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Magnum Opus

Chapter 6: Burning from the Stormleaf

Blurb

Cliff Bolt was an average guy with an English Major and a dead-end job at a local library. He always loved books and was particularly inspired by his personal hero, Desmond Eli Oaks - the Poet of Pornography. Being a gay writer is hard but being a gay erotica writer that made it into the mainstream and got global accolades was near impossible. Yet D. E. Oaks managed it and that was why Cliff admired him.

When Cliff was given the opportunity to become Oaks’ apprentice, he jumped at the opportunity only to realize the source of Oaks’ success was something far more sinister. Cliff is dragged into Oaks’ magical artifact, the Magnum Opus, and thrust into a fantastical world where he must play to Oaks’ Plot or be dragged into the Ink. His life, his experiences, his actions would write the story for Oaks, a story that Oaks would ultimately publish.

All is not lost. A mysterious figure grants him a magical weapon that could be his salvation. Can Cliff work his way through the Story Oaks set for him and find his way to freedom?

Will Oaks let him?

Verik Stormleaf recently found out that he is the Protagonist of an erotic medieval fantasy novel. Everything that happened to him was all by the design of the Holder of the Magnum Opus. His upbringing, the war of revolution he fought in, meeting his wife, having his daughter and even losing it all due to a seemingly random attack from a bear. The Story revolves around him.

When a young man who he thought he had known for most of his young life reveals himself to actually be from a higher plane and the truth about the world, he is first skeptical. Then bears with the physique of men and the libido of hypersexual demons attacked, transforming the men of his home of Grimvalle into more of themselves and threatening all that he had left. Creatures known as the Unwritten threaten him and a new power courses through his veins courtesy of his lone ally.

He has no choice but to believe and fight for what remains of his Story.

If this Story needs him as its Protagonist, then he will do everything he can to save it.

The question is, will it be enough?

And what will happen when the Story is over?

Grimvalle

Percy Gale wasn’t sure what was happening but he just couldn’t help but fear for his brother. One moment, he was quietly slumbering in his bed and the next, he heard the town alarm and was rocketing up to the loft to see if Cliff had returned. When he saw his brother’s sleeping bale empty, he feared the worst. Then his father was dragging him out of the house, gathering their smithing tools and shepherding him up the hill to the fort. Their home was situated near the fort so they were one of the first to arrive.

Arthur Grim arrived a short while later.

And Percy immediately feared the worst.

“M’lord!” he pleaded, running up to the Baron who still sat astride his mount. “M’lord! What happened to Cliff?”

The Baron regarded him with sad eyes. “He fought valiantly to buy me time.” That was all that was said before the Baron was barking orders, telling his soldiers to gather in the courtyard in a few minutes with their horses.

“Reeve!” shouted the Baron, turning to Percy’s father. “I need you to start the forge here in the fort. Prepare for a siege.”

At the word ‘siege’, the few townsfolk that had arrived began to panic. The Baron didn’t assuage their fears as he shared the same concerns. Percy shouted for answers alongside the other men but was quickly pulled away by his father’s big, meaty, hairy hands.

“We have no time for this, Percy,” growled his father, dragging him into the fort itself. “We have a job to do.”

“But father!” he pleaded. “Cliff! He… Cliff is…”

“Don’t you think I know!?” snapped Reeve, spinning around at his son. The firelight from the torches glinted off the tears welling in the blacksmith’s eyes. “He was my son. My brave and foolhardy son…” Reeve wiped away a tear with the heel of his palm. “But I will not let anything happen to my remaining son. That’s why you are coming with me.” The blacksmith gave him a weak smile, fighting back tears. Through quivering lips, he said, “You are my apprentice, after all.”

Percy was fighting back his own tears and followed his father into the fort.

Though they had their own forge outside of the fort, the defensive structure and home of the Baron had a smaller version within its wall. It was only to be used in emergencies and when particularly valuable pieces of equipment arrived that needed specialized tools. Both technically belonged to Reeve and it had long been a plan that once Percy was old and skilled enough, he would inherit the forge outside the fort and maintain the equipment of the townspeople. Reeve would take up the forge inside the fort and ensure that the soldiers’ arms and armor were at their best.

Now, however, Reeve couldn’t even think of the rights of inheritance.

The forge itself was in an enclosed room with the only form of ventilation coming from the chimney embedded into the wall above the fires. Coals had remained cold as he had not visited this place in a while. Still, it was a simple matter of reigniting them using one of the torches. Bringing it up to temperature would take some time and in such a space where he barely got any fresh air, the environment would soon become unbearable.

With this in mind, Reeve stripped off his tunic and even his trousers, leaving him only in his loincloth. He still kept the heavy blacksmith’s apron to offer some protection but his large, hirsute frame was exposed for all to see. Percy remained clothed and propped a stool in front of the door to keep it open knowing full well that the place would soon start filling with soot and ash.

Reeve waited impatiently as the forge grew hot enough to use. Regret and guilt wracked his soul. If only he hadn’t allowed Cliff to go off on that mission. What reason would he have to doubt that his youngest son wouldn’t return when he was under the guardianship of the Baron and Verik? Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could have done something more.

These thoughts gnawed at his mind and dug their fiery claws into his heart. Only one thing could alleviate the pain of a father who had unwittingly sent his son to death; work. Even though no orders had come yet, he grabbed an iron ingot, placed it into a mold and shoved it into the furnace, waiting for it to melt. Percy helped, buzzing about the small forge keeping busy and bringing him the tools he needed to continue with his craft. They were so in-synch that he barely had to utter any commands before Percy was already enacting them.

Quietly, he promised to himself that he would do better for his last remaining son. Percy would never leave his side and, until the day he died, he would protect his son. He will cherish his son. Treasure him like the very air he breathed. Hold him close and never let him go.

While waiting for the iron to melt, he moved over to the barrel filled with brine that would eventually be used to cool whatever it was that he forged. He peered into it the dark container, catching his scruffy, black beard with specks of gray into in. Since he had been woken so abruptly, he hadn’t had time to straighten out his beard or even look presentable. His hair was awry and his eyes were still red from fighting back the tears upon hearing about Cliff’s heroic sacrifice.

A heavy emotional exhaustion hit him and he toppled forward, gripping the rim of the barrel to the support him.

“Father?” Percy queried, approaching him from behind.

“I’m fine,” he huffed back. “Just… Just go ask the men if they need anything fixed. I… I need to keep busy.”

His son nodded firmly and quickly rushed out of the forge.

Finally alone, Reeve ducked is head and… even if it was just for a few moments, allowed himself to weep. Tears streaked down his cheeks, sinking into his beard. No sobs left him lest anyone hear him. He even made sure his back was turned to the door so anyone that did come in wouldn’t see him weeping. The proud man shut his eyes, squeezing out the last few tears he allowed for himself before wiping away the rest. The forge was already starting to get hot and the smell of ash was already permeating the air. It would soon be time to get to work.

When he opened his eyes, he found another pair of white, pearl-like orbs staring back at him.

“What…?” he asked in surprise as the creature slowly rose from the murky depths of the brine barrel. It was long, thin, serpentine but without any scales or any discernible features. To him, it appeared like someone had smeared black ink through the air, attached two pearls on its head and then gave it the ability to move.

Reeve stared at the Unwritten for one second too long.

The creature lunged at him, striking like tar-colored lightning. It shot straight for his chest, becoming a blur of movement and slammed right into his left pectoral, particularly targeting his left nipple. The cold bite of the creature’s flesh shot through him like a bolt of ice, sinking deep past his already sizable chest muscles and stabbing into his bleeding heart.

Suddenly, all the pain he felt, all the sorrow over Cliff’s death and the fear of what lay beyond the walls of Grimvalle faded into this hungry, numbing darkness. The squirmy, slimy creature wiggled its way deeper into him, writhing into his nipple which immediately perked up in excitement like it was willingly and eagerly consuming the creature. His hands never let go of the barrel’s rims and he gripped them tightly as the natural stimulation of his nipple combined with the influence of the Unwritten replaced his pain with pleasure.

He let out a soundless gasp, lips fully open and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. As a far more developed character, there was a stronger sense of self within Reeve and he resisted a little. This will was strong enough to keep his eyes from disappearing beneath his eyelids even as the Unwritten lashed and sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout him that he never felt before.

His left pectoral audibly groaned and bubbled, plumping up and becoming bigger, fuller, rounder. Dark brown hair the color of mahogany sprouted amongst the dense black chest hair. The follicles prickled his skin, adding to his stimulation. It all felt good… but he knew it was wrong.

Wrenching his left hand away from the barrel, he reached for his exposed nipple, quietly cursing himself for stripping himself of all his clothing save for his apron. Bending his limbs felt like he was trying to bend cold, hard metal. Every inch of movement was immediately met with an angry wiggling from the creature which sent wave after wave of pleasure throughout his body. Every muscle and bone had gotten terribly cold and empty; an empty suit of armor which this entity was filling with lecherous thoughts and forbidden fantasies. Still, he managed to inch his fingers towards the tail of the Unwritten. He even managed to brush its thrashing tail a little.

Then it surged the rest of the way into him with a loud, wet shlorp!

Reeve threw his head back, letting out a gurgling gasp as the rush of ecstasy was too much for him. The Unwritten took hold in his broken heart, immediately filling it with new priorities, new thoughts and twisting old ones into corrupted desires. His eyes unfocused and were consumed by the white film of the Unwritten.

No defenses remained for the transformation. Both his pectorals ballooned out, covered in short, brown fur that still accentuated black pelt of chest hair he possessed. Perky, pale pink nipples jutted out of both fur and hair to clearly mark where his erogenous zones were. His traps swelled, the straps of his apron visibly shrinking against the growing muscles around it.

