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Magnum Opus

Chapter 4: Pyre for the Fallen Tree

Blurb

Cliff Gale was born as the youngest son of Reeve Gale, the blacksmith of Grimvalle. To many, he is a simple courier, ferrying the goods his father forges to paying customers. A mysterious power has chosen him to be in direct opposition to a malicious, lustful and callous entity known as Oblivion. The influence of Oblivion corrupts anything it touches, spawning foul creatures known as the Unwritten and corrupting those that fall under its sway into enormous, masculine beasts that have only a singular purpose: to Change, Corrupt and Cum.

Will Cliff’s blessed blade, the Archetype be enough to combat the darkness of Oblivion and the Unwritten? Can he keep everyone he cares for safe from the encroaching darkness? And what could this mean for the broader, cruel world?

Verik Stormleaf’s life was turned upside down when his quaint routine as a simple woodsman was shattered by a bear that killed his beloved wife and child. Now, he finds himself thrust into a great war between divine forces of good and evil that has embroiled his homeland. What is worse is that the beasts he is fighting just so happen to be hypermasculine, incredibly virile bears.

Will the trauma of losing his family to a bear cloud his judgment against these monsters dancing to the strings of the Unwritten? Can a simple woodsman make a difference when the very fabric of the world is turned against him? Will he ever love again?

Grimwalker Forest

Collaboration Established with Verik Stormleaf.

Cliff barely noticed the notification as he swung, blocked and cleaved his way through the obvious leader of the Barbearians; the looming titanic bear with a blond Mohawk that clutched an enormous sword in one paw. Sweat dripped off his brow and soaked into his tunic. Beside him, Verik fought just as hard. The kilt-wearing titan’s wild, red hair was plastered onto his skull and he was heaving heavily.

Every blow they inflicted increased their momentum. Purified Ink seeped into their bodies, increasing their proficiency but it did nothing to lower their exhaustion. Though he suffered few physical blows, Cliff’s health bar was gradually decreasing. The Ink bar remained relatively high but he grew concerned the moment the green bar dropped by a quarter. The conservative in him was fully aware that the boss would be a difficult fight and he wanted to conserve as much strength as possible before he faced the big man.

But I can’t even face him if I don’t make it through the chaff!

He delivered a wide, spinning blow, sending a blast of brilliant light out from the arc of his blade. The blast didn’t last for more than a few feet but it was enough to push the Barbearians back and even damage some others. Ink was spent for that maneuver.

The mechanics of this world was quickly making itself known.

Every action he took that required physical exertion consumed points from his health bar. Magic also consumed points from his total as it added to his exhaustion, consuming energy from his body. If, however, he needed to do something that defied the current ‘order’ of the world, it would consume his Ink. A supernatural jump, a block that would have broken his arm, a blow that spewed purifying light; each of these drained Ink. In this world were he guessed magic was not common practice, every spell drained from his Ink as it did his health. The exception was the Heal spell which drained directly from his Ink reserves.

Landing a blow would naturally gain him some Ink again but it was generally not as much as if he were to strike a foe without any assistance from the Ink. He was fighting a constant battle of resource management while trying to stay alive amongst the Barbearians.

He and Verik stuck close together. The aura of the Archetype kept the lumberjack from drifting into the carnal desires that the Barbearians constantly exuded. Though he could stand on his own well enough, his own defenses against the aura of these beasts would drain rapidly and Cliff would need to regenerate his stores by sacrificing some of his precious Ink.

The monsters… these Revised are written into the world by Oaks. They’re meant to be invincible. Unbeatable. Part of the Plot.

And I’m the one opposing them. I’m breaking the Plot and changing the Narrative by defeating them.

That’s why I need Ink.

Empowered by the purified Ink, Verik was able to unleash his own powerful blows. As a Barbearian rushed at him, arms raised, the woodsman flung his axe at the charging bear. The axe slammed into the man’s face, right between the eyes, stopping the charge. Verik held his hand towards his axe and it magically wrenched itself from the fallen Barbearian’s face and back into his hand, all the while emitting a flurry of glowing, red, yellow and orange leaves like it was slicing through a pile of fallen autumn branches.

