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Monster Maker

Governing a Sanctuary

The leadership role of Sanctuary City is often hotly debated. The official representative of the city state on the world stage has traditionally been the Prime Diplomat. However, the power to govern is separated amongst different official or even corporate powers that maintain a tenuous and symbiotic relationship with one another.

Below are the most common representatives and key figures in Sanctuary City’s geopolitical landscape. It should be noted that while these are the offices that are most often in the public eye and are arguably the most powerful seats in the City, the very nature of Sanctuary City enables anyone and everyone to possess some form of power or influence in the city’s ecosystem. It is impossible to identify everyone and anyone who change the very course of the City.

As mentioned above, the Prime Diplomat is the key diplomatic seat that governs the various embassies in other nations and presents the interest of the City to the rest of the Planes. Being one of the few places in all the Planes that has a key gateway to all the Planes within its territory, Sanctuary City has significant influence especially in terms of trade and transport. This gives the Prime Diplomat significant influence not only to entities outside of Sanctuary City but also those within. At the word of the PDOSC, it is possible to sever a lifeline to a political opponent or cut off supplies to forces that depend on Sanctuary City’s critical trade routes. This is often why the Prime Diplomat is considered the equivalent of a king, president or prime minister in other nations. It should be noted, however, that the Prime Diplomat only has authority over political matters and has no control over the SCPD, actual trade routes or even funding. All a Prime Diplomat can do is ask nicely.

The Commissioner of the SCPD is arguably equivalent to the top general in other nations. Responsible for the security of Sanctuary City, the Commissioner commands the vast resources of the SCPD and keeps the borders of Sanctuary City safe. It is at the whims of the Commissioner that the Prime Diplomats political maneuvers are reinforced. Considering how Sanctuary City has no ambitions to intervene or even influence other nations, the Commissioner has traditionally taken a non-interference stance in wars or conflicts outside of its own border. This enables the Commissioner to consolidate their efforts within the City’s limits. Who pays the members of the SCPD, however, is another matter.

Next comes a tangle of corporate officers. The Hands of the Sanctuary is a group of highly influential and often wealthy individuals that control some part of Sanctuary City and thus have a hand in its dynamic. The number of the Hands is extremely nebulous as new industries can develop and pop up in rapid succession creating a new seat amongst the Hands. Ultimately, the Hands govern the funding that is distributed amongst Sanctuary City’s various industries including the office of the Prime Diplomat and the SCPD. The Hands understand and depend on the protection and influence of both of its counterparts to protect their assets and thus often negotiate with one another to allocate funding to one another or external interests. This effort is strangely efficient as the Hands work on a system of transparency. If an individual wants extra funding to improve the Infosphere connection in the outer City, they clearly advertise what they need the money for, a time line for the completion of the project and where the funding will go. Naturally, there are ulterior motives, questions, accusations and acquisitions that occur but all of this is based on the foundation of ‘it’s just good business’.

On a less public note, the position held by the Dungeon Master is perhaps simultaneously the most sinister and the most critical. Overseeing both the network of Fleas and Delvers, the Dungeon Master is a spy master, head of intelligence and bogeyman all at once. There are people within Sanctuary City that do not believe that the Dungeon Master does not exist. This population increases outside the City itself. Many dismiss the Adventurer as a rumor to rein in would-be-Fleas or rogue Delvers. Realists believe that the role of the Dungeon Master is just attributed to various influential Delvers or Fleas acting under the name of the Adventurer and attributing their deeds to the mysterious figure to avoid retribution. Others believe that the Dungeon Master is actually one of the few truly sentient, conscious and self-aware Artificial Intelligences that maintains the guise of the Dungeon Master to avoid elimination by the Infomorphs or other forces. Whatever the truth may be, the Dungeon Master’s influence is clear in Sanctuary City as they control the Fleas and Delvers, organizing them, providing the secure networks that they use to communicate with one another and even providing an avenue for other key figures in other offices access to the Delvers. The Dungeon Master has also been known to organize critical Delves that have often deposed other entities or even come to the defense of the City in times of crisis.

These four offices are just some of the key figures in Sanctuary City. Some would argue that the Gatemaster General, the figure that controls the import and export routes through the gateways of Sanctuary City should be counted amongst the list even if they report to the Commissioner. Then there is also the Chief of Medicine at the Sanctity Research Hospital or the presidents of the four major colleges in Sanctuary City. Both offices hold great influence but many consider them not to be as influential in the daily life of the Sanctuary City as the four mentioned above.

As always, however, Sanctuary City is a constantly evolving and growing entity.

Anything and everything could change at a moment’s notice.

Chapter 6 – Trial of Concrete and Cum

A grim air hung in the parlor. In a room that was associated with alcohol, clever word play and sexual innuendos, everyone was unnaturally silent and dour. Nothing that the silky white curtains, tasteful nude paintings or comfortable furniture that was brought to mind ancient Roman villas could lift the spirits of those within. Even Devon, who was always quick with a witty remark, sat quietly in one of the large armrests, a glass of bourbon in one paw.

Bourbon.

Devon Thaumeister was drinking bourbon.

Tyson would have made a comment about Devon becoming an old man - which the Cheshire absolutely despised - since he didn’t have some fruity, multi-colored cocktail in hand. But like everyone that had participated in the ritual, he experienced the same thing the crimson feline had. That experience had left them all shaken.

Just thinking of it made him shudder.

“Okay,” Teddy finally sighed, pushing off the wall next to the double doors - the only entry into the parlor. “Enough sulking. What the hex happened in there? What did you get from the subs?”

Tyson would have chastised his brother for calling Bert, Torpak and the other victims of the Inscription - who were sitting just a few feet away from him - ‘subs’. Drekhan - the red dragon bard, however, gave a derisive snort that cut whatever he was saying short.

“You wouldn’t get it, man,” replied the bard, running a clawed hand through his own blonde hair, still wet from the somber shower the ritual participants had taken. Never before had Tyson experienced a shower in the change rooms that was so silent. At any given time, at least one person should have been oozing with charm, testosterone or sexuality.

Not this time.

Even the drizzle of water seemed respectfully quiet.

“I’d never felt something so… so…” Drekhan continued, snarling at himself and unable to finish the thought.

“Evil,” Devon finished, staring pensively into the amber liquid in the glass he held.

“Evil?” Knight asked who was hovering over Tyson’s shoulder. “Explain. Take your time.”

Perhaps recognizing the shift in Devon’s mood for the gravity that it presented, Teddy didn’t press until the Cheshire spoke a whole thirty-seconds and a sip of some bourbon later.

“Everyone has different facets to their being, darling,” Devon explained. It seemed like he was trying to flash the Elder his usual flirtatious smile but whatever was weighing down his mood also kept the corners of his lips from rising. “You, as an Elder, should know that. You have so many facets that if you don’t control yourself, you’d drive the entire CMP mad.” Then his eyes drifted back to his drink. “Rarely do you ever see someone so… pure.”

“Pure evil,” Drekhan supplied. “There was nothing else in Uraprik. Just… Just this drive to fuck over Harrow.”

Tyson leaned forward, cupping his chin thoughtfully. “It was more than an obsession and at the same time, less.” Knowing full well that neither Knight or his brother would understand, he tried to elaborate as best as he could. “You know how in stories, games or movies you have a villain that usually has some motivation to their actions? Even something as a lust for power?” Teddy remained motionless but Knight nodded. “Uraprik doesn’t have that. He just wants to ruin Harrow. That’s all it is.”

Knight’s shoulder tentacles curled around the chair and gently wrapped around Tyson’s shoulders. “No motivation? No cause? No sibling that died because of Harrow’s actions? Nothing like he was a victim of one of Harrow’s failed start-ups?”

“Not even some deep belief about Orcs coming from the Savage Lands?” Teddy asked.

Tyson shook his head though Devon answered verbally.

“No,” confirmed the Cheshire. “Not even that.” He swirled the bourbon in his paw, glowering at it. “We couldn’t tell much since he wasn’t participating in the ritual but from what we could see, it’s fair to assume that the Green Hand Movement is little more than a tool for Uraprik. A means to destroy Harrow’s reputation and his organization.” After another sip of his drink, the Cheshire continued. “Now I will preface this with the caveat that while Uraprik became the target of the spell, his was not the soul we were investigating directly. We were looking for the connections of those in the ritual and following them. However, Uraprik’s soul was just so intense that his malice could be felt even through a tenuous connection.”

“What does that mean?” Teddy demanded.

Tyson shrugged off Knight’s tendrils and stood. “It means that there could be more to Uraprik’s motivations than just wanting to destroy Harrow but that desire was just so strong that it affected everyone in the ritual.” Holding a hand against his chest, he said, “I was the only one meant to follow those connections, Teddy. The other guys were just helping power the spell and control it. All we wanted was to find his location. But his intent was just so intense that we got more.”

Knight let out a thoughtful grunt. “So we have a few possibilities.” When Tyson gave him a quizzical look, the Elder detective explained. “Either Uraprik is just so single-minded that bringing down Harrow really is the only thing he wants or he’s somehow able to mask his soul with this singular desire, making it difficult to read.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “It’s called obscurimency. Applying it to the soul is difficult but can be done.”

Tyson nodded in understanding. Obscurimency was not really a form of ‘magic’ in a traditional sense. No spells, incantations, magical components or rituals. All it involved was intense concentration and a solid will. The theory simply being that if someone was trying to read your soul, all you needed to do was to continue to ‘write’ to your soul at the rate in which they were reading. This would constantly force them to expend precious energy and strength trying to read what is effectively ‘junk’ data. One of the reasons Tyson had opted to use pleasure as a means to read the soul is that it was often very hard to maintain concentration while in the midst of an orgasm. Not impossible but difficult nonetheless. More than once, he had a client that was inadvertently using obscurimency to block him out but when they started feeling good, the defenses crumbled.

If Uraprik was a practiced obscurimen, then his skills would see very little value.

“But we got something from that all, right?” Teddy asked, his unease clear. “A company name? Is that where we’ll find him?”

Devon nodded grimly and finally set down his crystal glass. “A name of a construction company. ‘Primal Foundations’.”

Teddy pressed two fingers to his ear. “You get that Miri?”

It hadn’t occurred to Tyson that his brother was in contact with the rest of his team during the entire ritual or up until now. Considering how the White Orchid was very private, this felt like an invasion of their privacy and a display of his brother’s impatience. Then again, he could not be too mad. Inscriptions and Uraprik were proving to be very formidable.

The logical part of his mind reasoned that the pure evil that he got from Uraprik had to just be some form of obscurimency. However, there was just this horrible sinking feeling he got in his stomach that suggested it was something more sinister.

“Gold,” Teddy announced suddenly, still speaking to his Ironborne teammate. “I’ll meet you there.” Then he lowered his fingers and nodded to Devon and the rest of the White Orchid. “Thanks. We’ve got everything we needed.”

As he turned to leave, Knight bounded over, holding out a paw. “Wait!”

The Delver threw a piercing look over his shoulder. “What? I’m a Delver. This is part of my mission. Don’t tell me you’re going to try and stop me.”

Knight held up his hands, his tentacles even rising up a little in a sign of submission. “No. Of course not. Like you said, you’re a Delver. You’re free to do whatever you want. But I want you to consider what would happen if you do find something incriminating on Uraprik.”

Teddy shrugged at him. “We find evidence. We bring down GHM. Maybe find links to Harrow. Take them both down. What’s there to think about?”

“That you’ve obtained this information as a Delver,” Knight said grimly. “Remember, according to the Delver’s Agreement, anything obtained as part of a Delve is not permissible in any court. So what if you find evidence that Uraprik is somehow linked to Harrow? What are you expecting? That all his clients will suddenly turn their backs on him? Investors will abandon him? He’ll be jailed for what he did to your brother, Bert, Torpak and who knows how many others?” Knight shook his head grimly. “It’s not going to happen, Theodore. You’re a Delver. If you release that information to the public, people are just going to ignore it as slander.”

Tyson watched his brother’s face scrunch up in agitation and then those blue eyes drift slightly to right. No doubt Miri or someone else from his team was talking into is ear piece, saying the same.

“Fuck…” rumbled the human Adept. “What now?”

There, Knight gave the Delver a coy smile. “We work together on this.” He held up a finger. “As a member of the SCPD, I would be obligated to stop a hostile Delve if, for whatever reason, one seems to endanger those around me. However, if that Delve accidentally exposed some incriminating evidence that I just so happen to pick up at the time, I would also be obligated to present that the courts. And since I was the one that obtained it as part of my duties in protecting the city and it’s inhabitants…”

Tyson could not help the grin that crossed his features. “… it could be used to bring down all those involved! That’s brilliant!”

Teddy’s eyes narrowed at Knight. “And what’s your stake in this? Why even help us?”

The blue-furred lupine Elder looked to Bert and then Torpak, both of whom were sitting quietly off to the corner. Their eyes were distant, brows furrowed. A struggle to understand what had happened to them and its implications was still working their way through their minds. It was difficult to tell what the wolf was thinking but there was a flash of determination in his golden eyes before he turned them back towards Teddy.

“I was witness to the power of the Inscriptions. I also understand how it could damage and change a personal entirely. Torpak and his group were completely absolved of all crimes because their souls had been completely purified and they are, legally, considered entirely different people.”

