FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"His Majesty will see you now."

The wolf slowly rose from his chair.

"You know, he would understand perfectly if you needed more time."

"No," spoke the wolf in a hushed voice, "I am ready."

"Very well."

The advisor turned and opened the small door before them, and both figures quickly entered past the two heavily-armed knights upon either side of the frame. Music and lavender hung in the air. A small phonograph sat upon a broad stone table among a few decorated plates of meat, cheese, and bread. A grizzled old bear sat at the table, his fur streaked with gray, wearing a baggy and deep blue robe. Upon the approach of the two figures, he sat his knife upon his plate and stared at the black wolf with worried brow.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, Your Majesty" the wolf said, brining a paw to rest at the bandage wrapped around his head.

A small sigh escaped the bear at the title, and he waved his advisor out the door. As it clicked shut, the bear stood and pulled his robe tight. He swung around the table to stand nearer his dear nephew.

"Now, then. Talk to me."

The wolf swallowed. "Oh, God. I don't know. I don't know what happened." Donovan slumped into the chair waiting behind him. "I was asleep. The first few screams woke me. Sounds of a struggle in the lobby. I don't think I even bothered dressing; just grabbed my sword and rushed to the railing. The door was off its hinges. They were inside. Jones, Richter. They never stood a chance. I told them! I told them to behave but they wouldn't stop hassling the fucking help! They shouldn't have even been --" The wolf's slow and deliberate words had worked into a torrent, almost a scream. Tears poured from his eyes as the king rushed to him, clasping his hands upon the wolf's shoulders.

"Easy! Easy. I'm not so sure you're up to this yet." The king strode for the door, but stopped at the wolf's growl.

"NO!" The wolf shut his eyes and took a moment to gather himself. "I will be calm. This is important. This is for my men. They were strange, nothing I have ever heard about before. Scaly, coal-black; and fast. Extremely fast. When I descended the stairs, I--" The wolf's words caught in his throat. "There was nothing I could do..."

The old bear stood beside the hunched and sobbing wolf in patient silence.

"I was so enraged. After all we had done, all we had survived, these -- things had just come along and --" The wolf trailed off. "I don't even remember killing them. I felt blind to everything. I rush to the street and I see. I see. Everyone. They're killing everyone. They leaped into the houses and flushed the townsfolk outside. Where the others were waiting. It was a slaughter..." The wolf's voice had faded to a whisper, and came back strong. "I ran. Like a fucking coward, I ran. I ran and I did not stop until my legs gave out, and I slept where I fell."

"Where did they come from?"

"I don't know. We had erected the seals the moment we entered town. Guards on both gates. I don't know."

"No one is passing judgement on you, Donovan. The truth is, even the best men crumble to nothing in the face of true horror; even the king. There has been no word from any of the neighboring towns, and our searches have turned up nothing. I fear you may be the one and only survivor."

The wolf's eyes shot to the old bear. "No one? Not a single male -- or female?"

"No. No one."

They stood in silence.

"What are you going to do?"

The king clasped his hands behind his back, and strode to the adorned fireplace and crackling fire therein. "This cannot be ignored. The ancients have no place in this world anymore, and we must make that perfectly clear to them. The front will suffer, but I will divert resources into an effort to find these things, the putrid master they serve, and exterminate them all."

The wolf rushed to his feet, tipping his chair upon the stone floor. "I wish to --"

"No."

The air rushed from Donovan's lungs in unbelief. "You can't deny me --"

"Yes I can. I just did."

"Uncle!"

"Rest. You're lucky to come out of that ordeal with such a shallow gash. You know, if those things had put a little more force into their strikes, you would most certainly be dead."

"I'm a fast healer," the wolf spoke coldly. "I wish to pick them."

"What?" The king turned.

"The squad you send to wipe those pieces of shit from our kingdom. I wish to hand-pick them myself. Please. Please give me at least that."

The king heaved a sigh and strode to the captain. "Very well. Rest for now, Donovan. We still have a war to win."

