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Magnum Opus

Chapter 5: Flames from a Fallen Tree

Blurb

Cliff Gale is not of this world. A man trapped by his mentor, he was plunged into the land of Grimvalle with little more than his wits and a vague directive to follow a Plot designed to give him endless adventure and reward him for playing the part of the lover of a rugged hero. In exchange, his old life would be forfeit and his achievements would be documented by the Magnum Opus to be exploited by his mentor; the inscrutable, selfish Desmond Eli Oaks.

Defiant, Cliff fought back and nearly fell to the Ink. He was saved by the mysterious entity known only as Realism and given a means to fight back. Now, he must enter the very same Story that was to be his prison, find the Piece of Oblivion that Desmond Eli Oaks used to create the Story and exorcise it so he can lay claim to the Story himself and potentially find a way out of his predicament.

Will the power of the Archetype and the his new abilities be enough to free himself from Oaks’ prison or will he be tempted to stay in this fantastical world that was designed to entrap him with his deepest desires?

Verik Stormleaf was born of the Story. A tragic character, he was always designed to lose his wife and daughter. All according to the Plot. His destiny was to take him across the world, finding a way to forgive himself for his failings, finding love again and, eventually, living happily ever after. But all that was upended when he met a young blacksmith’s son who possessed strange insight into the world and a mysterious power.

Now, Verik’s eyes are open to the role of a Protagonist, the central character of the Story. Knowing that everything that happened was all due to some malicious, lecherous and sadistic god has sparked the flames of rebellion within him. His only recourse is to fight back and win his own freedom. But Oblivion is not so merciful as to let him just steer the course of the Story away from the central Plot.

Can he fight the very being that created him? Can he save everything he holds true and dear before it is corrupted in a sea of hyper-masculine, hypersexual bear-men that only want to change, corrupt and cum?

Can he trust Cliff?

Grimvalle

Flames spewed everywhere. The heat was oppressive. The Burnbears raced at Cliff, striking at him with fiery claws and opening him to attack by either Nycolas or Gyrard. The short, fiery Unwritten were only there to distract. Cliff raised the shield of his Courage Form Archetype and pushed the Unwritten back. He would transform his weapon back into its default state and splash the inky creature with a water spell. As expected, it would blacken as its flames were doused. But before he could go in for the killing blow, Gyrard would come racing at him, swinging that enormous hammer made completely out of fire.

Their weapons would clash, sending sparks out from the impact.

“It’s useless!” laughed Gyrard, amber eyes wide, a broad grin on his face and cock erect. “I can smell you burning!”

That was not an exaggeration.

From the corner of his vision, Cliff could genuinely see his health bar rapidly being sapped. Just being close to any of the two Charcoal Brothers sapped his strength. It was all he could do to shove the bear away and scramble back to give himself some room. His health bar was already flashing at him as it dipped below a quarter strength.

Fuck… I hate to do this but I have no choice!

Heal!

A soft, green light surrounded him, filling his bar once more and revitalizing his muscles… at the cost of his Ink reserves which were nearly depleted. Between casting water spells and being unable to get a good hit in on any of his opponents, he was running out of resources.

A loud shout drew his attention to his right. Nycolas slammed the earth with both of his fiery gauntlets. A geyser of crimson flame launched into the air just mere two feet in front of him. Verik staggered back from the eruption, lifting an arm to shield his gaze from the flames. In that moment where he was put on the defensive, Nycolas surged out of the red curtain, a mad gaze on his face just like his brother and thick arm pulled back to strike. Verik barely had the time to lift his axe before the two weapons collided.

BAM!

The blow was strong enough that Verik - who was easily two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle - was thrown all the way back to where Cliff stood, right at the entrance of the rickety bridge that would have led them back into the Grimwalker Woods.

Cliff reached a hand out towards Verik who happily took it. By this time, the two Burnbears he had disabled had reignited.

As he brought the woodsman to his feet, Cliff realized that they had not made any ground whatsoever. Worse yet was that Verik was poorly equipped for this fight. The lumberjack had little to no defensive capabilities. He was a purely offensive fighter.

Fuck… I can’t worry about him at the same time as I worry about myself…

A soft green light encased Verik as Cliff invoked the Heal spell. Verik’s exhaustion faded but his blue eyes remained firm and motivated.

And I can’t keep healing him either. My Ink reserves are nearly completely depleted.

Maybe another collaboration attack?

A quick glance at his collaboration gage and it was still at an amber level. He and Verik had very little opportunity to act in synchronization since they were fighting two different foes, each with different fighting styles. Not to mention the annoyances of the smaller Unwritten.

His latest objective flashed in the top left corner of his HUD.

Defeat the Revised Charcoal Brother Nycolas

Defeat the Revised Charcoal Brother Gyrard

Cliff grit his teeth together.

Yeah, yeah. I know. But how_?_

He glanced over his shoulder at the burning woods behind them. Maybe they could retreat, lure the two brothers into the woods and pick them off one by one? Or at least snipe the Burnbears so the two didn’t have as much support.

No… that’s a bad idea. The woods are consumed by fire. We would have limited visibility, could easily get trapped and they would have the advantage since they use fire.

The faint trickling of water from the river rang in his ears. Perhaps he could take advantage of the river. Water spells seemed to be effective against these foes so maybe he could lead them into the river and splash water on them or trick them to fight in the ankle-deep waters?

They’re not stupid enough to fall for that. The Unwritten, maybe, but not the Revised.

He shut his eyes in frustration.

What!? How do we get out of this!? This isn’t how it ends!

Gyrard let out a huff of impatience. The brown, burly bear stroked his cock openly. “You’ve got me all fired up!”

God… and the fire puns…

The shorter of the two bears abruptly turned and padded over to his furnace with all the confidence of someone who knew he would win and had no qualms about turning his back to his foes. The bear only took a few more strokes before a jet of black, inky cum shot out of his dick and poured into the raging flames. The chimney spewed another meteorite of pure fire into the air. It crashed a few feet away, scorching the dirt beneath its feet while it reforged into another of the Burnbears.

The furnaces…!

His mind raced.

Let’s approach this step-by-step.

“Their burners!” he shouted, pointing at the currently unprotected burner on Nycolas’ side of the road. “Destroy them!”

“Alright!” Verik snarled and he rushed forward, pulling his axe back and letting out a mighty roar.

Nycolas was instantly upon them, pulling his fiery gauntlets back for another overhead swing. What the black bear didn’t realize was that Cliff was right behind Verik.

Courage!

A shield sprang into his left arm and he raced to Verik’s side.

Dash!

Cliff became a blur of motion, appearing right in front of Nycolas with his shield raised. The fiery fists collided with his shield, sending him kneeling to the ground but allowing Verik to speed past him. There was a flash of irritation in Nycolas’ amber eyes and the bear’s head turned to follow Verik’s trail.

Now! Counterattack!

A burst of light erupted from around him, knocking Nycolas back. As he did so, Cliff launching into the air, sweeping his sword upwards in a rising swing. For the first time, the blade of the Archetype bit into the flesh of one of the Revised. It wasn’t much damage but it was enough that a little bit of Ink was purified and seeped into Cliff.

Keep the combo going!

Cliff brought his sword crashing back down, slicing into Nycolas’ pectoral.

Keep it go -

The black bear would not just sit there and take the blows. The huge, fiery fist came crashing back towards Cliff. It would be a direct hit and he knew that if he caught it with his shield, his arm would be broken. In a moment of panic, he twisted his body away, reverting the Archetype back to its default form to reduce his overall profile. Then he spun away, missing getting pummeled by the blazing knuckles by just inches. He still felt the heat and how it ate away at his health but it was at least not a direct hit.

New Skill unlocked: Dodging.

Great! Cliff thought, sarcastically. Just what I needed. Numeric evidence on how poorly I can avoid getting hit!

He scrambled away, putting as much space between himself and Nycolas. There was no time to rest, however, as two Burnbears came racing at him, covering for their much slower master’s moment of recovery. Cliff swung his swords at them even though he knew that their fiery presence would eat away at his health. At that point, he needed to defeat them before either of the Charcoal Brothers could create more. A few points of health lost to their fiery aura would be more than offset by their demise.

A rising sweep with his feet still firmly on the ground and the first of the Burnbears was bisected down the middle. A falling slice and the other was quickly dispatched. Their bodies remained burning and just being around them, even as they began to fade into raw Ink, ate away at his health.

“Raaaaaaaaargh!”

Fear dragged his heart down into his stomach. Gyrard came rushing at him, hammer lifted.

Shit!

Cliff instinctively pulled back and lifted his spare hand towards the charging brown bear in a desperate attempt to protect himself. He did the first thing that came to mind: cast a spell.

Water!

Unlike before, five balls of water sprang from his fingertips and shot towards Gyrard. The projectiles slammed right into the charging bear’s chest. The explosions of water were much larger than before, enough to consume even the titanic Revised’s whole body. The impact was so tremendous that Gyrard’s charge was completely stopped by the first two blasts. The next two sent him staggering back a few steps and the fifth and final blow pushed him back onto his rump.

What the…?

Cliff stared at his hand in surprise.

Was… was that some sort of desperation attack? No… Did one of my skills passively buff my magic attacks?

