twisting them in mind and body into even more terrible demons, they were being carried away.

"That's because," Haralt heard over his shoulder, a sibilant hiss twisting through his words, "our master will be the one to approve your fates."

Haralt turned, almost as soon as he felt the strong, golden coils smack powerfully against his legs, knocking him onto the ground. A brilliant, strongly-built snake-man slithered on top of him, breathing heavily. He felt the creature trying to transfix him, steal his mind with his intense blood-red gaze.

"Oh, my master will enjoy you!" the demon cooed, forked tongue flickering lustily as it grew aroused. Haralt felt the demon's cock press up against his skin, dripping against his body. He tried to struggle, but the demon outweighed him significantly, and its body was very physically built.

"Your master will not corrupt me, demon!" Haralt insisted in defiance.

"You speak with ignorance," the demon assured him. A flick of its forked tongue, and it added, "I can already feel the strong battle inside you. You have been struggling with certain urges, and think you have it under control. You hide it well, and believe yourself worthy enough of the protection of gods. You shall soon serve a new master, just as fervently."

Fangs appeared as the demon opened his mouth, dripping as he sank them into Haralt's struggling body. Almost immediately, his muscles relaxed, leaving him incapable of even struggling. His breath became shallow as the snake-demon returned to his feet, easily picking him up with his strong arms, and carrying him across the grotesque landscape.

Haralt found themselves joining a procession: the snake-demon walking alongside the bullish-demon. He watched with a pitying expression as Oren writhed, the demon's huge cock threatening to penetrate his bare rear should he fight back too vigorously. Stephaniel was similarly carried in, cradled in shock by the terrifying stag-demon, who fell in line behind the one holding Oren. "Seems to be the leader of the army," Haralt judged, turning his attention to his own captor, "while this one seems to be some kind of minister. He's certainly a capable fighter, I imagine, but he seems to prefer using his words wherever possible."

As he had no other options, Haralt mused. He could tell of two of the demon's leadership: beneath this "master" that they all seemed to share, they were the most human, and also seemed to lead various tribes or families of demons. The strange bullish one seemed to lead a faction dedicated to hoofed or thickly-muscular animals; the snake-one seemed in command of the reptiles. The strange colour-shifting demon had probably been one of his agents.

Coinciding with his thoughts, the brilliant winged snake flew back, its terrible cries screeching through the air as it landed behind him. Nathanial had, apparently, been unable to escape, having fallen badly or been beaten into unconsciousness; Haralt could sense the man wasn't dead, although he thought that would have been a mercy. A pit opened up inside him as he realised his plan had been thwarted.

"Be strong," Haralt told himself. "Be strong and think." He realised that not all would be lost: such a terrible creature flying through the air would probably have been noticed, especially if Nathanial had managed to close a fair distance towards the settlement he had been heading towards. Although their own personal knowledge may have been lost, there might be the chance that the donkey, or what they had sent back, would be discovered by an honest citizen and relayed. Until the snake-demon's venom wore off, it was the only thing to have as hope. He would have to remain vigilant, he told himself, and observant, for clues on how to escape and report his findings to someone in authority.

After some time, once the fight had gone out of Oren, who sagged in the demon's grip, they started descending down a slope. The slope was obviously artificial: nothing large or widespread grew on the dirt that had been unearthed. A fearsome crocodile demon, whip in hand as it harried a quadrupedal reptilian monster. The monster pulled a large cart up a hill to a growing mound of dirt.

The dig had been going on for some time, unearthing an ancient temple of heavy stone. Much of the stone had been buried for ages. Now, however, some of it had been shattered or pulled away. Haralt felt his blood run cold as his eyes moved towards the centre of the ruined temple.

Atop a large stone, between two green-fire-burning torches, reclined a giant demon, his monstrous body towering over them. Covered in jet black skin and with a perfect physique, he eyed the approaching party with amusement, a grin appearing on his horned face. One clawed hand stroked at his chin, while the other stroked at his suitably impressive erection, as it lay atop of his firm abdomen.

"The whole army to bring me three puny mortals?" he asked, his deep, commanding voice pulsing with dry amusement. "Do you not keep yourselves suitably entertained that you all have to come and watch them submit to me? Sathanus, I see you want to add to your army?"

"Master Asmodeus," the bullish demon prostrated himself - and Oren - towards the demon. "This one will make a fine warrior; I wish to have him for myself, but of course the choice of what to do with him is yours."

"That doesn't require them being paraded before me," Asmodeus observed, collecting a bead of fluid from the tip of his shaft, flicking it at the demonic horde in front of him. Most - those who did not have a prisoner at least - leaped towards it, eager to be bathed in the demonic seed of their master. "I notice a couple of your underlings have managed to keep some of this 'amusement' for themselves."

"They were only fit to be mindless beasts, totally subserviant," Sathanus explained. "They were not worthy of being brought before you."

"What makes you think I'd be interested in any of these?" Asmodeus asked, veins bulging in his arms as he tightened his hands around a stone from the debris around his throne, crushing it easily. "Mammon?"

Now it was the golden serpent-demon who spoke. "I know you will enjoy twisting this one to serve you, master. The others, well, they are more for Sathanus' entertainment and the entertainment of the demons those two will become."