Reeve’s deltoids were just inflating and the mass was just starting to feed into his biceps when Percy entered the forge again.

Percy’s eyes were away from his father, looking distantly the way he just came as his mind was still consumed by the thoughts of his younger brother. While he had indeed gone to the men of the fort asking them if they needed anything fixed, he only did so half-heartedly. He knew his father had only sent him on that errand to get some time to grieve. Percy fought back his own tears, his guilt and fear to bear his usual cheery smile.

He was gripping the silver amulet with the little bit of amber embedded into it when he entered the forge again, practically walking backwards.

“The soldiers didn’t need anything at the moment. I thought maybe…”

Snap!

The sound of something snapping made him turn. His eyes boggled as he took in the sight of his father’s broad, muscled and hairy back suddenly shooting upwards, brown fur sweeping down the wide expanse of those broad lats that only seemed to grow bigger and accentuate how they tapered down to his waist. The snapping sound came from one strap of the apron his father wore breaking against the mounting mass of a swelling neck, traps and shoulders.

Then Reeve turned to his son. Somewhere within his mind was the desire to hold his son close. Twisted by the corruption of the Unwritten, that pure wish borne from grief was transformed into the desire to stick his cock in his son.

Reeve twisted his head left and right, popping his jaw as it sprang out into a muzzle that stood out from his glorious beard; a beard that became a mane against his lush, black hair. His ears momentarily vanished beneath this hair before they sprang up once more from the top of his head. The film of lust peeled away from his eyes, revealing his irises to be burning with the amber light of corruption.

“Come here, son,” he beckoned, gesturing for Percy to draw close with a large, clawed paw. “Let me love you.”

Percy was unsure what to make of what he was seeing. He had witnessed his father transform into this enormous beast and was still watching him change. Right before his eyes, Reeve’s belly ballooned out to fit his tremendous chest and back. Even as it began to push out against his apron, those lats of his were still clearly visible.

Snap!

The other strap of his father’s work apron broke and the entire garment tumbled down to the floor. There was a moment where it was caught on Reeve’s dick but that moment was fleeting as the cock - already erect - surged towards Percy a few more inches, like it was inviting him closer. Reeve reached down with one paw and tossed away the garment. His thighs ballooned out, juicy veins crisscrossing his quads as they grew too big for his loincloth.

A strong odor of musk, sex and the woods filled Percy’s nostrils, addling his mind and clouding his judgment. This corrosive cloud of lust caused his eyes to glaze over, the thin layer of white covering his irises. Few pieces of his mind remained untouched as the emptiness of a desire unfulfilled consumed his entire body. One of the things that remained was a determination never to leave his father’s side. That was quickly corrupted to mirror Reeve’s own desire.

Percy strode towards his father without further hesitation. Reeve’s strong, warm paw wrapped around the small of his back, bringing him in to a comforting hug even as he lifted his legs so that he could straddle his father’s enormous cock. His lips immediately found purchase around his father’s exposed and very hard nipple and he began to suckle upon it, gently gnawing at it while kneading the other pectoral like he was genuinely trying to draw milk from it.

His father’s paw drifted down away from his back seized his firm rump, turning the familial hug into something more. In response, Percy’s ass exploded from the seat of his trousers, a cute, little, sand-colored tail bursting from the base of his spine. Similarly colored fur multiplied across his ass, causing it to inflate further until it could easily take his father’s cock.

Reeve didn’t waste another second. With one paw already on Percy’s ass, he reached up with the other to cup his son’s head against his nipple. Then, with his newfound strength, he lifted his son up and swung him around towards the anvil. He firmly but carefully so as not to injure his precious boy lay Percy onto the flat surface. The titanic blacksmith bear rolled Percy onto his side and lift one leg into the air. That same leg undulated and grew in his paws, shredding through that leg of Percy’s trousers and revealing a long, thick limb that was decorated by clearly visible veins.

Tongue out and panting, Reeve pressed his enormous cock into Percy’s ass, his gray cum lubricating the way through. Both men gasped in absolute joy as the union that had up until recently been an invasive thought was consummated. Waves of pleasure shot through both of them, spurring Percy’s transformation on.

The lean young man’s chest burst from his tunic, sporting the same thin layer of black hair that his father had. At the time, he had remained hairless but now that he had his own pelt of chest hair, he couldn’t help but grin because it brought him closer and closer to his father. He ran his hands through the hair, feeling his own fur sprouting up alongside each follicle and enjoying the sensation of his hands stretching into paws. His emerging claws scraping against the strands added to the sensation.

His fingers brushed against the silver amulet. There was no sudden flash of recognition, no revelation that brought him back from the brink or brilliant reminder of his humanity. Instead, he just grinned as the meaning of the necklace was replaced from a gift from his father on his twenty-first birthday to a emblem of his father’s ownership over him. His thickening neck lifted the black string on of the amulet from hanging casually between his pectorals to wrap snugly around his neck like a choker or a collar.

Thrust after thrust drove Percy further and further away from his humanity. His arms inflated like watermelons, lean muscle pressing up against his skin before they were wreathed in brown fur. The new strength in his limbs allowed him to grip the anvil for greater support, enabling his father’s thrusts to have more impact.

Never before had he felt so loved.

This was truly the pinnacle of bliss.

He rested his lifted and changed leg onto his father’s broad shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the much bigger bear against every part of his body. Especially inside him. He could feel the base of his father’s cock slapping against his ass, pumping more and more corruptive precum into him. His abdominals hungrily devoured the nutrition, transforming into a firm wall of eight, solid slabs that were covered in the same sandy fur and with a clear treasure trail of black hair leading down from the crest of chest hair down to his pubes. His cock, fully erect, pumped and throbbed, growing inch by inch with every thrust from his father. Pressure and pleasure was building in his own grapefruit-sized balls.

That emptiness inside him had been filled to bursting and he was about ready to explode.

Percy threw his head back, shining amber eyes shattering the layer of pearl-like film over his eyes. His roar of ecstasy dropped an octave just as he unleashed it, becoming bestial as the human lips that emitted it were pulled forward into a short muzzle. His brown and red hair that he had supposedly inherited from his mother alongside his brother transformed into a pitch black just like his father’s, complimenting his jet-black nose that sat atop his muzzle… and the black cum that spewed out of his and his father’s cocks.

The molten seed that poured into him filled him to bursting and he felt it ooze out of his ass even with his father’s member still deep inside him. His father’s enormous arms wrapped tightly around his leg, holding on tightly to him as they both let another load… and another after that… and another one after that. Their seed spewed onto the hot fires of the forge, immediately evaporating into a thick, heady haze that spewed out in all directions.

A pair of soldiers were passing the nearby the forge when they heard the unholy sounds emerging from the seldom-used facility. They exchanged glances and noticed the smoke that was pouring out of it. Both barely got a few feet down the hallway before the miasma hit them and the strong scent of musk, sex and the forest invaded their minds.

There was no telling why this haze was so much more potent than anything else the other Revised had produced. Perhaps it was because there was genuine love between Reeve and Percy that formed the foundation of their sexual relationship. No matter the reason, the instant these two guards caught a whiff of the scent, they locked gazes with one another again. Their individual eyes glazed over, consumed by the coloration of the Unwritten corruption. The next moment, they were mashing lips, stripping off one another’s armor and stroking gray precum from this lengthening cocks as muscle and fur erupted from all over their bodies.

Out in the courtyard, the horses picked up on the scent first. They immediately panicked and tried to pull away from their riders or the stablehands trying to restrain them. The last of the townspeople had arrived and the soldiers were just getting ready to close the door when the commotion started.

Baron Arthur Grim tried to calm his own steed but it wrenched itself from his grip and immediately shot out of the gates as far from the fort as possible. Before he could ask what had gotten into his mount, he heard the sounds of grinding armor, muscles surging and lusty moans. His heart immediately plummeted to his gut as he turned and watched one of his own soldiers pounce upon a villager, his form erupting into a huge, ursine beast in midair.

“No…” he breathed. More sounds of chaos rang out to his left and he turned in that direction. A villager screamed, a scream of absolute ecstasy as his eyes burned with an unholy amber light. The man clutched his crotch with both hands and his cock exploded from his trousers as second later. The first few shots from the member were white as it should be but then the third all the way up to the tenth were made of black and purple ooze. The transformed Revised was flexing and admiring his own muscles by the time he had expended his load but his cock was still very much erect. The shower of seed he had sprayed immediately began changing those around him.

Grim didn’t know what else to do.

He turned, grabbed the soldier closest to him and bolted for the fort. “With me!” he roared. “Into the fort! Now!”

Those that still had their sensibilities charged at him. They burst into the dining area but the rear most soldier let out a scream as he was pulled back by one of the bears. His cries of terror were turned into lusty moans as the bears ripped off his trousers and shoved a long muzzle into between his cheeks and began pushing a flat tongue into his sensitive pucker.

Grim kept running.

He charged towards the steps leading to the second floor. Halfway up, another of his men succumbed. The poor man collapsed onto one knee and roared for them to go on without him. Another soldier turned to help him but was instantly caught in a steamy kiss by the first. They tumbled back down the stairs, locked in a passionate embrace that shattered their armor and ripped their clothes. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were two, fully formed bears fucking and spilling more of the corruptive black seed.

And still Grim kept running.

He passed his own office, manging to glance over the railings of the second floor at the dining chamber below them. There were dozens of bear men now, all of them formerly part of his staff or military force. All of them were reduced to hypersexualized beasts that fucked, orgasmed and them immediately found another configuration with another man to fulfill their voracious sexual appetites.

