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If foulness had a scale, gnolls would be at the peaks of such a notion. Devils in greasy and gross brown fur. A warning about such foul beasts had been dutifully drilled into Foxington’s head. His bright bushy orange fur bobbed in the warm kiss of the horizon. His blue eyes focused on the road ahead, neck turning to look every which way. A lofty sigh carried his casual stride, tail swishing side to side.

Foxington clutched to himself, a breeze nearly whispering his name in the chill. That rugged path ahead of him didn’t deter a single step. Clutched in his paws was a letter with a flowery fragrance. In spite of the afternoon being far more chilly, a bright smile was on his face.

That path cascaded into darker shades with each step. Foxington scratched beneath his chin in the cold silence. It was as if the air was thin enough to slice with a knife. Yet, almost defiantly to the tension, the fox wandered deeper down the path.

There was a sharp right turn coming up along the path. Emerging from the shadows of that turn was a looming figure. It towered over the fox, the light teased the outline of the beast’s dark brown and greasy fur. Pale blue eyes glared back at the fox,he jumped back at the lumbering monster. Those black lips were drooling, posture slouched, dagger-like teeth angled into a sharp smile.

The beast leaned upright, revealing his giddy grin in the light. “Gnoll caught yer tongue, my liege? Perhaps yer lost in my figure? After all, I'm quite the favorite amongst freaks, heheh. I’m yer loyal royal escort. Ya may call me, Loquie. Yer pops feared yer travels to be far too treacherous to go alone. So, take me with you.” Loquie bowed and met the fox at eye level. That dark brown mane atop his head flowed with his movement. Arm outstretched, wider than the fox’s entire torso.

“Ugh! My father is such a worrywart! I am Foxington von Fluffington the third! I am no child in need of an escort! I know where I am! I am surprised my father would even employ the likes of you. Told me he thought gnolls to be a bunch of dullards, oafs, and beasts. A lousy lot not befit of serving us. Not even on the lower rung of servants. Certainly not as escorts. Are you sure you have the right fox in the first place? Perhaps you ate too much meat to tell your kingdoms apart?” There was no sharpness to Foxington’s remark. A genuine inquiry nearly made the gnoll’s face recoil into a nasty snarl. Loquie’s face soon twisted into an unnaturally wide smile, masquerading the seething heat fuming from his jaws.

That gnoll hoisted himself upwards and stared down the fox. “Yer father would find such comments unfitting of ya, Foxington. His heart had changed when my tongue sang. I’m a refined gentleman. Yer father practically pleaded to make use of my muscles.” Loquie flexed his muscles and showed off his lean figure.

“Hah! What a foolish man. I’m no pup, I’m in my twenties now! I suppose his eyes never leave me, eh? Well, it is one hell of a walk back to the kingdom from here. I sincerely doubt my father would be pleased. After all, he put his trust into a gnoll. I may as well respect his wishes to have such a change of heart. Perhaps not all of you are foul beasts from the womb of hell itself. That’s how he typically put it. Anyway, I’m heading towards my friend's mansion. In case you’re green which your tongue seems to indicate, Kol Burnsworth! He cordially invited me to a banquette.” Foxington smiled and looked toward the gnoll. His wall of words turned the gnoll’s expression soft. That unwavering smile still twitched at the back of the fox’s mind.

Loquie saluted, stood up straight like a knight prepared for war. Yet that smooth smile plagued it with a twinge of malice. “I thank you a thousand times in a bouquet of my smiles, prince Foxington. Follow me, I have been to Kol’s estate many times. I’ve walked this very road to get there! I will be out of your fur in no time flat! After all, I too am needing to attend a feast. My pack…of pals had planned it out a few days prior!” Loquie chuckled and turned around. Walking forward while the fox trotted along.

“What a peculiar coincidence I received an invitation from Kol a few days ago! Funny that, I suppose it's not a unique affair by many margins. It was strange however, his handwriting was far sloppier than I expected. I suppose he still needs more practice steadying his hand. Perhaps I should aid his penmanship today. After all, I’m told my hands are quite adept at many things. Writing can’t be too hard, I’ve seen my servants do it! ” Foxington chuckled and followed in the shadow of the gnoll. It was growing darker by the moment and the fox’s relaxed expression told a tale as old as time.