Asmodeus turned his attention towards Haralt. His smile stretched wide, teeth glinting as his eyes danced with fire. "Oh yes, this one will be one of my finest servants, I can tell. He has that inner fire; the strongest fall the hardest. Even paralysed, his mind works towards escape." His horned head nodded, his chest falling as he breathed out. "Very well," he decided, "Sathanus, have your fun."

Oren screamed, struggling as Sathanus' turned him over. "Give in," he growled, erection dripping on the thrashing human underneath his huge body, "you've proven your strength to me already. I can smell your power. It bulges and pulses inside you. Let me claim it for our shared master." The words weren't quite convincing, as Oren still continued to struggle, but his stripped body clearly appreciated the attention it was receiving. That lasted until Sathanus pressed his demonic face on to Oren's, their lips meeting.

Sathanus' heavy back muscles pushed up, showing off the demonic influence already throbbing through Oren's body. Fiery fluids stained into his skin, dripping down his chest, thickening Oren's already heavy chest hair, darkening to the same black that covered Asmodeus. The demonic seed trickled down his chest, drawn towards the man's erection through some malevolent, corrupting force. Even though it was clearly taut and dripping, it strained against his skin, bulging and distorting into a more beastly shape.

The thickening, transforming manhood seemed to eagerly drink down the demonic seed puddling on his chest. The spark of demonic fire ignited in Oren's eyes, his soul being cemented into Asmodeus' service as the fire continued to feed. Rising to all fours, he took Sathanus' giant cock in his hands, as his fingers ballooned out with extra strength. Giving it a gentle, loving stroke, from the tip to the base, in a lustful daze, he planted his lips around the tip of the shaft. Oren drank the fluid hungrily, letting it drip down his chin while he fed.

Oren's cock continued to expand into a shape Haralt had seen recently. He recognised the thick ring of flesh around the round, squashed cock-head. The thick veins pulsing with infernal energy were not too familiar to those he'd seen on the sexually aggressive donkey they had let free earlier. Plump genitals filled his sack, stretching the skin taut around them as they grew to rest on the ground. His cock, turning as black as the hair covering his skin, shuddered, dripping and then drizzling out a steady stream of increasingly-tainted fluids to add to the mixture he was sitting in.

Haralt noticed that most of the other demons were aroused by the display, finding a partner or two as their apparently never-satisfied dicks throbbed and pushed into each others hands, mouths, maws or asses. They moved however they could to release some of their pent-up energy. The demons with prisoners watched on: unable to partake in the orgy, they nevertheless grew aroused. Before the air was thick with the smell of sex; but now the air was just that smell. Haralt moaned, groaning as his body betrayed him once again. The only solace he had was that he did not want to, and that the other priests who were here were similarly afflicted.

By now, Oren's cock had grown to close to a full equine size and shape, the changes spreading across his legs as they writhed in the air. Demonic magic drew his toes together, the nails heavy and black. Hooves crackled and merged together, his feet growing to accommodate the changes to his body his new stance would require. With demon seed pooling around his buttocks, it seemed it was only time that the thick fleshy base of a tail sprouted from his back, long hair springing out like the snapped strings of a lute. Just as black and fierce as the rest of him, Oren started to twitch his new back and forth in excitement.

Black hair didn't cover just Oren's torso, tail and equine legs. It crept up, spreading across at his shoulders to cover his arms, bulging with a similar thickness to the corded beasts belong to the demon on whose cock he sucked. Thick veins pumped tainted blood through his body. Haralt could only speculate as to what changes were happening inside Oren's body: did demons even need hearts?

It was easier to tell that Oren's body had been growing, in any case. Now although he hadn't become quite as big as Sathanus, they were becoming closer as the new demon struggled to emerge from its human chrysalis. Haralt saw he - or was it an it now - turn over, raising its thick equine tail into the air, presenting a thick, black, twitching hole to its sire.

Sathanus wasted no time, rubbing his slippery shaft against the thick sphincter until it allowed him passage inside. Oren whinnied in pleasure, nose flattened down onto the lips expanding to cover the lengthening jawbones underneath, twisting what remained of what identified him as a human into a proud, firm equine muzzle. A long tongue, Haralt judging most likely to have been thoroughly corrupted from when he drank, rolled out of Oren's snout, lips curling back to show the certainly not equine jagged teeth filling his mouth.

Digging his fingers into the ground, Oren thrust back against the slamming force of Sathanus's giant, leathery, hoofed legs and weighty arms pulling him forward. Thick spikes of hair rose up the back of his neck and along his head as his skull snapped and moved to fill the new shape that was forming from it. It was a distinctly equine shape.

While Haralt had no expertise with horses - just the basics - he could certainly see the demons did not slouch. Every one of the writhing bodies, be they more human or more beastly in form and function, seemed to epitomise - or completely top - the physique of their appropriate sources. Human parts were handsome, strong or at least toned. Animal parts looked well-groomed and well-fed, but without running to fat. No doubt this was maintained by the vigorous and inventive ways they found to fornicate with each other, he judged as he took a moment to shift his attention away from how Oren slowly disappeared, and some new, unnamed demon took full possession of his body.

