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Once more, the force of the Dire and the Radiant were to fight one against another. The armies were massing at the doors, ready for a frontal assault on the fortifications while spearheaded by their champions and heroes.

A futile fight they were nonetheless involved in: such as Balanar, the Night Stalker; Harbinger, the Outworld Destroyer; and Slardar, the Slithereen Guard. Those were those fighting on the Dire's side, their monstrous forms moving as one as they waited on the gate for the first rush... And yet, on the back remained two forms.

One, massive, was known as Lucifer the Doom.

The raging and obnoxious demon was plodding around, his hooves kicking the dirt as he gazed down at his diminutive "friend", Slark, the Nightcrawler. The latter was a Slithereen fugitive, a tasteless escapee whose fish-like face and serrated teeth didn't inspire any pity. Nonetheless, the small creature tried to haggle with one of the shopkeepers sticking by the fort.

"I need this! Do me a price!" the marine creature shouted, his fins protruding from his cowl in anger while pointing at a ring stinking of blood magic and corruption.

But no dice; the frail shopkeeper shook his head and crossed his hands. Inured by the heroes' woes and knowing they couldn't use their weapons on him, he wasn't giving in to the intimidation. Especially as the tiny fish was nothing compared to the otherworldly Doom picking at his exposed teeth out of boredom.

"You won't get what you want, Slark. Give up. Or else we will be late," even added the Demon as he glanced at the entrance.

The others had already departed along their lanes, running amok to get an advance on the opposite side. And if Slark continued, they would lose their edge.

"Give me your gold," retorted the Slithereen escapee, darting his yellow eyes at the three times his size Demon. Demon who huffed back, crossing his arms, too.

"Or no satyr," he added.

The arms remained closed. But those burning eyes opened wider, and the hooves struck the stones. There was a way in it, inside that big red armor, leading to that Demon's heart.

"Fine. But I require two additional rounds," gave in the Demon, extending a hand above the tiny creature. A gold pouch dropped, easily caught, then put on the shopkeeper's counter.

Of course, the human looked in Doom's direction. And Doom looked away, not wanting to face the human's gaze as this was humiliating enough already.

Nevertheless, the added gold was the right amount to make the Shopkeeper give in to the haggle and hand out the ring for a fraction of its price... A small enough fraction to satisfy Slark as he grabbed it, put that ring on and cavorted.

"Hahaha! Yes! It'll be a breeze!"

"Can we go?"

Slark's effusive explosion stopped as his scaly brows lowered. He glanced at the horned Demon and watched those vestigial wings unfurl and close. Oh, he needed it.

Slark smiled all the more, approaching to tap those large armored thighs.

"Fine. Camp or lane first?"

The answer was obviously the same.

Even if caution asked them to establish a strategy, the duo always went for something simple: Lane first, pushing against the tidal waves of enemies and potentially warding off the heroes. It was a mere matter of forcing the Radiant to back off, and the additional output from the Ring's enchantment was enough to give the duo an edge as they fought and pushed back.

However... There was tension in the air, a stress Slark could pick off whenever he looked at his supportive giant Demon. Lucifer might have been an angel before, a creature of beauty... But the creature, whose wings had been burnt and clipped off, was a monster whose ugliness was only equaled by... A thirst.

Even now, as Slark remained behind to take a breather and allowed his teammate an advance, he saw how those remnants of wings flapped and how those thighs were kept close.

"What are you doing?" asked the Demon, his coarse voice stopping the Slithereen's introspection. The ginormous creature glanced over his shoulder at him, questioning the break.

"We have enough room, we can step back and head to the jungle... I have clients for you," smiled Slark as he turned to the covered edges.

It would take hours for the enemies to catch back the delay and for the successive waves of reinforcement to come. With a light heart and a sigh, Slark picked up his blade, slipped it at his sheath, and headed to the Jungle, followed closely by his teammate.

How long this attention has been going? How long since he had discovered Doom's dirty secret? Slark had a hard time remembering.

However, he remembered quite well the day he noticed it.

It had been a difficult battle, with the Radiant's side pushing back against all lanes but his. Reinforcements were pouring in from behind him, and the danger of being jumped on by the enemies made Slark twitchy. Worse as he slipped inside the Jungle without any support this time.

Without the ward magic to see what happened, Slark had been forced to wander the Jungle alone and blind, killing creatures that roamed it in the hope of a few gains. But it was deeper he encountered his Support and what he had been doing all that time.

Early in the Battle, Doom had left his side, but only at that instant did Slark learn it hadn't been to help the Radiant.

Instead, it had been to fulfill a need.

The same need Doom would fulfill today as both walked to one of the camps. A medium-sized glade filled with makeshift tents and totems. As usual, that place bustled with satyrs. Creatures of the shadow, able to sap someone's might by their presence and powers... A target that was to be taken with caution when unprepared.

However, instead of pointing their spears at them both like expected, the satyrs were... Smiling, even licking their lips as they put their weapons aside.