There was an edge of hostility that entered Teddy’s words. “So what? Because you couldn’t get your caller in Torpak, you’re going after his boss?”

Knight’s response was level, even but carried a weight that sent chills down Tyson’s spine. “No. The implications of an Inscription are far too dangerous to be let loose on the world. Think about the possibilities. If I could be completely rewritten to be someone or something else, what would that mean for me? My job? My son?”

Devon was suddenly very interested even going so far as to uncross his legs. “You have a son? Oh daddy…”

“Back off, Dev,” warned Tyson, holding up a hand. He then turned towards his brother as Devon slowly recovered from his trauma and began to pout. “Teddy, he’s right. These Inscriptions are way too dangerous to just be allowed to be used on whoever someone who wields them wants.” He glanced sympathetically towards the Inscribed. “When you think about it, Torpak could have been just innocent people plucked off the streets by Uraprik, inflicted with an Inscription and then transformed into zealots of GHM. If that can happen to anyone, what’s stopping people from converting anyone to their followers forcefully. It’s basically mind control but on the level of the soul.”

Movement from his periphery made him turn towards Devon. The Cheshire was rising from his seat.

“And we’ll help you,” announced the crimson feline.

“You will?” Tyson beamed. “You’ve already done so much, Dev…”

“And we will do more.” Devon smiled at him and gave a firm nod. “You are one of us, after all. What kind of fraternal order would we be if we did not take care of one of our own. Besides…” His features grew grim again. “I am of the same mindset as our dear Delver, here. Something about this does not add up.” The red-furred Cheshire was quiet for a moment has he took another sip from his bourbon and then crossed his arms.

The question about the Inscribes’ gender and reproductive prowess hadn’t been at the forefront of Tyson’s mind. Anyone else would have wondered at the relevance but knowing Devon, the practiced lawyer was already thinking about how such a affliction could encroach the White Orchid’s territory. After all, it wouldn’t be too much of a jump for someone to transform unwitting subjects into cum-factories that would eventually be used to power spells that use it as a reagent.

Devon pointed at Teddy and Knight. “You both pursue the lead of Uraprik. The White Orchid will investigate Harrow. We have significant resources on our side to make some inquiries.”

Knight held up a hand. “Now, as an officer of the SCPD, I cannot sanction any operation against a citizen of Sanctuary City.”

Devon batted his eyelashes at the Elder while placing a paw against his chest. “Oh my dear, detective, I would never imply anything untoward at a fellow entrepreneur. I simply admire the tenacity of Casey Harrow who, after multiple failed start-ups and ventures, finally found his unicorn by capitalizing on a ‘perfect’ image of Orcs in modern society and preying on self-conscious Orcs in the public who do not fit this model using a technique that he did not even develop. Surely there is no harm in organizing a meeting with him to discuss specifics?”

There he was. When Devon Thaumeister got his claws into something, he was not letting go until it had expired or he lost interest. Tyson was grateful to have him as an ally because having the Cheshire as an enemy especially with his vast resources and wealth was not something he wanted to even imagine.

Of course, Devon was just one member of the White Orchid.

“What about the rest of you?” Tyson asked of his gathered brothers. “This could be dangerous. If you get involved, who knows if you’ll come out of it unscathed… or even yourselves.”

One by one, the members all nodded their consent. One of the many things he loved about the White Orchid. Whenever one of them was in danger, none of them hesitated to jump in to assist. More than once, they had invited him to move into the White Orchid mansion and while it would have been enjoyable to spend every day in bed with one guy or more and writhing in orgasmic bliss, he could not bring himself to be too far from Teddy. That and recent revelations about his almost mechanical form of lovemaking would only be exacerbated by being constantly exposed to his fraternity brothers.

“Great,” announced his brother, turning to leave. “Then we got a plan. Keening, if you’ve got a plan, let’s discuss it on the way. I want to get to Uraprik before he can slip through our fingers.”

The detective nodded, gave Tyson one last cautious look before following Teddy out of the parlor. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit Tyson and he slumped back into his seat, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Devon’s ability to shake off the terrifying miasma of malice he got from Uraprik with coy words and sultry sentances was nothing short of supernatural. Then again, he was only affected peripherally. Tyson had borne the brunt of it and he could still feel the Orc’s hatred in his very soul, trying to bury itself into his very being and insisting itself onto him.

Like it was trying to convince him that he should hate Harrow too.

Part of him wondered if that was what it meant to be Inscribed.

“Uhm… Excuse me…” began a timid voice. Tyson lifted his gaze as Bert slowly approached the small circle of chairs. “Could I ask… what will happen to us?”

Tyson almost cursed himself aloud. They had been talking about Bert and the other Inscribed like they weren’t there. Though they seemed to be in a sort of daze, it was still rude. Before he could say anything, though, Devon - sharp as always - already had a response.

The Cheshire, dressed in his silky white, bathrobe, sidled up to the Priapan and did his usual routine of using gentle, intimate touch to give the illusion of power. Devon kept an arm’s distance but his paw gently grazed Bert’s hairy pectoral, tracing the lines of his collarbone as the feline circled the male. Devon’s fingers traced the lines of Bert’s shoulders, drew lines across his back before he skillfully looped his arm around Bert’s opposite arm.

“That will depend on what you want, my emerald-skinned enigma.”

Alliteration. Another one of Devon’s tools in seduction. It was absolutely stunning how quickly his fraternity brother could bounce back from such a somber mood to being a horndog again.

“The way I see it, you have all the opportunity and capability to do whatever you want,” Devon continued, waving a paw in a wide arc over his head. A glance over his shoulder and he nodded towards Torpak and the other Zauroks who were just coming out of their daze. “All of you do.” His fingers began walking up Bert’s large biceps slowly. “Perhaps you might not have a history or any social standing but I see that as an advantage. You could very easily be a Delver.”

Tyson had to fight not to roll his eyes. It was very clear what Devon wanted.

“Now hold on, Devon,” warned Hayden Day, a big, burly pangolin Therianthrope. “Don’t go putting ideas in their heads. Let them decide.”

Hayden, one of the most senior members of the Order, was the biggest guy in the room. He had even dwarfed Knight at a towering nine-feet-tall. His large, tawny frame often needed custom clothes and equipment just to accommodate for his huge frame. The darker scales all over his body shimmered, constantly manicured and maintained. All within his budget since he was on the board of directors for multiple electronics companies. The years after graduation had softened his hardened physique from when Tyson was in the same fraternity back in college. Hayden’s immense pectorals and arms still presented him as a figure of power. In fact, that large gut of his still had a very clear outline of abdominal muscles that gave the impression that he was on some sort of performance enhancing drugs.

“How can they make any decisions if they don’t know their options?” answered Devon playfully, tail doing loops in the air. He draped both arms around Bert, almost hanging the much larger Priapan.

“Options?” Bert asked.

And just like that, Bert had fallen prey to Devon’s machinations. Tyson would have pitied him if he didn’t silently agree that staying with the Order might be the best opportunity these men would have survive in the cutthroat world of the Planes. Staying in his little, isolated home with few defenses would be a risk. The Order had far more defenses. No one would even be allowed upon the grounds without the explicit permission of members of the White Orchid. That was just the intensity of the magic that had been developed over centuries since the Order’s establishment.

“Why yes,” cooed Devon, leaning close so that his lips were practically hovering over Bert’s pointed ears, whiskers brushing against the sensitive organs. “You have so many options.”

“He wants you to join them,” Torpak said suddenly.

Tyson was stunned at the snake-Orc’s clear statement and insight. Though he was sure that anyone could become quite eloquent after a few days at the learning centers - Bert had succeeded in that fact - he was under the impression that Torpak didn’t have that opportunity over the past three days since his attack. Of course, Torpak and his other men had lived with their Inscriptions for longer so it was entirely possible that they had more intelligence.

“Oh…” Bert stammered, then his eyes widened in realization. “Oh!”

Devon stepped away from the Priapan and spread his arms wide, gesturing at the rest of the Order. “While we have all been quite intimate with one another, I understand that we have not made it clear who we are.” He made a dramatic gesture as if he were taking off an invisible top hat and bowing towards the Inscribed. “We are the Fraternal Order of the White Orchid. We specialize in a unique form of magic that uses male ejaculatory fluids as catalysts for our spells.”

“Cumancers,” rumbled the lone, blue-skinned Oni sitting a short distance away. Asuma Kirintobi was quite large in his own right and hirsute with his dark hair and blazing, green eyes. By far the most disciplined of the Order’s members, Asuma was often teased for being a prude because he didn’t couple with any of the other guys as often as Devon or even Hayden. However, Tyson knew that Asuma was a beast in the sack. It just so happens that he was selective when he fucked.

Asuma gently ran his fingers around the black bead necklace that he wore around his neck at all times, gently rubbing each of the dark orbs one at a time. “We’re more than just men who use our cum for magic, though. I, for example, am currently the Chief Security Officer of the Kirin Company which my father owns.”

Tyson glanced about and was quite surprised that the Saijin Kirintobi was not present. Asuma’s father was also a member of the Order. Though he suspected that running an energy company afforded little time to indulge in the Order’s antics. Of course, it was through the Order that the Kirin Company saw a lot of success. Being able to generate vast amounts of magical energy or even pure electricity from cum was something not many people could do… or were willing to participate in.

“And I own a lot of factories that make electronics,” added Hayden.

One by one, the present members of the Order gave their names and professions. There was some bitter irony that each of them gave these long-winded titles and speeches about the businesses they owned, the contracts they made or the fortunes that they held but in the grand scheme of the inter-Planar economy they were small fish pretending to be big. One could argue that even Casey Harrow had a bigger fortune and impact than even Devon.

Each members’ fortunes were tied to the specialized service that the White Orchid could provide. Should that ever be made redundant, then their fortunes would collapse. While some like Asuma and Drekhan had other means to support themselves, they were still tied to the Order. That was also not considering what would ever happen if the Order was thrown into scandal and their names would be dragged down. One of the reasons that Tyson didn’t hang out at the mansion all day like Devon or Hayden and didn’t openly advertise his membership.

There were only seven members including Tyson present. Of the currently and ‘active’ members, only a few more were out in the Planes. Against the more prominent magical orders, they were few in number. Most generally stuck within the main five families - the Thaumeisters, Days, Kirintobi, von Krauss and Ruiz. There were few members, like Drekhan and Tyson, who joined through recommendation of other members both current and former. Not all members stayed affiliated with the White Orchid either. Some who joined in collage and eventually found their own fortune might cancel their membership with a sealing geas placed on them never to use the Orchid’s techniques. They would still remain as strong contacts however.

Even Tyson considered himself well-connected in the field of animacology.

“And I am Devon Thaumeister,” Devon said, being the last to introduce himself. “The Thaumeisters are exceptional market traders with a particular interest in foreign exchange and treasury bonds. On a personal note, I am an accomplished criminal lawyer.”

Wealth was no excuse for the members of the Order to slack off and just indulge in male-on-male sex. As Devon explained, each member would be supported by the Order but the White Orchid’s goal was, first and foremost, the refinement of their technique. A pursuit of knowledge. Most if not all of the magical spells utilized and developed by the Orchid were used to obtain knowledge.

“The first technique ever developed by the White Orchid was the ability to pass on genetic information through the ingestion of another’s seed,” Tyson explained. “It was crude at the time and extremely frowned upon but it was one of the best ways to determine any genetic defects before modern science and magic took over. The White Orchid didn’t sit on its laurels with that one technique, though. They developed it. Refined it. Expanded its reach and applications to the point that each of us here basically uses the techniques we learned here for our professions.”

Drekhan, for instance, went on tours and played for celebrities. He used cum to increase his perception and sustain himself on those long tours.

“You have no idea just how much it takes out of you to be traveling from place to place all the time,” the crimson dragon sighed. “A good lay here and there is enough to refresh and rejuvenate me. Kind of like healing magic.”

Branden and Briggs, twin Djinni and natives to the Great Mystery, came from the von Krauss family and personally owned the mansion and property where they were currently residing. The two, blue-skinned men sat on the same couch, arms around one another in a familiarity that meant more than them just being fraternal twins. They used the White Orchid’s magical spells to maintain the property.

“Semen makes for some of the most potent fertilizer and growth accelerators,” bragged Briggs.

“With the proper spells and rituals in place,” added Branden. “Not to mention having sex on the perimeter every week or so to keep the place safe from incursion or invasive scrying.

“You only need to do that every six months and you know it,” accused Tyson with a smirk.

Tyson did notice that a representative of the Ruiz family was absent. With that one last missing piece, they would make up the current active members of White Orchid. ‘Retired’ members such as Banchomyon could come and go as they pleased but their professions, families and other responsibilities often kept them away.

“Where’s Raul?” he asked.

“Camping,” answered Hayden with a lewd grin. That was all he needed and Tyson nodded in understanding. The pangolin’s eyes turned back towards the Orcs, his smile only slightly fading. “What Devon and Tyson are trying to get at is that you’re legally different people. In the eyes of the Planes, you just popped into existence. You have no past. You have no finances. Banks and insurance companies probably will rip your accounts out from under you because of this. You have nothing.”

“Except us,” Asuma grunted.