Steam snorted out of the demonic stallion's nose, lips curling back as he revelled in the demonic world's offered scents. Haralt gave a mental prayer for Oren's damned soul, watching as his body shuddered and writhed. The squirts from his shaft thickened and changed to match the hot, fiery seed of the demons as the last dregs of his humanity were expelled through the tip of his leaky shaft. The sound of his snorts as he eagerly invited Sathanus to slam his hefty cock right in, squirting his corruptive seed deep into his body, filled the air, almost dwarfing the noise made by the other frolicking fornicators in the area.

Heat filled the air. Fiery seed poured from the newly-completed demon's shaft as he accepted the copious quantities flowing from Sathanus' bloated testicles. The tainted seed seemed to flow through Oren's new body as he began pumping true demonic fluids. Sathanus grunted and groaned; the slapping sound of his body smashing against and sliding into Oren becoming sloppier as his ejaculate trickled out of Oren's hole.

"Orobas," Sathanus declared, still thrusting away, "whom do you serve?"

"My master, Asmodeus," the new demon answered swiftly. Haralt assumed that "Orobas" was the name of this new demon. As soon as the pledge of loyalty had been made, Sathanus bellowed, pulling out to sit on the ground, his cock glowing with juices; at least until Orobas turned around to clean off the organ that had been fucking him.

Haralt then felt something happen. Power was flowing around him, humming in the heavy air. He watched Orobas finish cleaning Sathanus' cock, then walk over to Asmodeus, stating, "My body, mind and soul are yours to command.

Asmodeus, idly stroking his own erection, captured a bead of his seed from the tip of his shaft and let it drip onto the black stallion-man's head. "Loyalty should be rewarded: as you are the first to submit, you should be the first to choose." With his free hand, he snapped his fingers. The demons holding Stephaniel and Nathanial brought them forward as Orobas turned around. "Which of these do you wish to cover?"

Orobas' hooves moved, tail twitching from side to side as he inspected the two men, lips curling back as he pressed his snout into the crotches of each. Finally, he stood in front of Nathanial, observing, "I choose him; I know the designs the other has on him."

The demons laughed while Haralt felt himself blush. Still paralysed, he instead cursed mentally, "What kind of obscene fool do you take me for?"

Nathanial was released into Orobas' control. The demon leered down at the old man whom he forced to prostrate in front of him, one hand crushing his shoulder while the other scooped up his thick cock, resting it on Nathanial's head. Forcing Nathanial to smell his scent deeply, Orobas unleashed a firm trickle of fluid that dripped down the back of Nathanial's neck.

While Nathanial squirmed, Orobas held him firm. Thick spikes of flesh started to grow from where the fluid dribbled, shrinking in size as the trail flowed down his spine. Haralt thought of frowning, though his face remained immobile. The old man was weak in body, all of the demons seemed incredibly fit and healthy: no wonder, then, that the temptation had been too strong for him to oppose.

The dripping ooze puddled in a small groove of his back, feeding it as another spike began to form. This spike continued to grow, each layer quivering as the demonic fluid trickled over it, absorbing it to add to the bone-white growth. Nathanial leaned back his head, a gurgled scream tearing through the air, the spike shot out, connected to his body by a thick, fleshy tail. The tail lashed around, unable to decide what purpose it served.

Being forced to perform an unusual sexual act - Orobas didn't try to penetrate or stroke his shaft, letting it pump on its own as he rested it on Nathanial's head - seemed to unnerve the man. He clutched at his head, wailing in agony, hands quivering as the middle finger on each hand swelled into prominence. His hooves, Haralt noticed with pity, were to be white; that seemed strange, the fact drawing his attention as he watched another of his men corrupted before his eyes. Although he was upset by it, he used the guilt and despair as fuel for the growing fire within him. They would not be able to succeed with him, and they were merely adding fuel to the processes that would make their later attempts feeble.

Tearing at his hair, Nathanial shrieked out, black and white stripes dripping down his body as he slowly repositioned himself, preparing for his future on four white hooves. Certainly not a conventional horse in appearance, his thickening leg muscles, long feet and short shins suggested his body would be more suited to use the four limbs as the strong, sleek legs they were becoming.

Slicing up his body, the stripes of hair stopped around his neck. Instead, on one side of the body divide, Nathanial grew black hair; on the other, white. The horn-like growths running down his spine branched of, budding from swollen nubs of flesh running down the arms as his hooves sunk into the ground. The small remains of his fingers twitched slightly, now just more small nubs of flesh.

With a shudder that rippled through the air, followed by a beastly whinny, Haralt watched as the stretched skull in Nathanial's head began to separate. A third "nostril" opened up in between the stretched ones, adding another plume of steam into the already murky air. Each of the black and white halves pulled apart, slowly splitting as the poor creature glanced around in panic. His eyes bulged out, unseeing as the red demonic glow seeped in, eating away at the fearful, wide white.

As though Orobas wished to distract the poor creature he was creating, he walked along the black side, patting his striped flank as he moved around to his demon-spawn's rear. The spiky tail twisted to the side, showing off the thickening ring of dark flesh that started to twitch in anticipation as it felt the weighty smack of Orobas' massive cock slapping down upon him.

