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The ruin's walls spoke of a time long-since forgotten: archaic runes lined the walls in a central band of age-worn bluestone embedded in the large gravel bricks that constituted the ziggurat's lowest chambers. Michael had been on the inside of enough temples, shrines and chapels to recognise the commonality between different religious structures; whatever the words had said, they must have been pretty important at the time. They weren't important to him, however, so he'd ignored them. Given that he was hanging from one of the last lengths of rope in fading light, slowly lowering himself down another floor, he had more pressing concerns. The idea of falling and breaking his back on the ground below him - or worse - and dying a slow death in the dark focused Michael's mind.

The chiselled stone constricted around him the deeper he'd gone beneath the surface. Most of the upper chambers had already been looted, and what remained had been left to the elements. He'd had to use acid to melt another hole in the floor when, using a technique he'd learned, he spilled some water on the floor and noted that it pooled in the centre of the floor. Michael tried to be prepared for most things, especially when it came to disappearing for a while. It had been pure luck he'd found the site at all: he'd been looking for somewhere off the well-patrolled roads to set up camp when he'd discovered the pecked-clean remnants of something bulging out of the ground.

The inverted pyramidal structure that had been carved out of the deep stone had remained more or less undisturbed, which had been an initial, pleasant surprise: a nice diversion to while away a few days until the heat had passed and he could fence off some more of his stolen goods. The initial tingles of excitement had quickly died down, when Michael discovered that there was nothing worth taking. Whatever the lower chambers had been used for must have been purely ceremonial, or were stores of food or water that disappeared with the passage of time. Empty chambers, musty air, dehydrated remnants of fabrics and the occasional skeletal remnants were all that was left. That, and the promise of one more level to explore.

This one, Michael decided, had to be the last: if not of the entire structure, then at least for him. The downward zigzagging path he'd had to take had meant using torches, and he'd already used up most of what he had; he'd also run out of rope, and so had to waste time chiselling out hand-holds or moving rotting branches or beams or rolling rocks into position to allow him to climb back out.

The work had been tiring, hot and thankless. Sweat dripped down his body, his shirt sticking to his thin, defined frame; if it weren't for the headband he wore, he'd have been blinded by now. He'd detached the pin in his cloak, using it as a sheet to bundle together the belts he usually wore to carry around the tools of his trade, lowering them between floors when he needed to make sure the old traps - none of which were active any more, although some could be dangerous - accidentally triggered. "First thing I do when I get out of here," Michael decided, "is to get out of these boots." He didn't particularly look forward to what all this drudge-work was going to have done to his throbbing feet.

Landing with only a muffled grunt and the swirling of ancient dust, Michael squinted in the darkness of the chamber. The chamber was definitely different from the others: even though there was barely any light, deeper shadows seemed to play about in the gloom. Despite his overall boredom with amateur spelunking, a giddy thrill sent a shiver through his spine. He had a sixth sense for locating wealth and power, and the air in this chamber oozed with it.

Tiptoeing around, Michael's dexterous, gloved hands explored about him, on the lookout for thin wires or sharp blades that might suddenly try to kill a less wary intruder. Instead, he felt the rough, scratchy feeling of old, dry straw in a bowl jutting out of the wall. With added energy, he went back to the rope, shimmying up easily; just far enough to grab his bound cloak, to get out his flint and tinder. His excitement was growing: there were actual sconces in this chamber!

The straw lit easily, burning quickly; smoke billowed up into the chamber. The straw seemed to have been infused with some long-forgotten spice, which made the already pungent air even heavier. But squinting less trumped having to breathe harder for Michael, and he quickly appreciated the light, his greedy eyes growing as a smug smile broke out over his slightly gaunt, sweaty face.

Against one of the statue walls sat a large statue, carved out of some kind of black marble lined with gold. It was bigger than he was - whoever it was that had lived here must have been insanely rich to have afforded this much of this kind of material - and the craftsmanship was exquisite. The depicted figure, a large - and very male - being was seated on the ground, his huge black erection rising out of the ground, a large pearl sitting atop his shaft. Its legs were sprawled apart, the toes angled in a slightly mismatched pattern. The head was tilted to one side and slightly backwards, two horns scraping against the roof of the chamber with two others curling back, as if to point to the bearded, sharp-toothed face moaning in ecstasy.

As an artefact, it was priceless. The ridges on the horns and the spikes that jutten out from the shoulders and elbows weren't too impressive, although well done. Even the fine detailing on the hair and scales that covered different parts of the creature's muscled form weren't what really sold this as a piece of art for the ages. It was the expression, the little slight things that no other artist had been able to capture in the generations that had passed since anyone else had set eyes on this statue, that really emphasised to Michael just how valuable thing this was.

"Too bad it's too big," he thought, reaching for his chisel. Michael didn't feel a twinge of guilt about breaking up the statue. The pearl alone - the size of a fist - would be enough to set him up for life if he wanted to live reasonably modestly. But breaking up the material for other sculptors to use for wealthy patrons would let him live more than modestly, and he wasn't going to throw that opportunity away for some old god whose worshippers had died out.

His chisel tink-tink-tinked as he hammered the end, slowly chipping away at the end of the penis protruding out of the statue's groin. Michael decided to go for them, rather than the half-covered rubies that formed the eyes: he could chip away at the glue that bound the pearl to the onyx shaft without destroying anything else. Besides, he wanted to try to get the penis off intact: he knew some collectors who would love to get their hands on such a thing.

The statue creaked - or, at least Michael thought it did - as he carefully chiselled the glue away from the pearl. He paused, his muscles tensing ready to leap to the side if this turned out to be an elaborate trap. After a few seconds where the only motion of his body was caused by the blood pulsing around his veins, Michael continued trying to extract the pearl from the statue. It was a painstaking process, but he had to be careful, as any scratch on the pearl could decimate its value.

Michael coughed, trying to clear his head. Whatever else had been mixed in with the straw must have been a potent hallucinogen when it had been fresh, because he could swear the statue was growing warm underneath as he leaned up against the statue's body. The ruby eyes seemed to glow with an intense fire; he wondered if maybe the head contained a cavity that would be lit up some time after the sconces were lit. That, coupled with the slow breeze that his activity might have disturbed made it almost sound like the statue was moaning in pleasure. Whoever it was that worshipped this thing had definitely gone to great lengths to make their god, or whatever this was supposed to represent, seem almost alive.