The Revised - as Cliff came to call them - seemed endless but he knew they were gradually making their way towards the big boss. Still, he knew that by the time he reached the towering bear, he would be at half strength. With no knowledge of the barbarian leader, he would be at a severe disadvantage.

So he decided to try a different approach.

“Come down off your goddamn perch and fight us, coward!” he roared. He slammed the flat edge of his sword against his shield, bringing a clanging noise piercing through the roars and snarls of the bears around him. “I know you can hear me! I know you can see what we’re doing to your men! Are they so useless to you that you’d throw them here to die just so that you can finish us off?”

The blond bear’s amber eyes flared in intensity but the Revised did not move.

“Are you a scavenger amongst predators!?” Cliff challenged. His senses screamed at him and he spun around, lifting his shield to block a blow from a Barbearian that had sought to attack him from behind.

Counterattack!

He pushed the bear back then struck back with a lunge that send a whirlwind of blade-like spirals through the air. The bear’s torso was completely shredded, leaving only a sickly, black, gaping hole that oozed with the Ink. The Barbearian collapsed to the ground, dissolving into the Ink.

“Are you a mouse or a bear!?” roared Verik. The woodsman leapt into the air and brought his axe crashing down upon another Barbearian’s head. Light mingling with a flurry of iridescent autumn leaves exploded from the blow, keeping other bears back. Verik yanked his axe out of the dissipating bear and took a few steps backward to pressed his broad back against Cliff’s. “Are you a leader or a loser!?”

The Barbearians slowed their attack though they remained looming around them in a wide circle. Finally, that huge, blond bear began stalking forward. The sound of his huge blade dragging across the ground sent Cliff’s nerves on edge. The other Revised shuffled aside, giving their leader a chance to approach on some silent command. As he approached, his mighty frame came into view.

Oh shit…

The bear stood at least eight feet tall. His fur was a deep, tawny brown that could barely contain the thick muscles all over his body. The only break in the fur was his blond Mohawk and the bright, pink scars that covered his arms and chest; proud battle scars that increased his masculinity and intimidation values. An immense, dick hung between his huge, tree-trunk legs, passively oozing gray precum. Beneath a heavy brow burned intense, amber eyes that were far more intelligent than the other Barbearians they had faced. There was still that voracious sexual hunger but it was somewhat tempered by cruel cunning. Cliff could actually feel this man appraising him, calculating his next move and not just acting on sex-crazed instinct.

Now that he had a moment to breathe, Cliff glanced at the new notification that had appeared. For the first time, he noticed that there was a new bar that hovered at the top of the interface. It looked like how scientists would represent sound waves; a line running from left to right wiggling and vibrating at regular intervals.

It said I had established a ‘collaboration’ with Verik…

Again, Realism’s words about collaboration rang in his mind. It seemed that just infusing Verik and Arthur with his purified Ink was not quite what the stranger meant.

“My name,” boomed the titanic bear, bringing Cliff’s attention back to the man. “My name is Skurrald.”

The way he said that statement almost seemed like this ‘Skurrald’ was trying to reaffirm that statement other than inform his opponents of the fact.

“I am the Barbarian Bandit King,” growled the bear. “It was my duty to sneak behind enemy lines, find my way beyond the borders of the Marvellian Kingdom and raid its people, weakening them. All to prepare for the oncoming invasion of the Circle of Kings.”

A backdrop of an barbarian invasion in this erotica, Oaks?

Cliff allowed himself a little smile.

Got to say, this is one of the reasons I love your work. I’d be genuinely interested to read it if I wasn’t trapped here!

Verik’s lips peeled back into a snarl. “So whether or not that bear attacked me and my family, you would have come marching through this forest and attacked Grimvalle anyway. We would’ve died.”

Skurrald’s muzzle split into a wide grin while his cock twitched in excitement. “No. We would have made you one of us.”

Wait… What does he mean by that?

He thought back to what that first bear had told Arthur. Something about joining them. At the time, Cliff had just assumed it was a euphemism for rape. A falsely comforting invitation that would end in painful humiliation and being passed around by these titanic bear-men like a football during the playoffs; fast, furious and met with constant cheering.

But now… he wondered if it meant something else.