He checked his HUD quickly. Magic Efficiency and Magic Damage remained at the same level. His Water spell ability was also unchanged.

Then what…?

A notification appeared.

New Skill unlocked: Finishers.

The cogs turned in his mind and a second later, a light bulb sprang on. This happened just as Verik collided with Nycolas’ furnace, slamming his axe right into the stone frame. A burst of autumn leaves erupted from the attack. Normally, a simple, sharp axe used for chopping would would never have been enough to break such a squat, sturdy structure but the impact was empowered by the Archetype and the purified Ink that infused him. The furnace shattered, erupting into a shower of fiery stones, charcoal and Ink particles diffusing into the air.

“No!” roared Nycolas. “You fucker!” He sprang to his feet and charged straight at Verik, gauntlets raised. “Don’t think you’re so hot just because you broke one of our furnaces!”

Again with the fire-related puns.

Dash!

Cliff quickly caught up with Nycolas and swung his blade, clipping the brown bear’s side. The damage was enough that the tall Revised was momentarily distracted and turned towards him. While still with his sword pointed to the sky as part of his MOM stance combo, Cliff pointed his palm towards his opponent.

Water!

Three globules of water shot towards Nycolas, striking the bear’s chest and erupting into spheres of water about the size of a man’s torso. Nycolas staggered back a few steps and the red glow from his gauntlets ebbed a little but it was not as powerful as the blow that had knocked Gyrard off his feet.

Water!

This time, five spheres of water shot towards the bear. A replica of what happened to his brother repeated itself against Nycolas. The five blasts of water were bigger and more forceful and the final blast threw him off his feet, sending him hurtling back and crashing to the ground.

That’s it!

Cliff pumped a fist into the air as he lowered his sword.

Combo finishers are more powerful that mid-combo attacks! And it transitions across magic attacks! That means if I end my combo with a magic attack, it’s more powerful than the last!

And it chains with magic too!

Best he could judge, his number of strikes before an attack could be considered a ‘finisher’ was three. If he kept attacking without his combo being interrupted, then the third hit would always be considered a finisher and be more powerful. At that point, he had always considered that his magic attacks were singular strikes and separate from his combo. But now…

It still drained his Ink, however.

With the two bears momentarily incapacitated, he spun and fired off three quick casts of his Water spell at the surrounding Burnbears. As he expected, the first two shot three projectiles that was enough to douse the Unwritten and reduce them to a catatonic state. The third cast, however, was much bigger and completely shattered the Unwritten upon conclusion.

Sweet! I’m getting the hang of this!

He chased down one of the inert Burnbears and sliced through it. Verik ran up next to him and dispatched the other.

“One more furnace,” panted the woodsman. “How do you want to do this?”

Their collaboration bar had gone to a bright orange.

“Deal with the Burnbears while they’re down!” he shouted, ensuring that his voice was as loud as possible even if Verik was right beside him. His partner in battle gave him a brief glance, trust flashing in his eyes.

Orange turned to red on their collaboration bar.

Cliff fired off three more water spells, disabling another two Burnbears which Verik promptly ran towards and eliminated. The third collided with the last of the Unwritten and obliterated it.

“You think that’s enough to stop us?” snarled Nycolas, rising to his feet, his cock following his motion until it was pointing straight up. “We can just make more!”

“We can always make another furnace!” agreed Gyrard, using his fiery hammer to prop himself up to his feet. “We’ll make this one bigger! So big you can see it from Grimvalle!”

Nycolas then turned and charged towards the one remaining furnace, cock in a hand that was still covered in his gauntlets. How each stroke wasn’t incredibly uncomfortable or awkward was beyond Cliff. At the same time, Gyrard moved to defend his brother, blocking off the clearest path to the black bear.

“Verik!” Cliff shouted, kneeling down on one knee and activating Courage form.

The lumberjack beside him nodded in understanding and immediately jumped at him, planting both his feet on the shield that materialized just half a second earlier. Cliff pushed against his shield, propelling Verik over Gyrard and straight towards the furnace.

Gyrard was not to be so easily circumvented. The bear crouched for a moment and then launched himself to the air, bringing his hammer swinging at the airborne woodsman. Verik’s eyes widened for a second until he saw another figure dashing beneath Gyrard. Cliff dove feet first, baseball-style, so that he slipped right underneath Gyrard’s feet which were about three feet off the ground at that point. With his free hand, he seized the brown bear’s ankle, letting his momentum drag him further and Gyrard back to the ground.

WHAM!

The younger of the Charcoal Brothers slammed into the ground, muzzle slapping against the hard-packed earth with a sickening crunch. Cliff released the bear’s ankle and bolted. Even without looking, he stretched out his hand and found Verik’s arm clasping his as the lumberjack landed. A roar split from the woodsman’s throat as he used his momentum to spin Cliff around and hurl him right at the remaining furnace.

Nycolas never got a chance to reach the mouth of the burner or even jerk off. There was a brief moment when time seemed to slow. The black bear was grinning, amber eyes gleaming with the approaching satisfaction of orgasm and producing more Unwritten. Then, something in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. Cliff came sailing past him, the Archetype glistening in the crimson firelight of the corrupted furnace. The black bear couldn’t react fast enough as he had to processes what was happening, release his cock and make a grab for the flying Cliff in the span of a second. He got the terrifying realization of what was happening and was halfway to unwrapping his fingers from his seizable dick but by then, Cliff had already zoomed past him.

Cliff swung the Archetype, pushing his might into the blow and channeling his purified Ink into the blow. He landed behind the furnace in a crouch, his sword out after a swing. There was a second where all was still… then the burner’s stone frame creaked to the side, sliding off a new incision made at an angle.

“No!” roared Nycolas.

The chimney toppled. The dome-shape of the furnace crumbled. Flames were doused, buried beneath brick and ruins.

“You’ll pay!” snarled Gyrard, blood dripping from his ursine lips. “You’ll both burn for this!”

Verik rushed to Cliff’s side just as the young man stood.

The collaboration bar was glowing again, shimmering through all colors of the rainbow. The words ‘Charybdis Calling’ flashed over the indicator.

“You want us to burn?” growled Verik, clutching his axe tightly in one hand, knuckles going white.

Cliff turned towards the two Revised. “You can’t handle the heat!”

Both warriors shot forward, streaks of water shooting from their bodies and swirling around them in a dizzying display. The beams struck both Gyrard, Nycolas and the remaining Unwritten. Each blow ended with an rising geyser of water beneath their feet that sent them all launching into the air.

Cliff and Verik launched themselves into the exact center of their flying opponents. They grasped each other’s forearms in one hand while holding out their weapons with the other. Using combined momentum, they spun, whirling in place. The outpouring of water from their glowing forms didn’t end but instead multiplied. Within moments, a tower of spinning water had formed, consuming both Nycolas and Gyrard in its confines. The roaring of rushing water could be heard for miles as the makeshift maelstrom ripped everyone within it save for Cliff and Verik to shreds.

The Unwritten completely dissolved into Ink.

Nycolas reached a desperate paw towards his brother. He shouted out Gyrard’s name but he could not be heard through the screaming whirlpool. The raging waves ripped his body apart, tearing his leg clear from his body and leaving only a stump bleeding black Ink. A chunk was torn from his torso. His arm was wrenched from its socket. Strangely, he felt no pain. The desperation to be with his brother faded and a serene peace fell upon him. He closed his amber eyes and let himself be consumed by the tornado.

Gyrard was being flung around on his back. He caught sight of his brother and saw Nycolas reach for him. Though he tried to do the same, his arm was immediately shredded by the spinning storm. No pain shot through his body just… relief. He saw the black Ink creeping up from the stump that had been his arm crawling up his chest. His body was returning to the Ink. The insatiable lust had finally released him. There was no yawning abyss that yearned to be filled. Instead, there was a peaceful clarity that allowed him to see what he had done in a lens clear of the need to change, corrupt and cum. He only wished he could have had one last opportunity to couple with his brother with this level of clarity.

The storm died down and the two warriors stopped spinning. Walls of water swirled into the clear night sky only to come back down as a light rain that reached far enough that it partially soothed the raging inferno that consumed the Grimwalker Forest. The last few embers from the Charcoal Brothers’ furnaced were doused.

The world fell still.

Cliff collapsed to his knees, panting.

Objective Complete: Defeat the Revised Charcoal Brother Nycolas.

Objective Complete: Defeat the Revised Charcoal Brother Gyrard.

A sigh of relief left his lips. This was quickly followed by the soft ping announcing that he had obtained some ability points. His Collaboration Skill improved. His Magic Damage skill had also reached the next level.

All that and I just get two lousy ability points!?

He couldn’t really be mad. One ability point could go miles. Not to mention he only got points from improving his skills. Usage of his abilities did not cause them to grow or improve.

Not knowing exactly what awaited him he went into his ability trees and scanned his options. The Ice and Lightning spells would provide him with more utility but he feared that by spreading his abilities too wide and with the points coming slower, he would not be prepared for higher-level encounters. Most of his abilities had thus far also focused offense.

With that in mind, he invested a point into his MOM Stance.

New Ability unlocked: Dodge Counter.

