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"It was on this night, five years ago, that thirteen men twisted by greed and fear opened a portal into the abyss. On that night, the Grim Demon Mephit crossed into our plane, and he brought with him an army of demons and terrible magic like we have never seen before. With a single spell, he took from us half of our lives: every man in Parshnell died, struck where he stood by black lightning. And with the city guard, the regent, and the local wizards gone, there were few that could raise a hand to his forces. The city burned. And Mephit... he walked among us, and he gained the name by which we know him now. Mephit the Rapist."

Her sober voice filled the room. Though the tavern was crowded, not a single murmur broke the silence of her pause. The occasional creak of wooden chairs as her audience shifted in uncomfortable remembrance was the only audible clue she was not alone. The pale blue drake stood on a small stage, her eyes low and solemn, dully glowing gold.

"I... had been a guard at the church. I had no actual experience in combat, and I fell broken when they came for our priestesses. For a time, I thought I was dead. But I woke, and I saw the horror of their passing. And I saw him. Mephit was in the church, and he was defiling our holy ones. My arms were broken, and I was close to death, but I rose. I knew I was nothing before the power of a Grim Demon, but I could not stop my fury. I prayed to Entreia, and I threw myself at the demon, with all that I had left. And... Entreia answered."

As she spoke, she slowly flexed-- and brilliant wings of silvery white spread behind her, broad sprays of perfectly round yet glint-edged feathers. She folded her arms over her ceremonial breastplate, trimmed in gold. A soft sigh of wonder swept through the room at the sight of an angel in full glory unfolding before them. It was impossible to ignore the odd mixture of warm awe and timid fear that kindled in every heart before her unyielding presence.

"My bones aligned, and a holy sword came into my hand as I swung. The Grim Demon fell... but only for a moment. What came next, I barely understood. Stone broke around me, and the very sky became our battleground. But I had no vision for anything but the monster before me, which I needed above all else to destroy. Entreia gave me the power to battle Mephit, and we tore across the skies as the women of Parshnell fought and fled and died below. I am told we warred for hours, though it seemed but a few moments to me, but sure enough, when we struck ground again --here-- the first hint of sunrise was coloring the sky."

Slowly, she folded her wings down again, and they almost seemed to disappear as their radiance faded. Her eyes swept slowly through the faces crowding every table, every bench and chair. She stopped on one.

"I was not strong enough. A Grim Demon is a true monster, and while Entreia is great, she can pour only so much into a single, lowly vessel. I lay broken again, and while Mephit was weak, he had won. But there was another ready for him. As I lay struggling for air, she descended into the crater our landing had created, and she tore into the demon with the wild fury of a woman who has lost everything. Mephit was not prepared for another challenger of skill, and under her unrelenting attacks, he could not gather himself. They say that on that cold morning, Sicarius of the Order of the Web struck Mephit the Rapist some six hundred and sixty-six blows."

The drake smiled, and heads began to turn. Her eyes were on a small ocelot, blushing and hunched in her seat. Her neighbor gave her a nudge, and the feline hesitated, then offered a small wave to the crowd. For a bare moment, a murmur rose around them, but hush quickly fell as the drake continued.

"But mortal steel cannot stop a Grim Demon, and though she left daggers buried deep in both his eyes, he pulled them out and glared down on her through the black pits. Fortunately, the city of Parshnell had more to offer. One of our own priestesses, barely able to stand, defiled by the Rapist himself, had marched to this final battlefield, driven by the same unstoppable will to stop this monster before he could destroy any more lives. Lauren, former priestess of Entreia, bolstered our fierce assassin, and blessed her blades. Together, they drove the Grim Demon into the ground and made Entreia proud."

Here she smiled at the woman next to the ocelot, a rabbit, who simply bowed her head. Many around her returned the gesture. But the crowd was growing restless as the story neared its climax.

"Mephit the Rapist was skewered, blinded, and bolted to the scorched earth like a tent, pulled taut. Flesh was carved open as quickly as it could close, and the demon was laid low, though barely. Finally... one more arrived to purge this threat. One of the first to come to the city's aid after the first sudden and disastrous wave of death, the wizard found us all on the verge of exhaustion, struggling to stay alive and keep the demon from rising. Wizard Reuben worked a great magic while we held the Grim Demon down, and through our combined efforts, Mephit the Rapist was finally destroyed. It would not repay our many lost, or return them to us, but justice was served."

She nodded to the ferret in colorful robes across the table from the other two, and he gave a slow nod with a warm smile. The crowds around them began to stir, a few claps and a "yeah!" rising amidst them, but the drake's voice hardened.

"But our story was not done. Yes, the rise and fall of Mephit the Rapist has been told many times, and it speaks to the power of our determination and our faith, but today, I would like to celebrate more than that." Confused, the listeners bit back their cheers as her eyes traveled slowly among them. "It has been five years since that horrible night. In the days that followed, the women of Parshnell had to gather together and find ways to pick up our lives again. Wives picked up the blacksmith's hammer, the sword and shield, the picks and shovels that had fallen from their loved ones' hands. We had to haul the bodies of those we had cared about, and we had to put out the fires, and repair the wells, and see to it that everyone was fed and sheltered. Relief came from our neighbors and from the king, but it was not enough. We had to learn to be strong on our own."

Now the crowds were slowly swelling with pride. Almost all present were women, many stout and strong from long days of hard labor. Some glanced around at each other now, smiling softly.

"Now, Parshnell thrives again, and more than for our tragedies, we are known today for our greatest pride: the City of Women. Here we have proven that women can do everything men can do, and if not just as well, then better!" A proper cheer rose now, bursting free of the solemnity of the occasion. "This may be the night we lost so much, but through it we have transformed, and gained something new. We used to celebrate our survival and our victory over the abyss, but today we celebrate all of you!" She had to shout now over the calls and whoops, and when she grabbed a frothy mug and thrust it into the air, the crowd burst into applause, hefting their own mugs and drinking deep.

The drake stepped down, and a handful of minstrels scrambled onto the stage to lead a rousing song about enjoying drink and food after a hard day's work. Even in the heat of the celebration, though, the waving and dancing women to all sides parted as the drake made her way to her companions' table, giving the angel a respectful berth. She drew a chair with a grin and plopped down, rattling her ornamental armor off the chair back.

When Reuben spoke to her, she had to shake her head and lean in to catch his words. "Good job, Andrea!" He patted her arm, smiling congenially. She smirked, shrugged, and looked round for a server.

In the trampling crowd, it was difficult to pick them out, but a flash of dull pink here and there shone through the dark browns of common britches and skirts. She reached out a hand expectantly, and after a moment, something caught at her grasp, which she pulled under the table. The drake heaved a sigh and visibly relaxed, while Reuben smiled ruefully with a hint of a roll of his eyes.

Fortunately, the wizard had already seen to it that they would have food, and a series of platters soon emerged from the crowds, seemingly floating on arrays of little pink fingers, their owners quickly retreating to other tasks as soon as the food was delivered. Everyone dug in while the festivities eased to a more manageable level around them, others taking their seats one by one after the first few songs.

The ocelot Andrea had named Sicarius ate sparingly, mainly because she couldn't help but stare around. It had been a long time since she'd been here, and she hadn't known it was so... popular. Perhaps the so-called holiday helped, or perhaps it was the presence of their resident Angel of Wrath-- though from what she'd heard, their resplendent Andrea, Hand of Entreia, wasn't really too uncommon a sight here. She certainly seemed to be familiar with the serving staff. When the singing finally broke off and the people settled in to listen to a few bardic tales, the ocelot raised her voice just enough to ask Reuben about the crowds.

"Mm." The ferret smiled and took a moment to finish his mouthful before responding. "Yes. It's a little more packed than you'd see on a Wednesday. But we've been doing very well here. I've been thinking about expanding, actually, though the neighbors aren't very interested in giving up space. We've got the workers to handle more, of course, just not the space. Perhaps a second floor..." He frowned thoughtfully, shrugged, and grinned. "It's a pretty nice business model we've ended up with here, I must admit."

The feline nodded slowly. "I imagine it would be. Free, tireless labor, and other... services on offer for free?" She sighed briefly, glancing the angel's way. "Though I have to imagine it can be hard keeping enough help on hand if they're... monopolized so much."

Andrea looked up, and grinned. "Still squeamish about the little buggers, Six? It's really quite satisfying, you know. If you got yourself the equipment, you might be tempted to eat here every day."

Before the ocelot could give her opinion on that, Reuben leaned in to respond with a sheepish grin. "We do usually encourage folks to wait until off-peak hours to indulge, so as to make sure we have enough hands for the courses. There can be a lot of problems with, you know, orders for the kitchen being intercepted and the like. But of course, we can always make an exception for Andrea." He nodded deferentially to her, and she gave a wide smile and a bare tilt of her head before tearing into a fluffy hunk of bread.

"Of course." The ocelot --Six, usually, only Sicarius to her apprentices really-- let her eyes fall to her plate again, schooling her face to stillness. She really should have done something to change the subject, but she couldn't muster the true desire to mask her distaste, and she let the silence extend.

"Thank you very much for joining us, Six." The rabbit, Lauren, finally spoke up. She was wearing a soft smile, as she always seemed to be. At least she hadn't changed much. "I know you've been very busy trying to get your order back on track. It means a great deal to the people to see the, ah... 'the whole crew' all together again." She glanced around. They were sitting square in the middle of the tavern, and though nobody outright stared, many eyes drifted their way with admiration from one moment to the next. Even now, the four of them were apparently seen as living, breathing heroes.

Six sighed softly and chewed a moment. "Mm hmm. Well. Things are settling down a bit. To be honest, it's been a bit ridiculous-- the Web has never had such an... overt presence, and after I went and..." She gestured vaguely in Andrea's direction, as if the angel were the living embodiment of that night's events, "it's drawn a lot of..." She sighed again. "...Enthusiastic people. I don't know. After all the deaths, we hardly had any reason to stay 'in business,' we just did what we could to help the new government come together. We were talking about dissolution when they... when the new blood started pouring in. We'd never seen anything like it." She shook her head. "To be honest, even after weeding out the worst of it, we're nothing like we used to be. The other chapters are already starting to pretend we don't exist." She tossed her fork down, finding her appetite wholly lost. "What about you, Lauren? How have you been? I'm sorry, we haven't even really talked in... nearly a year?"

The rabbit gave a little shrug, taking several moments to consider and nibble at a bit of cheese. "You haven't missed much, really. The church seems to have accepted my position as a priestess-but-not-really after awkwardly putting off the whole thing for the reformation. There was talk of making an exception to allow me to continue practicing, but I didn't make any big push for it, and it was forgotten. People still come to me for silly things anyway, and I mostly give out advice and send on the serious cases to the real priestesses." She smiled ruefully. "Might as well, since the church puts me up. Gets awful boring without at least that much to do, really."

"And she knows," Reuben added around a mouthful of some fine potato dish, "if she should ever need for anything, we can help." He swallowed and smiled rather widely. "You're always welcome at the Poppit Bowl, Lauren. Folks like seeing you around, besides."

