FSE

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"Bring that back!" The goat demon roars.

Charging through the trees, branches whip at your face and scratch over your arms, leaving stinging welts.

You had hoped to lose him in the forest, but to your surprise, he stays hot on your heels; neither the uneven terrain nor the dense foliage slows him down.

He's faster and nimbler than he looks, and you can feel the vibration of his cloven hooves thundering over the earth through the balls of your bare feet.

You nearly trip freeing a throwing knife from the holster strapped to your thigh and pitch it behind you. A peacock tail of golden sparks bursts through the air as he swats it from its trajectory with a hand armed with gleaming, golden scythes.

Frozen filet of fuck, he could gut you like a fish with those. And here in the woods, they hack through the timber like freshly-sharpened machetes. He holds every advantage and all you have on your side is the ten paces between you and the furious Baphomet.

This wasn't your brightest idea- it is but one of many half-cocked plans for a big score, if you were being honest. But the tip you followed up on was good; grand, in fact. You managed to swipe an extremely valuable Item off of this guy when his guard was down.

Needless to say, the theft did not go unnoticed and he was on your ass immediately.

The demon tailing you is a heteromorph, and judging by the unlockable steampunk mask, the cape of crushed velvet and weaponized gloves literally worth your weight in gold, he is a much higher level than you. As a mere human thief, you were both outclassed and outmuscled; but the Item he possessed was too great a temptation for you to pass up.

Mama needs a new pair of shoes, so you have to at least try, right?

You clear a drying creek bed, and grimace as sharp stones along the bank bite into your bare toes on impact. Shoes are a luxury you have yet to afford. The money the demon had given you for the flower a few months ago presented a choice between light abdominal armor or high-grade foot protection, and after being grazed by an arrow last month, it was no contest. While the black and scarlet banded mail stands no chance against him, it's better than nothing.

Not to mention the throwing knives he provided you with are a godsend. They are much more accurate than a spear, and more lightweight. They allowed you to truly hone your class skills as a thief.

{River of Hellfire!}

The earth trembles and veins with cracks which then split into a gaping maw no less than five yards ahead of you. A tide of magma spews forth, turning your path into an impenetrable river of fire. You slam on the brakes and try to gasp but the wave of heat it radiates steals the breath from your lungs and sucks all of the oxygen out of the air.

His cataclysmic power has you momentarily frozen in awe; an attack of this magnitude means he is more than a simple player- he must be of the Adamantite class or perhaps a high-ranking Guild member.

Fuck. You've definitely bitten off more than you can chew.

If you make it out of this alive, you expect no less than multiple broken bones and third-degree burns.

Your brain finally flips back on and you leap straight up to grapple the nearest tree branch in hopes that he isn't as arboreally adept as you. As you begin to haul yourself up out of his reach, gilded claws slice through the barrel-thick limb like paper, sending your heart plummeting to the earth with it.

"Ow!" You crash atop of hard horns and your fingers hook into the velvet of his cape as you tumble over him- both the demon and you collapse in a tangled heap of thrashing limbs.

"Cerberus' bloody knot!" You both snarl in unison. His eye of molten gold locks with yours, and a moment of buttery-thick tension passes before laughter erupts between you.

There is only one player besides yourself who spouts such obscene curses.

"Wait... do you know Pero?" He smiles, flashing a muzzle full of ivory fangs.

"The perverted peacock? Yes, I do." You laugh, and when he snorts in return you breathe a sigh of relief as some of the ice in his veins thaws.

You and Pero, short for Peroroncino, had met a few months ago in a local tavern, and you drink with him every weekend. Your friendship with the Avian heteromorph bloomed instantaneously- mainly because you both share a twisted sense of humor. Getting drunk with him and trading stories quickly became a favorite past time.

"Well, this is... awkward. I met up with him last night at the tavern and he told me there was a grey goat carrying a World Item, and he dared me to take him- well, you, on." You admit, and carefully crawl backwards so you don't knee him in the groin by accident.

The heteromorph lets out a sigh of exasperation, and his jaw clenches as he wriggles out from under you, and your lungs can once again fully expand now that his knee is no longer digging into your stomach. "I'm going to set him on fire. I suppose he thought this would be... amusing?"