There was one part of Grim that just wanted to throw himself into the orgy but he resisted.

He had a duty he needed to fulfill.

Grim burst into the one room in the fort that he very seldom-used; the audience chamber. Reserved exclusively for moments of extreme judgment that needed his authority, the wide room had a tall roof supported by six pillars on either side. There was a raised dais at the far end of the room where he would ceremonially stand and pass judgment. Most forts would have a chair or throne there but Grim forewent that. He had long decided that if he was ever to pass judgment, it would be standing. It showed respect to those being judged.

“Close the door!” he barked at his remaining soldiers. “Bar it!” There were just three of them. From a force of about sixty men, he was reduced to four. Sixty men and who knew how many villagers.

His men shut the large double doors to the audience chamber and began looking for whatever they could to block the entrance. Chairs, braziers, anything.

A great weariness hit Grim and he staggered back away from the door.

What was he to do now?

The town had fallen. He was reduced to three men and himself. When the Barbearian at the forest encampment had beckoned him to join them, he thought it was figurative. This… this was something entirely different. Men were literally turning into those beasts.

And what if… he was the cause of the infection?

What if after being exposed to those Barbearians, he had inadvertently brought the plague back with him?

His hand lifted to his lips, holding back a gasp.

“Is this…” he whispered to himself softly behind his hand. “… is this my fault?”

“Oh no. Not at all. This is his fault.”

Arthur Grim hadn’t expected a response but when that voice came, he spun in place. He had been lost in his own thoughts that he had never noticed that his surroundings had become encased in sticky, black and purple goo. The entire audience chamber had disappeared into the ooze. Within the ooze, he saw the vague silhouette of a man’s face.

“Who are you!?” he demanded, reaching for his spear. “Identify yourself!”

The face chuckled haughtily. “My name is Desmond Eli Oaks. I am the one that made this world. I am its creator. I am your God.”

“W - What…?” Grim stammered. Was this to be his salvation? Had God heard his plight and was now going to save him through divine intervention? “I… I…?”

“You need to be saved,” Oaks assured. “And I will save you. But you must first know the truth.”

“The… The truth?”

“Yes. This… all of this, your men turning into bears, your township being overrun by these beasts, they are all the fault of one man.”

“That bastard!” scowled Grim, his knuckles turning white. “That bear in the forest!”

“No. The one at fault is the one who promises to be a savior. Someone who deceived his way into your inner circle only to take your one true love from you and unleash this terrible fate upon you. For you see, my dear Arthur Grim, these bears are not to be feared. They are my creation.”

Arthur recoiled. Why would God make such filthy, mindless beasts?

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you turn your own people into those things?”

“I am saving them,” answered Oaks in a seemingly benevolent tone. “To save them from the corruption of the one true enemy. Cliff Gale.”

The Baron straightened in surprise. “Cliff…? But he…”

“Think of it, my dear Baron. Did he not suddenly start swinging that mysterious sword? Was he not the one that brought Verik to your attention? Did he not have uncanny insight into your desires? Did he not show otherworldly powers that were conveniently the only thing that can damage my divine creations? If I am god, the creator, then is it not true that if something goes against my divine will, it is heretical?”

Arthur shook his head in denial, taking a step back away from the head.

“That… that can’t be true! Those Barbearians…!”

“Were my implement to root out his evil. And these bears? Why, they are merely me saving my beloved children. Now… I would save you too but I sense his taint upon you.”

The Baron shook. That blessing Cliff had given him. That light that had pushed away the terrible haze that had injected such intrusive thoughts into his mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to reason between the ‘truths’ he had learned. He tried balancing the degenerates that his people and the Barbearians had become against Cliff’s seemingly noble intentions and kind demeanor. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but think that Oaks had transformed the men of Grimvalle into powerful creatures capable of defending themselves that indulged in carnal pleasures. Was that not a form of paradise…?

“Relinquish that corruption,” soothed Oaks. “Allow my love to enter you. Recite my mantra. You already know the words deep in your soul. It is how I made you.”

Arthur Grim held a hand to his chest, eyes squeezed shut and quivering. He paused, held his breath… then let it out slowly. When his eyes opened, they were blazing with the amber of the Revised.

“Change. Corrupt. Cum.”

In Between the Pages

The breeze felt so good on his white fur.

Clemens Duggin, who had seen seventy or so years in his life, sat on a bench perched upon a grassy hill, peering out into the distant snow-capped mountains. His mind was clear. There was no haze of lust. No invasive lecherous thoughts constantly driving him to fuck or be fucked and to spread the Unwritten. No malicious will that puppeteered his every move, convincing him that everything he did was what he wanted.

The terrible thing was, he had done those things. He had wanted to do it. Though he remembered what he used to be, he still bore the weight of what he had done. What he had become. There were no opposite sides of his soul. Clemens Duggin had transformed into the polar bear that had his arm draped over Marvin Reynoldus’ broad shoulders, holding the bear close to him as Marvin rested his head against his shoulder. He had transformed Reynoldus’ sons. He had changed Reynoldus himself. Then he had attempted to stop Cliff and Verik.

That was who he was. There was no use regretting it.

“Just before we were killed by Cliff and Verik,” he began, “there was a moment where I felt the puppet strings leave me. I was… free.”

“I felt it too,” agreed Marvin, his eyes closed but still very much awake. “I think… I think Oaks released us.”

The only man sitting on the bench besides them nodded in understanding. “He no longer had any use for either of you,” Realism explained sagely. “You stalled them long enough that he could continue his invasion of Grimvalle.”

Down by the lake, Johannes, Willis and Nils had joined the other bears who were cheering at the imagery of Cliff and Verik fighting their way to the heart of Grimvalle. The two men, joined by circumstance, knew in their hearts that their little family would be alright even if they had died.

“He is so careless?” fumed Marvin quietly. “Were our lives so worth little to him?”

“To him, you’re merely characters on a page,” answered Realism sadly. “Though he is fully aware that the worlds he created spawns a level of consciousness and life, to him, you are merely simulacrum that are spawned from a fleeting desire, a distant whimsy of his that he barely even considers worth his time in the present day.”

“We’re worth so little?” Duggin asked.

“Depends on how you see it. To Oaks, you are just letters on a page. To the wider world though…?”

The mysterious man shrugged.

Even a castle made out of shit would still be shit in the end. Duggin felt a pang of abandonment in his chest. As far as he understood the situation, the Holder of the Magnum Opus cared so little about them that he barely put any effort into crafting the jail that was supposed to entrap Cliff Bolt - for that was Cliff’s true name. There was no reason to doubt these revelations and deep down in his soul, he knew that to be true. They were all born from that spark of inspiration and he could feel the truth of it.

“Did we ever have a chance?” he asked.

“Not really. You were throwaway characters. Passing mentions. None of you were ever meant to have a solid back story or a play a prominent part in the Story save, perhaps, as dramatic set pieces somewhere down the line. You were never created to have a particularly strong will or have the capacity to resist.”

“Doesn’t mean we couldn’t have fought,” Marvin grumbled.

Realism chuckled into a hand. “True but I think that’s something Oaks understands all too well.”

Duggin gave the strange man a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“Initially, you are merely ink on a page. Characters that are static and follow the Plot he sets out according to the Narrative he dictates. However, the minute another soul - in this case, Cliff - enters the world, any and every character that the soul interacts with gains a little bit of… let’s call it ‘chaos’, within them. They become a little more defined. Time starts moving for them. This is especially true when Cliff does something against the Plot that involves you. Even if it is for a brief moment, you deviated from the Plot and that instant is engraved into your soul.”

Duggin reached for the middle of his chest. “I see… So if Oaks had not intervened and just allowed Cliff to constantly interact with us while going against his Plot, we would have gained… individuality.”

“Does that mean we don’t have it now?” Marvin asked. “Are we still characters in Oaks’ Story?”

“No,” Realism answered. “Not anymore. You are free of those chains. Death has a penchant of doing that.” He tilted his head to one side, a little smile touching his lips. “To be honest, you guys did pretty well for having been considered ‘sentient’ for just a couple of days.” Then that smile grew even broader. “And the thing that Oaks fails to understand is that by rewriting you, he doubled your capacity for defiance.”

There, the polar bear’s brow knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Realism turned to him, that grin growing broader. “What I mean, Mr. Clemens Duggin, is that you are much more powerful now than you think you are.”

Marvin straightened, lifting his head from Duggin’s shoulder for the first time, staring at the stranger curiously.

Realism’s smile grew into a full-on grin.

“And your part in this Story is not yet over.”

Grimvalle

What was this Story’s core?

With Duggin being transformed into a Revised and falling to the corruption of the Unwritten, Cliff was left wondering just how far Oaks would go to force them into following his Plot. Would the Holder of the Magnum Opus continue to torment them by turning their loved ones into sex-crazed bears until they fell line? That thought alone left a twisting knot in his stomach at the thought of his pseudo-family being turned into those beasts. In the back of his mind, this was still a very horny tale and any other time, he would have jumped at the opportunity to join the orgies and maybe submit himself to becoming a huge, well-endowed bear-man but he wanted it to be his choice. Being forced into becoming one and losing his mind… That scenario just left a bitter taste in his mouth.

So what is the core? Oaks is just going to keep threatening us with rewrites and the Unwritten if I don’t free this world of his influence.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, he ran through everything he knew.

Verik was the protagonist; a kindly woodsman who had a loving family but was thrust into a global conflict when his wife and daughter were both killed by a bear led to his home by rampaging barbarians from outside the country. What did the story represent? What did it mean?

Does it even mean anything?

What if… What if it’s just some random idea that popped into his head?

Maybe he just wanted to have some nasty medieval-themed sex after watching or reading something else?