Appropriate since he had just unlocked the Dodging skill.

The last point he placed into the Shield Spell, a new addition with his frequent use of Courage form’s shield. He was hoping it would grant him greater protection and defensive capabilities.

“They… they were turned,” panted Verik. “Did… Did one of those Barbearians make it past us? Did they infect them?”

Cliff shook his head and propped himself up on his sword. “I don’t think so… I think they were an entirely different breed.” Giving Verik the side-eye, he nodded towards the Charcoal Brothers’ hut. “They could create weapons out of fire. They could manipulate flames and spawn entirely different Unwritten. The Barbearians could create Unwritten but it was those puny, serpentine blots.”

“Then how did they turn?” Verik’s eyes revealed that he knew a answer but was afraid to voice it.

“Neither of them mentioned anything about the Baron,” Cliff said, reading his friend’s mind. “I don’t think he transformed them and I don’t think he was changed either. This is just Oblivion exerting his control over the Story.”

But I can’t help but wonder how much damage he’s doing to the Narrative if he keeps using the Unwritten like this…

The Plot can’t stay together like this if he keeps changing everyone.

“Come on,” Cliff grunted, rising to his feet.

There were no horses around. Without their mounts, the trek back to Grimvalle would take hours. His health was moderately full after healing during the battle but his Ink reserves - despite what he could gain from the aftermath - was just halfway full. A collaboration attack didn’t grant them any returns in Ink. It pained him to think that he would have to make that trek in the dark on foot.

Let’s just hope that Grim made it back to town safely.

He glanced over to Verik who was clearly showing the exhausting of the constant fighting. Then his eyes drifted to those same huts.

But why the Charcoal Brothers…? Just to stop us or… is there some deeper meaning here…?

In Between the Pages

Gyrard started in surprise.

One moment, he was being torn apart by a whirlwind of water and the next… he was suddenly standing on a knoll overlooking a silver lake with grass tickling his furry feet. The same clarity that had been with him before the emptiness of death took him was still with him. Guilt immediately followed.

He had been overcome by lust. He had fucked and been fucked by his own brother. He had willingly spilled his cum knowing full well that it would create those monstrous Unwritten. Even when he saw how those Unwritten had burned down the Grimwalker Forest, still he persisted in pushing to get his cock stimulated as much as possible. Worse yet, he had actively tried to harm two men - Cliff and Verik.

The weight of all this sent him toppling to his knees, his immense form disturbing the flora around him and sending a flurry of dandelion seeds flying into the air. Tears welled up in his eyes and he squeezed them shut. Somehow, blocking out one sense built a wall to keep all that remorse from flooding in at once. All his other senses were still there though. The flames of judgment burned his soul.

A finger gently brushed against his cheek, wiping away a tear.

“You always were a crybaby.”

His amber eyes snapped open and he turned. His brother’s face met him; those ursine features wrapped in black fur and sporting gorgeous muscles. There was no sudden onset of arousal at seeing his brother’s immense form or that low-hanging cock. Instead, he was hit by relief and he even allowed himself to feel a little bit of happiness.

“Brother!”

He threw his arms around Nycolas’ neck and nuzzled him affectionately. Nycolas own arms wrapped around him, holding them together and in a moment of serenity.

Gyrard was the first to break their moment of affection. “What happened? Where are we?”

“In Between the Pages,” came the enigmatic answer.

Both men turned, noticing for the first time the simple bench that stood atop the grassy hill and the single figure peering out into the distance.

“Who… and where?” asked Nycolas.

“Think of it as a transitional place between life and death.” The figure waved a hand absently through the air. “Your world has no afterlife. Never did. When Oaks created it, he never defined a divine cosmology. He intended it just to be a prison for Cliff and just placed the foundations. All things considered, it was a pretty haphazard reality.”

“Then… why aren’t we dead?” asked Gyrard. “We died…” He glanced towards his brother. “Right?”

“You did,” answered the mysterious man. “But thanks to a few loopholes I’ve been able to exploit, your souls were brought here.”

“Our souls?” Gyrard regarded his paws. “Aren’t souls meant to be pure? Why are we still…this?”

The man turned to them for the first time, a sad little smile on his face. “Because that’s what you want to be.”

“No it isn’t!” barked Nycolas. “I was attacked by one of those Unwritten! It… it… it went up my ass and… it made me do things!”

The stranger shook his head solemnly. “Yes and no. The Unwritten contains the raw will of the Holder of the Magnum Opus and by inserting itself into you, your thoughts, emotions and very soul is changed to reflect that will. It acts as a receiver for the signal that Oaks used to revise Plot, commanding you to follow his directive. However, that’s where it’s manipulation of you stops. Everything you did afterwards was on you.”

“That’s…” Gyrard began then choked back on his words. There was no doubt that he enjoyed every second that his cock was in his own brother… or that his brother was fucking him silly. “There was this… compulsion…”

“Irresistible,” agreed Nycolas. “I couldn’t stop myself.” He grit his fangs together, clutching the side of his head. “I was constantly being told to change others. Corrupt them. To cum constantly. Every second that I didn’t do that, I was left with this aching hunger that could only be stopped if I did any of those things.”

“Then even if we did, it’s like that hunger only grew!” protested Gyrard. “It was… it was endless. Unbearable… But… also felt so good…”

“And therein lies the crux of this dilemma,” said the stranger, gesturing towards the lake. Gyrard followed the motion and noticed there were other bears built similarly to them crowding around the edge of the silvery waters. They were cheering. None of them were fucking.

“The Unwritten rewrote you, yes, and embedded this compulsion in you. But nothing was stopping you from learning to resist, to step away from the insatiable desire and to lower your weapons.” The stranger looked back to the group of bears sadly. “Were you originally written to be more than side characters, you might have had the will to fight back. Sadly, it was never in the cards as, like I said, Oaks threw this world together in a haphazard way. In some way, a good portion of him was reflected in you including his desire to be with other men. Only a few characters were well-defined enough to develop a sliver of hope to resist the Unwritten.”

“You can’t blame us for what we did…” Nycolas whispered.

“I never said I was,” countered the stranger. “Just stating fact. The Unwritten did make you do things but at the same time, you didn’t have to do them the way you did. Nor did you have to keep going. That said, you were poorly equipped to fight back. You were set up to fail but that doesn’t necessarily mean you had to fail.”

Sensing the end of the topic, Gyrard clutched his brother’s paw tightly and asked, “Well… what happens now?”

“Now…?” The stranger gestured against towards the lake. “Why don’t you two take a seat and watch the rest of the Story play out? You’re not quite done in that world. Not yet, at least. Afterwards?”

An enigmatic smile touched the man’s lips, a smile that filled Gyrard with a strange sense of comfort and warmth.

“Let’s just say the Story must go on.”

Grimvalle

Without their horses and exhausted as they were, Cliff and Verik took the better part of an hour and a half just to get halfway to Grimvalle. The delay did offer them some respite as their aching muscles were given a moment to relax. However, without food or water, both were starting to run on fumes. Adrenaline could only take them so far.

The horizon was mercifully still fairly dark but it wouldn’t be long before dawn was upon them. Cliff avoided using Dash or any of his abilities to conserve Ink and his health. Verik was faring much better, however. The towering, muscled woodsman had far more stamina than himself. All those days riding his bike to and from work or school didn’t really do much when life-or-death combat was injected in between moments of travel.

Or… you know… Protagonist powers.

The lumberjack noticed his exhaustion, a look of concern on his features.

“Let’s take a break.”

Cliff shook his head and waved away the concern. “No. Come on. I can keep going.”

“You can but you shouldn’t.” Verik grabbed Cliff’s shoulder and pulled him towards the fences that marked the property of Old Man Duggin. He forced Cliff to lean against the wood, firmly pressing a hand against the young man’s chest. “Grimvalle is important. But we’d be useless in a fight if we arrive exhausted.”

“What do you suggest then?” huffed Cliff, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice. “I don’t have enough Ink to bring us back up to full health.” Verik glanced down the road. Cliff grabbed the man’s sleeve and pulled his attention back to him. “And don’t even think about leaving me here.”

“I wasn’t,” Verik laughed softly. “Just that I know that Duggin lives nearby. He patched me up. Perhaps we could go to him for aid again.”

That’s not a bad idea.

“Shit…” he mumbled, trying to pry himself off the fence. “Now that I got a second rest, my legs stopped working.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” teased Verik.

Part of me wants to say ‘yes’ but the rest can’t stand the humiliation.

“I’ll be fine,” Cliff snarled back playfully. “Why don’t you just shut up, admit you could take a break too and sit your hairy, red ass beside me.”

A soft chuckle came from the tragedy-stricken woodsman and he crouched down beside Cliff, one leg bent and the other stretched out in front of him. They spent a minute or two just sitting in silence, resting. Cliff looked to the sky, at the sea of stars above him.

Even if this world started with a bare-bones foundation that Oaks expected him to construct for himself, there was no denying that the scenery was still breathtaking. If only Oaks could genuinely apply himself, maybe he could create a fantastical world that didn’t rely on forcing people to live out their lives in the fantasy world and selling their story like a perverse Big Brother.