“But we’re not trying to intimidate you, dear,” Devon quickly assured, his features turning cold and calculating again. “Just stating facts. I have no doubt you could all make your way out there on your own if you tried. In fact, I sincerely question whether or not you would even understand the gravity or consequences of joining the Order let alone the implications of giving consent would be.” For a moment, Devon frowned then his icy stare roved the parlor. “I am making a declaration. No one touches these fine men unless it is a matter of life or death.”

“Oh?” Drekhan teased, a little puff of smoke emanated from his nostrils. “That’s new coming from you, Dev.”

“I am merely thinking about their wellbeing and that of the Order’s.” The crimson Cheshire turned back towards the formerly Inscribed. “You may have the bodies of very delectable, adult men…” He crossed one leg over the other while still standing and bit on the edge of one fingertip, claw extracted while appraising Torpak. “… very delectable.” Then his lewd facade faded once again and he straightened. “But you have no concept of the law, common decency or even morality. Maybe a basic understanding from context but the last thing I want is for any of you to get the wrong idea. So, all of us will be consummate gentlemen and not touch you unless it is a matter of health.”

Asuma patted the armrest of the couch he was sitting on to catch everyone’s attention. “I agree. On that note, we won’t have you join the White Orchid either until you are understand exactly what we offer and the benefits of membership.”

“Or the downsides,” warned Tyson, locking gazes with Bert. “The term ‘cumancers’ isn’t a term of endearment. You will find that more doors will be closed off to you than there are opened by becoming a membership.”

Bert lowered his gaze for a moment, lips pursed. As he lifted his gaze, there was a fierce determination in his eyes that filled Tyson both with trepidation and pride. “But we will at least have doors open, right?”

That was a certainty. No one in the right mind or with the right morals would hire or even care for someone without a background or a block like the formerly Inscribed. It made him mentally shudder at the idea of some slaver using Bert for some menial labor or as a sex toy and tricking the Priapan into believing that it was what he wanted. If they joined with the White Orchid, however, they would be protected and have their great potential put to good use.

“And the price?” rumbled Torpak, his serpentine eyes narrowing with his pupils contracting into slits. Certainly far more self-aware and knowledgeable than Bert had been.

Devon fanned himself a little with a paw, purposefully thrusting his hips out in Torpak’s direction. “The Order is quite selective in whom we admit into our ranks. They have to be of a certain… stock. However, when presented with what is effectively a blank slate, I cannot help but wonder how we could best harness your… potential.”

“You’re going to milk us?” growled the leading Zaurok. “Turn us into your sex slaves?”

Every member of the White Orchid let out a laugh with Devon being the most exaggerated by throwing his head back.

Even Tyson offered a little chuckle. “The Order’s magic doesn't work without consent,” he explained. “Our magic is based on a foundation of mutual trust. The exchange of fluids, especially one as socially significant and integral to most species’ reproductive cycles is sacred. That adds weight and value to the offered fluids. Taken unwillingly and it loses that value even if it’s considered ‘difficult’ to take that seed.” We made a few circles with a finger through the air. “Think of it as the difference between a long-term investment versus short-term satisfaction. You could masturbate now and get that hit of euphoria from ejaculation but it’ll last only a few minutes before the afterglow wears off. But if you have sex with someone that you trust and form that bond with, it will last forever.”

There was a glazed, blank look on both Torpak and Bert’s features. It seemed that even with Torpak’s ‘maturity’ over Bert, the more complicated concepts of magic - particularly the Order’s form of magic - went over his head.

Devon slipped in front of Tyson placing himself between the red-haired Orc and the other Inscribed, pressing his paws together. “Let’s just say that the ‘price’ for our offerings is your understanding that we are not rapists, villains or some weird sex cult. I mean, we are sex cult but we’re not weird.” The Cheshire beamed brightly, spreading his arms wide to gesture at the gathered White Orchid. “We are always happy to increase our numbers as every new person that signs on and calls themselves a White Orchid has the potential to offer a new perspective that could enhance our techniques much like how our ancestors did when they turned cum-guzzling into an art form!”

Typical lawyer-talk from the Cheshire. Somehow, he could smooth over any conversation and weasel his way into people’s good graces. Tyson would have put it differently but he had a point. The Order of the White Orchid was in a constant struggle to remain relevant despite the opulent air its members put on. They had to work to maintain everything they held. One would think that having sex all the time with other men would be a piece of cake and truly pleasurable but when rituals and spells needed to be performed precisely to avoid failure, it became a job.

This reminded Tyson of his own predicament. Too much sex had numbed him to the joys of the act and turned it into a technical, mechanical analysis.

Devon then held out a paw towards the Inscribed. “So what do you say? Would you like to join as provisional members of the Order?”

Bert glanced over to Tyson who merely shrugged.

“I say you take it, Bert,” answered the Shaper. “My dad and I can probably help you out but to be honest, your options are pretty limited with just us. You’ve got a brand new start and with the rest of the Order backing you, you can go anywhere you want. Not to mention the Order has a lot of resources and powerful friends. If Uraprik is just purely malicious and he finds out that we’re keeping you, he might not want any ‘loose ends’ to be hanging about.”

Fear and a bit of ambition flashed in Bert’s eyes and he nodded. “Yeah.” He then took Devon’s paw and gave it a firm shake. “I’m in.” A worried look crossed his features a second later and he glanced over to Tyson. “But… I’ll still see you, right?”

Tyson reiterated that he was still a member of the Order of the White Orchid so there was no way they would ever be far apart. One by one, each of the other victims of the Inscription accepted Devon’s offer. Even Torpak.

“Now that we are all in agreement,” Devon exclaimed, clapping his paws together happily. “How about we take a tour of the mansion!” He spun on his heel, waving everyone to follow him. “Come along! We have a lot to cover! Oh, and have any of you had anything to eat? I make a mean mimosa!”

Tyson remained behind and watched the congregation of White Orchid members, both active and provisional start filing out of the parlor. Bert threw him a cautious glance but Tyson waved him along, indicating that he would catch up after he finished the drink that was currently in his hands.

Once they were all gone, Tyson’s eyes fell heavily on the drink in his hands.

Something about this whole situation made his skin crawl. Devon and the others had been connected to the spell when he had reached out to Uraprik. None of them were at the epicenter of that single-minded malice against Casey Harrow.

He was.

What Devon failed to communicate to Teddy and Knight was the cold, calculating nature of that malice. This wasn’t the fury of a caged animal or even the blind hatred of a one-dimensional villain from a Saturday morning cartoon. There was a steely intelligence behind Uraprik’s actions.

The more he thought about the events leading to this moment, he could see that cunning on full display. Uraprik had intended to leave Bert as a distraction for Pulse, bait for Harrow to take while he left himself defenseless so that Torpak would come in and kidnap him. The fact that Uraprik hadn’t come himself spoke volumes. These were not the actions of an psychopath.

“So… Should I have gone with them?”

Tyson was jerked out of his reverie and turned around.

Torpak was standing a few feet away, looking at him curiously.

“You didn’t follow them?” he asked after a few seconds of recovery.

“Should I have?” responded the Zaurok, looking equally as puzzled. “That cat didn’t say I should…”

“It was implied… but I suppose he didn’t say that explicitly…” Glancing towards the doors to the parlor, he couldn’t hear the chatter or footfalls of his fraternity brothers. Though it had only been a minute or so, they were probably already off in one of the other wings of the vast mansion.

Tyson considered catching up with them but a thought occurred to him. Professional curiosity poked its head past his introspection. What was the difference between someone like Bert who had been thrust into an Inscription and transformed into a Priapan involuntarily versus someone who supposedly was exposed to an Inscription for a long time like Torpak and only recently transformed? He had seen the damage the Inscription was doing to Torpak’s soul but did some part - any part - of him recall what he had done even on an animacological level?

Or was it all wiped out?

He had to know.

“You know what?” he said, turning back to Torpak. “I think it’s fine. I can take you on a personal tour.”

“Is that okay?” asked the Zaurok, blinking slowly. He took a step forward, coming within a foot of Tyson. The huge reptile’s form was only half-a-foot taller than him but was much bigger in terms of mass. Tyson was no push-over and being the brother of a Delver had encouraged him to pursue some forms of self-defense. But Torpak still had this aura of menace about him.

That was, until, the scaly man said, in a soft voice, “Would… would it not be safer for everyone if I was with them…?”

“What do you mean by that?”

Torpak frowned; Tyson noticing how the gesture came so naturally to the man despite the large, lower tusks. “Those officers at the SCPD said so. That the streets were better without me on it.”

Immediately, Tyson’s heart broke and he grimaced. He hid the gesture by quickly draining the rest of his drink. The bourbon burned his throat as it went down turning the wince genuine.

“Yeah,” he coughed softly. “It’ll be fine.” Forcing a smile, he gently took Torpak’s hand, marveling at the surprisingly soft, scaly palms. “Come on. Let me show you my wing of the mansion.”

“You can take off your wings?”

?

“I have their Dap.”

Miri’s slightly mechanical voice echoed in Teddy’s ear piece. It had not taken her long to find out what she could about the Orc-centric business. Strange as it was, even with a name, the supposed leader of the Green Hand Movement had not appeared in any scans or scrapes of the infosphere.

It was not hard to believe that it was an alias.

Primal Foundations, however, was an entirely different story.

Located far south-east beyond Sanctuary City’s limits was a township known as Ash Hills so named because int he aftermath of the Chernoberg’s strike, said hills were covered in ash. A large community had built around the Hills and it became one of the few gateway towns into Sanctuary City. Though boasting a multicultural population, the vast majority of its populace were Orcs.

Primal Foundations was a moderately small organization. It’s single construction yard was large but from what Miri had found, it was the only one that the company owned. Employing Orcs exclusively, the business ran on a model of a one-stop-shop for all construction needs. Everything from general contractors, architects, plumbers, electricians, interior designers and anyone else needed to build a home or a building. All of them were Orcs.

Apparently, they also ran apprenticeships to help Orcs break into the same professions and trade schools. To the people of Ash Hills, Primal Foundations was a pinnacle of the community and epitome of the town’s heritage.

“Why didn’t we think of lookin’ here in the first place?” rumbled Cole. The big Lava Elemental had purposefully lowered the reddish glow of the veins of pure fire running through his obsidian skin to avoid attracting too much attention. Teddy stood next to him amongst the scaffolding of a nearby building, crouched amongst a stack of crimson bricks equipment. It was just a little after four in the afternoon and being in the shadow of the cliffs that created the rim of Sanctuary City, Ash Hills was already cast into a dim twilight. Visibility was hampered but that did not render them completely invisible.

Teddy lifted the pair of binoculars, peering over the bricks. Enhanced visuals allowed him to zoom in on the Orcs milling about around Primal Foundation’s warehouse-like construction yard.

“It’s outside of Sanctuary City,” he rumbled, roving his gaze from one end of the facility to the other. By his measurement, it was a small-ish facility. Big enough to have its own warehouse where much of the on-site construction was undertaken and they had three platforms where the workers could work on prefabricated modules for whatever project they were working on.

“I should’ve looked harder,” huffed Miri, more to herself than anyone. “It was obvious. GHM is active up and down the coast. Harrow is head quartered in California. Why did I think they were just holed up at SC?”

Teddy lowered the binoculars. He didn’t need them to see the rest of the facility as it was large enough to perceive from his end. “We all thought the same, Miri,” he said quietly. “If I was better with my prescience, I would’ve been able to tell you where to look.”

“No use beating each other about it,” hissed Ruben. “Hey, do you see those prefabs?”

The Adept’s eyes fell upon those three prefabrication platforms again. At the moment, there looked to be a half-finished kitchen sitting on one and on the other was the skeleton of another building. The last was currently being used to stack crates of raw materials.

“What about them?” he responded.

Nya was the one to answer. She and Ruben were hiding on the opposite side of the facility. Miri remained online, secreted away in some apartment several blocks away while still remaining in contact. “Three out of the two are occupied. They must see a lot of business if that is the case.”

“How’d ya figure?” Cole rumbled.

This time, a sixth voice, one unfamiliar with their psionic link, answered. “Smaller construction firms would not be able to spend money on prefabricated templates.”

It was Knight.

At the moment, the detective was driving up the street, having landed and taking the road. Teddy had been itching to go the moment they learned everything they needed from the White Orchid but to involve Knight in their plan needed time to clear his investigation with the relevant authorities. Getting permission from his captain and then signing all the immigration papers to traverse one jurisdiction to the other had been a bureaucratic nightmare.

Then again, it was a good thing that the meeting had been arranged near the end of the work day. Less people who could get in the crossfire if there was a shootout. Minimal collateral damage meant a lower chance of someone sending a counter-Delve against Pulse.

“The fact that Primal Foundations has prefabrication platforms suggests that they have multiple contracts and are known enough that people are scrambling for their designs. Even if one is currently out of use, it’s telling of their financial status.”

Cole huffed. “Seems like they’ve been spendin’ it on security.

Tall, high, metal fences surrounded the entire facility with a mild, blue aura emanating from poles embedded into the fence about ten feet from one another - mild shielding. Large metal gates, currently sitting open, allowed various trucks to come and go to ship materials or for their workers to drive their own vehicles in. The facility was large enough to have it’s own small parking garage opposite to the prefab platforms.

“I’m not detecting any turrets or defensive tech,” Miri supplied. “At least not active right now. There are a few security drones and light security but nothing active at the moment. I suspect once it’s lights out, it’ll get hot.”