Loquie’s wide nearly cackling grin spread a veiled truth. His claws sluggishly slashed into every piece of cobblestone he treads on. That beastly body of his moved gradually. It was as if he was stalling the daylight that was quickly cascading. “Ah, an unsteady hand? Perhaps he was very excited. Very, very, very excited to see his deliciously ample buddy. The sun especially compliments you, dear prince.”

“Mm, ehhh, Loquie, was it? It is growing rather dark and while I can see in the night, I’d prefer we uh, speed it up a tad. I would rather not be late. Kol may not be the master of penmanship but a jolly mate all the same! I know you gnolls may not be all that bright but I figure even you understand how inconvenient it is to lag behind! I understand your mentality and I appreciate such flattery but I know that gentle soul of his may grow anxious. He speaks so softly in his prose. I rather he does not think of me as a rude fox!” Those almost condescending words were like a knife piercing the gnoll’s twitching ears.

“Sharp words for your escort. Unsurprising really.” Loquie nearly snarled and his speed picked up. Foxington’s ears flattened from guttural growl shake from the gnoll’s throat. “We’re getting closer, my liege.” His sharp tongue carried with his steps far faster than before. The fox followed close behind the massive man.

“No need to be so sensitive now! I can’t help the way you reacted to my words. I meant no ill! Merely an observation. I thought you gnolls had hides thicker than any blade. Well, in any case we’re almost there and you can do as you like afterwards. I’m sure my father already paid you handsomely.” Foxington’s eyes looked ahead of the gnoll and his eyes widened.

A yawning maw, a chasm wide enough to fit an entire city inside. Loquie turned around with a wild glint, he pulled out a potion that hung from his loincloth. The gnoll popped the potion and forced it down Foxington’s yapping jaws. The fox gagged and tried to spit it out but that brute was too strong to resist. He gulped and coughed and soon enough the vial was empty, thrown into the grass.

The gnoll slammed his hand against the fox and knocked him out in one blow! “You were one annoying catch, food. When you serve my pack, if you still have lips, thank us for the opportunity!” With a single motion he hoisted Foxington over his shoulder. “It won’t hurt a single bit, maybe even royalty like you will learn to have a bit of fun!” Loquie mused as he walked inside the depths of the cave.

Loquie walked into the center of the cave, his eyes looked in front of him at the chief. A massive tankard of a man sitting atop a throne constructed of countless bones. The chief’s thick thunder thighs clapped together as he stood up. His thick pudgy gut wobbled with every step, a heavy thud as he exited his chair. A snarling smile greeting Loquie.

“Ya brought barely a slice of lunch meat. Care to explain yerself, Loquie?” The chief slurped his black lips. A thick slab of a tongue hanging out of his underbite. Drool dripped from his chin, a bellow grumbling from that immense potbelly.

“Heheh, calm yerself chief! I got this potion from a witch, she said something about gluttony. Wasn’t paying too much attention but said the potion should feed the entire pack. Just gotta wait a lil’ bit for the transformation to take effect.” Loquie said. He placed down the fox onto the cave floor, more gnolls appearing from the shadows of the cave. Their eyes gazed at the fresh slab of meat, it was like the fox was illuminated by a spotlight.

Loquie stood back and motioned to the chief. “I’m not one to order ya chief but I was told they’d span rather far for all of us. So, ya might not want to be standin’ right by our food, least not yet.” The massive gnoll’s ears twitched at Loquie’s words. His big fat body moved aside and in the time it took for him to move the fox began to transform.

Foxington’s back twitched and spasms, stretching, growing in length. That thin chest sunk inwards, clothes breaking. That fox’s nude frame continued to expand across the expanse of the cave. Wider, thinner, fur turning brown and wooden. There was no semblance of the fox’s upper frame soon enough, just the top of a massive table. Legs and arms turned into chairs, enough for the entire pack to sit down on.

Sprouting from the table appeared a countless number of silver plates accompanied by enough silverware for a small army. Roasted chicken, lamb, boar, mutton, meat galore as far as the gnolls could see. Bones lodged into many meals such as the ribs and chicken present on the plates. Steam simmered from the fresh meat that magically appeared. A bountiful feast presented itself with not a single string attached.

Loquie smirked and crossed his arms. “Ya see!? I’m no fool, chief. I brought us one hell of a mighty feast! All thanks to that witch, well, and me findin’ an idiot willing to follow me to our cave. You have the honors of starting us off. After all, ya look good with all that girth.” A sleazy rumble slipped from the gnoll’s lips. He was practically drooling with the lust in his tone.