"Well... it sort of is?" Chuckling, you shuffle further backwards to let him up. Next to your hand lies his black beau hat, which you pick up and brush off. There's a steampunk clock rimmed in white gold affixed to the red band around its circumference, and you buff its face with the tail of your shirt before passing it to him. "But he's an ass for setting us up like this. Someone could have gotten hurt."

"Indeed, someone could have." He agrees, and secures his hat between his wickedly curved horns.

He is being polite- if anyone would have been hurt here, it definitely would have been you. The chances of you even scuffing him are zero to none.

He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt, and your eyes furtively travel up his digitigrade legs as he rises to his full height, up to his narrow waist. Your gaze lingers on how the material of his double-placket shirt stretches across the impressive breadth of his chest, putting a visible strain on the silver buttons that are aligned to the far right.

He is built like an ox, and he towers over you. Not to mention his caprine features are alluringly gruff.

"Are you alright?" The goat demon asks as he dusts himself off. For the first time, you notice a large, red rose pinned to his shoulder. You wonder if it bears some sort of symbolism. Maybe he's a romantic of sorts?

"Y-yes, thank you." The heat of a blush creeps up your neck.

"I'm Ulbert. Ulbert Alain Odle." He introduces himself, and extends his forearm to help you up.

You tell him your name and take his arm, secretly admiring the muscle tone tensing beneath your fingers and the deadly blades arming his hand as he gently pulls you to your feet.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," He says with a courteous bow at the waist, and your name rolls off his tongue like quicksilver, so sinfully smooth.

Okay. He's actually a nice guy and ridiculously attractive in a deadly, suave, Satanic Goat way. Which isn't fair, because you really wanted to keep this item and now you will feel like a bastard if you don't return it to him.

You may be a thief, but you aren't a total jerk.

After you regain steady footing, your hand dives into your cleavage for the Item you tucked away, and his brassy eye widens to comical proportions.

"Well? Where else could I put it?" Laughing, you pull the dagger free and hand it over to the dumbstruck demon. Welded to the handle are two fang-baring serpents of remarkable craftsmanship coiling around an inverted pentacle of pure silver. Pea-sized rubies crown each of the star's five points. Carved into the blade are ancient runes in the Fallen One's tongue which you think translates to 'Dagon'.

"A thief can't carry a bag. We have to stay light on our feet in case we get caught in the act."

This wasn't completely true. You have no bag because literally everything in your inventory is on your person. To say you live... minimally in the game, as well as in real life is an understatement. And the reason for that is because you really aren't very good at Yggdrasil. All of your Experience Points have been gained by hunting or gathering, and killing a handful of enemies in self-defense.

You weren't much of a gamer- you only have the dive gear because you inherited it after your sister went off to college and would have no time to play. But that isn't to say you don't enjoy the escapism it provides. It allows you to be the wild child at heart that you truly are.

"Fair enough," Ulbert grins, and tucks the blade into his belt. "and thank you for giving it back, as I'm rather attached to this one. I must admit, no one has been daring enough to steal anything from me before."

"No one has been crazy enough, you mean." You counter with a cock of your head, and he chortles. "But seriously, I'm sorry for swiping it. I wouldn't have targeted you if I knew you were a part of Pero's guild."

"No offense taken- it isn't your fault that he conveniently left out that vital piece of information when he sent you on a suicide mission."

"Right? But... why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" You couldn't help but ask. He had every opportunity to stop you dead in your tracks, but he didn't.

"I may look like the Devil, but I'm not a heartless monster." He says with a shrug. "You only have light armor, no shoes, no horse and are stealing from players that are 50 levels your elder. You aren't stealing because you want to, but because you have to."

Damn. He is perceptive as all Hell.

"I take it the other players haven't been so kind, nor observant?" He surmises, and you sheepishly nod.

"Yeah... they, uh... tend to shoot first, and ask questions never. Pero was one of the first to show me a shred of decency."

Ulbert crosses his arms and casually leans against the trunk of the tree. "Then perhaps you will allow me to as well? Feel free to decline if this seems a bit too forward, but I would very much like to buy you a drink to bury the hatchet."

The flush of your neck rushes to your face to light your cheeks on fire.

Oh. Oh, gods. Is he seriously asking you out?

You favor him with a coy smile, then shyly tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "I... I think I'd like that, actually."