A soft chuckle left his dry, raspy throat. After having dealt with the Barbearians, the fires in the forest and the Charcoal Brothers, he never realized just how dry his throat was.

“What’s so funny?” Verik asked.

“I was just wondering,” he admitted, clearing his throat to get the feeling of sandpaper out of his mouth. “What if I had just lived my life as boring as possible? What if I did absolutely nothing? I just stayed in, slept all day and just let the grand epic that Oaks had created for me just completely pass me by. What if I just refused to participate?”

“I suppose you could have done that,” conceded Verik. “But could you live with yourself afterwards?”

After a moment of thought, he shook his head. “No. I don’t think I could. Oaks would probably get frustrated with me and start infecting people with the Unwritten just to motivate me to move my ass. It’d probably be just as bad as it is now. Maybe worse. Does make me wonder if anyone else tried it.”

“You mean you’re not the first to be trapped here?”

Cliff shook his head. “Not according to those spirits that I first met. Oaks has also created numerous bestsellers. It isn’t hard to imagine that each of those was at least related to one person or another having their lives manipulated into the Magnum Opus.”

Thinking about those novels, he recalled how many of them spanned entire lifespans of the characters within. Some were entire series and sagas. Though as he drew connections with what he knew now, he could see that the story pretty much died when one particular character reached the end of their role in the series. The ‘soul’ of the series, so to speak. When they ended their part in the story - and they never were the protagonist - the series would end shortly after, usually within a few chapters.

That had to be the person that Oaks trapped dying in the story… or not doing any interesting enough for Oaks to publish.

“What was your life like before you were drawn in here?” Verik asked.

“Do you want the fantastical version where I’m some sort of fallen angel cast down by my mentor or the boring truth?” The woodsman gave him a pointed look and Cliff recounted his life. His story. His boring, no future life where his English Degree wouldn’t get him anywhere, especially where he lived.

“The irony is that being drawn into this world is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me,” he admitted. “There’s a part of me that wants to seize this opportunity to live a better life here. I mean I might miss indoor plumbing and some of the comforts of modern life but it isn’t so bad here…” He cast a gentle smile at Verik. “The company is good, at least.”

“I suppose because that’s what Oblivion made me to be,” answered the lumberjack with a smile back. “I am your jailer. The charming, handsome ‘Protagonist’ wracked with tragedy that is anchoring you here out of emotional obligation.” Verik’s expression soured. The sparks of rage flashed behind his eyes as he turned them away. “If I ever meet Oblivion, I’ll wring his neck with my bare hands for making me only to ruin me just so that I can be your emotional baggage.”

“You might be able to come with me, you know,” Cliff suggested. “Maybe we can escape the Magnum Opus together. Bring you into my reality so that you can do as you promised.”

There was that spark again in Verik’s eyes but as quickly as it came, it faded. “No. I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Why not?” Cliff asked, pushing off the fence. “He is the literal god that created you, wrote your entire back story so that you would love your wife and daughter with all your soul and then took that all away for something completely unrelated to you.” He folded his arms and let out a little snort. “That’s a Call to Action if I ever heard one.”

I wonder if that’s a tactic I can employ here.

Use the narrative structure to my advantage and rally an army of heroes against Oaks.

“No,” Verik responded, propping himself up and rising to his feet. “And I will tell you why.” Turning towards Cliff, the towering, red-headed man rested his hands on the shoulders of young wielder if the Archetype. “Battle has forged these chains that bind us. Oblivion wants us connected. The more we fight together, the more we challenge his will, the closer we become. I can feel it. You can too. But…” Verik lowered his gaze, his hand slipping away from Cliff’s shoulders. “… that only plays to his plan.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Cliff knew this to be true. The strength of their bond was growing stronger by the minute. After they had executed that recent collaboration attack, his synchronization rate with Verik defaulted to a green wave. Not the dull blue. The second stage. Their relationship was building… and with it the gravity of his ultimate decision of what to do once he defeated the Big Bad Guy of this world.

What will happen once I kick out the Piece of Oblivion?

Can I just leave this place? Can I leave Verik? Arthur? Reeve and Percy?

Verik was suddenly staring straight at him. “You need promise me something, Cliff.”

The young man nodded. “What is it?”

“When the time comes,” came the even-toned request, “you need to promise me that you will leave this world. Leave me. Don’t let me be your anchor.”

“But what if -”

He cut himself off.

There was going to be a trope somewhere of him begging Verik to come with him. The Story would have them grow closer and he would find some way to circumvent the laws of this world as they understood it and somehow they would end up together. Perhaps it was a fact that they had both forgotten that would come to their rescue at the final moments. Or maybe the power of their hearts would unite them even through the vast nothingness between their worlds. The saddest outcome would be that he would awaken in the real world and all he would have of Verik is the manuscript of their adventure together.

None of those he was sure he could be prepared for.

“Bolt,” he said suddenly.

“Sorry?” Verik asked.

“My real name is Cliff Bolt. It isn’t Cliff Gale. ‘Gale’ is just the name Oblivion gave me in this world. Probably an attempt to strip me of my identity and get me to integrate into this Story a little more.” He offered Verik a reassuring smile. “I just wanted you to know it so that when he are inevitably separated, you’d know who I was.”

The gentle but sad smile was returned.

“Come then, Cliff Bolt,” Verik told him. “Let us see if Old Man Duggin has some herbs to restore our stamina.”

With them being right on the edge of Duggin’s farm, it was just a short walk up the to the farmhouse. The minute they stepped onto the dirt path leading to the farmhouse, Cliff knew something was wrong. There were no cattle in the fields. Worse, as they approached Duggin’s abode, the door was missing from its hinges. Something or some_one_ had ripped it clean off.

Verik readied his axe and Cliff summoned the Archetype. The two of them cautiously approached the farmhouse. They got about a few feet from the threshold, peering into the darkness of the home beyond… when a pair of yellow eyes opened in the gloom… followed by a fanged, toothy smile.

“I had a feeling you’d stop by.”

The voice was much deeper but there was no doubt it was the gravelly rumble of Farmer Duggin. Both men stepped back away from the house. One huge, white paw tipped with wicked, black claws grasped the door frame, cracking it beneath a powerful grip. The titanic form of a polar bear emerged from the darkness of the farmhouse, rippling abdominals glistening in the scant starlight, pectorals gleaming with sticky, black seed. His monstrous cock was fully erect and on the verge of blowing its load.

“Duggin!?” Verik exclaimed, more a wail of misery than shock. “They got you too?”

“Got me?” laughed Duggin, spreading his thick arms. “The initial shock caught me by surprise, sure. But this…” He curled those arms, flexing his immense biceps which were only highlighted further by the starlight. “… I accepted this.” His gleaming yellow eyes turned to the two. “And both of you will too. Join my family.”

Family…?

A loud shuffling could be heard from behind Duggin and the enormous polar bear stepped aside. From within the house, having to duck beneath the door frame much like the elder bear, was a towering beast with dark, brown fur. This monster Cliff couldn’t recognize but from the way its cock was dripping and the way he wiped some precum from his muzzle, he guessed this ursine was the one that had been servicing Duggin’s monster member and the source of the Ink-infused seed that was dripping off the polar bear’s torso.

“Marvin!?” shouted Verik.

“Who?” Cliff asked out of the corner of his lips.

“Marvin Reynoldus.”

Reynoldus… That family of guys that was always competing against Duggin!?

“That’s right, Verik,” rumbled Marvin, grinning broadly. “Me and my boys saw the light. Why fight with his sexy beast right here?” He sidled up to the bigger, taller Duggin, wrapping his powerful arms around the polar bear’s torso and licking his lips. “When we could all be one, big, happy family? No need to compete. We’re all here to feed Grimvalle.”

Wait… his boys?

Cliff glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, three other bears had appeared and were stalking up the farmhouse path towards them. They were trapped.

Crap!

“You… You turned your own sons!?” Verik demanded.

“No. My sons turned me.” Marvin swiped a bit of black cum from Duggin’s chest and licked it off with an artful swipe of his tongue. “They taste delicious, by the way. You should try them out. I’m sure they’d be happy to have a hearty new uncle like you.” Marvin’s eyes drifted towards Cliff. “And a spry little cousin.”

Cliff’s skin crawled but, at the same time, his cock twitched a little. Typical more extreme storyline from Oaks - one he was not too ashamed to admit he had perused once he was established enough in the industry. Familial love taken to the literal sense. The Holder of the Opus’ influence was rife in the air. Now that he looked back at the Charcoal Brothers, it was pretty obvious. This infectious spread of the idea, however, the mass conversions and transformations into beastly men… he wondered if that was within Oaks’ control.

How much can he really change the Story before the Narrative has to take the reigns and do it for him?

He glanced quickly at Verik.

Was the symbolism of these Revised becoming bears something Oaks consciously wrote… or was it the Ink?

Verik lifted his axe, baring his teeth. “You’re sick and we’ll put you down like we put down the Charcoal Brothers before you can infect anyone else!”

Duggin let out a deep, intimidating chuckle. “You’re too late for that.”

A bolt of fear shot through Cliff. “What?”