The chief smirked, each jagged tooth like a clifface. That sturdy face lightened up as he walked up towards the table. His thick ass sat down on the chair, those thick thighs engulfed the seat. Far too fat to properly sit in his seat.

Foxington’s senses stirred, from unconsciousness to a stranger definition of consciousness. At first, his sight was pitch black, a musky scent greeting his…nose? Where was his nose, or eyes, or face, or body!?

“Mmff, where am I!? Did that nasty fiend bind and gag me? I can smell…so many things, gnolls. There’s so many of them. I need to get out of here…nope can’t run. He must’ve tied my legs together. Where are my legs!? Where is my…anything? I can’t feel it anymore. I'm an ass! A smelly, gross, foul gnoll ass! Why…am I stirring at that fact? Let me go, you fiend! Wait, why can’t I feel my mouth! I must scream but I can't feel my muzzle! I don’t…get it.” Foxington’s thoughts swam like an ocean full of sharks, each idea sharper than the last. The former fox could begin to see the inside of the chief’s bowels as if those insides were lit by a flashlight. That gross, slimy flesh squeezing around his…body? He was many yet singular, a divided existence and perception, a front row seat to the sight of gnoll flesh.

“Mmn, yeah, that’s nice and comfy! Time to dig in!” The chief chuckled after he spoke. That massive gnoll grabbed an entire roasted chicken. Those jagged teeth sunk and tore into the warm and delicate flesh of the roasted bird. Gnashing, chewing, slobbering, swallowing, noisily. He was akin to a wild animal desperately feasting on the first piece of meat they’ve seen in months. Yet, muffled moans, grunts, snorts, and proud puffs from the chief was profound evidence of no urgency. Foxington bore witness to gliding down his dark and slimy gullet.

The former fox’s senses had jolted from his thoughts. Interrupted by being torn apart in a drooling, foul, gnoll maw. That teasing tongue dragging across his ‘figure’, smashing it to pieces. Severing and skewering, mashing and mulching into a meaty mush. He was gulped down, glided into a gullet. Foxington was stewing within the simmering pot of a gut. It was bubbling acidic chyme and bile greeting his form. Those slimy stomach walls are equally as grotesque as the rest of the gnoll.

“It doesn’t hurt!? I was smashed into a meaty mulch and yet…it was almost, nice? But being eaten by this gnoll is so horrid! I can’t be wooed by a smelly gnoll! My father forbids me from dating monsters and yet, here I lay so intimately close with one!” Thoughts atop of questions piled up like paperwork in Foxington’s head. A wild chaotic space invaded by the ravenous innards of the gnoll. It was like those slimy walls had wrapped around his brain and dared him to think more about his predicament.

Loquie planted his fat ass down on a chair close to the chief, joining in on the feast, stuffing his face full of food. Like chief, like pack, the gaggle of gnolls descended upon the table. All of their weights and smells smushing further down on the former fox’s senses. An overstimulating assault of musky men settled down on the seats. Each gnoll is equally snacking as fiendishly as their leading chief. It was a boisterous celebration of depravity, a parade of foulness in each greasy bite the gnolls took.

Each bite made Foxington’s thoughts even more scrambled, perceiving every single maw, every single throat, every bulging belly. All at once he was a food to every foul gnoll all at the same time. The meat sloughing away into those greedy and powerful guts, a slurry of sensation twisting in bewildered pleasure. In spite of the gnolls digging their claws into the table, Foxington still couldn’t perceive a sense of agony. It was more like fingers caressing against his fluffy cheeks, as if he still had them. It was a dizzying state of affairs, disorienting among flesh and fangs.

Their boisterous laughter further taunted Foxington, either by intent or their crass nature. Unrefined yet it tugged at the former fox, like there was some sickening allure to their sheer sincerity in hedonism.

Loquie grabbed a piece of mutton and stuffed it into his nostrils.

“Ya know what that stupid fox would be sayin’ if he could still run his mouth?”

“What would he be sayin’, Loquie!?” The chief spoke with a mouthful of roasted boar wedged between his molars.