A notification appeared in his HUD.

New Objective: Defeat the Revised Skurrald the Barbearian Bandit King

“I would never join you!” spat Verik.

Skurrald took an ominous step forward and brought his sword swinging upwards, resting it on his shoulder. “You would have no choice in the matter.” He lifted his spare paw into the air. Coils of dark Ink seeped from his fingertips. “This power that I have been given… it compels me. I must Change. I must Corrupt. And I must Cum.” His bright eyes fell upon Cliff. “And your little toy will not get in the way of my gratification!”

With a roar, Skurrald swung his enormous sword, bringing it crashing down on the two.

Cliff immediately pushed Verik to the side and brought up his shield.

CLANG!

The impact of the weapon sent Cliff down to his knees with the blow still having enough force that it caused a small crater around him. Bones and organs rattled. He fought the urge to vomit. His health bar immediately fell down to half.

Holy shit! This guy is monstrously strong!

“You’ve already taken so many of my men!” roared Skurrald, bringing his sword back up over his head. “But when you join our ranks, nothing will stop us!” Then he brought it crashing back down.

It was all Cliff could do to keep his shield up. His legs were simply not responding. They had gone numb.

CLANG!

The blow hit harder than before and he was forced to bend forward. His health bar started blaring alerts at him.

Shit! One more blow and I’m done for!

“Get off him!”

Verik lunged at Skurrald, swinging his axe. The Bandit King yanked his sword away from Cliff and lifted the titanic sword in time to catch the blow from the lumberjack. Sparks flew from where their weapons clashed.

The huge bear flashed Verik a lustful grin and openly licked his lips. “I will enjoy fucking you.” His other paw lashed out, reaching over their clashing weapons and seizing Verik’s face. “Your ass looks tasty.”

Skurrald then swatted Verik’s axe aside, disengaging their weapons and forcing Verik’s arm to swing wide. Though the red-haired, bearded woodsman still held his axe, he lost his balance. The Bandit King pulled Verik towards his own throbbing cock.

No!

Dash!

Cliff immediately surged forward, faster than anyone could see. His shield collided with Skurrald’s forearm, forcing him to release Verik. The lumberjack fell to his knees and immediately rolled away before a drop of the gray precum could fall on him. All the momentum Cliff had abruptly vanished and his vision was filled by the irritated snarl on Skurrald’s features.

The giant bear swung his mighty sword, the weapon rushing towards Cliff in a wide arc. Stunned from the sudden impact against Skurrald’s forearm, Cliff barely had time to lift his shield before -

CLANG!

Verik was suddenly beside him, axe raised and catching the blow. Even with all of the woodman’s strength, he couldn’t stop all the momentum and power behind Skurrald’s swing. The blow sent him crashing into Cliff and the two of them were hurled to the ground while Skurrald’s sword sailed above them, two grown men barely halting the swing.

Cliff’s body ached. He was down to perhaps an eighth of his health.

No choice! Heal!

His Ink reserves dropped rapidly while his health points regenerated. The pain soothed into a dull throbbing before vanishing almost completely. He spared some of his power so he could apply the same to Verik. A soft, green light encased them both as their strength was restored.

“We can’t keep this up,” huffed the woodsman, rising to his feet, axe at the ready. “How is your strength?”

Cliff glanced at his Ink reserves. Healing both him and Verik to near-full strength had rapidly depleted his power to about a fifth of its capacity. A glance at Skurrald gave rise to the suspicion that the Bandit King had anticipated this. Likely realized that Cliff was draining strength from the fallen Barbearians and thus could keep fighting forever so long as he had a steady supply of Ink.

“I won’t be able to bring us back up if we take too many of those blows,” he answered.

Skurrald stormed forward, swinging his blade. “I can hear you!”

Shit! Guess he’s not going to follow the trope of letting us talk amongst ourselves patiently before attacking!

He rushed in front of Verik, lifting his shield to defend. At the same time, Verik reached over, lifting his axe and pressing his weight against the back of the shield.

CLANG!

The blow didn’t hurt and only took a small fraction of his health. Shared between him and his ally, the impact had been significantly reduced.

But we definitely can’t keep doing that_…_

From the periphery of his vision, he noticed something had changed in his HUD. That wave display had intensified.