“Magic is light on the outskirts,” added Nya. “The walls have some paint infused with spells that’ll make them more slippery and there’s a few tracking spells on some of their materials in case something gets stolen. Nothing too big. But the warehouse…”

Front and center of Primal Foundation’s was the enormous warehouse-like facility which sported their immense sign and logo. It dominated the yard and had an opening rooftop at the rear where smaller drones could carry materials to sites. Large enough to sport two floors, the warehouse even seemed to have its own chimneys and ventilation shafts. Plumes of black smoke were emanating from the the tubes only to be eagerly devoured by silver cloud of nanobots eating away at the pollution that hung over Ash Hill’s industrial district.

Two large, metal, double doors currently stood open, offering a slight peek into the facility. He could see many employees milling about, packing up and preparing to go home as it was reaching the end of the business day. The buzz of activity remained. Sharp buzzing of equipment, hiss of machinery and faint sizzle of magic could be heard even from where he stood. There was a strange orange glow emanating from somewhere within the facility. He brought up his binoculars again and switched to thermal imaging. There must have been some sort of heat-resistant or thermal-suppressing paint on the warehouse because the walls appeared quite cool. From what little he could see through the glass, however… there was a significant amount of heat…

“Where is all that spice coming from?” he asked.

“That’s the scoop,” Miri answered. “They have a whole metal smelting biz in there.”

“Is it usual to have construction and smelting in the same place?” Cole asked.

“No,” came Knight’s response. “Construction yards with prefab facilities would just assemble the materials. They would get the materials elsewhere. Melting down raw metal into whatever they want would be extremely efficient and cost-effective. But to fit it all in one yard… that’s very impressive.”

It would have been easy to dismiss the idea merging manufacturing with construction as a logical cost-saving measure. Teddy, however, had learned a long time ago that even the slightest oddity could be a hint at something bigger.

“What’s your stat, Knight?” he asked. “How far are you?”

“Just pulling up.”

On cue, Knight’s bright-red sports car came rolling up to the yard. A few of the Orc workers turned their heads and gawked at the vehicle as it slipped past the two, metal gates. One of the workers approached the driver-side window. Teddy saw Knight flash his badge before he was directed to the nearby parking lot, particularly the guest parking. Knight emerged a moment later, escorted by that same Orc and taken into the facility itself.

“Go time,” Ruben announced.

Teddy tucked away his binoculars and gave a quick nod to Cole. Together, he and the Lava Elemental made their way down the partially-constructed building. They were careful to emerge back onto the streets away from Primal Foundations and casually walk back towards the construction yard. Thanks to Miri’s initial scouting, he knew that there was a blind spot at the rear of the facility. It took him a good ten minutes to make the round-about route to get to the spot in particular. In a small alleyway between the yard and the next adjacent building. The wall separating the yard from the squat, five-story business could barely fit them both but it was a place where none of the roving drones or cameras actively searched for this very same reason.

They squeezed down the tight alleyway before reaching the location Miri had identified would be a clear blind spot for them to enter. Cole knelt down, cupping his large hands together. Teddy placed a boot on the Elemental’s hands and was promptly boosted into the air. Teddy launched into the air, scrambling up the adjacent building’s wall like a nimble spider. Magic sizzled through his fingertips as he maintained his grip and the moment he was just above Primal Foundation’s walls, he kicked off the vertical surface and somersaulted over the walls.

Arms wide, he quickly mumbled a few magic words under his breath to slow his fall. He landed in the shadow of a few metal container with barely a sound. His prescience was quiet. No threat of someone walking in on him. Still, he pressed his back against the container and waited a minute just to be sure. Confident of his stealth, he plucked a small, crimson pyramid no bigger than his palm from his jacket pocket. He placed it on the ground and took a few steps back.

“You’re golden, Cole,” he whispered mentally.

A second later, there was a short fizzle and suddenly, Cole was right next to him, standing over the prism. The bulky Lava Elemental bent down, picked up the Placement Pyramid and handed it back to him. Teddy caught the glimmer of the yellow-colored twin of the magical device in Cole’s fingers. His fellow Delver tucked the device away as Teddy did the same.

“We’re in,” announced the fiery Rook.

“Same here,” replied Nya.

The two Delver groups were now in the facility. One from the rear and one from the east. Knight, on the other hand, should be just meeting the foreman of Primal Foundations. Just a minute later, Knight’s voice came over the psychic connection.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Urag.”

Almost immediately, a deep rumbling came through with a distinct weight of someone who came from the Savage Lands; the voice of whomever Knight was speaking to. As deep as it was, it came through slightly muffled like the speaker had two cotton balls in his cheeks as he was speaking. The speaker gave heavy emphasis to his I’s, almost pronouncing them as ‘Ah’ while extending the ‘A’ longer than usual. Despite this, his articulation was clear and precise hinting at someone who had lived in the CMP for an extended period of time.

“Please, the pleasure is mine, Detective Keening,” came the response. “Now what can I do for you? And call me Makhel.”

Cole let out a little snicker. “Shit. This Blue is pretty good with psicomms if he can let us hear what he’s hearin’ too.”

That was indeed an impressive skill to have. Even Teddy, who had been in the Delver business for years now, had not mastered the skill. Communicating everything you were experiencing across a vast distance was not easy especially while staying in the moment and making sure not to overwhelm the recipients. Nya was the only other person Teddy knew that could perform such a skill with Miri being a close second. However, because her Ironborne biology was so different to rest of the other team who were organics, Miri never used the skill.

“And you can call me Knight,” responded the lupine Elder. “I’ve come to you today because I’ve gotten word of a potential Delve planned against you.”

“Me?” answered Makhel Urag whom Teddy suspected was the current foreman. “Why would anyone target me for a Delve?”

There was concern in his voice. Not fear or even panic. Concern. Any normal person who would have been approached by an officer of the law to inform them that they were being targeted by Delvers would treat the warning with greater urgency. But not Makhel Urag. The man - an Orc, Teddy assumed - almost seemed amused by Knight’s words.

“We believe it is due to the recent animosity thrown against Orcs by the organization known as the Green Hand Movement,” explained Knight, not skipping a beat. “There was a recent attack against a man named Casey Harrow. An entrepreneur from California that has made waves within the cosmetic surgery industry with his revolutionary techniques around Orcish tusk enlargements.”

“Right.” There was a hint of disgust or disapproval in Makhel’s voice. “I heard about that. But wasn’t that in Sanctuary City? Why are you coming here to Ash Hills?”

It would be very easy to dismiss the foreman’s resistance to being associated with something that happened in another country. But Teddy was not so naive. He had detected that slight shift in tone, that thinly-concealed venom at the mention of Harrow’s name. There was something here and Urag was at its core.

“Unfortunately, I cannot divulge the motivations of whomever placed the Delve against you,” answered Knight vocally.

However, mentally and to the rest of Pulse, he added, “Now would be a good time to begin your Delve. While I still have his attention.”

Teddy straightened and exchanged glances with Cole. “You heard the man,” he said.

Ruben announced that he had hacked into the yard’s Infosphere. Less than a minute later, Miri announced that she had hacked into the facility’s security feeds. In an instant, she was sending a loop of footage through all the cameras and drones, rendering them invisible.

Without another word, he scrambled up the sides of the cargo container, nimbly using what little hand holds were available. Two containers were stacked on top of each other and he managed to get to the top, crouching low to keep out of sight as much as possible. He dashed across the top of the containers, charging straight for the warehouse itself. Cole was right behind him. Despite his bulk, the Lava Elemental was fairly limber.

Teddy was leaping up to the side of the warehouse, launching himself at a few pipes which he easily clung onto. Muscles bunched as he easily scrambled up the pipes. His prescience provided him the optimal route to make his way up to the very top of the warehouse. Even if it was just half a second before he acted, the supernatural ability to peer into the future was enough for him to make it appear like every move, every jump and every swing was planned months ago.

Once he was atop the warehouse, he fished out his Placement Pyramid and placed it on the ground. He was dashing across the rooftop even before Cole had fully materialized behind him. The Rook threw the crimson Pyramid at him from behind and without even looking, he snatched it from the air; his prescience once again coming to his aid.

“Rest assured that this is not due to any form of secrecy on my side,” Knight continued, his link with them still very strong. “You know how Delvers and their fleas are. They won’t give up their clients even if it means their lives.”

“And you somehow got one to tell you that I’m a target?”

“Just because one team and their flea rejected this offer, it does not mean that others won’t go after the job. I have a particularly good relationship with this team and they expressed concern that the this was a Delve related to an incident in Sanctuary City and was targeting someone in the Commonwealth. You can imagine how this could spark an international incident.”

Teddy smirked to himself. Knight was pretty good at thinking on his feet. Something told him that his was not the first time the Elder had worked with Delvers. That smile quickly faded as he reached the end of the rooftop where it opened up to the drone platforms. None of the drones were in use at the moment. Most deliveries and shipments would have finished by now. The last few workers were milling about the large, bus-sized, flying machines to do their final checks. None of them noticed the two Delvers ducking and weaving between pipes and vents.

He approached one of the drones and crouched behind it. Cole took up position behind another. There were only three Orcs on the platform. Two were heading back to the last who was holding the door opening for them. Once they were gone, the two Delvers quickly went to work.

Teddy fished out a small device from his pocket that looked like a tiny spider with a drill emerging from its abdomen. Placing it on the slick, black surface of the drone, he took a step back and pressed two fingers against his temples.

“I’m done, Miri.”

“We too,” announced Cole.

“Confirmed,” came Miri’s response. “Hacking drone controls.” Just a second later, she announced, “I’m in. I have control. Escape route secured.”

“We’re in too,” added Nya. “The bug is in, Miri. All you.”

“Confirmed. Establishing direct link for download.” Not even a moment later and she was telling them that she was in and beginning copying everything Primal Foundations had in their systems.

All according to plan. A well-oiled machine.

Something from Knight’s conversation caught Teddy’s attention.

“And you,” Makhel Urag began, “a detective of the notorious SCPD, decided to take it upon yourself to forewarn me of this incoming Delve? Shouldn’t you have reached out to your mayor or something to contact Ash Hill’s police force? Why come all this way?”

Teddy’s heart sank. Now he was doubly sure something was up with Makhel Urag but he was also afraid Knight might be exposed. While he was sure the Elder detective could handle himself, if their download was interrupted, they would be no closer to figuring out the truth about the Inscriptions.

“I have gone through the proper channels,” Knight answered. His voice was as cool as a river in spring and his thoughts came in as clear as ever. Unfazed and unshaken. “I had reached out to Ash Hill’s PD and even reached out to the Commonwealth’s diplomats on this issue. However, they told me that since this is a Delve, their hands are tied. Nothing a Delver does is permissible by law, after all.”

“True. So why do you care, then? Why go to all this effort?” Makhel let out a little snort. “Surely it isn’t just because you care about me, is it?”

“Your life is as valuable as anyone else’s, Mr. Urag. However, I am the leading officer on the Harrow’s case and it is in my interest to ensure I contain the damage from the terrorist attack on Doctor Harrow’s clinic before it gets out of hand.”

“He ain’t a doctor.”

There was a pause and Teddy exchanged glances with Cole from across the platform.

“Pardon?” Knight asked, feigning innocence.

“Harrows. He ain’t a doctor.” Now the venom and hostility from Urag were coming closer to the surface. “He’s just a businessman. Knows that he ain’t sellin’ a medical procedure even if it’s for something as shallow as extending your tusks if he doesn’t seem like he has some medical background. So he calls himself ‘doctor’ even if it’s just a title.”

Miri announced that she was about half-way done to getting all of Primal Foundation’s information. Teddy crossed his arms and tapped his arm impatiently.

Again, maintaining an aura of calm and professionalism, Knight said, “Of course. I am sure you are aware that there were some men who attacked one of his clinics in Sanctuary City and attributed it to the Green Hand Movement. A pro-Orc cult. Many people died. GHM has not claimed responsibility for the attack but people are mad.”

“And you think those people could take out a hit on me because I’m an Orc?” Makhel huffed.

90% done on the download.

“Not you personally. At this company. Primal Foundations appears to be an Orc-centric organization that promotes connections with the Savage Lands. This aligns with the ideology that GHM appears to be espousing.”

There was a slam on the other side of the connection.

“That’s bullshit! We got our name because we get our materials from the Savage Lands! Wood from the Savage Lands is ten times stronger than the ones grown here on the CMP! Any marble, stone or steel we get from there is guaranteed to last generations!”

“Easy,” Knight said gently. “I can’t tell you what people are thinking or why. That’s why I’m here to help. I want to stop this before it gets out of control and innocent people get caught in the crossfire.”

A soft chime of success rippled through their psionic connection. Miri had finished the download and was now severing the connections while deleting any trace of her presence there. A few seconds later, she was done.

Teddy nodded to Cole, pressing two fingers tom his temples.

“Alright, Knight. We’re ready here. We’re ready to make this a crime scene.”

He got a mental nod from the Elder. “Do it.”

The drone that Cole had commandeered suddenly came to life. The four, large engines sprang to life and it lifted off the ground while the one Teddy was leaning against began to warm up. Loud buzzing suddenly began rippling through the warehouse. Lights flashed and systems began to fail. Yelling emerged from the Orcs within.

“What!?” exclaimed Makhel. “A power outage?”

“Somehow I doubt it,” growled Knight, playing the part of a protective detective. “Get behind me.”