"You know the deal, two hours, not more or less, big guy!" chuckled Slark as he approached one of the bigger satyrs. That guy's white horns were almost as long as spears, and his beard proved his status as an elder.

He marched on with nothing but his graying fur and loincloth on him, holding out a purse brimming with gold and jewelry. A year's worth of salary, a true trove of riches that was handed easily, though followed by a bleating.

"Yes, yes, like usual," commented Slark, receiving the bag and glancing at the gold coins to count them. The expected sum, as usu- Another bleat.

"What? Seriously? You should have warned me!"

The satyr continued, stomping the ground with his right hoof.

"Three! But you paid for one! Doom! They're trying to swindle us!" shouted Slark, barely heeding the cry from the elder Satyr while he turned. If the Shaman wanted three newborns for the price of one, there was no reason for Slark to proceed with the transaction, and he was already lifting the coin purse so his "client" could take it back.

However, he froze, and his jaw opened wide as he faced the same event as long ago. The Satyrs hadn't waited for Slark's approval, and the smaller but muscular scouts were lining up in the center of the village while two of them were working on Doom's body.

Ugly, with exposed teeth and a disfigured face, his purple-skinned body covered with scars, Doom was nonetheless the target of those Satyrs' affection. The red armor almost entirely doffed, same as the remnant of his crown, Doom had nothing to cover his modesty.

Corrupted, changed as he was, the Demon still kept some advantages of his former angelic form: his curves were shapely, with a wondrous ass without any excessive sag. An angelic and perfect ass the creatures were massaging with a tent forming beneath their loincloths.

Smiles appeared in the crowd, waves of satisfied expressions. Slark had to watch while the Satyr elder pushed on his hand and forced him to accept the coin purse.

"Fine," he grumbled at the mocking bleating, knowing he had lost that battle. Already, the creatures were going and kissing Lucifer's hideous snout and forcing their tongue within his throat without a hint of battle left in the Demon's body.

As powerful as they were, those arms merely embraced and held onto those males while the last plates dropped to the ground.

"You win, this time. But you'll owe us the double!" pointed the Slitheereen, trying to frown and act angry despite his lust, and erection poking from his beneath his loincloth.

How could he not? He knew what those fighters sought in Doom's presence, and he was just like them. The first time he had seen Doom mounted by one of the Centaurs in their camp, drooling on the ground while the beast pounded him into the morrow, he had been stroking himself... Then, he had taken his own turn with those meaty asscheeks while grasping on that pointy vestigial tail and eating that ass out.

Doom's orifice was a wondrous cunt with a rippled rim that always gave and gave. The purple skin remained anointed by some natural lubrication, releasing a musky and spicy smell mixed with a sulfuric touch. More than that, the muscles were opening up at the mere caress: opening and fingering that big demonic asshole was a matter of when rather than a possibility, even for Slark.

And the clenching, the sucking, the pressure...

Lucifer was a Demon... But that ass was so divine! And those meaty cheeks, always concealed by the armor, were to be smacked and slapped and spread until that purple gained a tinge of red. One the Satyrs were already working on; their massive hands smacked that ass.

Soon, the smell of sex permeated the place while Slark reclined and softly lifted on his loincloth to pull out his purplish and slick dick.

He wasn't as big as the Satyrs but knew how to use it when needed. But at that instant, he went on and stroked the foreskin from the limit to the slit concealed between his scales. A still-sizeable cock he lazily stroked while sitting on a chair beside the bleating elder who, like him, had started to crank one out.

"Yeah, that's a mighty fine ass, I give it to you. But that's no reason to fuck us over," grumbled Slark, scornful. His dick was hard as steel and so needy in the jungle's moist atmosphere. Slick precum dripped from the urethra as he pulled and peeled the foreskin and unveiled the musky fold and its "fishy" scent.

"Plus, I have centaurs clients for that whore later that day," grumbled Slark, heaving while he slipped a finger at the base of his dick, right at the base between his perineum and slit, a tiny spot that was overly sensitive and delicious to rub and massage.

However, at his side, the elder huffed and grumbled, his dick spurting jets and jets of semen: they were always so generous in that regard.

"No, he can't be exclusive. Not when you cheat us. Plus, he wants his prostate popped today, and only they can do that," pointed Slark while nodding in Doom's direction.

The massive Demon, with a black hole in the guise of a mouth, was already on all fours with his face repainted in white. Two Satyrs were working on the front side, holding onto another waist while their joined dicks were ushered within the gullet with many gurgles and moans and spit.

Breathing was unneeded for Doom. Therefore, he was eagerly taking two dicks at once, having them pushing and pulling in alternative while his throat constantly bulged from the presence of one of the soldiers' cock plunged within. Throat-swabbed as he was, probably Doom didn't know that no mortals could endure such abuse.

"We could have a contract, you and me. Your tribe will always work for us, and you can have that cunt in the downtime."

Another bleat of frustration came, though Slark didn't mind. The Elder could refuse, but if Slark came to propose it to the entire tribe, they would all accept.

