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Monster Maker

The Age of Delvers

Two-thousand, thirty-two years ago, a new crisis had struck the Planes. This was no overly ambitious overlord from Hell seeking to gain a monopoly on souls and thus throttle the Eternal Wheel. There was no ancient Elder awakening in the Outer Domain and threatening all with madness with its stirrings. No Lich Lord from the Deadlands, God from either the Firmament or Living World with great plans.

No. This was a crisis of adventurers.

Ever since history was first recorded, there are stories of heroes that have achieved great and wonderful things that have often changed the course of civilization and history. It was through the influence of heroes that travel between the Planes was stabilized. World-altering deeds by adventurers averted disaster and thwarted diabolical plots of the Overmind of the Singularity, the schemes of the Court of Faelords and stopped the encroaching darkness of the Misery. But as civilization advanced and every Plane, continent and country became more and more unified under common decency and understanding, the need for adventurers and heroes to go on grand quests dwindled while the number of starry-eyed, ambitious seekers of fortune continued to grow.

Nations would recruit adventurers to fight their wars or protect their borders. Corporations would hire fighters, barbarians and paladins to protect their properties and assets. Popular personalities, influencers and politicians would have monks, rangers and even the occasional cleric as part of their protective retinue. Sorcerers, wizards and warlocks would use their talents to research or to push the boundaries of science at universities. Bards would rise to become music stars, rogues would perform espionage operations for the highest bidder and druids would advocate for sustainable and responsible industries.

The lure of adventuring of old was great. Schools, guilds and even the esteemed Adventurer’s Organization would field requests from the general public to undergo quests. There was such an overabundance of adventurers that the quality control over the legitimacy of such quests became very difficult to govern. This is compounded by the fact that any adventurer was looking for the ‘next big quest’ that would propel them to fame much like the heroes of old. A delusion of even the simplest of quests being the gateway to something grand and world-changing drove naive young would-be-heroes to taking the most mundane of tasks without ever checking if it was legitimate.

Adventurers were being used as living weapons for petty grievances. Legitimate quests were being scooped up by self-aggrandizing groups that often did not have the experience to complete causing incidents that led to needless death and destruction. The reputation of adventurers was quickly dropping leading to those who would change the world to resort to creating their own dramas and quests.

The Five Hands was one of the more famous, established and popular adventuring group. Famed for being reliable, skilled and expensive to hire, they consisted of five adventurers that had significant sway in and out of the adventuring circles. Hailed as one of the ‘modern heroes’, the Five Hands was pivotal to maintaining the image that adventurers were still needed in the world. However, the Five Hands were also critical in orchestrating several high-profile conspiracies to create this illusion.

When this deception was eventually revealed after an event known as the ‘Night of the Lost Fingers’, political heads, corporate leaders and countless civilians came out in opposition to the message of the Five Hands. After much discussion and strife, a summit was held at Mount Divinia in the Firmament. Known as the D20 Summit, this was meant to discuss the future of adventurers as a whole. The Summit, however, was attacked by a terrorist group and all the key figures killed.

Fortunately, said figures had anticipated this and had sent body doubles instead. They all met virtually and on September 19th 20.4455, the Delver’s Agreement was signed and put into law immediately.

The Agreement stated that adventurers and the Adventurer’s Organization would be disbanded. All facilities and institutions related to adventurers would be dismantled with proper accommodations put in place for their employees with assistance from their associated governments. No adventurers - including the Five Hands - would be persecuted for their actions and all ongoing quests were to be terminated without repercussions.

Adventuring would undergo an entirely new name; Delving.

Delvers, much like adventurers, could be hired by anyone. However, whatever a Delver did would be considered outside the law. Any evidence they procured would not be permissible in any court of law. Discovery that someone sent a Delver against you would not be grounds for a lawsuit or any governmental oversight. At the same time, anyone and everyone was allowed to persecute Delvers as they saw fit. Restrictions around torture, experimentation and any inhumane treatment would not extend to those who identified as Delvers. To put it simply, a Delver was not to be treated as a person.

This led to the dramatic decrease in anyone who would want to be a Delver and the general perception that anyone who would voluntarily choose to be a Delver was either suicidal, unscrupulous or insane. While there was nothing stopping people or organizations from hiring Delvers and indeed using Delvers to retaliate against other Delves against them, finding an appropriate Delver Team and one willing to take on the contract was far more difficult especially as there would be no central organization that would organize Delves.

Thus, the 20th Age, the Age of Advances ended and a new one began.

The 21st Age also known as the Age of Delvers.

Chapter 1 - Inscribed

Five shadowy figures hurried down the hallway; silent, fast and keeping low to the ground. Cameras buzzed uselessly, unable to track the group beneath their Cloaks of Invisibility. One of the figures waved her hands quickly through the air, little sparks of pink energy dancing between her fingertips like swirls of strawberry flavored cotton candy. Magical wards that would have alerted the owners of this old, abandoned oat factory were disrupted, fizzling out before their feet even drew close. Like a well-oiled machine, the smallest of the figures dashed forward and with a well-aimed slash from his Neuroedge 3070 Personal Defense Dagger, he disabled the trap that would have sent blades spinning in the group’s direction and maybe dealt some minor damage.

Nothing could stop them.

The figures approached the lone door at the back of the factory. A door leading to a janitorial closet. Even now, over a decade since the factory had been shutdown and decommissioned, the smell of bleach and lemon-scented disinfectants hung in the air.

“This… has been too sweazy” rumbled the tallest of the figures. The huge man’s craggy features, literally made out of black stone and magma, blazed beneath the cloak. Cole - a Lava Elemental and the team’s Rook - shuffled beneath his Cloak of Invisibility. From his right hand, a superheated blade emerged from the very magma that flowed through his veins; a element-conducting weapon courtesy of Primarism - one of the few weapons manufacturers out there that allegedly catered to Delvers.

The shortest of the figures, the one that had disabled the trap earlier, pulled down the hood of his cloak revealing large, pointed, green ears, a vibrant red Mohawk of hair and bright, green skin. Ruben the Goblin stroked his chin, his sharp, blue eyes narrowing. In a thick Scottish accent, he said, “I’m going to have to agree with the big-dicked cotz. These traps and security were… mid...”

The woman who had disabled the magical wards grabbed his hood and flicked it over his head with long, elegant fingers. As she turned to him, it was possible to catch sight of her pale, blue skin and the gills that were perched on her neck. Nya the Siren patted his head with a little smile. “Doesn’t mean you should let your guard down, Ruben. Next thing you know, there’s an explosion, we’re running for our lives and then there’s some street camera or Ghost that just so happens to have seen your face then you’re Sanctuary City’s Most Wanted. Again.”

Ruben batted her hand away in annoyance. “That only happened once.”

A man - the only human of the group - stepped forward and clapped his companion’s shoulders with a gloved hand.

“Sweazy, both of you,” said Theodore Prowler. His easy grin, blonde hair and chiseled jawline would have made him the poster child of any Delving group. Soft but intelligent brown eyes exuded confidence and heroism. The stubble on his rosy cheeks was the only thing that broke the image of a plain-as-white-bread adventurer from old table top role playing games. That and the Broskinov Tchovinev 54 (BT54) assault rifle hanging from his broad back.

“Job’s not done yet,” Teddy continued. “But Ben is right. It’s been too sweazy.” His gaze narrowed at the door in front of them. “Especially for a hexin’ cult…”

The leader of the Delvers collectively known as ‘Pulse’ nodded to the last member of their team.

She silently silently drifted forward, a soft hum of machinery ticking away beneath her cloak. Radiant, mechanically blue eyes with gears quietly ticking away behind glass irises examined the door. A hand made entirely of glimmering golden metal reached out from the magic of her cloak as she touched the door.

It squeaked open.

“It’s open…” began Miri, the Ironborne. Though her lips didn’t move, her voice was clearly heard through the minds of her companions. “Everyone switch to PsiComms. This isn’t gold.”

“You heard the lady,” Teddy responded mentally. “Positions. Cole, out front. Ben, with me behind him. Miri and Nya, cover our rear.”

Pulse took up their typical attack position just as Theodore ordered. Then, on a silent count to ten… Cole burst through the door, blowing it clear off its hinges and swinging his flaming blade around. Ruben was right behind him, covering the right flank with his dagger with a glowing, purple edge in one hand and a service pistol in the other, crouched low to the ground. Theodore was covering the left, his assault rifle raised and magic tracing arcane lines along the barrel of his weapon. Nya jumped into the air, her cloak’s hood flinging back to reveal the long, blue-green locks of a siren while water and ice danced around her fingertips. Her magic kept her suspended in the air. Behind them, back to Nya, Miri the Ironborne pulled a long, collapsing metal staff from a compartment built into her mechanical hip, taking a defensive position and watching their rear.

…

Silence…

… and sobbing.

The closet wasn’t big. Could barely fit the three men of the group. However, it was mostly emptied out save for all the metal shelves that had been pushed off to the side to give room to the centerpiece of this tragedy. Arcane runes had been written all over the walls with what Theodore could only assume were mana-conducting paint given their bluish-purple colorations. All these runes seemed to point to a central circle where a naked human lay curled up in the fetal position.

The sobs were coming from this man.

Theodore lowered his gun slightly and approached the figure.

“Hey,” he began. “Are you gold?”

“Careful, Teddy,” warned Nya through their psionic link, her bright, yellow eyes scanning their surroundings. “I don’t like the looks of those runes.”

“Is there magic?” asked Cole, warily. There was a tinge of suspicion in his thoughts.

“No… This room is… suspiciously devoid of it.”

Taking that as confirmation, Theodore Prowler moved towards the sobbing human, careful not to step on any of the magical lines on the floor.

“Name’s Theodore Prowler,” he announced. “Leader of Pulse. Delvers. What’s your block?”

The man didn’t look up but his sobbing ebbed.

“I’m… I’m Albert… Albert Tien.”

Teddy’s eyebrow rose slightly. “Alright, Albert,” his said calmly. “What’s the stat? What’re you doing here?”

“I… I was kidnapped… and…” Slowly, the human began to sit up. Seated, he barely came up to Theodore’s belly with the experienced Delver standing at an imposing 6’2’’. This man lifted brown eyes heavy with dark rings under his eyes. Then he raised his right hand towards Theodore as if reaching out for him.

The sight made him recoil.

The man’s hand was not his own. Tien had Asian features - Southeast Islander, Vietnamese if Theodore had to guess. Rounded, soft features, short, black hair, almond-shaped eyes and thin, pale lips. His frame was wry, thin but not from being malnourished. But all connection to his genetics ended at his right wrist. Just where his thumb began, the skin went from a soft, pale coppery-color to a deep, emerald green. The limb became much, much bigger - completely disproportionate to the rest of his body with big, thick, meaty fingers and dense, black hairs sprouting from his knuckles and the back of his hands.

“… and they’re turning me into an Orc!”

?

“Good morning, Sanctuary City!”

The morning news blared across a wall of light in the middle of the common room. Against the backdrop of a plain, black wall, a marvel of modern technology that consumed far too much power vomited a curtain of holographic news vertically. The image of the African-American news anchor beside his Djinn co-host did their best to act as energetic and enthusiastic despite the early hour. Snippets of the latest headlines flashed across the cascading screen while little snapshots of whatever it was that the anchors were talking about hurried along rapidly. When trying to cover major news across the thirteen Planes, time was a great commodity as was screen space.

For Tyson Prowler, he was barely paying attention. Having been up and awake since five in the morning, nothing on the six o’clock morning shows was new to him. Anything worth noting had already crossed his feed and now he was just absently browsing Quasar for anything interesting that could be compressed into images or 255 characters. Boredom threatened his mental faculties and he couldn’t help the half-yowl, half-yawn that escaped his broad, square muzzle. Of course, he was no barbarian so he did cover up his yawn with a large, furry paw.

“And what a morning it is, Layton,” continued the Djinn co-host, flicking her long, black hair back behind her pointed, blue ears. Her skin sparkled with inherent magic, little lines connecting the glittering dots on her skin like constellations being made and connected on the fly. “The biggest news this morning is -”

“Zeus is facing pressure from his board of directors to step down,” rumbled Tyson, lifting the black mug filled with his favorite custom mix of floral-infused coffee to his lips. A relatively cheap bean found in the Hells that had a slight, earthy, ashen taste that was infused with some icebloom flowers from the Lands of Winter in the Fae Realm. And some orange rind. Where those oranges came from, he wasn’t sure. Probably California. It was a well-balanced brew that wasn’t too dark, provided him with much needed caffeine in the morning and thanks to the magic of the icebloom flowers, would be just hot enough to be palatable and never too hot that it would scald him.

Tyson flicked one large, round, fluffy ear in the direction of the screen. “All those women coming after him for sexual assault are really dragging his company down. Even though he swears he hasn’t touched any other woman apart from his wife.” He snorted a little, a bit of smoke shooting out from his pink, triangular nose. “Evidence suggests all those people claiming to be victims are just capitalizing on his supposed promiscuity in ancient times even though experts believe that those ‘demigods’ were really just people blaming their own stupidity on some higher power. His wife being a total psycho doesn’t help. Throwing curses and ‘divine retribution’ at the slightest hint of infidelity.”

The screen was currently displaying the embattled white-haired CEO of Olympus Energy. There was an little image of Hera off to the side looking pissed even behind the ridiculously large sunglasses. Those two certainly made for entertaining news. Sensationalized to the point where they were constantly on everyone’s lips.

Just as Tyson’s attention was drifting back towards the news, the next hot-topic scandal came about and he rolled his blazing, red, feline eyes. Pushing off the kitchen counter with his mug in one of his large paws, the leonine creature rested his huge, bare feet on the cool, marble tiles of his custom home built into the hills surrounding Sanctuary City. The tiles had been infused with energy from the Elemental Plane of Water so it was always and constantly cool to the touch. Great against the paw pads of his feet and scratch resistant if he ever extended his claws during… passionate business meetings.