With large hands, Orobas caressed the new demon-spawn's flank, moving up to the spine. This seemed to settle the creature Nathanial was becoming, the outline of each of his faces distinctly horse-like and becoming even more so. His body began to fill out, vitality flowing into the old muscles, invigorating them even as they changed further.

Surprising Haralt, Nathanial's genitals did not show changes until Orobas' shaft pressed up against the growing sphincter. The equine creatures rutted, Nathanial's shaft engorging further, thickening and twisting in shape to match that plunging into his body. With demon seed squelching out with each pulling back, the miniscule human testes grew, filling with the same juices. The black-and-white pattern seemed to continue into the new demon's skin, splashes of each colour consuming the glistening skin of the large, mottled shaft and the scrotum.

Two new eyes, fully red and completely demonic, appeared as the heads pulled apart. Two whinnies erupted into the air as, either by a silent invitation or just taking the opportunity, Sathanus and the strange, foreign creature each approached one of the heads, cocks in hand. Each head responded similarly, though not in coordination, lips curling back the same way that Orobas' had.

As the final traces of Nathanial the man disappeared into the exotic two-headed demonic horse that had been formed of his body, it began to expand quite quickly. Haralt theorised this was due to being "bred" in all three holes the demons seemed to use for their abundant sexual needs. It continued to grow, the pig-demon sliding underneath to drain the juices snaking along the underside of the two-headed horse's shaft, along with those that spurted from the large, flared cock-head.

A pair of horns grew further on each of Nathanial's foreheads. The two demons who fucked his mouths grabbed on to these horns, pulling the long necks down as they stepped back to make room for the expanding creature. The pig-demon became trapped, snout around the beast's cock. It pushed him through the dirt, although the demon did not seem to mind. The air was heavy, the grunts were frantic. Haralt found a trickle of his own fluids dripping down his leg; he felt Asmodeus' eyes turning upon him, a horrible, self-satisfied smirk curling across his face.

Most of the demons seemed to climax at around the same time as the second new demon was created. Haralt found this interesting, feeling Mammon squirt ejaculate in long, heavy pulses against his back. He wondered if perhaps the demons shared some kind of mental connection that allowed them to share their arousal. Being part of a collective would help make sense of some things: he had originally presumed that the demons were distinct beings, but it might have very well been that this Asmodeus was a physical manifestation of the corrupted land.

Asmodeus himself had not ejaculated, although he had stayed aroused, the fluid flowing from his shaft perpetually since Orobas had taken over predominance of his body from Oren. "I see you enjoyed the show," Asmodeus observed to Haralt as Orobas pulled out from his new spawn, and cleared the area in front of the master demon. Asmodeus reached out, one dripping finger reaching out as Mammon approached him, holding Haralt out to accept the demonic baptism. Haralt wished he could have closed his eyes as he felt the infernal seed slime and slither its way over his paralysed form.

Feeling his hand twitch, Haralt wondered if perhaps it was the demon's doing. However, when he tried to wrest control of it away from the invisible force, his arm swung wildly, much to the amusement of Asmodeus. Mammon released him, stepping back to stand at the head of his small band of demon-spawn as his paralytic venom's effects slowly left the priest's body.

Shaking and on all fours, Haralt cursed himself for his own weakness, and the feeling of perverse pleasure he felt gnawing away at him. The demon wanted to corrupt him, that much was clear; but there'd be no way he would allow himself to give Asmodeus that satisfaction. He would remain strong and certain in his faith. "How nice," Asmodeus laughed, "he bows to me already!" The other demons joined in with the laughter of their leader.

"Never!" Haralt hissed, forcing himself to his feet. Wobbling slightly, and body sticky with demonic fluid that he knew was fighting to corrupt him. He felt it burning into his skin, spreading to try to encompass him, curling like fingers around the base of his rigid cock.

Haralt's eyes scanned about, trying to take stock of the situation. Stephaniel was still being held captive by the demonic stag, a long pink penis poking in between his legs. He'd been crying; Haralt quickly determined that Stephaniel would probably be corrupted quite easily.

"And what makes you think that?" Asmodeus asked. Giving a small gesture to his thrall, who stepped forward, lowering Stephaniel onto the ground right in front of Haralt. "Because he's afraid of what would happen? Because he, secretly finds it all arousing, perhaps?"

Haralt's eyes lowered towards the young man's genitals. It wasn't hard to miss the young man's arousal, as he had been blessed with a rather large endowment. "Fight it, Stephaniel!" Haralt insisted, whispering through gritted teeth, "Be strong in your faith!"

"Is that the same faith," Asmodeus inquired, seemingly able to hear everything Haralt not only said, but thought, "that allowed you to be filled you with lust for young men like him, only to make it a horrible sin? What kind of ghastly religion is it that makes you turn against your own nature."

"We all have our own demons!" Haralt shouted. "Our faith gives us the strength to fight them!"