“Do SNOT kill meeee! I’m royalty I’m not fit for thee’s jaws. I do SNOT deserve this treatment! Don’t you dare shove me in your nasty nostrils! Gehahahahahah!” That devious and giddy laughter pierced Foxington’s senses. Those words sung into a greedy cacophony of cackling gnolls. That crude joke earned the laughter of every gnoll in spite of some not hearing the punchline.

“Gehheheh! I get it ‘cause ya stuck a part of em up yer nose! Yer a good boy Loquie, I permit ya spot on my dick if ya wish to suck me off!” The chief smirked, looking back at his fellow gnoll. Loquie’s previous gleeful smile cascaded into a rosy red flourish of flustered delight.

“Y-ya mean that chief!? It would be an honor to serve you, sir. I shall get on it right away!” Loquie grabbed several slabs of meat off the table and slithered beneath it. That massive figure of his bumped into the wood without a care in the world. That meat jammed in his nostrils bubbled away into snot, the bone wedged into his nose. Foxington could barely digest all of the things happening at the same time. Any hope of grasping the situation interrupted by the gnoll sucking his chief’s dick, loudly.

Loquie’s head bobbed back and down on that meaty dick, slurping on that wide shaft. A moan ached from his chief, mouth still full of food. That eager gnoll beneath him started to shove the meat he grabbed into the chief’s ass.

Foxington witnessed himself being a buttplug. The former fox delved into the depths of that far too familiar sewer system of a rear. Realization kicked in like the legs of a horse, the part of the chair the chief had sat on turned into shit. Foxington was rubbing right against the chief’s shit!

“This is no way to mrff! Treat a prince, I’m not some damned but plug! I’ll have my father have all of your heads when I escape…somehow. I won’t let this transgression pass. Oh lord, I can feel his turds rub against me, this is all I’m gonna be in the end, isn’t it? Just a load of shit for all these gnolls. Ghhh, all those dumps, all those asses to be sliding out of. How foul, how cruel, I don’t deserve this! Let me go!” Those cries were only ever heard by Foxington’s wavering mind. All completely split among the diminishing plates across the table. There were still many meals despite the gnoll’s best efforts to indulge.

“Ya know, I wonder if that dumb prince would be begging us to spare em! I bet it would be cute to hear him cry for us to stop! Mmm, glad ya got lucky with a transformation where that beast wouldn’t yap. Mmmfr, you’re a very good boy, Loquie. I think I’m gonna give ya a promotion if ya keep sucking me off like…ooooo yeah. Mmmfuck, yer very skilled with that tongue heheh.” The chief moaned as Loquie shamelessly slathered on his fat dick. That bulky larger chief teasingly squeezed Loquie’s head as sucked. He was wedged firmly between those plump thighs bobbing his head with wild vigor.

More gnolls followed the example of Loquie’s lustful endeavors. Many gnolls started to have sex on the already broken and beaten table. It was a melting pot of manly odor fuming into Foxington’s mind. Those intermingling bodies scrambled across the surface of the table. Two massive men fucked missionary on the table, moaning, huffing, howling, shaking that table. Foxington witnessed every juicy detail, could get peaks of that man getting railed, the two sharing minced meat with each other. In a sultry kiss chewing on each other’s meals, feeding each other. Lust and gluttony melding in a display of further depravity, a perverted yet sensual moment shared between the two.

Kissing, rocking, dicks in asses, dicks in maws, moaning, a full on gnollish orgy broke out. Eating was utterly intertwined with intercourse. Gnolls stuffing each other silly with various dishes, rapid chewing and mulching of meat. All those hungry maws were breaking down more and more food. It was like the word ‘eat’ was a mantra, a way of life. Every possible vice became virtue, indulgence in every horny hump. Many kissed and embraced each other as if their lives depended on it. It seemed even some gnolls were on the verge of eating each other.

The table was practically one massive sprawling toy for the nasty gnolls. No sense of care or gentleness on the broken slabs of wood. Some of the gnolls were pumping and pounding into each other in the debris, balls dangerously close to the wood. Those pulsing cheeks and dicks, a flurry of fluffy men eager to please each other. An utter sausage fest in more ways than one. All of those monsters eagerly indulged in the carnal carnage, ravaging meat. There wasn’t so much a single man in the room who wasn’t getting serviced in some sort of way.

Loquie had the chief’s dick right on the brink of orgasm, continuing to cram more meat deep into those plump gnoll cheeks. A gush of hot seed pumped into the gnoll’s jaws. The chief rolled his eyes, curled his fat toes. That dick pulsed in the gnoll’s maw, Loquie swallowing the hot and salty seed.