The former priestess offered a small smile of thanks. "I must admit, it can feel odd coming here, but it... well, it can be nice to see them. To see they're doing well."

"Of course!" The ferret bobbed his head in a rapid nod, gesturing at a pair of pink, pointed ears skimming past the table's edge. "I'm sure they're happy to see you as well. I still see the other Mothers now and then, too. Stop in just for a bowl of soup and to spend the afternoon watching them mill around, especially when it's quieter."

Rubbing her arms and suppressing a shiver, Six glanced over to the rabbit. "Five years, and you still... feel like that? That always creeped me out the most, I think..."

Lauren sighed quietly and offered an apologetic smile. "I know, it certainly must seem strange. None of us wanted it, there was the fear we would die, or be twisted in some way, or... or something horrible like that. And back then, when everyone was so angry, we looked... insane." Her eyes were on the table, her own food forgotten. "For a while there, I was afraid that they'd think we WERE corrupted or something. But I have thought and prayed long on it, and I believe it is nothing so insidious, but simply that which is natural... Love." She glanced over at another pink form weaving between tables to disappear through a small doorway.

"I've known normal girls that were raped by normal guys, and..." Six sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just... it still sounds suspicious to me. But I'm the last person to wanna stone you or anything. I'm just worried for you."

The rabbit's smile was wide and serene, her eyes crinkling, and for a moment, Six couldn't help but think of her own mother. "Thank you, Six, but I believe I'll be just fine. I might not be eligible to preach anymore, but Entreia is strong in my heart, and she has given me no reason to worry. Rather, I like to think it is a sign that they may truly find salvation someday."

With a dramatic, contented sigh, Andrea pushed her emptied plate away and slouched back in her chair, which creaked ominously under her flashy armor. How her wings could be comfortable like that, Six didn't know, but when the angel stuffed one hand under the table again, she forgot that concern and looked away.

"So!" Reuben was still working on his plate, though he was slowing. "Business is all well and good, but how's Six?" He had on a big, congenial smile, his voice rising over the drake's swelling sighs to one side. "I know you had plenty of reason to lose yourself in your work back in the day, but it's... well, it's been a long time. I hope you've started taking some time to yourself, maybe go have normal conversations in well-lit places now and then." His playful jibe almost brought a smirk to her face, but a sharp pant from the angel curdled her expression.

Under the table, a naked, pink-skinned imp with spindly limbs, a bit of a pot-belly, and long, pointed ears was currently getting its normally rather mischievous-looking face strained wide around inch after inch of fat, deep blue drake cock pummeling at the back of its throat and grinding right down its slender neck. This was one of the thirty-two children of Mephit the Rapist born in the city of Parshnell after the night of its destruction and rebirth-- a demon, molded by outside magics from before birth to serve. "Yeah!" Andrea growled playfully as her fingers dug into the back of the demon's skull, forcing it an inch deeper between her slowly flexing thighs. "We like to make a big deal about it, but by the abyss, Parshnell is better off now than it ever was! The city is flourishing, and there's plenty of fun to be had. You must be rich by now running your little, eh, shadow guild, right? Maybe you should take the time to relax and enjoy what we've created here!" She stabbed down at the table with two fingers, her other arm still flexing rhythmically at the table's edge.

The ocelot's face was blank, her eyelids low, obscuring her gaze. The angel stared at her, huffing softly with effort, and finally opened her mouth with an impatient draw of air, but Six cut her off. "And what about you?" Her eyes finally slid to the drake. "You've been enjoying yourself rather a good deal, from what I understand. Perhaps a... shocking amount, for a divine being, even one made for... well. And with your great powers, what new miracles have you wrought? I hear you fought a... a whale?" Her eyes slid away again. "Last year..."

Beneath the table, a powerful set of claws flexed, grating against bone, dragging thick, azure flesh, gleaming in the shadows with a thick gloss of drool, from between those thin, pink lips before ramming it home, an alarming bulge surging down that slender neck again to punch at the tiny demon's collar bone, strain against it, and burst through, sending a single jerk of erratic motion through its dangling hands and sagging feet. Crimson-black eyes rolled up under pink lids as its face finally mashed into the angel's crotch, buried in the folds of her robe where she held it pinned, grinding slowly through its warped body, even its chest taking a subtle bulge.

"That... was the Kraken of the Black Sea." Andrea's voice grated with fury, her brow drawn so low her eyes were nearly hidden. "It was an island unto itself, and it was threatening to destroy the Free City of Violet Dusk, Tenalidde. Hundreds of thousands of lives were at stake. Already dozens of warships had been lost just trying to slow it down, but its titanic fury was--"

"And you didn't kill it." Six rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, slowly scything two fine claws along each other. "It's a very nice story, Andrea, really. But the short version is, it got away, and it could come back any time." She drew a slow breath that sounded just a hint like a yawn. "So in five years, you've applied your great, angelic Wrath twice, and both times... well, it wasn't enough, was it?" She gave a tiny bump up of her shoulders as Andrea audibly boiled over. "But that's beside the point. Yes, you fought off the fish, but really, you still spend the vast majority of your time..." She sighed, and nodded toward the drake disdainfully, "...putting that thing Reuben gave you to use on whatever you can. Is that, ah..." She glanced around as if searching for something, then feigned surprise at finding the rather uncomfortable-looking Lauren sitting right next to her. "Why, actually, I think we have an authority on the subject right here! Lauren, dear, could you tell us? Is it angelic-- is there any precedence for the Angels of Entreia, they who are Her Hand Upon This Earth-- did they do a lot of slumming it in taverns and fucking the help in public? Every day? Multiple times? Drinking and singing and getting their balls off while the people still suffer in the gutter--"

A blue claw swiped across the table's surface, sending dishes clattering and crashing to the floor beside the ocelot, wood bouncing noisily and splattering food, clay shattering. Andrea seized the edge of the table in one hand as though to shove herself to her feet, or perhaps to throw the whole thing over on its side, Imp on her cock or no. Her teeth bared in a wild snarl, a vein rising in her neck as her wings bristled, taking the aspect of a curtain of blades whispering across each other over her shoulders. Something managed to distract the drake, though-- sudden silence. A single bowl wobbled around noisily on the floor before finally settling.

The tavern was still packed, but all conversation, all song had died out. Here and there, other imps pattered to a stop to peer around from under their high-hefted trays. Andrea dragged her gaze away from Six, to the others around them, briefly taking in the dozens of curious, concerned, even fearful gazes. Her eyes slowly returned to the feline, and she contorted that vicious rictus of teeth into a smile. Her throat flexed, and finally, she pushed out a bedraggled "ha." A moment, and she added. "Ha ha ha." She released the table, with a crackling of splintered wood. "Hahahahahah! You... your jokes cut right to the quick! I forgot how clever you are." She burst into boisterous, theatrical laughter. "That's a good one, Six! I'm keepin' that!" She took up Reuben's mug --her own was on the floor-- and roared something to the crowds, raising the mug before she drank deep, pulling the creature between her legs snug again. A drunken, if somewhat uneasy cry answered, and another song soon picked up in a far corner. Conversations picked up again one by one, though many likely had new things to discuss now.

A queasy moment of silence passed at the table, each of them staring at the half-ruined spread before them in silence as the safe walls of noise slowly rebuilt around them. Finally, Six took up a napkin, dabbed at her mouth, and rose. "Thank you for the meal, Reuben."

"Sit down." Andrea was still staring at the table, speaking through her teeth.

The feline straightened her fine, ashen black cloak, slowly drawing it round her arms again. "Now now, Andrea. I know you're excited to see me again, but it's my first public appearance in a while. I'm sure plenty of people would like to talk to me. Anyway, I think I'm endangering your precious facade with my immediate presence." She slid her chair in and squeezed Lauren's shoulder, a brief, sad look passing between them, and she nodded to the wizard, who returned the gesture with a weary relief. Then she was gone, the shadows of the crowd swallowing her readily.

"Well." Reuben tried not to let the silence linger. "She's certainly as opinionated as ever." He smiled wryly.

Lauren nodded slowly. "To be honest, I had hoped some of that... roughness... would wear away when she had to take a role of leadership. But she's only refined it..." The rabbit shook her head. "She's a sweet girl, really, but when it comes to her cause..."

"Mmh." Andrea fingered a bowl that managed to stay on the table, but it was empty. "I guess I'd convinced myself she really couldn't be as stuck up as I remembered, but..." She shrugged heavily, armor rattling, and sighed. "Let's have something real to drink. Fuck it. It's a celebration, right?" She glanced at the wizard, who was already nodding and signaling to an imp coming their way. The creature bobbed its head eagerly and abruptly turned to scamper through a door in the back, passing near a thick, wooden support beam.

Six pushed her back to the support, shrugging into the shadow it cast to clutch at herself, to scrub at her face and rub her arms down. Her tail was a great bush, and it wasn't going down anytime soon. By all the divines, she'd forgotten how terrifying that woman, that... thing... was. Had she really said all those things to her face? Emma, you really are just looking for a way to die, aren't you? But... she'd known it would come out like this, really. She had nothing else to say to this so-called angel. Maybe more than anything else, that was why she stayed underground. The skies were ugly these days, full of things that mocked what she'd once thought of as good. Part of her still wanted to go back, to tear into that creature again, to reduce her to a sobbing mess with nothing but the facts of her own enormous, disgusting folly. She forced herself to draw a slow, deep breath, drawing partway into the trance. No. That was unnecessary. No cut was needed here, not now. She discarded the emotions as useless, and eased back into herself. Tears welled up in her eyes suddenly.

The imp returned, passing Six without a glance up, struggling to hold two mugs each as large as its head steady at nearly a dead run. It barely arrived at the table before the angel snatched them both up, and the creature turned to retreat, but she set a mug down to seize the imp as well. She leaned forward with a low growl and stuffed him down against the ladderback of her chair, then leaned back. The creature squirmed as her rather plump rear rolled in to smother and trap it, but she was ignoring it in favor of other things.

"I just don't get it," Andrea grumbled. "That night, we all should have died, but instead, we pulled off about a dozen impossible things in a row. Now, we've got just about everything we could ever want, we're all heroes, and they're probably gonna be singing our names for centuries. And that-- that tramp can't even try to be a little happy?" She paused here to take a few deep slugs from her fresh mug. When it crashed down on the table again, she continued. "I mean, Lauren, maybe you're not so well off now, but you never wanted very much, did you? And everyone looks up to you. Sin's sake, if you said one thing and the church said another, most folk would probably go your way." The rabbit drew her mouth wide in what might have been a smile, her ears low. "And Reuben, you're making a damn mint with your, eh, equipment business." She grinned, and tilted the mug at him in a small salute.

The wizard gave a small smile and bowed his head. "I might thank you for that, Andrea. It's really quite understandable that people would be queasy about such a procedure, but when word got around that the Holy Vanquisher herself had gotten one! I had to take on some apprentices just to deal with the demand after that. It has been quite profitable."