Black mug with the words ‘Soul Brew’ on the side in one paw, his personal tablet in another and a plate of half-finished omelet and cutlery in the last two, the four-armed demon moved away from his large, luxurious kitchen. As was his custom every day, he stepped out onto the large, wooden balcony that surrounded the western part of his home, the floor-to-ceiling glass doors sliding automatically for him. He rested his enormous 7’9’’ frame onto one of the custom-built chairs and set down his food on the similarly built table. The moment he set his plate down, he flicked a finger. Sparks jumped from his fingertips. The little fire pits and torches around the balcony and his property immediately sprang to life, casting warmth to the chilly north-western air and making sure his omelet didn’t get too cold too quickly.

Verdant forest surrounded his home in all directions save for the side that faced the city which he called home. Nestled in the center of a large crater created during some long-gone age, Sanctuary City was just starting to wake up. Silvery spires were visible from where he sat. The surrounding suburbs and smaller districts spread out gradually like a metal mountain and its adjacent foothills made by mortals.

Even from where he called his home - thirty minutes from the city on a good day and an hour if there was traffic - he could still see the magical spires of the Circle Corporation with its individual segmented towers hovering off to the side of a central spire. Then there was the crystal obelisks of the Rocks, a district built to mine and grow precious magic-conducting minerals that was what originally brought attention to this crater and built Sanctuary City.

Much father from the urban sprawl were the surrounding farmlands, each plot seemingly color coded for the kinds of food that they were developing. Red squares indicated farmlands dedicated to produce found only in the Hells, maybe some Brimstone Barley or hellbeasts. Shimmering silver plots were cultivated for celestial crops right out of the Heavens. Iridescent farmlands that constantly shifted colors likely grew crops from the Fae Realm.

Tyson allowed himself a little smile at the gorgeous view of the city that he called home before he turned back to his tablet and breakfast. The black and red robe he wore hung open just how he liked it. An immense, muscular frame moved as he scrolled through his emails while simultaneously eating and drinking. Corded muscles bulged against his pale-gold fur. Veins pressed against his biceps and forearms even with the slightest movements, gently glowing with the energy of the Hells. A cool breeze blew through the air, ruffling the diamond-shaped tuft of bright red fur that set between his four pectoral muscles, hardening the black nipples that sat at their peaks. A rigid set of abdominal muscles with the faintest whisper of his red body hair clenched momentarily at the cold but relaxed as the heat from his hell-borne physical form automatically resisted it. His crimson mane that emitted little cinders from its edges rustled briefly in the wind. A slight discomfort came from his cheeks and he absently brushed it with the back of a thumb. That very same mane was starting to creep back down his cheeks against reminding him he needed to trim it. He liked to keep his sideburns short but maintain a goatee. The full-mane look was something his father, Banchomyon, preferred and the older demon would never stop reminding him.

Thinking about grooming, Tyson reached up with one of his free paws and brushed his fingers against his horns. The two, black, forward-facing horns were getting a little long. Briefly considering going to a groomer, he decided that he could make time for such an appointment.

“Maybe on the weekend,” he rumbled to himself.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Frantic knocking hit his ears, making him turn lazily in the direction of his front door.

“A client this early?” he mumbled, hurriedly scarfing down the rest of his breakfast. Only half his coffee was consumed, however. Part of his job relied heavily on his reputation and being seen doing something banal like drinking coffee was perfect for getting people’s guards to drop. “Business is business, I guess.”

Tyson lumbered back into his house, his long, rope-like tail with the red hairs at the end shaped and flickering like an actual flame swinging happily behind him. It took him half-a-minute to traverse the balcony, his kitchen, the various rooms of his single-story home and the hallways filled with accolades and testimonials of satisfied customers before he came to the door leading into the covered porch. Without even checking who was knocking at his door, he pulled open the large, cheruwood doors harvested straight from the Heavens with golden, lion-shaped decorations. On his face was a look of mild irritation even though he was more than eager to start the day with the job he loved.

The speech he had prepared about ‘interrupting the morning rituals of the Demon Typhon’ was immediately caught in his throat when he realized who was at the door.

“Hexin’ hell, Tyson!” barked his twin brother, Theodore, holding up a very-human hand to shield his eyes. “Cover up!”

Right. The bathrobe that currently lay open and hung across his upper shoulders like a curtain in a brothel teasing at his very exposed, sheathed manhood hanging between his thick, muscular legs and barely masking his plump, furry balls.

His human brother was not alone, however. Teddy rarely ever was. Beside the blonde-haired, broad-shouldered man was another human but one that was draped in a heavy coat while desperately trying to hide his right hand. Teddy was immense by human standards - one of the reasons he made such a great Delver - and this other man of Asian descent seemed so puny next to him. Tyson arched one, crimson eyebrow and took a second to appraise the stranger before switching his attention back to his relative.

“You don’t get silk this good in the Hells,” he said, running one of his paws down his bathrobe. “But silk is still silk and I’m made of hellfire and fur. My pores need to breathe.”

“Bullshit,” accused Theodore. “You forgot to tie your robe or you just wanted to show off your foot-long dick.”

Glowering at his brother, Tyson leaned down and bared his fangs. “And considering your timing, you were either stalking my front door or you fucked up a Delve so bad you came right here for my help.” Then he straightened and huffed. “And my cock is sixteen inches, thank-you-very-much.”

The brothers glared at one another for a good, long twenty seconds before Tyson eventually broke the impasse with a scoff. That was one more point to his younger brother. It was like that since they were kids.

Turning away, he waved his guests into his house. “Get your asses in here. It’s colder than Satan’s blue balls out here.” As he padded into his home, he said, “Have you eaten?”

“Grabbed a bite at Shelby’s on the way here,” answered Theodore, ushering his guest into the house. The mousy, black-haired man seemed a little… hesitant. Unsurprising since he was entering the domain of a demon. Modern times and political correctness can say whatever they want but even after thousands of years of diversity, inclusion and cultural enrichment, there was still this perception that demons would devour the soul of anyone that so much as showed any signs of weakness against them.

That or the scrawny man was just wary about entering another man’s home. Especially one that practically flashed him in the first second of their meeting. Though, if Tyson’s senses weren’t betraying him, he did detect a little arousal in the man’s gait - particularly with the not-so-subtle adjustment the jeans with his strides.

“You just can’t take the cop out of the Delver,” Tyson commented, heading into the kitchen.

“I was never a Blue,” Theodore corrected.

Tyson allowed himself a little smirk as he perched himself behind gas-powered stove top. With a wave of his paw, a few pots and pans swung out from the cabinets and a burner sprang to life. Eggs floated over, cracked themselves onto the pan while dishes and utensils chops vegetables and some ham to make for a delectable omelet.

“But you did have that phase where you wanted to be part of the SCPD. You deluded yourself that Shelby’s donuts are amazing even though they are dry, overly sweet pieces of shit that are seventy-percent deep-fried air.”

“You’re just mad that Shelby’s was voted as the number one donut place by the Seattle Siren ten years in a row.”

The leonine demon let out a dramatic ‘harumph’ and grabbed one of the pan handles and spatulas, going so far as to cook some of the meal himself. Behind him, Theodore and the unnamed stranger took up seats at the kitchen counter with the black, marble-like counter top. Aromatic umami smells mixed with a little bit of the bell peppers sprinkled into the mixture began to fill the broad space. Only the gentle bubbling of the eggs and the meal hung in the air. Even his video feed had automatically switched off the moment he had stepped out into the balcony earlier. Such a silence would have been awkward but for the brothers, it was yet another game that they were playing - who would be the first to break the silence.

Theodore let out a loud sigh a short minute later, making Tyson smirk. “Latest delve wasn’t exactly zaz...”

“No shit,” mocked Tyson. “Who is your buddy?” He turned, two fresh omelets on plates in his lower paws. “Client? Victim? Unfortunate bystander?”

Theodore took the meal with thanks and before he could ask, Tyson was already setting a mug of coffee in front of him - cafe latte with a hint of blueberry just like he always wanted. For the stranger, he set down a hot chocolate. The human regarded the brew and frowned but mumbled some thanks softly.

“Little bit of everything,” answered Theodore with yet another sigh. “The job was simple.”

That brought a bark-like-laugh to the demon’s muzzle. “You’re Theodore-fucking-Prowler. Leader of that gang you call Pulse. Nothing is ever simple for you.”

His brother gave him a pointed look accompanied by a lopsided smile. They knew each other too well. They were twins, after all. “Fine. It was meant to be… mundane.” Theodore sliced a bit off the omelet and bit into it. He let out a little moan and then gestured for his guest to eat. “Go ahead and eat, Albert. It’s not cursed or anything.”

“Yeah, Albert Tien,” Tyson rumbled ominously. “You don’t want to insult a demon’s hospitality.”

The little, Asian man let out a little ‘eep’. “H - h - How did you know my name?”

He gave his guest a toothy grin. “You willingly entered a demon’s realm without any wards or magical defenses. Your soul laid out bare for me.” Just for the theatrics, he licked his lips, flashing his fangs.

Albert sank away from him.

“Stop it,” warned Theodore.

Rolling his eyes, Tyson straightened. At the very least, Mr. Tien began to eat. Tyson frowned a little when he saw the man make a concerted effort to only used his left hand to eat. With all the hesitation in his movements, it was clearly not his dominant hand. The right hand remained hidden beneath his coat.

“Drop the act, Ty,” warned Theodore. “This is serious.”

“I hope so,” he responded, turning back to his brother. “Especially since you came barging into my place at sunrise.” Then his features softened and the growl left his throat. “How bad is it?”

“Like I said,” continued Teddy. “The job was meant to be sweazy. We were supposed to go to this abandoned factory over by the Rocks. Apparently it was the site of some cult gathering. A cult consisting entirely of Orcs. Our exclam was complaining that his business has taken a dive because this cult is spouting some sort of pro-Orc propaganda that’s harmful to him and his business. Needed them taken care of.”

Tyson switched off the stove with a snap of his fingers and then leaned against the oven, still facing the two. “So instead of going to the authorities to open an official investigation without infringing on the religious rights, he instead hired Delvers to eliminate them. How very much like Mr. Harrow.”

When Theodore gave him a very familiar raised eyebrow, Tyson returned a cocky smirk. “It doesn’t take a genius to know that Casey Harrow was the one that sent you to eliminate this cult.” He nodded towards where his video screen would have appeared. “He has been very vocal about the ‘Green Hand Movement’ even going so far as to call them ‘ideological terrorists with a fetish for the Savage Lands’. Doesn’t help that GHM aren’t officially registered as a religion.”

“They just gather in the shadows and perform rituals,” agreed Theodore. “Harrow barely has proof that they exist at all except for some threats and his assets being tagged by graffiti.” He gestured toward the Albert. “Assets like Albert.”

“People loyal to Harrow?”

“That’s the thing…” began Theodore.

“I’m not loyal to Mr. Harrow!” blurted Tien suddenly, slamming his fists into the counter. Only then did Tyson finally see the mysterious limb. A big, green hand many times bigger than a human’s. With Tien’s left hand positioned beside it, the difference was very clear. The green coloration just extended a little past the man’s wrist.

The inflicted man looked terrified and glanced from Tyson to Theodore. Seeing Theodore’s calm features and the nod the Delver gave him, Albert Tien just lowered his gaze and retracted his mutated hand.

“I’m… I’m not an Orc…” Albert mumbled in a whisper.

Tyson’s red eyes drifted back to Theodore. “Explain,” he said shortly.

His brother recounted the details of the delve. One of a series that Harrow had personally financed. The fairly wealthy Orcish entrepreneur made a living owning and operating dental services that catered specifically to Orcs and promoted an image of Orcs having perfect teeth and symmetrical tusks. Multiple branches were scattered all over the west coast. Means and money to hire Delvers to investigate, hamper and eliminate the GHM was well within Harrow’s reach. Not to mention it would make for a fat boost to the Pulse’s reputation.

Amongst Delvers, reputation was far more important that finances. Anyone could work for money. But if Delvers wanted the best jobs, the best equipment and the best contacts, reputation was everything. A job for Harrow would get Pulse some more lucrative contracts for sure. The problem with their current job for Harrow, though, was that it was too easy.

“There were a few automatic defenses,” said Theodore through a mouthful of omelet. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. Traps. Cameras. Wards. Even a few automatons.”

Tyson was only half-listening as he was also appraising his brother. There were no scratches on his face or forearms where the sleeves were rolled up on his trademark, long, red, heavy, leather trench coat. Apart from a little bit of dirt and grime on his coat and a few old scratches on the black and silver leather breastplate that he wore beneath the coat, there was no damage or injury. What worried him was the fact that he was still wearing his combat attire.

Which suggested either Theodore came here immediately after his FUBAR’d delve or something even more catastrophic had happened. Somehow, he doubted his brother would be so calm and eating so casually if the rest of Pulse had been killed. Having arrived here without Miri, Nya, Cole and Ruben meant that they had time to think about their next steps.

There was no immediate danger. Still, just to be safe, Tyson wiggled the fingers of his upper arms, activating some wards and security measures around his home.

“But no cultists,” Tyson concluded, bringing his full attention back to Theodore. They locked gazes which was enough to confirm Tyson’s conclusion. “They abandoned the place.”

“And left us a message,” responded Theodore. The stereotypically heroic-looking younger brother fished out his phone - a Samsung Nebula X10 - renowned for its ability to collapse and fold in on itself. The Nebula could unfold into a full on laptop if needed. For the purposes of this conversation, Theodore pulled at the edges of the little, gossamer-thin rectangle on his palm, expanding its edges to about the size of an average sheet of paper. He set it on the table, flipped it around and began swiping through the images displayed there.

Runes and arcane symbols all drawn in mana-conductive paint. All crudely drawn but without any sort of religious iconography to depict any basis in any of the Plane’s major religions. Definitely cult-like behavior.

“What did Nya say about these?” the leonine demon probed.

Theodore shook his head behind his cup of coffee. “Never seen combo like this before. Said it’s got shit from magical arts from all the Planes. Uses tech like the paint from right here on the CMP and they were drawn with the precision you’d only find up in Mechanism. Optimized with the level of intimate and light-speed processing you’d see in the Singularity.” He tapped at what looked like small, black tubes displayed on the image. “See those? Miri said they were ‘quantum chassis’. You put a Singularity-level VANII in them and they’ll regulate and conduct magic faster than any Infomorph ever could. Then there’s elemental energies being channeled through these runes…” He swiped to a few picture to display particular symbols. “… both from the Firmament and the Living World.”