His nostrils then flare like a predator who has caught the scent of blood on the wind, and your heart flutters with a forbidden thrill.

It looks like Pero was setting you up... in more ways than one.

---

"You could have gotten her killed, you know." Ulbert chides his guild mate before sliding off his bladed glove so he can safely cradle the delicate shot glass which bears a relief of the guild symbol of Nine's Own Goal.

"You wouldn't have hurt her. She's too pretty!" Pero waves him off. "And don't you dare tell me she isn't your type. She has a collection of animal skulls and can adequately translate the Fallen One's tongue. Surely that is something you of all people can appreciate, Dr. Evil."

The Goat of Great Disaster snorts with a light shake of his head.

"I never said she wasn't my type. But I do think you need to use more caution when playing matchmaker. You know she was only wearing light armor and no shoes?" Ulbert points out. "My mildest attack wouldn't have simply scorched her- it would have incinerated her."

"Duh! That's why you should be her sugar daddy; buy her some heels and something that can withstand some real damage." Pero suggests and holds out his glass so Sous chef can pour him another shot of blood wine.

It is nearly midnight, and Ulbert and Peroroncino have reserved the bar for an hour so they can privately discuss the reasoning behind Pero's little stunt.

"Do I look like a sugar Daddy?"

"You're telling me that_isn't_the steampunk version of a pimp hat?" Pero deadpans, nodding to Ulbert's beau, and Ulbert face-palms, yet is helpless to stop himself from grinning. "Come on. If she agreed to have a drink with you, she likes you. Hell,_I like her._If she wasn't so damned perfect for you, I would have asked her out myself."

"What do I do if she doesn't want to be my girlfriend and she only accepted my invitation because she was being polite?" Ulbert cannot help but to mull over the worst-case scenario. He is inherently pessimistic when it comes to romantic relationships, in real life or otherwise. Ulbert was deemed 'the quiet weird kid' in high school, and girls avoided him like the plague. Only a handful of times did he get lucky and manage to land a date, but not once was he given a second chance.

"Ulbert- she prefers heteromorphs. I know that for a fact. Oh, the conversations we've had..." Pero snickers and perilously leans back in his bar chair with a suggestive quirk of his brow. Ulbert simply rolls his eyes, as he can only imagine what filthy things the Avian heteromorph must have uttered to her. "Trust me, she's into you."

"I suppose we'll see, then." Ulbert deflects and sips his drink, which rings clear as a bell over his tongue with the coppery-sweet finish of blood.

Pero tosses back his next shot and rights his chair. "If our guild didn't allow only heteromorphs, I'd invite her to join us. But I don't think Momonga would be too keen on it."

"Unfortunately, you are probably right. But I would still like to show her my portion of the Tomb." Ulbert says, drumming his talons on the table.

Pero cocks his head in his bird-like fashion, contemplating, and the dim lighting of the bar reflects neon purple and electric blue over the Avian's golden mask. "You could always portal into the Burning Temple. If she hasn't seen the rest of the Tomb or even the outside of it, it doesn't really pose much of a security risk. She's like, what? A level 30 human? It would be about as dangerous as letting in a kitten."

"You would not tell Momonga about her?"

"No. As long as you don't tell him about my stash of mags that I hid in the Treasury."

"As I told you once already, I would prefer to pretend I never stumbled upon "Jewels and Jugs." It still blows Ulbert's mind that Pero possesses magazines for such purposes in the digital age.

"At least Pandora's Actor has some reading material now." Pero shrugs, then ruffles his pearly feathers. "The articles are great."

---

Pandora's actor lounges upon a mountain of assorted gold that shimmers and winks like a galaxy's trove of glittering stars. Flawless in their dexterity, his spindly fingers flip and then catch an embossed coin, minted in the Royal Capital. He takes a moment to examine it; the bust of what he believes to be a war horse with a shortly-cropped mane on its surface glares back at him. A laurel wreath frames a phrase below its muscular neck which is written in a language he is not familiar with.

_'So serious!'_He wonders who the money's designer was, and why they did not choose something more grand to represent their region. A fierce lion! The blaring sun! So many options, and yet they settled upon a pouty pony? How disappointing.

Still, despite its decorative shortcomings, the Greater Doppelganger has taken great care to shine this fine specimen of craftsmanship and polish each groove to its former glory, so it may be fit to join the rest of his processed currency.