“Think about it, young one. The Charcoal Brothers. Us? There is only one road leading to Grimvalle. You are hours behind. There was nothing but plains and grass between us and the Charcoal Brothers.” His features split into a terrifying rictus of manic glee. “If you think the Holder’s will is limited by space or even time, then you are deluding yourself!”

That means Grimvalle could already have fallen!

He shot Verik a quick look. They shared a nod agreement.

They couldn’t spend any more time here. The city needed them.

Cliff turned around and adopted his MOM Stance against the three approaching sons of Reynoldus. “You take the two big ones,” he announced. “I’ll handle these three.”

“Don’t let them fuck you over,” snarled Verik.

With a wave of his hand, he quietly cast the Shield spell upon his ally. A sphere of shimmering crystal wrapped around the lumberjack, flashing briefly before vanishing. The waves of the collaboration signal increased in frequency, bringing them back up to the yellow state. “Same goes to you.”

On some unknown command, both men charged.

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Johannes Reynoldus

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Willis Reynoldus

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Nils Reynoldus

There was some comfort in the knowledge that whoever was giving him these objectives, it was not his own unstable unconscious mind. The names of the Reynoldus sons had never been mentioned and since these objectives named them directly, it proved that someone else was printing these tasks for him.

Cliff Dashed towards the three Revised, reaching the first and delivering an upward slash before immediately Dashing towards the second and unleashing his downward blow. He spun quickly, blade outstretched and pushing all three back. Purified Ink seeped into his sword, recovering a good portion of his Ink reserved. His health was not quite flashing red but it was significantly low. Perhaps down to a third. One good hit and he would be down.

There was no time to worry about Verik but by the sounds of fighting behind him, he knew his ally was holding out for now.

Got to finish this quickly help him out.

Suddenly, all three sons jumped back away from him. They all let out a thunderous roar. Bales of hay that had remained dormant in the fields sprang to life. Their forms twisted as they jumped over the fences and took up position around Cliff. Each one had the vague torso and legs of the Revised and about as tall. Instead of arms, however, they had a collection of constantly clanking and scraping farming tools that ended in the ends of scythes.

Reeve would hate to see all that grinding metal.

Another notification popped up in his screen.

New Bonus Objective: Defeat the Harvesters [0/7]

A bonus objective. It confirmed that he didn’t need to defeat these Unwritten. He just needed to get at the Reynoldus sons. However, getting to them while he was surrounded would be difficult.

Bonus objective or not, he was going to do it anyway. The gamer in him demanded it.

A grin crossed his lips. “You really shouldn’t have decided to turn you dry bales of hay into Unwritten.” He held out his palm towards the nearest creature. “Fire!”

A burst of flame shot from his palm and struck the nearest Harvester. Since most of its body was made out of hay, it immediately caught fire. The creature didn’t even seem to understand that it was in danger of collapsing or being completely engulfed in flames. It just took the sign of aggression and charged, swinging its cobbled-together, scythe-like arms madly. Cliff ducked one of the blows, gaining a little to his Dodging skill, and struck at the Unwritten, ending it. Since he did manage to get a strike in, he recovered some Ink in the process.

Bonus Objective Updated: Defeat the Harvesters [1/7]

The other Harvesters charged and he quickly fired off a few more fireballs, chaining a Finisher at the end. The last fireball exploded with such force that two other Harvesters were knocked to the ground. They weren’t down but they were still on fire and rapidly deteriorating. Cliff rushed to them first, weaving past the other Harvesters. One scythe slash grazed his arm and there was a pang of pain but he ignored it for the moment. He sliced through the downed Harvesters, recovering enough Ink to cast…

Heal!

Green light washed over him, bringing him back to full health and easing away the wound that he had just received. He quickly glanced over to Verik.

Duggin, who had manifested his own scythe, swung at the lumberjack. Verik opted to dodge out of the way of the sweeping attack and just barely managed to roll out of the way on time. Marvin was there waiting for the woodsman, however, wielding a large shovel. He brought it down on Verik but was immediately stopped by a loud, reverberating twang. The barrier Cliff had summoned earlier flashed in around Verik, showing the faintest crack where the shovel had impacted but otherwise leaving Verik unharmed. A stunned Marvin stared at the mysterious orb and was left open for Verik to slash at him with his axe, slicing through the farmer’s thigh and drawing some Ink.

He’s holding his own.

I’ve got to deal with my pests.

A quick glance at his objective confirmed that he had successfully downed four out of the seven Harvesters. Cliff bolted towards the two Unwritten that he had previously set alight toppled to the ground, the flames rendering them incapable of moving.

Bonus Objective Updated: Defeat the Harvesters [6/7]

His trope senses were screaming at him and as the last Harvester swung at him and he countered its attack, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Just as his bonus objective marker announced that he had completed it and defeated the last of the Harvesters, one of the Reynoldus sons came rushing up to him, wielding a large rake.

Guess they got a whole farming theme going on.

He quickly activated Courage form, lifting his shield in time to catch the swung from the large bear. The blow connected and he was still off balance from defeating the last Harvester. With a mighty clang, he was hurled back several feet. His arm stung from the impact and his health dropped down a good chunk.

But the distractions were out of the way.

Straightening, he watched the two other brothers approach, each of them wielding their own farming equipment. Apart from the rake-wielding one, the two that looked like they could be twins each held a sickle in one hand and a spade in the other. They did hold the tools in opposite hands though; one twin had the sickle in the right hand and the other had it in the left.

Suppose there had to be some way of telling them apart.

Still wish I actually new your names!

Johannes Reynoldus was quite satisfied with himself for pushing Cliff back with his surprise strike. Drawing on his training as a soldier - or at least what he had heard - he charged at the warrior, pulling the rake he had pulled from the Ink back all the way and ready to fling his entire body into the blow. Had it connected, it would have cleaved Cliff’s head clear from his shoulders. Be it the cloud of lust that fogged his mind, the inexperience he had possessed in his old life as an actual soldier or because he was never meant to be more than a passing mention in the greater Plot, Johannes never expected to miss.

But he did miss.

His swing was accurate enough but Cliff ducked and rolled towards the side that was swinging, putting as much distance between him and the rake as possible. Before Johannes could react and bring his rake crashing back, the blade of the Archetype was suddenly puncturing his flanks, sinking deep through his Ink-infused body and cutting through his torso.

“Sorry, man,” Cliff sighed. “You left yourself open.”

The fog over his mind lifted instantly and the youngest son of Marvin Reynoldus couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah…” he groaned softly. “Yeah, I fucking did…”

Then Cliff yanked the Archetype out of Johannes’ body, ripping it clear out of the bear’s torso. Johannes’ form had started dissolving into the black Ink before he even hit the ground.

Cliff thrust his hand towards Verik, quickly casting a Heal spell. The lumberjack grinned broadly and straightened as his strength was renewed.

Their collaboration meter just went up to the red.

Objective Complete: Defeat the Revised Johannes Reynoldus

His eyes went to the fading Reynoldus son which had dissolved into a cloud of Ink particles. It was the first time he had used Dodge Counter and he had to admit that it was incredibly effective. The moment he had rolled out of Johannes’ swing, he invoked the ability and his body moved on its own.

So that was Johannes, huh?

The twin bears let out similar roars of frustration and pain before charging headlong towards him.

And these two must be Willis and Nils.

Willis had just seen his youngest brother get killed by this unknown swordsman. He was furious. He was confused. He was horny. Throughout it all, all he could think about was slicing up this man and then shoving his dick down the guy’s throat until he choked on his cum. His rage blinded him and he threw himself recklessly at Cliff, swinging both sickle and spade like they were glowsticks in a rave party - no real technique, just a distant hope he’ll cut something. He was no warrior, after all. That was all Johannes.

Cliff’s eyes darted to him and the man held out a hand towards him.

“Wind!”

A blast of wind erupted straight into his face, forcing him to squint as strands of charred hay and dust was flung into his eyes. Willis scowled but kept charging, kept on swinging. He kept on swinging even though Cliff jumped off to the side and brought the Archetype down on his wrists. He kept swinging even as his paws, still clutching his weapons, dropped to the ground two feet behind him.

When he tried to reach for his face to wipe the dust away, he only felt the cold touch of the Ink. Through the dark goo, he finally saw the clean cuts across his wrist. There was no pain and his form was already starting to repair itself… but in that moment of confusion, he realized he had left himself vulnerable.

His whole body jolted forward for a second. The curtain of clarity peeled back and he looked down at the blade of the Archetype jutting from his chest.

“Oh…” he gurgled. “I’m… I’m dead…”

“You were dead the moment you became a bear,” Cliff said grimly. “At least you can rest now.”

Then he yanked the sword out of Willis and the bear toppled to the ground, his eyes lifting to his last remaining brother. A smile touched his face, comforted in the knowledge that soon, Nils would also find peace by that blade.

“No!” roared Nils. Now he was alone. The last Reynoldus brother. The last son of their family. The old him might have run. Might have surrendered. Might even have laughed in triumph that he finally did something better than his older brother even if it was just to survive.

But not this Nils.

This Nils was driven by the Plot. He charged at Cliff, his cock erect and throwing globules of precum in his path; a spear to his sickle and spade. Whatever remained of the old Nils was just too caught up in the shock of being alone that he had no control over the beast he had become, the beast that was charging straight to his death. By the time he gained some semblance of clarity, it was only because the Archetypes blade was already jutting from his neck.