“Mmn, atta boy, Loquie. Ya know I thought ya were just a self-servin' runt of the pack. Perhaps ya deserve so much more than that.” The chief gently ran his hand through Loquie’s black mane.

Foxington witnessed several gnolls finishing inside of each other, some cumming against meals they had used as butt plugs. Warm, sticky, dissolving, hot, washing away the meat that was warmly tucked away in those slimy tunnels.

“You fiends, you foul demons! Ughh! So undignified, so brutish, stupid, handsome, sexy, smelly, gnolls. No! I promised myself to a fair vixen maiden, we were going to meet after I spoke with Kol. Now, I don’t know if I will ever meet her again. They probably won’t let me go, even if I somehow turn back in one piece. These monsters are enjoying me, perhaps it's cruel to ask them to transform me back. They’re having so much fun with my form. Those smiles, those big toothy smiles. Mnng, no, I’m far more classy than these blaggards! In a brief moment, Foxington regained a sense of thought in the aftermath of the orgy.

There began to be quite an amassing of table scraps from the feast, uneaten bones, meat. Plates that were far too messy to even consider cleaning from such a foul group. A gnoll began to gather the plates and other scraps. It was an impressively tall stack. The former fox whined, every scrap was still attached to him, wobbling in the air. There was a closing in sight, a treasure chest with a massive slimy tongue. That plump tongue was fatter than some of the gnoll’s at the table. Foxington’s eyes would’ve widened if he still had them. The chest opened up on its own, teeth long as swords, a pink mass began to emerge from the opening.

Tossed into the air that fat tongue shot out and wrapped around the mess. It also clutched onto the gnoll. That gnoll tried to pull away but the slimy slobber was like a glue trap. That unwitting gnoll was dragged into the treasure chest’s maw. Those teeth clamped down around scraps and gnoll. That unwitting fool was mashed and maneuvered along with the rest of the food.

That gnoll thrashed against the tongue the best he could but it bore no fruit. Foxington was far more hopeless, the scraps flung about in the maw. It softened down the bits of food left on the bones that still had meat on them. The gnoll softening ever so slightly in the chaos.

“N-no, I’m not some table scraps to be thrown into a living garbage disposal! This tongue is so much slimier than those nasty gnolls. So drool-y, thick, mmf, can’t think straight. At least have the decency to finish your food, you dumb gnolls! Wait, no, I’m not food…” Some of the scraps were pushed into the stomach of the mimic. A pooling vast pot of bones and items stewing away along with the gnoll. That poor gnoll struggled against the bits of half eaten food he had tossed. The gnoll gave desperate grip to the bobbing bones in the bubbling mire.

Every sloshing movement in the mimic’s active acids sizzled away any sense of thoughts. Foxington’s sense of self was degrading. The food bobbed back and forth amidst the chyme, a swirling stomach soup. The gnoll wasn’t faring much better, becoming softer by the moment. Their struggles grew weaker and weaker.

It would’ve been a cathartic sight for Foxington however, he was sharing the gnoll’s fate. In a sense both of them were food for a monster. Only the softening bones remained of the gnoll, those table scraps churned into the mimic. Foxington couldn’t so much shudder at watching a living creature churn in a mimic. Not even getting the honor of being fat on a beast. His thoughts wavered, as if his form was diminishing.

“T-That wasn’t too bad I guess. Ugh! What!? What am I thinking? I don’t actually like being processed like food. I couldn’t possibly be enjoying pumping through their insides. I couldn’t possibly enjoy becoming one with these oafs. Could I? I am so much better, right?” Right on queue, Foxington witnessed himself being shoved into a gnoll’s navel. There was a good clump of miscellaneous objects wedged amidst that ravenous belly button. Bones and ripped clothing, the remnants of past meals. The slab of meat pushed against those bones, deep in the dank depths. Smushed, squeezed, pressed and pushed around, softening slowly in the navel.

“I’m meat, aren’t I?” Were the only thoughts Foxington could begin to muster.

“Mmmn, did that witch tell ya if we needed to worry about that dumb fox turning back? Just thought about it. Do ya know, Loquie?” That gnoll twirled around his fingers. That gluttonous navel left nothing of the meat except the bone.

