FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It's another beautiful evening in Lakehearth. The wind is still and spring is fast approaching, coming to revive the earth with its warming light. It's a small town, with only one merchant and one temple, and some hundred-odd inhabitants, most of them feline, yourself included. With a long day of work behind you, you've been reading an odd journal you found only a few kilometers away. Your private quarters in the temple make for a perfect reading environment, and it's not a particularly long journal - makes sense, considering that paper is relatively rare - and so you're done with it before too long.

It's not pleasant reading. Or perhaps it is, but not in the way you'd hope for. You set aside the journal. It's obvious enough that the demon who wrote it - Calion - seeks to corrupt you somehow, despite his insistence otherwise. Still, you can't deny that it has you hard as rock, in particular the image of yourself as that wolf in the prison, completely enthralled by the fox's infernal charms, now full of his tainted seed and well on the way to corruption. You give your crotch a squeeze, letting out a soft whine of pleasure as your member responds to the stimulus with a surge of pleasure. It feels like just after waking up, that desperate hardness. Your mind feels like you've just woken up too, hazy and slow.

Still, you don't want to give in. It's a little too easy to just masturbate to the thought right now, not that it'd corrupt you or anything, but surely breaking the taboo of masturbation would somehow infuse the demon with power. Though there's no trace of fel on the leather-bound journal, you have no doubt that it's magical in some way. Or maybe it isn't. You don't even know how much of it is true. It's unlikely that one demon - maybe two, if Lethe joined him again - and two newly corrupted slaves would be able to take over the entire Order stronghold. It's hard to make any sense of the thoughts and plans of demons.

You consider the facts.

One: If the entire stronghold has fallen, and you're the only person who knows about it, surely it falls on you to report it to the king and the army so that it can be retaken. On the other hand, if you get the army marching and the stronghold is uncompromised, you're certain to face tarring and feathering, or worse, for wasting supplies and time.

Two: Since you are presumably the only person who knows of these events, you certainly have the responsibility of ascertaining whether or not they are true or not, but this means making the painfully long trek to the Order fortress, which is more than two mountain ranges away.

Three: Given that you are a priest of the Warming Light, it's also possible that this is a trap and that you'll be abducted along the way, only to be forced into fel corruption by Calion and his kin. Such a move would be beneficial for them, as then you could easily corrupt the entirety of your village of Lakehearth by leveraging your former position. Should this be the case, you should certainly _not_respond to the journal.

You sigh. It's only reasonable that you're the one who happened to find the journal. You're at least somewhat equipped to deal with it, being the Light's Chosen of this little hamlet. Your congregation and others like it are the only other organization specifically opposing the demonic infiltration of the known kingdoms, after all. But that only makes it more suspicious; how exactly would the journal have found its way to you, this far away from the place it describes? It's almost certainly a trap. Still, as you see it, you have only one realistic option; go. If the Order has fallen, it's up to you to take up their mantle.

I'm getting entirely too old for this kind of adventures, you think, looking at your reflection in the washbasin of the temple. You're pretty sure that your whiskers and even the short fur covering your feline muzzle have gone grey. Despite the illustrious ceremonial robe, you look haggard, ears drooping and your eyes having the gaze of someone who's seen entirely too much. At least there's one benefit to all of that. You're old enough that you have far more control over your base instincts, and thus resisting fel influences is easier.

You're not defenseless either. Yes, age might slowly be eating away at your reflexes, but as you lift the silver mace from its rack in your private room, you discover it to be as light as a feather, the Warming Light coursing through it and into your body in perfect symbiosis. The mace is even older than you are, but untarnished and looking every bit as lustrous as it did when new. It's been in this village for at least three generations that you know of, handed down by the priests to their successors. It hasn't seen much use, but being highly enchanted, you know it'll still be able to hold the forces of darkness at bay.

You set the mace back into its stand, and part the curtains to look outside. The evening sun has almost entirely set, giving way to the darkness of night. It looks a little chilly still, but at least the weather seems good for traveling. Well, during the day it does; you're far too old for wild nocturnal excursions. More or less. You feel too old, at any rate. But in the morning, you'd get some supplies and set off, probably on foot. Take the merchant's caravan to the other city, then walk the rest of the way, you plan.

You lie down in your bed naked, your cock tenting the sheets in a most obnoxious way. Some days you wish you'd never joined the temple, so you could still masturbate. Being pent up is terrible for confronting lust demons in particular - makes it that much easier for them to snare and seduce you - but you don't have a lot of choice in the matter, not having a partner to spill your seed into. Oh well, you'll simply have to deal with situations as they arise.

---

The stronghold wasn't quite ours yet. I only had Silvermane and the nameless wolf on my side. The corruption's speed was not only determined by exposure, but also personal strength and "purity", and it was fairly obvious when contrasting my two subjects, although not in the way I'd expected. Silvermane was already growing horns, with both of the bony growths slowly protruding from his head. He was, effectively, already a demon, though it'd take a while before the changes finished. The wolf, on the other hand, while he'd been fucked just as thoroughly, I hadn't coaxed him into mounting me, which meant there was more resistance left in him.

It was easy enough to simply get fucked; there wasn't much you could do to resist, especially with the fel influencing you. Actively penetrating a demon, though, that wasn't nearly as easy to rationalize. I suppose that was the crux of it, although Lethe hadn't told me the details, I had done the deed with him, which presumably hastened my own corruption. It was similar enough with Silvermane; a bit of felfire had been enough to make him submit to his dominant instincts - perhaps paradoxically so - and willingly give himself to me. I was discovering more and more of these details about being a demon that I'd have benefitted from knowing earlier, had Lethe deigned to tell me.