Andrea's chair was creaking softly as she made subtle shifts back and forth, and behind, the newly captured imp struggled uselessly as she flexed and rocked into it, slowly mashing it down tight into the seat under her rear end. It might have made a sound of protest, but its face was mashed into one firm cheek, and it seemed hardly able to catch air as she rocked forward to throatfuck its sibling before she eased back to mash it tightly in place again. The scent of her filled its throat, familiar and bitter. Nearly all of them had known her scent, her touch by now. Now it could only wait its turn, eyes closed as that warm rump flexed and mashed down over its face, burying it over and over.

The angel snorted. "Well, it only makes sense, don' it? City of all women ain't gonna last too long! That's what really woulda killed us off, not losing half our population-- losing the way ta get more back." She shrugged slowly. "It's been a pretty weird trip. I dunno if I could get into the-- whassit?"

"Er... Lesbianism?"

"Yeah. Lezzin'. I couldn't do that, really. But damn if it ain't fun havin' a cock." She sighed that last with exquisite, thick-fumed relish. "As a matter of fact..." She dropped her mug and held up a finger, dramatically requesting their patience while she attended to other matters.

Under the table, the imp suspended between her buried shaft and firm hand couldn't quite reach the floor with its knees, so it dangled helplessly, unable to find its feet properly more than a moment before it was knocked off them again anyway. Its tiny body was visibly distorted around the bulk of her endowment, its neck completely reshaped and her head visible as a swell in its chest. She had been working it on and off intently, or letting it sit impaled as she throbbed in its throat, for quite a while now, but her hand finally firmed. The creature had her undivided attention, and in seconds, it was wobbling and swinging wildly from the edge of her seat, arms flailing out helplessly.

Its head pounded against her crotch brutally, eyes wildly rolling about as blue flesh flaring thick with veins sheathed in its face time and again in a sloppy, resounding staccato. A single, breathy snarl rolled above as the wild bashing lurched into one long draw and a single, brutal thrust, that neck left empty for a blink before the imp's entire body was nearly thrown horizontal under the vicious blow-- and its belly bulged outward in a fat dome before it could swing in to bounce off her shin. Soon it weighed even her steeling shaft down until its belly sat heavy and hot on the floor, a great, roiling sack hanging well past its knees, and the angel ground her teeth as she emptied her last into the trembling imp, its eyes rolling up in its skull. Finally, she drew her hand around to plant on its face and shove it off her, discarding it on the tavern floor without another thought.

The other imp was limp now, squished quite firmly into the shape of the seat after her last fervent series of thrusts had attempted to crush it utterly, and it barely stirred when she finally leaned forward to scoop it out. The others at the table were looking elsewhere awkwardly as she pulled it around with a dark chuckle, stuffing it down between her legs and taking the time to spread its little legs with both hands, turning it belly up. The imps, modified to prevent any possible repeat of the disaster of five years ago, actually had no male equipment-- a tiny, pink slit spread under her impatient claws, and she shoved the thick, cream-glazed head of her deep azure monster against it, brutishly mashing around that tiny recess until she finally managed to thumb the point of her tip inside. The tiny imp kicked and thrashed, squeaking softly as she hauled it in tight, stretching it out a fraction of an inch at a time until, with a lurch, half her heavy rod crammed into the imp's belly, that tiny demon cunt a tight band gripping her shaft and making her groan in delight as she worked it deeper still.

"Well... It did take a little while to take off, but the birth--" Reuben made a weak attempt at resuming the conversation, but the drake cut him off.

"Fuckin'... hold on," she snarled, and wrapped both her claws around the tiny demon. A wrenching thrust made her chair scrape noisily, her arms jerking back, but she was beating against a wall in the little creature's belly. She huffed a heated breath, chewing into her lip, and dragged the imp off her almost entirely before swinging it violently to skewer on her tip, and again, hammering at its inner limit as it gurgled faintly. The scrabble of its fingers was only barely audible against the underside of the table, with the noise of the crowd around them. The angel bared her teeth, her entire body tensing, and with a single furious blow, she split the tiny creature's womb wide open, a violent bulge rocketing up its belly and well into its chest as it arched, paralyzed a moment, and finally fell limp, little legs spread across her thighs. The drake sighed at length and pulled it as snug as she could around her base, settling its tight little butt on her balls, before she finally looked up, a bit flushed and sweaty, smirking. "You were saying?"

Lauren was silent, her paws folded in her lap and her eyes on the table. Reuben had taken to rubbing over his mouth and staring into the middle distance, a bit away from the drake, but he gave a little start at her words. "Ah... yes. Well. The, ah, equipment does seem to be helping immensely. It took a while for it to become widespread, but last year's birth rates, per capita at least, were higher than in old Parshnell. It likely helps that so many can both plant and bear, I suppose." He smiled weakly. "So, we're finally bouncing back as far as population, as well."

The conversation droned on above the table, but below, the imp heard little beyond the squelch of its belly contorting around the monster pumping through it. It --he, whatever he had below, he and his brothers were he's-- he could feel the sliding burn, atop the strain of already being stretched out viciously, the sting of her juices smearing across his insides, churning up in his womb to froth and shove against him, burning long after they spilled from her. Not with heat, but with the remnants of holy power, searing into him. She was a blessed being, and it was only her... other elements... that made her touch comfortable, as comfortable as claws of steel could be, digging into his hide to ram him down on a pillar of flesh that seemed nearly as large as he. But the last of her seed from her last orgasm was only beginning to ease in him, its burn fading as it soaked into him and mixed with his own slickness. And with every thick pulse that ran from her base all the way to the distended upper wall of his womb, a fresh spark of sizzling, blessed juices drooled into him, spattering his inner walls with the spite of her goddess. Stretched monstrously, constantly burning in his very core with her drizzling essence, the imp could not summon the strength even to writhe in agony, to do more than lie and accept his fate, twitching occasionally with her especially vigorous thrusts as he stared at the dark underside of the wooden table rolling up and down inches before his face.

Of course, agony was the realm of demons, and in being morbidly warped around her tool of lust, there was pleasure to be found. He still whimpered any time he found the air dragged into him to do so, but the heavy punch of her tool to his womb, unerring and implacable, sent its own strained ecstasy rolling through him. Hopefully, she did not notice the way his toes curled as she ground heavily around his belly, holding him hilted and rolling his body around her until her rod stood protruding full and clearly defined all the way down his front. In those moments, he arched a little despite himself, drawing that sweet burn of stretching to an exquisite, humming tension, his head hanging straight down. His fluttering eyes found his brother, still lounging under him clutching his enormous belly... and smirking up at him. He smiled in a daze, in the instant before the angel dragged him up again to set to slamming his rear to her balls over and over, slapping his clit to her scaled hide as she leaked soft snarls.

Her pre was drooling constantly now, and every thrust sent a shock of new, searing juices tearing up the inside of his womb. His mouth fell open in silent, desperate cries, and before he could think, he was clawing at the table, scrabbling weakly to pull away as the burning of a furious goddess etched into him. The drake hissed in annoyance and dragged him up a moment, then wrenched him around. The world spun, and the brutal, ridged tool lodged in his belly twisted about as he turned to face the ground. A brutal thrust rammed the tip of that azure monster deep into his chest, driving the breath from him in a gurgle as his legs were pulled back and spread wide, his rear mashed to her belly. Fat, slowly churning balls pushed up at his waist, enveloping his twitching clit in sweaty, warm hide. His skin was prickling with tension and twitching pleasure. For good measure, she laid a sharp smack across his ass, then set to ramming him up and down her cock all the harder.

If he'd had anything of importance inside him, it surely would have been destroyed quickly as that monster burrowed through him, barely letting him sag forward before thrusting home to whip his head up roughly with the reinforcing steel of that slowly swelling drake dick. Turned about, her ridges assaulted his insides, his sweet spots, in all new ways, and every stroke ground away at his reserve, sending waves of aching pleasure rebounding through him as his eyes squeezed shut and his arms looped weakly around himself to hug the cruel spear bulging his torso out under him. The fire building, stoking, aching in his lowest reaches caught all at once, and the imp managed a tiny squeak as his body started to jerk, muscles spasming with unbearable ecstasy, legs thrashing in what he could only hope the angel thought was protest.

The dark chuckle that rose over him might have gone either way. Her grip tightened on him as that rugged creature flared in him, thick ridges spreading to dig roughly into his spasming inner walls, and his mouth fell open, a voiceless cry that might have been a moan or a plea for mercy falling from his lips as his tongue jutted past them, and that creature bloated with spunk.

Fire bloomed in his womb. Raw magma, furiously exploding in the very core of him, a pure sphere punching out under his eyes before slowly spreading in a roiling dome. His insides shrieked with the agony of it, and his every instinct turned at once to terror and flight, his claws scrabbling blindly, eyes wide and unseeing, every muscle lunging to flee even as coruscating pleasure scoured his mind, and she held him pinned tight against those flexing balls through the whole of it, forcing him to take that holy seed at point blank. He could feel the fat orbs flex against his mons, pumping a thick swell up the base of that azure rod, flashing up its underside to burst in a rush of pressure and swirling juices, a fresh scourge of holy fury across every inch of his steadily expanding, tightening womb. It was like his womb itself was up on the rack, being drawn tighter and tighter, and with fresh acid pouring over his walls every moment. He came. Again.

The pain was exquisite, it dug furious spikes into his mind, it drove him past wishing for death, it brought a broad smile to his face as the tears rolled down it. If he had been mortal, he likely would have blacked out long ago, but demons had no such respite. He could only sag, slowly, going limp in her grasp, submitting to his fate. If it had been another angel, her seed might well have destroyed him. His instincts said that being subjected to this much of a goddess' blessed fluids should have killed him long since. There wasn't even a point to running. But he would live. A dark smile crossed his face with that thought, and his brother looked excited, slowly pushing himself upright, rolling on his belly, getting ready to help him.

The last pulses eased, and the angel gave a long, contented sigh. Her hands flexed and peeled off his half-crushed legs, and she simply shoved at his ass to slide him off her cock like some offensive bit of offal clinging to her. His head sank first, his body tilting precariously as he weighed that half-hard tool down until, with a wet, noisy slop, he popped off altogether to land on his brother, the both of them bouncing and jiggling rather comically with their vast, swollen middles, the brother knocked over on his back.

They worked upright together groggily, sharing a secretive little smile before skittering away, ducking between tables and legs. The angel paid them no mind now that she was done with them, and the other big people only glanced at them before averting their eyes. They scurried to a wall, in the shadow behind a support beam, where a small hole was carved in the stone and covered with a swinging, wooden flap. He let his brother push through first, plummeting into darkness, before the imp followed, leaving a trail of creamy juices behind, tracing the path to the angel's table.

Smooth stone slid against the imp's back as he plummeted into darkness, the shaft curving to turn and deposit him on a pile of straw just as his brother crawled up off of it. Here, a single, small fire, low in the corner, did little more than render the cramped space in a hundred crawling shadows. The ceiling loomed twice as tall as his head, though that made it too low for any man to enter without crouching. Here, his brothers slept and recovered from their treatment above. As his eyes adjusted, he took in his den with a smile.