The king embraced him tightly, and the wolf grinned over his shoulder.

*****

The ruddy vixen slumped into creaking wood, and the mouse sitting behind the desk in front of her eyed the fox with a frown.

"Are you, um, sure you are quite aware of the particulars?"

"Yes," she answered coldly.

The mouse ruffled through the mound of papers on his desk in dismay. "Hold on, hold on," he whispered idly. "Here we are. One-hundred twenty drachma for information leading to their SAFE return," the mouse stated.

"Yes."

"All right, then." The mouse extended a scrawny arm across his desk. "You're hired. Keep in mind the administration will NOT be funding your day-to-day needs.

The vixen absently took the mouse's paw in her own and gave a quick shake before standing. She slung her travel sack over her shoulder and exited unto cobblestone streets and bustling sidewalks.

After booking a room at the local inn, she sets to work. She winds her way through the large town, eventually coming to the fruit stand owned by the mother of the first to vanish.

"Evening," the vixen calls.

"What'll it be, miss? All is fresh."

"Actually, I'm here to talk about your daughter."

The old vixen stared vacantly at her. "You working for the mayor?"

"I answered the ad, yes."

"The bluecoats couldn't do anything. You won't be able to neither."

"If I could, wouldn't it be worth it to talk to me?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm tired of reliving it to every passing vulture looking to pocket a handful of fucking drachma from it. My daughter is gone. Please leave me alone."

"Lady, please. Just tell me where she was heading last."

"Fuck off."

The younger vixen glared in annoyance before walking off. She brought a creased list from her pocket and marked a thick black line through the first name on it with a chunk of coal. Next was Avern's Parchments. The bookstore's son had simply vanished from the town yesterday; never came home, was never seen leaving by anyone.

"Psst!" Someone hissed at her from around the corner.

The vixen's gaze darted upwards from her paper, and she stared off into the distance.

"Down here, lady."

Hugging the corner stood a squirrel, a kid who barely came to her waist, and he eyed her pensively.

"You asking about Sarah?"

"Did you know her?"

"Yeah. We all did. Me and the guys."

"Can you tell me about her?"

The squirrel swallowed nervously. "Yeah, maybe. C'mon." He beckoned her and dashed off down the street.

The young vixen followed close behind as the child led her to an empty alleyway. It was nestled between a few shady buildings, one of which had apparently been condemned, its windows covered with solid boards.

"Here," he called, lifting a lose board from the window of the lonely structure's basement, before slipping inside.

The vixen quickly followed, her pads coming to rest upon hard stone among rotting crates and moth-eaten tarps. The room softly glowed with candle light, and the vixen could see several other children gathered around a makeshift table with a pack of playing cards.

"This here lady wants to know about Sarah," the squirrel grinned.

They all quickly leaped from their places about the room and crowded her. A few voices spoke to her from the mass.

"Lots of people come asking about her, lady."

"We'll tell, but it's gonna cost ya."

The vixen rolled her eyes at the group of boys encircling her. "Oh? How much?"

"Yer tits," called one of the larger kids.

"And you've gotta get on the table and let us touch you!" shouted another.

With a sigh, the vixen popped her top, freeing her C-cups with a jiggle. She let her vest drop to the ground and strode for the table. The boys parted for her, and already she felt grubby hands running over her firm rump, down her thighs, reaching around for her crotch, tugging at the base of her tail. She sat on the table, flinging her hair back with a motion of her head, and propped herself up by her paws.

"Come on, then."

The boys didn't need a second invitation. She was pinched, grabbed, rolled, and massaged all over; a few even bringing their muzzles to her dark, pert nipples to lap and suck hungrily. Claws traced their way down her sides and small of her back. Kisses peppered her toned stomach and tongues dove into her bellybutton. One boy had kneeled in between her legs and began grinding his muzzle into her clothed crotch, inhaling deeply. She sat for a few minutes, idly enjoying the attention, as gropes gave way to kisses which gave way to licks and nibbles. They were desperate and attentive, not missing a single inch of her supple chest, and soon her fur was matted with saliva. One of the larger boys climbed up on the table with her and dropped his pants, exposing his small and painfully erect member. As she almost considered taking it unto her maw, she felt digits work her buckle. The instant it was undone, her pants flooded with rubs and poking, questing digits. The vixen grunted at the swirling attention brought upon her clit and lips, and she began to flower under their touch, despite her best efforts to resist. She gave the boy in her face a push, which sent him toppling off the table. The others were displaced and staggered back as she quickly rose to her feet.