Cliff dismissed that thought. Oaks was not known for such shallow stories. He wrote novels. Stories that compelled people not because of their steamy, descriptive sex scenes but because there was a story that wrapped around those explicit encounters that added depth and color to the love making, adding greater weight to the act.

Unless that depth and color was added because of the soul he trapped and all he made was the ‘horny’ of his Story…

He refused to entertain that thought and kept digging, kept looking for what could possibly have been Oaks’ motivation in creating this world. That cloud hung over his head for the entire hour and half it took until Grimvalle’s walls were finally in sight. Cliff felt energized as the town’s walls and the torches lining was within reach. He quickly reached into the little pack that he had brought with him containing some dried meat, fruit and bread that they had pilfered from Duggin’s farm, mercifully untouched by the Ink. They had spent a whole half hour rummaging through the estate as they were starved.

After all that excitement, a new condition had popped in the corner of Cliff’s vision: starved. He noticed that his health bar was actively draining. Devouring the food caused the condition to vanish.

Something I’ll need to keep an eye on in the future.

Kind of wish I had a ‘hunger meter’ or something.

Right on queue, a little circle appeared on the left-hand-side of his HUD right next to his minimap. It currently sat at about half-full, was an opaque amber in color and had the vague emblem of a fork and spoon on it. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly who was providing guidance to him. Was it Realism? Was it those two sprites from the Appendix? Oaks himself?

He pondered if this Story’s core was actually screaming for freedom. Was it a tale where Oaks had sacrificed so many parts of himself to make successful bestsellers that he had lost his humanity to the Magnum Opus? The D. E. Oaks that sat in that mansion in Nebraska was a shell of who he had been and the real Oaks was fragmented in these fantastical worlds? The guiding force leading Cliff through all his trials were those shards pleading for help?

If that’s true, then what are you trying to tell me?

What are you?

These were questions he had no answers to and he had to set them aside for the moment as they approached the town’s gates, the horizon just starting to brighten with the touch of dawn. Verik stopped him the moment they came within sight of the watchtower.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“The gates are open,” Verik observed.

His eyes drifted towards the large, wooden gates that even he knew should be closed in the middle of the night. They were partially open. Wide enough for a man to pass through without squeezing between without having to shuffle sideways. Torches remained lit. Eerie silence belied a sense of comfort and normalcy.

This is bad… Did Oaks’ corruption reach here too?

The heroes exchanged worried glances and drew their weapons. For the first time, Cliff noticed that when Verik pulled out his axe, a tiny flurry of transparent, faintly glowing leaves danced out from his axehead.

Is that my influence…? Or the Ink that he’s absorbed into himself and made his own?

Their approach was slow, the excitement Cliff had felt fading into caution and worry. No sounds emerged from the town. No sounds of orgasm, screams of terror or turmoil. It seemed… quiet. Normal.

Maybe we’re just being paranoid? Maybe Grim told the guards to leave the door open for us as he knew we were arriving?

BOOM!

The gates suddenly burst fully open with a deafening boom followed by a crash that flung the huge wooden entryway clear off its hinges. Splinters flew towards the two, landing just a foot away from them. Large logs off wood that had once made the gates sailed overhead and crashed into the road. Several immense figures bounded out from behind the ruined gates.

Each of them appeared like feral, quadrupedal grizzly bears with fur made of the pitch and purple Ink. Their eyes were milky white; emotionless pearls in a sea of darkness. Plates of armor were attached to their skin, not particularly held on by straps or latches but just seemingly stuck to their body by the sticky Ink. Each of the four feral bears had shoulder plates and bracers around their forearms. A helmet reshaped to fit their ursine features latched onto their head and a series of plates ran across their back to protect their spine.

“Unwritten!” Verik snarled.

Cliff cursed quietly. “Damnit. Not here too…”

A strangely familiar booming laugh came from the watchtower. An enormous bear with brown fur stood atop the spire; not within the nest where the guardsmen would keep watch for danger, literally on the angled roof atop the tower. The bear was barely visible in the dark but Cliff could still make out how he was clutching onto the tip of the tower and the vague outline of his throbbing cock in the scant starlight.

“That’s… Brienus,” Cliff mumbled. “So they must have gotten to Foulk too.”

Right on cue, a towering bear with similar fur-color as Brienus but possessing a coat of gray hair on his chest, arms and between his ears stepped out from around remnants of the gates. In each paw, he held a halberd. Predictably, his cock was raging hard. As this particular bear stepped out onto the only road leading to town, the torches provided some illumination into his features. Glowing yellow eyes. Silver-gray sideburns and oddly still wearing the belt with the copper buckle that came with the uniform Grimvalle’s town guard.

The large bear atop the watchtower jumped clear from roof of the spire and dropped down beside his partner with a momentous thud. That was a leap of over forty feet! Brienus, still wearing his trademark grin, got up from his crouch. A jab of guilt and pain shot through Cliff’s chest as he saw the former guardsman flashing the same dagger that he had delivered a few days ago, confirming the ursine’s identity.

“What’s happened to Grimvalle!?” Verik roared, eying the approaching Unwritten. “Where is everyone else!?”

Ding!

New Objective: Defeat the Iron Bears [0/5]

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Brienus

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Foulk

That confirmed both of these Revised’ identities and seeded a deep fear in Cliff’s chest. Though he only knew Percy and Reeve for a short while, he was still connected to them. They treated him as part of their family. Even though they were written that way, it was as a treasured member of the family. Then there was Arthur. The poor Baron who had unrequited love for Verik, a sympathetic character he genuinely felt for and admired.

That _’s_ enough, Oaks, he thought angrily. I don_ ’t care if these people are just barely fleshed out characters you created to pad out this world!_

To me, they are real_!_

“Forget about Grimvalle,” bellowed Foulk. “Turn around. Leave. This town belongs to the bears now.”

“It belongs to Baron Arthur Grim!” Cliff shouted back. “I don’t care what Oaks thinks he’s doing or what his grand ‘Plot’ is. I am going to save whoever I can and get rid of the Unwritten from this world!”

Brienus chortled as he spun his dagger idly around his wrist. “Sounding like a real hero there, Cliff.” With a flip of his wrist, he angled his blade at the two humans. “We don’t need more heroes. Turn around. Leave. Don’t make a scene or we’ll be made to use force.”

They’re not attacking like Duggin or the Charcoal Brothers… They just want to keep us from the town. A delaying tactic?

“Why would you even let yourself be turned into this?” demanded Verik. “You two are the most vigilant, loyal and noble men I know apart from Reeve and Arthur! Why would you turn your back on everything you stand for to become…” He waved his axe in a broad gesture at the Revised and their pet Unwritten. “… this?”

Foulk glowered, gripping his twin halberds a little more tightly. “We’re doing what we need to do to keep the peace. We can tell where the tide is turning. You can’t stop this, Verik. No one can. Either you join, you leave or we kill you here and now. And I know you’re too stubborn to join us so you only have two options.”

“You’ve betrayed your town and its people!”

Brienus threw his head back and let out another loud laugh. “The town won’t think of it that way soon.” He shrugged his big, boulder-like shoulders. “Trust me, things are better now.” Then his expression soured, glowering like Foulk. “You two are the only ones here making noise.”

“The town, this world,” Foulk intoned, “it belongs to the Holder. To the Unwritten. Are you really trying to take that away from our Creator?”

Cliff gnashed his teeth and gripped the Archetype tightly.

Fuck… We’ve jumped straight to the point where we’re going up against God!

Brienus momentarily turned around, facing the gates and walked a few steps towards the town with arms spread wide. “Everyone here loves it. We’re free! Free to be what we were always meant to be!” Then he turned around, again leveling his dagger at them. “You’re going to kill us just for being happy? Is that it?”

A flash of hesitation crossed Verik’s eyes and the angry snarl on his face turned into an uncertain grimace.

An age-old conundrum and often one that protagonists or heroes would throw at their villains. It was common in fantasy settings or even romance novels. Oaks sprinkled it into his earlier works as it tied very well with the themes of gay couples or the pride movement standing against the social norms. Why would the villain - jealous lovers, religious family members, political opponents - use the characters’ sexuality against them? Was it so bad to be happy?

As an avid fan of D. E. Oaks, however, Cliff had analyzed these plots over and over again. There was a foil to this argument. One that was often subsumed in the happy ending and brushed aside due to irrelevance.

“Let me ask you this,” he began calmly. “What happens after?”

The two guardsmen stared at him blankly. Gave each other a puzzled look. Then turned back to him.

“What will happen if we leave or you kill us? Because we won’t let you convert us. What then? Will you stay here peacefully? Lock yourself away from the world? Or will you invade the rest of the country? The rest of the world? Spread the Unwritten wherever you go and convert them too?”

Neither corrupted guardsman could offer any answer.

Oaks has rewritten their purpose, their role in this story, but it’s not like they can think beyond what he’s planned.

There are limitations.

“Don’t try to confuse us,” Foulk snarled. “We only have one purpose. To Change. To Corrupt. To Cum.” As he said this, his cock shout out a jet of black seed, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure and his sneer getting an edge of abject pleasure.

“Change. Corrupt. Cum,” Brienus repeated. Just like his partner, the bigger of the two bears ejaculated without laying a finger on his erect dick. The bear had a similar reaction, swimming in the bliss release offered.

Both quickly snapped back to their current situation however, their blazing saffron eyes burning even brighter than before.

Is that how Oaks controls them? Using a mantra of some sort? Imbuing them with this twisted purpose that he rewards them with pleasure if they follow his Plot?

“Then there’s nothing left to be said,” Cliff warned, taking up his MOM Stance. “Out of our way!”