Shifting around carefully, Michael slid his leg around until he was almost sitting in the statue's lap. He'd loosened the pearl enough on the far side, but unless he wanted to damage the head of the penis, he needed to try a different angle. It didn't seem to help that his hands, usually steady as a rock, were starting to tremble. Sweat was almost pouring off of him, and his genital felt agitated, his pants starting to tighten as his own manhood started to thicken. "Probably some kind of fertility spirit," Michael guessed, "put here for orgies of the high priest or whatnot."

His mind wandered to sex; it had been quite a lean time for him in that score. He was good at his job, but even the best had fallow periods, and women - one way or the other - required coin. Not that he'd have to worry about that much longer, he thought. Shaking his head to fight against the lewd thoughts that entered his brain, he carefully chipped at the glue. His cock rubbed up against the statue's, the back of his feet resting against the black-stone scrotum.

"This is quite a large manhood," noted Michael. He wasn't surprised - statues of this sort tended to be well-endowed - but the black, oddly-warm penis was large and thick, and felt good in his hands. Feeling a twinge of envy, he muttered as he continued to work on loosening the pearl, "I'll bet there's lots of old stories and songs about your conquests."

His tools trembled in his hand. Keeping hold of them was becoming difficult with how sweaty his hands had become. Dropping his hands to his sides, he let the chisel and the small hammer fall to the ground. Michael peeled off his gloves, the sweat making the leather crackle as he loosened the straps. Wiping his hands on the edge of his bundled-up cloak, he cast his eyes back at the statue.

Considering how grotesque it was, with its horns and scales and spikes, Michael thought the model must have been rather a handsome man. "Must have been quite flattering," he thought, "to be the muse for a statue in honour of your god." Subconsciously, he tugged on his shirt; the fabric clung against his skin, the sweat-laden material weighing him down. As he bared his own toned body, his eyes wandered over the statue's musculature, comparing it to his own.

Not too surprisingly, the statue was quite a bit buffer: the model had probably been a soldier, Michael thought. All of the statue's muscles were thick and nicely defined, from the pectorals with the hairy-yet-visible line separating the two slabs, to the chiselled sextet of abdominals crunched up while the statue reclined. But they weren't overly huge the way you might have seen on a farmer or blacksmith: those professions required brute strength, but a fighter needed to be fleet as well. The fire behind the rubies flickered.

Picking up his tools again, Michael went to finish off the extraction of the pearl: it was nearly done, and he wanted to spend some private time to relax and recover his strength before doing anything else. His manhood bulged in his pants, his groin rubbing up against the statue's shaft. Michael found himself wondering if this was also representative of the model. He could almost imagine it: the young guard summoned to the chamber, ordered to remove his uniform, before being pleasured to orgasm by the priests or priestesses who attended this chamber tantalised for hours, probably even days while the sculptor captured his aroused likeness. Michael wondered what he would have done in the same position: like most men, he probably would have been all-too-happy to help out with the right motivation. He was probably greatly rewarded for doing so.

Michael felt the pearl give way, yet stubbornly refused to actually be removed from the statue. He snapped in frustration, throwing his tools which skittered across the floor. He sank back, lying against the oddly warm stone muscles. Sprawling about, he looked at the bulge in the front of his pants.

"Worship me," the statue commanded.

The words had been spoken, Michael was sure of that; but only in his fantasies, of course. The burning leaves embedded through the straw had been working on his mind for almost an hour now as he'd worked on the pearl. It seemed to make sense to him: here he was totally turned on and thinking about ancient worshippers sculpting an attractive statue to act as an idol for that which they worshipped. It only make sense that he'd hear it ordering him about.

"Was it an order, though?" Michael wondered. The voice had lacked the necessary authoritarian self-assuredness present in a command. It certainly wasn't a desperate plea. No, the voice had been suggestive: the same type of voice prostitutes would use when offering their wares out on the street, the promise of pleasure hanging down, ready to be plucked.

Michael grinned, replying aloud, "Not interested." He wasn't devout by any means - you couldn't be a thief and occasional assassin and be considered a clean soul - but he needed to voice aloud to anyone that he wasn't being turned on by the statue, with its masculine form and aura of strength and eroticism. Inwardly, he wasn't nearly as confident, but was never going to admit that, even in the privacy of a long-abandoned shrine.

Realising he'd lingered a little too long on the statue's lap, Michael reached his hand up, grabbing the shaft to help steady himself as he got to his feet. His whole body throbbed suddenly, and he nearly fell back onto the statue. Wisps of the stain of his sweat on the statue's stone body quickly evaporated, the dampness disappearing.

Quickly raising his hand to his face, Michael checked to see if his nose had started bleeding. It happened to him, albeit very rarely, and not for several years. However, it was still a habit, and the queer tingling in his head had been the same. He seemed to have lucked out: his nose wasn't even running slightly.

Feeling stuffy in his own skin, he peeled off his shirt. Michael let it fall, slapping with a wet thwack as it smacked against the stone floor. The warm air toyed with his nipples, drawing a small groan of pleasure from him as he felt something thick ooze from the throbbing end of his aroused manhood.

The statue's expression seemed to have changed, although Michael knew that it was just a trick of his mind. It seemed to be examining him, the ruby eyes burning through him, and the self-assured grin seemed to encourage him to strip further. He felt himself wanting to as well, but didn't trust himself enough. No way was he going to get naked and indulge in what he felt he would with the statue continually watching him. Michael compromised: he wasn't going to strip off completely, but he didn't mind unbuckling the straps on his boots and pulling his sweaty feet out of them. Wriggling his freed toes, he felt the wetness quickly dissipating, the remnants adding to the near-oppressive masculine musk that had filled the chamber.

Michael was drawn back to the pearl: it was, however, what he wanted. It had been a good choice, large and matching the colour of a man's seed as closely as you could get from a valuable decorative ornament. The statue looked, by all accounts, as if it had been trapped at peak of orgasm, trapped through the ages that passed at the very moment when bliss would pass through him.

As his hand rested briefly on the statue's shaft, various thoughts seemed to click in place, and Michael found himself chuckling. "If that's what the trick is," he thought, "that's a piece of art." The pearl had been incredibly stubborn about being pulled out; he'd had no luck with it earlier, and he doubted he'd have any more now. But sometimes priests used secrets to increase the mystery over what they did, but were disappointingly mechanical. "What better way to remove a precious stone from the end of a cock," he reasoned, "than to stroke it?"