Our collaboration has increased!

It dawned on him what Realism had hinted when he said that no author was ever alone. The more he worked with Verik, the stronger that signal grew. What a maximized signal led to, he could only assume but he could feel himself growing closer to Verik. He hadn’t even had to think it and the lumberjack supported him.

Okay… Let’s do this!

Skurrald pulled back his sword for another swing.

Dash!

Cliff zipped to the man’s other arm, right in range of the beast’s free paw. That same paw immediately lashed out towards him, looking to seize his face. Verik suddenly came racing out of nowhere, slamming his axe into Skurrald’s bicep. The blade of his weapon barely cut into the monster’s arm, drawing some Ink and purifying it but nothing nearly as potent as the other fallen Revised.

All according to plan.

As Skurrald wrapped his free arm around Verik, trying to pin him, Cliff charged forward with another Dash. His figure blurred, racing up Verik’s back and leaping into the air. Skurrald barely saw him move or the flash of the Archetype as it bit into his neck. Cliff landed a few feet away, purified Ink seeping into the Archetype and rewarding him with more into his reserves.

Skurrald didn’t choke or gag. He merely muscled Verik away - literally flexing his bicep and pushing the lumberjack back. Then he reached for his neck, feeling the black ichor seeping from it and dripping down his chest. A sickly sound like wet, juicy meat being rubbed against one another filled the circle. Injured flesh closed and apart from the spilled Ink, Skurrald appeared otherwise unharmed.

And I got more in synch with Verik.

The signal wave had greater intensity now. In fact, it had turned from a dull, passive blue to a vibrant green.

Alright! Here we go!

Cliff turned towards Skurrald and shifted the Archetype back to its original form, losing his shield and the extra length of the blade. Though he lost his best defense, he gained the ability to cast magic again.

Fire!

Red flames burst from his fingertips and slammed into Skurrald’s chest. The lead Barbearian clearly wasn’t prepared for this and took a step back.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

An onslaught to fireballs forced the Bandit King back several steps. Rage burned in his amber eyes and he brought up his sword, swinging it through the air and swatting the fireballs away. Cliff was not to be discouraged and continued to fire off the magic because, for the first time, it kept Skurrald on the defensive.

Verik saw an opening and charged, letting loose a primal roar. Skurrald saw the lumberjack charging at him and lifted his sword the block. Axe met sword but for this time, Verik was not forced back. Skurrald’s sweeping, spinning swings didn’t give him the time to build up strength or momentum but he still stood his ground.

And now the gargantuan Revised was open.

Fire!

A fireball sailed past Verik and slammed right into the Bandit King’s muzzle, flames leaping into his eyes. A hideous roar ripped from the man’s throat as he staggered back and instinctively tried to swat away the flames. He dropped his guard, allowing Verik to take advantage.

The lumberjack pulled back his axe and set it crashing downwards, burying it into one of Skurrald’s immense pectorals. A lesson was learned from the prior attack and Verik pulled his axe free of the taut muscle before Skurrald could retaliate. Then, with all his might, he brought the axe crashing back down again. Like chopping a particularly stubborn log, Verik slammed his weapon down over and over again, letting out a savage cry with every blow. Ink spewed out of the numerous wounds inflicted upon Skurrald amidst a shower of semi-transparent leaves. Some of the Ink was purified and snaked up to Verik in glimmering, white streams. The rest poured down Skurrald’s chest, a black waterfall.

The Bandit King, however, was not so easily defeated. He threw his ursine head back and let out a tremendous roar. The very earth shook with his cry and Verik was flung back like a gale had just picked him up and threw him several feet away. Like before, a sickening squishy noise of flesh mending rose from Skurrald as his wounds healed.

Cliff did notice that they were healing slightly slower now.

And his collaboration signal with Verik grew, now constantly thrumming in a yellowish-orange light.

“You’ve wounded me,” snarled Skurrald, rising to his feet. “And now you will pay! I will fuck you! I will bend you over and make you my plaything! You will be wrapped around my cock from dawn till dusk!”

Cliff smiled to himself grimly.

Damn, Oaks. Is that your fantasy? Or is this the character running away with the simple command you put into the Unwritten?