“Make us!” roared Brienus.

The five Iron Bears charged, fangs flashing. Cliff briefly recalled an old saying that when fighting bears, he needed to make himself look bigger. Somehow, he doubted that this would be the case here. With his hand outstretched towards the bears, he mentally shouted, ‘Earth!’. A sphere of rock grew and sprang up in front of his palm about the size of a basketball. It launched at high speeds at the closest Iron Bear, slamming into its face and immediately causing it to crash to the ground. Cliff readied another spell and managed to fire it off, disabling a second Iron Bear. The remaining three reached him, got on their hind legs and lifted their immense claws to attack.

Verik ran up to the left most bear and slammed his axe - in a two-handed grip - right into its exposed flank. The Unwritten let out a tremendous roar as a flurry of red and gold leaves burst from the impact. It toppled to its side, crashing into the middle bear. The third managed to swipe down at Cliff who nimbly dodged the attack.

Dodge Counter!

A brilliant nimbus of light encased the Archetype as he swung it around and upwards, unleashing a dizzying spiral of light sailing upwards that slashed into the Iron Bear’s exposed chest and belly.

They’re slow. The armor restricts their movement but their torsos and flanks aren’t protected!

The Unwritten both he and Verik had struck with their weapons directly dissipated into a cloud of Ink. Purified, white liquid seeped into the two warriors, recovering their Ink reserves. Cliff quickly dispatched the two Iron Bears that Verik had felled with two, quick swipes. That left the other two he had momentarily downed with his Earth spell. Verik roared and charged at them. One of them had just gotten to its feet before the red-haired woodland berserker slammed his axe into it in a brutal rising swing. The blow was so powerful that the Unwritten was throw all the way up to its hindlegs. Glowing leaves all around it cast an almost serene edge to the titanic beast falling onto its back and dissolving into Ink.

The last of the Unwritten was suddenly mounted by Foulk.

The humanoid bear-man let out a single, roaring command and the Unwritten he was riding rushed forward.

Shit!

Cliff was forced to throw himself to the ground to his right as Foulk’s wicked and long halberds came slicing through the air like a long-ranged buzzsaw. Even his quick reflexes was not enough to save him entirely. A sharp pain erupted from his left arm and across his back, the cold bite of the halberd’s edge cutting through his skin and spilling crimson blood onto the dirt road.

Now he had been in a few fights before. Nebraska wasn’t exactly known for having the most entertainment in the country. Boys and young men had to make their own entertainment. Escaping into the realms of other authors’ imagination was Cliff’s way of entertaining himself and that often resulting in bullying. Again, people were bored. So Cliff had to learn how to defend himself from a young age - hence fencing and development of his MOM Stance.

But nothing he had ever experienced in those scraps came close to the pain he experienced when that blade cut into him. He let out a shout of agony and fell to his hands and knees. Fiery pain radiated from the wound and crawled up his spine. A weakness crippled his left arm as every instinct of his was to avoid agitating the wound more including propping himself up with that arm.

Fuck… That hurts.

An enormous chunk of his heath had been depleted. His stomach twisted in fear. Though he was still above half, he was afraid of just how painful things would get were he to drop even lower.

Heal!

A soft, green light wrapped around him, closing the wound and soothing his pain. He glared up at Foulk as the bear-mounting-another-bear turned around a few yards away, still swinging his halberds. Suddenly, Verik rushed by him, putting himself between the former guardsman and his victim.

Wait! What about Brienus!?

Without warning, a big, thick, furry arm wrapped around his neck and yanked him to his feet. He could feel the bear’s thick cock pressing up against his ass, sliding up his back and oozing precum against his shoulder blades. The cold touch of a dagger pressed against his cheek.

“Cliff!” Verik exclaimed, tearing his gaze from Foulk.

The mounted Revised took the opening and brought his halberd crashing against Verik’s chest, drawing a ragged gash across the woodsman’s chest and sending him crashing to the ground.

“No!” Cliff cried.

Brienus’ warm muzzle hovered over his ear, his breath was strangely sweet like honey with the slight metallic tang of wet ink.

“You’re outmatched,” the guardsman rumbled. “Drop your weapon and give up. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Cliff shut his eyes, teeth grit together. There was no denying that submitting to this new world order that Oaks had created for him was extremely tempting. Even if it was a shallow reality of sex, endless pleasure and self-gratification, there was still a part of him that was tempted to shut off his brain and just turn into a bear. Drop his trousers, accept that cock into him and drop the Archetype so that he could join his new ‘family’ in this world. The deprived part of his mind even fantasized about being the one to convert Reeve and Percy. That was just the kind of indoctrination reading Oaks’ more explicit works had ingrained into him.

But he rejected that all.

Not because it didn’t tickle some primal desire in him.

Not because he didn’t want to be freely gay without persecution or judgment.

Not because having a body like these bears wasn’t a dream come true.

He rejected it… because he would not just be another character in someone else’s story. Oaks didn’t trust him to be the Protagonist of his own Story. Didn’t even ask him what he wanted. Instead, he created a prison of desire and pleasure that catered to some shallow part of Cliff’s personality. This was not his ideal world. He doubted it was even something Oaks put a lot of effort into making.

No, Cliff Bolt rejected this world because he was insulted.

“H - H - Hey Brienus,” Cliff sneered, trying to wrest the thick forearm around his neck. In his other hand, he dropped the Archetype, the blade vanishing in a flurry of light.

“Yes, little cub?” cooed the guardsman, the grin on his face wide and wicked.

Cliff lifted his now free hand, seemingly reaching for the guardsman’s arm to add the extra strength into freeing himself. “Holding a main character in a choke hold?” He locked gazes with the bear. “So cliche.”

Without warning, a burst of light exploded from his free palm, erupting into the length of the Archetype. The light pierced right into Brienus’ face, slicing into the bear’s cheek and puncturing an eye. The bear roared and pulled away, freeing Cliff. Black ink dripped from the guardsman’s face. The damage was deep and may have punctured his brain but it wasn’t enough to send him into the Ink.

Cliff scrambled towards Verik, quickly casting his Heal spell and helping the woodsman to his feet.

“Get to the gates!” shouted Verik.

Ignoring a stunned Foulk, the two charged past Brienus and straight into Grimvalle. The streets of the town were suspiciously empty but also sticky with Ink. Black-purple globules were stuck on the walls of buildings, oozing in the middle of the road and even just hovering in pulsating pustules in the midair. The corruption was rife in the air. Certain sections of land were exuding plumes of Ink-infused clouds. All the Ink seemed to bubble and jiggle like it was alive, seeping upwards towards the sky.

Cliff glanced upwards, following the faint traces of Ink as it bled upwards.

“Oh no…”

Verik followed his gaze and beheld sky.

A vicious wound had been inflicted into the night sky. A pitch-black, angular chunk had been taken out of the starry field and Ink was bleeding out of it, forming a vaguely circular disc of undulating, rippling, purple-black Ink that seemed to collect all of the loose Ink up towards itself.

“What is that?” Verik asked, his voice shaking in terror.

Another voice answered. “It’s your fault.”

Cliff’s eyes dropped back towards the ground. Another bear, flanked by scores of others strode down the central road. The only way he could recognize this particular bear was the presence of coat that he barely wore to the exclusion of anything else.

“Ansell…”

The leader of his own gang of delinquents was flanked by his four other cronies; Walken, Hicket, Francus and Mikhael. Behind them, however, were what appeared to be the rest of the townsfolk, all transformed into Revised. It broke Cliff’s heart to note that in their transformation, most of the townspeople had more character and individuality than when they were background characters in this story centered around Verik’s tragedy.

“This is all your fault,” sneered Ansell though by the slight curl in his lips, it was clear he was happy to fire that accusation. “If you had just stuck to the Plot, if you hadn’t thought you were better than the Holder, none of this would be happening.”

Behind them, Foulk came charging on his mount. Brienus was not far behind, the wound on his face healing and his eyes better than ever if only there was some Ink smeared across that side of his face.

They were surrounded.

“You did this!” shouted Ansell as he drew closer and closer. The other bears began to fan out, spreading to fully encircle them. At the same time, they echoed his accusations.

“This is your fault!”

“Look what you’ve done to us!”

“You’ve stolen our Story!”

Verik snarled and swung his axe threateningly through the air, causing the mob to pull back and keep from completely overwhelming them.

“What you’ve done is heretical,” spat Francus. Despite all his changes, he kept the crimson clothing that gave him a sense of self-importance and wealth only now it was just a torn, crimson vest hanging over his shoulders. “You went against the Creator! Against the one who made us!”

“But we can’t blame you,” hissed Walken, flexing his enormous biceps. Even if he had never heard the man speak before, Cliff knew he was one of the brutes that followed Ansell. “Not really. He made us bigger. Better. All so we can stop you.”

“And to stop our world from falling into the Ink, we’ve got to either kill you or turn you into one of us,” growled Hicket, circling them with his body in a low crouch, huge quads bunching with every methodical movement.

There was a flash of steel as Mikhael absently played with two knifes that looked more like toothpicks in his paws. “Don’t you want this world to survive? Give up. Join us. Save the world.”

“Join us. Be one like us.”

“Fuck us. Be fucked by us.”

“Change. Corrupt. Cum.”

Ansell let out a dark chuckle as he spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. If it weren’t for the sinister smile on his face, Cliff would have mistaken him for a cult leader but that leer… It was a mark that the slimy bastard was just going to make an offer that he knew Cliff and Verik would refuse.