Michael's hands quickly began to explore the statue's black, gold-veined penis. It felt smooth, surprisingly warm and rather comfortable in his hands. It was very large - the statue itself must have been close to being seven feet tall, horns excluded - and the dick was generously proportioned even for that. It meant a lot of exploration, but Michael's discomfort quickly disappeared. "It's not like I'm stroking off another man," he rationalised, "and besides, who was going to know?" He added, looking into the ruby eyes of the statue, "Except for you, of course."

The statue seemed to smile wider at that, Michael chalking it up to yet another trick of the light or fancy of his slightly tired, throbbing head. He'd started at the tip, but his dexterous digits had quickly covered the length, exploring the texture. Again, he felt himself admiring the skill of the craftsman: Michael didn't have a lot of experience touching any man's shaft aside from his own, and this one was suitably touched with a dark, bestial presence like the rest of the statue's body, but the creases and bulges in the flesh felt very familiar. Not only that, but it felt incredibly comfortable in his hands.

Reaching the base, Michael fondled the statue some more, groping around the large, jet scrotum on the off-chance it held some secret. His hands, however, seemed drawn to the shaft, wanting to grasp the thick, heavy piece of carved stone in his hands, even if just to hold it. The sweat on them, which curiously didn't dissipate like it did on the rest of his exposed flesh, seemed to form a suitable lubricant, and Michael found himself grasping the penis in both hands, shifting his body about to return to the statue's lap.

A gust of warm, moist air enveloped him, accompanied by a pleasured, distinctly audible sigh. Underneath him, the warm stone seemed to warm further, matching and then surpassing his own living flesh in terms of intensity. Michael panted, falling into the rhythm; all his old worries and protests were slowly eroding as he found himself enjoying it. It was a bit like imagining the massive cock was his own; pumping it seemed to send pleasurable pulses throughout his own body, even though they belonged to two separate bodies.

The statue shifted slowly beneath him. Additional plumes of hot air pricked up the fine, barely-visible hairs of his back, and the sounds of slow panting intensified. Michael ignored that though; he was too busy enjoying himself. More and more of his body had slowly gone towards pleasuring the statue's manhood as his actions breathed more life into it. He'd started by rubbing his body against it, thrusting alongside it as his manhood's juices started to flow. While he did this, he regretted not having removed his pants earlier, but it was too late for that now. He'd even arched his back, Michael's body telling him that his warm, wet mouth was needed. The texture at first was smooth and warm, but hard. But as he continued, the salty twang of flesh slowly crept through it.

"Yes," the statue rumbled approvingly, the stench of stone dust filling the air as he moved his long-frozen arm, caressing Michael's back with the back of his large hand. "So close," he added. Michael already knew what the voice had meant; from his own experience, he knew what it was like when your cock throbbed and twitched like the one in his hands was doing right now. The room's already-musky air became even more filled with the scent of spilled sexual fluids, even though none actually had been: the creature that the statue seemed to naturally emit the scent from its body, the faster it returned to flesh.

The cock in Michael's hands suddenly bucked. The pearl flew through the air - Michael gave a short cry of anger as it shattered against the stone wall - but it quickly disappeared. The pent-up creature's creamy-white seed quickly poured over the pearl's fragments, gushing into the room and pooling on the floor on the far side. Some of the juicier fluids ran down, coating Michael's hands and face as he aimed the shaft, his hands still milking it. A heavy hand rested against his shoulder, the sharp claws tugging him back. Reluctantly, Michael let go, the creature's hand wrapping warmly around him, the other one moving to take his place, squeezing out more of his ejaculate.

"My thanks," the being answered, his cock still quivering, spent but still erect. "Long have I waited to spill my seed."

Michael knew he should have been panicked - the statue had returned to life, after all, and he'd been jerking and tonguing its manhood - but the smell of the spilt seed had just increased his own needs. The semen on his body seemed to soak into him, clinging defiantly while some ran down his body, even squeezing through the belt and into his pants. It seemed to obliterate all other concerns: the ex-statue's need to ejaculate seemed to be almost contagious.

The once-statue grunted, standing up. The floor on the chamber above crumbled down, sending swirls of dust into the thick air and shards of stone raining down. Michael was sheltered from the worst of it: as the statue had moved, he'd been left slightly curled up, and most of what had been above him rolled down the creature's back as it pushed up against it. Stretching its muscles, the creature let out an invigorating roar that echoed through the empty chambers above.

Michael coughed as he also got to his feet, trying to clear the dust from in front of his face. The blast of fresh air from above, swirling down, cleared his head for a moment. Looking amongst the debris, he quickly noted the rope dangling high above him. He cursed; he was now trapped in here, unless the thing he had freed gave him a boost to the rope. It didn't take long for the creature's sexual musk to fill the air again, and soon Michael's thoughts turned towards the carnal.

"It would appear my captors are long gone," the once-statue observed. Looking downwards, a lusty grin spread across his face as he looked at Michael. "Then I owe you even more than I believed: you have saved me from an eternity of torment, forgotten down here." He stepped around on his dark feet; with the difference in height, the tip of his demonic shaft bobbed close to Michael's face. He grunted once, the tip releasing a large, wet dollop of clear fluid that oozed down the shaft. Some dripped off, falling against Michael's body, merging in with the rest of the sexual fluids that seeped into the thief's flesh.

"I would like a reward," Michael admitted; the idea of wealth was so deep in his character that his mind instinctively went to that. Not even the demonic figure's cock dripping on him could distract him.

The demon smiled wickedly, exclaiming in a voice that echoed in Michael's bones, "Then we should make a deal! What is it that you desire most?"

"Gold," Michael stated, "or anything else valuable." The demon's seed had worked its way into him, its potent power just waiting for the right command to be given. Michael's spiritual shielding to it was quite weak: he was, after all, very easily lured by the promise of pleasure, and that made him an easy vessel for demonic powers.

"Then I, Asmodeus the archdemon, will bestow upon you an armour of gold plate," the demon proposed, "and, if you continue to serve me, you shall be granted all the pleasures that wealth and power can bring, and more." Michael raised out his hand, instinctively wanting to shake on the deal; Asmodeus chuckled again, as he informed the thief, "That's not how demons sign their oaths."