“You can try,” Verik snarled, lifting his axe and gripping it in both hands. “But you’ll die before any of that can happen.”

Not the best comeback but I’ll take it.

Skurrald then mirrored Verik’s gesture, gripping his immense sword in both hands. If all the stories he had read taught him anything, Cliff knew that the leader of these Barbearians was now twice as dangerous. They needed to be careful.

Blinded by fury, lust and driven mad by the unsatisfied need that was embedded into him, Skurrald charged unleashing that deafening roar once more that blew a gust of wind right into Cliff and Verik. The Bandit King jumped into the air, lifting his sword high above his head while the two were distracted. The he brought the blade crashing right down between them. The impact didn’t land anywhere near them but it shook the earth nonetheless. Black ink exploded in a straight line from the tip of the blade, shooting towards the two and spreading horizontally.

Cliff knew where this would lead. The attack was meant to split him away from Verik. Then, the Bandit king would pick them off one at a time.

Can’t let that happen!

Courage!

His shield manifested once more and he jumped towards Verik, shield lifted. The black wave of dark Ink slammed into his shield, pushing him back a few feet but not entirely stopping his momentum of crossing the threshold. He landed a few feet behind Verik, his health bar back down to half.

Skurrald saw the development and snarled in frustration. Another roar ripped from his throat but this time, Cliff raised his shield, blocking the blast of wind from his eyes and body even if he couldn’t see completely. He charged ahead of himself, shooting past Verik as the might Bandit King charged at them, once again lifting his sword above his head for a powerful overhead strike.

Dash!

Cliff immediately crossed the distance between them, coming to a stop just in front of Skurrald. Their bodies were intertwined in what would have appeared like a choreographed dance. Skurrald had his blade raised high above his head, muzzle open and fangs showing but his eyes were still locked where Cliff had been. One leg was in front of the other, he charged mid-step. Cliff, on the other hand, had placed one leg in between Skurrald’s wide stance, his body bent back to match the contours of the Bandit King’s body. The Barbearian’s enormous cock was just an inch away from him.

Then he thrust the Archetype.

Ssshink!

His blade punctured Skurrald’s diaphragm, immediately knocking the wind out of the Bandit King and stopping his charge. Yellow eyes fell down to him and those lips transformed into the most anger-filled, frustrated snarl he had ever seen. Skurrald changed the trajectory of his sword swing, bringing it crashing down towards Cliff!

Thunk!

Verik’s axe slammed into the side of the blond bear’s head, a dazed look crossing Skurrald’s features. A powerful force yanked the axe back towards Verik’s open hands, pulling at the titan’s head and jerking it sideways. Verik caught his axe and immediately threw it again.

The collaboration signal was blaring a bright red, the frequency bouncing every quarter of a second.

Thunk!

Again, it slammed into Skurrald’s temples. Despite the massive head blow, the behemoth of a bear remained standing. Again still, the axe was pulled by Verik and this time, the lumberjack charged after it, catching it in midair. He let out another roar and threw the axe. This third time, Skurrald was finally pushed back, peeling away from Cliff and being forced to stagger back a step. The movement freed Archetype from the beast’s frame and allowed Cliff to retreat until he was right beside Verik.

A blinding white collaboration signal burned at the top of Cliff’s vision, shimmering with a rainbow light that demanded to be used.

He wasn’t sure how he knew but he just shot Verik a nod and the lumberjack nodded back at him in understanding. A loud chime sounded in his head. The collaboration signal flashed, becoming a solid bar of white light that flashed with the words, ‘Fall to Vengeance’.

Verik flung his axe at Skurrald and immediately chased after it. The weapon embedded itself right between the Bandit King’s eyes. No matter the regeneration offered by the Unwritten or the Ink, a series of mighty blows to the head kept Skurrald stunned and unable to react. That allowed Verik to close in on the bear, grab his axe by the handles and leap into the air, placing both his feet against the titan’s chest. He kicked off with both legs, freeing his axe while building momentum to charge straight back at Cliff.