“Those two magics wouldn’t normally compatible,” Tyson rumbled. “At least not in their rawest form.”

“‘Xactly. Which is why who ever made this array used runes right from the Hells to deconstruct the elemental alignment of those planar energies and then used the nurturing power of the Heavens to amplify it.”

A complicated ritual for sure but not entirely out of the ordinary. Such magical arrays were used and maintained in various cities for all sorts of mundane things. Power plants needed even more complicated circuits and it was just outright impossible to have mages constantly chanting and regulating them at all times.

It was the next few images that concerned him.

The demon pointed at one of the symbols, a blood-red claw extending from his fingertips. “They’re using runic symbols from the Fae Realm and the Great Mystery here…”

A nod of confirmation from his brother. “Nya said that they get the elemental energies, tear it down into raw magic, amplify it and then use techniques from the Fae Realm to filter and transform the magic into something else.” The Delver ducked his head and waved a palm over his head. “It’s really complicated. Way over my head. She also told me, it uses the magic from the Great Mystery to…”

Tyson suddenly picked up the unfolded phone and began to pace behind the counter. “To power the controlling arrays. It’s a multi-layered ritual. Four layers if I’m seeing this correctly…” He was swiping across the images and with another paw, he began counting off his points with his fingers. “On the outer layer are the raw magical energies from the elemental Planes, Firmament and the Living World, the raw fundamental energies of Earth, Wind, Water and Fire. Probably tapped into those Planes because their magical identities are extremely stable so reducing it into its primal magic through an arcane filter from the Hells would be much easier. Of course there would be loss of energy through the process but what does get through the filter is then developed and amplified by this circle that smacks of the Heavens…”

Then his eyes narrowed. “That energy is then transfered to the second ‘ring’ or array using conductive stabilization scriptures common here on the Central Material Plane. I see that everywhere actually. Probably needed to have a group of people chanting words over and over again to guide the energy from one array to the other.”

Albert Tien was suddenly on his feet. “They were chanting! They were all Orcs and they were chanting!”

Teddy waved him down to give Tyson further time to analyze the pictures. The demon nodded at his brother in thanks as he continued to browse the images taken.

“Like you said, techniques from the Fae Realm was used to transform the raw magic into… something else.” He poked his claw at the screen. “This, this right here. It’s a standard array from the Great Mystery that is used to make a spell. It is simultaneously keeping all the magic under control while defining it into… something. To commit into the global magical zeitgeist.”

“Huh?” Albert asked, cocking his head to the side like a lost puppy.

Waving absently at the Orc, he continued his analysis. “What’s weird here is that the power from the elemental plane is being split. One half of it goes to the transformer and superconductor but the other goes to this opposite end of the circle… One that starts in Deadlands, the realm of death and the Undead and the arcane opposite of the Great Mystery. It’s powering existing spells around death, invoking spells used to kill someone’s… place in the world? Identity? Soul?” Tyson shook his head as he narrowed his eyes on the glyphs in front of him. “I’m not sure. It’s like they’re writing spells on top of spells and mix-and-matching things.”

“‘Xactly what Nya said,” added Theodore. “But keep going. It’s what happens after the Deadlands parts that gets crazy.”

Sure enough, it was.

“… after the Deadlands, it channels these same spells towards an series of loops and circuits that smack of Silhouette, the land of the Unseelie Fae…” Tyson intoned.

“And if there’s something the Unseelie Courts are known for…” Theodore began with a shrug.

“It’s curses…” the twins said in unison.

The red-haired, demonic lion frowned. “Were they created some sort of death curse?”

Theodore made a circular gesture with his hands. “Keep going… You’re still a few steps behind Nya.”

Annoyed at being compared to the Siren Scion - whom he begrudgingly admired - Tyson continued his investigation.

“The third ring on this haphazardly put together ritual…” he rumbled, continuing to investigate the lines that were drawn. “Again, using runes to push the raw magic from the Great Mystery and the curse from Silhouette closer to the center… This time…”

His eyes widened.

“These are tribal ritualistic methods found only in the Savage Lands… and then the sort of insanity-inducing spells you see in Outer Domains…” He swiped one more time and frowned. “The fourth ring is blank?”

Theodore clapped Albert’s shoulder. “That’s where we found this poor bastard.”

Tyson’s eyes immediately softened and he set his brother’s Nebula down. “Oh shit… I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine what kind of horror this… this…” He growled, flames licking out between his fangs. “… this insane, poorly constructed and ridiculously inefficient ritual would have inflicted upon you. Fuck…”

His brother frowned at him. “Poorly constructed and ridiculously inefficient?” Teddy repeated. “You know what it does?”

Tyson shot the Delver a brief look before turning back towards Albert and appraising him “Maybe. I’ll need to examine our friend here more closely. But the way they made that array was terrible. I see what they were trying to do by using techniques from Mechanism and even trying to accelerate the processing of what would effectively be an autonomous, temporary magical intelligence designed specifically for the complete and utter redefinition of an individual. But using Power Word: Kill and trying mush it with a Soul Render?” Tyson huffed in disgust and shook his head. “Then trying to inflict that on someone using a Slow Burn Curse? It’s ridiculously inefficient.” Glancing back towards his brother, he asked, “Those quantum chassis. Did you find anything in them?”

Teddy shook his head in a negative. “I had Miri scrape ‘em but she said they were -”

“Burnt out?” His brother nodded in affirmative. “Thought as much. They probably did house a complicated VANII but because of the inefficiency in the ritual, they were either exhausted, consumed or burned completely.” Tyson cubbed his chin with one paw, closing his eyes thoughtfully. “The whole deconstruction of elemental energies in a poorly conceived attempt to form a relational conduction between the physical form and the elements would have taken so much time and energy that anything caught in between would have needed immense physical and mental endurance or be expendable. I’m surprised none of the cultists were sacrificed as part of the ritual.”

He straightened, releasing Albert and huffing in the air. “This thing would need at least a dozen different mages constantly channeling it. And the use of Singularity-level Virtual Assistant Non-Infomorph Intelligences? It smacks of amateur hour and an unstable ritual.”

Theodore snickered a little and nudged Albert. “See? Told you he’s good.”

At those words, Tyson narrowed his gaze at his brother. “You didn’t come all this way just to ask for my expertise on these. Anyone with half a brain and a high school-level education in anthroarcane methodologies would’ve seen the inefficiencies in this array.”

“You’re gold there, Ty. Right on gold” Theodore straightened as he pushed his finished plate across the counter towards Tyson. The smirk on his face gave the leonine demon with flaming hair a sinking feeling. “You’ve bounced around what the runes are doing individually but do you actually know what they did to our man, Albert Tien here?”

Tyson’s eyes wandered towards the human and recalled the first words the man uttered in his house.

‘I’m not an Orc’.

Before he gave the obvious answer, he recalled exactly what the runes and array did as one.

His heart sank further.

“It completely redefined your existence…” he breathed. “You aren’t just being turned into an Orc… you became defined as an Orc on a fundamental level… Your very soul has been redefined.”

Albert Tien nodded sadly.

“They said… I had become Inscribed.”

?

“Inscribed?” asked the demonic, four-armed lion. “What does that mean?”

Albert turned towards Theodore who gave him a brief nod.

“Show him,” the Delver said. “It’s okay. You can trust him.” The broad-shouldered, human Delver that had come to his rescue gave him that cheery, charming smile. “He’s my brother after all.”

Albert had so many questions about how a demon could be the twin brother of a human but he decided not to pry. For the moment, he took his plate with the half-finished omelet on it and walked around the counter to the sink. The clean and modern kitchen had a similarly designed sink that would’ve been big enough to fit in a professional restaurant.

With the eyes of a demon and Delver on him, Albert turned on the tap a little, just enough that it could flow easily and readily. With a bit of hesitation, he placed his mutated, green hand under the stream of water, tilting it down slightly so that he could direct where it drizzled. Then, with the other hand that was still his own, he placed the plate with the partially eaten omelet under the steady sprinkle.

“What a waste…” mumbled Tyson.

Albert ignored the demon. A strange tug pulled at his chest like someone was tugging at the blood vessels of his heart, of his very soul, and pulling it to the surface. He leaned into the feeling like he had the first time he had done this in the Pulse’s hideout. A gentle, milky-green glow seeped out from the fingertips under the water, turning the little stream into a shimmering diamond-like flow that refracted the light into dazzling rainbows.

It was only brief and it immediately ended the minute he pulled both his hands away from the sink. Turning back to Tyson Prowler, he held out the now soaked half-omelet.

“Here. Have a taste.”

The demon frowned at him. “You expect me to eat the food you not only didn’t finish but just soaked in water?”

“You’ve eaten far worse!” taunted Teddy. “Remember that hooker’s ass?”

Tyson shot his brother a piercing stare. “Othello had a perfectly fine ass and his cinnamon donut was extremely clean.” Despite the comment, the leonine demon took the plate from Albert and plucked a fork from a drawer.

Albert immediately hurried to the other side of the counter and ducked behind it. Theodore just sat there with this expectant and cocky look on his face, resting his elbows on the table and then seating his chin on his knuckles. Tyson was suspicious - he was right to be - and he never kept his eyes off Theodore even as he cut a bit of the soaked omelet with his fork and put it into his muzzle.

It only took a second for Tyson’s eyes to break the held gaze and roll into the back of his head.

“Oh… Oh… Oooooh fuuuuuuuck!” moaned the demon.

In less than three seconds, Tyson’s feline cock was bursting out of his pale-gold sheath. The big, bright, red, pointed member that was missing any barbs went from hidden to hard. Precum leaked like a running faucet, thickening in less than a second. The moment that second ended, Tyson was suddenly ejaculating, shooting ropes of white seed into the air that descended like a milky rain. The very impressive load splattered onto the counter in half that time. Tyson was immediately brought to his knees, bucking wildly into the air while his claws - now fully extended - grazed the black counter top in a desperate attempt to keep himself stable. The monstrous demon crashed into the ground a second later, gasping and gagging as cum flew from his dick and struck the ceiling.

Albert kept his head down not because he was ashamed of what he did… but to keep himself from being hit by the wild fire hose and its ammunition flying in all directions. It surprised him that Theodore just remained seated, that smug look on his face, even as his own demonic brother’s cum fell upon him like streams of sticky, salty cake icing. The stoic yet charming Delver had already experienced such a scene not long before he took Albert to this house out in the mountains.

Moments later, the stream of seed ended.

One of Tyson Prowler’s huge paws reached out from behind the counter and wearily grabbed the table. Using it as leverage, the four-armed demon propped himself up, keeping himself stable on one of his large, muscular arms. The other two paws reached out, and grabbed the plate with the enchanted omelet.

Lightning fast, Theodore moved and suddenly had a silvery knife in one hand. Albert let out a cry of shock as that blade slammed into the back of Tyson’s paw, pinning it to the black counter. Tyson threw his head back, a ferocious, demonic roar ripping from his corded, thick throat. He whirled around, eyes blazing in fury and came nose-to-nose with his smirking brother.

The world stood still and Albert, no matter how much he wanted to run, remained rooted in position. Silence ruled; a weighty pressure that could have crushed coal into diamonds in an instant.

Then Tyson spoke.

“You better not have scratched my counter top.”

Theodore pulled the knife out of his brother’s paw. “Help me figure this shit out and I’m sure Harrow will shell out the omnis for a replacement.”

Tyson Prowler straightened, rubbing the wound in the back of his paw. Blood seeped out of the deep injury especially as Theodore’s _Seraphim Co-_brand combat knife complete with orichalcum grip was specially designed to cut through a demon’s flesh. It wasn’t a lasting injury, however. Hellfire rippled up Tyson’s arm like a crimson wave in a pale-gold ocean. As it swept over his paw and fingertips, it burned away the blood and even all traces of the injury.

Albert realized that Tyson Prowler was not just an ordinary demon.

This lion was a very powerful demon.

“Please explain what the fuck that was?” growled Tyson, eyes blazing, red eyes momentarily flicking to Albert, making the man recoil.

“An Inscription,” grunted Theodore. The Delver picked up his Nebula and flicked it to a new series of pictures. These ones showed a warning message on the walls of the janitor’s room where Pulse had found Albert. Drawn in red, they were meant to look like blood but, really, it was just paint. “We found this on the the walls of the room.”

“‘Freed through an Inscription,’” read Tyson. “‘The first of many.’” He glanced back up at Theodore. “The fuck is an ‘Inscription’?”

Theodore, likewise turned towards Albert who slowly rose out from behind the counter. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” he confessed. “Whenever I think of the word ‘Inscription’ I just…” Holding up his large, green hand. Internally, he winced. The green coloration had spread a little further, widening his wrist. The corruption had maybe moved a quarter of an inch down his wrist but he knew it had progressed. The thick, green vein pulsing against his wrist wasn’t there before.

Turning his attention back to the twins, he said, “… I just know I’ve been Inscribed. When I think about it more… I just feel these words in my… my…”

“Soul,” Tyson finished. His crimson eyes darted to Theodore. “I think I’m starting to understand why you came to me, Teddy.” The titanic lion grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter and tossed it to his brother. “Clean this up. I’m going to get this off my fur.”

“Why me!?” protested Theodore. “It’s your cum!”

Tyson was already turned to leave the kitchen and flicked the Delver a middle finger over his shoulder. “Because you’re the asshole who decided to expose me to potentially dangerous and unstable magic instead of just telling me and then decided to stab me with a fucking knife!”

The demon was gone a moment later. Sighing heavily, Theodore picked up the paper towels and began cleaning. Albert did the same but unlike the Delver, he had a little bit of an advantage.

He knelt down next to Theodore and waved his human, hands over the large streaks of cum on the polished, marble floors. A few whispered words and a fine, yellowish mist burst from his fingertips. The scent of lemon filled the air. The moment it touched the bodily fluids on the floor, the semen began to vanish and bubble away.

“At least my spells still work,” he rumbled miserably. “I had to pay out of pocket to use them. And I need them for my job.”

“Harrow makes you pay to use spells that he forces you use?” Theodore asked. “Did he pay well, at least?”