He coughed up Ink, the black gunk dripping out of his muzzle and down his sizable chest. There had to be some irony in that only now was his erection finally going down. As his vision faded, he turned his amber eyes towards Cliff.

“S - s - sorry…” he gurgled. “Couldn’t… couldn’t stop…”

The Ink consumed his face, wrapping his features into an blank, black goo and robbing him of his consciousness. Nils dropped to the floor, his body evaporating into a flurry of dark particles while some of his Ink was purified and drawn into the Archetype.

For the first time in a while, Cliff’s Ink bar was full and his health bar was at near maximum. There was something funny in how this bunch of farmers who were likely put in their path to stall them had actually helped in healing them. Duggin’s earlier kindness in nursing Verik to health was not lost on Cliff either. Even as their enemy, the kind, elderly farmer had actually helped them.

Thank you, Duggin.

Now let us end this!

Verik must have been thinking the same thing because at that moment, the collaboration meter hit that glorious, shining state where it glowed, sprayed Cliff’s HUD with all colors of the spectrum and flashed words across its length.

‘Final Reaping’.

Without a word, Verik and Cliff rushed towards one another. Duggin and Marvin, both enraged at the deaths of their sons, were close behind but Verik was faster. The two humans met each other and immediately stood side by side. They moved in unison, perfectly in synch. They both thrust their hands at the charging bears; Cliff his right and Verik his left, their fingers practically touching. A howling winds exploded from their palms. Strong enough that it stopped the bears in their tracks and ripped the thatch roof off the farmhouse. Then, the two directed their gale straight into the ground. Both Verik and Cliff were launched high into the air.

Marvin was the first to clear the dust from his face and the moment he did, he saw his two human adversaries at least twenty feet into the air. He roared in frustration and went so far as to throw the shovel he had been wielding like a spear at them. The weapon missed. Another roar left his lips but abruptly cut short when he felt a strong paw on his shoulder.

Turning towards Duggin and his partner, was surprised to see a look of defeat in Duggin’s eyes; the look of a man who knew he was about to die and wanted to spend his last moments in comfort. Marvin was about to protest, to urge them both to keep fighting just like what the Plot wanted. Then a shining light erupted from the two in the air.

When he glanced at them, he saw the two were now clutching an enormous scythe the size of the entire farmhouse. They were pulling it back, both of them needed to wield it at the same time. Autumn leaves were falling from the curved blade.

“Marvin…” Duggin began softly.

Turning towards the polar bear, Marvin wrapped his paws around the older man’s waist. Something burst through the haze of the Unwritten, a light shining through the Ink. It spoke words out of his muzzle, words that were truer than anything he had ever said before.

“I never hated you.”

Duggin’s smile was filled with sadness.

“I know.”

Then the scythe came sweeping down upon them.

The Synposis

“Fuuuuuck yeeeees!”

Oaks leaned back into his throne within the Synopsis, his hand sticky with his white cum. For a moment, his eyes were glazed in satisfaction. That last scene with those guards - Brienus and Foulk - had driven him over the edge. Reading about their passionate fucking, their wild, animalistic love making as they infected every piece of steel in the guardhouse with their tainted cum… it was just too much for him.

He allowed himself to bask in the warmth and glory of afterglow for a few moments more. Cliff and Verik wouldn’t arrive at the gates until dawn and that was still a few hours away. The distraction that was Duggin and the Reynoldus Family had served their purpose.

His will was spreading throughout Grimvalle.

But there was still much work to be done.

Sighing softly to himself, a little frustrated that Cliff hadn’t given up already, he wiped the cum off his fingers onto the silken robes he wore. The goo was immediately absorbed into the fabric. A bit of shuffling later and he ducked his semi-hard cock back into the robes.

“Now… where were we?” he mumbled softly. “Ah… yes.”

He skimmed the events that had happened at Duggin’s farm. Once again, Cliff and Verik unleashed some over-the-top combination attack that was completely outside of the Story’s genre. Not that he really cared. That would be edited out once the Narrative had reached its conclusion and Cliff had died. Only once the last word was written by the soul trapped in the Magnum Opus could the Holder go back and edit the tale in earnest.

Maybe instead of magic he would just make it a gritty battle where Cliff and Verik used some of the farming tools lying about to their advantage. Yes, that would be more tonally appropriate.

There would need to be a lot of edits. But at least he’d be rid of Cliff Bolt.

He reached for the crystal quill…

… and heard the scribblings and scratching of the Synopsis.

“What’s the time?” he asked no one in particular.

It had been hours. More than he should have stayed in the Opus itself. He was starting to get hungry. Using the Unwritten was draining and masturbating took its own toll on his body, even if it was pleasurable. Oaks briefly considered leaving the Synopsis to replenish his strength. Then he recalled the last time he did that, Cliff guided Verik into doing something completely off-script that it compelling Oaks to take drastic measures.

No. He needed to see this to the end.

Jabbing the air, he drew more Ink and lowered the quill towards the golden pages.

He was already hard again.

Grimvalle

The alarm bells were still ringing.

Everyone in Grimvalle knew that was the signal that there was danger on the horizon and to rush to the fort for protection. Because this was the middle of the night, many of the residents took some time to gather their belongings and make their way to the fort. They were in the midst of slumber, after all.

But not so Ansell and his gang.

They had been awake all night. It was only in the night that the majority of Grimvalle was asleep and defenseless. Opportunity presented itself to those that would take it and when the town slumbered, Ansell and the four other members of his gang would sneak out and take whatever they could from the unsuspecting villagers. Vegetables left outside their homes. Meat drying out on racks. Clothes that had just been washed. If they were lucky, they would find some tools that they could sell later.

But not this night.

Their plans had been disrupted with this sudden emergency. Plans, however, could be redrawn. While many might consider it a bit underhanded, Ansell had come up with a devious replacement. Once the alarm bell stopped, that would mean that the majority of the villagers had retreated to the fort. It would mean that all of their belongings would be left undefended. That would be their opportunity to go looting.

Sure there was still the danger of whatever foe was coming to attack them and they would be locked outside the fort but there was a secret that Ansell and his right-hand man, Francus, had that no one else in the village knew about.

A secret that they used many times before.

The house that Francus inherited from his deceased parents had a basement.

Ansell scowled at the incessant ringing of the alarm. His beady eyes drifted to the table that had been moved aside. In the absolute darkness of the small, two-room home, one could barely see the outline of an opening that would lead down to the basement. They had purposefully removed the latch to avoid suspicion or the casual observer from realizing what it was. Many times those idiots from the town guard - the far-too-friendly but easy to manipulate Brienus and the annoyingly paranoid and suspicious Foulk - had come to their house on some accusation from the townsfolk that they had stolen something. Neither of them ever found the basement where they stashed their goods.

Right now, Francus was down there, moving boxes around and making room for them and whatever they could loot from the town. Mikhael, the one wielding the throwing knives, was absently playing with one of his projectiles in the corner. Walken guarded the door with his immense bulk, back against the frame and arms crossed. The big idiot was falling asleep. Hicket stood by the window, watching people run towards the fort.

“How is it looking?” Ansell demanded impatiently.

“People are still in the streets, boss,” mumbled Hicket. Always mumbling. Never one to speak up. One of the things that annoyed Ansell about the brute. Hicket’s value, however, was not in his articulation. It was in his muscles and strength.

“Fuck,” the gang leader fumed. “I’m gonna take a piss. If the streets ain’t empty by the time I get back, we hit the houses closest to us.”

No one argued with him. No one ever argued with him. He was the leader, the brains of the operation. All his tactics, schemes and plots were what got the five of them living in relative comfort and free of the chopping block. This inflated sense of importance and pride gave him the strength to kick down the side door and emerge into the cool, night air. Fantasies of one day being a lord of his own town - or even of becoming king if he indulged himself - roiled in his head.

His lips curled in disgust as he padded around the house to the rear and to the roughly dug latrine that he and the five guys shared. There was no outhouse, chamberpot or room specifically for relieving themselves. Much like the other villagers not living in the fort, the had just dug a hole wherever it was out of sight and convenient and squatted down. The smell was horrendous but at the moment, Ansell pushed the odor out of his mind and let himself drift into the near future when he would have enough money to buy passage out of this damned town alongside his four friends.

Despite his underhanded tactics of living, he was not so callous as to abandon Francus, Walke, Hicket and Mikhael. Even if some divine entity came down and offered him the opportunity to become a demigod but he would have to leave behind those four, he would turn down the opportunity. It was all of them or none of them.

Perhaps that’s why Oaks sent the Unwritten to him; a greater opportunity to spread.

As the last of his golden stream eked out of his modest cock, Ansell remained standing over the latrine for a few more moments, taking in the silence. That was when he realized that the ringing had ended. A cruel smile split across his features revealing his broken and blackened teeth. It would soon be time.

He gave his cock a shake, sprinkling the last of his piss into the latrine. All the while, a serpentine figure of an Unwritten, complete with its featureless, nacreous, white eyes, slithered up to him from behind. Ansell’s head was turning up to the sky, dreaming of a better future for him and his boys so he never noticed the creature slither up between his legs, rear up towards his exposed dick and lunge for the sole opening he had exposed.