Cliff lifted his shield and crouched as the woodsman rapidly closed the distance upon him. The moment he felt Verik’s big boots land on his shield, he launched his collaborator high into the air. A burst of light erupted from all around him, glimmering leaves following Verik’s flight. He wasted no time watching his friend sail into the air. He dismissed his shield, reverting the Archetype back to its default form. Then he Dashed towards Skurrald, spinning through the air with his blade outstretched. Ribbons of light traced the arc of his sword, sailing through the air as a whirlwind of magical energies.

High above, Verik clutched his axe in both hands, surrounded by red, brown and golden leaves that brought to mind autumn. With a tremendous roar, he swung his axe downwards, putting his entire weight into the blow. His whole body spun into a buzzsaw-like spiral, the arc of his axehead spewing fluttering iridescent leaves as he sailed downwards towards Skurrald.

The two men collided with the Barbearian Bandit King at the same time.

Cliff sliced cleanly through Skurrald’s torso horizontally, stopping his spinning motion several feet behind the towering Barbearian. The energy built up from his spin scattered in all directions; beams of purified Ink streaked out around him in a dizzying eddy. Barbearians that remained were shredded by the spinning lights.

Verik slammed downwards into Skurrald, his momentum taking him to shred the bear’s upper half into a burst of black Ink. He landed in a crouch right behind Cliff. His landing caused an explosion of leaves all around him, the magic of the eruption blasting all remaining Barbearians clean away.

Verik stood, his back heroically to Cliff who remained crouched, sword extended to his side. All around them, the remnants of the Barbearian encampment was obliterated. Black Ink evaporated into dark clouds. Skurrald’s form was left as nothing more than a headless torso that bled the corrupted Ink. It hit the ground with a thud. The fur and form of the Barbearian Bandit King blackened, transforming into raw, corrupt Ink and bubbled away into a formless puddle that quickly dissolved into the air as a faint, dark miasma that was lost in the dark of the sky.

Objective Complete: Defeat the Revised known as Skurrald the Barbearian Bandit King

Cliff finally let himself breathe a sigh of relief.

We did it.

A notification popped up in the middle of his HUD.

Obtained Level 3 Mastery over the Archetype - Font: Typewriter.

Unlocked Skill: Penmanship.

The Synposis

Desmond Eli Oaks cackled.

He had thoroughly enjoyed the transformation of Nycolas and Gyrard. It was with no shame at all that he watched gleefully, his own cock erect as the two brothers changed into their monstrous forms, changed by the Unwritten into Revised versions of themselves and proceeded to fuck one another. The new Unwritten they created only gave him more satisfaction.

Oaks didn’t even remotely care that Skurrald had been defeated. That simple-minded fool was just a pawn, a tool to draw Cliff, Arthur and Verik together. Now that the muscle-bound moron had fulfilled his purpose, the Holder of the Magnum Opus didn’t even remotely care what happened to the character.

So what if Cliff and Verik defeated him in a tacky anime-esque combination attack that smacked of amateurish writing that was trying to translate drawn action scenes into the written medium? It didn’t matter to him that Cliff’s skills with the Archetype grew or he grew more accustomed to Verik’s style of fighting. The goal was to get the two of them to cooperate and grow closer to one another.

They fought wordlessly, some silent communication happening between them. Relationships built out of necessity but tempered and cemented by battle. It was exactly what he wanted. All was going according to his revised Plot.

After all, the goal was to trap Cliff in this Story, to have him play the role he was given so he could write Oaks’ next best seller with his actions in the miniature world. For a moment, the Holder had genuinely forgotten that and considered Cliff as an adversary. But that was not the case. Cliff was just a puppet inadvertently dancing to his strings. A resistant and insolent puppet, sure, but he will fall in line soon once he realized Oaks’ true intentions.

Grinning broadly to himself and giggling with glee, the mad author punctured the air with his quill, drawing more Ink.

“Let’s see,” he mused to himself, tapping his chin. “Now who would be next, I wonder?”

Then his eyes glinted as they fell upon a lone farm occupied by one resilient, fit old man.

“Yes… You will do. Duggin, wasn’t it?”