A tangent, yes, but what it meant in practice was that I only had _one_minion that I could fully rely on. The wolf could likely still be purified by the Order's rituals, being far closer to mortal than demon, and with only the two of us I didn't dare mount any sort of offensive. I gave the wolf a kiss on his forehead and told him to play innocent, to come find us further away from the stronghold once they let him go. Yes, they would indeed let him go; he was only guilty of the sin of homosexuality to begin with, his stay here was disciplinary rather than one of storage or execution, something he was all too eager to tell me with my warm, thick seed still oozing down his leg. I didn't truly know if I'd ever see him again, but I wanted him to have a chance. He might tell them so as to be cleansed, or he might choose us. Regardless, I wouldn't see him for a long while.

So Silvermane and I left the prison on our own. The sun's glow was already visible on the horizon as we exited, and it seemed that the guards we had dispatched were the only ones aware of our escape, leaving our egress almost unhindered. There was one obvious problem, of course; the warding. I knew that it encircled the fortress, and that passing it would be difficult and agonizing at best. In retrospect, bringing the wolf would've been a considerably better idea, to have him disable the wards for us, but I didn't think about that before I had leapt down from the fortress wall with Silvermane in tow. By that time, it was entirely too risky to go back, but I did consider it.

At first, I thought that none had seen or heard us, but then the bells rang. Once, and then again, three more times, alerting everyone to some sort of danger. I knew what the signals were from my time here. One ring meant the changing of the guard. Two rings meant an execution that all members were to witness. Three rings meant danger, but of a lesser degree, such as a member going berserk during sparring. Four times, as it rang now, the fateful clanging sound echoing through the mountain passages, meant high alert: demons. Given that the warding was likely intact, it had to refer to us.

And so we ran, trying to keep out of sight. The snow up here was almost ice, having melted and re-frozen several times as spring approached on winged feet. A mixed blessing, to be sure. I had claws on my paws that dug into it well for traction. Enough so to run, while my pads left little in the way of pawprints. Silvermane wasn't so lucky, having hooves, which led to him repeatedly slipping and slowing us down. It was a comical sight, and I would've laughed if this wasn't one of the worst situations since... yesterday.

Just as we disappeared into the closest mountain pass, I heard the creaking sound of the Order stronghold's gate being raised. The hunt was on. Strangely, I felt excited. Almost aroused. My encounter with the rage demon seemed to have inoculated me against lesser forms of fear. The Order were merely misguided mortals, not howling annihilation. What terror could they hope to inspire?

Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel an inkling of worry. Even though the air was still, it felt as if I was running against a rising storm, a force of sorts seemingly seeking to repel me. The strangest thing was that Silvermane caught up to me, despite his stiff way of running and constant sliding on the icy ground, clearly less affected than I was. He wasn't even panting, but then again, I couldn't tell you if horses ever pant. Strong in body, weak in mind, at least this one. Still, it was something I could use to my advantage. His particular corruption, as I previously told you, appeared to have turned him into a being without agency, a raw physical force that responded to my commands without question, at least for the time being. A force that I could put to work against the holy one that was slowing me down.

"Silvermane! Run ahead and disrupt the wards. Defile the runes!" I called out, while struggling against an increasingly forceful tide. Far behind us I could hear several men shouting. Time was short. I had to hope that my servant wasn't registering as enough of a demon to be repelled yet. He grunted something in response and kept running, almost entirely unhindered, but I didn't know what'd happen when he got closer to the wards.

As for me, at this point advancing was more like trying to resist a tidal wave. I had to claw my way forward on all fours, using my wings to push myself, and it felt like my skull was going to implode under the magical pressure. I realized I'd probably reached as far as I could go, at least currently lacking the strength to push further. I wondered how the rage demon I'd encountered would fare. No doubt it was much stronger than myself, but it was also considerably more demonic, a creature of almost pure fel. Would it be even more strongly affected than I was, or did the wards only have so much power? Surely the stronghold would've fallen if pushing past the wards was possible; I was certain that the raging ones in particular had tried to penetrate its defenses before.

Before I could think much further, the pressure suddenly vanished, and after falling forward on the ice, I had soon resumed my sprint. I didn't dare look back, but I imagined that the Order was right behind me. Looking at what was chasing you never did anyone any good; I was going as fast as I could, and if they caught me, knowing how close they were wouldn't help.

"Run, Silvermane! Away from the mountain!" I called out, my breath tasting coppery like blood. I hoped he heard me, but I couldn't be sure. Soon enough I reached the wards - simply runed metal rods stuck in the ground - and while I couldn't see anything wrong, I could smell equine arousal in the air. Only suitable, but I did wonder if he'd penetrated himself with one of them or simply masturbated, disrupting them with tainted seed. It didn't much matter. Instead of running down the hill, I ran for where I knew the closest sheer drop would be, praying to powers unknown that my wings would support that kind of descent.

An arrow pierced the air, missing my neck by a hair's width, landing in the snow with a thwip. I was only seconds away from the ledge. Another arrow struck my ear, no doubt shredding it, but I didn't feel any pain with this much adrenaline and felfire pumping through my veins. And then, I jumped.