They were all so eager to fuck Doom.... And to milk him. The extra tangos force-fed to Lucifer had given those muscular pecs a roundish form befitting budding bosoms... Forms that sagged and directly landed within the mouth of the Satyrs below the Demon.

Two satyrs, two males that eagerly bit and suckled on the Whore's breasts, swallowing and sucking all that sweet demonic milk. Even now, Slark could feel its taste as he gave himself another stroke and bit his lips.

His orgasm was nigh, his body tensing while his toes curled on the ground. His internal testicles were about to burst, and his wiry muscles were like steel at that moment. His dick, so hard, so erect, so tempted, was only a finger away from exploding. A finger Slark stilled as he rummaged in his bag for something, despite the Elder's bleats.

"Don't worry, this is a surprise for him," chuckled the Slithereen escapee as he pulled one of the wards he had bought in advance. Those strange and ugly plants always weirded him out. But they had their purpose as he planted one on the ground just by him and chuckled.

"Yes, he will hate me for this," he added to the Satyr, returning to his needy and unsatisfied erection.

Beneath his touch, his slick dick pulsated with life and blood. It was warm, sticky, and glimmering. Precum coated it and forced the scaled fingers to slip onto it while he gazed at Doom once more.

Not at his mouth nor tits, but rather that plump ass. Much like the front, two Satyrs warriors took turns with that end. Their rampage in that rump was to behold as they clapped Doom's cheeks and smacked it with enough strength; those cakes seemed to bounce off those males' waists.

Whenever one pushed, the other pulled, but they were still inside the gargling Demon, rocking the body with enough strength it sometimes pulled those generous jugs out of the thirsty scouts.

"Don't let them break him. I want a turn once we win," commented a voice in Slark's mind: cold, devoid of humanity and sentiments, yet yearning. Harbinger was the first to notice it, then... Which made Slark smile as he reclined further on his makeshift seat, his thumb pushing and nudging the purple glans.

"Hfnh... You know how it works," commented Slark, eager to squeeze more from everyone, even his teammates. Nobody was the wiser; nobody knew the relationship he had with Doom... But everyone was crowding him to get a preview or a moment with that Whore. He owned that purple ass. Maybe he could get that belly tagged.

"Fine, usual prices?" answered Harbinger.

"Hrnhh, not so fast," mumbled Slark, his body clenching again. He bent, he contorted, and he dug his claws into the ground. He heaved, he sighed, he... "DOUBLE!"

He cried mentally, a shot of white cum escaping from his urethra in a second. A pure, straight-line went right up before it fell onto the ground. Followed by another, and another... His fiery groin burned with all that pent-up energy, the organs within contracting at a furious pace to blast that gooey seed out onto the ground.

And another shot went and slipped between his digits, flying in the air before it dropped.

Much like Slark as he dropped on the chair, sighing and breathing.

"Are you listening to me?" continued Harbinger.

"Tonight, he's mine!" added another voice, Balanar. The night Demon always... Bred during the night.

"Double the usual prices, or Doom will only serve creeps for that battle," said Slark with a grin. On the other side, he could sense the anger from the two demons as he licked his index and the cum coating it. The taste was salty, rough... But he enjoyed it as he watched the Satyrs' rampage.

Their smacking hips were deafening, their bleating so much so. Cum, throat slime, drool, precum, sweat, milk. All went and dripped from the curvy forms, from whatever holes the needy males used to ensure their pleasures and the potential impregnation of the Demon...

An offer they had paid dearly and were already taking advantage of as the former Angel whined and gargled with his belly looking more gravid by the second.

"Fine, but we get every hole," agreed the Demons, with Harbinger at the forefront. If they wanted every hole, they could have it.

"All good. Next night in the middle lane?" commented the Slithereen escapee, lazily stroking his soft shaft. He wasn't hard anymore, but the slight tingle of appreciation made it all the better as he pinched and tugged on the shaft.

"Okay, don't be late."

"I won't," he replied, closing his eyes and savoring the moment... And imagining how the Whore must feel.

That giant old Demon had acted in shame after their first time, frustrated to have been caught in the act and used by Slark. However, in their next battle together, it had been as if Doom invited him to follow in the jungle. The jiggly buns were so... Hrmphh! And that little squat, forcing some of the under-armor in-between was a devilish display.

When Slark had managed to catch up to him in the Jungle, it had been to see that massive slut with his armor doffed and ass up... One he had spent hours eating and licking while holding and frotting himself against the Demon's hefty nuts. Two nuts had been spent from it, and yet the insatiable Demon had proved his lack of restraint until they ended spent, and the battle lost for the Dire.

Even then, it had only been the beginning for Slark as each following battle proved to be so... Pleasing. It was only logic this ended with a bargain... With Slark helping the Demon with his needs and not ushering a word about them.

Too bad Wards were a thing, and Slark looked to expand... More clients, more gold... Perhaps it could be possible to hint at turning Doom into a broodfactory for the Dire. Ohhh, the riches!

"What a lucrative slut!"