Pain was the first thing he felt - a sharp jolt of cold like someone had shoved a snowball directly into his crotch. This was immediately followed by the familiar sensation of arousal, of his cock hardening and pulsing with need. A strangled cry left his lips and he looked down. Beady eyes widened in terror at the sight of thick, black veins crawling down from his glands as a long, black… something wormed its way into him.

“Shit!” he cried but that was all he managed before the tidal wave of sexual delight slammed into him and ripped his conscious mind from its tenuous grip on his body. A dopey grin crawled onto his features, the sound of flesh stretching and undulating emerging from his cock as it rapidly grew, gobbling up more of the pitch and purple creature like one big snake devouring another. Those black veins crawled their way down to the base of his crotch, transforming the pubic hairs there into smooth but dense, reddish-brown fur. They reached his balls, inflating them with a loud gurgling noise and forcing them to press up against the flesh of his scrotum. The same coppery fur rapidly spread over his testicles, growing the membrane and allowing the newly developed, fist-sized orbs to sit comfortably between his legs.

Corrupt Ink coursed through his veins as the last of the Unwritten’s wriggling tail vanished into his monstrous dick. They traveled down his legs, pumping his thin, wiry quads with more mass and forcing them to inflate. These same veins simultaneously rippled up his abdomen, seeping into his abdominal muscles that had never seen the light of day and pumped them full of power that he could feel their hard plates grinding against one another with every breath he took.

“Boss?”

Ansell’s eyes blinked a few times. The film of white was just on the edges of his irises. Frustration burned in him as he heard Mikhael move up behind him. His back was to his friend so the knife-throwing rogue couldn’t see the changes happening.

“You okay, boss?” Mikhael asked.

“Yeah, damnit,” he growled back, his voice rapidly deepening. The veins had reached his chest, causing his flat pectorals to inflate and balloon. His tunic was rapidly starting to stretch, his arms filling out the sleeves. Within moments, he knew he would explode out of his clothing and then he’d have to deal with Mikhael’s questions. That would not be good. That would not go according to the Plot.

“Can’t a guy piss in peace?” he snarled. As he spat this out, his lips jutted forward, a reward for his loyalty to the Plot. A grin crossed his features as his nose flattened, following the growth of the emerging muzzle. Blackened teeth filled with color again, stretched into vicious fangs.

“Right, sorry…” Mikhael mumbled, turning back around. “… just thought I heard something.”

Ansell’s eyes became completely consumed by the white of the Unwritten and in the blissful nirvana that was filled with sexual gratification and nothing else, a plot hatched in his mind.

“Wait,” he managed to moan out.

He turned around, his arm bursting from his tunic as he reached out towards Mikhael’s turned shoulder with new, black claws. Mikhael allowed himself to be turned back around and immediately froze when he saw the huge, grinning features of a bear with coppery-brown fur staring back at him.

Before he could let out a cry, Mikhael suddenly felt a cold, jabbing sensation stab his abdomen. The knife thrower had been stabbed before so he knew the feeling of cold steel in his gut. The pain was the first thing he felt and sometimes he could feel the brush of the unfeeling weapon against his guts. But this was different. The huge, pulsating cock that was embedded into his abdomen, that somehow punctured his skin and sank into his stomach even with its blunted head, only left him with an overwhelming cold sensation. A feeling of emptiness that demanded to be filled.

The knife enthusiast gagged for a moment and let out questioning gurgle. Then he felt his own cock strain against his pants. Arousal. Desire. Pleasure. All of it pumped straight into him from the organ buried in his gut. He could feel Ansell filling him, infusing him with purpose and changing him.

Ansell’s huge paw reached over, gripping the top of his head and pulling him closer. More of that cock buried into him, black veins crawling out of the opening and causing his abdominals to triple in size. Raw power surged through his new muscles, tempting him to flex them. A temptation he all too happily obliged. His abs closed around the cock intruding upon his body, squeezing more of the corruptive juices from his boss into him.

The large bear-man in front of him leaned down, his muzzle hovering over Mikhael’s ear. “Change,” rumbled Ansell.

As if by command, Mikhael’s body surged upwards, muscles blooming and tearing out of his clothing like a flower splitting open its bud. Dark brown fur with just the faintest tinges of red at the tips sprang all over his body, a shiver springing from his limbs as it spread across his flesh.

“Corrupt,” ordered Ansell.

Mikhael’s eyes glazed over, consuming by the white field of Unwritten taint and enshrouding once-sharp, black eyes that could pin a fly from twenty yards away with his throwing knives. A lascivious grin crossed his lips but not before his features began to stretch outwards, pulling his face further away from his skull and lengthening the time for the corners of his lips to reach its full length for his toothy smirk. The growth pulled his new, emerging muzzle closer to Ansell and their lips became intertwined with one another just half-a-second later, their tongues dancing passionately.

The wristband where he kept his knives pinned snapped as his wrists ballooned with mass. Such things would be far too small for his paws now. With these new digits, he reached towards Ansell, gripping the slightly taller’s bear’s pectorals and giving them a taut squeeze. The growl from his boss only encouraged him further and his toes curled, preparing for the eruption of cum that was gurgling through their balls.

At the same time, they pulled their muzzles away from one another, eyelids half-closed and panting heavily.

“Cum,” Mikhael huffed.

Then, they pushed their lips back together, Ansell’s powerful paw pushing the back of Mikhael’s head into the union. The bigger bear’s cock slipped out of Mikhael stomach, freeing it from the iron-grip of the knife-thrower’s steel-like abdominal muscles. Black seed tinged with purple burst from that dick at the same time that Mikhael’s own cock tore right through his pants, legs and calves exploding out of the garment covered in his fur. The two members crossed one another, side by side and angled at the other bear. Their howls of ecstasy were muted by their meshing muzzles with the loud splashing noises of their rain of seed the only noise emitted from their completed transformation.

The two held each other until their cocks were spent. Only then did they pull their lips apart, locking gazes as their eyes cleared of the white haze and their new, burning, yellow eyes beheld each other. The moment only lasted for a second. The next second, they felt their balls churning and rapidly filling with more dark cum that they were compelled to spill.

Grinning at one another, they turned towards the house and where the rest of their gang remained stationed. Mikhael led the way. Even with his extra bulk as a bear, he was still faster. They hovered behind the back door for a moment, stroking their dicks to ready themselves. It only took a few strokes until they were both at full mast and ready to go.

Mikhael charged in, barging through the door with a loud crash. He took a few steps forward and immediately angled his dick over at Hicket who - out of the two brutes of the group - was the most alert.

Hicket, for his part, had remained fully alert, keenly watching as the townspeople escaped to the fort. There was no fear in his heart. He fully trusted Ansell and his plans. For years, he had stuck by his boss, barely ever speaking and never questioning. Everyone had teased him for being stupid and touched in the head when he was young. No physician ever confirmed it but he let the rumors fly freely. His entire reputation was built around being a big, dumb ox and that was just the way he liked it.

But when moments of intelligence were needed, he could contribute if he wanted.

When the last of the townsfolk headed up the gentle slope of the hill to the fort, he waited a few more minutes. Something was strange with how the alarm bell was ringing. It was getting faster and faster, more and more desperate. Was this Brienus or Foulk signaling to any stragglers that they would stop their warning soon?

Then the alarm ended and still he waited.

When neither of the guards came speeding past the house to the fort, he began to grow worried.

That’s when the back door exploded open and two huge bear-like-men came charging into the house. He turned towards them, wasting an entire second to push his heart back from his throat down to his chest and another second to try and make sense of what he was seeing. Those precious two seconds were what condemned him. His eyes were just starting to settle on the leading bear who had a huge, long cock aimed right at him when that very same member fired a full load straight at him. His mouth was half-open in a confused stupor leaving no defenses for the black cum to shoot straight down his throat. He instinctively swallowed as the hot, sticky goo hit the back of his throat.

Hicket coughed and spluttered, staggering back against the windowsill while the other bear launched himself at a recently woken Walken. The back of his head slammed against the window, stars flashing in front of his eyes and scrambling his senses. Exactly what the Unwritten needed to root itself into his brain. The mockery of his childhood, the assumptions that he was mentally ill and all hope of ever impregnating a woman and bearing a child immediately vanished from his thoughts. Instead, there was an inky blackness, a cold abyss that yearned only for one thing.

A thing that his friend and fellow gang member, Mikhael, all too happily provided. Hicket lifted his head, spying the massive, throbbing cock still dripping with a fresh load hovering mere inches from his mouth. He didn’t even hesitate. He immediately gobbled it up, trying to stuff as much of it’s length down his throat. For the briefest of moments, he struggled then his muzzle emerged from his human skull, jutting out his face just as his cock burst out of his trousers and began leaking gray precum all over the floor.

On his side, Walken had been in a blissful dream. There was nothing in particular he was dreaming of. Designed to not even be a full antagonist but the crony of a minor antagonist in the first act, his mental faculties were not well-developed. If Hicket was assumed to be slow by society, Walken purposefully slowed down his own thoughts because he never had any need for his brain. All he ever had to do was punch or kick. That was his role in life.