For a split second, I let myself fall so that I'd be out of their line of sight, and then I unfolded my wings. That hurt, as the leathery limbs caught the wind and I had to use all my strength to keep them horizontal. I didn't as much fly as I glided downwards, rapidly picking up speed. I had no idea where I was going, but from this high up I could go almost anywhere. The village obviously wasn't safe, so I aimed for the furthest away thing I could see; a mountain range almost blending into the horizon. From what I remembered, there was some kind of settlement far in that direction. The order's shouts quickly faded into the distance, with the wind picking up and carrying me towards my destination.

---

You stir awake, feeling a thousand years old. Mornings were never your strong suit. Your body aches from the stiff bed, but it's a necessary evil; too much physical indulgence leads to corruption, so beds are best kept uncomfortable. Alas. Time waits for no man, you think. Scarfing down a few slices of the dry bread supplied to the clergy, topped with fine cheese that the local farmers donate, you get ready to leave. It's going to be a long journey, but it seems warm outside, so at least your bones won't ache.

Rather than your usual robe, you pick the travel gear. It feels odd to wear if after so many years, but it still fits you like a glove. Thick fabric pants and shirt, leather belt and overshirt. It's a sturdy thing of boiled leather, which should at least stop a demon's claws, but with the kind you're facing, claws are the least of your worries. Still, it can't hurt. Finally, you lift the mace from its stand and strap it to your waist. That will be your primary defense against the darkness. It's hardly some legendary weapon like those of the Order, but it's every bit as powerful, its very presence causing the fel to fizzle out into nothingness. It also has a revitalizing effect, bringing color back to your greyed muzzle and strengthening your body. Of course, the Warming Light strictly forbids the usage of such artifacts to unnaturally prolong life, but in situations like these - serious emergencies - it is permitted. It won't make the years go away, but it will, especially when in close proximity like this for the days that the journey will take, probably heal a fair bit of the damage.

Sometimes, you wonder if the Light doesn't want to be used like this. Its presence is almost palpable, which strengthens your determination and fortifies your will. Perhaps the clergy is wrong on the details, but they're still the best option. The only other ones are the abominations of the infernal realms, or the totalitarian leadership of the Order. As you step outside, you almost feel joy that you have an excuse to transgress, for once in your life, with the Light's permission. A dangerous thing to find joy in, but such things come with being a cat.

Lakehearth looks as beautiful as ever. The rustic wooden houses, plenty of trees that are just starting to grow leaves, a refreshing hint of green to send you on your way. You walk up to the merchants preparing to depart, just in time. Their leader, a dog even older than you, bows deeply as you approach.

"What may we assist you with, Light's Chosen?" he asks without a hint of sarcasm, a look of veneration on his friendly face.

"You're going towards the capital, yes? I'll need to accompany you, as close to the Order's stronghold as you will go," you reply. "You may call me Tal. No need for the formalities if we are to travel together."

"Oh yes, we'll be buying more food, meat in particular. It's in short supply here. Of course you're welcome to travel with us, but may I ask what brings about such an honor?" he enquires. You notice him eyeing the mace.

"It's better you don't know, not yet," you reply, shortly. "It's a precaution," you continue, gesturing towards the mace.

"Fair's fair, Light's- Tal. Come on then. You can sit in the back with the others, there's plenty of room," he says, pointing at one of the horse-drawn carriages.

"You don't require payment? You don't have to-" you start, but he cuts you off.

"Not a chance, Tal. You'll not be paying us. Not because you're the Light's Chosen, but because you're our friend," he replies. You can't argue, so you accept, setting your purse aside. Just as well, really, although you do feel a small measure of guilt. At least you'll have more money for food, should it be required.

And soon enough you set off, towards danger and adventure. It feels amazing, despite the unpleasant circumstances that led up to it.

---

Towards the end of my long flight, my wing muscles were positively burning. I had to hold onto them with my arms best I could just to avoid falling what felt like a kilometer when I couldn't hold them in position any longer. I made it about halfway up the second mountain range, and then fell, hard, into the rocks below. Earth welcomed me back into the fold with a suffocating thud to my front and jagged rocks to almost every limb. As if it was punishing me for breaking its laws.

Luckily, I didn't break anything, but gravity's clobbering left every single part of my body aching. I couldn't stop, though. I knew that the Order had seen me, likely nearly all the way to where I landed, with their spyglasses. I might've been out of sight now, simply too far away to make out with the mountain fogs, but they'd be marching this way. Or maybe they wouldn't. I was only one demon, and they had Silvermane and the wolf to worry about.

But it wasn't a risk I was willing to take. Instead, I forced myself back up on my feet and kept climbing upwards. It reminded me of that first fateful climb to the Order's fortress. I knew the memories should've triggered some sort of emotions in me, but instead they were like faded curiosities, an ancient book in a language I understood but no longer spoke. Instead, I wondered if Silvermane had gotten away, and my thoughts wandered to fantasies of forcing him to eat his own cum from my ass after filling me- oh gods, this wasn't the right moment for that in the slightest.

Despite the aches and pains I managed to make it to the top. I'd say the view was worth it. For a human it would've been, but as I've mentioned I'd lost the ability to see more than theoretical beauty in other than living things. Still, it was a good view of the other side, with the village of Lakehearth (I believe) visible in the distance. Squinting, I realized that I could make out a temple. Digging into my memories, I seemed to recall the temples being some sort of sister organization to the Order, or along those lines. The Shining Light or such, similarly standing guard against my kind, although in a more religious way, trying to keep the people from sin and other such corruptions.