Albert shrugged as he began to wipe up the stains. The Cleanser/Disinfectant: Lemon Scented Spell could only do so much. If just dispensing the spell all over his orthodontics facilities was enough, he wouldn’t need to hire cleaners like Albert to make sure his offices were nice and clean to avoid infection.

“I guess it was okay,” Albert muttered. “I’m not making bank but I can save money at least and pay off my debts.”

Theodore grunted softly in understanding. “Still sucks that you’re being forced to… rent? I want to say you have to be licensed to use those spells.”

A nod of agreement from the newly-made Inscribed. “Not sure what it’s like for you Delvers but buying spells is really expensive for the average guy. We could bring our own cleaning spells and maybe substitute them for physical supplies but it had to meet their standards.” Again, he shrugged but flinched when he momentarily caught sight of his own, green hand. Seeing the alien digits so close to him filled him with panic that was strangely immediately washed away by the idea that it was his hand. Shaking off the feeling, he said, “It’s all at a discount, anyway, and we get to use it outside of work.”

They moved on from the floor up to the counter. His spell was very efficient. It had to be to clean a dentist’s offices.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” began Albert. “How are you twins with a demon?”

Theodore laughed softly. “Wondering when you’d ask.” That charming smile was flashed again. “Wild story.” Hiking a thumb in the direction that Tyson vanished, Theodore said, “He’s the older brother. By about two minutes. When I came out of my mom, I was hexed up. Defect made me sickly. Always joked it’s because Tyson, being the greedy son-of-a-bitch that he is, took all the good genes.”

A distant look crossed Theodore’s features as he wiped down the counter. “Docs said that I had a shit tonne wrong with me. Wouldn’t be until later I’d learn it’s because my parents are fucking related by blood.” He shrugged at Albert’s appalled expression. “Human Supremacists. The bad kind. The kind that would go to extremes to make sure that they and their offspring don’t have any hint of mixed blood in them. It got to the point that when the doctors suggested that I’d need to get cybernetics to even walk, my dad attacked the guy.”

Albert grimaced and sprayed a little extra of his cleaning spell. The air needed to be cleaned a little more after that statement.

“So how did they end up with a demon as a son?” he asked.

“If you ask them, they only have one son,” Theodore answered, a dark glower crossing his features. The powerfully-built man wandered over to the stove top to clean that. As he did so, he began to absently switch on and off the stove, letting the flames flare up and die down a second later. “To me they got none.”

After a short pause, Theodore abandoned his little bout of pyromania and continued cleaning. “I don’t know if my parents just went crazy after our birth because even though they got that pro-human cock so up their ass they can taste their own shit, they still made a deal with a demon. The demon, Banchomyon, agreed to make me healthy and successful.” Theodore lifted an arm and flexed it, showing the bulging muscles beneath his crimson coat.

It was then that Albert noticed that there was an emblem on the back of Theodore’s coat. Sewn in black thread, it looked like one of the ancient emblems of the Ars Goetia demons but the name on the outer ring read ‘Banchomyon’.

His attention was brought away from the symbol when Theodore lowered his arm and continued his narrative. “In exchange, they would have to give up their first born son. The perfect, pure and healthy Tyson.” Theodore turned towards Albert, holding up a finger. “Now before you say anything, my birth parents are completely insane.” The Delver made a screw-like gesture next to his temple. “In their eyes, I was the perfect human. Being born with so many genetic defects because of inbreeding made me pure. So even if they had a perfectly healthy son sitting right there, they decided to sacrifice him to save me.”

Trying to wrap his head around such logic gave Albert a throbbing headache. Human supremacists were social ghost stories in most places in the Planes. Stories told to children to warn them about the consequences of extreme racism. Sure there were other organizations driven by pure-blood ideals - there was one for every race - but they were always on the fringes of society. The concept of trying to ‘keep the blood pure’ in this world with so many intelligent races and so many different planes was completely alien to Albert. Even more so when generations living on other Planes could fundamentally change a person on a genetic level.

“What were the demon’s terms?” Albert asked quietly.

“On our eighteenth birthday, the he would claim Tyson’s soul,” Theodore answered dismissively. “For that, I would get the best grades, the hottest lays, the most money and the biggest muscles. All that was wrong with me would be…” He made a flicking gesture with his fingers. “… poof. Gone. I would have eighteen years of supernaturally-charged luck and success.”

Then he held up his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. My parents were not monsters. They kept Tyson around.” He glanced off to the right. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s only so that they have an insurance policy to make sure Banchomyon keeps his side of the bargain.” Eyes back at Albert, he continued with, “They treated him well enough but I was clearly the golden child. They praised me all the time even when I didn’t deserve it. During birthdays, I was the focus of attention. I got all the best gifts even though we’re twins.”

“That couldn’t have been good for for your brother …” Albert mumbled.

“You’ll have to ask him how we took it. Whenever I ask, he just says that he was fine. He says I never got a big head or got an ego. But sometimes, I’m not sure…” The tough-looking Delver grunted and turned his back to Albert to return to cleaning. “We ended up going in different directions growing up. Because I was guaranteed success, I went into sports and anything that needed me to compete against people. Both academic and physical. I was popular. Well-liked. Barely had to do shit for it. It all came naturally. Everything a kid growing up could ever want.”

Albert attempted to look busy but was polishing the same spot on the counter he had been polishing for the past few minutes. “And your brother?”

“Humble and compassionate,” answered Theodore wistfully. “He always had this skill. Like he could tell who a person really was. See into their soul, maybe. I guess he had to be because he had some shitheads trying to make friends with him to get to me. But unlike me who had a hundred superficial friends, the friends he made were there to stay.”

Theodore snickered and nodded towards a distant picture mounted on a nearby wall. It depicted what looked like the huge leonine demon wrapping his arms around two men, one a wolfkin and the other a hirsute bear of a human. In the arms of the two men was beautiful, blonde-haired woman with big, white wings springing from her back. They were all smiling at the camera. “Just ask him. He still has contact with friends all the way back in kindergarten. I don’t even remember any of the friends I made back then.” The Delver tilted his head slightly. “I do wonder if that’s why dad decided to approach him earlier. He was too pure.”

The transformed Orc frowned. “Dad? Your father was different from your mother?”

The broad-shouldered, blonde man straightened and turned to glance over his shoulder at Albert. “Oh shit. Sorry. I meant Banchomyon.” With a sheepish grin, he quickly said, “Banchomyon saw what was happening and actually appeared to Tyson on our sixteenth birthday.”

“Doesn’t that break the contract?”

A large, pale-gold paw suddenly snatched the paper towel from Albert’s hands. Tyson flicked it into the air where it immediately burned in crimson hellfire. Albert stared wide-eyed at the demon and staggered back in surprise.

“Dad’s contract with our parents, the Marcrosses, was that he would only come to claim my soul on my eighteenth birthday,” responded Tyson. “He never stipulated that he couldn’t talk to me.”

Albert ducked his head. “Oh… Uhm… Sorry… I -”

“It’s fine,” Tyson answered, waving a paw absently. “People tend to ask when people see me and Teddy together.” The demon smelled quite sweet. The scent of strawberries and elder berries hung on the leonine demon’s fur. “Dad - Banchomyon - told me everything that happened and that in two years, he would come and claim my soul. The Marcrosses didn’t deny it and I was pissed.”

Tyson sat on one of the kitchen bar stools and leaned against the black counter top. With one furry finger, he absently scratched at where Theodore had stabbed him. “Demonic deals are a dime a dozen. Thanks to the Demonic Dealings Accord of the Seventh Age, souls traded to a demon are treated humanely. No slavery, no torture, no torment. That’s not what demons do with souls anyway. But what really pissed me off was that Chloe and Harold Marcrosse wouldn’t let me leave until Banchomyon claimed me because doing so would break their deal.” A distant smile touched Tyson’s lips. “Of course, Banchomyon was there to support me. It just so happens that he’s a professional Soul Therapist - an animacologist.”

Albert frowned, giving the demon an incredulous look. “Your… uhm… patron… is a therapist for people’s souls?”

Tyson waggled a finger at him. “No. He helps people come to terms with their souls. Their very natures. He can’t make you change your soul. That’s impossible. What he does is to help your come to terms with your soul. To understand it.” When Albert threw him a puzzled look, Theodore explained further. “You know the term ‘soulmates’, right? The idea that somewhere, out there, there is a perfect match for your soul?”

Albert nodded with a little smile.

“Well, a good chunk of what he does is helps couples realize that. Sometimes, you could be married to someone and you genuinely love them but then your soulmate comes along and suddenly your soul and mind are competing for your heart.” He held up one hand and then the other, weighing them like scales. “Do you stick with the person that you’ve spent years with and that you genuinely know or do you go with the one who is undeniably your soulmate but is a complete stranger? That’s what dad does. He looks into your soul and tries to understand why you are doing the things you do and help you cope with them.” Tyson waved a paw absently through the air. “Among other things.”

“It was the kind of skill that got me to realize the value of my soul,” Tyson continued, holding a paw to his chest. “And my value as a person. I waited until my eighteenth birthday and when he came to collect me, I went with him willingly.” Then he grinned, grabbed Theodore by the shoulder and rubbed his knuckles against his younger brother’s scalp roughly. “But that also meant that the contract was fulfilled and this idiot was on his own!”

Theodore laughed and pushed his furry, older brother away. “I made it work. It wasn’t sweazy but I became a Delver and got into some shit with my cotzas!”

“All to ‘save me from the evil demon’,” snickered Tyson. “The Marcrosses tried to convince him that I was being brainwashed by Banchomyon and that they did what they did to save little Teddy here. That they were blameless. Of course, my little brother wasn’t so stupid to fall for that but that didn’t change the fact that legally speaking, Banchomyon had power of attorney over me.”

Theodore Prowler threw a cum-soaked paper towel at Tyson who incinerated it with a flick of a finger. “Yeah, yeah. Shit happened. Training montage. I learned he went willingly and dad had officially adopted Tyson. Turned him into a demon. I cut ties with my parents and Banchomyon connected with me. That’s why I call him dad.” Theodore flashed Albert a grin. “Not to mention he adopted me too.”

Albert turned towards Tyson, brow furrowed in confusion. “The contract and the bargain I understand. But how did Banchomyon turn you into a demon? From what I heard, that only happens when a mortal soul has committed sins, is irredeemable and despite being cast into the Hells, is somehow able to make their own way through torment and hellfire to claim a domain of their own.”

Both Tyson and Theodore rolled their eyes simultaneously hinting at their shared heritage as twins.

Theodore was the first to speak, leaning against the nearby fridge with his arms crossed. “That’s really old-school, ancient propaganda from… like… before the Thirteenth Age. Before we were juicing on electricity in every house and we were still stuck in the age of adventurers, near-apocalyptic events happening every week and before the Planes were officially connected.”

“Demons are created through biological functions just like every other creature in the Planes,” explained Tyson. “Angels lay eggs and get those eggs fertilized while demons fuck. They all have souls. Why do you think Succubi and Incubi are obsessed with fucking?” He pressed a paw against his chest. “I was ‘reborn’ through a process known as ‘animaregenesis’.”

Albert just gave the two a blank look.

“It’s basically a process where my soul was extracted from my mortal body and then placed into another. Most of the time, it’s used by the Liches of the Deadlands if they ever get sick of the Husk they are inhabiting. For me, I worked with dad to design the body I wanted. We crafted it together so that it would correctly reflect my soul and then he transfered my essence from my human body into this one.” For emphasis, Tyson gestured at his enormous, leonine form. “Comes with all the benefits of being a demon.”

The mostly human janitor shuffled uncomfortably from one bare foot to the other. “Did it… did it hurt?”

“Not at all. For me, it was like going to sleep and suddenly waking up feeling refreshed, awake and real.” Tyson’s eyes glazed over momentarily and his gaze became distant, his feline pupils dilating. “Like waking from a dream. For the first time, I felt like I was me.” Then his red eyes sharpened, pupils contracting into sharp slits again as he regarded Albert. “I did have this awful prickling sensation all over and a few weeks where I had to get used to my new size, limbs and powers but that was about it.” Tyson gave him a pointed stare. “It was painful for you, wasn’t it?”

Albert closed his eyes. The agony of enduring the transformation was something he would not like to revisit but the sensations of his bones stretching, his muscles inflating and every nerve on his body being set afire by arcane energies was too hard to just push down and ignore. All he could manage was a small nod.

“Amateurs,” snarled Tyson.

“See why I came to you?” said Theodore. “What they did to him is almost the same as animaregenesis.”

“Almost,” Tyson agreed. “Not entirely the same. They did something to his soul. Cursed it. Maybe. But they didn’t do anything to his body.” The titanic demon leaned down towards the much smaller human, making Albert shrink back. “My transformation involved neural transference to move my consciousness from my human body to my new demon frame. That included disabling my senses so that the procedure of extracting my soul later was entirely painless. They didn’t do that here. Dad also plucked my soul from my body and put it into my new demon body as it was. What they did with Mr. Tien here is that they… branded his soul with some sort of… geas while still in the same container. A curse. Of some sort.”

“My Inscription…?” Albert asked.

“Exactly.” Tyson straightened and folded his arms - all four of them - in a way that mirrored his brother’s. “Animaregensis is a well-known process. Kind of like plastic surgery for the soul. Anyone can do it with the help of a professional. Why they would go through the entire process of ‘Inscribing’ your soul while there is this much safer, much more efficient and painless alternative is beyond me.” He glanced off to the side, scratching his crimson goatee. “Is it about cost? A statement about orthodontics for Orcs being so expensive? No… That’s stretching it …” Waving a paw through the air, Tyson Prowler turned his attention back to Albert. “Whatever the intention, this ‘Inscription’ of yours seems to be a sort of… new spell. I’m not sure what the functionality is entirely but…”

Albert closed his eyes. “I do.” When no response came, he quickly said, “‘Wash away your inhibitions’. That’s my Inscription. Anything I wash with my changed hand gets this… curse on them. If it’s consumed or even if I wash someone, they immediately start orgasming and they find it really hard to stop afterwards.”

Theodore grimaced. “We saw that at base. Pulse just drank some water from glasses that Albert washed. Immediately started cumming and fucking each other. Have you ever seen an Ironborne wet, Ty?” The Delver stuck out a tongue and visibly grimaced. “Oil everywhere. Then Ruben somehow got it into his mind to use Miri’s very same oil to fuck Cole.”