Only the height of perfection may be presented to Lord Momonga for use- anything less is unworthy- _nein,_an insult.

He hopes his Creator will come visit him again soon; it feels as though it has been ages since he was last graced by his Lord's presence. The Treasury is his home, his kingdom, and while there is nowhere else he would rather be, there are times in which its solitude inevitably gnaws at him.

Until then, he is a soldier awaiting his Kommandant's orders.

With another toss, he allows the coin to fall, and watches as it lands perfectly on its rim and rolls, bounces, then rolls again down the hoard of treasure, making a beeline for a jewel-encrusted chest, crafted from varnished red oak. It circles, round and round, before falling on to its face.

"Ah, ein traveler!" He calls out to it. "Is this where you wish to be?"

Pandora's Actor rises and then surfs down the mountain of gold, his shiny black military boots sending coins flying from his heels like sparks. He lands on his feet and straightens his uniform, then strides to the trunk.

The Greater Doppelganger crouches, settling onto his haunches before picking up the coin in one hand and flicking open the brass latches to the lid with the other.

"Oh?" The coins and bars of raw platinum within have been arranged to one side to make room for what appears to be a stack of glossy-covered booklets. "What is this?"

They are unlike anything he has ever seen. The covers are shiny and quite flimsy compared to the leather-bound volumes lining the shelves of Ashurbanipal. Out of curiosity, he lifts one out to examine the title.

_ " s" _ is spelled out in slashing red letters across a black background of scattered rubies, diamonds and emeralds.

Ah, it must be about precious stones and vessels of containment! What an odd combination of subjects for reading!

With his interest piqued, Pandora's Actor turns the cover to the first page, and sees ... Oh.

"Wie shön!"

It is like a painting- but so much clearer; he can count her dusting of freckles, and see, or sense, rather, the softness of each lock of hair. A vision on paper, if anything, he would say.

This must be some form of magic, one of which only the Supreme Ones could hope to achieve!

He beholds a lovely sky-clad lady, who is most tastefully posed- she kneels upon a shield bearing what appears to be a platinum oak tree relief. Multiple strands of black and purple pearls strategically draped around her neck hide her... ahem, more scandalous features as she glances back at him.

His heart skips a beat within his chest as he seemingly locks eyes with her. She is somehow real, and yet she is not. It is as though he holds in his hands a moment frozen in time.

How remarkable!

Pandora's Actor drinks her in; small horns jut from her wild mane of rose red and winterberry blue curls which freely tumble down her back in a dazzling array of color, and her eyes are that of a serpent's- poisonous green with chartreuse flecks and piercing vertical pupils, but there is a whimsical gleam in them that tells him she wears her heart on her proverbial sleeve.

His hollow eyes trace the graceful line of the curvature of her spine as it extends into a long, reptilian tail which curls around her shapely rear.

Blue scales decorate her soft features in a pleasingly asymmetrical pattern, and her full, pink lips are curved in a salacious and knowing smile.

She is curvy, playful... stunning.

Below her image, he reads what he hopes to be her name, Holly Leonhardt, Miss Midgard.

"Na Hallöchen, Holly, meine blauschuppige Schönheit." He purrs, and loves how her name rolls off of his tongue so fluidly as he gently draws a finger over her cheek.

---

Ulbert stands on the edge of the sea of bubbling magma, watching his girlfriend's slender form as she races over the brimstone with an excited little yip, all the while pondering that he has never seen a sight more appetizing.

Before they had portaled into the Tomb that morning, she had taken his advice and slipped on what she referred to as her "airy" outfit for staying cool in the warmer parts of the continent; a black silk wrap embroidered with a gold liana pattern is fastened around her sweetly rounded hips in a makeshift skirt, and a charcoal and scarlet corset top which flatters her hourglass figure, as well as her cleavage. Her hair tumbles down her shoulders in brassy waves, and its luster is complimented by her mauve lipstick. Strapped to her thigh is a glittering row of her throwing knives, which she has proven to be remarkably accurate with; last week he watched her kill a moving target -a Midgardian mountain hare- from eighty feet away.