The snug chamber stank of sex and sweat and smoke. In the corner by the one proper door, a broad cauldron sat over the little fire, keeping the contents warm. One imp always stood stirring lazily at the contents, eyes hooded, half asleep. A small knife sat on the edge of the cauldron. The swollen imp certainly wanted to rest now, so he waddled over to take up the blade. His lips peeled back in a silent snarl as he sliced up his arm, and poured his blood into the vat, adding it to that of his brothers. He pumped at the cut impatiently with his thumb until he started growing dizzy, and he finally clamped his hand over it and turned to the others.

His brothers filled most of the rest of the room, crowded together, laid out and snoozing or chittering lazily to each other. Some gnawed on scraps from the kitchen. The vast majority of them had broad, swollen bellies like his own. The large people were productive. And those that were not, had their seed combined with that of others, much as the imp that had run with him was now. That one stooped between the legs of an eager brother, mashing his mouth to his sex. The other, laid on his back, wrapped his legs around that head to hold it tight, and others helped by grabbing hold of his massive belly and squeezing, pumping the seed out of him and into the other. They pumped it from stomach to womb with grunts of effort, and the new recipient cooed and shivered as he was filled, working up to a small orgasm of his own. Some slopped out on the straw below, but they tried to keep that to a minimum. Especially with this seed.

The still-swollen imp moved to join those others now, a little separated from the majority of the imps in the room. There was a thin gap, a line of separation between two clusters. This smaller crowd were more tense, shuddering and wincing even as they slept, but the other group looked to them with eagerness and jealousy both. These were the imps bearing the seed of the angel. Not a drop was spared of her seed that could be helped. Oh, they saved all the seed they were given, to make more of their own, but her seed... yes, her seed was more important than any other. The imp found a spot to squeeze in between two others on the straw and lay back with a long sigh, finally releasing his arm. The wound was slowly disappearing. He relaxed, hands rubbing over his obscenely oversized belly. He did not know if he would be the one, but he could hope. For that... for this hope, it was worth the humiliation, and the terror. His eyes slipped shut, and he dreamed of vengeance.

The chamber milled slowly with the imps moving about, some helping others transfer seed or roll over with their burdens, or make the difficult trip over to the cauldron to make their donation. It took days to gestate, and they only grew heavier as it wore on, though their bellies usually shrank slightly by the end. Occasionally the door cracked open, and all the imps that did not slumber looked up, but it was always one of the imps from the kitchens, with a sack of scraps and garbage. Another feast, to be distributed to the resting.

A high cry pierced the buzzing quiet, and the excitement began. One of the imps was ready! He clutched at his middle, legs kicking, scraping at the floor. Others moved quickly to surround him, some taking hold of his legs, others massaging his belly or his sex. He panted tightly, rasping and whining, and he clutched tightly at the hands of his brothers, his entire body breaking out in a sweat that seemed to make him a glowing presence in the midst of them, catching the distant light of the fire. Four or five little hands pressed gently over his lips below, rubbing them, gently easing them spread, rubbing up over his mons. He grunted thickly, his entire body flexing, drawing taut a moment, then easing shakily as he panted out again. His brothers murmured and cooed around him. These came every day, but every one was exciting. Every time, it reminded each of them of their own in the past, or tantalized them with what they might yet experience, and they shared in the electricity of the moment.

Another heavy flex of his body, and his massive belly shifted down slightly, the entire enormous mass sliding just a little lower on his frame. Other hands pressed in on his belly now, rubbing firmly, giving gentle pushes against the back of that bulge, urging it further down. It inched lower, contorting the imp's frame, slowly pushing his legs just a little further apart. Finally, the hands rubbing at his sex revealed a glimmer of something smooth when they spread his lips. It was coming. Their touch was tender now, careful to just gently massage his flesh without daring push back on that mass. Every time the imp tensed, breath catching a moment, all those around him seemed to tense with him.

Slowly, his sex drew taut, and that pale surface, golden in the firelight, was plain between his lips. The full bulk sat just barely inside him now, warping his body extravagantly with its passage. If he'd been mortal, his pelvis would have been shattered long past. Instead, he was stretched to his very limit, his every breath ragged and rasping now as he struggled with his burden. A forest of arms descended to rub over his belly and ease it out, some gingerly spreading between his legs. Fingers touched ever so lightly to that pale surface. Hard. His lips started to spread rapidly, and he shrieked. Hands rubbed vigorously over that contorted slit, now a broad circle around a prodigious bulk. Hands spread on the broad dome pushing free of him. His wails reached an ear-splitting crescendo, and suddenly the great, golden orb lurched forward, its widest point free of his lips, and its tapering backside slid free all at once.

His head fell back, and tremors rocked the whole of his body as countless hands caught and caressed the egg, slowing it, easing it out of him, letting his lips slowly ease down its slender end. Even so, his sex slopped free of that shell before it was fully pulled out of him, left gaping with the passage, slowly folding in on itself, struggling to stifle the flow of air into his womb, emptied at last. The egg was embraced by many willing arms, and carried carefully to the corner opposite the door. Here, too, there were two, separate clusters. This egg joined the larger, and many cooed over it, rubbing its still-warm surface, but almost all would turn from it to admire the smaller cluster before going. Every egg was checked tenderly, rubbed over, inspected for any crack or blemish, and often extra straw was fetched to pad them. There were only three eggs in this small cluster, though the other cluster numbered over a dozen. Every one was a chance, and they all watched these precious few sharply.

It was when one imp stooped to put his ear to one of these eggs that it gave a subtle stirring. He gasped, and the others turned immediately. He waited a moment, and the room was silent. He strained to listen... and a low slosh of motion came to him. He grinned widely, and started to chitter in excitement. Things were just winding down from the laying, and now this! The imps rushed about, some ducking out the door to fetch fresh straw, and with utmost care, the egg was lifted, completely covered in eager hands of those crowding around, some simply laying hands overtop it, just wanting to touch it. They made a many-legged creature of a single core crawling across the floor to the center of the room, where some of the other imps were quickly cleared to make a space. A thick bed of straw was laid down, and the egg was settled down ever so slowly.

It was close, but none of them knew how long it would be still, and they settled around the egg to chitter excitedly and wait, staring at it. Those resting around the room slowly turned to watch, nudging awake those that slept. Sometimes, the seed did not develop into an egg and was merely absorbed, so even with the angel's production, there were so few eggs, so few of these hatchings. Every eye turned to it again and again, looking out for the first sign as they shifted and squirmed in the near darkness.

Finally, the first crack came, and every imp breathed a reverent sigh. The hatching took a good stretch of time, the shell slowly breaking apart as their new brother worked his muscles properly for the first time, but they did not notice the hour. And at last, the fragments fell away to reveal their new brother, blinking slowly in the light. He was identical to them all. Every imp was a perfect copy of every other, for in a way, they were all one. But this one... perhaps, just perhaps, this one would be different. Dozens of red eyes glimmered in the light, watching for some sign.

The newborn gave a single, lazy cry and crawled down, breaking his shell enough to sprawl on the straw. He blinked fuzzily at the room and his many brothers. He was just a little smaller than the rest of them, but a day or two would see him joining them in size. If he was the same. That was the real question. And tonight especially, everyone was on edge. Waiting. Hopeful. It was a night of portent, after all. A night of power.

The many brothers lingered and watched as their new hatchling panted softly, giving little mumbles now and then, until finally, he pushed himself up to roll over onto his rear. Many of them stirred, but one was quick to rise, and to go to the small cluster of swollen imps in one corner. The very same imp that had just come down the chute an hour or so past spread his legs readily, and his brother knelt to delve into his sex with two fingers. He drew out a thick dollop of angelic cream, his hand twitching as it burned at him. He hurried to the hatchling, and the last whispers faded into silence. Every pair of eyes was focused on the two now, as the imp knelt again. He took the hatchling's hand, and spread that holy cream across the back of it.

The hatchling looked down at his hand. He did not flinch. He looked up into the elder imp's eyes... and smiled.

A rush of whispers rose like a sudden wind, circling the two of them, growing quickly. Murmurs, giggles, shifting and squirming bodies, grumbling bearers struggling to get a better look.

The elder imp stared into the hatchling's eyes as the little one took those two fingers, and drew them to his mouth. He sucked the cream from them, tongue probing to take every drop of this holy essence, passed from body to body to body to reach him. There was no pain. He sighed, releasing those fingers, and a broad smile split his face. He was the one. Every one of them was born identical, with a sort of shared knowledge. He knew how hard his brothers had worked, how long they had suffered, to create one among them... that was just a little different.

Shaking, the elder brought his hand to his own mouth. He bit down on his fingers, blunt little fangs struggling until his own flesh finally tore. The wizard had taken many things away from them, but in his greed, he had given them others. The capacity to make more of their own, that he would have an unlimited work force, and an unlimited source of demon's blood. And, when one of them was injured...

He embraced the hatchling. They hugged tightly, and the hum rose to a clamor, a rough chanting, a primitive song around them, all the imps swaying in excitement. The elder imp's body... loosened. His skin almost seemed to slide slack, and his bones yielded, his entire form growing amorphous. Where his flesh met the hatchling, the seams squished and disappeared, their bodies joining, and he melted into his new-hatched brother, disappearing into him. And he was gone.

The hatchling stood, his eyes clear, his smile more confident. He was still smaller than his brothers-- doing this did not add too much. It would replenish his blood, and it would speed along a new birth to help fill out the ranks, but the wizard had not wanted there to be any... suspiciously large imps running around. Fortunately, as of tonight, what he wanted did not matter anymore.

Others rose. The new imp spread his arms, turning to meet the closest as that one bit into his own flesh. There was a soft gurgle and hiss as they pressed together and the imp flowed into his brother, his feet leaving the floor in the last second before he was a subtle ripple of mass rolling through the imp's belly. Others grasped his hands, pressed to his back, blood briefly smearing across his skin before it disappeared under the arm pushing into him, a head nestling in against his neck, then melding down into his shoulder, his back broadening as another was added to it. His arms thickened rapidly as imps clasped fingers with him and shriveled into nothing. The chanting was growing louder, though the room was slowly emptying.

The press of bodies had never been so intimate, so sweet a surrender. Some of the imps, the oldest, actually had tears in their eyes as they approached him, laughing and singing. Finally, the time had come. They would press hands to his chest, and he would inhale deeply as the wisdom of years, and the pain of subjugation, became part of him. He had known much from the moment he hatched, but he had never imagined the volumes of thoughts, of experiences, of ideas never spoken, that came to him now.

One of the last standing thought to rush to the kitchens. Everyone had to know! In the meantime, the imp-- the Big Imp, now twice as tall as his brothers, turned to those still bearing. There would be no need for more ugly little cunt imps. He was already a different creature. Muscle broadened his frame. His shoulders were wide, his belly only a little plump, and below... It was small, but it was there. There were still traces of the real thing in them. He went to the freshest of the bearers, the one whose seed had proven his test. The little imp grinned, reaching up for him, and his big brother pulled him up to straddle his hips and slide firmly into that hot little cunt.