That did give me an idea. If I could make it all the way there, I could probably seduce and convert at least part of the priesthood, however many there were, and then they'd likely help me corrupt the entirety of the village. I groped my swelling sheath roughly. The idea was delicious. I'd just have to work out a plan. As I walked, I continued writing my journal. All of it was true, but I realized that if I added something that'd catch the attention of the clergy, or at least the villagers, I could likely lure one or more of them into a trap. So, rather than writing what actually happened - this journal's contents - I added a note about having taken over the stronghold.

All I'd need to do was to drop the journal where someone was certain to find it, clergy or villagers. If the latter found it they'd almost certainly give it to the former when they discovered the horribly sinful acts described within. Then, I'd wait. Though waiting for a long time might be a problem; I could feel my heavy balls aching due to a lack of recent release. I couldn't see anything living nearby, which was a problem. While I was more or less permanently aroused, right now it was overwhelming. How long had it even been since I mounted the wolf? Not more than a few hours, I thought. The chilly mountain air wasn't doing much to cool me down, and I could see, feel, and smell a wet patch starting to form where the tip of my vulpine cock pressed into my pants.

Yeah, I'd have to do something about that. The wind had died down again, so I simply sat down on the closest rock and undid my pants, letting my engorged cock spring free. I didn't have any reservations about doing this in plain sight of whoever wanted to watch; if anyone did have something to say, they were welcome to take care of my arousal themselves. In fact, that's what I was wishing for, but I suppose there wouldn't be travelers going between the towns that often. After all, things far worse than myself lurked in the wilderness. Still, it goes to show that being ashamed of one's sexuality is another one of those mortal hangups, one I'd gladly help them get over. What was more beautiful than a public display of pure carnal lust? I couldn't think of anything. I suppose a display with two or more participants would've been sexier than just myself alone, but beggars can't be choosers.

It was a great time to just admire my own manhood, in all its canine glory. The sunlight reflected off the slick red surface and I throbbed visibly. My knot was already fully swollen, apparently having realized that it wasn't going to get tied to anything right now anyway. I bent forward, lowering my head until I could engulf the tip in my mouth. It didn't feel as good as sucking someone else's cock or having someone suck yours, but nontheless my hips flexed, almost making me fall off my rock. I grabbed the base of my length and rubbed the leaking tip over my lips, shivering with pleasure. The taste was wonderful, too, the slight salty tang of precum combined with the palpable infernal musk. Hard to describe in words, but it was like an aphrodisiac, a smokey and intensely erotic melange of flavors.

I placed my hands under my thighs and got to work, both thrusting into my muzzle and bobbing my head up and down, desperate to spill my seed before my balls exploded, and equally thirsty for my slimy demonic load. It felt like I was dying of thirst, the squirts of precum doing little to alleviate it. No, I needed to feel that stringy cream sliding down my throat, covering my tastebuds, gulped down in heady mouthfuls. And then I needed more.

It's a shame nobody else was around to see it. I must've been quite the sight, a lithe demonic fox almost curling up into a ball, frantically thrusting into his own muzzle with animalistic fervor, heavy testicles slowly rising up, tightening, preparing to spurt out yet another tainted load. I wanted to do so much more, to have someone else knotting and inseminating my ass while I sucked myself, or better yet, nursing on someone else's beautiful knotty cock, while someone else mated me like a bitch in heat, while another mortal yet rode my own breeding rod, eagerly corrupting themselves, and then several more males pawing off on me. Just the idea of getting myself all messy with cum almost made me come right there and then, and I let out a muffled moan around my overly sensitive thickness, even the vibrations of my voice feeling wonderful.

And then it hit me. The floodgates burst open, a sticky rope of cum spurting from my already leaking cock, to immediately be swallowed down, and then another, and another. Those pleasurable contractions in my taint, my cock radiating out that ecstatic feeling of release, my whole world reduced to nothing but my twitching maleness.

But somehow, it just wasn't satisfying. It was good, yes, and helped me clear my mind somewhat, but I didn't even go soft. Despite the intense pleasure, there was no afterglow. I needed someone, even some_thing_ else to mount and breed.

Sometimes I wonder just how sustainable being a demon is. One day we'd only have each other to fuck, for eternity, if things went our way. Maybe we'd keep a harem of mortals for each of us, a village to produce more willing slaves for us. Maybe there were other worlds.

Or maybe, if I didn't stop wasting my time on feverish masturbation, we'd be defeated. Oh, what unspeakable terror! I forced myself to stop sucking even though I had more cum to drink. The last shot hit my face, and I happily licked up what I could, smearing the rest over the bridge of my muzzle and, of course, my nose. The ejaculation slowed to a drool and I pulled my pants back up. If they got wet and filthy with my juices, all the better.

I dropped the journal - after tearing out the leftover pages to continue making notes for my own benefit - far enough away that I don't think anyone saw me do it, but on one of the more trafficked paths, so I was sure someone would pick it up. While at it, everyone too busy working to notice me, I also took the opportunity to steal some clothes; a shirt, which I'd been without for a while, a cape to cover my wings with, and a piece of cloth to drape over my head so my horns wouldn't be immediately noticeable. Of course, they still bulged rather obviously against the cloth, so I'd hardly pass any close examinations.