Licking his lips, he lowered the quill towards the golden pages. His other hand was wrapped securely around his dick, gripping the meaty pole through the elegant, silken robes afforded to the Holder of the Magnum Opus. A dribble of precum oozed out of his cock, soaking into his clothing and vanishing into the ether. The scribbles of the Synopsis writhed in anticipation, drowning out all distraction in a buzz of scrawling and scratching noise.

D. E. Oaks began to write.

Grimvalle

His full name was Clemens Duggin but everyone just called him ‘Old Man Duggin’. Not that he minded. As one of the older residents of Grimvalle, he was revered and respected. At least by the majority of the populace. The Raynoldus family were a constant thorn on side. Always competing on who could produce the most crops and meat and taunting him for being a single man with white hair and no heirs. He took it all in stride. There were only two farms in Grimvalle and they both provided a key resource to township. One day, he might consider what would happen were he ever to retire or death claims him but so far, the tall, lean man who possessed wry muscles beneath sun-kissed skin was not ready to give up, not yet.

Duggin usually liked to stay up most nights preparing the herbs and poultices he also sold to the town. Something the Raynoldus family couldn’t do. They were all about quantity. None of the four men ever understood the true nature of the crops they were producing or the potential of the meat that they were selling. Duggin did. If asked what a herb would do if consumed, he could give a highly detailed explanation that drew on years of experience and experimentation. In fact, the fort’s physician often came to him for natural remedies and medicines.

The old man shuddered a little as he finished portioning the greenish mush that was his latest herbal remedy into one of his cloth pouches. While he trusted the physician, he wasn’t sure if the man had the experience or the knowledge to supply himself with the materials he needed to keep the people of Grimvalle hearty and healthy.

“Perhaps I should start writing down my recipes,” he mused quietly to himself. A soft chuckle followed shortly afterwards. “If only I knew how to read or write.”

Such whimsical thoughts would have to worry him the following morning. It was already late and he would need to be up before dawn if he wanted to get all his chores done around the farm. Especially because he lived all alone. Sometimes he wished that he had a son or farmhands to help him through the hot summers or the mild winters. But in Grimvalle, everyone had their place and their job. No one was ever found idling.

“Except for that scoundrel Ansell and his gang,” growled the old man, padding over to the nearby fireplace. He doused the flames, poking at the embers just to make sure they didn’t reignite during the night. Once he was satisfied that he wouldn’t burn alive while sleeping, he shuffled over to the lone cot that, just a day or so, had been occupied by Verik Stormleaf.

He lay down, draped a blanket over his body and closed his eyes. The exhaustion of the day hit him almost immediately and within moments, he was snoring heavily. His deep slumber left him oblivious to the lone rider charging down the dusty roads. The Baron of the very town that he lived in passed his farm and all he dreamed about was a full harvest in the next season and the warm, smiling faces of the people of Grimvalle when he came riding up with fresh produce.

In the depths of the night, a dark creature followed the trail of Arthur Grim. The dark Ink-wrought Unwritten manifested in the swirls of dust and shadows that his horse left in his desperate flight back to his township. The snake-like creature coiled through the air and watched with pearly eyes as Grim rushed down the road, actively waiting until the Baron was well out of earshot range before it turned towards the nearby farmhouse. It slithered and coiled through the air, swimming through the darkness of the night towards the lone home. Its passage was quiet, nearly completely soundless save for the occasional squishing noise as its oily frame pressed against one another. None of the sleeping cattle in the fields noticed its passing. Perhaps if they had, they would have alerted Duggin but there was no escaping the fate that the Holder was written.

The Unwritten slithered through an open window. Featureless eyes fell upon the slumbering farmer, wrapped in the blanket and laying on his back. It curled through the air, avoiding any of the furniture scattered about the single-room home and immediately made for the slumbering Duggin. It hovered over the farmer’s slumbering features, watching with unblinking, white eyes as the man dreamed of a bountiful harvest.

Then it struck.

It’s tip pressed against Duggin’s forehead, spreading like tar slowly across his head, oozing over Duggin’s balding spot. The Unwritten rifled through distant thoughts of retirement, family and all the work he did every day. A fleeting notion of having help around the farm caught its attention and latched onto it, feeding it, changing it, corrupting it.