The little imp gasped and shuddered as his belly shrank, until that dome receded to wrap snug around a thick rod. The two ground together for a shivering moment, and the little one gave a single, ecstatic sigh as his brother's hands tightened around his arms, until his form began to flow and melt into that broad, handsome creature. He was taking on the face of a proper demon, now. The face they all knew, in the back of their mind. And he had a proper cock, now. That on its own was enough to break the others, thrusting it roughly into each of them to set them squealing and squirming, their broad bellies more snacks for the demon, weighing his balls down, straining his tip up through their bellies before they began to shift and flow like rushing water to meet him properly.

The door swung open suddenly, and he looked up. Dozens more-- the kitchen crew, all bouncing with excitement, hurrying to pick up the cauldron between them and bring it to him. Why should the wizard get another drop? The demon grinned.

Upstairs, the crowds were slowly noticing that their empty mugs were not being taken away or refilled, and no new meals could be ordered. There wasn't a single little pink body scuttling through the crowd to wave at or snatch up and shove under the table. Andrea only noticed when her arousal started to hit the table repeatedly with her shifting about.

"And y'know wha'the best part was?" The angelic drake leaned forward, smirking loosely, her eyes not quite focused. "They thought I was a fake! They thought some-- some IMITATOR had paraded righ' inta a bandit camp and told 'em all ta lay down arms! They said there'd be no way an angel'd..." She blinked, frowning a little. "Well, they didn' b'lieve me, anyway. So I gave 'em a lil o' the wing action!" To demonstrate, she abruptly extended her wings, dual curtains of silvery, glittering feathers bristling, and that holy aura flooded the room once more-- like feeling a sudden burst of sunlight on the eyelids of one's soul. "They right shat themselves then!" She guffawed and pulled her wings back, unfolding and folding them a few times before they'd settle, that strange aura flicking on and off, making the people of the tavern shift uncomfortably in their seats. "And lemme tell ya', the leader was a cute one. I thought about makin' some arrangements, I had ideas how she could serve her time doin' service t'the commi-- commu-- th' people." She smirked darkly.

Finally, Lauren stood, and Andrea looked up, turning her head slowly. "Done already? Th'night's young, bunny rabbit." She smiled in an overly amorous manner.

"Mm, I'm afraid so. I prefer to be home before sunset if I can help it." She glanced around. "And in any case, I think Reuben may need to see to the staff. It was nice seeing everyone again." The ferret frowned, drumming his fingers on the table.

"The st--?" Andrea blinked. "Oh! Yeah! Reuben!" The drake turned an accusing look on the wizard. "Where are all the poppits?" She thumped the table pointedly, from below, and smirked despite herself. "Haven't seen one in a spell."

"I don't know... it's not like them to slack." Reuben studied the room, and the doors to the kitchens. "I thought maybe there was an injury, but it's been too long..." He rose as well. "I'll have to have a look. Honestly, they should know to bring problems to me by now."

The little group was on the verge of dissolving for the night when the floor began to shake. Frightened furs shouted and clung to tables, to support beams, some shouting that it was an earthquake. Abruptly, a hole opened in the stone floor-- a perfectly round gap, shadowed, into which a table and several patrons promptly fell. They landed quickly, yelping and scrambling up out of the hole, which seemed to be slanted to one side at a diagonal below. The shaking had stopped, but everyone was shouting now, many moving toward the exits.

Amidst the confusion, Andrea stood, swaying a little, and hissed. "Something is... coming..."

Beneath the clamor of the crowd, a slow, rhythmic thumping was just barely audible. Heavy footsteps. People were crying for Andrea to tell them what was happening, but she and her companions only stared at the hole, the angel summoning a gleaming sword to her fist, the wizard flicking a large, crystal orb into existence in his palm. Gradually, the flow toward the front door became a rush.

With a crash, the fallen table burst from the hole-- it shot into the air at a diagonal to smash into the ceiling, shattering. Someone screamed. The people grew silent.

Two black spikes stabbed up out of the darkness, bobbing and rising, bending in tight, dual zig-zags before planting in a broad, red-skinned skull. Wicked horns they were, rising steadily over a visage at once beautiful and terrible. Pointed of chin and nose, yet smooth and handsome in jaw and cheekbone, heavy browed over eyes that flickered between gold and red as they darted around the room. Broad shoulders, bowed with muscle, rose underneath, framing an unnaturally graceful, sweeping chest that narrowed to a precarious waist before flaring over strong hips and a full bottom. But looming before him as he stepped up into the room was his demonic rod, a broad, unholy phallus, curved upward and larger than a man's arm. Its body was a mass of blood red wrapped in overlapping, chaotic ridges of black, all tilted to drive wicked points and edges back toward his crotch, giving it the look of, perhaps, a furious feral beast, its fur bristling up in layers. It swayed slowly from side to side as he stepped into the room, as if surveying the puny bodies spread before it. Finally, long, sleek legs planted clawed feet on the floor, and this interloper, apparently just risen from the underworld itself, stopped to stand over them, his horns nearly grazing the ceiling beams some twelve feet up. Those others in the room were as children before him.

"It's Mephit!" A woman screamed suddenly. "Mephit the Rapist has returned!" A wailing rose in half a dozen throats.

"No." The demon's single word filled the air, choking out all other sound. The quivering, fearful creatures around him found their voices dead in their throats. "I am Talas, Son of Mephit. After five years of humiliation and suffering, I am, at last, complete." He allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. His very presence was a low growl just below hearing, the sense that over every shoulder, just out of sight, was something feral and hungry, about to pounce. Just looking at him, any one of them could only feel small, and helpless. Like meat on a platter that just realized its role in life. All of them were crushed under this sensation-- save one.

"Wait, so... what?" Andrea frowned, glancing down to take a measured step forward. "You mean you're... you were one o' the imps?" She scowled around at Reuben. "We better not have a dozen more of these down there, or I'll be at this all day." She hefted her sword in one hand and adjusted her cock with the other, still jutting out of her robes ahead of her.

The towering demon smirked. "No... the many have become one. Rather than a crop of degenerate, watered down creatures, I am now the one, true son of the Grim Demon." His eyes turned to the ferret as well. "...Thanks to the greed and ambition of your wizard friend, we were given all the tools we needed. If you wish to know how I came to be, the answer begins... with him."

Reuben sputtered, going pale, and Andrea turned on him fully. "Reuben..."

"I-I don't know what he's talking about!" The wizard cut in quickly, glancing between the angel and the demon, his eyes quickly widening.

"Come, now," the demon chided, a smile spreading on his lips. "You achieved quite the series of magical feats in your quest for glory and gold. If you cannot bear to brag, I'll just have to explain myself..."

Mouth working, the ferret shot his eyes between the demon and the angel. Finally, he cried out, "why are we even listening to a DEMON? A-Andrea, you know he's just stalling for time! H-he has to be! Strike him down before he kills us all!" His desperate plea rang hollow in his throat, his eyes flicking about constantly.

Even with fuzzy eyes, the angel's face was hard. Her sword fell forgotten from her claws, disappearing. Once more, in a low, warning growl: "Reuben...?"

He groaned, one paw rising to his face. "I can't believe we're doing this. ...Fine. But I warn you... y-you don't want to know. You'd be much happier going on without this." He paused a moment, as if hoping that would somehow dissuade her. "Just... I warned you," he murmured weakly, and drew a deep breath. He looked up to the demon. Talas. "I, uh... well. When the many mothers Mephit impregnated finally laid their eggs, we gathered all of them. To study. I found that there was a certain connection between them, a... a likeness that transcended their differences in parentage. Probably to make them some kind of unstoppable army of perfectly synced warriors or some such. But I managed --at great personal cost-- to modify the entire clutch, to strip the powers from the demons within. Their growth would be stunted, their behavior molded. The descendants of the monster would become the servants to the people. That was... the basic idea, the one we told everyone about."

"But..." He went on quickly as the drake gave a low, impatient snarl, "I... I knew this was an unprecedented opportunity. Demons have many incredible properties that can be," he giggled nervously, "extremely valuable for fueling and amplifying magic, and even developing new, very beneficial fields of study. Their resilience and natural healing. Their... plasticity. I amplified these traits, and I... strengthened the connection. I made the imps essentially interchangeable, and..." He swallowed slowly. "And I made them able to birth more of themselves, exact copies of the same basic creature, when impregnated."

The angel blinked rapidly, mouth falling open to try and form a furious query, but the demon cut in. "And why," he rasped, eyes bright under heavy brows, "did you do that? Tell them, wizard."

Reuben swallowed, looking away. "Well... I knew some of them would die, sooner or later. Because... I was bleeding them." He put his hands up. "Demon's blood is incredibly valuable for arcane rituals! How could I refuse an endless supply of the stuff, had I the chance? The gold from this has been a monumental help to restoring the city. You think I could make donations of that magnitude from the proceeds of a tavern?" He shrugged dismissively. "I saw a way to help. And... yes, and to make sure I was reasonably well off. But as I said, I made a considerable investment to begin with, molding the creatures, and-- and I'm bloody well looking after them all the time, aren't I? Not a job most folk could stomach," he griped. "Anyway. They don't inherit anything from the donors, they should all be identical, no matter how many times they breed. It made sure I always had plenty of hands, and they'd all be perfectly subservient. It was..." He gestured emphatically at the towering monster before them. "THIS was never supposed to happen!" He almost whined with frustration. "And that's... that's all I did to them. I never thought they could do anything like this."

"All you did." The demon's voice was low. "Mutilated and malformed me before I was even hatched. Took away independent thought to make some hazy half-collective of confused, stupid meat-things to carry out your menial chores and serve as cumsacks. Bled me, made livestock of me. Slave, janitor, prostitute, and cattle to the slaughter, all in one. That is all you did... to ME." His eyes flicked to Andrea.

The drake was rubbing her head, frowning a little. It took her a moment to catch his meaningful stare. "Mousetits, what? What else? By the gods, just tell us what you know so I can kill you already."

As they spoke, slowly, the others in the room slid toward the doors. One by one, they ducked outside to flee for their lives and spread the word that some new, terrible demon was facing down with the Angel of Wrath, right this very moment! The city was slowly boiling into a panic as word traveled street by street, but there was one dark figure that moved faster than rumor.

Hugging the neck of her horse, hood fluttering behind her, Sicarius kicked for still more speed, charging down the streets in a wild dash. People leapt aside as she barreled through the dusk traffic, dodging wagons, cutting off other riders, pushing always for more speed. Ahead, the crowds grew thicker: a great mass of grumbling folk stuck waiting on some sort of stoppage ahead. They were milling through all the nearby offshoots, trying to find a way around, and the entire area was thick with people, horses, and carts. Snarling, the ocelot leapt from her saddle to catch the overhang at a storefront, climbing on top and scrambling over the mess of people, lightly jumping between the tops of carriages and low rooftops. People swore and laughed as she tore by overhead, a brief flicker of shadow passing over their heads.