I did see a few of the villagers and had to spend every last once of willpower not to pounce them right then and there. While mating with someone in the middle of a town was undoubtedly a rather erotic thought, it'd probably be the last thing I did. It had to wait. Instead, I retreated back towards the mountains. Somewhere around those parts, or maybe just after them, I'd lay my trap.

Well, my trap of really just me. I had to hope they didn't send the whole clergy or it'll all be wasted effort. I could deal with one, maybe two, but absolutely no more than that. While they were only mortals, they were zealous and some of them had a very real connection to the light.

My legs weren't only aching, they were sore, too, and it'd be quite a few hours back to where I started from. Oh, the things I do just to give everyone some pleasure. It wasn't fair, really. I'm sure if you're somehow reading this, you'd willingly submit, and yet, here I am having to plan and scheme just to corrupt others.

---

It's a bumpy ride on the carriage. Lakeheart's paths are mostly gravel, leftovers from the nearest quarry, but immediately outside, it's mostly all dirt. Beaten, dry dirt, the grass and mud worn off by the trading caravans, which meant a lot of potholes. Still, the merchants were used to it, and reinforced their wheels accordingly, and so even though the ride is unpleasant, you've at least not suffered any breakdowns yet.

"You sure you don't want to tell us what brings you out here?" the old dog asks, yelling rather loudly to overpower the constant rattling of the wagon and its load.

"It's really bett-" you start. "I can't hear you, you'll have to speak louder!" he shouts back.

"It's probably better if you don't know," you yell back. "It's nothing good!"

"Oh, we've seen a lot. Once, our caravan got attacked by one of those really angry demons. We had to leave the wagons behind and ride like the wind, only got away because it was too busy smashing everything we had," he replies.

"Don't forget about the pride one," one of the guys at the back - a weasel, or maybe an otter -comments with a smirk on his broad muzzle.

"Oh, don't remind me," the dog shouts back. "That fucker just looked at me weird and suddenly I felt like, 'you know what, I'm way too good for this, I'm going to go assassinate the king and take his place', absolute insanity."

"Well, how'd you get away from him?" you ask.

"As it turns out I have enough to be proud of already, so I snapped out of it quickly. That, and all of the guys back there with you, Chosen, had to hold me down while I was shouting about their obvious cowardice and shameful behaviour," he laughs.

"And the demon?"

"Well, the proud ones aren't all that strong, as it turns out. There's five of us and only one of him, and after the guys saw what happened to me they didn't look at him, just flailed around wildly with their swords. I guess he was too proud to fight a bunch of peasants, hah!"

You're not quite sure what to make of that tale. In your experience, pride demons are among the strongest ones, though then again, it could've been someone newly corrupted, maybe one of the lower royals from the capital. It's an amusing anecdote, nontheless.

"How about you, Chosen? Have you met any demons?" the badger in the back asks.

"More than I'd like to, yes," you reply. "There's all kinds of them. Not only the primary emotions, but a lot of lesser hybrids too..." you start. At first, you think about telling them all the details, but this is hardly the place to teach villagers how to fight demons, and so you settle for one of the more amusing encounters.

You regale them with one of those stories. "I met one that was, well, the yearning for things you dream of but can never achieve. He yearned for corrupting a priest. He made me yearn for defeating him. It turned out only one of those things was unachievable, and I'm still here."

The guys all burst into laughter. "And here we are, running from huge angry beasts, while you professionals meet all the easy ones," one of them comments.

The journey makes you feel like you're reliving those long past days of adventure and excitement. Almost enough so to make you want to take up that life again, though undoubtedly part of that's thanks to the mace and its energy dispelling the ravages of age for the time being.

Mostly, it's uneventful. There aren't any demons to be seen, although you can feel a trace of felfire in the air, a vague and faded whiff of brimstone. It's not terribly uncommon, sadly, as the infernal incursions have increased in number recently. Luckily, most of them are lesser demons, confused and strange emotions that many mortals haven't ever even felt. It's the strongest emotions that are the most dangerous. A demon of saudade or hiraeth would likely fail to corrupt anyone, as the emotions are faded and vague by definition. While they may feel strong, they're easy enough to overcome.

Slightly higher on the scale of danger were the ones of the spectrum of sadness. They were intensely dangerous for individuals, as depression or heartache could easily kill a man or drive him to end his life personally. However, they didn't spread much because of that. Few mortals became sorrow demons, as sorrow was only internally destructive.

By far the most dangerous types, although also the rarest, relatively speaking, were the outwards-focused emotions. The ones that caused those who felt them to lash out. Pride, causing soldiers to betray their generals. Rage and hatred, which only wished to destroy all that they didn't corrupt, and in the end, even them and then themselves. Greed, which caused everyone to want everything for themselves, breaking down societies. And of course, lust, which spread like a plague. Lust demons saw what they were doing as something beneficial, and rarely wished to destroy, but rather to turn the entire world into a giant orgy. Of course, a lack of order would lead to annihilation just as surely as the many maws of a rage demon would.

Soon enough you reach the mountains, and the horses take a moment to rest before the climb. You wonder if given the rocky terrain, goats wouldn't have been a better alternative. Though you'd probably need a lot of them. You've more or less exhausted all the topics you had to talk about with the travelmates, and as such, you decide to take a nap instead, leaning into the corner of the cart as it starts rolling again. The sun's out, the air's warm, the perfect opportunity for a catnap. You do keep a hand on the mace in case there's a rude awakening, but the journey is mostly uneventful.