Tyson’s expression fell. “Cole. Cole the Lava Elemental. Cole the Lava Elemental whose insides are filled with molten rock!?”

“Yep!” Theodore exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “The smell of goblin dick is going to be forever burned into my brain!” Then he grinned brightly. “Though the image of Ruben bouncing around everywhere with his crotch on fire screaming ‘Holy Fiery Fuck’ over and over again will live there rent-free.”

A short laugh left Tyson as his gaze returned to Albert. “So your magic will literally wash away someone’s sexual inhibitions?”

Albert could only shrug. “I think so, yes. It’s…” He lifted a green hand towards his chest. “It’s just how I feel… Like it’s just in my soul…”

The demon let out a thoughtful rumble. “I see.” He narrowed his gaze. “Before this, were you ever this aware of your soul?”

Albert shook his head. “Just what I’ve been taught in school. Everyone has a soul. It’s precious. We only get one. We can’t do anything to change it but it is ours.”

Lifting two fingers at him, Tyson said, “Firstly, that’s false. Souls, while precious, aren’t limited to just one person. They are simultaneously a power source for your entire being and a written record of your existence. People can exchange souls. The ritual known as Kruthallian’s Rite in the Deadlands involved trading your soul with the person that you love as a sign of complete trust, devotion and affection. While no one can live without a soul for long, you certainly aren’t limited to the soul you were born with.”

Lowering one finger, he continued, “And secondly, you can change our soul. Even the one you’re born with. Everything you do, everything you feel, say and experience is recorded in your soul. When you die, your soul travels naturally to the Hells through Planar Leylines where it is deconstructed into its categorized fragments and sorted. Those fragments are then taken up into the Heavens where they are cultivated by the angels so that they each grow into a full soul that can be used to sustain life and then redistributed into the cosmos.”

Albert frowned and looked at his feet, purposefully avoiding looking at his mutated hand. “I think I remember hearing about that process when I was young but you don’t really hear much about it under the Winter Court.”

A knowing ‘ah’ came from both Tyson and Theodore.

“Didn’t know you subscribed to the Winter Fae’s belief system,” Theodore said. “Kind of explains a lot.”

“Stoic, patient and of the mind that ‘spring will always come’,” agreed Tyson. “I can see that.”

Their tone was understanding and maybe even a bit sympathetic but Albert could not help but feel a little annoyed. Like they were mocking him for being ‘superior’.

“Is there any way you can use your vast knowledge of souls to help me with this?” he said, mild irritation seeping into his voice as he held up his green hand. Again, he tried his best not to look at it.

A look of worry crossed Tyson’s features. “Before you jump to conclusions, animaregenesis is not my forte. Dad can probably do it but that still requires intimate knowledge of the soul you’re handling, a lot of money and time. He was able to do it to me because he and I are pretty damn close. I’ve heard it takes a minimum of six months for an animaregenesis specialist to get to know their client before they are comfortable enough to perform the procedure on the client.” He nodded his head sideways towards his brother. “Theoretically, he can do it to Theodore too but this stubborn ass keeps insisting that he wants to stay human.”

Theodore elbowed his brother. “Delvers led by a demon are automatically pigeonholed into soul-related jobs. I like my variety.”

Tyson rolled his eyes again before addressing Albert. “On that note, your soul has been damaged. Changed. Even if I could transfer your soul into a new body and replace it with something else - which would be really expensive, by the way - it won’t change the contents of your soul or what’s already happening to your body right now.” The demon leaned down, looking at the hand offered. “I’ve honestly never seen this before. It’s similar to animanecrosis.

Albert gulped. While rare, animanecrosis was a well-known and documented condition. Mortal species were quite susceptible to animanecrosis. The condition, while treatable, was ultimately incurable. Caused when the body rejected the soul or something damaged the soul, both the physical and metaphysical aspects of a person began to fight one another and rapidly degrade. Replacing the soul was only a temporary fix as the damage caused to the body was already done. No soul would ever be compatible with a mortal that had already undergone animanecrosis. The infected soul would also be useless because the disease was already ingrained into it. Whatever body it was put into, regardless of whether or not they were compatible, was doomed to suffer from death of the soul.

“I know that look,” warned Tyson, the lion pointing at him warningly. “Freaking out won’t do you any good. I am also not telling you to roll over and accept your fate.” Holding up two of his paws with palms facing Albert while the other two were pointing at him, the demon said, “We will figure this out. It is like animanecrosis but it isn’t. Best I can tell, it’s like your soul is trying to rewrite you instead of you writing to your soul. The complete opposite of what it should be. Ordinarily, the soul would have minimal influence over the physical. Like the soulmates example I gave. It should not be able to transform any part of you.” He offered a comforting smile and placed his other two paws on Albert’s shoulder reassuringly. “We will find a way to get you stable again. Like I said, whatever they did was a hack-job and I can think of a hundred different ways to do it better.”

“Does that mean you can think of a hundred ways to undo it?” blurted Albert hopefully.

“No.”

The former janitor immediately deflated.

“But,” continued Tyson with a little smile, “I just need one to work.”

That gave Albert some hope which materialized in a sharp exhale of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Prowler.”

Both Tyson and Theodore flinched.

“Don’t ever…” began Tyson.

“… call either us that,” finished Theodore. “Neither of us can ever decide which one will take it. I’m Theodore. Or Teddy.”

“Tyson,” continued the demon. “Or Ty. If you want to use my formal demonic name, you can call me Typhon Ogrism.”

Something just clicked in Albert’s mind. It hadn’t occurred to him to really ask what it was that Theodore’s brother did and he was fresh off being rescued so he was somewhat traumatized from the events that had befallen him. Naturally, he had assumed that Tyson was just another contact or associate of the charming Delver.

But now that he heard the name Tyson used amongst his demonic peers, his heart froze.

“Typhon Ogrism…?” he repeated. “As in… the Monster Maker?”

A dark glint entered Tyson’s crimson eyes and a truly demonic smirk split his muzzle wide, his fangs flashing.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?”

For the second time since entering this luxurious home, Albert was paralyzed. “T - Typhon Ogrism t - the M-m-monster Maker? The Demon of Debauchery, Desire and Dark Designs? The Shaper of Sucked Souls? That Typhon?”

With each moniker uttered, Tyson fanned himself with a paw and batted his eyes in a feminine gesture that belied his immense, masculine figure.

“Oooh!” crooned the demon. “You’re making me hard all over again, Albert.” Then he turned his bright, red eyes back towards Albert, crimson irises flashing with a new edge - hunger.

“Don’t stop.”

?

Despite his newly rescued ward’s protests, Teddy left Albert in Tyson’s care. The demon had played up the act of being the ‘Demon of Debauchery, Desire and Dark Design’ for the sake of showmanship. Appearing soft, even to a temporary curiosity such as Albert Tien would not do his reputation any a good. Just like Delvers, reputation for a demon was everything and he had worked hard over the last nine years since he had left the care the Marcrosses to foster his reputation as a cunning and creative demon.

Tyson had instructed Albert to go take a shower which the newly ‘Inscribed’ human eagerly accepted, rushing off the the indicated guest shower. The fear in the man’s eyes was palpable. Even though Tyson wasn’t one of the demons that drew strength, sustenance or finances from terror, he still found watching the fully-grown man scampering away funny. Horror, panic and anxiety always left such a sour taste on his palette.

“Like cold, lemony piss…” he muttered to himself.

With Albert occupied, Tyson moved towards his office which was a moderately-sized study positioned right beside the porch. The architects had specifically designed the office to have an unobstructed view of anyone walking up to the door so if Tyson was in his study, he could easily see if anyone was coming to visit and have plenty of time to prepare.

The room was mostly spartan. A simple gray carpet covered the floor. The only window faced the porch. Glass display cases containing arcane books that were well-preserved in a controlled atmosphere and protective wards flanked the window. Opposite to the window was a shelf built into the walls containing pictures of happy times. One showed himself and Theodore when he was human. Another had himself - already a demon - holding up a Stygian Fish on a hook grinning broadly while his foster father, Banchomyon stood beside him smiling proudly. Only a single, high-backed leather chair sat behind a modest black, wooden desk. No other seats were positioned around the office. Entertaining clients and guest was reserved from the rest of the house. Not his office.

His office was for him and him alone.

His safe space where he could think and do some work.

Taking up position behind the desk and still dressed in only his bathrobe, Tyson waved one of his paws over the table, wiggling his fingers in a familiar pattern. Runes immediately activated and his desktop - a standard Manasoft desktop personal computer - sprang to life. Magic sizzled through the air to create three panels of magical displays in front of him and a curved keyboard specially designed for multi-armed creatures like himself. One of his paws was placed on the semi-solid, gelatinous mouse that sprang up in to his right. The other three were positioned on hovering, crystal keys of the broad keyboard.

He opened Manasoft Outlook and immediately drafted a message to his father, Banchomyon.

‘Hey Dad,’ he began. ‘Not sure when you’ll receive this but Theodore stopped by earlier and dropped a wild one on me. Knowing him, he’ll be reaching out to you or expect me to reach out on his behalf so, here goes.’

Banchomyon was a great animacologist. Reading between the lines was a skill he had developed throughout his centuries-long career. It was also something Tyson had to always keep in mind. Despite all the advancements in technology, tone and intent could never translate completely through mere text. While he could send a video message, he had always found it much easier to write his thoughts down than have the constant pressure of time and the threat of appearing like the kind of demon that would send verbose, long-running video message from clogging the recipients’ mailbox.

Again, reputation was everything for a demon.

He had to be absolutely clear with his intentions to his father.

A summary of what he had learned and what he suspected followed.

‘I don’t have the full story but I’m going to guess that Theodore has got the same suspicions as I do. GHM seems too smart to just be a dime-store cult. They’re messing with some messy magic. Magic that twists people’s souls and even writes something onto their soul that seems to reverse the flow of a person’s internal physical-metaphysical relationship. I’m going to do some investigating on my side but would appreciate it if you could stop by and examine this client. Maybe later tonight?’

With that, he signed the message and sent it off.

A notification popped up that banchomyon@hellmail.com had received his email on Monday 24th March 9:44 AM 21A.Y1525.

But not yet read.

Doubtful his adoptive father would read it at least until after ten. The man was always busy he usually ran his sessions every hour. Accessibility to various forms of magic and technology, especially soul-reaffirming technology, only led to a lot of metaphysical disparity. Often times, Banchomyon was fighting to convince people not to just go around replacing their souls which was often against what his younger contemporaries would recommend.

“I’ll check in with him at lunch,” Tyson told himself.

Thinking of the time made him frown a little.

Albert had been in the shower for over half-an-hour now. The pipes in the home were very good and so was heating - hellfire engines would do that. So it wouldn’t take anyone too long to heat up water for a shower.

“Water…” Tyson mumbled, his crimson feline eyes widening slowly. “Oh shit…”

Fear gripped his heart in a cold vice as he hurried out of his office, barreled through his home and charged into the guest bathroom. He knocked the door wide open with a resounding bang and burst through in a half-crouch, all four of his arms flexed, muscles bunching, fangs bared and fire seething from between his teeth. His mane flared up, glowing at the roots.

White tiles covered the bathroom from floor to ceiling. A single sink with a mirror was placed to the right. Opposite the sink and the drawers for toiletries was a door leading to an enclosed toilet complete with a bidet developed by the technomancers of Mechanism for maximum comfort. A bathtub-slash-hot tub was positioned just beside the sink, elevated on a few tiled steps and big enough to fit Tyson and one other person or three average-sized humans. Off to the corner, opposite the tub, was the large shower that was currently spewing out steam and the sound of rushing water. Unlike any ordinary shower, though, it was one of those gym-style showers. There was no glass door or panel separating it from the rest of the bathroom. A slightly raised, tiled threshold was the only thing keeping the water from rushing all over the floor. The tiles covering the shower was a slightly pale blue to make sure it was clearly separate from anything else in the room.

Albert Tien was standing fully naked where the streams from the shower heads converged at the center. The naked human immediately jumped and let out a loud yelp upon seeing Tyson. Albert raised his disproportionate hands into the air in surrender.

“Please don’t eat my soul!” pleaded the Orc.

Though he hated stereotypes, Tyson could not help chuckle a little at the reaction. Debating between playing into the role or comforting the man, he decided on the latter as the human had already gone through enough. The large, green hand was evidence of that.

Running a paw down his face, Tyson growled a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come bursting in.” He straightened, retracting his claws while the flames in his hair and mane subsided. “It just occurred to me that your magic was designed specifically around making people orgasm with little to no self-control after coming into contact with water that’s you’ve touched.” He chuckled softly, pinching the bridge of his broad, leonine nose. “And here I was, sending you to take a shower. I wasn’t sure if I would barge in here to see you singing as you showered or severely dehydrated from multiple orgasms.”

Albert lowered his hands slowly. Then, realizing that he was completely nude, the man covered his genitals and spun around to hide his manhood. “Thanks for your concern. And hospitality. I… I really appreciate it. But I still have to activate my Inscription. It doesn’t trigger automatically…” His eyes went towards his large, green hand, the water falling upon his thick, sausage-like fingers and catching in his palm. “It… it feels like there’s this something tugging at my heart. Trying to get out whenever water touches this fingers. But it’s asking for permission. If I give it… more of it gets out…”

Just like fear, the uncertainty and awkwardness in the air was palpable. No amount of floral shampoos and citrus-scented conditioner would ever get that kind of smell out of the grout. Not a good start to a working, professional relationship. Yet again, Teddy had pulled him into the consequences of a Delve and, as with every time this happened, he could not help but be personally involved.

Losing his brother would be a disaster on par with an apocalypse.

Tyson padded forward, scratching the back of his head absently. “Look, I know what people say about me. I know my reputation around other Shapers and even the medical community. But I want you to know that I am a professional. I would never do anything to invade your soul or alter you in any way without your consent.” Holding out one of his paws towards Albert as a peace offering, he continued. “So let’s just clear the air. What do you know about me?”