"Is that why you're here?" asked Asmodeus. "To fight the demons? I didn't observe you doing much of the fighting. There was the man whom one of our shepherds welcomed into our flock, and the fighting prowess of the other impressed my general so much that he just had to have him all for his own." At this announcement, Orobas stepped forward, prostrating himself in front of Asmodeus, then turning around, raising his equine tail as his thick cock smacked into its chest. "That fighting spirit is considered highly, as is their insatiable lust. Imagine being free to indulge yourself in that way."

"Fight it!" Haralt warned Stephaniel, his eyes going over the young man's shoulders. His mind was spinning: he had to think of a way out of this. "Then I will save Stephaniel," he thought, imagining the two of them fleeing together, returning to the untainted land and hiding. How grateful would Stephaniel be then, as they huddled together for warmth, their bodies naked, hearts pounding as Stephaniel looked into his eyes as he wiped the tears away.

Snarling angrily, Haralt tried to banish the thoughts from his head, of a grateful Stephaniel caressing his body and servicing its needs. He felt his muscles tense up, his erection dripping as it proudly expanded even further. Veins thickened on its surface as the head pushed higher and higher. Small blisters started appearing around the tip; the warm air caressing its soft, tender flesh.

"My, my," Asmodeus observed, "what an imagination you have! No wonder they chose you to come. One perverted creature to fight another!"

Haralt snarled again, feeling his face flush. His head seemed to pound, throbbing as a tingling itchiness seemed to be sprinkled over his skin. He reached out, intending to take Stephaniel by the hand, to join the forces of their prayers. The young man, however, flinched, his own face red.

"You don't think I wouldn't share your thoughts about this young man with him?" Asmodeus chuckled. "How deluded your faith has made you! Of course he doesn't want you in that way, submitting to your desires. Rather hypocritical of him to shrink from one demon, only to fall into the hands of another."

"I am not a demon!" Haralt insisted, curling the offered hand into a fist. He looked at Stephaniel, his eyes seeming to glow, flecks of red infecting the irises. A wave of short, golden fur, began to cover the outside of the fist. Lengthening fingernails dug into his hands.

"Oh, but you are!" Asmodeus laughed. Haralt turned, his aggravation turning to anger. The demon seemed to amused by everything, as though they were merely toys to play with. Sexual toys, Haralt noticed, for Asmodeus' large jet cock throbbed, the demon stroking his erection slowly, like some rich, perverted merchant visiting the local brothel, so miserly that he wanted to get his money's worth from the women or men whose bodies he had purchased for the evening.

"Does he not know who I am?" Haralt thought, unaware that he was speaking aloud. Fur bristled, spreading over his body, which strengthened with each step he took towards the arrogant, black demon. Firm muscles bulged, visible through the skin even has the blanket of golden hair thickened, covering his body. Lighter fur spread across his broadening chest, pectorals and abdominals twitching as he readied his body for some action.

"And who, exactly, are you?" Asmodeus wondered, beckoning him closer.

"I am a proud servant of -" Haralt began, the words sticking in his throat. The blood in his face that made him blush drained, turning to look at the thick golden hide that had grown unnaturally quick over his body. Turning his hands over, he inspected the large, feline claws that curled out of the fingertips. "No!" he moaned in horror.

"You've spent so much time fighting who you were," Asmodeus laughed, the mirth cutting into Haralt as sharply as any blade. "You never really realised how much of a demon you were. Your arrogance blinded you to your own faults, while making you supremely critical of others."

Haralt's nostrils flared, hands reaching up to carefully touch his face. His features were changing, the flaring nostrils lying flatter than they should, a short but noticeable muzzle jutting out from his head. Feline whiskers twitched at the borders of his vision. Running his hands over his head, he felt the long, thick hair that had spread all around him, bristling from his face like a beard. Not even his ears seemed untouched, pointing out from the mess of hair like two demonic horns. "No!" he moaned again, looking down at his long, thick shaft, the tip covered with fleshy barbs, the base surrounded by a thick ring of furry skin that spread around his testes, which throbbed full and ready to use. The hunger to satisfy them grew, like two large cats - lions, like him, he realised to another slice of ice-cold horror - prowling around him, waiting for those first cracks in his mental armour to open up further.

"Imagine how much better it would be," Asmodeus proposed, "to serve a master who would cherish those qualities of yours? Those desires? To strengthen them, to elevate you higher than you could ever be as just a mortal human being? Imagine, being worthy of all the pride and arrogance you have held yourself up with!"

"I-" Haralt stammered, his eyes meeting Asmodeus'. He moaned, the demon seemingly able to pleasure him from anywhere. "I'm not..." He tried to start again, and faltered again. Pulling his eyes from the demon's fiery gaze that set his loins alight, he let his vision roam across the black features of the demon's lord and master.

Being a member of the faith had given Haralt ample opportunity to admire the skilled works of art that had been commissioned. None, he found himself thinking, had looked as beautiful as the demon's face. In spite of - or perhaps, because of - the four horns, two curling around the sides of his head, two thrusting up into the air, his features seemed even more finely-carved than the masters of sculpting could ever hope to achieve. The fiery red eyes glowed, like embers glowing on a bed of coals. They drew your attention towards them, even though his nose was perfect and his bearded jaw was strong and square.