The drone in the air lifted higher before suddenly angling towards the partially completed, prefabricated house. Teddy could not help but smile a little as he watched the vehicle smash into the platform and the room that was sitting atop it. A loud boom erupted from the collision followed by a burst of fire.

“The fuck is going on!?” roared Makhel.

Knight began shouting. “The Delvers. Come on! We’re getting out now!” It was clear he was talking to both the foreman and Pulse.

Ruben and Nya came bursting out of the door from the warehouse. Reunited, the four Delvers jumped atop the remaining drone and let Miri pilot the vehicle. They were lifted into the air as the warehouse descended into chaos. Miri was naturally careful not to cause any deaths or injuries but the sight was still spectacular. Sparks erupted from the exploding security cameras. Machinery flailed and failed. The fire from the drone impact spread. Few were looking up at the remaining drone quickly escaping into the shadow of the mountains.

Five minutes later, Miri lowered the drone to a public park where the other members of Pulse jumped. She would pilot it somewhere and purposefully crash it to draw the authorities elsewhere. Pulse scattered, disappearing into the trees, the crowd and the rest of Ash Hills. Their psionic link was severed for the moment to maintain silence.

But their mission was completed.

They had everything they needed and, now, Knight was involved. The Elder wolf could acquire any evidence he needed.

Teddy was smiling the entire way back to Sanctuary City.

?

The White Orchid mansion had all the amenities Tyson could have ever wished for and was certainly well defended. His ‘room’ could actually be considered more like a wing of it’s own. Consisting of a bedroom that was about the half the size of his entire home back at Sanctuary City, there were adjacent rooms including a lounging area overlooking the western garden, an indoor pool and a large library where he kept a lot of his books from college. Everyone else in the White Orchid had similarly large areas devoted to them but he was fairly sure that Devon kept his as lavish as possible to tempt him to move in.

Every time he visited, there was always something new that the Cheshire had added. It almost became a game between them. What was new? What was added? What had Devon added that would tug at Tyson’s heartstrings to remind him that he belonged with the Order of the White Orchid?

Tyson stepped into the lounging area and appraised his surroundings. With a ceiling that was at least ten feet above his head and vaulted ceilings, he was hit with the sensation that he was entering some sort of cathedral. Large, velvety curtains covers the enormous windows that doubled as a door leading onto the balcony that opened up to the gardens. To his right was an entire bar setup. It made him smile that Devon had that set up solely because Tyson had often mentioned how he wanted one in his own home. Though his house now had a morphing kitchen that could shift into what was essentially bar and this particular setup rarely ever saw any use, Devon kept the placement regardless.

An enormous holovid setup took up the majority of the room. The razor-thin opening on the floor where light and sound could spill out to display scenes from local or international news and even some raunchy recordings stretched about twenty feet across. Various opulent seats from luxurious recliners that came equipped with massage devices, gelatinous beanbag chairs that would shape and contour itself to the spine of whomever was seating it it to even a sole antigravity pod was faced the holovid. Amidst all of this, however, was a three-seater, leather couch that had a few cracks in its brown surface and a few dips in its cushions.

The Monster Maker could not help but smile at the sight of the old piece of furniture. It had been the first thing he had bought when he had moved to college and joined up with the White Orchid. Though Banchomyon was more than happy to support him, Tyson had developed a fierce independence and aversion to depending on any sort of parental figure at the time. Allowing his step-father to introduce him to the White Orchid was already a step too far and he was adamant about not letting the demon do any more. So in an attempt to impress his new fraternity brothers, he had bought the couch on an extended loan. Given how his genetic parents had disowned him and he barely had a single omni to his name after college tuition, that couch had set him far back.

He approached it and sat down, draping an arm across the cold, leather backing. His Orcish skin on the couch brought back memories. There was no fur to get between him and the leather. No second pair of arms that he had to reposition to ensure or tail that he had to curl around himself when seating himself down. Nostalgia hit quite hard. Reminders of sitting on this couch, drinking with his fraternity brothers at the college branch, getting naked and then fooling around with on another reminded him of days when he viewed the world with a little less cynicism and a lens that wasn’t clouded by a cold, analytical filter.

Standing awkwardly near the entrance was Torpak.

The Zaurok just stood there, staring blankly at him.

Tyson could not bear to harbor any resentment towards the man. Whoever Torpak had been, this Zaurok was not him. They may have shared the same name but they were not the same person. Even the law recognized that they were different.

“Come over here, Torpak,” he said, gesturing at the man and patting the seat beside him.

Torpak awkwardly padded over giving Tyson a few precious seconds to more properly appraise the man. Unlike Bert, Torpak walked on plantigrade feet with large, black claws in place of toenails. The base of his feet were covered with a softer, light brown, leathery skin. The rest were covered with a light green skin that grew darker and harder as it traveled ups his calves. This gradient was evident throughout the rest of his body. The outer parts of his body - the ones more exposed to the elements and the ones that were more likely to be hit were covered in the dark green plating before slowly transitioning into the light green and then the softer, brown flesh. His enormous quads were completely covered in his emerald armor but his inner thighs transitioned in to the softer, green flesh for the extra mobility. Though not entirely visibly through the white and gold robe he wore, every step Torpak took momentarily revealed his big, heavy ball sac which was smooth and covered in the softer, brown skin. It seemed his physiology was designed with both defense and mobility in mind.

It occurred to Tyson that he had never had an opportunity to examine a Zaurok before. The realization humbled him. There was so much in the world that he had yet to experience.

As Torpak sat down, Tyson took in the enormous reptilian beast’s upper torso. The white robe formed a very clear ‘V’ across the chiseled and muscular chest. Clear definitions of his pectoral plates and abdominals were visible. Every movement revealed the perky nipples that poked through the soft, silken fabric. Thick, juicy veins poked out of softer, green skin all up his arms, disappeared into the folds of the robes before seamlessly rolling up his thick neck, a continuous river.

A heavy, reptilian head jutted forward in a little bit of a hunch. The squat, square muzzle was led by a large, wide nostrils that were partially obscured by a pair of large, tusks that jutted out from his lower jaw. A fan of bright, red dorsal fins jutted from the top of his head and formed a sort of scaly mane down his head before disappearing between his shoulders. They reappeared again briefly at the top of his tail, flared out again halfway down the length of the muscular appendage before vanishing again before the tip.

Tyson looked to the Zaurok’s bright, yellow eyes that just stared ahead blankly.

No… not blankly. There was confusion behind those golden orbs.

“What’s on your mind?” he probed.

Torpak took a moment to respond and when he spoke, it was with the heavy, guttural rasp of a man who smoked for the majority of his life but with the tone and inflections of a lost child.

“Is Torpak a bad guy?’

Tyson was stunned by the question and it took him a moment to recover. “Why would you ask that?”

Torpak looked to him, that confusion a little clearer. He pointed at himself with one, scaly finger. “I was told I was a ‘terrorist’. Held in a jail for…” For a second, Torpak looked like he was counting something with his fingers. “… three days. Police kept saying Torpak was evil. Killed people. People been calling me Torpak.” Then he frowned. “So… is Torpak a bad guy?”

Like Bert, Torpak had been ‘birthed’ in an explosion of cum and ecstasy. The Zaurok had no idea who or what he was only that he was suddenly self-aware. No purpose. No identity. Just a name and suddenly being told that he was the culprit behind a terrorist attack. For three days, he had been constantly told that he was responsible for killing people.

And Tyson, the Monster Maker, had been responsible for that outcome.

Tyson immediately felt guilty. “An Orc by the name of Torpak attacked one of Casey Harrow’s dental clinics,” he said carefully. “You used to be made out of the same material as that Torpak.”

“So… I am a bad guy?”

Tyson shook his head. “No. The reason you were released by the SCPD was because Torpak was reincarnated as you. You are an entirely different person. His sins are washed away and you are this new, beautiful creature that is free of his obligations and responsibilities.”

… and common sense and upbringing, Tyson reminded himself. Someone with a modicum of self-preservation would not have just willingly with a detective of the very same police department that likely tried to extract a confession from them to a mansion in a different Plane.

“But why am I built like this…?” Torpak murmured, looking down at his hands. “Why am I so big? Why do my scales itch? Why is…” He gently thumped his tail against the couch. “Why is tail…?”

All good questions. Tyson often wondered why unleashing the Inscriptions reincarnated the Inscribed in the way that they were. Was it because of his interference or something else? While it was clear he had his preferences in men, more and more, he began to wonder if these ‘true reincarnations’ came from something else.

“There is this pseudoscientific theory,” he began. “It’s called ‘intelligent design’. The idea that some technologically and magically superior being designed each of us the way we are. We didn’t simply evolve the way we were but our species as a general were guided across countless generations to become what we are now.” He reached out and placed his hand gently on Torpak’s thigh. “I cannot say whether or not you were designed, Torpak, but there is no denying that you are a magnificent man. Don’t spend so much time trying to figure out why you were built the way you were but start focusing on what you can do with these gifts.”

A gentle squeeze on the Zaurok’s thigh made Torpak glance at him. There was a flicker of bewilderment in the man’s yellow eyes like he was seeing Tyson for the first time.

“So what do you want to do, Torpak?” he asked. “What’s on your mind?”

A little smile tugged at the edges of the Zaurok’s lips and a light blush shone through the soft, brown skin that covered the underside of his jawline. “Give hug? Am cold.”

Strange. Zauroks were warm-blooded and the room was quite comfortable with regulated temperatures. The burly, scaly man should not be cold. Still, Tyson shrugged a little and acquiesced, shuffling closer towards the Zaurok and wrapping his arms around the thicker man’s shoulders, bringing them together in an embrace. Torpak, being the taller of them, rested his head atop Tyson’s and hummed softly in contentment.

… for about three seconds.

Then Torpak shifted, tilted his head to the side, resting his head beside Tyson’s like he was trying to find a way to be comfortable. After another few seconds, Torpak moving his thick, meaty arms up and down Tyson’s back, searching for something. A moment later, he tried to wrap his tail around Tyson but, again, this moment only lasted for a few seconds before the Zaurok was once moving.

“Is something wrong?” Tyson asked, wondering if he would have offered a much better hug as a fiery, four-armed demon.

“Still cold.”

Again, he was puzzled. Torpak’s body heat was quite immense and those big muscles of his offered radiated some heat of their own. So much so that Tyson was starting to grow aroused with this huge bulges rubbing all over his body.

“You’re quire warm to the touch,” he chuckled softly. “I find it funny that you’re still cold.”

Torpak pulled away, ducking his head a little. “Sorry. Don’t know why I’m still cold.”

Reaching out, Tyson place a hand on Torpak’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat pumping through the thick, warm pectoral. As he opened his mouth to speak, however, he felt… something strange. He frowned, ignoring the slight weight of his tusks against the gesture.

“Huh…” he mumbled softly, pulling his hand away from the touch. Torpak shivered. Narrowing his gaze, he glanced off to the right. “Hey Excella.” A chime announced that the in-built Excella acknowledged his request. “What are some common symptoms of low magical reserves?”

Torpak jumped at the sound of the sultry, male, mechanical voice with a distinct British accent speaking though hidden speakers. Of course Devon had configured the mansion’s Excella to be as dapper as possible. The Cheshire had a thing for accents. Tyson had to explain that they were not haunted and what Excella was.

“Common symptoms of low magical reserves according to the General Medical Collective are inability to cast magic, lethargy, lack of concentration, delayed reaction speeds, loss of time, blackouts and a feeling of emptiness.”

Tyson looked back towards Torpak. “I see… Thank you, Excella. Switch to silent mode.”

“Acknowledged.”

He then gently reached towards Torpak’s hand, intertwining his fingers with the big Zaurok’s. “Alright, Torpak. I’m going to try something. Do I have your permission to be your medical practitioner and to proceed with treatment?”

The Zaurok frowned a little. “Yes…?”

Knowing full well that there was no way that the man before him understood the implications of such permission, he quickly explained how, as a Shaper and a medically licensed individual, he needed to get permission from his patients to ‘operate’ on them. It was an ethical standard especially since he was basically requesting Torpak to ‘let him in’ to his body. There was no time to go through the entire history or the medical practice but after a bout ten minutes, Torpak nodded in agreement.

“Yes. You can go.”

Tyson offered a little smile and then allowed himself to slowly liquefy his fingers. It was just a little bit. Enough to allow his cells to wiggle their way through Torpak’s soft skin and connect with his bloodstream. To the naked eye, nothing happened save for their hands holding tightly. Once connected, he gently began pumping a bit of his magical reserves into Torpak.

“Ooooh…” moaned the Zaurok softly, a smile touching his lips. “Warm…”

“Bingo,” sighed softly, retracting his cells from Torpak and immediately severing the connection. Torpak looked disappointed as Tyson released his grip and stood up. “Excella, exit silent mode and order me some magic-restoring drinks.”

“Warning: the consumption of magic-restoring drinks such as C-Zero and Loki have been proved to have little benefit in restoring magical energies. The magical energy infused into the ingredients is ingested and broken down by the stomach and though this provides a higher than average energy-to-mass ratio compared to other food items, it is still not advised to be a substitute for common means to restore magic for each species.”

Tyson smirked as he began to remove his robes, immediately catching Torpak’s attention.

“I am well aware of that, Excella,” he responded. “However, I don’t plan to have it ingested. Just order the damn things, please.”