Back still to him, Albert looked over his shoulder and lowered his gaze. “I… uhm… I’ve only really heard what other people say. That you were the Shaper that helped Angel Pitt transform into that hybrid that he’s now walking around.”

Of course his reputation was defined by the Angel Pitt case. It was his most - and only - high profile case. Pitt was a Hollywood star, after all. The guy got around and about three decades ago, he was the guy every girl wanted to fuck and every guy wanted to be. However, after multiple failed relationships and back-to-back dramas including a messy divorce with his supposed life-long partner and a subsequent public falling out, his soul began to fracture.

Tyson folded his lower arms and snuffled softly. “Angel was a really special case. Poor guy thought he was going to be with Anna Jennings forever especially since she was a Fae.”

“Faes Forever,” mumbled Albert, referring the idiom that was often repeated when referring to the Fae.

“Right. They even adopted… what… three kids together?”

“Two,” Albert corrected. “They had one - their youngest - together. The other two were adopted.”

And thus the cause of poor Angel’s soul fracturing. That was a lot of anchors and ties. However, when the relationship started with a supposed extramarital affair while the two were filming a movie together, it was doomed to fail. Angel and Anna - ‘Angellanna’ as they were called - were considered the ‘it’ couple for the longest time. When they started showing signs of breaking up, people considered it just another turn of the page in yet another Hollywood drama. Of course, the tabloids went insane about it and talk shows hyped up the event to their profit. Another reason why poor Angel’s soul began crumbling under the pressure.

“Angel was being attacked on multiple angles,” intoned Tyson miserably, eyes cast down and focusing on the distance. “He was being called an abusive and neglectful husband while fans constantly propped him up and defend him. Older fans would reminisce about the kind of Hollywood-heartthrob he used to be and wonder what happened. Rumors and speculative journalism being thrown by media outlets just to sell subscriptions added some extra…” He lifted a paw and flicked the air, a little spark shooting out of his fingertips. “…spice to the mix. Being an actor also meant that he had to adopt other personalities and roles for work and he was just having a hard time trying to understand who he was. A serious identity crisis.”

There was a slight change in sound that the water from the shower made as it was hitting the tiles. Albert had turned halfway to face Tyson, covering his genitals with his human hand and his mutated one hidden from view. “I heard he started suffering from animanecrosis.”

Tyson offered a little smile to this naked man in his shower. “It wasn’t as bad as the news would have you believe. But still fairly serious. Misalignment of your physical and metaphysical aspects is dangerous in any situation. It’s why gender or species reaffirmation treatments are so readily available.” He made a slicing motion across his chest, particularly across his heart. “Because once you start suffering from animanecrosis, it’s very hard to get that off your soul.”

“But you managed to do it.”

The red-haired lion grimaced. “I made him better. I didn’t cure it. There is no cure for animanecrosis.” Holding up his upper two paws with palms up, he said, “We are in a constant state of equilibrium. Whether it’s something biological like the acidity of our guts or hormone levels or something more spiritual like our moral alignment or magical constitution, we continue to function because we are in balance.”

Then, lifting his other two paws, he said, “Animanecrosis happens when something disrupts the balance between the soul and the rest of us. The physical is trying to tell the metaphysical that it is something but the soul is refusing to accept it. The conflict causes fracturing on both sides. The soul starts degrading and it is taking the rest of us with it. There’s no fixing that.”

Albert, a worried look on his face, turned to Tyson fully. “So how did you make him better?”

“By restoring that balance.” Tyson lowered his paws, glad that this unfortunate janitor had lowered his guard somewhat so they could have an honest conversation and begin a treatment plan. “I couldn’t remove the necrosis that Angel Pitt had already suffered but by reshaping his physical form to reflect his current state, the necrosis wouldn’t advance and he is able to go on living.” Tyson snorted and glanced off to the right, arms folded again. “Of course he needed to go through some other therapy to make sure he doesn’t retrigger the necrosis but that’s not my forte.”

“I hear he’s happy now,” Albert mumbled softly. “He and his boyfriend are one of Hollywood’s hottest couples right now.”

Tyson lifted three fingers. “Unsurprising. He’s got three things going for him. He’s a survivor of a terminal disease, he’s an amazing actor and he’s got a literal horse cock now.”

The Asian-American janitor’s dark, almond-shaped gaze dropped but didn’t fall directly to the ground. Tyson felt those eyes hovering over his crotch which was still very much exposed as he still hadn’t tied up his robe. There was no point covering himself now especially since he had an inkling of the next question that Albert would ask.

Thin lips quivered before the words came tumbling out in a stutter. “Is it… Is it true that you had sex with him and that’s what cured him?”

Tabloids and rumors strike again. Pinching the bridge of his nose just between his eyes and shutting his eyes tightly, Tyson let his professionalism slip just a little bit and dipped into stereotypical demonic puckish wordplay.

“Well, I was inside him.” Pulling his paw away from his face and regarding Albert who was blushing and still focused on his crotch, he said, “My doctorate thesis was on the use of pleasure - particularly physical - as a conduit to our souls. I posited that the reason good experiences are far more readily identifiable in souls and why they dominate a soul’s structure is because pleasure acts as its catalyst.” Tapping his jaw with one finger while looking up at the ceiling, he added, “It was M. A. Goodman in his groundbreaking animacology experiments that quantified with empirical evidence that we are all good people because souls contain ‘good experiences’.” A grimace crossed his features as he leveled his gaze back at Albert. “Though she did preface that with the warning that what constitutes as ‘good’ is subjective. What is ‘good’ to the owner of the soul dominates the soul’s composition. I expounded on that and identified that pleasure is the mechanism by which that happens.”

Tyson watched Albert for a good ten seconds. The black-haired janitor didn’t respond and seemed fixated on Tyson’s furry cock and sheath. Only after the fifteenth second passed since he finished his speech did the human realize he had finished and jolted.

“Oh! Uhm… right…!”

A little smirk crossed Tyson’s muzzle and he proceeded to strip off his robes. “My treatment of Angel Pitt was pleasurable for both parties. As a Shaper, I don’t have to take the Hippocratic Oath but I do have my own personal morals and that is to ensure that any handling of another individuals soul does not inflict any sort of pain or discomfort.”

He approached Albert slowly, methodically and as non-threateningly as he could. Quite difficult considering he was a full three feet taller than the man and possibly five hundred pounds heavier. Each step was calm, soft, gentle and he made sure that there was plenty of light to highlight his physique while also avoiding the cliched shadowed expression that came from having his back against a light source. At the same time, he added a bit of menace into his movements. A confident swish in his tail. Slightly hunched shoulders so that it looked like he was about to pounce. Slowly lowering himself with every foot he closed to the janitor.

To his credit, Albert only began backing away once Tyson was about five feet from him.

“When I treated Mr. Pitt,” Tyson rumbled, his eyes now leveled with Albert’s, “I made sure it was…” Leaning closer, he purposefully angled away from Albert’s cheeks, allowing just the corners of his feline lips to brush against the human’s cheeks as his breath wafted into the man’s ears. “… pleasurable.”

Albert visibly shuddered and that hand of his covering his crotch moved, barely concealing the erect cock hidden beneath. “Oh… Oh… I… Uhm… I see…”

“Would you like me to show you how I treated, Mr. Pitt?” prompted Tyson. “Do you give me your consent as a legal adult to be your Shaper?”

There was still a little bit of hesitation in his voice but Albert still stammered out a, “Y - Yes, p - p - please.”

At last, some progress. The first step to treating any patient was breaking down the barriers between them and getting their consent. Investigating an unwilling soul was difficult - not impossible - but even harder when trying to make the experience as enjoyable as possible. Banchomyon would often remind him that he was not a therapist and but he also was not ‘the rapists’.

Though Tyson had a few tricks up his proverbial sleeves, he generally didn’t like to rely on them because - much like the case with Angel Pitt - the rumor mill would easily construe them as overtly sexual. Professional reputations had been ruined over less.

Lavender-scented water drizzled over his body, soaking into his fur. Gentle paws closed calmly around Albert’s frame, two paws on his thighs and two on his shoulders. The janitor closed his eyes and shuddered at the touch.

“The first step in your treatment,” began Tyson, using one paw to slowly trace gentle lines down Albert’s arm.

He extended one claw and ran it down the man’s smooth, pale saffron skin; the touch light enough not to break skin but with enough pressure that it was very clear what was happening. When his claw rested against the tough, green skin on Albert’s one, mutated hand, he stopped. Albert had tucked that hand under his armpit; perhaps as a defensive mechanism but more likely out of shame. With his other paw, Tyson gently lifted the arm pinning that hand in the man’s pits. He then gently grasped the much larger, green hand and prised it away from its hiding spot.

“You need to recognize the problem,” he intoned softly as he straightened. He held out Albert’s transformed hand in between them, palm facing up so that it was in sight of his client. “Don’t hide your ailment. Look at it. Acknowledge it. Understand that you have it. Denying its existence is the animacological equivalent of soul death by suicide.”

Albert swallowed loudly. His eyes darted from Tyson’s blazing red gaze to the offending hand. Only half-a-second was spent on the green skin before he looked away. Disbelief, shame or just disgust plagued his expression.

Tyson propped Albert’s large hand upwards and pressed his paw against it, palm-to-palm. A simple gesture but one that reinforced a physical connection, an anchor that brought Albert away from his own head and back to the present. A common technique to calm those suffering a panic attack was to ‘ground’ the patient. The 5-4-3-2-1 Method was one that was often given as an example. List five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell and lastly one thing you can feel. But he always found that this technique was a double edged sword.

What if there were not five things the person could see?

What if they were deaf?

Grounding was still a sound technique but he adapted it for his own processes.

First was physical contact, nothing sexual. Just touching one of the most sensitive parts of the body and one used primarily for locomotion. For Albert, it was that transformed hand of his. The sensation of being touched brought a blur of confusion into Albert’s eyes but it was enough to pull him out of his hazy head-space.

Next, Tyson expounded on that contact. Slipping his fingers between Albert’s, he gently closed his paw around Albert’s hand, coaxing the janitor to clasp hands with him. Out of pure instinct, his patient complied. Again, it was a simple gesture but it radiated intimacy and trust.

Lastly, now that they were close and intimate, he needed action. Slowly, he began pulling their joined hands around in a small circle, doing laps in the air. Movement drew energy away from the overactive mind and focused energy and effort on the motions.

Contact, Intimacy and Action.

A visible calm fell over Albert’s expression and his breathing slowed. The dual sensations of having his green hand stimulated and arousal bouncing between his legs was enough to compel the Asian janitor to drop his human hand away from his groin to reveal the modest five-inch circumcised erection. Tyson found it amusing that a human would be cut in this day and age but as he recalled that Albert Tien subscribed to the Winter Court belief system, he was not at all surprised. The Fae of the Winter Court could be very traditional even amongst the Fae. Albert had a healthy bush going on on his otherwise smooth body.

The man was moderately toned. Arms were decent from having to go around swinging a mop and carrying cleaning supplies everywhere. A light paunch in his belly suggested a ritual that didn’t frequent the gym often though he had the faintest cleft on his pectorals - likely developed through his career. There was not a crease on his face from age or wrinkles though there were some freckles on his cheeks. He couldn’t be older than his mid-thirties. Late twenties at the youngest.

With one other paw, Tyson gently cupped Albert’s waist, his furry fingers gently gripping the man’s soft ass. One second passed as the janitor got used to the fact that intimate contact had just doubled. The little, Asian man shuddered but didn’t protest when Tyson began slowly stroking the smooth, rounded ass cheeks gently and sensually. A little bit of precum leaked out of Albert’s dick and would have been lost in the bombardment of scented water from three shower heads but Tyson, who had spent his career honing his skills of seduction and sexual pleasure, noticed it easily.

That was his sign to reach over with a third paw and gently rest it on Albert’s shoulder, drawing the man closer to himself. All the while, he continued to draw circles in the air with their clasped hands. A small smile touched Albert’s lips, his eyes drifting away from the now ritualistic motion to meet Tyson’s gaze.

Eye contact. Good. Trust may not be fully established but, at the very least, there was a level of intimacy that would form the foundations of a bridge between them. He could work with that.

“The next step,” rumbled the red-eyed demon, “is to let yourself feel good.”

Albert’s smile faded slightly. “I… I already…?”

“No,” Tyson said gently. “I mean let yourself. Give yourself permission. You know you’ve got a problem. So now let yourself get better. You deserve to get better. You deserve to feel better.”

For emphasis, he reached down with this fourth and final paw, gently gripping Albert’s cock. Against his monstrous paw, he barely needed a thumb and forefinger to start stroking it but that did not matter. Size, strength, appearance did not matter. It was all about feeling good and becoming better.

Albert’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a soft hum of approval. Whether he knew it or not, he was being drawn closer and closer to the Monster Maker, shuffling ever so slowly towards the leonine demon. Tyson leaned down towards the afflicted human, lowering himself down towards the man’s lips.

“And the last step,” he whispered with a low, sultry bass. “Is to let someone in.”

With no hesitation on his part and almost by instinct, Albert opened his lips, eyelids shut. The demon known as Typhon Ogrism almost felt like a vampire being invited across a threshold but he was not going in for hunger or desire. In fact, despite the very sensual moment, he was not erect at all. This was a professional act and he was more curious than horny at what had happened to Albert Tien’s soul.

Fully in control, he gently pressed his broad muzzle against Albert’s lips, starting softly at first - just their lips touching. A little exploratory lick to test his client’s reaction. Albert’s tongue brushed against his own quite eagerly and when he retracted his own organ, the naked janitor’s tongue came racing after, eagerly searching for it. Whether it was because Albert was touch-starved or sexually frustrated, he couldn’t deduce… yet_._ But Albert was willing. Eager even. So he pushed his much bigger, much longer and much broader tongue into Albert’s mouth, filling the man’s cheeks and tasting the janitor’s essence.

The contact was just the first and lightest brush against the realms of the metaphysical. Normally, he would be in a quiet, sound-proof room, lying down or in some form of comfortable position. While showers were a typical setting for some of his favorite pornographic videos, it was dangerous in reality especially with how… explosive his sessions could be. But this was not meant to be one of those kinds of sessions. It was just an initial assessment.