At the Poppit Bowl, Talas smiled broadly. "There is no need for us to fight, in truth. Regardless of who kills whom, I have already won. We of the abyss will always win, because corruption... Corruption is our element, and it takes only the tiniest clawhold to slowly corrupt the whole." He turned a broad, hungry grin on the wizard, but spoke on to the angel. "For example... I knew that, normally, if I were to return, to finally take this form and confront you all, normally, I would have been struck down as my father was. But greed and temptation opened the way for me. Yes, the fool traded in our blood to line his pockets. But merely selling raw materials is not nearly so lucrative as using them to offer... magical services... at a steep profit margin." Here, his eyes trailed down the drake's body to her hefty shaft, now hanging at half mast.

Reuben buried his face in his paws. Andrea blinked, and her mouth drew together in a twist, her face slowly turning purple.

"You begin to see..." The demon cooed with relish. "You have been touched with essence of demon. It flows in your blood, and quite rapidly, with how gleefully you use that thing... And so it is that I had the tiniest chance, upon... receiving... your essence in turn, to..." He drew a deep breath, and spread his arms. "Create something new." Taking a step forward, he waved at her expansively. "Now, in a way, we are brother and sister, you and I. There is a little of me in you... and a little of you in me." He gestured to her, then drew his hand to his chest, slowly closing it in a fist. The angel was shaking, teeth bared. "Isn't that right, Entreia? You may not have wanted me, but an accidental child deserves just as much love, does he not?" He spread his arms to the ceiling now. "Bless me, Goddess! Let your divine love flow through me!"

"BLASPHEMY!!" Andrea roared, and a sword sliced through reality itself to appear in her claws, flashing brilliance around the rapidly emptying tavern as she spread full, glittering wings of blades. Launching into the air, her eyes shone with hatred and holy vengeance, her robe flowing, the very portrait of the Angel of Wrath, purging the unworthy from this world. Her sword carved a golden arc over her head to strike-- and stopped dead against a spread hand of bright red. A crash, like a thousand glass chimes shattering, resounded through the wide room as the impact sent a shock down his arm: flaring lines of gold in elegant scriptwork, like tattoos, visible only for an instant covering every inch of his body in reaction to the impact of divine energy against itself.

"Oh..." The demon whispered into the silence that followed, smiling up at the angel, "you should see your face right now. That almost makes it all worth--" Deafening crashes drowned him out as the angel struck again and again, wings beating wildly at the air as she yanked her sword back and hacked at his hand without pause, until all others in the room were on their knees, covering their ears, many not noticing the blood dripping from noses and eyes as the pressure on their very souls built, shockwave after shockwave of ethereal energy rebounding over them. The demon was not cut, nor did his hand stir as her blade struck it time and again.

And suddenly, it stopped. His fingers closed around her blade as it landed, and the angel lurched, her snarl lost in the echoes of catastrophe, struggling to haul her blade free of his grip. But he twisted it free of her claws and, grinning in amusement, turned it on her, holding it like a dagger.

It was at this point that Reuben saw fit to be elsewhere. With a rustle of fabric, his cloak wrapped around him and started to shrink-- he disappeared in on himself, a little bundle of cloth shrinking rapidly into a hole in existence-- before Talas flung out his spare hand, and the bundle stopped abruptly. It twitched, and squirmed, and from some great distance, the ferret began to scream.

Andrea did not notice. She had fallen to the floor, staring at her holy sword, the blade which had conquered Mephit, now turned on her. Her mouth was a furious rictus, but her fear was writ large in her eyes. When Talas looked back to her, he frowned, and the angel started to shake. Then he gave a soft laugh, and tossed the sword aside, though it dissolved into glimmering dust before it could strike the ground.

"Such a sword cannot harm me, sister, but it cannot harm you either. No need to fear that." He shrugged, and offered her a hand.

Eyes wide, the angel stared up at him. He was grinning down at her, hand outstretched. In the silence, someone sobbed softly. Finally, the angel straightened.

The demon twisted his hand around her and seized her wings in a viper's strike, and she choked out a scream as he plucked her into the air to hold her face to face with him. "No, if I kill you, I'll do it with my bare hands. Don't you worry about that." His voice was charged with fury and pleasure. "But that remains to be seen. Before that... I am in you, and you are in me, dear sister. But... something seems so off-kilter about that, doesn't it? After all... you've been in me so many times already, but I've never truly been inside you." With a casual swipe of his claw, her clothing and armor came apart in shreds, falling to the ground in a heap with a dull clang. She hung over his terrible rod now, naked, and it seemed to twitch as if sniffing up at her. Her face was twisted with rage and fear, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "But that's still for later. Rest assured, dear sister, I AM going to fuck you. But you can wait your turn." He grinned.

And with that, he tossed the angel on the ground. Before she could respond, he turned and sat square on top of her. Muffled cries rose as her arms, half-trapped, slapped at the sides of that firm rear, mashing in over her head, burying her in the cushion of his sinfully shapely body.

Reclining with a delighted smile now, relaxed, something in his demeanor seemed to click into place. His eyes darted over the small handful of people still in the tavern, and he called out. "Mother! Won't you come here?"

It was hard to comprehend, but among those that still dared to look, the demon's behavior gradually took on a new light. Yes, he was menacing, and vengeful, and intent on terrible deeds. But, somehow, there was something of the child in him. There was a simple joy in being alive in his eyes now, and though he humiliated the struggling drake trapped under his rear, it did look... well, rather silly. And with the way he slouched so easily over her, one arm draped over his raised knee, it did not seem quite so strange for him to call for his mother. And, indeed, after a moment, she stepped forward.

Folding her paws together tightly, her ears draped over her shoulders, Lauren moved slowly into the open space, within the invisible circle none of the mortals yet paralyzed with fear dared cross. She was not an imposing woman. Wide in the hips, perhaps, and a bit pudgy, but she seemed the child as she stood before him. Even sitting, he loomed over her, smiling. Lazily, he beckoned her closer still with one hand. Finally she drew within arm's reach of him, trembling almost imperceptibly, her mouth a tight line as she stared up at the creature which had, perhaps in some small part, by a strange extension of logic, come originally from her womb. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak.

"What," the demon cut in, "do you desire...?"

The rabbit blinked up at him. For a moment, she was silent. "I... wish that you would do no harm, and--"

"What," he rasped again, "do you desire?"

She stared up at this creature, this Talas, and faintly, she blushed. "I desire nothing."

Slowly, he grinned.

Across the city, a red-faced badger on horseback was shouting at a stubborn old woman with a cart. "Take it some other bloody way! Two idiots rammed their carriages together, and now half the city's--" her voice cut off in a gurgle as something appeared, glittering silver, in her neck. Eyes wide, she reached up, teetering, and fell from her saddle.

Her leg was barely clear before Sicarius landed on the horse, seizing the reins and wheeling the horse around. The old woman screamed, diving out of the way as the strange ocelot in black charged down the road, whipping at the reins, slicing through the crowds in a thunder of hooves.

At The Poppit Bowl women stared, transfixed, as the priestess screamed out, held high in the air. Eyes wide, she struggled, she writhed, clutching at the great, red hand wrapped tight around her middle. Her dress riding up around her middle, her thighs jiggled and flexed, spread wide. She moaned. And those who admired her, who worshiped her, watched on as an enormous, sinuous, pink tongue slithered up into her sex, curling up to saw over her clit before stuffing deep between her spread lips.

Talas smiled up at his mother, as well as he could with his mouth hanging open, fucking her with a tongue longer than her leg, apparently infinitely dexterous in exploring her uterus. It swirled around her very depths, nearly tying itself in knots inside her, and her middle swelled with its bulk as her eyes rolled up in her head, and she began to give in to ecstasy. Her cries grew fervent, and juices began to roll down that wriggling tongue, into his waiting maw.

Below, Andrea, the living embodiment of holy wrath, struggled to resist her own need for air. Her muzzle was buried tight into the cleft of this horrible creature's rear end, and his musk filled her nose. Gritting her teeth, she refused to inhale the scent of this abomination, struggling as his balls twitched against the top of her head. Plump cheeks hugged her face, pinning it down against her chest, and she could see nothing but the occasional glimpse of indirect light from between his thighs and his sack. She bore his full weight, crushing her to the ground. Where was her strength? She was a holy being! She was righteous and pure, she was on this world solely to vanquish monsters such as this wretch, so why couldn't she... get his stupid ass... off her face! She dragged a ragged little breath, shuddering as his thick, masculine musk filled her, his cheeks flexing against her face and her breasts. She could feel the throbs of pleasure in his taint, swelling against her brow. She could only snarl, trying to claw into him, kicking at the floor, forced to draw those little gasps of air again and again, from what little she could manage in this tight space.

Lauren's voice rose in a strange, erratic symphony as her moans swelled and eased and swelled again, driven from her, her juices running down her rump and her thighs as she seized around her son's tongue again and again, completely beholden to the pleasure he was pouring up into her. Finally, she sagged, panting, exhausted, weakly shaking her head a little. He had ignored her protests before, but now, he slowed, and that tongue dragged out of her at length, inch after inch pouring from between her lips. Someone in the shadowed corners of the room moaned faintly.

At last, his tongue slipped free entirely, and Talas sighed. "There, now. Isn't that better? I hated to see you suffering so. Why should a goddess of love ask her supporters not to indulge in love itself, and everything it can offer?" He smiled softly, a strange expression on that sinister face, and he plucked up a discarded cloak to spread on the floor before he laid her down delicately to one side. "Rest, now, mother. I have business to attend to." He sat up, and then rose to his knees. A desperate gasp sounded under him. "Business... and pleasure."

Andrea shrieked, spinning to get her feet under her, but he seized her without looking. "Now," the demon rasped, pulling her around and up before him, "you will know the pain and humiliation you visited upon me." He gathered her arms in a single fist to let her hang by them, pulling her one leg up and angling her over the terrible, twitching creature in red and black jutting from his loins.

Staring down at the heavily ridged spire, Andrea bared her teeth in a snarl, but her eyes were wide. "You can't possibly--" her abrupt shriek rang through the tavern as he shoved her down, plunging that monster into her, brutally forcing her to accept his presence in her most delicate place. Eyes bulging, she writhed, trying to claw at him with all four limbs, tail lashing wildly, her wings beating as if to carry her away, but she faltered and stopped as quickly as she'd started at the feel of what all that movement did to her insides, leaking a choked groan. Already, her belly bore a visible swell above her own flaccid cock, and it stirred visibly with every thick throb of the demon's rod.

Talas chuckled, low in his throat. "Is that all the fight you have in you, Angel of Wrath? All this time you used me, derided me, and all it takes is one little poke for you to accept your fate?"

Her eyes burned, and she tensed, trembling, but did not move.

"Well then... perhaps I'll just indulge myself." He seized her hip and shoved her down, burying another series of strange, jagged ridges into that inflamed cunt, and she screamed. Wildly, desperately, she screamed and kicked, head whipping about to fling tears across the floor, but it did nothing but bring a grin to the demon's face. "How does it feel now, holy one? Does it hurt, to be defiled and used like so much meat?"