“We can still save this Story, you know,” rumbled Ansell. “Join us. Become the most powerful bear in this world! Instead of a tale of sorrow, misery and tragedy, it’ll become a hot, fucking epic about conquest! We can fuck our way throughout the entire country! Turn the king into a goddamn bear and then invade those northerner fuckers that tried to screw us over! Then to the Uveldald Kingdom! Turn their manipulations back upon them!”

The Uveldald Kingdom? Where did they fit into all this?

He threw a confused look at Verik who merely shrugged helplessly.

“Oh, that’s right,” snickered Ansell. “You don’t know. The Uveldald Kingdom snuck around the Marvellian Kingdom’s borders and tricked the northern barbarians into uniting under one banner to strike at our kingdom. They promised that they would officially recognize the new barbarian state as an official and legitimate country if they conquered the land. That’s what led them to the Grimwalker Forest.”

And ultimately what led that bear to attacking and killing Verik’s family.

There was a flash of anger in Verik’s eyes but the woodsman quickly closed his eyes and shook his head, dismissing the distant lust of vengeance that had burned within him not too long ago. He had laid that part of him to rest. Now he held a different purpose and it was not so easily extinguished.

The original Plot was slowly being pieced together in Cliff’s mind. Ceria and Fealea’s deaths were predetermined. Verik’s quest for revenge. The barbarian hordes. The betrayal of the Uveldald Kingdom. Betrayal upon betrayal. Now that he had those pieces, it was clear that Oaks wanted this to be a serial Story. A trilogy or maybe even more.

And he expected me to live it! To write it for him!

All he gave me was a bare-bones plot, basic characters and a world that, as far as I’m aware, doesn’t even have a goddamn moon!

And he expects me to work with that?

“Bullshit!” Cliff shouted, surprising Ansell and even Verik.

“What?” huffed Brienus from behind him. “The Holder gave this life. He made a path for you to live! Gave you a starring role in this tale! Even threw men of incredible stature and masculinity at you! We were supposed to fuck!”

Cliff jolted upright and spun towards the guardsman.

Right _… he has…_ had straight teeth_ …_

“Yes,” laughed the ursine guardsman. “We were meant to get together, Cliff. Have some steamy sex in the guardhouse while Foulk here was on guard duty, completely unaware. It was meant to be fucking hot!” Brienus made a show of stroking his cock, licking his lips as his eyes glazed over. “It was supposed to go for weeks! We’d get close to getting caught over and over again and then there’d be a whole conflict where you’d get caught by Percy, he’d fight to keep your secret only for your father to find out! You’d -”

Cliff held up his hand, interrupting Brienus. “Let me guess,” he said evenly. “I would fret and fear over what he’d think. Then, in the end, my dear old dad wouldn’t care as long as I was happy. It’d be a seemingly happy ending.” He waved his free hand in an arbitrary gesture. “It would all tie in with escorting the Baron to the capital alongside Verik for some reason. But then… I dunno… while I was away, the barbarians would come in and kill you all? Was that the plan?”

Looking from the glowing, yellow eyes of the townsfolk, he knew that was the case. For years, he had read and reread Oaks’ works and had grown familiar with his way of thinking. Now that he knew that this Story was meant to be serialized and not a one-off, he could see clearly see the overarching Plot. These Stories were meant to last through his lifetime so unless Oaks expected him to just deal with one crisis and then sit by and wait to die with the full knowledge that he was trapped, then it made sense that the Holder would split his Story into different books.

“So what if it was?” snapped Foulk, swinging his halberds through the air angrily. “We were uplifted! Instead of being fodder for your Story, we’ve become more!”

Cliff wasn’t entirely listening. Brienus’ outburst put the Story into more context. Knowledge of Oaks’ prior works and habits in weaving stories paid off. The relationship between him and Verik was meant to be very slow. But something caused Oaks to accelerate his plans.

Something about what Brienus said set off the match in his head.

‘It was supposed to go for weeks!’

There was also one other thing that wasn’t due for a few weeks… Escorting the Baron to the capital to discuss the barbarians. While still delayed until then, Cliff realized that he probably wasn’t meant to join the Baron’s retinue until much later… maybe after…

After I saved Verik…

Suddenly, it was all falling into place. The causality of his actions.

I joined the Baron’s retinue too soon…

… and Oaks likely accelerated the time line of the Barbarian’s invasion. Skurrald was already present but if the symptom of Oaks’ manipulation of the Story was that they would turn into hypermasculine bears, then it would suggest that Skurrald was transformed into a Revised because Cliff speed-ran through a huge chunk of the story, skipping the romance with Brienus entirely.

… then because Skurrald arrived sooner, the bear attacked sooner… and I saved Verik sooner.

But if they already drove the bear to attack Verik that morning, why did the Barbearians just sit around and do nothing this night? They had over a day to attack but they just sat there…

And the answer there lay with Oaks again. The Barbearians were on standby, waiting for the day that the main characters left for the capital so that they could attack. Once again, however, Cliff derailed those plans when he started suggesting that something else drove the bear to attack Verik’s family. With that seed planted, Verik and Baron Grim had cause to search for that ‘something’.

And we found the Barbearians.

Once again, the timeline was accelerated and Oaks was forced to act, bringing low all of Grimvalle and turning its residents into Revised.

But for what? What does he hope to achieve by doing all this? Corner me into thinking if I just put down the Archetype that I’ll just go along with the rest of this Story?

Cliff turned his gaze back up to the gaping wound in the sky. That was far from natural and now the characters in this world knew of the Holder and their original roles in the Story. This broke the immersion and the fourth wall at once. It would not be a story Oaks could sell.

No, Oaks didn’t want to sell this Story anymore.

He was going to destroy it.

“He’s not going to save any of you,” Cliff said grimly, staring at that gaping hole of Ink. “He knows that Verik, the Baron and I are the only ones that can resist him. We can use the Ink ourselves now. But if we die, then there is nothing keeping him from rewriting the entire Story, reusing the Ink, all of you, for something else.”

A smile slowly started creeping across his face. “And that’s the limitation of the Magnum Opus, isn’t it?” He was talking more to the gap, to Oaks, than anyone else. “This world was created from the Ink and anything made of the Ink can be rewritten by the Unwritten. Except the soul that came in and was trapped inside it. Like me. Because I’m not made of the Ink. So the only thing you can do is force me to play my part. But even that didn’t work out did it? I freed people from your influence. Made their Ink different. Ink you can’t use.”

He leveled his gaze back towards Brienus, slowly turning and locking gazes with each of the named Revised he had come to know. They were all staring back at him, confusion and a little bit of uncertainty in their eyes. Lifting his sword into the MOM Stance, he glared directly at Brienus. Upon seeing him ready for battle, Verik grinned and lifted his own axe, pressing his back against Cliff’s.

“Let’s do this, Verik,” he said grimly.

“Right,” rumbled the woodsman. “Let’s finish this.”

The Synposis

At long last, D. E. Oaks pulled the crystal quill away from the golden pages of this Story. Cliff Bolt had proved to be quite an interesting person after all. His uncanny ability to predict the outcome of a Plot was a new development but it didn’t matter. Not now. Let the little, insolent man think that he can overcome the trails in front of him. What the fool didn’t know was that he was writing himself into a hole that he wouldn’t be able to free himself from.

Oaks knew the consequences of using the Unwritten too much and in such an unrefined way. His mentor had warned him that overuse of the Unwritten could introduce Plot Holes - the likes of which was hovering over Grimvalle - and cause disparity in the characters. If used on any main characters, he could destabilize the entire structure of the Narrative and cause the Story to collapse.

Which was exactly what he was counting on.

He sat back in his chair, watching smugly as the black blotch of Ink in the in the middle of the shining pages slowly began to spread, consuming more and more of the Story. Oaks had slowly eroded the pillars of the Story. The Set-up was now irrelevant as it overwritten by an overarching meta-narrative that involved the Magnum Opus itself. The Climax that he had originally planned was pointless as an even greater threat had appeared. Even better, because he was used the Unwritten to create a new Big Bad Guy, Cliff would have no choice but to destroy the new Antagonist - an Antagonist he could not reach. There wasn’t even a Conclusion anymore. All that would remain is the Protagonist but that would not be enough to hold the Story together.

Oaks got off his throne with a flourish.

“The moment you destroy the last pillar of this Story, Cliff Bolt, you will be trapped,” he laughed to himself. “You’ll be trapped in the void of Ink with no escape. You’ll beg me to write a new world around you.” He ran a finger along the golden pages. “A world which you will willingly stay because you will then understand that there is no escape from my worlds and I can make it so much worse for you.”

His eulogy to his latest victim done, Oaks turned on his heel and left. A loud grumble from his substantial stomach reminded him that he had been in the Synopsis for so long and exhausted a lot of his energy. Channeling his power and will into the Unwritten, was no easy feat. Not to mention he grew excited in his own right and had felt the bliss of release multiple times.

There was no feeling quite like it.

Every time one of his Unwritten corrupted one of the characters he made, touching the very Ink that character was made from and changing it, Oaks embodied that person in some way. On the page, the rewrite was just a minute or two long to commit to paper, but to Oaks, he felt every change in the character’s body like it was his own. He felt the pumping and hardening of muscles as they grew, the tantalizing tickle of veins throbbing under his skin, the itch of fur as it grew and the agonizing release of bones changing with every character he infected with his will. Naturally, he also felt the pleasure of orgasm each time a transformation was completed. It was exhausting but it was a workaround that had been developed over centuries of the Opus’ use. Such transformations would’ve been painful otherwise.

As he stepped out into the real world once more and into his study, he navigated through his mansion. The clock read that it was eleven in the evening. He had been within the Opus for hours. Far longer than he had originally intended. The exhaustion was just starting to hit him and he stumbled out of his study, shaking a little.