Soon enough, it's time for your merry little band to split up. You're at the crossroads, and to the east is the capital. You're headed north, towards the stronghold. You say your goodbyes to the merchants, and set off. It's an unfamiliar place; you've been here perhaps once or twice in your lifetime, but the roads are clear enough that it's easy to find your way. You vaguely remember there being a mountain spring somewhere in the shadow of the cliffs, and figure you might as well drink from that to not have to waste the couple of bottles you have with you.

There is no obvious demonic presence, which is both frustrating and positive. If the whole journal turns out to be a practical joke, you'll have wasted several days on this trip, but at least the Order would still be there to protect the known kingdoms. It's a no-win situation, really, but hoping for there to be nothing abnormal going on is really the unselfish thing to do.

Halfway there you take off your leather vest. It's certainly protective, but it's far too hot for it. As you roll up the sleeves of your shirt, you notice your striped fur has taken on a kind of luster, looking as it used to look when you were a young kitten. Quite fascinating, that, and at least it's something good to have come out of this journey. But with the sun at its zenith now, it's starting to get oppressively hot, more like summer than spring. That was the worst part of traveling this time of the year, you never knew what clothes you should wear. As you reach the side of the mountain, the last stretch of road before the merciless climb upwards, there's shade to provide you with a modicum of relief. Your pawpads feel soaked with sweat regardless.

Suddenly, your ears perk, picking up on the sound of running water behind the small patch of trees between you and the towering mountains. That has to be the spring, you realize, and take a detour. The trees are rather dense, but there's a small, almost overgrown path between them. There it is, then, the naturally-carved little basin into which water flows from deep inside the mountains, glacier meltwater slowly filtering through what must be miles of porous rock. You have to restrain yourself to not jump right into it. Even the simple emotions like thirst could be dangerous if indulged in without restraint.

You do, however, notice a nagging feeling in the back of your head, a vague and ineffable sense of something being wrong here, and instead of going directly to the fountain, you yank the mace from your belt and prepare to bring it down on whatever's out there. If there's one thing you've learned over almost fifty years of life, it's to trust that particular instinct. There's something out there, you know that much. A cutpurse, a demon? You can't be sure what, but it's something, if not actively stalking you then at least watching.

The trees cover too much of the road to see it, but your sensitive ears swivel around without picking out a single sound beyond the gentle breeze, bird songs and the stream of water. There's a quiet rustle in one of the bushes, but it's from something too small to be a danger, like a rat or a bird.

You stand there for a few minutes, but nothing appears despite the persistent sense of dread. It's one thing to be attacked by something you can see, but what you can see, you can defend yourself against. Whatever this is, is worse. Although you don't like to admit it, it's also possible that you're mistaken, too anxious about whatever might await you at the stronghold. On edge, quite simply.

Finally, you lower the mace, fastening it on your belt again. It'll be easy enough to ready if something attacks. The aura of light around it is palpable, as if trying to warn you of something. Or maybe the sun has charged it somehow. The problem with ancient artifacts was always the same; nobody quite remembered the specifics of how they worked.

Well, the sooner I get on the road again, the better.

You cautiously step over to the spring. At least the water looks refreshing. You cup your hands in it and bring it to your muzzle while carefully keeping an eye on the surroundings. Gulp. It's rather cool and extremely refreshing, although somewhat slimy, probably minerals from the rock it seeps through. You have a few more palmfuls of it, just enough to quench your thirst. The anxious feeling passes, replaced by a general feeling of positivity. I guess it was nothing, you mutter to yourself before heading back onto the road - though it's really more of a wide dirt path - towards your destination.

After walking for a few more minutes, you notice that you're feeling uncomfortably aroused. Not exactly fully erect, but your pants feel rather tight around your crotch. You have a quick look around, not seeing anything. All males get rather frisky on occasion, certainly, but this particular sensation is more intense, which makes it suspect. It seems to radiate throughout your body, and as you keep walking, your maleness is soon slipping out of its sheath, the barbed length grinding into the fabric, causing a surprising amount of pleasure. How distracting.

But you can't deny that you'd enjoy mounting a willing female right now, ideally a feline like yourself, feeling those silken walls squeeze down around you-

You shake your head. There's something amiss, that's for certain. The arousal isn't natural, you recognize the sensation now. It's the same kind of invasive emotion as what the demons inflict on you. A lust demon, almost certainly, but where is it? You spin around, hand on the mace's shaft again. You see a few humanoid shapes in the distance, but they're all far apart, hardly planning a combined attack. One of them, however, must be whatever demon is doing this to you. But how, from that far away?

Suddenly it all clicks. The spring. They must've contaminated it somehow, likely with their bodily fluids. You want to vomit, but the nausea just doesn't manifest. Instead, all you feel is a perverse sense of satisfaction and titillation at the idea of drinking from a pool that one, or perhaps more demons have masturbated into. Unwittingly gulping down their corrupting essence. This isn't good. You're hardly going to succumb to the fel from that little, but when whoever's stalking you springs their trap, it'll be that much harder to resist.

You continue walking. Not as much towards any particular destination, now - in your mind, this attack is certain proof that the Order hasn't been compromised - but rather to keep on moving. Still, your swollen maleness keeps rubbing against fabric with each step, threatening to soil your pants if it continues. You can already feel a wetness around your sheath and find yourself purring at the sensations. If you actually climax you'll be exhausted, easy prey. Maybe it'd be better to face your pursuer head-on while you still have the strength. Lust could, with some effort, be alchemized into anger. A similarly dangerous emotion, but since it's a lust demon hunting you, perhaps less damaging given the circumstances.