All around the tavern, the few remaining watchers were very still. The drake wrenched her head up, meeting his gaze, and the muscles in her jaw flexed, her fangs grating against each other. She did not speak.

The looming creature in red let a long breath go through his lightly pointed nose. "Very well..." His teeth bared.

Another wrenching shove, and he felt her cervix burst open around his bulk. She did scream then, truly, she shrieked and arched back, howling wordlessly to the heavens themselves as barbs of hard flesh bit into her womb, like an arrow meant to never pull free of the wound. And again he shoved her down, and again, her own hide stretching outward around an increasingly clear sculpture of his phallic monstrosity. She stared at it, at what could only be her own womb stretching upward and out of her body around the absurd behemoth lunging up between her trembling legs. She should have died. Her flesh refused to break, by virtue of Entreia's blessing, and so she was denied the mercy of death. Tears rolled down her cheeks and into her snarling maw.

When at last he shoved her down and her body could yield no further-- straining, creaking, but refusing another inch of his dread spear, the demon sighed and took pause. Settling back, he released her, and she coughed out a brief wail as her full weight settled upon the length impaled through her middle, the tip jutting up between her breasts. Even if she had the strength, she could not have pulled off. She could feel those ridges buried in against her, claiming hold of inch after inch of her insides, locking behind her very bones. The angel and the demon might as well have been of one body. She could not escape him, and so he had no reason to even try to hold her with anything else. She hung on his cock, trembling weakly.

And again he spoke, his eyes hungry. "Does it hurt...?" The words were low, but they filled the room.

Her head hung back, and she swallowed, hands closing into fists at her sides, trembling... and coming undone. "Yes..." She sobbed, dragging her head up. "It hurts! It fucking hurts!" Her brow drawn together, her eyes couldn't open for the gleaming tears, her face contorted in anguish.

And in that moment he took pause, staring at her, but there was no smile on his lips. The next moment, however, he quickly donned one. "Good. Perhaps now you will begin to understand what I had to live through." She snarled and cursed weakly in answer as his hands coursed over her, caressing her body, and she weakly tried to twist away from his touch, even now, impaled on his fell rod. He began to rub and stroke over her in many places, especially where his own flesh bulged through her. He felt along her straining lips, teasing at her clit to make her writhe and snap at him. He caressed her belly all up that great ridge until he found where her cervix yet struggled to strangle his length, and he massaged there, fingers delving into her flesh to rub at that cramped ring directly. He even cupped her breasts, slowly stroking over her nipples, rolling them loosely this way and that.

Finally, the devastated drake rasped, "w-what are you... doing...?" She squirmed under his strange, almost gentle touch, perhaps tempted to think she was losing grip of her sanity.

Talas was surely grinning now. "I mean to show that I am your better in every way. Even in fucking you, using you for my satisfaction, I will do a better job of it than you ever could. I..." He leaned low over her, slowly forcing her forward as he whispered noisily into her ear, "will make you love it."

Fear and pain had flashed across the angel's face often in the last quarter hour, but now, as she absorbed his words, felt his hands roaming over her... Now, a new kind of horror dawned on the drake's face, eyes rising to the heavens.

Far away, in one of the city's muddy, stone-walled canals, an old Terrier sat in a rowboat, grumbling as she struggled to untangle her fishing line. A commotion on the streets high above drew her eyes up just in time-- to see a horse leap over the retaining wall! Some poor boy was knocked over with it, and both were about to plunge a good ten yards into either dark waters or the rickety pier. She barely started to curse when she spotted a woman-- the mad bitch riding the horse was crouching on the saddle, and she leapt off the poor beast's back as it plummeted, arcing through the air above the narrow river. She was surely going to plaster herself across the stone of the opposite wall!

But at the last second she produced some kind of metal hook, catching a stout iron bar protruding from the wall to swing her feet forward-- and straight through a thick curtain of creepers she'd thought a mass of moss on solid rock. And just like that, she disappeared. The old dog stared, eyes wide, as something crunched grotesquely behind her.

Back at the infamous tavern, Andrea was screaming. "Damn you!" She shrieked with one breath and moaned with the next, her body arching, her head twisted away to one side as if she could somehow refuse the confessions of her own body. Her nipples were rock hard under the demon's teasing fingers. Her belly surged up as he rocked against her, climbing gradually higher as she accepted more of him. Her own cock swung around wildly, hard and drooling, and she couldn't stand to look at it flopping about uselessly in the shadow of that colossus.

Her cries had been so ferocious to start: an onslaught of low snarls and curses and promises of revenge, mostly delivered through her teeth. But his hands moved patiently over her, molding her flesh, soothing her aches to let more pleasure flow through. Slowly, her wings faltered in trying to scythe him apart with those bladed feathers. They withered as she lost her concentration, and her cries took a higher pitch. Many of them started almost sounding like moans, but quickly turned to stammered threats. Still, she sounded desperate, breathless, eyes glazed as her breasts bounced and her belly gurgled with its terrible burden in front of the people that had hailed her a savior.

Now, moans were breaking through. Real moans, though she struggled to choke them back. As he dragged out of her, punishing her walls with those terrible ridges in his shaft, Andrea cursed him with such venom he should have melted on the spot. When he pushed in, though, pulling her into him by her hip and a firm grip on her breast, the air pushed from her in great, lusty lows, her tongue lolling out as her eyelids weighed low. Talas couldn't help but grin, watching her alternate between vicious and sweet. He might almost have described it as cute.

But watching her drool pleasure on the floor, feeling her writhe around him, the demon knew he could not hold back much longer. Sighing deeply, he pulled the scaled angel close against his chest, pulling that peak all the tighter through her hide as he guided her head back in a tight arc-- and kissed her. Her eyes snapped wide, and wider still as her throat bulge with his tongue. She gave a muffled, gurgling snarl as she tried to bite at the invader, but it was useless. He took her fully from below and from above, and all she could do was tremor violently, skewered and trapped and helpless to hide her rabidly bobbing shaft, flinging juices all over the place.

That monster almost seemed to stir with a life its own inside her, and everyone could clearly see the way it bulged, straining at her very bones, before the first cannonball of demon seed impacted with her womb, violently jutting out a broad dome at the height of that peak. The dragon thrashed violently, clawing at his arms as her womb stretched brutally, taking a full and terrible breeding. She could only pray it was an impressive enough display they didn't notice her own shaft shooting off below. Angel and demon swayed together, locked tight by that flared abomination as he filled and filled her, turning her belly to a great, morbid dome pushing up her breasts and shoving her dick down to fire its load at the flooring hard enough for it to splash up again. Her imposing form had been dominated by that cock, and now, she was beginning to look more like a balloon, wobbling and churning as still more was added to her indestructible womb, stretching it well beyond anything a merciful God could have meant for her.

Spent, satisfied, Talas dropped her. The drake swung on his softening cudgel to faceplant on the floorboards, and slowly, the demon moved, dragging her behind hanging off his cock alone. She groaned weakly, dragging a trail of seed and drool after the towering culmination of evil, but she could offer up no resistance even to this humiliation.

At last, Talas confronted the ball of cloth hovering in the air that seemed to be the remains of the wizard, Reuben. It had stopped screaming at some point during the ravaging of the angel, and now hung limp where Talas had stopped it. Now, he grabbed that lump and... tore it off of something. Flesh and fabric tore, yet the bundle simply detached from the air itself, leaving nothing behind. But blood did begin to seep between the demon's fingers. He grinned, turning to the angel again, which forced her to roll over on his rod with a low groan. Slowly, he took that seeping red and drew a circle around the drake, marked with runes and interconnecting lines. "With the angel that struck you down, desecrated..." The demon intoned, absorbed in the work. "And the blood of the mage that sealed you... I summon you, Mephit. Father." His voice slipped into something terribly deep, beyond the mortal register, and he began to chant... while peeling the drake off his cock with one hand to let her fall down, wobbling, in the center of the circle.

His words were enough to freeze the blood of every woman that had yet lingered, transfixed by the horrors unfolding in the center of their town. Mephit. He was calling back Mephit. The last of them fled into the streets now, screaming, sending a fresh wave of panic through the city. The Grim Demon was going to return to finish his work. The Angel was defeated, the wizard dead, and Parshnell itelf was doomed.

Well ahead of even the first rumors, Sicarius dashed through the sewers below the feet of the unwitting public. Sentries spotted her, rousing, some moving to follow after her as she made like an arrow for the heart of their stronghold. A heavy door swung open as she approached, but so slowly she had to slide through it sideways. Inside, sparse torches illuminated the inner keep of Parshnell's chapter of the Order of the Web. She strode past stuffed bookshelves and young apprentices training, barking for her second. "Illichai! It's time! I need your blood."

That raised a great murmur from the many apprentices, and some rushed to make sure her second was found. Seconds after the ocelot finally came to a stop, Illichai was there. He was a dour knife of a man, the skinniest owl Six had ever known. "Mistress Sicarius?"

She took one moment to stare at the heavy vault door before her, her paw stroking slowly over the crystal globe, larger than her head, affixed to a pedestal at her side. "It's time," she repeated, softly. "The demons come. Everything we prepared for, and maybe more. Bleed for me, Illichai."

A long breath hissed from the avian, but a dagger appeared from his cloak. "Gladly, mistress." He carved into his arm, and on down his palm. Dark red bloomed immediately, but he was careful not to spill too much as he stepped forward. At the top of the crystal orb, a small slit led down into a forest of needle-thin tunnels bored through the crystal. It was beautiful, like the air around a tree with a thousand branches had been frozen solid and turned upside down. Now, he planted his hand over that slit-- and it drank up his blood greedily, not letting a drop roll down the orb's smooth surface. Illichai chanted in a dead language, and the orb drank not only of his blood, but of his conviction, his devotion to justice. It was a lock of many layers, the first of which was the way his blood filtered through those hundreds of tiny passages, passing through some, but not others, until the orb was filled with a solidifying lattice of crimson unique to this man. It knew him. It knew his taste, and it knew the righteousness of his cause. He was bleeding out, but still he stood steadfast. The need was great.

Countless layers of warding came undone, and with heavy clanks Sicarius felt through her shoes, the vault's seal was broken. The lock undone. She grit her teeth, waiting for the titanic block of metal to swing open as her apprentices gathered. One lieutenant, a lizard, drew close with a lantern. "Will you need us, Mistress Sicarius?"

"No time." She strode inside, and the lizard followed. The others peered in through the gaping doorway, breathless. They would likely glimpse the contents of the Vault only once in their lives.

Shelves lined the walls, crowded with strange objects, many wrapped in cloth or boxed up. Sicarius did not hesitate. She hurried past them all, to the very back, where a stone pedestal bore a dark purple pillow. Atop that lay a simple flute, made of silver. This, the ocelot picked up with great care and slid into her harness. She cast her cloak aside as she moved to one of the shelves. "Evacuate the town. Set fires if you have to. I want those streets empty."

The lizard nodded. "Where are they?"