"If I want to eat, I can't miss." She had told him, and proceeded to skin and gut the animal with practiced efficiency. She even seasoned it with dried garlic and rosemary and roasted it for them over an open fire with a side of wild mushrooms which she had collected the day beforehand. It was the first time a girl had ever cooked for him. "I never let anything go to waste, because I don't know when my next meal will be."

Growing up poor as Ulbert had, truer words have never been spoken.

"Gods below," He mutters to himself with a fanged smile, admiring the view. "How did Pero not play his hand with her when he had the chance?"

Her chirps of excitement drift back to him. "You live here?!"

She reaches the magma's sizzling edge and is dangerously close to letting it scorch her bare toes while she marvels at the volcanic landscape littered with the ruins of alabaster pillars and statues of Grecian likeness.

He advised that she wear shoes in addition to something cool, which she was initially opposed to- she is wild at heart and loves to run barefoot in the grasslands- until he revealed they were going somewhere that reaches scathing temperatures. A {firewalker} spell was necessary to prevent her from burning the soles of her delicate little feet on the baked earth.

Ulbert had told her he wanted to steal her away from Midgard and take her somewhere she has never been. Without magic casting abilities or her own horse, she has yet to enjoy the luxury of travelling the map and has only explored one region of Yggdrasil. So, when he casually mentioned bringing her to Nazarick to see the Seventh Floor, she lit up like a kid on Christmas.

He plans on having her fitted for some shoes. Or, better yet, a pair of heels, or boots. She would look exquisite in high-heeled leather boots. He will also ask Malphas to reserve a Bicorn yearling for her, preferably one of Hades' offspring.

Now that she is his, she will have only the finest and never want for anything in this world again.

Glancing up, the Goat of Great Disaster watches the outline of the winged imps wheel overhead, their shape stark against a furious sky of crimson, the clouds glowering with the burnt orange of reflected flame.

It is just after 1pm in the afternoon and the Guild is still deserted. Ulbert is off work today and with the rest of the members in the real world still slaving away their various occupations, he decided to bring her to The Burning Temple to explore his domain.

They will have the next four hours all to themselves.

"This place is amazing!" She gushes, perilously skipping about the islands of stone jutting from the ocean of fire. "Are you seeing this?"

She would be the picture of child-like innocence were it not for that outfit that put her mile-long legs on delicious display.

The scenery which he takes in daily is lost on him as he watches his living treasure revel in it as though it were the eighth wonder of the world.

"Oh, I see it," He purrs, his hourglass pupils shamelessly tracing over her curves.

He watches with heated interest as she bends over to brush a layer of ash from the cranium of a horned skull before picking it up. Her perfectly heart-shaped rear is revealed in a scandalous flash of creamy skin before she straightens her posture, the wrap inching back into place. Casting a sultry glance over her shoulder, she favors him with that coy little smile that never fails to rile his insatiable hunger for her.

"I take it my little piece of Hell is to your liking?" Ulbert smirks in return and saunters towards her, winding his arms around her petite little body and pulling her to him.

His pointed teeth gently nip over the graceful curve of her neck, threatening to snag when he grazes them downward. With the softest of sighs, her head falls back into the little hollow of his shoulder that seems to be molded to perfectly fit her.

After meeting a few weeks ago, he had taken notice of how her eyes would glaze over as they lingered on his face longer than necessary, and how her cheeks flushed so prettily when he would lick his fangs.

Much to his delight, she did not seem turned off by his inhuman features. Quite the opposite, it would seem- just as Pero had promised.

Once he was certain she would say yes, he asked her to be his, and their connection was instantaneous.

Since then, they spent every waking minute they could together, and withheld very few secrets. He was already tempted to try meet her in person, but he didn't dare ask for such a breach of anonymity- not yet, anyway.

"I love it." She smiles and turns her face to look up at him through the dark sweep of her lashes, and then kisses him. A low rumble of pleasure rolls through his chest and he tenderly nibbles on her lower lip.

"You may keep that, if you would like." Ulbert offers. "I can have my subordinates clean and polish it, so it will be fit for display."

"Mmm, keep talking dirty to me." She jests, but he does not miss the way her eyes turn into glittering jewels at the prospect of a new skull to add to her collection. "You have subordinates?"

"I do, indeed." Ulbert replies, brushing his neck over hers, marking her with his scent. "Though I believe 'creations' would be a more befitting description. Would you like to meet my favorite?"

---