Michael felt himself smile back at the lustful grin coming down from Asmodeus: the demon's eyes had become flesh again, but were no less fiery. The veins on the cock seemed to glow, flashes of red rippling through them as it began to drip again. Grabbing his belt quickly, Michael removed the remainders of his clothing, groaning as his own erect, sticky penis swung like a pendulum in the air. He kicked the pants away from his feet, primed and ready to do whatever it was this Asmodeus wanted; for untapped wealth, he was willing to do anything, and if this archdemon wanted sexual pleasure in trade, he was certainly in the right frame of mind to go along with it.

Asmodeus lowered himself back down: having been trapped in one position didn't seem to put him off sitting down again for this. He rubbed his thick shaft, collecting the fluids he leaked to liberally lubricate his penis. Michael echoed his movements, lowering one hand down. He felt like his manhood could almost burn his hand; he'd never felt this aroused before. The two grinned at each other, both pleased at what the other was going to offer.

A large, taloned hand grabbed Michael's hips, pulling him over. Asmodeus' primed, dripping shaft smacked up against his body, spraying him with more droplets of the fluid. Reaching up with his free hand, Michael felt his heartbeat start to pulse in time with the demon's as he grabbed and stroked the inhuman cock. He aimed the tip into his mouth, letting his own erection bob untended as he entwined the ends of his fingers to reach around the thickening base. The fluid flooded his mouth, dripping down his throat slowly. Michael felt Asmodeus' claws digging into his flesh, his buttocks being toyed apart.

Pulses of magic throbbed down Asmodeus' shaft, their deal being irreversible now. His magic fluids, primed throughout Michael's body for just this eventuality, triggered. The demon's hands wandered over the skin on the human's back, claws catching painlessly on skin. As patches of it ripped off, the pale flesh of someone who made most of his living in the dark took on a yellowish-brown hue.

Michael wasn't aware of his: his mortal mind was too overwhelmed by the erotic desires of an archdemon. Instead, his world seemed to drop away, his body writhing as he hugged Asmodeus' penis against his own, his jaw stretching wide to accommodate more of the sharp-ended, salivating shaft. His teeth slightly grazed the jet-black flesh, but the archdemon's flesh was more or less impervious to most mundane things from the mortal realm, and so he barely noticed.

"Your lithe form suits you," Asmodeus observed, "but I know of one far better. One where you need not worry about the weight of your golden armour, for it would be a part of you. Where you would not need to carry about those puny vials of acid and poison, as your body can produce as much as you desire, based on your merest whim. One where your whole body would become a dangerous weapon, able to crush the life out of anything you wish; though you'd be even more suited to luring in men as hungry for treasure as you, to corrupt their bodies and minds as I have done to you. One where you could hypnotise even the most strong-willed man into pleasuring you, or each other, however you wish. A giant, golden serpent god, towering as gloriously above mortals as I do above you, spawn of my loins."

Michael groaned, Asmodeus' words thrumming through his body, his secret desires as he imagined his new form. Through the demon's magic, Michael felt invisible hands stroking his manhood and invisible mouths wrapping around it. It thickened completely, his churning testicles emptying out as Asmodeus' sexual fluids filled his body. Although he had ejaculated, it did not feel like an orgasm; it felt simply more like a clearing out of the old to make way for the new, his human seed just extra lubrication for the magical presence tantalising his shaft.

With Michael's body completely filled with his magic, Asmodeus' fluids ran down the thief's bare front side. His tingling, transforming flesh thickened, as bulges pushed out along his spine as heavy growths began to form. Strengthened by the archdemon's magic, Michael continued to ignore this, pleasuring Asmodeus' shaft with his whole body. The expanding growths rent his skin further, the bruise-like patches splitting first to reveal the glorious, golden scales that had formed underneath. As he grew, his capacity for more fluids increased, his body quickly absorbing them to feed his changing body.

Sliding his mouth off the end of the shaft, Michael arched his back. As fluid spilt down his front, he released a serpentine hiss as some gathered around his teeth, hardening until he had two large fangs. Saliva dripped from them, quickly turning into poison which tingled as it touched his impervious body.

Thoughts entered Michael's mind through his link with Asmodeus. Not a command, but a suggestion for added pleasure. Michael quickly agreed to the images in his head of him, bracing against the floor, Asmodeus' shaft plunging in and out of his hole. His own cock, straining with additional sensitivity, tore the flesh at its base, golden scales bursting out of his groin, skin and hairs dropping away unheeded. It had started dripping with Asmodeus' fluids, his testicles bloated with demonic seed as they were encased in his promised armour.

Michael pulled his arms away, flexing his arm muscles. Golden lines appeared in the human skin that remained on him as talons burst through the old flesh at the tips of his fingers. He lowered himself onto the ground, the large nub near his rear continuing to grow out into a thick, scaly tail. Asmodeus grabbed it, its length growing an extra foot at his touch, and pulled. Michael slid across the floor, the hard scales protecting parts of him from pain, while the remaining human skin on his hands and legs were shredded away.

Asmodeus held Michael down, smacking his demonic shaft down against the back. His clawed hands traced patterns against the skin and scales on the back of Michael's head and down the neck, the dripping, corrupting fluid flowing out into those patterns, thickening around Michael's body as more of his humanity was consumed.

Fluid dripped along his back; the skin on Michael's scalped bulged and blistered, peeling away hair and all. Two horn-like protuberances, covered in the same dazzlingly gold scales that covered increasing amounts of his body, slithered out. More spikes sprouted out of the back of his head and neck, a web of scales growing between them, growing into the initial stages of a fearsome golden hood.

Asmodeus' cock continued to feed these changes, while more fluid dripped down, growing his tail. Michael's changes almost completely used up the corrupting fluid that had feed them, so the archdemon stroked his member over his back, the fluid growing and strengthening his hood and tail. From the back, Michael mostly resembled a glowing, golden snake.

The extra weight of the growths on his body demanded extra strength, and the arcane fluids of the archdemon thickened his muscles. His lithe, thief's frame was quickly replaced by the hard, thick form of a demonic underling: more powerful than any mortal man. Michael shivered in pleasure, the extra power flowing through him was as good as any he had had whilst human, but to a demon, it was merely a taste of an even more potent bolt of pleasure.

Asmodeus found his hole, shifted though it was due to his thickening tail. The top of the archdemon's shaft squelched up against the opening, making Michael grunt as it entered him. He tried relaxing, easing the passage, but the new arrangement of his body made it feel strange and it had not been something he'd done as a human. His own exposed shaft, thick and dripping and surrounded by scales, leaked even more as Asmodeus' long, thick cock stretched, sliding very close to it.