“Does it matter? That stupid prince got what he deserved for being so trustin’. I would let any of ya gobble down that silly fool. However, to answer yer question, I think the witch said ‘empty your plates.’ Whatever that means, but that idiot ain’t comin’ back anytime soon. Didn’t sound like there was a cure, heheh.” Loquie’s chin dribbled with hot and sticky gnoll cum. That slinky, greasy, gnoll had popped himself out of the chief’s thighs to speak. That gnoll wasted no time popping back down between the larger gnoll’s legs.

That inquisitive gnoll grinned and pulled out the bone, slurping it slowly. “If you can hear me, dumbass. You’re much better off like this, chump. ” That gnoll cackles and bites harshly into the bone. His jagged teeth crushed into it, smashing and beating the bone into dust and slurping down the remnants of the bone.

Those words etched into Foxington’s mind like a harsh truth. That former fox realized something, and if he still had a stomach it would be twisting. Yet a budding part of him found a bizarre sense of elation.

“Why does he sound so right? But a foul beast shoved me in his gross navel. There’s no way I am better off as food for a bunch of gnolls. I guess I’m already food. I guess it’s not the worst fate right? It doesn’t hurt, not a bit and their nasty maws are kind of hot…” Foxington’s drifting existence lingered on that last thought. There weren’t many plates left on the table.

A diminishing sense of self, a blurry swirling haze of perception dwindling down into a few plates and a mostly broken table. That will to hold on grew weaker. However, the former fox would be granted a rude awakening and the gnolls lunged down on most of the remaining meals. Even after eating so much, enough to feed a village, it wasn’t enough. Those gnolls gnashed their teeth into the hunks of remaining meat. All like starving beasts, those jaws moved with no sense of savoring.

“ Have the decency to savor me. I am a unique set of dishes, am I not? A feast none of you had to sweat for. Do none of you want to appreciate those rich tastes? Is it lost on you that there’s only so much of me left? Hah, I truly have lost my sense of dignity. Begging a gaggle of gross gnolls to savor me as my consciousness drifts. At least they’re enjoying me! Maybe I should be grateful those teeth aren’t wasting so much as a scrap of me. What am I even saying, I’m not food…I swear I’m not gnoll food.” A tide of will washing along with the sea of slobber that splashed into the meat. Squashed, squeezed, gnashed, chewed, mangled in mushy meat chunks.

Those smashing jaws jostled around the bits of food. Many meaty gulps, tight winding throats, fleshy water slides of slop collectively sinking down. A grotesque sight far too familiar to Foxington, a mushy mixture of simmering goop. The thick air, the globs of what used to be food, the odor. Yet there was a growing contentment that the former fox found impossible to ignore.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t fight it anymore. I mean if I give into oblivion calling to me, maybe this will all be a bad dream. I shall awake in my father’s castle from a cold sweat. He’ll scold me for dreaming about nasty gnoll men. I will have to awkwardly explain why I constantly dream about men, again. Yeah, maybe I should just let it happen. Stop thinking, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I bet my father will be making my favorite food, mutton. Yeah, and it would be great…this is all just a bad dream. Haha, what else could this be? I’m far too great for such a fate.” Those thoughts twisted like the food did into a swirl. The simmering remnants became far less defined, more akin to mush.

Mushy were Foxington’s thoughts, a bubbling mire of a musty existence. The table had been cleared of any sort of thing that could constitute food. A sealed fate among those sloshing, full, bulging, sagging gnoll stomachs.

“Loquie, ya really know how to pick em, I don’t think I can fit another slab of meat in me!” A gnoll hollered.

“Me neither!” Another pack mate barked.

“Fourth-ed ya slick bastard!” Yet another sang in agreement.

“Sixthed, ya foul fiend!” And one more drooled as they spoke such praise.

“Aw shucks fellas, that potion did most of the work for me. Welp, don’t see a single plate left, guess that stupid prince is toast hehe. I think that was one of the dishes. That silly witch, she should’ve known better to trust a no good gnoll like me! Hehehe, I barely did much at all.” Loquie twirled a bone in his hands as he spoke.

“Mmmn, nonsense, right hand. You earned a promotion from your skilled tongue, both silver and flesh. Without your words perhaps we’d have one less gnoll who might’ve tried the same. Not another one of us got those fancy words like you do. Your art-arta…” The chief looked expectedly towards the gnoll.