"If you want more, you're going to have to give me what I want first."

The boys all gibbered quickly.

"The house!"

"She liked to hang out by that house!"

"It's a secret place."

"It's haunted! The ghosts got her!"

"Can I fuck you, please?"

The vixen raised her arms to hush them, and all eyes glued themselves to the jiggle of her breasts. "What house? Where?"

"Way out in the field."

"It's, like, out the south gate. You gotta follow the path."

"Only for a little while. Then you've gotta head off into the woods."

"Tom drew on one of the rocks along the road the other day. Look for that and then start walking into the woods."

"I like your tits."

The vixen grinned to herself. She fastened her buckle, retrieved her vest from the dusty floor and scurried out the window. "Thanks, guys."

A chorus of angry, whining voices followed her.

*****

The house stood, alone, in the middle of a vast field. Its paint chipped, leaving the house with random cracked splotches of white offset by the dull gray of rotting wood and vibrant green of creeping vegetation. She slid noiselessly through the tall weeds, keeping low and out of sight. When she had gotten close, she broke, and quickly hugged the house's walls. Her ears strained, and could not pick up anything emanating from inside. She peeked into a window, though the drawn curtains were too filthy and caked with grime to see through. The vixen silently inched her way towards the front porch, vaulting herself up and over the railing. The boards groaned under her weight. She quickly tried the knob, finding the door to be locked. The tumblers were simple, and quickly yielded to the pokes and prods of her picks. The door swings open and her nose is overwhelmed by the smell of old books. They fill the house. They lay in stacks almost reaching the ceiling. They molder on crooked shelves. They lay open along the floor and weathered furniture. The vixen shuts the door behind her, locking it back. She grasps at the nearest book and flips through its thin, rumpled pages. A few turns do nothing to help her understand it. The symbols are unlike any written language she knows, and they almost seem to distort and swirl on the pages. She sets the book back down in its place, her head starting to feel light. She carries herself to the other few rooms. All are covered in parchments, scrolls, even strange symbols painted on the walls. As she approached the door to what she assumed was the bathroom, the stench rolled outward and knocked her in the face, brining tears to her eyes. Inside, above the putrid black water and grinning carcass floating in the bathtub, written along the ceiling in a language she did recognize, was a short sentence. Glimmering in bright red, it read "Atei-Dha consumes." The ancient language of the wastes, here? The vixen stares at the ceiling, her mind racing. Atei-Dha. The name did sound familiar. Perhaps it had come up in her training. She wandered the rooms, picking out a nice spot to conceal herself, and waited.

She had drifted off to sleep, the sound of a key entering the front door dragging her back to consciousness. The door swung open with a rush of wind, slamming into and toppling the stack of books resting behind it. Three robed figures entered, a bound and gagged young buck writhing in their grip.

"The bookstore owner's son?" the vixen wondered to herself. She had squeezed herself into the space between the bookshelf nearest the door and the wall; it was a tight fit, and her breasts were squeezed uncomfortably close to her body, but she had managed. She peered at the four figures through the cracks and holes along and between the books.

Twilight was settling upon the landscape. The vixen silently watched as the figures thrust the youth into the room where he fell to the floor with a muffled grunt. The door was shut, locked, and the three figures drug the boy to the far wall of the living room. Their robes were simple and black, a hint of gold circling the cuffs and waist. The back, however, told her much. A circle of gold runes were stitched into the backs of each. Within the center, the embroidered outline of a naked bovine skull stared menacingly. Two of the strange cultists held the boy tightly, the third approaching the wall ahead of them. He kicked at its base, and the vixen noticed part give way and recede. The sound of stone scraping stone came from behind the boards, and the wall slowly slid down into the floor. The cultists clutched the boy between them and descended the stairs beyond. As quietly as she could manage, the busty vixen slipped from behind the case and inched her way towards the new opening. She heard their soft footfalls upon the stone. After she could hear them no longer, she slipped around the corner, and crouched on the first few steps. A voice echoed from below.