"Demons do not need to eat," Michael's sire informed him telepathically, "but we do enjoy pleasure. When one of yours is corrupted to our ranks, you are redesigned to give - and receive - maximum pleasure."

"Yes, master," Michael agreed, communicating back on the same link that had been forged. Asmodeus was incredibly large, his weight bearing down on him as he was once again filled with demonic fluids. This fed his transformation: his new hood thickened, horns and spikes sprouting out. His new hood thickened, sharp horns growing, feeding off of the extra fluids Asmodeus was pumping to his body.

His long tail coiled around Asmodeus' leg, the tip exploring the archdemon's sensitive thigh. Michael's tongue, now slender and forked, flickered out. His demonic conversion was approaching completion, and his body ached for it to finish. Unimaginable lust washed throughout his body, and he could feel the pulses of magic that echoed throughout the demonic planes his master had spawned from: one day, he knew, they would return there and bathe in the pools of gold, and dwell in a cavern made of gems, the smallest of which could buy the world. His shaft needed it, too: in spite of the increased stamina of his body, his cock had been bloated and dripping for what felt like forever. He knew his master needed the same, which is why the tip of his tail wriggled into the hole between his masters large, firm buttocks as the muscles clenched as the archdemon thrust harder and faster into him, his changed body able to withstand the force.

It turned out not to be necessary: not long after Michael's well-lubricated sphincter had accepted the full majesty of Asmodeus' cock, the demon had grabbed and squeezed him with his powerful hands, roaring in pleasure as he released his thick, creamy seed. Michael's body burned with renewed fires of lust, his eyes quickly filling with the flames as he was transformed completely into a demon. He hissed, demonic seed flowing out of his own shaft, shooting over the ground.

The pleasures demons felt after ejaculation was, Michael learned, far more potent. His mind could barely comprehend it; it felt like trying to cling to a rock in a storm-swollen river. Wondering why he was hanging on, he let himself be carried away by it. Inserting his tail deeper inside his master, despite the fact the two had already achieved orgasm, he continued to pleasure the archdemon, teasing out more orgasms, until the ruined chamber was flooded with their seed.

When he had finally come down from the euphoric ride he'd been on, Michael discovered himself coiled around Asmodeus' heavily-panting form. The fires in the sconces had died out, but he no longer needed to see: day and night were almost interchangeable to demons, he discovered. The chamber's floor had disappeared under their combined ejaculations; his cock burned and ached, seed plastered all over it.

Uncurling, he felt the effects of the hard rutting he and his master had just undertaken. His golden body glistened, hard and thick; demonic seed shimmering from the glow that seemed to exude from his body. He shifted his tail, breathing in the air doused in musk, the erotic scents from their bodies and ejaculates oozing upwards. Had any being from the mortal plane been caught up in it, they would have fallen into an almost-insatiable sexual frenzy.

Michael's rear ached pleasantly, his cock twitching with something akin to muscle memory, as memories returned of the things he and Asmodeus had done. His glistening ruby eyes turned towards the archdemon, busy relaxing, eyeing his new demonspawn as Michael bowed, his taloned hands squelching in the spilled seed.

Curling from his prone position, Michael rose back up, his muscles flexing and sending flecks of golden light shining around. He pulled his long tail behind him, his shoulders plated with spiky, hard plates. Squaring his shoulders, the spikes brushed up against his heavy, fearsome hood. When he knew he had his master's assent, he relaxed, the corners of his mouth turning up into a satisfied smile.

Asmodeus, grinning as Michael uncoiled to stretch his sore muscles, stated, "I am pleased you came along when you did; being trapped for so long has left me with quite the appetite."

"I am pleased as well, master," Michael answered, yawning slightly. "If you need more attention, I would be only to happy to provide it." He really couldn't imagine what else Asmodeus would want, though: judging by the semen smeared on both their bodies, the two of them had been exceptionally thorough during Michael's first hours of demonhood.

"Not for the moment, Mammon," Asmodeus replied. Michael embraced his new, demonic name, embracing his new identity. Asmodeus continued, "Besides, I think we've done just about everything there is to do with one another. Aside, of course, of adding in a third party, and you need to be introduced to the pleasures of corrupting a human to my service."

Michael - now Mammon - had only just had his penis retract into his body. The idea quickly made his demonic shaft slip back out, returning to full erection in a fraction of a second. "Yes," he thought, watching his golden scales slide over the dark flesh of his master, his body throbbing with renewed energy at Asmodeus' suggestion.

He climbed out of the chamber, coiling his strength to leap the full distance, Mammon's claws gripping to the ragged edge of the hole in the ceiling of the chamber. His shaking arms pulled his body over the edge, his tail slithering behind him. The new demon panted, his enhanced lungs quickly letting him recuperate his strength. Mammon was astounded how easy it was to clamber through the maze of holes his old self had created on the way down. Demonic semen dripped off him, leaving a sizzling trail behind him, quickly disappearing into the air to arouse anyone who happened to catch a whiff of it.

Mammon burst out of the ruins, his ruby eyes scanning the surroundings. Forked tongue slithering out, he tasted the air, searching for a man - preferably men - to share with his master. This area was quite remote, and although both he and his master could be infinitely patient, he had enough creativity to know of ways to draw men here. Striding through the woods, he tasted the air, searching for the scent of men and their beasts of burden: he remembered vaguely where the road lay, but he enjoyed the idea of testing out even the more prosaic new powers he possessed.

While the trail was aged, it was strong and fuelled by his memories and other senses, and Mammon came to the road. Wincing, his talons grasped one of the scales plating his body, and pulled it out. He rubbed his groin, feeding his own arousal. His leaking shaft slipped out, dousing the scale in his sires lust-filled magic. Bringing it up to his mouth, he squeezed one of his fangs over it, thinking of a strongly addictive liquid over it, followed by a hallucinogen. His tail rattled at his cleverness: the hallucinogen would make whoever found this scale take it for a gold coin, the addiction to find it and a slowly-growing lust.

Mammon succeeded, his senses straining just in case he happened upon an unwary traveller by chance. He repeated his process of creating the false coins, slithering several trails from points on the road back to the opening. The next step of preparation he needed was a paralytic covering his talons, in case multiple men happened to follow the trapped trail.

Finally, he squeezed back into the chambers, covering up the trail "Michael" had left during his time here as he went. Mammon locked his muscles in place, until he resembled a statue; he left a small glittering patch of his body within sight of the surface, before with his final breath he caused a gust of wind to swirl around the chamber, sending dust billowing over the air, covering his golden scales with the appearance of being abandoned for some time.