Eyes wandering down from Asmodeus' head, Haralt marvelled at how the spikes on his shoulders and elbows created a nice frame for his physique. Especially with his arms crossing, which they seemed to do as he admired them. His perfect pectorals, visible, but not overly bulky, filled the top half of that muscular frame. The lower half contained the top of his taut abdomen, criminally concealed by his arms. His legs, too, were firm and lean, ending in hooves that seemed to shine with an unearthly power.

That only left Haralt to admire one more thing: the huge, throbbing cock, spiked tip gleaming welcomingly at him as he approached. Asmodeus broke the frame Haralt had been admiring so much, grasping on to the shaft as he leaned forward. The red-hot demonic seed trickled down its enormous length. Normally Haralt might have been moved to shed a few tears admiring such divine beauty. Instead, he licked his leonine lips, his arousal drawing thicker, orange-red fur out from underneath his mane, across his shoulders, down the back of his arms and around his lower legs. "If ever a god were to walk on earth," he thought, "my - this demon would certainly be close to capturing his beauty."

"And who is to say I'm not a god?" Asmodeus suggested, holding out his arms wide to either seduce Haralt further, or welcome him to come closer. Haralt snarled, feeling the fluffy tuft of his tail swing lower as it grew from him. "Who is to say, to the men out there, you, my magnificent creation, would not be almost one yourself? Wouldn't you deserve it, for having paid your penance in false modesty and sacrifice, to be allowed to spread the seed of your Lord and Master across the land?"

Haralt heard Stephaniel sobbing something, but he didn't hear it. He chose not to. Asmodeus' cock loomed large in Haralt's eyes, saliva dripping from his rough tongue. His face contorted, a lusty grin spreading across his short leonine muzzle. Touching the tongue to the tantalising tip, he felt a surge of electricity that he had never experienced before. His mouth opened, enveloping the tip and letting his tongue be doused in Asmodeus' juices.

Ever since he had found out about his feelings for other men, Haralt had forced those impure thoughts down. Fantasies and emotions after a lifetime of repression. While his pride had already corrupted him, it was this repression that sealed his fate. The single taste sent him into a frenzy, rubbing his newly-strengthened body and aroused cock against the large shaft of Asmodeus, grinding and panting as he tried to do all of the things he had only dared to dream about before.

Caressing the cock felt so natural to Haralt. He'd forgotten how much he'd seen this scenario in his dreams, and this was the best. This cock was so perfect. Asmodeus was perfect. The taste of the fluid pouring, hot, heavy and strong; he'd never been able to experience it ever in the past, and this was the epitome of that experience. He couldn't get enough of it, the fluid flowing through him, leaving his own cock dripping heavily.

"Dare I need to ask if you submit yourself to my will?" Asmodeus' voice rang in his head.

"You have but to ask," Haralt replied, "my master."

"Excellent," Asmodeus replied, noting, "but how far the mighty have fallen! Allow me to elevate you" His hands reached around Haralt, raising his newly-pledged demon-to-be up into the air. Haralt had seen this in his mind countless times, and let his body relax to prepare for the long shaft to penetrate his body.

"Accept my cock," Asmodeus proclaimed, "and be reborn! Heylel!" At that moment, Asmodeus' cock met with the lion-man's tight, pink sphincter, which stretched around it.

It only took one thrust. Heylel moaned in ecstasy, eyes rolling around in his head as his ass stretched to accommodate Asmodeus' girth. His cock trembled, the last dregs of his old humanity spilling out of him. The thick fluid drew the attention of the curious other demons; he could feel their thoughts sharing in his arousal, each of them subconsciously stroking themselves as he was welcomed into their fold, a proud sexual demon, and one of their leaders.

The orgasm was unlike any other, as Heylel's corrupted body continued to spill out his human essence, gradually intermingling with the far stronger, more compelling demonic seed that washed out the remnants of Haralt the man. His roars echoed loudly across the demon lands, luxuriating both in the almost continual throbbing, electrical pulses of orgasm that shuddered through his body. Asmodeus' cock thrust deeply inside him, filling him up in a way that sated decades of want.

Finally, after what felt like to Heylel both like an eternity and so brief a moment in time that his body ached for it to last longer, Asmodeus came. Not just the continual flow of demonic seed that his body easily produced, but the full-strength rush that he reserved for converting only the highest-tier of his servants, the generals to his king, the kings to his godhood.

Basking in pure ecstasy, Heylel heard his master speak directly with his mind, twisting him around on his shaft so their eyes could gaze at each other. "Heylel, I have a great task to ask of you, my most faithful agent."

Heylel understood immediately: a long-term trap requiring great sacrifice on his part. He would be cut off from his fellow demons, forced into the position of a chaste acolyte of a false god. He would return, claiming his soul pure but his body corrupted. A special weapon, he would say, had been recovered, returning it to the foolish humans. Demonstrating it upon himself, he would fake an injury, lying that the demon seed he had spilled was from his wounds. Once he had started the corruption of the church, they would spread the lies, the kings sending an eager wave of soldiers armed with the weapons they would believe would defend them. Asmodeus would welcome them with open arms, and an orgy the likes of which had not been seen in the world for some time would commence.