Then the door burst open and he was snapped out of his sleep. Even with the shock, his mind was used to taking a minute or two to startup after waking even from a light slumber. As he was throwing his gaze around, trying to figure out what was happening, Mikhael had already shot his load into Hicket’s throat and the bear was stalking over to the large, dazed thug.

Two, enormous paws suddenly seized his wrists and the immense form of another bear appeared in front of him. He wasn’t sure how he knew but something just told him that this creature with the glowing, yellow eyes was Ansell.

“B - B - Boss!?” he stammered.

As an answer, Ansell shoved his tongue right down Walken’s throat. The long, flat tongue explored his mouth, momentarily making him gag until a chilling numbness crept up from every surface that tongue touched, seeping into his mind which was still in the process of warming up and sapped it of all desire to start fully. A glazed look crossed his features and he let himself slump into Ansell’s grip.

The huge bear released his wrists and seized his hips. With one easy and might pull, Ansell lifted him off the ground and pressed him against the door. Some unknown force directed Walken to wrap his arms around his boss’ thick neck and he complied. That same force told him to curl his legs around Ansell’s waist, straddling the bear and he complied. Finally, that force told him to relax his ass, spread his cheeks and let the bear change him, corrupt him, cum in him… and he complied.

Francus heard the ruckus from where he was hidden beneath in the basement of his family home. He was busy shifting around boxes of stolen goods and some supplies they stored here for emergencies. If there was to be a siege, they would need to survive as long as possible. When the first bang hit him, he look to the ladder and the trapdoor leading up to the main floor.

For a moment, he feared that the invaders, whoever they were, had already arrived. That fear paralyzed him. Francus was no fighter. At best, he could be considered the gang’s accountant. He kept track of their funds, supplies and was the one that officially owned the home they made their base. Ansell had all the plans, Mikhael was fast, Walken and Hicket were the muscle and Francus, if the gods were being generous, brought financial cunning.

If there was a fight going on upstairs, he was not going to be able to contribute.

But at the same time, he couldn’t abandon his friends. His friends who had been there for him when his parents had died. His friends who had given him a purpose. His friends who made him feel useful.

Spurring his limbs into action, Francus stepped towards the ladder, perking his ears to listen for any indication of what was happening above him. There was a few heavy thuds, moaning, tearing of clothing and… an odd, wet slapping noise. He couldn’t imagine what that last sounds could allude to but he knew the other noises could be signs of a struggle. There was a simple knife sitting beside the ladder, used for cutting rope and fruit. Taking caused his hand to shake.

Courage was not his strong suit but, somehow, he managed to muster enough of it to place his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. The sounds of struggle intensified. The banging and thudding became more and more frequent, louder and with greater desperation. He could only imagine what was happening up there and it was with this in mind that he took that daring step towards the trapdoor.

It was then that he detected the first scents of something musky, masculine and faintly woodsy. His home was one of the rare houses that had floorboards and had he been paying attention, he would have noticed the sticky, gray goo dripping between the boards and into the basement, filling the enclosed space with its alluring aroma.

As Hicket orgasmed, his cock throbbing in tandem with his vigorous sucking of Mikhael’s cock, black cum rocketed across the room and dripped into the basement. Ansell fucked Walken against the door causing the sounds of slamming and thudding that Francus had detected. Even when Ansell unleashed his load into the transformed Walken who was much bigger than him in size, his tar-like cum still poured out of the larger ursine’s ass and dripped into the floorboards.

The odor in the basement blurred Francus’ mind, paralyzing him for a moment as he was caught in a daze. A bewildered state where his cock pressed aggressively against his trousers and fought for attention against his need to save his friends. He was caught in this stalemate until he realized that the noises had stopped. Fear pushed him to ignore his needy cock and took the last few steps up the ladder and pushed the trapdoor open just far enough that his head and about half of his torso was visible.

What he saw caused him to freeze again.

Four enormous bears, all of them looming over him and grinning from ear to ear. Each of them had a meaty, erect cock in their paws and aiming it directly at him like they knew he was there. He didn’t get a chance to wonder how these unnatural beasts had found his hiding spot when the guardsmen and townspeople couldn’t. All four cocks unleashed a torrent of black and purple cum straight at him, coating his entire upper body in its sticky embrace and forcing him to stumble back into the basement.

The majority of Ansell’s gang watched in anticipation. Groans emerged from the trapdoor, moans that quickly grew in intensity and volume as Francus was brought into the fold. Fabric tore, muscles gurgled and grew. Then there came a tremendous roar and loud, wet, splashing.

Moments later, the trapdoor opened again.

A large, black paw reached up for help. Ansell and Walken grabbed it and pulled Francus out of the basement. The ladder had snapped under the big bear’s weight and muscles. Francus licked his lips, black cum still dripping from his dark fur. His eyes burned as brightly as his friends.

All five men turned towards the basement, angling their cocks down towards the pit.

“Change,” the intoned as one. “Corrupt. Cum.”

The Appendix

Crack!

Poetry turned. The predominantly blue and white spirit regarded the monument that the latest victim of the Magnum Opus’ Holder had disappeared into. The spire of earthy, red rock had remained inert for a while as it always did. It and its counterpart, Prose, often did nothing but hover in front of the gate sculpted with hints of the Story beyond until either it closed, indicating the soul within had succumbed to the Plot and accepted their role in the Narrative or - rare as it was - the person emerged.

Either way, both spirits generally had nothing to do as the Appendix remained blissfully quiet until something happened.

But then… that crack.

The spirit waited, listened, wondering if it had just imagined the noise. Perhaps it was just another of the older monuments crumbling. As the Stories that had once been tied to the Opus were forgotten by the wider world, the monuments would fade. Though there was no weather or wind in the Appendix, these sculptures would gradually lose its features. The smooth monoliths that dotted the land were each once a Story but ones that had now faded from the world’s memory. Either through intentional purging, the destruction of a civilization or just time, these Stories and the people that had been captured within them were forgotten. The standing stones that had once been their gateway to another world had become their gravestones.

Crack!

There it was again and it was much louder, much clearer now.

Poetry drifted through the air, closer to the monument that Cliff had disappeared through. Then its red and black eyes widened.

“Come, come, my sibling,

There is a momentous event!

The spire, it is changing!

This spire where that man went!”

Prose was already beside him and watching with similar wide-eyed astonishment as the sculpted figures in the tremendous monolith began changing right before their eyes. Cracks appeared on the surface and fragments of the figures chiseled into the rock began dropping away, disappearing into the ankle-deep, mirror-like waters beneath.

On the left, there was a large, snarling bear, paws stretched out and attacking. Its arms made for one half of the arch that marked the entrance into the Story. Cracks spread across its visage. The head of the bear splintered off, falling into the waters and disappearing beneath the reflective surface. In its place was a towering ursine humanoid brimming with muscles, bearing a tough beard and with its long hair tied back in a single braid. Instead of the aggressive stance of the bear, this colossal figure stood passively, solemnly looking down in quiet contemplation while it held an axe between its paws, the axehead pointed down towards its feet.

On the right, opposite what had once been the snarling bear, was a powerfully built man wearing a kilt and swinging his axe at his opponent. He, too, shattered and splintered. In its place was the same man but again, like his counterpart on the other side of the arch, he stood pensively, head bowed and his axe gripping between his hands and pointing to his feet.

It was clear to anyone observing these two figures represented the same person.

The stairs leading up to the gateway were shaped like bear cubs pleading for help and a woman and her daughter doing the same. Their visage cracked, shattered and reformed. Instead, they were replaced by the same people and cubs, resting their heads on their respective patriarch’s legs and looking like they were peacefully slumbering instead, their legs making up the steps leading up to the shining light of the gateway.

The arch was replaced by a bridge of some sort between the two men and on that bridge stood a single, human man. Young with hair that was swept to one side slightly. In his hand was a sword with a tip shaped like a fountain pen’s nub. He was holding the sword aloft, pointing it straight up with both hands.

“Is that… Is Cliff…?” Prose gasped.

All around Cliff, the earth that made up the gateway cracked and shattered. It had been mostly featureless until now. As it shattered and broke, new figures were appearing, each one as finely defined and sculpted as any of the other characters. There was a towering ursine barbarian lord accompanied by a horde of bearmen. Then there were two bear brothers carrying wood and wielding fire. An ursine farmer and his partner embracing their three sons affectionately. Two powerfully built guardsmen who barely fit in their armor due to their ursine forms, standing proudly and wielding halberds. Five rough looking thugs in ragged clothing but still bearing the intimidating physiques of the other ursine men. A blacksmith bear hefting a hammer over his shoulder and with his other paw on his sole son’s shoulder. Lastly, above them all, a bear king wearing a heavy metal necklace around his shoulders and a regal cape cascading down his back.

These new figures were all looking upwards hopefully.

“The Story…” whispered Prose in utter shock. “It’s…”

“He is changing it from within,” Poetry finished. “Many have escaped a Story.

None have fled this book of sin.

But this is out of the ordinary.”

Neither spirit knew what this meant. These were untested watered, unexplored territory.

But they both knew this was a new era for the Magnum Opus.