Not just anyone could wield the Magnum Opus. It took a very special kind of writer. Someone who could endure the creation of the minute details of an entire world and maintain it for as long as it would take to complete the Story. Someone who could endure the sensations of changing a character mid-story through the Unwritten if needed. Oaks had trained under his mentor for a long while to be able to do that and this certainly wasn’t the first time that he had to transform a large number of characters in rapid succession. By making the sensation pleasurable, linking it to sex, carnal pleasures and gratification, he made the process so much easier. Not only were the characters more willing to submit to positive sensations but it was also easier on him mentally.

Again, another little trick he had learned from his mentor.

Oaks stumbled to his kitchen and rummaged through his refrigerator. There were a few packaged meals that he immediately began to devour hungrily. More than once he considered hiring a live-in-assistant to help with the mundane parts of real life then he remembered that was exactly the kind of thing he had supposedly hired Cliff for; an apprentice.

He chuckled and wondered how he would spin Cliff’s sudden disappearance in the world. Then again, the man was an adult and it wasn’t like there would be any evidence of him being murdered or kidnapped. Not to mention, Desmond Eli Oaks was a global celebrity. He would be given the benefit of the doubt. Such accusations had haunted him every now and again. People would claim that he was the last person that this aspiring writer or that avid fan had met before suddenly disappearing. At this point, it became a meme. Someone disappeared, maybe the Poet of Pornography got him.

Oaks chuckled at the headlines already.

Once he finished with his haphazard meal, he drank a full glass of milk - wiping the droplets that had soaked into his beard - and sat down against the kitchen counter for a moment, letting himself digest and recover. The exhaustion was still there but he wasn’t feeling as hungry anymore. Before he went to bed, a more substantial meal would be required.

Thankfully, he was a decent enough cook. Pasta was the easiest to prepare at this time and had enough carbs that he would drift off into pleasant slumber once it had settled. Just twenty minutes later, he had a meaty sauce over some macaroni and was eating it in front of his television, watching some late night news and whatever abomination was being played late that night.

Then it was to his nightly routine. A quick shower to get rid of the sweat and musk of working in the Opus and masturbating to the sensations of his body being transformed into a huge, muscular bear over and over again. Brushing his teeth, changing clothes into more comfortable sleepwear and then rolling into his glorious four-post king-sized bed.

D. E. Oaks pulled his blanket over his broad chest, grinning to himself at the knowledge that come morning, he would return to the Magnum Opus to Cliff Bolt pleading to be saved and ready to play his part.

Grimvalle

Foulk had always been a fearful man. It was made him such a great guard. By constantly fearing the worst, he could plan and act accordingly even if things did not turn out so well. However, the moment he had turned into a Revised, the minute he felt Brienus’ thick, pulsing cock inside of him, that fear was tempered with desire and lust.

Some part of him told tell him he should be afraid of Cliff and Verik as the duo slashed and attacked the circle of villagers that were somehow being kept at bay by these two humans. But then that part would be yanked down away from its pedestal by the incredibly arousing image of shoving his dick down Verik’s mouth, feeling the red-head’s beard against the length of his dick and watching it change into a bear’s muzzle as he pumped his corrupted cum down the woodsman’s throat.

It made him careless.

With a roar, he spurred his Unwritten mount forward. The bear-like creature charged, knocking down some of the other townspeople as it did so. He swung his halberds like twin propellers, not really caring what he slashed on the way, friend or foe. Verik was the first one to notice him and immediately threw his axe in his direction. Foulk just grinned wildly as he spun his polearm in front of him, swatting the axe away. With Verik not exposed, he sent his mount charging -

WHAM!

Only for a huge boulder to come crashing into the Unwritten’s head and send it careening off to the side. Foulk went down with it, crashing into some townsfolk as he did so.

Hicket had seen the entire thing. Even though Cliff was facing him, the nimble swordsman still managed to fire off that spell behind him after he countered a nearby villager. Every third blow the brown-haired courier made ended with a burst of magic that felled many villagers.

So he had to attack on the second or first strikes.

Just thinking about it made Hicket excited, his body quivering and his cock sending him waves of pleasure in encouragement. He was making the right decision. His body was telling him so.

Cliff swung his strange sword upwards, slicing through a villager, pivoted on his foot and brought it back down, cutting down another. Then he spun in place, sword stretched out. The swing sent a burst of light out from the weapon, felling the townsfolk around him and sending them to the Ink.

That was when Hicket attacked.

The enormous bear roared, charging at Cliff’s right. He managed to wrap his arms around Cliff’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides. Then he lifted the courier in a typical bear hug. Grinning from ear to ear, he let out a deep chortle and brought his muzzle against Cliff’s neck, sniffing the man’s sweat, musk and flesh.

“You smell good,” he growled. “Bet you taste good too.” Pressing his muzzle against Cliff’s ear, nose right against his skin, he said, “I want to suck your cock dry and feel it grow and change in my muzzle.”

“That’s totally hot,” Cliff grunted. “But I’m not taking head from you!”

THWACK!

Hicket let out a roar as something slammed into his back, right between his shoulder blades. There was no pain but he still understood that something was there that wasn’t meant to be. He released Cliff as he tried to reach over his back, groping at whatever it was that was embedded into his spine.

Verik seized the handle of his axe and yanked it clear off Hicket’s back. Then he swung the weapon low, slamming it against the big bear’s left hamstring, forcing the bear down to his knees.

Before the woodsman could lop off Hicket’s head, another enormous, muscled ursine came roaring towards him. This time, it was Walken.

As one of the two ‘muscles’ of Ansell’s gang, Walken felt a particular kinship to Hicket. They were the biggest guys and even as he looked around amongst the other Revised, this stood true. Both he and Hicket had to be standing at least eight feet tall and were brimming with lean, taut muscles that would have dwarfed even their human forms. When he saw Hicket fall, he was filled with a determination to see his friend saved.

So he charged, lowering his shoulder and crashing right into Verik. The blow sent Verik flying into a crowd of villagers. Pride filled him. He had felled one of their enemies. One of the two foes that opposed the Holder and ruined the Plot! This pride bubbled up his chest, pushed his cock into a mighty erection and caused him to lift his arms up, flexing until a lattice of veins popped all over his arms like it was covered in a net. The roar his emitted shook his surroundings and even made the simpler Revised such as the townspeople cum immediately. Not that he didn’t partake in rejoicing in his victory. His own cock blasted a wave of cum after Verik. Maybe he would have the pleasure of also converting the Woodsman.

“Walken! Look out!”

His roar abruptly ended and he caught a glimpse of Cliff suddenly on his left - his weak side, sword ready for a slash.

CLANG!

Brienus snarled, saliva dripping from his fangs. The dagger he had bought from Reeve spat out sparks angrily as it clashed against the magical sword Cliff wielded. He had rushed up just in time to block the blow. Now he stood face to face with the man who was meant to be his lover and his last dying thought before his role ended in the original Plot. Should he be angry? Sad? Thankful?

No.

He was horny.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he growled. “Feel your virgin ass around my hole. Feel it grow bigger to fit every inch of me… feel it get nice, hairy and plump! I want to fill you so much!”

Cliff gave him a sardonic smile. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not a virgin!”

A blast of flame erupted from the swordsman’s other hand, pushing Brienus back. Wisps of light burst from Cliff’s sword, wrapping around his other forearm and creating a shield. The sword itself grew longer and obtained the appearance of a more traditional longsword.

“So are you a top or a bottom, babe?” chuckled Brienus. “I’ve got to know if we’re going to spend the rest of your lives together.”

“Not going to happen,” snapped Cliff. “But for what it’s worth, I really like you. Drop the hypersexualized mentality, take me out on a nice date and dinner and we’ll see where the night takes us.”

For a second, Brienus was confused then the compulsion to change, corrupt and cum crept back into his mind and caused his cock to throb excitedly. Now all he could think of was bending Cliff over a dinner table, smashing through food, plates and cutlery while had savage, filthy love to his man. He threw his dagger right at Cliff which was blocked with the shield as expected. But in that moment when Cliff had ducked behind the shield, he couldn’t see Brienus.

The former guard had enough training in self-defense and in dealing with brawls to know that charging head on even with Cliff hiding behind his shield was stupid. So he jumped to his left - the arm that Cliff was holding the shield against and his blind spot.

Only then did he charge.

THUD!

An axe slammed right into his chest with enough force that he was forced to stumble back in shock. His eyes went straight down to it. He expected to see Verik there but… the woodsman was nowhere near it. Then the axe wiggled a little before abruptly shooting away from his chest, leaving a trail of Ink, part of which had turned white and pure. The axe spun through the air and landed somewhere amongst the townspeople. A roar erupted from where it landed and then a flurry of autumn leaves exploded, forming a short whirlwind that drove all the Revised around it to the ground.

Mikhael could never have hoped to win a fight against Verik when he was human and flinging knives around but now that he was a Revised, that was a different story. He was stronger, faster and perhaps a little smarter. He had two blades crossed, catching Verik’s axe between them.

The woodsman had been on the ground, being overwhelmed by the villagers around him. They were trying to tear at his clothes and he was swinging his axe to fend them off. Some got a few good scratches in. Then he just threw his axe. Mikhael watched in fascination for a second as the axe seemed to get a life of its own but before he could consider what the move could mean, his cock called to him. He let out a guttural groan as his dick spewed black cum down upon Verik. Whether by luck or instinct, the lumberjack sprang to his feet and used his immense strength to throw off the townsfolk, knocking them away and making room so that he wasn’t showered with Mikhael’s seed.