She sighed, unfolding a cloak of glimmering, flowing black fabric. "Where else? The crater." She swung the cloak over her shoulders, fastened it, and turned to the lizard. Thusly clad, she seemed to blend with every tiny shadow around her, to not quite be there.

The lieutenant nodded again. "We'll come as soon as we can. Gods have mercy on you, Mistress." With that, she turned away, swinging her lantern low. Her shadow swept large over the dark shelves of the vault, and when she turned back again, Sicarius was gone.

Across town, the Poppit Bowl was deserted. When Talas finished his ritual, he had an audience of only two to watch on in horror as the air itself tore open. Black claws slid out of a space that had no light or dark or anything at all. Two immense, thrice-coiled horns pushed through atop a broad, grimacing skull of a head, yellow fangs bared behind black lips. Slowly, with a sound like steel ripping, a creature larger still than Talas emerged from the hole in reality.

Andrea screamed. She howled, though she had no air to do so. Tears rolling down either side of her head, she watched in abject terror as the Grim Demon emerged from the abyss, from which an idiot ferret had promised he could never possibly escape. Huddled behind a table, Lauren prayed silently, her legs shaking and useless under her.

Talons cracked against the floorboards, slicing through them effortlessly as the Rapist stood, a long, barbed tail slithering out of the hole behind him as it slowly reknitted, closing up. To any mortal, the pressure of his presence alone would make it almost impossible to think, to act. Andrea should have been better, but now she lay sullied and weak, and she couldn't lift a finger against the mere weight of sin radiating off this blazing star of darkness. Lauren quietly collapsed. Now, finally, Talas looked a child, or at best an adolescent, facing his towering father, who could only barely stand upright in this suddenly tiny tavern.

Talas's mouth opened, and a terrible sound rose from his throat. A grating of stone and bone, rising and falling in the cadence of what had to be language. It was a devil's tongue, beyond the understanding of mortals, and it soured the air, withering the wood of the tavern and turning food and drink foul. He had spoken Common with grace and precision, but this speech was a brutally harsh thing no human tongue could imitate. He spoke to his father, grinning, arms spread expansively. For a time, his father did not speak, so Talas went on, growing uncertain.

When Mephit did speak, in a heavy rumble that made loose chairs rattle across the floor, his son flinched, staring up at him in disbelief. Talas tried to speak, but his father interrupted him time and again, dismissing his words with a lazy wave of one gnarled claw or an impatient lash of that tail, shattering a table or slicing through a support beam. Talas's expression fluttered through perplexion, fear, and outrage as his father went on. The drake and the rabbit lay helpless on the floor to one side, unable to withstand the exchange.

Finally, Mephit turned away from his son-- and approached Lauren's prone form, his foul face twisting with what might have been a grin.

Talas moved quickly, though, speaking rapidly in that profane tongue as he put himself between his father and his mother. But with barely a twitch of one hand, the terror of Parshnell knocked his son aside and stooped, reaching for the tiny rabbit. Tears rolling down her face, she stared up at that living nightmare, returned from five years past. She tried to scream.

The red fiend jumped on his father's back, clawing into him, and Mephit snarled, seizing him easily. With a nauseating crunch, he crushed the lesser demon-- and Talas's flesh flowed, spreading over the Grim Demon's arm. A grunt turned to a scream as Mephit straightened, trying to scrape off the flowing amorphous mass his son had turned into, but it rushed up, devouring his arm, spreading across his torso. Thrashing about, the demon rapidly destroyed the tavern, finally breaking the floor itself to fall into the basement. He still stood waist-up in the common room, roaring as red flesh flowed like water up his neck, until it cut off the sound in a gurgle, sliding down his throat and spreading up his horns. His long tail was the last to be claimed, its countless jagged vertebrae disappearing one by one under the tide of red flesh.

Finally, not an inch of black could be seen: Talas was stretched tight around the terrible bulk of the Grim Demon, and whatever he was doing, the creature's flailing slowed, turning to struggling and rolling around, then flopping over and grunting, pawing at his arms. Lauren dragged her head over to watch as the smothered demon twitched a few more times, then fell still. She'd likely broken a leg getting tossed aside in the tumult, but she could not even scream.

The great mass of demon was still. The tavern creaked, straining with so many supports taken out, and now and then, something cracked loudly. Thankfully, the place didn't see fit to collapse just yet. The dust settled, gradually, and... something cracked. Slowly, the great mass half-sprawled across the floor, half-hidden below, began to crunch and shrink in on itself. Arms retracted, and the head became a low stump. The whole thing collapsed down into the basement, where the nauseating crunching continued, muffled but unmistakeable.

When silence finally fell, Lauren managed to push herself upright and see to pushing the debris off her. Andrea lay wallowing in a small heap, still enormously swollen and showing no sign of moving any time soon. The tavern was lit only by the fireplace and what little light shone through the windows, now. It was probably a miracle none of the braziers had set the whole place alight in the altercation.

Sitting helpless, Lauren peered around. The townspeople were all long gone... would anyone come to help? She blearily thought of escape, of getting help, but she doubted anyone was coming. Sighing heavily, she pulled herself around by her arms and, gritting her teeth, dragged her bad leg along as she worked her way closer to the gaping hole in the floor.

She was almost there when Talas leapt free, landing gracefully on the other side. She froze, silent.

For a stretch of time, the crimson demon stood there, staring at nothing. He looked unharmed-- unchanged, in fact. Mephit, it seemed, was simply gone.

He twitched his head to one side, an ear perked. Then, slowly, he turned his head a fraction. "...What's that you have, there?"

Lauren stared at him, not understanding. Then, a shadow she'd passed moments ago disgorged a small figure, cloaked in black, holding a length of silver to her mouth.

"Endrago's Pipe." Sicarius's voice was soft. She held the relic delicately, fingers poised to play, her lips just above the head. Watching him.

"Mmm." The demon went back to staring at the dirty windows. "That would do it, I imagine." He was silent for a moment, then: "you had plenty of opportunities to play, I expect. Why hesitate?" A smirk was audible in his voice as he added, a beat later, "I'm sure you are not afraid to give your life."

The assassin did not answer. Not at first, and not for a good while.

Finally, she spoke, her voice dry. "If I puff just a little too hard, I could take out maybe a quarter of the city. But..." She paused a moment more, then asked quietly, "...what did you say to your father?"

Talas looked down, slowly. His tail flicked out, and he settled into a squat, leaning on his knees. Just that had made Six tense, pressing the flute to her lips.

"I... I told him I wanted to go home. That I'd avenged him, and freed him, and now we should... go." He paused, then chuckled faintly. "I've never seen my world. I..." His head turned to consider the scraps spread across the floor. "I suppose I may never see it. He... saw me as something dirty. Tainted." Even crouched, the demon was taller than the little feline, but between his weary words and the way he held himself, staring at his hands now, it was hard not to see... vulnerability. "I did it all for him, you know? That was what kept every little wretch going, pushing on with the great plan. The image of our glorious father, struck down in his moment of triumph, waiting for us to free him. But... he... he hated me as much as that bitch." He laughed, mirthless, and waved a hand at the bloated drake half-buried under rubble.

For a moment, Talas stared at that heap of wood and woman. Finally, he sighed and rose, moving toward her.

Sicarius bristled. "Stop where you are."

The demon did not. "You can kill me if you want. I don't much care anymore." He sighed as he came to a stop over that pile, his once deviously sharp face now just looking gaunt and weary. Reaching down, he started pushing aside the rubble, freeing the catatonic angel. "I was so sure it would just... work. That I'd be the true vision of vengeance, striking down my tormentors and relishing their agony before crushing them. Take my rightful place at my father's side and... I don't know. Rule in hell. But..." He let a long breath go as he finally dragged the drake free. She weakly flopped an arm around in what was probably supposed to be a menacing or warning gesture. "It didn't work. I didn't... I couldn't... enjoy it." There was weary disbelief in his voice. "I've suffered too much to relish the suffering of others. Seen too much of these lives to be happy seeing them snuffed out. Even if I did hate all of you, it..." He chuckled weakly. "Maybe I really am tainted. A little too much divinity in me to do what was needed, in the end." He rolled the drake over and let her fall on her back. She gasped, and panted out weakly, catching all the air she could. "...I'm tired of all the suffering. Of all the monsters that feed off it." Talas grimaced at the helpless angel lying before him.

Sicarius stared at him for a time. Then, she asked a question that would change the history of Parshnell. And, in some ways, the world.

"...If I.. didn't kill you... what would you do next?"

The somber crimson figure considered that for some time. When he spoke, it began a conversation that would last long into the night. About suffering, and the weak and the strong. About power and justice. Eventually, Sicarius quietly pocketed her flute, and they found chairs and a table that were not too badly broken. It was a strange conversation to have, surrounded by destruction and wounded, and the two of them chuckled often about how preposterous this was becoming, but between these two unlikely founders, something new was born. Out of the tense but increasingly detailed discussion of the injustices of the world and what resources these two downtrodden but powerful individuals had at their disposal, there came a new arrangement that would eventually come to be known as the Parshnell Devil's Accord.

The days that followed were strange ones for many of the people of Parshnell. Five years ago, a demon had destroyed their lives and left the town in ruins. Now, rumors abounded of demon attacks-- not against the people, but against centers of power. Corrupt merchants, nobles with dark tendencies, mercenaries that skirted the line between business and murder. Overnight, centers of power were turned to steaming piles of bodies. Gradually, imperceptibly, the pressure on the people lessened. Money flowed to soup kitchens and shelters. Workers opened their own businesses, and the homeless found jobs. Life improved, day by day, and few were sure why until years later.

It was hard to hide it forever. People whispered of a huge, red-skinned creature saving lives, whether by stopping a stampeding horse or simply offering a loaf of bread, then disappearing. A legend grew, and eventually, reluctantly, Talas stepped into the light of day. Government shifted, and what began with a handshake between a demon and an ocelot turned into a new form of leadership, focused on the rights and safety of the people, and the prevention of corruption. It was a strange fate for a city scarred by demons' hands, and many laughed or drank themselves silly contemplating it all, but in the end, Parshnell flourished.

Talas never felt he fully made up for the deeds of his father, but he took comfort in every day he fought to make things better. Sicarius was honestly queasy at finding herself in such a lofty position in the local government, as she had little taste for actual leadership, but the work needed to be done, and she could trust few others to do it right, in the end. Lauren found herself similarly thrust into a high position in the church after some more shifting of influence, and rather than let the position change her, she quietly changed the role of the church as a whole in Parshnell. Reuben was never heard from again, and his various laboratories turned up looted in the days after the fifth anniversary. It was said Andrea still wandered the land, drinking and fucking her way through whatever bars she could find, regaling those that would listen with her stories of heroism until she inevitably blacked out, curled up with a drink and whatever foolish boy or girl let her put a dick to them.

As it was five years past, Parshnell saw its past swept away in fire. And as before, from the ashes grew new hope, and new ways of life. The city would be forever scarred by the calamities that had struck it, and stronger for them.

So goes the legend.