With that in mind, he closed his eyes and ‘tasted’ Albert’s soul.

Every soul was different and, often times, it could be maddening to someone not prepared to contextualize the metaphysical into something they could understand. As Tyson took that first, confident step into Albert’s very spirit, he purposefully restricted the information flooding his mind, forcing it into a trickle so that he could absorb it slowly and at his own pace.

All-consuming, enveloping darkness surrounding him. Blazing, fiery, green light burst through the darkness in front of him, drawing a straight line vertically. The light slowly began to curve and dance, twisting into geometric shapes that spread and multiplied exponentially. Circles engraved with arcane runes and symbols wrote themselves into the darkness in front of him creating a tapestry of Albert Tien’s life. Magical arrays was a complicated language on its own especially as each Plane had its own variation but it had always been a passion of Tyson’s to interpret and breakdown their intent. Though a soul’s version of such circles rarely ever adhered to real arrays, it was a shape and form that he could understand.

With every sensual, impassioned touch in the physical world, more and more of the tapestry appeared in front of him in his mind’s eye. Albert finally used his human hand and reached up, grabbing Tyson’s pectoral and a lattice of squares and triangles appeared that depicted the janitor’s upbringing in a moderately conservative family that subscribed to the doctrines of the Winter Court.

A moan and a heated thrust into Tyson’s paw, cock rubbing against the lion’s padded palms. Albert’s life as a prepubescent boy living in a town outside of Sanctuary City appeared. A modest life alongside people of multiple races. Even Orcs.

Albert’s grip with his green hand loosened around Tyson’s paw and instead, that hand reached up behind the lion’s head, gripping his mane tightly and pulling the demon down closer to him, meshing their lips tighter. Teenage years appeared as a tangled mess of confusion typical of adolescence. Fleeting crushes with some female classmates but nothing sexual ever occurred. The Winter Court was quite stringent about not having sex before marriage and ensuring a lengthy courting period.

Strangely not even a hit of homsexuality and yet…

Toes curled in ecstasy and the janitor’s moans grew louder. High school came and went. College for one of the more cerebral courses bored and didn’t interest Albert. Though his Asian parents did apply the typical pressure for him to excel and become a doctor or lawyer, he just could not decide what he wanted to do. Instead, he graduated with a fairly generic degree in business. One major relationship during college with an Undead Vampire girl but, despite her own longevity, could not stand Albert’s insistence on a gentlemanly distance in their relationship and the lack of sex. They broke up amicably.

So perhaps there was some pent up sexual frustration after all.

Albert began to actively suckle on Tyson’s tongue, his passions rising and his body heat physically rising. Life after college was rough especially with the pressure from his parents on his career progression. Working a menial, blue collar job was not exactly something he was proud of but when the opportunity arose to get a certification in cleaning dental equipment and become an orthodontist’s assistant, he pounced on it if only to placate his family.

That was how he became a janitor for Casey Harrow’s dental practices. Through a program that Harrow’s business offered, Albert was studying how to stand beside a dentist and clean the equipment while making a living clean up the offices of the same practices that was sponsoring him. It was a decent gig and even allowed him to move to Sanctuary City where he could work in one of Harrow’s biggest offices.

Then came a block.

Tyson suddenly found enormous words blazing across the tapestry that was Albert Tien’s life.

‘Wash away your inhibitions’.

The words interrupted the rest of the network, preventing Tyson from seeing any further. They seemed to force every line to feed into the letters that made up the idiom. Whoever had written this ‘Inscription’ into Tien’s very soul clearly didn’t want anyone or anything to see past it. Understandable. It was a common technique amongst investigators to employ animacologists to explore an individual’s soul for details and testimonies that may have slipped immediate memory. Extracting confessions was illegal, however, and was considered one of the most heinous crimes anyone could commit. Rules under the Animus Librarius Convention prevented the use of an individual’s soul as incriminating evidence against them.

But to actually create a spell that was burned into an individual’s soul that prevented anyone from seeing past it?

That was new.

Tyson’s innate curiosity compelled him further. He was not without his own tricks.

He broke the kiss and locked gazes with Albert. His client was momentarily surprised by the sudden interruption.

“I can see your Inscription,” he said. “But I am going to need your permission to explore it further. This can get… invasive. Are you okay with that?”

With a sudden clarity in his eyes even though his cock was throbbing painfully in Tyson’s paw, Albert said, “Do it. I want to be back to normal.”

“Alright then,” he answered with a grim nod.

Then he went right back in, diving for Albert’s tonsils. But this time, it was different.

For a moment, Albert moaned as that leonine tongue plunged into his mouth, filling it and setting his senses on fire. Then, the tongue went deeper, bouncing against his uvula. He gagged a little but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Only when the tongue went even deeper did his eyes snap open from his glazed, eyelid-fluttering daze and realize something was very different.

Right before him, Tyson Prowler’s form seemed to melt. This was more than just the demon being drenched in the lavender-infused waters of the custom shower. Tyson’s physical form was liquefying. Golden fur smoothening out and merging into physical globules that slithered and undulated across his muscular frame. Hard edges of pectorals and abdominal muscles softening to the point where Albert’s hand which was gripping one of the right pectorals sank into the soft, almost gelatinous mass. The tongue that was invading his mouth and now his throat lost its flat shape and coalesced into a single, probing semi-liquid that pushed itself down his throat.

The seeming lack of cohesion in his frame didn’t take away from the demon’s immense strength. Albert instinctively tried to gag away the goo sliding down his throat but it was like swallowing a mass of warm, constantly shifting muscles. The more he attacked it, the harder it got. Instincts told him to pull away but the sensation was strangely comfortable. In fact, it was actually pleasurable. Mere contact with the slime that the demon was becoming set his flesh ablaze, wanting more and pulling him deeper into the throes of passion. It was just… alien.

Some part of him briefly recalled the Monster Maker mentioning that pleasure was a key factor in how people recorded events in their souls. He briefly wondered if something the demon was doing was enhancing his pleasure and that was how Tyson was accessing his soul. Thoughts were quickly swept away in a tidal wave of sensations as something warm, smooth and pulsing pushed against his virgin pucker.

Albert Tien had no sense or strength left to wonder how Tyson’s dick could have made it behind him when the lion was liquefying in front of him. The slime pushed into his ass, slipping past his puckered hole and filling him with a warmth and electric heat that sent him to the very tips of his toes. In reality, the very fingers that Tyson had used to cup Albert’s ass was the invading force. Each one elongated, twisting over each other into a drill-like formation and gently but insistently pushed their way into the janitor.

Similar scenes were playing all over Albert’s form. The paw that had been stroking the human’s five-inch dick lost all discerning forms between fingers. Pawpads melted into the broader, semi-liquid of golden flesh, oozing over the man’s balls and curling up around the erect cock while simultaneously stimulating it. Albert all too happily fucking the gelatinous encasement like he was plowing a particularly wet and flexible fleshlight. Even when the goo started to push into his cock’s slit and invade the fleshy tube, Albert only experienced an inferno of pleasure he had never felt before.

An overwhelming sensation of being filled surged through his entire body. Veins pulsed over his taut frame, muscles pumped and hardened and a sensation of being bloated and full pressed against the walls of his stomach. This was juxtaposed by the desire to eject the invasive goo from him. His prostate was being stimulated, filling his dick with the fervor to cum. Only it was not just cock that benefited from this desire. Every limb, every orifice and every cell in his body was afire with the need to explode in blinding orgasm.

But he couldn’t cum.

Because there was still more and more of the Monster Maker to enter him.

It was so intense that Albert Tien physically threw his head back, eyes rolled into the back of his head and a broad, toothy grin on his face that was only broken by the wave upon wave of demonic lion goo that was flooding into his muzzle. He never even noticed as he was lifted off the ground by the sheer mass of Tyson’s liquefied form. The fingers gripping Tyson’s frame shuddered and loosened, dropping to his sides while his body quaked and undulated in pleasure. Tendrils of golden goo slithered over his frame, moving across his torso and finding his sensitive nipples. They teased the flesh there, coaxing them into erection before plunging into them, surging into mammary glands that were never used and pumping Albert’s pectorals full of their mass.

And yet, despite all of this goo surging into Albert, he didn’t change shape.

Tyson wasn’t entering his physical body. With more and more of his form entering Albert’s physical shape, he connected with the man’s synapses. Riding the waves of pleasure, he crossed over from the material to the spiritual. No longer just tasting and seeing Albert’s soul, he was now on the same physical Plane as that same soul, a little pocket dimension contained within the mortal shell of the Asian American janitor inflicted with a mutated, green, Orcish hand. This was not a groundbreaking technique. Animacologists from every Plane and as far back as the Thirteenth Age had been entering people’s souls for one reason or another.

The only difference here was how he entered the soul and what he was trying to do while within it. He was trying to see past the Inscription…

… and failing.

“Don’t be shy,” Tyson purred, sending wave after wave of stimulating sensations at the Inscription. The materialized as lances of sizzling crimson energy crackling with pink lightning. Each beam struck the banner of green, fiery words and stuck for a few seconds before fizzling out. The Inscription’s persistence reminded him that he needed to secure his exit to avoid being trapped within Albert’s soul. As the last drops of his liquid form entered Albert, he maintained a connection with the man’s neural network.

On the material plane, Albert slumped down on the floor of the open shower, legs splayed out in front of him and back against the cool tiled wall. Water rained down on him from three angles but he could barely feel them. Every inch of his body was quaking for release and the waves of sensations bombarding him from all directions overstimulated his brain and left him quivering and shaking. Thankfully, Tyson was right there, controlling his body from the inside and compelling the man to grip his throbbing cock and stroke it at a steady pace.

There was his escape vector. Now he could properly get to work.

“Need to figure out what shape his soul has taken,” he told himself, looking at the burning, emerald words in front of him. Holding out all four of his paws towards the glowing epitaph, he once again declared, “Come on, Albert. You want me to help you, right? Don’t fight me.”

Albert Tien arched his back and began wildly thrusting his hips into his own hand. The sounds of wet slapping adding to the cacophony of moans and grunts and drizzling water from the shower. Each motion of stimulation with the added sensitivity Tyson had inflicted on the man intensified the lances of energy that slammed into the Inscription. A wave of sizzling arrows slammed onto this wall of bright, green words.

The Inscription remained defiant. It did not move and didn’t even shudder. He simply could not see past it. No details about the ritual. No faces of the perpetrators. Not even memories of what it felt like to be inflicted with the cursed words.

Growling in frustration, Tyson stormed forward and physically seized the words.

“Please, Albert,” he barked, “Let. Me. In!”

The Inscription pulsed and sizzled. Green lightning crackled all over the phrase’s letters. Tyson relaxed his grip, his heart pumping in excitement. A breakthrough. He leaned forward, trying to peer past the wall of emerald fire.

Something… moved in the field of green. A shadow. A vague image. Fluttering of robes and… a voice that uttered four simple words.

‘Wash away your inhibitions’.

Before Tyson could react, all the power that crackled and snapped over the Inscription suddenly launched itself at him, striking his body and sending every nerve across his frame on fire. It was not painful. In fact, it was like he was being pumped full of power, full of strength and cum that he just needed to explode.

Too late he realized that he was being forced back out and the very same connection he had forged with Albert was being used against him. Green flames surged out of the Inscription, throwing him back out of the soul and sending him crashing back into into the material realm. There was no stopping what came next and before he knew what was happening, he was looking through Albert’s eyes and stroking his cock madly. The overwhelming stimulation all over his body was only multiplied by the emerald fire that came from the Inscription and even he, a professional who had been using this method to help people for years, could not stop but be swept up in the onslaught of raw, sexual desire radiating from his host.

Tyson felt every stroke of Albert’s cock like it was his own. Every droplet of water that his Albert’s pale skin was like a little pinprick of relief from a touch-starved man that left him wanting more. Blood pumped through Albert’s veins with a ferocity and need that hinted at a rapidly approaching climax.

Somewhere in the back of the Demon of Debauchery, Desire and Dark Design’s mind, he acknowledge that this was the end of this session and he would have to make another attempt next time. For now, however, he was content to ride the waves of pleasure out of Albert’s body.

There would not be a next time.

At that moment, the fiery green might of the Inscription exploded out of Albert’s soul. The janitor threw his head back, letting out an otherworldly cry as his toes curled in rapturous glee. Neither of them had full control of the one body they shared so they were at the mercy of some force as it compelled them to raise the arm hosting the mutated green hand up and giving it a bicep flex.

A sound like a burlap sack tearing cut through the noise of a running shower quickly followed by a torrent of fiery release and hot relief that assault them both. Muscles grew taut, inflating to many times it size. Bone cells rapidly multiplied, letting out the sound dry cereal makes when slapping against a porcelain bowl. Albert’s forearm double in size, both length and width. Thin, unassuming muscles stacked across the length, ballooning in size with thick veins pulsing across its frame. Thick, greenish-black hairs sprang up across his wrists and the back of his hand, spreading down his flesh to act as the vanguard for the spreading greenish-hue of his skin.

The veins settled in shape and ceased the obvious pulsing that came from Tyson’s invasion, his physical form and connection being pushed out of the mass and being forced into the upper arm. There, a similar scene occurred. Mass was spontaneously stacked onto muscle and bone. An unassuming mound that barely looked like a bulge when flexed tripled in size. The curves of tricep muscles became sculpted and defined while the bicep surged upwards, a green mountain being birthed from the earth. Again, Tyson was pushed out of that arm, his influenced forced across the body with a rewarding sensation of orgasm.

Albert tilted his head from the changes, perhaps some part of him instinctively fighting the mutation. But there was no sopping it. That movement only allowed for his traps to balloon out, quickly swallowing his neck and holding it in place. His eyelids fluttered and he tilted his head back, letting out a low moan. The green flesh moved up from his neck slowly, almost like he was trying to keep his head up from a tank rapidly filling with rising green waters.

His pointed, lower jaw popped to the left abruptly, giving room for one of his lower canines to come shooting up as a big, white, tusk. Then it popped to the right with an audible crack. With the tusk already present, it was pushed forward as well. Another tusk burst from his lower jaw, matching its brother on the left. There was a slight disparity with their alignment so with a third and final crack, his jaw realigned to a broad, masculine square.