Sitting immobile, he waited for his prey to take the bait, in a half-dream state. Days or weeks might have passed - it was all the same to him, now that he was immortal - and waited. Lust bubbled inside him: to pass the time, he retreated into the link he had with his master, the two of them engaging in all sorts of mental carnal activities that only heightened his desires for the real thing. His body quickly healed, golden scales glowing to replace those he had pulled out of his body.

Mammon's patience was rewarded: he heard voices reverberating through the trees, quickly flicking out his tongue to sense how deeply they had fallen into his trap.

"...but you'd break his back if he tries anything," the voice cajoled. He had been the one to find the coin: Mammon could taste the need for more worming its way into his body. Young, Mammon sensed, and eager to show the trust in him had not been misplaced, but with a weakness that could be easy to corrupt. Once that happened, he would prove to be a thoroughly obedient, servant.

"I should break your back, for this stupid idea," another voice, older and deeper, growled in response. This one was strong, Mammon thought; a surge of pleasure sparked through him. Asmodeus would love to break that one personally: he could smell a potency of emotion and physicality that the archdemon craved.

The first voice countered, "But if someone's out there, being robbed, we have to check out if they need help!"

"Our duty is to transport this prisoner!" the second growled. "And I have seniority!"

There was a third, Mammon tasted: an earthy, bitter sensation of sweat and depravity, no doubt the prisoner the other two talked about. Not something to bring to his master, but he yearned to try to sire his own spawn, and this would be a perfect opportunity. He dreamed to think of what demonic creatures he could create if given the opportunity.

The two soldiers grew closer. Mammon could tell more differences between them as they approached. The older, gruff one was clearly a knight: he smelled cleaner, and his armour sounded heavier. He wondered why such a man would have been placed on a duty as low as escorting a prisoner. The younger one seemed to be a common grunt, green and fresh; his voice sounded uneducated. Mammon's face flashed with a grin: no wonder he'd been the one to be easily lured by the promise of gold.

"There's some ruins here," the younger soldier exclaimed, Mammon receiving a giddy thrill at the thought his plan had worked. He could almost feel the desperation in his voice to find something - anything - to fill in that growing hole of want in him.

The knight muttered back, "You're lucky we're not being hacked to death by highwaymen. That was obviously some kind of trap." The smile disappeared from Mammon's lips; from below, he heard a deep, rumbling chuckle as Asmodeus laughed through their link.

"Could lower me down," the prisoner suggested, his voice coarse and stupid. "To look."

"Shut up," the knight growled; Mammon heard the clinking of mail striking flesh. A heavy thump hit the ground. Matter-of-factly, the knight added, "He fell."

"I won't argue with you," the soldier answered. Mammon's faint smile returned, wanting but refraining from hissing with joy: that one would be putty in Asmodeus' hands. Still, he waited: he hadn't retreated far from the surface, and the young one - whose aroused manhood Asmodeus could almost feel - was desperate. "But even if there are highwaymen, we might be able to capture them."

"An unknown number of men against two?" the knight exclaimed in annoyance. "You really are as thi-"

Before the knight could finish tearing down his second, the soldier had exclaimed - rather loudly - in uncontained excitement, "There's something down there!" Mammon could feel two sets of eyes bearing down upon him. He wished he'd angled himself better, allowed his head to be in view of the hole, but he wasn't about to move now that he was so close to capturing his prey.

Mammon's cock flashed out briefly, squirting out a fresh squirt of arousing juices to help make the men above more malleable. The two armed men above continued to argue about what to do about the "statue" in sight. The older one was naturally more conscious, but soon the demonic magic had gotten a hold of him too, as he reluctantly agreed to stand guard while the younger one climbed down to look at the statue.

The young soldier's face came into view, peering down into the chamber. He shook as he called back up, "There's a huge, golden statue down here!"

"What?" the knight shouted back in disbelief. But the soldier was already lowering himself down.

Mammon thought, his experienced mind silently berating, "The young fool's put no thought into how he's going to get out! Not that he exactly needs to..." He roused himself from his half-dream, clearing his mind to prepare to strike when the time was ready. The young soldier wore ill-fitting armour: his body was definitely hardened by training, but he lacked the scars and wariness of someone with more experience. The fresh-faced youth looked up at Mammon's motionless body; the demon could feel the need rising up.

"Not now, plaything," he hissed; just to see the sudden shock on his face before he swiped his claw faster than the young knight could react. He didn't strike deeply, merely a graze along the chest through the cheap leather armour he had been assigned. The shocked eyes turned downwards, wide as they watched the blood seeping from the line of cut flesh on his chest. Opening his mouth to scream a warning, his voice seemed to catch in his throat. Mammon grinned his arms catching the toppling man, pulling off his helmet to inject a healing salve into him through his bite.

A voice called from above; Mammon quickly coiled up his strength. The knight must have noticed something, and he had little time to lure him in. His arms flew up, his golden tail acting like a spring to launch him into the air. Surprisingly acrobatic given the unnatural shape of his body he tumbled and vaulted up and out, standing in front of the rather shocked knight.

"Don't run!" implored Mammon. The older knight had quickly whipped the tip of his spear in front of him, pacing around the hole. Mammon twisted his neck, falling into some natural rhythm as he captured the knight's eyes in his ruby ones.

"I was like you, once," Mammon added, rising up using his tail, his feet leaving the ground. His voice carried a thick, suggestive quality to it; the honeyed words of a skilled con-man combined with the erotic compulsion of a demon descended from lust. "I was skilled and masterful, but bound by the limits of humanity. Until I met Asmodeus, who created for me this body." His body glowed brighter in response, as he continued a second later, "I can taste you have the same kind of power within you that he will appreciate and reward greatly."

The knight had some will to him; Mammon had to admire that. He seemed to shrug off some of the magic's effects, but that was not quite enough: his movements had slowed - imperceptibly to humans, but obvious to a demon - and the taint of arousal was in him now. He would take much more to break, but Mammon wasn't interested in that; not for this gift to his master.

Golden coils now looped around the soldier's path; Mammon started to tighten them. The knight struck, his spear bouncing harmlessly off the scales, for although they were gold they were still demonic flesh, and thus harder than any weapon. Mammon was actually a little surprised that it didn't shatter, but a knight was probably better-equipped than most guards and soldiers he had encountered in his past life. The noose was tied, and now tightening; the knight quickly realised his trap, but it was too late. Quick as a flash, Mammon darted forward, planting a wet, paralysing kiss on the knight's exposed face. Although the human fought against it, Mammon was a demon: there was no escape.