And so you stop. One of the figures has gained on you, and you train your eyes on it. It, or he, looks mortal at first glance, but the cloth wrapped around his head doesn't fool you, being a tell-tale sign of attempting to conceal demonic corruption. You ready your mace, but it feels much heavier, now, likely resisting the trace of fel in your body. It should still get the job done; one solid strike and he'd be left incapacitated, if not dead.

As you wait, you realize that you feel genuinely younger. Not your mind, as much - although it is certainly inflamed by the kind of arousal only teenagers feel - but your entire body. What worries you is that you're not sure if it's the Warming Light or the felfire causing it. You can't deny that you're feeling outright sprightly though, like you used to be in your adventuring days.

The demon approaches, and you recognize it as a fox. Likely a rather newly corrupted one, judging from the underdeveloped wings and only slightly twisted facial features. His eyes were a fiery green, yes, and his smile is predatory and crooked, revealing a set of razor-sharp teeth, but he's still clearly a fox. With old age, the demons became less and less recognizable as their original species. Rage variants mutated into dozens or hundreds of limbs, claws and mouths, and the type you now had before you tended to become almost amorphous, dominated by sexual characteristics that'd shift to appeal to whoever they were attacking. Not all, but nearly all.

"How are you feeling, cleric?" he asks, licking his lips with obvious intended lewdness. His posture makes it clear he doesn't expect conflict.

"You know how I feel. Rest assured, I'm still strong enough to defeat you," you reply.

But words are wasted on demons, and so you lunge, swinging your mace in a downward arc and barely missing the fox, who jumps to the right. The weapon flares up with brilliant light, even though it seems to be resisting you, drawing a yelp from the demon, who covers his eyes. You spin around with feline grace, and while your mace isn't ready, you extend your claws and slash the fox across his chest. Minor scrapes, but painful, maybe enough to deter him.

The ancient weapon glows like a small sun, now, enough so to hurt even your eyes through the sheer brilliance of the light, but in turn likely rendering the demon fox entirely blind, forcing him to look away and only try to keep you in his peripheral vision.

Your cock keeps rubbing into your pants, however, with each movement you make, and it's becoming more than a little distracting, the way the barbs catch on the fabric and drag along with an ecstatic friction.

The demon spews a gout of green flame, but you dexterously block with your weapon, the fel disintegrating in the glorious shine of the Warming Light.

---

I'd finally caught up to him. Him going to drink from the spring that I eagerly corrupted earlier was a serendipitous coincidence, and a rather welcome one at that, and the sight of his mature maleness tenting his pants was a wonderful sight. I suppose the light didn't protect one much from arousal, at least not the kind that one willingly imbibed.

It wasn't a done deal, though. He had some kind of weapon on his belt that had the same kind of aura of repulsion as the stronghold's wards did, and I knew that if it as much as nudged me, I'd be in for a world of hurt. I had also been expecting someone more... perhaps scholarly, but this cat was clearly trained in combat, more so than I, and the invigorating nature of the fel taint had revitalized him to the point he couldn't have been older than 30 in practice, despite being at least 50 when I first saw him.

It wasn't a fight I really wanted to take, but I had no choice at this point. Not having gotten any real relief from my permanent rut, I needed him. Needed him on all fours as I plunged my knot into that narrow feline rear, making him yowl. Those instincts and desires were overpowering. Alarmingly so. It was only by split second that I escaped his first swing, and then the damned mace seemed to explode in sunlight. I couldn't see anything, having to rely on scents and sounds, which wouldn't get me far. His claws raked across my chest and I thanked the powers it was that rather than the mace; I'd heal quickly, even though it hurt. I attempted to breathe fel towards the sound of his footsteps, but rather than the expected moans of arousal I only heard a faint sizzling. Presumably his weapon had broken mine.

The situation was dire. If only I'd sought out Silvermane first. But there were ways I could turn it around, yet. Desperate, unlikely ways, but better than nothing. I only had to keep this dance up a little longer.

---

You swing for the demon again, but he seems to hear the mace slicing through the air and dodges. His eyes are closed, but his ears are twitching toward every sound you make. Damn those foxes, their hearing might not be any better than yours in general, but it's definitely better at localizing sounds.

The raging hardness of your manhood isn't helping either, each movement you make only serving to inflame your desire further. Your knees feel wobbly and little whimpers escape your lips each time you swing at the demon, with less and less coordination. Oh gods, I'm close. You can feel your balls starting to tense up and stop for just a moment to let the feeling pass, and the fox tackles you, sending the mace rolling away from you on the ground, its light dimming. The impact causes you to lose your footing as well, and you fall backwards, barely catching yourself.

The demon approaches with a cocky smirk, which you quickly erase by kicking his legs, causing him to fall as well, his wings spreading out from under the cape but failing to stop the fall. You scramble for your weapon, but the demonic fox pounces on top of you, not slowed down by his fall in the slightest. You can feel his hardness grind into you as he tries to force your clothes off, but despite the disgusting eroticism of it all, you bring your elbow into his stomach, knocking his breath out with a wheeze. Do demons even need to breathe? Probably. He isn't deterred, gritting his teeth and clutching his flat belly with one arm while the other grabs onto the neck of your shirt, pulling you towards him with inhuman strength. Risking being choked, you follow the movement, planning to slip out of your shirt, something you could've easily done, had he not grabbed your crotch and squeezing the very obvious bulge.