“Confirmed.”

He caught Torpak tilt his head slightly and he turned towards the Zaurok to explain. “You’re suffering from a depleted magic reserves. The Zaurok species was created in the Deadlands which is a Plane completely devoid of what the rest of the Planes would consider magic. They have their own forms of magic but it is like the antithesis of everything else. They have a form of fire that literally fuels itself on other forms of fire. A fire that sucks out heat, as it were. Zauroks, are no different.”

There was a soft chime a moment later and glowing orb of light sprang up on the bar. The light faded to reveal a small, crystal box filled with cans of a vibrant energy drink. Tyson grabbed the box and brought it back to a very curious Torpak.

“Most species in the Planes are able to replenish their magic reserves through rest and nutrition but Zauroks, like many species born of the Deadlands, must be unable to naturally regenerate those reserves without some sort of outside source. You could say that they are ‘magically cold-blooded’.”

The ritual had not used any magical energies in the traditional sense since the White Orchid’s spells required pure cum as a ‘sacrifice’ to enact the spell. However, now that he thought about it, he sincerely doubted that Torpak or any of the newly made Zauroks had any sort of rest or time to regenerate their magical reserves since being ‘born’. It sickened him that these poor guys likely hadn’t been treated well by the SCPD. Maybe provided them with the bare minimum in terms of foot and nutrition but it would be reasonable to assume that a fully-grown Zaurok would have a decent way of regulating their magical energies. He would bring that up to Knight later.

“Excella,” he commanded. “Get me in contract with Devon.”

“Opening link.”

A moment later, there was a chime and Devon’s cheerful voice erupted from the speakers.

“Tyson, darling. I was wondering where you had gotten to. I could not help but notice as well that we are one Zaurok short. You aren’t doing anything untoward to our guest are you? You do remember what I said.”

Tyson’s fell upon Torpak and nodded grimly. “Yes. And I think this would qualify as a life or death situation.”

Devon’s tone suddenly shifted to a grim, flat tone. “Elaborate.”

“Check the Zauroks. One by one. Ask them how they are feeling. See if they are feeling cold, hungry or generally depleted. Urgently please.”

“A moment, mon ami.” It just took less than twenty seconds before Devon was back to talking to him. “You’re right. All of them are feeling some sort of ‘drained’. What is happening to them?”

“Nothing we can’t fix,” he answered with a nod. “They are Zauroks. You could say they are ‘magically cold blooded’. They cannot generate their own magical energies so they have to rely on it being supplied to them from external sources much like how CMP reptiles need outside sources of heat to keep their bodies running.”

Devon uttered some curse. “And am I willing to wager that those meatheads at the SCPD failed to take that into consideration. Probably threw them in an anti-magic cell for however long they had them in custody.”

“I want to say three days..?” He glanced at Torpak for confirmation and the Zaurok nodded. “Yeah. Three days.”

“Winter Queen’s frozen tits…” Devon let out an exasperated sigh. “Recommendations, doctor?”

“It’s nothing fatal. At least from what I have seen. Their bodies are impressive and no doubt they have large magical reserves with little need to use them. Not that they would really know any way to use them. However, the body naturally consumes magical energies over time and they have gone three days with just basic nutrition so I’m betting that the rate that their bodies consumed magical energy far outstripped what they should have been provided to at least maintain equilibrium.”

Tyson popped open one of the cans with a loud fizz.

“I ordered some magic drinks. Ingestion isn’t exactly the best way to restore magic but I can liquefy myself, filter out the shit they put into this thing…” He held up the can, examining the table of ingredients. With a grunt of disapproval, he said, “… then I can supply the magic directly into Torpak’s system, replenishing him.”

“Alright. You want us to bring the others to you?”

Tyson shook his head as if Devon was in the same room as him. “It’ll be too slow. You could take them to the nearest hospital but I imagine that’d be too difficult for inpatient processing given they don’t exist in any medical system. I was thinking of just using sex.”

Devon let out a bitter laugh. “Congratulations on invalidating my noble speech about consent and preserving these studmuffin’s integrity.”

“You would’ve found a way to fuck them. You know which spell combination to use?”

“Darling, who do you think you’re talking to? I’ll take care of them. Maybe teach little Bert how to perform the spell too. Caio!”

There was a soft, exiting trill as Devon cut the line. Tyson imagined that Devon and the rest of the White Orchid were going to all-too-eagerly bring their Zaurok guests to their own private quarters or maybe some big room to prepare for what was to come next. Soon, the White Orchid mansion would be filled with the moans and cries of pleasure.

Tyson tipped the can towards himself, pouring the clear, violently blue liquid onto his chest. The fluid was cold and fizzled as it cascaded down his chest and into the valley between his pectorals but didn’t get much farther than his top two abdominals as he actively began to absorb the magic into his very cells. The charge of magic through his system was like electricity and he shivered.

“Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his other hand.

Torpak did as he was told and, like before, Tyson liquefied part of himself so that he could start pumping magic straight into the reptilian hunk that was his patient. Torpak shuddered and let out a little sigh in return.

“Feels good.”

Tyson smiled in relief. “I’m glad. Normally, to quickly cure any sort of depleted magic reserves, we’d have to hook you up to either an LERC - a Liquid Energy Restoration Chamber - or jab you with a magical IV and give you a mana-infusion. But that would involve getting you to a hospital, getting in line and working out insurance or whatever else. This is the easiest way to restore your reserves.”

Torpak gave him bright smile. “Thank you. And thank you for explaining.”

Tyson’s heart fluttered a little. After being reminded that he tended to go on long-winded lectures, it was nice to be thanked for that very same trait.

The can in his hand was emptied. Torpak’s body was immense and likely going three days without having his reserves restored after such a sudden transformation likely left him drained. So he reached down and grabbed another can. Realizing that his other hand was currently occupied as a makeshift biological bridge between him and Torpak, Tyson held out the can towards the Zaurok.

“Would you mind opening this?”

Torpak nodded and popped open the can so that Tyson could proceed to pour it upon himself and continue to supply his patient with much-needed energy. All the while, he continued on a lecture how while Zauroks could not generate their own magical energies from sleeping and eating like most other species, their bodies could store more and tended to be more efficient at consuming them. They could go weeks and even months without needing a ‘top up’ as it were. However, since Torpak had been created from an Orc, there was likely a gap between what the old Torpak had in terms of magical energy versus how much this Torpak would need to not feel ‘cold’.

He also wondered aloud if there was any sort of loss of mass or energy in the transformation when he had forcibly triggered the Inscription.

Another can was done and Tyson tossed it aside. He picked up a third and held it up to Torpak.

“How would I do this if you were not here?” asked the Zaurok, awkwardly having to maneuverer his fingers against Tyson’s hand to open the can.

Tyson considered the question and admitted that he did not know. Despite being an expert Shaper and in animacology, he was once again humbled by how little he knew about the biology and customs of all the various species across the Planes. He was mentally kicking himself for being so arrogant and proud to approach his own transformation through a lens of disgust and fear.

This was truly a unique opportunity to learn more about being an Orc.

“Probably a better question for Excella,” he said to Torpak’s question. “Hey Excella, how do Zauroks normally replenish their magical reserves?”

That familiar Excella chime rang through the room. “Zauroks traditionally use an energy draining spell such as Enervating Touch, Leech Beam or Tap Magic to restore their own magical reserves.”

Looking to Torpak, he asked, “I don’t suppose you know those spells, do you?” The red-frilled Zaurok he was partially merged with shook his head. “Yeah, neither do I. Getting their licensing for the use by an unregistered and unknown Zaurok would probably be a no-go. We’ll have to figure out a way to get make sure you restore your magical reserves on your own.”

His mind was puzzling through the possibilities when he became aware that the can was now depleted. Since he was merged with Torpak, he could tell that the poor Zaurok’s magical capacity was still very much depleted. Most creatures would not feel ‘cold’, ‘empty’ or suffer the effects of magical depletion until - as the name stated - their reserves were actually depleted. That meant that the Zauroks under their care were running on fumes and were on the cusp of their bodies literally eating their bodies to keep their magical reserves alive.

“Sorry for being so… difficult,” mumbled Torpak, eyes cast down.

Tyson held out another can to be opened. “It’s honestly no bother. I’m happy to do it.” Torpak opened the can and Tyson poured it onto himself again. “Honestly, I’m just seeing how amazing Zauroks are. Even though there are species out there that either can’t use magic, everyone has some for of magical supply. There are theories out there that suggest that ‘magic’ is the energy of the mind. Our bodies can be measured in physical force and output. Magic is how our minds and consciousness exerts the same. So long as something has some form of free will or intelligence, it can be considered magical.”

He grinned brightly. “It just amazes me how Zauroks, who need to rely on external means to regenerate their energy, have not only survived all this time but thrived across the planes!”

Torpak’s touch suddenly grew a little warmer and he wondered if the Zaurok’s magical energies had been refilled. Strangely, that was not the case. Torpak was just blushing.

“Just wish there was a faster way to do this…” rumbled his scaly friend.

For a second, Tyson mulled that thought over and then gave his patient a smirk. “Well, there is. I can optimize the energy transference in a way that I maximize surface area while not consuming my own to maintain the spell that keeps us linked. But it would mean I would need to be in you.”

Torpak looked up at him, amazed and bearing that same little spark of innocence that Bert has worn not too long ago. “Can we do that?”

Tyson pulled away his hand from Torpak, breaking their connection for a moment while he held the opened can in one hand. “Sure.” He sat back down next to the Zaurok, leaning towards the much bigger man while his free hand gently ran down the thick, chiseled, scaly chest. “Just remember, you did give me permission.”

Torpak didn’t get a chance to protest or ask further questions as Tyson’s hand slipped down that wall of rigid abdominals and probed at the man’s groin. The Shaper’s curiosity was piqued when he felt a soft, scaly slit where a cock should be. It seemed that Zauroks had partially internal genitals. A finger slipped into the warm, wet flap with a squirt of preseminal fluids shooting out of the touch. Torpak tensed, shuddered and then let out a sort rumble of pleasure.

Just a simple wiggle and a second finger pushed into the genital slit and he already started feeling the rising erection from the Zaurok push up against his digits. Torpak instinctively began to strip off his robe, allowing Tyson to fully gaze upon the enormous form of the beast in front of him. A little rush of power and that itch of dominance crept across Tyson’s spine, calling to the primal side of his brain as he watched this huge, reptilian man quake and quiver in front of him, completely at the mercy of his probing.

There was a moment of uncertainty. A second where he wondered if he should give in to his carnal desires or his more intellectual side. Two voices competed for his commitment. One was his stepfather’s, calm, collection, cautioning to remain professional. The other was Bert’s, reminding him to enjoy himself, to remember what it felt like to enjoy sex.

Then other voices joined in.

The rest of the White Orchid.

And they all sides with Bert.

Tyson reached up with his other hand, sliding his fingers over Torpak’s soft, pale chest scales while also feeling the hard muscles beneath. He had to purposefully force himself to admire the perfect shape of the pectorals and the firm striations that appeared whenever Torpak tensed. Truly, this was a glorious specimen of a Zaurok and it made his mouth water thinking about being part of all that.

The lure of those pectorals drew his lips closer to the summit of those scaly, meaty mountains; the nipples. His tusks were the first to feel the touch of those taut muscles causing him to hesitate. Torpak instinctively tensed and that caused the peak of the chest to push directly against Tyson’s lips; that nipple pushing into his lips. Any doubt about the positioning of his lips were instantly dismissed as he suckled on the fleshy nub in an almost instinctive manner built over years of knowing how to pleasure men.

Torpak let out an almost draconic huff, arching his back and thrusting his hips forward. The tip of his pointed cock pushed out of his slit, oozing precum and giving Tyson something to grip onto. The Zaurok shut his eyes tightly as the Monster Maker coaxed inch after inch out of him until his enormous, meaty member was fully erect and drooling clear liquids all over his chest.

Tyson gently pulled his lips away an inch from the erogenous zone in front of him. “Alright. Get ready. We’re about to really get into it.”

Torpak only managed to get one huff out before Tyson stroked the Zaurok’s cock up to the tip… and then pressed a finger right into the hole at the very tip. Torpak’s eyes immediately shot open as he thrust his hips into the air while a half-gasp, half-gag erupted from his lips.

“Ah! Aaaah!” he cried.

Tyson pushed forward, instinctively casting the spell that allowed him to reduce his finger into liquid that seeped right into Torpak’s cock. His gooey form didn’t get more than a few inches down the thick member before it was absorbed into Torpak’s body, connecting him with the Zaurok’s nervous system. The shock of pleasure, the heat of his body and the overwhelming feeling of wanting to push out the invading goo from his cock shot through his whole system.

He fought it off, keeping himself from being overwhelmed and rode the waves of pleasure deeper and deeper into Torpak. Perhaps inspired from his very surroundings, Tyson embraced the sensations while simultaneously enjoying the rush of sensations that seemed so familiar and yet alien at the same time; like a memory that he was just starting to remember.

Torpak’s body convulsed, his cock throbbing and growing bigger and bigger with every inch that Tyson pumped into him. The hungry member surged upwards, eagerly consuming more of his arm. The more it consumed, the more of Torpak’s body Tyson connected with and pumped his own mass into.