The mere thought of it, the ages of longing and the final glorious crushing of the will to resist, caused Heylel to become aroused. His eyes quickly wandered to the human, still being held. Still pure and uncorrupted. Licking his lips hungrily, he turned towards Asmodeus.

"It seems Orobas was right," Asmodeus chuckled. "I'm glad I saved him for you."

Heylel's ass contracted with a wet smack as Asmodeus lifted him off of his cock, settling him down on the ground again. He turned, admiring his master's handiwork. Mammon's forked tongue flickered, his hands wandering down his gloriously golden torso as his shaft was pleasured by one of his reptilian creations. Sathanus' brutish form, ramming into the ass of an excited train of large, muscular demons, made him anticipate wondrous pleasures of a wild rut.

For now, though, Heylel's attentions were on the poor, weak human, one that even his completely new form still remembered with the potent pull of lust from the old one it had cannibalised. Nodding at Dantalion, who released his captive, he watched as Stephaniel crawled up towards him, trying to plead with him as though Haralt still existed.

"Haralt," Stephaniel begged, "please! I know you can fight this, I know-"

Using his clawed fingers to gently close the young man's mouth, Heylel spoke, his hands sliding over the youthful muscles, massaging him as toyed with him, slowly working towards the human's penis. "You have been very brave. You have no need to fear me. My faith is strong. Share in it, use it to strengthen you, as well."

Through Stephaniel's body, he could feel the trembling: nervousness, suspicion, but with a desperation to escape unscathed. Heylel wasn't interested in promising the latter, but something close enough. Moving his hands away at the last possible second, he instead grabbed Stephaniel's hands, pulling them into a position of prayer, their foreheads touching.

That's when Heylel leaned in, and kissed. He knew exactly what to do, exactly what Stephaniel would be most susceptible to. The young man, so scared and vulnerable, just wanted reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Through his lips, he felt at first surprise, then the lips trembled, opening on their own. Heylel obliged, sliding his tongue into Stephaniel's mouth.

"There we are," Heylel thought towards Stephaniel, hands gently wrapping into a hug around his body. Lifting him off the ground, and onto his body as they rolled backwards. Heylel thrust his cock up, enjoying the feeling of it sliding against Stephaniel's chest, streaking it with hot fluids. His hands worked down, cupping the human's buttocks in his hands, gently massaging them.

Heylel waited, letting his corrupting seed start to do its work. It did not take long, feeling Stephaniel's shaft grow in between their writhing bodies. Stephaniel's hands ran through his luxurious mane, cradling his head, the fingers curling slowly into talons. His own hands started to feel the prickling of the fur spreading over Stephaniel's body: he saw it in his head, the purest of white, never tainted by dirt, sweat or blood. Their lips parted, and Heylel stared into the lusting, red eyes of his spawn; the new demon's taint would remain hidden.

Sitting up, Stephaniel's taloned hands slipped languidly over Heylel's leonine body. "You're so strong!" he observed, trembling hands tracing around the firm, beautiful muscles of the lion-man.

"It's because of my faith in our master," Heylel answered, "and I know you share it too, so I will gift you the same strength." His mind conjured it, and his corrupting influence made it so. Stephaniel panted, his hairy skin growing tighter as muscles blossomed into full bloom underneath. Heylel had an eye for perfection, and Stephaniel quickly became a match for any Adonis.

Stephaniel's lips parted, moaning continually. His talons tightened, scratching against Heylel's impervious body as his lips spread apart. The corruption had arrived in his head; the fur there had an almost downy appearance to it, and from the lips grew Stephaniel's merged teeth, shape flowing gently into the proud beak of an eagle.

While Stephaniel's talons wrapped around their cocks, Stephaniel's slowly growing into the twin of Heylel's, Heylel thrust upwards, pumping into Stephaniel's grip as their fluids mingled together. The seed lubricated the firm, loving strokes Stephaniel performed, his expanding beak opening to allow his tongue to pleasure the tip of his creator.

Seeing Stephaniel's back curling forward, Heylel thrust up again, using both body and mind. Stephaniel moaned in response, two thick knots of bone and flesh beginning to grow, distorting the toned muscles of his shoulders. As the swelled, Heylel continued to add to his creation, twisting his body and mind as he built a completely new creation from the human base.

Sliding his paws up Stephaniel's firm thighs, Heylel curled his back off of the ground, their gaze meeting. Stephaniel nodded in understanding sliding to stand up as Heylel's tongue dripped with saliva, hanging out of his mouth in anticipation. Shifting his short tail out of the way, Stephaniel lowered himself on to all fours before Heylel and slowly backed up, inching his thin, firm buttocks closer to the lion-demon's waiting hands.

Seizing his spawn's rump firmly, Heylel extended his claws to dig satisfyingly into the thick, hairy hide in front of them, gently pulling them apart to allow him to stare at the tight, pale pink, puckered ring. His muzzle slipped forward, tongue extending, as he slathered it with saliva. Starting out with soft, almost glancing licks, Heylel firmed up his tongue as he slowly worked it inside Stephaniel's hole, which opened up for him.