“Articulate, chief?” Loquie tilted his head.

“Articulate tongue, got a talent in ya. Cherish that, be merry in your foulness. I won’t let my right hand sell himself short. Also, thank ya, see right there, don’t know that word. Every packmate not on my waistline has some sort of purpose amongst us. That’s what a pack is for, to serve each other. I bet that stupid fox is thanking ya. Would be kissing your paws for such an opportunity to join us!” The chief patted the gnoll’s back as those last remarks rumbled from his lips.

A bright red blush cascaded down onto Loquie as he circled around the chief’s wobbly taunt tankard of a tummy. His eager fingers folded and pushed into each flabby curve. Foxington’s shrinking sense of self was inching through many of the gnoll’s bowels. The former fox was merely a collective of mush being absorbed and churned into shit. Many gnolls resting off the bountiful feast.

There was one last meal stewing in Loquie’s twisting insides that remained. It tunneled through his tubes, twisting, absorbing.

“You know, this isn’t so bad. I think this is where I was meant to be. I can’t imagine any better fate for me. I was just food for all of them. That’s all I ever was, I was never a fox. I was just…” All of Foxington’s thoughts melted into oblivion as the last meal was absorbed into the gnoll’s bowels. There was no more fox, just another shit waiting to be pumped out in the morning.

The table vanished into thin air, all the empty plates, seats, everything was gone in a matter of moments. The gnolls all looked at each other with satiated smiles. A quietly crooked celebration of gluttony in the churning silence.

“Hehe, that stupid fox is finally just our wobblin’ guts, one meal for many. I’m glad we’re gonna all enjoy shitting him out heheheh. Ya know, I need to see if I can nab more potions from magically inclined folks!” Loquie’s cackling words broke the silence. That gnoll circled around his flabby gut and shook it. The gnolls joined in his crass laughter, merry throughout the night.

The next morning came round after the pack had fully rested off the meal. An end to Foxington’s life, another meal to be forgotten by the group of gnolls. Each of them wandered to different spots in the wilderness. A few stood guard while the others needed to be rid of what remained of their past meals.

Hoisted tails hiked to the sky above, a bunch of gnolls squatted and started to push out turds. Bones were intermingled among the mess, be it from the dinner or once living creatures. Many moaned as the bones rubbed against their bowels. If Foxington could still sense anything it would be piling up atop himself. A final humiliation of being nothing more than a gang of gnoll dumps.

Thick logs mixed with hints of what had passed through their guts and now destined to steam in the depths of the forest. Loquie among the group rubbed along his throbbing cock as shit squeezed out of him.

“Ya used to be such a lively thing and now yer my crap! Royalty even, I knew I struck gold when I saw how foul ya were. Two sides of the same coin, full of yourself, I filled myself with you. Heh, I bet ya would’ve freaked at the sight of yer body shifting. I got praised, whatever yer name was. For the first time in a long while they were proud of me. Maybe if I keep doin’ it, they’ll fucking…hahh fuck, love me!” Loquie’s harsh words were shaky with each moan. He spoke to no one, that fox was long gone. That shit was the only evidence of there even being such a prince. His coarse hand continued to furiously stroke his throbbing dick, pumping wildly.

Each movement grooved to his hollering moans, another shit following his aching voice. “Hah, c’mon! I’m getting so close, rub right against my prostate. Yer already gone, be useful in yer epilogue!” His tongue hung out of his jaws, hot steaming breath with every stroke. That thick meaty gnoll member of his pulsed and twitched.

His eyes rolled to the top, thick toes curled another turd squeezed out as his cum gushed out. Ropes of seed shot out across the grass, painting the ground. That sticky white substance trickled down to the impressive mound beneath him. Those final heaps of shit pushed out of the gnoll’s foul hole.

“Geheheheh, look at cha now! Nothing but my crap now. I can’t even remember yer species, just the taste on my tongue. Well uh, ta ta, whatever ya were! Hope ya enjoyed bein’ crap.” Loquie huffed and looked at his pile with pride. That gnoll patted his stomach, it wobbled back and forth. “Welp, bye bye!” That gnoll waved to the pile and headed back into the maw of the mountain.

The fellow packmates finished squeezing out the last of their feast and followed suit to Loquie. It was another day. Another opportunity for hunt, another feast to be had by the fiends. The chief ordered Loquie for another search for food, eager to see what he would bring next.