Briefly checking to ensnare the unconscious body of the prisoner in his tail, Mammon grabbed the knight under one arm, bearing the two humans down. Collecting the third on the way, the snake-demon descended into the darkness. Laying the three out on the floor just above his master's chamber, he informed Asmodeus, "I have three men here, master. One I think you will take great pleasure in breaking. One who will make an obedient thrall. The last is a dirty prisoner. Any or all are yours to do with." Mammon had his own thoughts on the matter, and Asmodeus knew them of course, but he knew the offer would be appreciated.

"Excellent, Mammon," Asmodeus commended him. At the sound of his name from the archdemon's lips, Mammon's penis emerged, a long squirt of demon fluid squirting excitedly into the air. "The knight and soldier will be mine, but of course there will be further roles for you to play in their conversion. I know your desires for your own play-thing, and I believe the practice of siring would be good for you: understanding the limits of what a mortal man can take is important, and something best done on those of little value. Take the one you want, but bring him here: I would enjoy seeing your technique."

"Yes, master," Mammon grinned, seizing the prone body of the prisoner before he dropped down the hole. Asmodeus caught him, the archdemon grinning knowingly. Mammon lowered his tail, the golden coils wrapping around the black, pulsing shaft, teasing it as he let renewed lust wash over him. "Would you like me to service you before I begin?" he offered.

Asmodeus chuckled, "As much as I enjoy your willingness, there are some things man and demon share, and that is in the satisfying feeling of pleasuring oneself. I intend to do that whilst watching you sire your very own demonspawn."

Nodding in compliance, Mammon gave Asmodeus one final stroke before descending to the floor. Injecting the transferred prisoner with healing fluid, Mammon gripped the manacles in between his talons, the metal shrieking as he released the human male. Mammon wondered what his crime had been: theft, rape, possibly even murder. None of that would matter, soon: Mammon was eager to remake him into something new.

The prisoner's eyelids began to flutter; Mammon took him into his coils, spreading his legs apart to let his cock dangle wet and hard between his legs. With his feet resting against his coils, he waggled his dripping shaft over the prisoner as he began to wake. The human groaned, raising his hand to his head: the prisoner had clearly been very muscular at some point, but his imprisonment had weakened him significantly; Mammon was almost able to look through him and see his past actions. "Fuck," he groaned, more out of delayed pain than shock.

"Salutations," Mammon said; it was strange how formal demonic tongue sounded when translated. "Don't worry, you've been rescued."

The prisoner took one look up at the golden, glowing snake-demon and immediately hooted, "Oh, I'm dreaming, aye. Or dead."

Mammon's first instinct was to correct him, but something inside made him rethink. He nodded, "Yes, you are; I am the dream of every rogue and miscreant: the embodiment of wealth and greed."

"Nice," the prisoner said. "My name's Sal."

"A pleasure," Mammon replied. He didn't care about the prisoner's name. "How do you feel, Sal?"

"Pretty good," Sal answered, stretching. "Good to be out of those chains. You... you can make things appear, right? 'Sonly that I was thinking, what with this being a dream 'nall, if maybe you could conjure us up some girls?" Mammon grinned, as Sal went on, "I mean, you're the god, so you get first pick. I ain't greedy, just that it's been a while."

"Not many women in prison, are there?" Mammon answered knowingly.

Sal grinned, "You got it! And as this is a dream, well no offence, but you're not really my type!" The prisoner's loincloth had bulged up: the big, dumb brute was decently equipped, his body succumbing to things his brain had yet to realise. Subconsciously, he scratched his balls through the flimsy, rough canvas.

Mammon responded, "Aren't I?" He nudged closer, slowly inching his cock nearer to the prisoners nose. Liquid oozed out of the tip, running down Sal's hairy, exposed chest, soaking into his body.

"Not saying you's ugly or anything, forgive me... uh... milord," Sal answered, squirming against Mammon's coils. "You've got a handsome face, and I'm sure all the golden snake-men and women all love you, it's just..."

"I'm a demon, actually," Mammon informed him; his cock twitched, the feeling of a hand wrapping around it became almost physical. More fluid splashed over Sal, who gasped in shock.

Asmodeus whispered in Mammon's mind, "Forgive me, I got a little too excited."

"No worries, master," Mammon answered through their telepathic link. Aloud, he asked Sal, "I'm sorry, you were saying?" Looking down, he noticed the prisoner slowly stroking himself; his hand jerked away when he noticed the demon watching him.

"Nothin'," Sal answered, "I... I don't know..."

"Taste me," Mammon suggested, wriggling his drooling demonhood around in front of the uncomfortably aroused human. He could feel the strands snapping in Sal: the strands that kept him from indulging the demon out of personal desire and social insecurity. "Besides, I have saved you, and now it is time to pay your debt."

"My debt?" Sal mumbled in a daze, forgetting his earlier reluctance, and pulling off his loincloth to tug on his aroused, bulging cock.

"I saved you," Mammon explained, "and will offer your captors to my master. I feel your need, and as you can see I have my own." To emphasise this, he slipped his legs around Sal's waist; the human's penis rubbing along his tail, his penis lying along a length of Sal's hairy, prison-weakened chest. It rose and fell along with their heartbeats; Mammon could tell he had succeeded in binding the two of them together.

Tightening his coils, Mammon watch Sal's resolve weakening: he sat there masturbating, his warm body nestling nicely in his coils as he slid is cock against him, up towards the unkempt beard. Sal's lips parted, accepting the erection sliding into him. The warm mouth felt pleasant around his shaft, and Mammon wasted no time in letting his demonic magic flow into the human, filling him and beginning his corruption.

The man moaned underneath him as Mammon rocked backwards and forwards, fucking his face. It took some practice to get it right; although the human never complained, Mammon could tell when he was hurting him, and had to ease off a little until the experience was pleasurable for both of them. He felt Asmodeus congratulating him, the archdemon's mind drawing on Mammon's sensation as he masturbated.

The human was hungry, his meaty free hand sliding close to Mammon's scales, trying to entice more magical fluid to pour out of his shaft. But his desires outstripped his capacity, and the excess fluid squirted and oozed down his body. Mammon himself was quietly surprised when the surface of the fluid went from clear to translucent gold, small blobs of white floating through it as Sal squirted out the last of his human seed, still desiring more as demonic essence flowed into him.