"Quickly."

Shoddy boards obscured the room beyond from view, light pouring from their cracks and crevices. She rested her face against them, trying her best to make out what was happening. Flickering candles rose everywhere. The three cultists stood with their backs to her. They stood at the edge of a wide pit which took up most of the hidden room. Along its edges she noticed parchment that hung from raised poles, glowing runes and red seals of pressed wax marring their surface.

"Wards," she commented to herself.

With a swift motion, the three dropped the squirming youth into the open air before them. The vixen heard the boy hit the ground with a heavy thud. Shortly afterwards, the sounds began. Horrible sounds. The ripping of cloth, the muffled screams of the boy, and a rhythmic slurp. The cultists stared into the pit, seemingly transfixed. The lithe fox slowly descended the stairs, crouching low.

The middle cultist motioned his head behind him, and his voice issued in a drone, as if he were a million miles away. "Shut the entrance."

The vixen froze. Neither of the other two moved.

"Now."

Slowly, the left cultist backed away from the pit, standing on his toes to see above its edge as he approached the steps. He rounded the corner, and the vixen found herself staring into the unkempt and shocked face of a weasel. Her wrist blade pierced his eye cleanly, and she caught his weight as he slumped to the ground. She pulled him into the visual cover of the boards just in time for the gazes of the two cultists to swing behind them and find nothing. A loud cry from the pit recaptured their attentions. Suddenly the vixen felt she wanted to run; to just go now while she could. The howls and whines issuing from the pit were nothing of this world. Feral and sharp, they bounded off the walls; growls that chilled her blood rolled in the air. Her drifting resolve caused her grip on the body to loosen, and the weasel tumbled down the steps, painting dark red blotches as he went. The two cultists spun, and charged the stairs with sharp hisses. The vixen quickly scurried upwards, but strong claws grasping her hair drug her back down, head bouncing off each step as they went. She clutched at her headfur, the pain of being dragged shooting through her dulling senses. One stood her up while the other socked her in the gut. Her breath escaped her, and her captor released her crumpling form.

"Ignorant cunt!" The voice was definitively female.

The vixen craned her neck, and her still-focusing gaze met with that of a livid young cheetah. The feline grasped at the vixen's wrist, removing her blade, before bringing it down to her throat.

"Wait," the deep masculine voice called behind her. "You know what we should do with her."

The cheetah glared at the figure behind her. "I don't want to give the bitch the satisfaction!"

"He must be fed," the cultist commanded solemnly.

The cheetah lowered the blade without a word, and yanked the vixen to her feet by her headfur.

"Behold, you unworthy piece of shit," whispered the cheetah into her ear.

The vixen's gaze was forced down and into the pit. She saw the young man. He lay on his stomach, and did not move. Sitting still as death on its haunches beside the boy was a large creature twisted to resemble a lion. The vixen grimaced at the thing. It retained no semblance of normal form, walking instead on four legs instead of two, like some old drawing from a child's storybook. Its fur and mane shown bright white, and its deep red eyes stared into the vixen's face. She quivered under its gaze.

"Have fun, cunt," the cheetah laughed, as she moved to shove the vixen over the pit's edge.

Her grin faded quickly as the quick fox twisted around the female, displacing her weight and sending her sailing through the air. The feline landed on her face with a crunch.

"My, how quick you are." The short ox with broken horns rushed her.