The Zaurok’s balls grew bigger, heavier. Widening into the side of small melons that forcibly pushed his legs apart. One of Torpak’s thighs pushed directly against Tyson’s waist which gave the Shaper another avenue for connection. Quads hardened and grew, scales stretching and widening to protect precious veins that pulsed against their mass. At the same time, Tyson’s green mass oozed into the gaps between those very same scales, merging with muscle and bone, spreading the growth further and further.

Torpak’s arms instinctively surged towards his throbbing cock. His right was unobstructed and he stroked his meat at a fanatical pace. His left, however, was the side that Tyson was leaning against. His hand pressed up against Tyson’s waist but instead of meeting the resistance of a heavily muscled Orc, he arms plunged into a frame of thick, sticky, green, goo.

Through confused eyes, Torpak looked to his left, amazed as Tyson’s entire form seemed to turn into a purely green slime that had the texture of a corn starch slurry. He wiggled his fingers within Tyson, admiring the warmth that he felt between his digits. That warmth seeped between his scales, surged into his claws and crawled its way into his very bones. Strength, warmth and power exploded from his arm and was compelled to flex his entire arm. That single gesture caused the muscles to explode, to balloon and seemingly stretch Tyson’s rubbery frame all over his growing limb.

Torpak gawked in awe. Tyson’s head was forced to slide up his arm, seemingly resting on his shoulder as the rest of his body was stretched over the huge, bulging muscles. Bit by bit, the green goo was absorbed into green scales. The heat from Tyson’s body surged through the rest of his body, pumping mass and muscle throughout his entire body.

The Zaurok’s eyes squeezed shut as he was now bucking his hips of his own volition. Each thrust, each stroke and each spurt of increasing thickening precum caused every muscle across his body to tense and metabolize Tyson’s mass which had now merged with his own.

Pectorals grew twice as big and his nipples became permanently erect. Abdominal muscles popped out one by one, forming hills that his precum slipped between never to be seen again. Legs stretched, his heels pressing against the carpeted floor before sliding across it with inch after inch of height being added to his entire mass. Already broad shoulders spread like wings, widening his back more than what should have been possible or even viable against his waist. He seemed quite top-heavy and a little disproportionate.

The reason for that became evident as Tyson’s skull rolled up the boulder-like shoulders and positioned itself right beside Torpak’s head. The Orcish features twisted and a soft growl rose from the Monster Maker’s lips. His lower jaw jutted out further before his nose followed, quickly forming the familiar squarish-muzzle of a Zaurok complete with the prominent lower tusks. Scales from Torpak’s shoulder crawled up Tyson’s neck, covering his features while his hair retreated into his skull with some strands clumping together to form a line of crimson dorsal plates.

Tyson grinned at himself, pleasures with the results before shaking his head just to make sure the last vestiges of his form solidified. He felt every vertebrae from Torpak’s spine pop and grow as it spouted another ‘branch’ up his back. Each inch of growth was greeted with the relieving pop of a back being stretched or a knot being worked out. A mini-orgasm that sent their shared cock spurting with joy. When the last vertebrae connected with the base of his neck, both of them let out a shout of ecstasy.

“Fuck!” panted Torpak.

“Yeah,” Tyson chuckled. “It’s something, right? The moment when our nervous systems connect, that instant when -”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his mini-lecture because Torpak reached up with his right hand, releasing their cock, grabbed the side of Tyson’s muzzle, turned it to face him and forced their muzzles to mesh together in a steamy hot kiss. The sheer, bestial need and desire that he got from Torpak was overwhelming and after a brief moment of introspection, he leaned into it. Tyson twisted his head to the side, opened his muzzle fully and pushed his tongue into Torpak’s. Their tangoing taste buds were dancing to the tune their melodic moans and huffs.

Tyson didn’t even think when the left arm - which he controlled - reached down and stroked their cock ferociously, edging them closer and closer to climax. Torpak kept their muzzles pressed together but he maintained their rising momentum.

There was no analysis. No in-depth, step-by-step process on what needed to be stimulated next to maximize pleasure. No concern for refectory periods, friction burns or even anatomical limitations.

Just bliss.

Tyson inadvertently wished that it would last forever but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he had done this all for the purpose of refueling Torpak’s magical energies. Deep down, Torpak knew this as well. Through some unspoken communication, Torpak released his head and reached down towards their cock, taking hold of the meat and the process of stimulating them.

Tyson broke their kiss long enough to reach down to the fifth can of magic drink. He brought the can up towards his muzzle, held it horizontally and used his two tusks to pierce the side of the can. He drank the carbonated brew directly from the source but instead of allowing it to slide into their stomach, he immediately absorbed it, consciously converting the magical energies straight into energy that Torpak could use.

The lingering emptiness and hung over their shared experience was fading. A distraction that was quickly fading leaving only the unbridled ecstasy of their hot, muscular forms. Tyson likened it to trying to masturbate on an empty stomach. It was possible but every now and then, he would be reminded of his empty stomach and derail his experience.

He finished the can, tossed it aside and then grabbed the sixth and last can. Like the one before, he pierced it with his tusks and guzzled the drink entirely.

“Fuck!” roared Torpak, his strokes getting more and more feverish. “Oh fuck! We’re close! We’re so close!”

The Zaurok turned his head as far as he could, pressing his muzzle against Tyson’s and burying his face into the crook of his neck, shutting his eyes and bracing himself for the avalanche that was sure to come.

Tyson tried to keep focused. He had to so that he could maintain the conversion of magical energies straight into Torpak but even he was finding it incredibly difficult. Every gulp of the drink lifted one more barrier between him and orgasm. Despite knowing this, he knew he shouldn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Another gulp and their body was tensing.

One more and their balls tensed.

And after a last one…

Tyson crushed the can in his clawed hand.

Boom.

Their cock erupted in a joyous eruption of cum. Their back arched, almost seemingly possessed as they could have launched a few feet off the couch were it not for gravity. Torpak roared and were it not for the can in his muzzle, Tyson would have harmonized his own cry with that scream of ecstasy.

The shock of the intense orgasm almost made Tyson forget to trigger the spell of separation. But he had enough control to start it and, thankfully, it was fairly automated.

The intensity only grew as the jets of cum that erupted from Torpak’s cock seemed to redouble its efforts. His balls visibly began to shrink as more and more seed was pumped out of him. The arch of his ejaculate formed a milky white rainbow through the air where it splattered back onto the ground several feet away. Blast after blast of cum caused his cock to spasm, putting the thick meat through an intense workout that it had never experienced before.

As more and more cum was shot out of him, Torpak’s form visibly began to shrink. The engorged muscles that had swollen his body deflated. Angry, pulsing veins faded back beneath his scales. Extra inches that had been added to his cock was shot back out as cum. More importantly, the extra head that sat beside his own bubbled back into his shrinking shoulders where it was converted back into mere mass that was transformed into cum and shot out of his cock.

Though still built like a tank, Torpak was back to his original shape and size. His last jolt of seed sent him collapsed into the couch, exhausted, flushed but with a big grin on his face and with that ‘empty and cold’ feeling gone.

A few feet away, Tyson allowed himself to bask in the warmth of afterglow in his gooey state for a minute or so. Realizing he still had a patient to take care of, he reluctantly began to reconstitute himself. A large, green Orc with fiery red hair emerged from the pile of goo a few minutes later, naked but still well formed.

Tyson examined his large, green hands, turning them over a few times.

“You know…” he mused to himself. “Even if I was stuck as an Orc, I wouldn’t really mind. It’s almost like a rebirth, really. I get to experience everything I did before under a new lens.”

“Oh… oh yeah…” huffed Torpak, clearly exhausted. “You look good with a tail.”

“Tail?” Tyson asked, turning around a little. He looked to Torpak. It was with a pang of disappointment that he had totally forgotten about a Zaurok’s tail. “Right. We didn’t get to really play with your tail while we were merged.”

“You’re right but…” Torpak weakly pointed at Tyson’s waist. “… I was talking about your tail.”

Frowning, Tyson glanced down at his waist and then twisted his his a little to see if he had forgotten to correct something while he was reconstituting himself. To his surprise, he was looking at a perfectly shaped, green, bubble butt… that was interrupted by a long, rope-like tail covered in tawny fur with a fiery red, paintbrush-like tuft at the end.

His tail.

?

Knight woke from his slumber, feeling rested, refreshed and even a little excited. There was a sweet anticipation and electric excitement in the air. A tingling summery taste that was akin to a fizzy orange-flavored drink that only came around whenever he knew he was close to closing a particularly problematic case. After the events of Ash Hills, that flavor in the air had only gotten more and more intense with each passing minute to the point that he could barely eat last night because his palette had been polluted by the tang. He had to consciously shut off some of his taste buds geared towards sweet and sour so he could stomach his dinner.

He yawned, sat up in bed and smacked his lips, trying to get the very persistent taste out of his muzzle. It was an odd trait of his even amongst Elders. One of the reasons why he decided to become a detective for the SCPD. The CMP was arguably one of the most crime-ridden Planes in the cosmos simply because it was such a central hub for all the other Planes. Sanctuary City was ruled by ambition, money and power which left a lot of people with a lot of opportunities to do whatever they want. One could argue that it wasn’t exactly the safest place to raise an Elder child but, at the same time, it was the best place for Salem to grow into his own person.

Rising from his bed, he quickly shook off the sleep from the previous night and went about his morning ritual. A shower, some personal grooming and he began dressing himself. This morning, however, as he pulled up his pants, he became aware of how swollen his fur-covered testicles were. Complete cellular awareness and control would bring that to light. His mind wandered back to the White Orchid’s ritual and how he had suppressed a lot of the effects of the spell without actually finding any sort of release. It wouldn’t surprise him if their magic accelerated semen production.

Instincts compelled him to reabsorb the semen back into his system so its constituent materials could be used for something more productive. However, he decided to hold off for the moment. He was feeling a little ‘macho’ after that pseudo-Delve yesterday. Give the boys in the bullpen a little something to gawk at as he went back to work.

It had been a while since he had actively tried to date or even attract someone on the CMP. He was still puzzled by some of the mating rituals and often contradictory standards.

“How can a woman’s large genitals be a sign of promiscuity and often is undesirable but a man’s large penis would be considered a prize?” he huffed softly to himself.

Still, these were the customs he adopted when he had moved here with his son. Keeping his balls a little more plump than usual, he finished slipping on his pants and left his bedroom. He woke Salem who was already up and dressing himself, ready to greet the day. Knight ruffled his son’s hair and moved to make breakfast.

As usual, he switched on the holovid and absently listened to it as he worked on the meal. His ears perked up as the mention of one Brutus Glover’s immanent arrival at Sanctuary City.

“… signing of the Voluntary Charitable Donation Act in the Democracy of the Dollar, CEO of REPAIR, Brutus Glover, has now set his sights on Sanctuary City.”

He glanced over to the column of light across the living room where an image of the human with prayer beads around his neck waved for cameras and smiled.

“Experts say that getting a country that is so profit-driven as the Democracy to sign the VCDI was the hard part. Now he just needs to expand the reach of the Initiative and there is no better place do to that than one of the most prosperous and, more importantly, centrally connected places on the CMP - Sanctuary City.”

As the news anchor went on about how Sanctuary City’s unique position of being an independent city state and possessing gateways to all the Planes, Knight could not help but let out an audible groan.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” asked Salem, bounding across the room and planting himself on the stool in front of the kitchen counter. Knight placed a bowl of porridge with bits of plump fruit floating on top in front of the blue-furred wolf cub while he set one similar bowl in front of himself.

“Just thinking that I’m going to be pulling a few long shifts soon,” he sighed apologetically to his son.

Salem visibly pouted, sticking out his lower lip and whimpering at him. “Awww… Why?”

“Because a very important man is coming to the city, my little horror.” Knight reached over and gently lifted his son’s chin while pressing his thumb against Salem’s protruding lips. “And don’t pout. You know if you hold that face for too long, it’ll get stuck like that.”

While the statement would have been a chastising white lie for most mortal creatures, for an Elder, it held a kernel of truth. Holding a position, expression or stance too long could accidentally cause them to rewire themselves into that default position. Complete cellular awareness came with very elastic and flexible cells.

Salem withdrew his lips and began eating the meal in front of him. “Why does he have to come here?”

Smiling at his son, Knight marveled at just how much Salem had grown. Though he could be considered barely ten years old on the CMP, he still had decades of experience behind him. Enough experience to understand that anytime a VIP arrived in Sanctuary for whatever reason, Knight and the rest of the reserve division of the SCPD would be called upon to provide an escort. That escort would mean long nights and odd hours.

Resting a paw on Salem’s shoulder, he used a tentacle to point at the holovid. “Well, Mr. Glover over there is trying to make it so that any donations that go to his company, REPAIR, will actually go back to the community.”

Salem tilted his head to the side in a look of canine confusion. “What’s wrong with the community?”

Knight actually had to dig into his knowledge of recent events to remember exactly what the Voluntary Charitable Donation Initiative that Brutus Glover was advertising. “Nothing. But someone has to pay all the people who run our community. Garbage collection. Package delivery. Things like that.”

More confusion crossed Salem’s expression. “Doesn’t the government do that?”