Then he caught the axe as it miraculously came flying back. Verik grinned broadly and swung his weapon in a wide circle, pushing all the bears around him back save for Mikhael. Seeing his opportunity, Mikhael lunged at the man from behind. Verik sensed the blow somehow and they clashed blades, a flurry of leaves erupting from the impact.

“I want to ride your cock,” salivated the knife-thrower, his mad, lewd grin made all the more insane by the burning desire in his yellow eyes. “Feed me that big, red dick, Verik! Cum in me and become one of us!”

“My dick is only for one person!” roared Verik. The woodsman lifted his free fist, making Mikhael realize that he was using both of his paws to wield the knives holding back Verik while Verik only held his axe in one hand.

“Oh…”

WHAM!

Verik slammed his fist right into Mikhael’s face, sending the knife-thrower back into the other villagers.

“And who is for, Stormleaf?” came Ansell’s venomous sneer. The bear worked his way around the fallen villagers, a dagger in one paw. “Your little guardian over there?” He hiked a thumb at Cliff who was engaging Brienus. “Without his powers, you would have joined us a long time ago. I know you can feel it.”

Ansell took a long, deep breath. “Yes… His seed is already inside you. You were made from his Ink. He awakened it a while back and it already took root but that asshole’s power subdued it.”

He lifted the blade of the dagger and lightly tapped his ursine chin with it. “So it makes me wonder… what will happen when the light goes out?”

Lightning fast, he flung his dagger with a simple flick of a wrist.

Thud.

Cliff’s eyes went wide as the blade sunk into his side.

“Cliff!” Verik shouted, his eyes on his friend.

That was when Ansell pounced. He closed the gap between them, slammed himself against the man and pushed them both to the ground. One paw was on Verik’s wrist, pinning down the hand holding the axe while the other was on his chest, keeping him on the ground. Verik desperately tried punching him free but then Francus was right there, holding the other hand down.

“Fuck,” rumbled Ansell, his cock already so hard and dripping against Verik’s tunic. “I can’t wait to see how big you’ll get. You’re already so… meaty as a human. As a bear…?” He grinned lasciviously. “Shit… I hope you get to keep this kilt too. You’d be one sexy fucker with it on. Easy access to your ass too.”

For Cliff, the pain and shock of the blade in his side sent him to his knees. His health bar dropped rapidly, depleting from the three-quarters that it had been down to half and then down to the red at a quarter and still dropping rapidly. A huge shadow loomed over him a second later. Brienus’ cock hovered mere inches from him, dripping thick, gray precum and filling his nostrils with the thick musk of man, sex and the woods after a summer rain.

“Accept it,” rumbled the former town guard. “And let’s all be rewritten into a better Story.”

Cliff closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together against the pain.

“Better idea,” he gasped. Lightning fast, he grabbed the dagger in his side, yanked it out and immediately threw himself at Brienus, angling his head away from the massive tool that would have choked him and sunk the dagger deep into Brienus’ thigh, right were a critical artery should have been. “I’ll end this Story instead!”

He pulled away from Brienus and immediately recalled the Archetype back into its default form. Turning his palm towards the ground, he quickly cast a Wind spell which launched him high into the air. Twisting through the night sky, he spotted where Ansell was atop Verik.

Got to save him!

Fire!

Bolts of flame rained down around Ansell, interrupting his intentions and forcing the bear to look up. Flames descended from the sky and Ansell lifted both his arms to protect himself, unwittingly freeing Verik’s arm that had his axe. The woodsman swung his weapon, embedding it into Ansell’s neck and throwing perhaps one of the slimmer and smaller bears off him.

Francus, never having much courage to start with, was immediately struck with fear when Verik’s blue eyes turned towards him. That fear, however, was immediately curbed. The compulsion kicked in and his cock practically drove him to dive at Verik.

WHAM!

Only for Cliff to land directly on top of him, slamming his face into the ground and the blade of the Archetype sinking into his leg.

Cliff stood, holding his hand towards Verik.

His collaboration bar was shining again, the words ‘Grimvalle Coda’ blazing across it.

“Never thought I’d say this as a gay man,” he admitted. “But I’m sick of bears.”

Verik let out a derisive snort and grabbed his hand. “I never liked them.”

The two stood, facing one another. They lifted their weapons into the sky, crossing them. A brilliant orb of light grew where their weapons touched, shining bright enough to illuminate most of the town. Those Revised still standing actively shied away from the searing brilliance, lifting arms or finding something to shield their gaze. The compulsion within them tried to drive them to attack, to change, corrupt and cum, but baser, more primal instincts - the instinct to survive - drove them back. Some scrambled for what had once been their homes.

The sphere lifted into the air and grew even bigger. A miniature sun the size of a carriage hovered over the town, its light even breaching past the outer walls and starting to illuminate the nearby plains.

Francus, who had been closest to the light, buried his head beneath his paws. Even through his eyelids, he could feel the brilliance of this magical orb searing his eyes and into his brain. It was painful but also… relieving; like someone as burning away a very persistent headache. The haze of the Holder was being washed away and Francus was left with the terrifying realization that his home, his world, his Story… was all going to be destroyed.

Then the beam blasted through his chest.

A lance of light shot out of the rising orb, arced through the air and slammed right into Francus’ chest, punching a hole the size of a fist right through his organs. Another came half-a-second later and pierced his arm. Then another that punctured his lung. His stomach. His leg. Though his eyes were open, he slumped into the ground after the first blast, his body already bubbling away into the Ink.

Ansell was one of those that fled. As the smartest man in Grimvalle - allegedly - he knew when a fight was over. So he charged back into Francus’ home, burst through the door that he had fucked Walken against and slammed it back shut. He panted, desperately looking around for any way to escape.

Then his cock throbbed.

Change. Corrupt. Cum.

“Not now, you fucker!” he roared at his member.

But looking down, he caught sight of the trapdoor leading to the basement.

Salvation.

He charged over, skidding to his knees and fumbling for the door with no latch. With such big claws and fingers, it was impossible to pry it open. One of his claws managed to hook the edge of the door and he yanked the door open. Triumph filled him… then a bit of pain… and finally, sorrow.

His eyes once more drifted downwards but not at his dick but at the gaping hole that was in his chest. No blood seeped out. Just Ink. Empty, black, pointless Ink. In that moment, Ansell came to the terrifying realization that the Holder of the Magnum Opus never intended for him to be anything greater than a throw-away bully in the first half of the first book. Not even a true antagonist. Just someone used to prop up the Protagonist’s virtues.

The Ink from his wound spread, his body dissolving into the primal ooze of the Opus.

“Fuck…” he groaned.

The rain of lasers swarmed Grimvalle, slicing through Revised with frightening ease. There was no escape from them as they actively sought out their victims. Mikhael had a moment of valor. Seeing Francus obliterated like that compelled him to move forward, one of the few to actually attack instead of flee. He flashed his daggers, roared at Cliff and Verik who still stood there like statues, weapons crossed.

It was an opening.

It was his chance.

Then the beams rained down upon him, riddling his body with holes and slamming him to the ground.

He was fairly sure one of the beams burned right through the right side of his face because the world seemed skewed when he hit the ground. But he wasn’t mad. The hold of the Unwritten left him and all he could feel was regret. That surge of bravery persisted though and with his one remaining arm, he reached out towards Cliff.

Mikhael tried to speak but he had no throat. Tried to warn the man about what awaited him… but it was too late.

The Ink claimed him.

Walken rushed towards Hicket, holding the other beefy bear up. They stared at one another for a long time, their lips moving but no sound coming out. Though their cocks throbbed, demanding they act and somehow trying to convince them that as the biggest guys of the Revised, they stood the best chance to attack and win… they didn’t move. No words needed to be spoken as both men held each other, shut their eyes…

… and were obliterated in a shower of alabaster beams.

Somehow, Foulk managed to avoid a few of the strikes. His Unwritten mount followed his every command and with the added mobility, he was able to dodge through the descending curtain of beams. He reasoned that this could not go on forever. That the power had to end eventually!

Hope was dashed when a beam slammed into the head of his Unwritten bear and it collapsed to the ground, immediately dissolving into a miasma of Ink. Foulk crashed, heart racing. He needed to keep moving. Keep avoiding the beams. It was the only way he would stay alive. For the first time since he had been turned into a Revised, his paranoid instincts took over and he ran -

… only to immediately be pierced in the side by a beam. His legs gave out on him and he knelt on the ground.

“I spent too long worrying…” he wheezed, closing his eyes, a gentle smile on his face.

Just a moment later, he dropped to his side, his body already completely covered by Ink before he hit the ground.

Brienus was the last few standing and it was all he could do to watch the devastation around him. He looked at the dagger in his paws. Ironic that this blade was meant to be the plot device that brought him and Cliff together. That first initial delivery was supposed to spark something but, it never did. The encounter was meant to go differently, after all, but nothing ever led down the path of romance let alone a relationship.

A beam pierced his left shoulder, causing that arm to immediately drop limp by his side. The lucidity brought on by the light didn’t change the regret he felt. There was a price that came with the knowledge the Holder had granted him upon uplifting him into a Revised. But he didn’t care much for it anymore. What could have been didn’t matter now.

All that mattered was what remained.

“Cliff!” he roared. Another beam shot through his right leg, forcing him to stagger but didn’t stop him from limping forward. “Cliff! Listen to me!”

The auburn-haired rogue from another world glanced his way.

“Oaks is going to destroy this world!” he roared. “But you’re right! He can’t destroy you!”

One more beam shot through his gut, forcing him to drop his dagger and clutch his abdomen. Grimacing through his weakening state and the crawling power of the Ink coming to consume him, he lifted his ursine head and locked gazes with Cliff.

“That’s… That’s exactly what he wants!”

Then he collapsed. Brienus the guardsman fell to the Ink.