As they traded blows above, the cheetah quickly scrambled to her feet below in the pit. She leaped for the edge, her claws catching just underneath and scraping down the slick stone sides. She turned at the warm breath that spread over her neck. The lion had moved directly up behind her. She flattened against the pit's wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

The ox shot a hoof toward's the fox's muzzle, but she deftly leaned out of the way. Her paw grasped the muscular leg before it could lower. A bounce caught the vixen's attention; the ox's heavy sac and limp member jiggled beyond the robe's folds.

"Idiot." She extended a foot directly into the ox's groin, the hairless bulge meeting her footpads with a smack.

The bovine crashed to the floor, writhing in pain, and a few pushes from the vixen's leg rolled him over the pit's edge. A lustful cry shifted her attention to the cheetah. The feline was pressed up against the wall of the pit from the weight of the lion, as he roughly took her from behind.

"I am yours! O-ooh! Mmmmmngh! Ah! I-ungh-I am yours!" the cheetah continuously screamed.

The vixen watched transfixed as the thing's barbed member slipped from the cheetah's entrance and parted her quivering loins with powerful lunges. The lion brought his jaws down upon the feline's shoulder, and she tensed in orgasm. The thing's red eyes blazed up at the petrified fox. Suddenly, she felt a dull heat build inside her. It teased her, wrapping her thoughts in a silken cocoon. Idly, she brought a paw down and into her pants, where she traced her opening. The rustle of flesh slaping aginst the stone edge of the pit broke the thing's gaze, and the fox's senses slowly returned to her. The ox began to pull himself up. As fast as lightning, the lion drew himself from the cheetah, who dropped to the floor and lay still in a puddle of her own juices. The thing crashed into the ox's side, sending him flying to the hard stone of the pit. The lion softly padded up to him, and the vixen could see the ox's features tense, then relax into a vacant mask. The bovine stood, lifting the robe from his muscular form and tossing it aside. He turned and dropped to his knees and hands, lifting his plump rear into the air. As the lion climbed onto his back, the ox turned his head towards the vixen.

"Atei-Dha consumes all, and we should be thankful for such mercy."

The fox scrambled up the stairs as the sounds of wet slaps and moans filled the room.

*****

She couldn't sleep that night. She sat in her room, sat in the middle of her bed and hugged her legs tight with eyes wide. The next morning, she wandered the town with the same look, and paid quite a few visits to the various chemists scattered throughout. She bought what ingredients she could with what she had left, sold what she didn't need in exchange for a little more, and traded in other means for the rest. That evening, she returned to the house in the field, travel bag swaying in her grip. The door hung open, just as she had left it when she ran from the house last evening, a low moan caught in her throat. She entered and let her bag drop to the floor. Ahead of her, the secret compartment stood open, and the vixen could see the dancing shadows along the walls inside. She lifted from her bag a container of petrol, a dirty rag soaking in its glass belly and extending from its open mouth. She lit the end and tossed it into the nearest bookshelf. She paced the house, lighting molotovs and smashing them into the various piles of books. She even tossed one into the ceiling of the bathroom. Finally, she returned to her bag and brought out two large bundles of dynamite. She forced herself down the steps, trying not to glance through the cracks in the boards, and paused at the corner, staring down at the cold weasel. The silence was maddening. She couldn't do it; just couldn't. If she saw it again, she wasn't sure what she would do. The thing would probably charm her over the edge, and she would willingly climb down into that pit. She would disrobe, and readily present herself to it. She would cling to it in ecstasy as it ravaged her, and she would quickly lose herself to it as its barbs poked and impaled her sensitive tunnel; and, after having its way with her, she would join the corpses. The vixen lit the fuses on the two bundles and hurled them around the corner. She bolted up the stairs, kicking the panel she had seen the cultist strike last evening. The sound of stone scraping against stone filled the air -- along with something else. A roar. A roar that splintered her mind. A roar that brought terrible visions of the dark corners of time, and the great writhing dead things that inhabited them. The vixen ran from the house, almost giggling in despair, and was at a safe distance when the whole thing blew sky high. Home. That's all she could think about. She needed help in this, and Home was where to get it. She didn't bother stopping by town to debrief the paper pushing mouse; she never wanted to see the place again.