That sudden rough stimulation is enough to push you over the edge. With a yowl, you cum in your pants, your cock throbbing lewdly in the demon's grasp. The intense pleasure blanks your mind for a few fateful seconds and your knees feel too weak to stand up. Between the surges of spasmodic pleasure you can feel your own slimy wetness soaking your crotch. Gods, it feels like there's so much of it, and your hips involuntarily buck into the demon's paw. He moves to your front and pushes you onto your back, and you're too lost in ecstasy to resist. He quickly shreds the front of your pants and kneels down, taking your still twitching member into his mouth, all the way to the base, letting it slide deep into his throat and drool the rest of your seed into his belly. He works his tongue around your messy fur, as if desperate for more of it, and right now you're all too willing to give him every drop.

What should've been more alarming was that you weren't going soft at all with his silken mouth caressing every inch of your barbed flesh, nor was there the usual moment of clarity. Instead, you find yourself moaning as he suckles on your cock, his tongue flicking over each barb and sending little jolts of euphoria throughout your body. The nonstop stimulation leaves you unable to focus on resisting, and so instead you mumble a desperate prayer for the Warming Light to shield you from corruption.

Soon the lithe fox pulls off your oversensitive cock with a wet slurp, seductively licking his lips again but not saying anything, as if fearing that it might break your sexual trance. Instead, he straddles your limp body, easing his pants down to his knees and in one practiced motion, guiding your cock into his warm anus. It feels heavenly, as is to be expected from lust demons, his insides naturally slick and feeling as if they mould around your cock, imitating whatever would bring you the most pleasure. You whimper and moan, your claws digging into the grass and leaving small furrows.

He begins twisting his hips in a serpentine motion while slowly penetrating himself with your turgid member, and the barbs rubbing into his inner walls threatens to send you wild. And the way he squeezes, each squeeze accompanied by a bob of his oversized vulpine cock, every now and then splattering watery precum onto your belly and chest. It's an incredibly erotic sight, his curvy and slim body reminding you more of a woman than a man, if it wasn't for the obscene knotted foxhood. No doubt he was adapting to what you enjoyed, but that begs the question of why he didn't choose to appear as fully female. Still, there was no time to wonder. The fox picks up his pace, leaning forward over you and pinning your arms to the grass with his weight, all the while gyrating his hips and rhythmically clenching around you to, trying to milk out another load from you.

He plants his muzzle on yours and kisses you, and at this point every inch of your body has become an erogenous zone thanks to his presence and attention. You brace yourself, expecting felfire, but it doesn't come, or if it does, you don't immediately notice it. Still, the wet and sloppy kiss, his broad tongue invading your mouth and tangling with your own is naturally arousing. Maybe there's a limit to the amount of corporeal fire that lust demons can produce in a brief period, but that does little to reassure you. His body is pressing against yours now, his brilliant orange fur intermingling with yours and his cock grinding against you. Resist as you might try, you can't help but buck your hips, trying to drive yourself deeper into your willing mate- the demon, running on pure instinct now.

"I was expecting more resistance out of you, kitty," he murmurs, licking at your throat with every word. "But I suppose years of abstinence have left you dreaming of sex constantly."

"Give in," he continues, sitting back up for better leverage, satisfied that you're not going to try to throw him off. At this point, he's right; your goals are more or less the same as his, even if the thought disgusts you on some level. "Submit. Let go and fill me with your seed, embrace that burning need to breed me," he continues to tease you.

You feel yourself swelling inside of him, somehow getting even harder and bigger than you thought possible as that euphoric resonance starts to build throughout your body again. You know you should try harder to resist, but each time he pulls up so only your tip remains inside him, you desperately thrust back, growling and yowling at the wet warmth enveloping you anew. It's no wonder mortals fall so easily, not when it feels this good. Your entire existence feels as if it's centred around your unholy union with the demon fox, nothing mattering except pumping him full of thick feline seed over and over again, and then letting him do the same to you.

Your orgasm is so powerful, when it hits, that it makes your ears ring. At least for that brief moment, you belong completely to the fox, your cock twitching and jumping inside of his hot body, spurting out your offering in wet, thick ropes. Your entire body quivers as you try to thrust deeper, pushing so hard against him that you lift him off the ground. Feeling you climax inside him, the fox begins to stroke his own cock and soon climaxes as well, the first shot of his tainted cum landing directly into your gaping mouth, the next against your chin, and then all over your chest. He tastes much like you'd have expected, a tangy, slightly sulphurous slickness, pure stringy, goopy arousal, and you can't help but swallow his gift. Not before letting it slide across your tongue, licking your lips with the same greed the fox showed earlier. It tastes like happiness.

But as your peak fades and you begin to soften, you realize that this time, there is a brief moment of clarity. It doesn't last very long before his nonstop movements begin to turn you on again, the wet slurping sounds of his well-used and cum-slickened ass around you sounding lewd and erotic.

You groan. If you're going to do something, it'll have to wait until the next time. Or the one after that, maybe. You have to be sure that you have a proper chance. At least before he switches roles and tries to claim you, tries to mount you and breed you. Then again, that does sound strangely appealing, and when are you going to get a chance to see how it feels again- no, you'll have to-

The mace lies almost within arm's reach. You try to wrest your emotions back, to force them under your control. But until that succeeds, you're going to enjoy inseminating the sexy fox over and over again.