Now he was actually fishing for information and bordering on conspiracy theories. Glover and REPAIR were distant concerns. At least, up until recently. All he recalled from what little coverage he actually paid attention to was some hateful speech on the Infosphere and barely researched claims. All he knew was that a highly conservative president of the Democracy of the Dollar who espoused smaller government loved the idea of the VCDI. Something about people paying REPAIR and REPAIR would pay the critical services that the government would normally look after. This translated to a tax cut to the general population while also allowing the average citizen to claim their REPAIR donations as a charitable donation and therefore get it back as a tax return. The specifics wasn’t clear.

But he couldn’t explain that to a child.

“I think that’s the idea behind Mr. Glover’s plan,” Knight mused. “He wants to give back to the people because he’s a nice man by taking over the things that the government does so that it doesn’t have to.” He shrugged and patting Salem’s shoulder again. “But that’s enough for now. Let’s get going.”

The holovid and the news anchor continued to praise Glover’s work but Knight was barely listening as his mind returned to his upcoming case and arrest. With Pulse’s successful raid on Primal Foundations, the Delvers could comb the information they had stolen for anything incriminating. At the same time, since the site was now considered a crime scene and Knight had been involved, he would not be related to the case. There would be some paperwork, some time and some probing but he now had a two-prong assault against the Green Hand Movement.

For the first time, they were on the offense against GHM.

That sweet and sour tang anticipation tingled the tip of his tongue again.

After seeing Salem off, he continued on his normal routine. He picked up two dozen donuts and coffee, drove to the precinct at the heart of Sanctuary City, parked his car and delivered his pastries to his eagerly waiting colleagues. After some friendly banter with his coworkers, he took a sip from his coffee and sat down at his desk.

He sat at his desk and held out his right paw in front of him. Tendrils of flesh peeled away from his fingers splintering of into hundreds of branches that all waved and wove magic in an intricate pattern that laid out his unique block. Other detectives and officers around him visibly averted their gaze. They all knew that anyone even trying to read his block without at least two decades of being exposed to it or screened through a complex VANII interface would be driven mad at just the attempt. It was how he kept his personal identification safe and one of the few things that he didn’t actively try to restrain in public. Whenever someone asked for his block, he would warn them of its effects.

Being an Elder had its perks. Identity theft was basically impossible.

His desk chimed in recognition and several walls of light appeared in front of him, allowing him to access the precinct’s systems. His shoulder tendrils curved towards the two panels to his left and right, already gliding through multiple emails and scrolling threw news reports as he went to work. At the same time, his eyes were fixed on the two panels in front of him which he used to start typing up a report on his visit to Primal Foundations.

As he predicted, there was already an email telling him that the SCPD’s Reserves would be called upon to provide additional protection to Brutus Glover who would be making a visit in a few weeks. It would not just be for motorcade duty either. It appeared that Glover would be meeting with some key officials in Sanctuary City for his week-long visit. At the end of the week, Glover would be hosting a gala at the Sanctuary City Natural History Museum.

One of Knight’s chitinous eyebrows rose when he read the line where his attendance to the gala would not be as a guard or officer on duty.

It would be as a guest.

“Hey Lywell,” he said, glancing to his right at his desk-neighbor. “Have you seen this Glover gala thing?”

The wereboar glanced up, a caramel donut in one hand and his other tapping away at his semi-transparent keyboard. “Yeah. Apparently that big charity guy had a few invites left so he gave tickets to our captain. Said that it’s as ‘thanks’ for protecting him.” The wereboar let out a bestial snort. “Think he’s just trying to pad out his numbers. Couldn’t get enough local folk to attend so he’s dragging the police in.”

Knight flicked an ear. “I take it you don’t approve of him?”

Odin Lywell waved a hand absently through the air. “Anyone that can con the President of the Democracy into purposefully giving up taxes ain’t trustworthy.”

The Elder wolf snuffled and turned back towards his screen, musing at how Sanctuary City citizens absolutely loved their independence. While not entirely xenophobic, anything or anyone bringing in outside influences were treated with great suspicion. If the idea didn’t come from Sanctuary City itself, few locals would adopt the idea unless it was revolutionary.

That train of thought led him to an interesting conclusion, one he quickly began investigating.

“Casey Harrow started off in California…” he muttered aloud. “His headquarters are in California itself… So how did he establish himself here so quickly…?”

There was a sudden silence that came upon the bullpen. The usual clacking of keys, chatter over cases and buzz of magic suddenly went still. That usually only happened when a high-ranking officer of the SCPD had arrived or someone from the media.

As it turned out, it was the latter.

Knight looked up from his screens and noticed the District Attorney, a dour looking Dark Elf by the name of Virileth Underwood, stalked through the bullpen. Her gray ashen skin was perfect and unblemished that served to contrast against her crimson eyes. Silvery hair was tied back in a tight bun and she stalked among the desks and clutter in a sharp, white suit, her heels clicking and clacking with every step. A svelte figure amongst the burly and broader figures of the officers and detectives. She was a scalpel amongst cleavers and butcher’s knives even amongst the female officers.

Those crimson eyes fell upon Knight and she made a beeline for him. His throat immediately got caught in his throat. Lywell whispered something about him being in trouble and went back to looking busy even though he had a half-finished donut in his snout. There was no point pretending that they hadn’t locked gazes so Knight stood up and braced himself.

“DA Underwood,” he greeted with a nod. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Virileth didn’t bother to apply lipstick so her plump lips were just a slightly darker shade of gray. Those very same lips offered a brief, thin smile before falling back into her persistent, half-scowl.

“Detective Keening,” she said curtly, her voice silky but holding a severe power behind them; a dagger in the darkness held by a skilled assassin. “We have a problem.”

Holding up a paw, Knight quickly said, “I assure you, that my investigation at Primal Foundations was on the up-and-up. I have all the paperwork from the Ash Hills PD to -”

She cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. One strand of silvery hair fell out of place and she quickly tucked it behind her ear with her other hand. “Not that. It concerns one Doctor Tyson Prowler.”

Alarm bells immediately began ringing in Tyson’s mind. “What about Doctor Prowler?”

The District Attorney grimaced, clearly showing her annoyance. “We finally received some form of communication from the Green Hand Movement.”

Knight’s hackles rose and he fought hard not to let his lips peel back to reveal his fangs as he scowled. “Really? What do they want?”

Looking directly into his eyes, the Dark Elf said, “They are claiming that Doctor Prowler performed illegal soul manipulation on their members. Without consent and in full view of witnesses, including yourself, Casey Harrow and with security footage as evidence.”

“But it was in self-defense! GHM’s goons came in and killed multiple people! They outwardly threatened us!” Knight slammed his paws on his desk. “He was defending us!”

Virileth held up her hand and waved him down. “I know. I know.”

Unlike other attorneys, Virileth Underwood actually started off as an officer of the law. While working the streets, she also studied for her law degree and eventually passed the necessary exams. Eventually, she became one of the top prosecutors in Sanctuary City so she knew full well the frustration that Knight felt.

“But we need to look at it from the eyes of the very blind law,” she continued. “We are unable to prosecute Torpak and his gang because, in the eyes of the law, they are entirely different people from those that attacked Harrow’s clinic. However, that does not mean that there wasn’t a Torpak who was aligned with the GHM at the time of the attack and that while they committed an act of terrorism, Doctor Prowler’s actions effectively eliminated them.”

Knight’s heart sunk to his stomach, his eyes wide in terror. “But that just means that GHM has claimed responsibility for the attack.”

Underwood shook her head. “Not the way they are phrasing it.” She lowered her gaze in clear exasperation. “They are claiming that those Orcs attacked Casey Harrows of their own volition. While they were allied with the Green Hand Movement and made claims to that fact, GHM’s leader, Uraprik, is saying that he did not give any orders for the assault.”

There came the ingenuity of this tactic. With the current Torpak legally considered a different person from the Torpak that attacked Harrows, there were no witnesses to claim or even link them to GHM. That enabled GHM to craft the narrative however they wanted. By claiming that Torpak’s group were renegades and acted on their own, Uraprik could deny all responsibility for the attack while simultaneously claiming outrage over their eventual fate.

“That’s bullshit!”

The DA shrugged. “But we currently have no evidence to prove otherwise unless your investigation at Primal Foundations revealed something…?” She almost sounded hopeful but just looking at his fallen features was all the answer she needed. “Didn’t think so.”

She tilted her head sadly. “Good news, you are not being accused of any misconduct. In fact, GHM is asking for our assistance to arrest Doctor Prowler.”

“Why are they going after him in the first place?” Knight demanded.

“That is something for you to find out.” Virileth glanced towards the captain’s office. “This is fresh off the press and the judge is still considering the arrest warrant but I am here to warn you that, in all likelihood, Tyson Prowler will be put under arrest.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “If you have any miracles or evidence that could potentially prove that GHM’s actions were malicious and Prowler’s actions were purely out of self-defense, I would gather it all and get ready to present it using your best defense lawyer.”

She lifted a finger. “And remember, the basis of their case is that Doctor Prowler manipulated their souls and transformed them against their will. You either need to introduce doubt into that argument or prove that Doctor Prowler’s actions were warranted given the situation, a reasonable response to an equivalent or greater threat.”

Knight opened his muzzle to speak but her sharp look gave him pause.

“That will be a hard thing to prove,” she warned. “Nothing is more sacred in this world than the soul and with the story that Uraprik is spinning, he is making it sound like Doctor Prowler committed the greatest of sins. Keep that in mind.”

Then she turned towards Captain Ioel’s office and began striding away, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

“I would think that the warrant would be signed within the day,” she said. “Initial hearing would be in a few days. Good luck.”

As she headed away, Knight felt a sudden heavy weight fall upon his shoulders, forcing him to collapse into his seat. That citrus-sweet taste in the air had turned bitter and acrid, like he had inhaled a lot of smoke all at once. So close to concluding this case only for victory to be snatched away.

He was winded, shaken and fearful. It was not unreasonable to theorize that their attack on Primal Foundations had been the catalyst for Uraprik’s sudden action. It could also be a coincidence but in all his years of life, he had learned that coincidences were extremely rare.

The blue-furred, Elder wolf straightened and regarded his screens fiercely. There was no time to wallow at this sudden twist of fortune. They had gone on the offensive and now they had to play defensively.

Questions flew around his mind as he applied the standard police tactics to profiling his suspect. What was the motivation behind this sudden action by Uraprik and GHM?

Retaliation for the attack on Primal Foundations?

An attempt to silence the only person that could possibly gain any insight at Torpak’s soul and thus link the former-Orc to GHM?

… or was it something else…?

Knight’s eyes narrowed.

“Tyson is the only one capable of undoing the Inscriptions so far… Could that be it…?”

Another angle to pursue but something he doubted he could bring up in court. So far, there was no evidence of Inscriptions even existing especially since all their witnesses bore no scars or memory form it.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone and quickly dialed Tyson’s number.

“Hello, Doctor Prowler,” he said, assuming his most professional tone. “It’s me, Detective Knight Keening. We need to talk.”

Illegal Soul Manipulation

Good morning, class.

Today, we will be talking about one of the most universally accepted laws across the Planes; the law of illegal soul manipulation.

In a world where we have individuals who can consciously control every cell in their body, magical techniques that can reshape our bodies at a cost and even Undead who can easily and willingly swap out their body parts at will, we are are at an age where almost every part of our bodies can be changed. Naturally, all of these procedures, spells and abilities come with an underlying requirement: consent. Forcibly changing someone’s body is frowned upon and even outright illegal in some nations. However, there are spells and weaponry out there that can be used in the case of self defense and a way of non-lethally subduing an individual.

We don’t need to look much father than the Gorgon-class weapons. These weapons transform an individual into stone, petrifying them to prevent escape. The effects of the Gorgon weapons can be undone in a multitude of ways but this easily falls into the many use cases of non-consenting body manipulation but could arguably be used as a means of self-defense. In court, these would be argued back and forth on whether the use of such a weapon is considered extraneous or appropriate force especially if deployed by military, security or police forces.

However, while such technique fall into a gray area that can be debated in the court of law, illegally manipulating someone’s soul is almost always a guaranteed guilty verdict. Naturally, most countries have differing definitions of what is considered illegal soul manipulation and varying degrees of their interpretation of due process but if a defendant is found guilty of such an accusation, they are punished to the full extent of the law.

Such accusations, naturally, are not treated lightly. In the past, even if exonerated, the mere accusation of such an act hang heavy over individuals. Uniquely, due to the gravity of such an case, if the accused is found to not be guilty of such a heinous act, the accuser is treated equally as harshly to avoid abuse of the law.

Let us pivot and talk about what is defined as ‘illegal soul manipulation’. If you were to look it up in your text books or even a quick search on the Infosphere, it will be defined as the ‘direct malicious non-consenting alteration of an individual’s soul with the intent to cause harm to the individual’s mind or body both physical and metaphysical’. Make no mistake, damage to one’s soul is often difficult to define and identify but the key here is ‘direct malicious non-consenting’.

It can be argued that if an individual accidentally damaged another person’s soul through, say, a traumatic incident that caused them to develop a soul-borne disease, that would not fall under illegal soul manipulation. Similarly, if a Shaper or animacologist was performing soul surgery and cause damage to the patient’s soul, that would fall under the field of medical malpractice. However, if someone were to purposefully alter someone’s soul with every intention to damage them in some way, then and only then does it fall under the field of illegal soul manipulation.

And that is what it ultimately comes down to in the court of law.

Intent.