The green flesh pushed up from his neck and touched his jawline where it momentarily paused. Dark hairs with a deep, emerald green highlight rapidly grew across the broader, squarer jaw, leaving a prickling sensation that left a shivering sensation to both host and demon. A handsome chinstrap beard wrapped around his broadening features and quickly spread up his sideburns before connecting with his hair. The greenish tinge spread all over his short, black hair, granting it extra thickness and fullness in the process.

Albert let out another moan, his voice a whole octave deeper. A smile spread across his lips which caused his nose to flare out and stretch. The small, button nose widened across his much broader features, remaining moderately flat but with bigger nostrils. He gave a single huff that sprayed some water away from his features just as the green tinge of his skin spread across his features.

Within moments, his entire face was covered in a deep, emerald grin coloration. The changes seemed to stop for a moment. Then the flames of the Inscription returned with a vengeance and Albert’s eyes snapped open, a wild gasp rising from his lips. Each ear surged outwards, gaining a pointed, almost leaf-like shape so that it wasn’t lost int he messy, damp pelt that was his hair. Pressure built at his temples and he squeezed his eyes shut once more. Not a second later, twin, brown, gnarled horns burst out of his skin, curling upwards. Albert let out a cry of pleasure, screaming in ecstasy with an undertone of Orcish might and… a goat’s bleat.

His whole body convulsed. Nothing could stop the change now that his physical brain had been consumed. Green skin rapidly spread all the way down his body. Flat chest muscles flared out into two, big, juicy mounds that bounced and pulsed with every breath. A goofy smile appeared on his face as he reached down with his transformed arm and gripped his new, bigger pectoral. Even with his hand many times bigger than what his human frame had been, it could not seize the sheer size of his pectorals. He thoroughly enjoyed massaging the muscle with his big, meaty fingers and then repelling them again with a single taut flex of his chest.

The arousal grew to the point that his nipples perked up, becoming two, bright pink points that stood out like bullseyes against his green skin. A dense forest of green-black chest hair erupted from between his pectorals, momentarily standing straight before the waters from the showers soaked them flat again.

The paunch in his belly heaved over and over again with each breath. Each iteration saw more and more of that fat bubbling away to reveal a rigid six-pack that eagerly welcomed the advancing forest of body hair from the valley of his pectorals. This advance was met at his bellybutton by a similar growth rising from his crotch, forming a long, single line of greenish-black chest hair that only served to outline his washboard abs.

Albert continued to jack his meat with increasing fervor. Every little ‘orgasm’ that signaled a completed transformation from another part of his body only left his dick aching for release. His balls grew bigger, fuller with each limb that succumbed to the transformation. Inches were added to his cock, prying his human hand apart slowly and adding more track for it to slide up and down. That quickly was compensated for when the muscles along his other arm surged and ballooned to match his already mutated one and, within seconds, his cock was once again engulfed in a monstrous, green hand.

The anticipation made his toes curl even more so when the dark green hairs from his crotch started spreading wildly down his legs. By far his best quality as a human as it was built from years of standing and cleaning floors, his legs inflated into huge, rippling tree trunks with clearly defined muscles. Those muscles, however, were quickly washed over by what could only be described as wave of dense, coarse fur.

The limbs stretched and grew, racing this fur as it spread down his legs with more and more of his human frame vanished by the second. As the fur spread to his knees, his cock peaked out from between his fingers, bigger and thicker, precum oozing from the tip. His calves inflated into thick, meaty basketballs and his fingers were once against pushed away from the growing thickness of his manhood. Fur collided his his ankles and he instinctively stretched out his toes, pushing them as far away from the growing mass as possible. To compensate, his cock rose to a monstrous fourteen-inch member that he eagerly and feverishly stroked. The fur rushed to cover the last pieces of human flesh and just as it swept over the last inches at the tips of his toes…

…crrrack!

Something else changed.

His big toe and pinky toe on each foot abruptly surged outward, an almost girlish whine of release rising from his throat. The toenails at the end of each one blackened and hardened, growing to consume the entire digit as it rapidly grew. Both toes greedily consumed each of its neighboring toes before they collided in the middle with a resounding clack.

With that, the last of Albert Tien was consumed by the Inscription.

The last thing left to do was to eject the invader.

Albert seized his meat with both of his monstrous hands and with a frenzied determination that the former janitor had never applied in his life, he thrust and stroked his meat. The anticipation and building pressure all over his body surged towards one source - his cock. Hot cum bubbled up from his enormous, hairy ball, visibly jostling as they pushed his seed up the enormous, throbbing stick he held, traveling up inch after inch before finally…

“Fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Streams of cum came shooting out of his member, streaking through the bathroom, arching through the air and landing with a resounding splat several feet away from him, away from the actual shower stall and onto the bathroom tiles. This was not only his seed, however. Tyson, who had been drifting in the limbo between the physical and metaphysical realms, floating in a sea of sensations and a palace of pleasure originating from Albert’s experiences, was forced to materialize once more. This took the shape of him being ejected out of Albert’s cock as a sticky, semi-liquid substance not unlike semen. Interspersed with Albert’s own mutated seed, Tyson sailed through the air in his liquid form, his own mind quivering from the onslaught of sensations that the transformation hit him with.

He rained down onto his bathroom floor, basically a fourth stream from a showerhead, quivering as he came down from his own afterglow. The goo on the ground visibly shuddered with every droplet that landed on it. Even as Albert’s orgasm began to ebb and the arch of the launched seed lowered, Tyson still had enough consciousness to bring himself together. Stray droplets of his form slid across the tiles to join the greater mass.

How long he lay there, just bubbling away in his own bliss he was not sure. But eventually, like any good high, he had to come down. Focusing on reconstituting himself was the priority. Liquid bubbled and collected itself together, gently swirling to form the first semblances of a few fingers… and then a hand followed by a wrist and an arm. Inch by inch, the gelatinous arm solidified and reached up to the nearest solid object. Thankfully, it was the bathroom counter. Using that to ground himself, Tyson focused on the sensations of gripping the dark marble and began pulling himself up from his liquid form. An arm was followed by a shoulder which was quickly followed by the first inches of his head.

Bit by bit, his other arm followed and once it was fully formed, he grabbed the counter and pulled himself up. A back and chest formed from the ooze. Droplets of himself collected together to once again form Tyson Prowler, the Monster Maker.

Tyson, eyes closed, took a deep breath, reconnecting with his senses one by one. The scent of lavender from his scented water was in the air. Albert’s heavy huffing and the sound of the running shower rattled off in his ears. The marble of the bathroom counter and the tiles was cool against his touch.

At long last, he opened his eyes to gaze at his reflection in the mirror he knew to be there…

… and his broad, tusked jaw dropped.

“What the fuck!?” he cried, immediately reaching for his jawline.

He ran his fingers up the two tusks that erupted from his bottom lip and even ran his tongue up their length. The figure in the mirror in front of him was not the handsome but intimidating leonine demon that had been known as the Shaper of Sucked Souls.

It was an Orc.

A tanned, yellowish-green Orc with red hair and bright, red eyes but still an Orc.

No second pair of arms. No fur. No tail. No claws.

Tyson patted his cheeks, massaged his huge pectorals and jostled his unsheathed, dangling junk just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. It was all there. All real. He was suddenly an Orc.

Then, a pair of hair arms wrapped around his shoulders and another pair of tusked lips pressed against his cheek, giving him a tender but wet kiss.

“Orc look good…” rumbled Albert, his erection still throbbing and pressing against Tyson’s rear. “Wanna fuck…”

The animacologist stared at the green-skinned hirsute Orc in the mirror and came into another terrifying realization. Albert Tien was not a full Orc. He seemed to be hybrid. Part Orc and part… satyr from all appearances. Those cloven hooves were a dead give away.

“Albert,” he said, trying to stay calm and pry himself away from the Orc. But his client was quite… attached to him. Albert was even going so far as to reach up and pinch one of Tyson’s exposed nipples. The touch was electric and stimulating but Tyson mind was racing for answers.

“Stop it, Albert!” he said fiercely, stepping away from the half-Orc, half-Satyr. “Something has happened to us. We need to get our heads out of our cocks and think.”

Albert gave him a puzzled look that lasted for a second but then pointed at himself. “Me? Bert?”

Tyson’s brow furrowed. “Yes… your Albert. Albert Tien. Remember?”

A goofy look crossed Albert’s features and he began shamelessly stroking his dick. “Yus. Me Bert. Bert feel good. Bert cum.”

Just three strokes. That was all it took for Albert - or Bert as he was now - to send a streak of cum shooting through the air with surprising velocity and accuracy. Sticky, musky, white seed landed on Tyson’s face but he didn’t even blink as he stared at his client in disbelief. Even when his jaw dropped open in horror and a droplet of cum hit his tusk to land on his tongue, he didn’t flinch.

All he could think of was just how much he had fucked up.

“Shit.”

Cosmology of the Soul

Hello. Good morning, good afternoon, good evening and good twilight to everyone out there. First of all, allow me to thank you for spending your precious time with me today. I am Banchomyon, professional animacologist, soul therapist and demon. I have over a hundred and forty-seven years in the industry, have multiple accolades and make my home in Sanctuary City on the Central Material Plane. I have treated people from all walks of life from the newborn Infomorphs of Singularity, centuries-old Elders and even to my angelic counterparts from the Heavens. My specialization rests in the disparity between physical and metaphysical components of individuals that may lead to conditions such as animanecrosis, dissociative essence disorder and metaphysical displacement syndrome to name a few. In short, if you and your soul are not in harmony with one another, I usually know something about it.

With that out of the way, welcome to the Cosmology of the Soul.

As you know, our world is typically depicted using the three-dimensional compass model otherwise known as the Van DeLode Model. This depiction separates our universe into three separate ‘rings’. For you of those that need a refresher, here is a quick summary.

This Model depicts Earth, the Solar System, galaxies and so forth as being at the center on a plane called the Central Material Plane positioned in the ‘Core Ring’.

Beyond that is the ‘Inner Ring’. To the cosmic east of the of the CMP is the land of raw emotion and whimsy, the Fae Realm with Silhouette, the Fae Realm’s counterpart on the west. North of the CMP is Mechanism, the plane of technology and science. Opposite to that south of the CMP is the Savage Lands. Two diametrically opposed worlds, positioned on opposite sides of the CMP, a land defined by thought and intelligence to the north and then a land typified by strength and brawn to the south. However, there are two other directions we need to consider in this Model, the cosmic ‘up’ and the cosmic ‘down’. Above the CMP is the Firmament or, if you refer to it using the archaic texts, the Elemental Planes of Wind and Water. Naturally, opposite to that is the Living World, the Elemental Planes of Earth and Fire.

Finally, we have the ‘Outer Ring’ which has the final six planes beyond the Inner Ring and considered the ‘extremities’ of the cardinal directions. Starting again from the cosmic east and beyond the Fae Realm is the Great Mystery, the plane of raw magic. Opposite to that, beyond Silhouette is the Deadlands where our Undead friends can draw their ancestry. To the cosmic north past Mechanism is the Singularity, the Plane of pure knowledge. To the far south is the Elder Plane of the Outer Domain. The Heavens sit above the Firmament and the Hells, naturally, is depicted beneath it all below the Living World.

The problem with the Van DeLode Model, however, is that it fails to understand the role of the soul in all this. We all know that when a soul becomes detached from its physical frame and not properly stored, it naturally travels to the Hells where Demons traditionally would deconstruct it into its component bits. Following that, the particles would naturally rise up to the Heavens where Angels would cultivate them in the Eden Gardens, growing them into raw, fully developed Souls where they are eventually distributed into every other Plane including both the Heavens and Hells.

So the question is, how does a Soul end up in Hell? Why would a Soul stay in the Heavens to latch onto an newborn Angel’s body. What determines whether a Soul goes to one of the undying Liches of the Deadlands or the Elder who have an average lifespan of three thousand years? Some experts believe that it is because of the ‘weight’ of a soul and how it is ‘aligned’ that draws it to one Plane or another. In this cosmology of ours, especially with our awareness of the other realms, each part of our soul would gravitate towards one realm over the others when it is filtered out from the others and cultivated to be ‘mature’.

However, how did this system work when the Planes were not aware of one another in ancient times. Before the First Age, when each of the Planes were separated and admittedly had very little barriers between one another, how did this occur? Yes, Demons and Angels continued their natural roles of picking apart and growing souls in the Hells and Heavens but none of them knew where these souls were going. Not even the gods completely knew. Even when the CMP was discovered by both sides, they weren’t aware of the other Planes. The famous statistician, Hermes the Messenger of the Olympian Gods, did discover that there was a statistical error in the souls that were being sent from the Hells, cultivated in the Heavens and eventually distributed. Souls released from the Heavens were going missing but it wasn’t until a few Ages later did anyone start discovering the other Planes.

So how did this all work? How did our Souls know where to go and seed new life?

The answer, funnily enough, is really simple.

The Planes aren’t separated, not really. Discard the idea that each Plane is positioned on this axis of north, south, east, west, up and down. Think of the Planes as being parallel. Existing in the same space and time but just different layers. It is much easier to visualize our cosmos using the Van DeLode Model but even Van DeLode agreed that his diagram was to be used as an aid not as an actual realistic representation.

No more is this evidenced by the events during the Tenth Age or the Age of the Death Machine when the War of the Deathless occurred between Singularity and the Deadlands. The other realms were completely uninvolved between them and you could argue that either side didn’t need to cross the other Planes to get to one another since they are on the cosmological north and west respectively. However, the war still affected the other Planes. As both the Deadlands and Singularity suffered losses and damage to their respective worlds, the Fae Realms and even the Great Mystery saw spots where magic became volatile or completely unusable. The Heavens saw souls dying in their Gardens and even Demons were affected as they started to degrade into a primal state, suffering from the ‘Simplicity Disease’. The CMP was ravaged by death, plague, disease and widespread cases of unexplainable comas. It was this kind of event that eventually caused the Elders to step in and stop the war.

So you see, our worlds are interconnected, linked and interdependent. What happens on one Plane happens to the other and our souls know this truth. Our souls don’t travel up, down or in the cardinal directions in our cycle of reincarnation.

They just are just… free.

As all souls should be.