Mammon's shaft head opened wide, the snake demon's hood leaning back as he moaned in pleasure. The human - or what was left of him - learned quickly the best way to stimulate another's penis orally and manually. However, the demon himself wasn't quite ready: he'd rushed, wanting to fulfil his base desires, and the transformation of the human into his spawn required him to know the best use for the big, dumb brute. He could already sense an inkling for what the two soldiers would become: Asmodeus had a great deal of experience in this, and Mammon himself was an example of the artistry the archdemon possessed.

Another flash of inspiration filled his mind. Asmodeus chuckled, the archdemon squeezing his shaft as he commended Mammon on his choice. The image formed in his mind: a large powerful snout, tough emerald skin, strong thick arms and legs on an equally muscular body, with a thick tail dangling between them. The details crystallised in his mind, the ideal reptile guardian, at home on land and in the water. His testicles churned, the image transforming into demon seed, ready for planting in the primed demonspawn slowly disappearing under a jiggling ball of essence. The outer tips were all that remained, until the creature in their curled inside.

Groaning, he thrust in, the human's body warping to take the thrust easily. Mammon ejaculated, a strong sucking feeling causing the demon seed to burst out of his demonic cock. The outside of the orb began to harden, a glowing shell crystallising about his thrusting, squirting shaft. Something - Asmodeus' hand - reached under his tail, a clawed digit sliding into his rectum. Mammon leaned back as the archdemon's seed-covered finger primed him, and time and sanity was lost once again.

Golden eyelids retracted from Mammon's ruby eyes; he grinned as his master stroked his back. The egg containing his demonspawn had hardened completely, the new creature feeding off the human frame left inside, his cock locked inside it as it drank demonic fluids. Coils curled around it, he folded his arms over it, sprawling in contentment as he waited for his first spawn to hatch.

He felt the changes as if they were happening to him, the mental link between demonspawn of the same line linking them mentally and physically. The jaws milking his shaft stretched out, nostrils from the distended, widening nose smashing into his scaly crotch. Layers of skin tearing as parts of his body reformed. Mammon's seed continued to spill, his spawn gulping it down hungrily, feeding the expansion of his jaws, and the growth of the tail as it bulged out, green hard scales growing out thickly above the firm buttocks.

Two hands gripped on to the two penises sealed inside the eggs; the flesh on each blistered in the concentrated demon essence, rough green scales ripping through the old skin. Cracks appeared in the egg's golden surface. A large, fleshy bulge grew at the base of the dragonspawn's shaft, its flesh turning a deep pink. The spawned gripped it, unleashing additional demon fluid into the egg, straining the eggshell further.

Mammon hissed, tongue flickering in the air above the cracks. The spawn's snout had widened nicely, filled with sharp, pearly teeth. The spawn's strength had returned and increased: Mammon oozed pleasurably as he felt the brawny shape of the crocodile-spawn flexing his muscles, his shifting flesh feeding off of the fluid in the egg to grow and strengthened his body, replacing every sinew, tendon and bone with a demonic counterpart.

The shell cracked, and a wet, scaly limb forced its way through the golden shell. Another followed: a strong, slightly shortened leg with dark ebony claws tipping the toes. Extraneous demon essence dripped out, staining his scales. The egg disintegrated quickly after that; a wet, dripping, horny demonspawn birthed, still feeding off his master's cock. Demonic eyes blazed with lust, the bestial creature eagerly squeezing his reptilian shaft.

A giddy thrill passed through Mammon: he had come out perfectly, horny and eager and beautiful. Being this far from the direct line, Mammon could only sire the lower classes of demonspawn, but those he sired were still demonic. The creature was completely in its thrall; the barest thought passed through his mind, and the creature was prostrate on the ground, cock drooling against the already-sodden stones.

On all fours, it cried out; Mammon raked his claws over, petting his spawn. Grabbing its tail, the echoes of Asmodeus' actions on him earlier tickling his brain pleasantly, he pulled it up, enjoying the sight of the pink, puckered ring greeting him between the two nice, round, scaly buttocks. Still slick with essence, and some leftover seed, the hole was well lubricated: Mammon slipped the tip in easily, the ring stretching as he entered his crocodile-themed spawn.

Mammon thought, for a first time, he had done well; he'd certainly had guidance, acknowledged or not, from Asmodeus, but it had been his plan to ensnare them, his hypnotic dance that had broken the bonds tying the prisoners form, his cock that had planted the seed that had grown the demonspawn. Taller and stockier than his sire, the crocodile-spawn's snout and tail added to his fearsome size, especially sprawled out on the ground like this. The humanoid torso and limbs rippled with strength, and his scales shone like the jewels he had been imagining when designing him. The tight hole, though, was what he found most pleasant right then: easy enough to get in to, but lined with tight rings that squeezed any shaft entering it.

Reaching around, Mammon grabbed the unnamed spawn's genitals. His hips plunged forward: the spawn's body was able to withstand his full strength, so the slams were hard. Rubbing the shaft in his grip, Mammon ensnared his partner in his tail, pulling his body backwards while thrusting in. Demonic seed and essence flowed freely, and Mammon gave himself over to lust. Over and over, his spawn begged him to fuck him; the spawn of a demon such as himself could not speak the tongues of demons or men: the simple brutes could only convey emotions and obey orders. However, they were very good at doing what they could, and his ejaculating shaft spoke all the words that were necessary.

By the time Mammon's cock slipped back inside of his protective scales, he had properly ejaculated several times. Any human seed left in his spawn's body had been utterly washed away in the flood of demonic fluids that he'd toyed out of the spawn's shaft. The strange shape had been pleasurable entering his rear when he had grown curious, and the taste of it had made him hungry for more. "Amaymon," he commanded, naming his spawn, "clean me up, and see if our master needs attention."

"I, too, could use a heavy tongue," acknowledged Asmodeus. The archdemon had been watching the spawning with great interest, the pool of seed at his feet a testament to what he had been feeling watching the two reptilian bodies entangle and writhe upon one another. His thick cock still oozed a line of semen to the large puddle which formed beneath him. Amaymon, at least, wouldn't have to clean up them: they were already corrupting the air they breathed, preparing the two other playthings above for an interesting show.

Letting the crocodile-demon clear off his golden scales under the fiery, lust-filled sight of their shared master, Mammon couldn't wait.