Feeling Stephaniel's tail inching across the top of his head, Heylel shoved his face in as far as it could go, spearing the hole in front of him with his long, rough tongue. Being careful with his claws, he slid his right thumb in, pushing it around inside as he ensured Stephaniel's body would enjoy the sensation.

"Please, master" Stephaniel begged Asmodeus, using the demonic link to communicate with him instinctively "make him use me, corrupt me. I can't stand waiting any more!"

"An interesting take," Asmodeus mused to Heylel alone. "No aggression, just insistence and welcoming service until they are totally in your thrall, begging to be taken by you. Are you ready to complete his damnation?"

"I aim to please," Heylel replied cryptically. Keeping his thumb rubbing up against Stephaniel's prostate, Heylel stood up carefully. As soon as his thumb slipped out, the barbed tip of his shaft was waiting, his eyes watching as the ring flexed and twitched, hungry for his shaft. "You need but say the word, and you will receive this great gift. It will hurt, but the great things do not come without sacrifice. Through this baptism, you will be reborn."

"Yes, please," Stephaniel answered, practically ramming backwards.

"Then be reborn," Heylel announced, thrusting his spiky cock head into the waiting pink anus, "as Luxoriant"

Luxoriant's ass was slippery and loosened from Heylel's attention, so his cock met with little resistance. He snarled, thrusting forward, luxuriating in the tight feeling of Luxoriant's hot innards closing around his cock. As his barbs dug in, Luxoriant let out a roar of triumph.

Suddenly the large, squirming bulges on Luxoriant's back opened, gigantic eagle wings unfurling. Heylel's hands grabbed onto Luxoriant's waist, to help him thrust deeper and to keep him from being knocked back by the massive draft coming from the wings. The long scars from where his skin had split to release the slowly-growing wings quickly healed, vanishing completely in just a few moments.

Letting the arousal from the demons watching their display flow through his body and Luxoriant's, Heylel allowed himself to be carried along by the wave of lust. Mammon, Sathanus, Asmodeus and all of their underlings, each of them feeding off of the pleasure of the others. Looking around, he took in all manner of beastly forms, cavorting in an orgy watched over by their shared master.

Shuddering, Heylel unleashed the full thickness of his corrupted seed, balls twitching as they released their demonic essence deep into Luxoriant's body. Had he been a mortal, Luxoriant's insides would have been torn to shreds; but the impenetrability of the demons went even to their most tender parts.

"Thank you," Luxoriant shrieked. Heylel felt his spawn ejaculate, smelled his demonic juices firing out of his shaft onto the ground. Pulling out, he felt his cock continue to pump; dutifully, Luxoriant turned over to sit, shaft still twitching as the demonic seed flowed across his chest from his own penis. Cradling Heylel's testes in his hands, Luxoriant's beak opened, tongue sliding across the surface of the shaft to clean it off.

Now free to do what their impulses pulled them towards, Heylel and Luxoriant engaged in the wider orgy going on around them. Many of the demons clamoured for Heylel's attention, wanting to feel the same rapture as Luxoriant had; Luxoriant joined Orobas and his nightmare spawn in offering their bodies to Asmodeus, a sign of their dedication to the service of their new master.

Heylel enjoyed himself immensely. After siring Luxoriant, he quickly zoned in on Sathanus. Sathanus did not disappoint: he was as rough and thuggish as he appeared, fucking Heylel's ass mercilessly until he could barely stand. Not to be outdone, he tackled the large bull-rhino-demon, luring him into a false victory before - to a great chorus of lust-filled laughter from Sathanus' army - he grabbed the bull by the horns, forcing his long, leonine length into Sathanus' mouth.

He next spend time with Mammon. The golden snake-demon was rough in another way: he was far more refined than Sathanus, but he had a viciousness, and his venom made for some enjoyable bondage and delayed, prolonged pleasure.

Frolicking amongst the demons, he eventually found himself back, prostrate in front of a curious Asmodeus. Honouring Heylel immensely, he offered him his firm, black-skinned ass to pleasure with his tongue. Heylel performed his duty well, only too pleased to giving his master a taste of the same pleasures that he had allowed Heylel to feel. Not just Asmodeus' ass was pleasured by Heylel's tongue; the beautiful demonic body that Heylel had worshipped was bathed by his eager, untiring mouth.

The demonic orgy continued for weeks. Each and every pairing, triplet or otherwise cavorted together in some capacity. Demonic seed flowed freely, soaking into the soil. Around the edges of the demonic area, manhood-shaped mushrooms burst from the ground. Heaving erect like the genitals they resembled, they immediately began to pump a spray of corrupting fog into the air, thickening it. Trees began to twist without the wind, bark snapping as the limbs reset, leaves dripping with demonic essence.

Men wandering or hunting nearby felt a strange pull, as the demonic essence curled invisibly through the air, ensnaring them into approaching, only to land into the eager hands of the growing demonic horde.

Eventually, however, it was time. Bidding farewell, Heylel and Luxoriant departed together, draped in the illusion of modesty: false robes, angelic blue eyes, and a peaceful countenance, all conjured by demonic magic. Conjuring up an impressive staff, topped with an orb of solid demonic fluid, Heylel set off once again on a trek to conquer the enemies of those he served faithfully.