Dreams suddenly took on a different meaning within Duggin’s slumber. The crops he grew were still lush, vibrant and full of life. He plucked a carrot from the ground and put it into the wicker basket that he was using to collect them. As he lifted his head, his heart plummeted. From horizon to horizon, the field stretched on. Every row of vegetables was ripe for the harvest and the sun was already blazing above his head indicating that it was close to noon. There was no way he would be done before the sunset.

A hand fell on his shoulder… or rather a paw. Duggin jumped in surprise at the sight of the towering bear-like-creature that stood beside him, beaming at him with glimmering amber eyes.

“Let me help you, Grandfather.”

A little twinge struck his chest, a heart string pulled ever so subtly. In that one, genuine twang of emotion, the Unwritten found a crack in Duggin’s defenses. It fed that emotion, causing it to bloom and grow. Duggin smiled in his dream as he smiled outside of it. Even as the Unwritten’s oozing form seeped over his eyes, he was smiling.

“No, boy,” Duggin said gently, gently taking the bear’s paw off his shoulder. “You go and enjoy your youth.”

“If you want me to enjoy myself, Grandfather…” the bear said with a waggle of his eyebrows. “… then why don’t you ‘teach me’ about my body again?” The man that was supposedly related to Duggin reached for his own crotch, revealing a plump, erect cock that was already dripping grayish precum onto the fields.

There was a bolt of confusion that struck Duggin. His mind could not comprehend the sudden tonal shift but as quickly as it came, it was doused by the presence of the Unwritten. It suddenly made sense to suck his grandson’s cock. They had done it multiple times before. He had taught his grandson everything about his enormous, muscular body; a body forged in hard labor out here on the farm. Just like any harvest, he was now reaping the rewards of his efforts in raising his grandson into the great man that he was now.

Trapped in his subconscious, there was no part of Duggin that could actively resist the siren song of the Unwritten. The old man dropped the basket he was holding and approached his ‘grandson’. He didn’t even have to kneel down. With the bear standing at over seven feet tall and with that huge, throbbing sausage of a dick so long and thick, all he had to do was bend down slightly and plant his lips around the helmet of the member. The moans of his grandson was confirmation enough that he was doing the right thing and that only cemented his own corruption.

Duggin’s physical body opened his mouth, miming the motion of sucking a thick, fat cock. The Unwritten quickly spread its mass over the rest of his face, oozing over his entire head and pressing down to leave him a near-featureless, black silhouette of his former shape, mouth still wide open and actively sucking at the dream-dick. Were a latex mask been placed over his features, it would barely have made any difference in appearance save for the fact that the Unwritten’s mass continued to spread all over the rest of his body.

The dark goo clung to his skin tightly, draining it of warmth and leaving him with a vast, empty feeling. It slipped under his tunic, creeping across his lean chest, crawling over his broad shoulders and snaking its way down his arms. Each breath stretched the Unwritten with a wet, squishing noise but no sliver of Duggin’s tanned, leathery skin was ever exposed again the minute it was consumed by the black tidal wave. The Unwritten happily filled the gap of his pectorals and spread across his taut abdominals like a oil bleeding into a river delta. His back was not spared the warmth-draining touch of the Unwritten. As it consumed his entire upper body, it pulled his arms together, pinning them to his sides making him look like a jet-black mannequin that had a dirty, brown tunic draped over his torso.

Within the dream, Duggin was in heaven. Thoughts of sucking off his grandson, of pleasuring the man and enjoying the sounds his own flesh and blood made as something he did brought such ecstasy found purchase in his vulnerable mind and took root. All Clemens Duggin ever wanted was to do what was right and good for people. To be a beneficial contributer to society. And this… this fantasy played right into his desires and sexualized them. The cock had pushed deep into his throat while his ‘grandson’ moaned, encouraged him and told him how much he enjoyed these ‘lessons’.

Then another pair of paws wrapped around his waist. Those tender fingers peeled down his dirty trousers made gray from working in the fields all day. He felt another cock press up against his ass. Somehow, he just knew it was another bear.

But not just any bear. His son.

Thick, warm fingers curled around his dick, bringing it to full mast as a fat cock dripping with precum gently pushed into his ass.

“Oh father,” rumbled his unnamed son. “You know I could never resist your lessons.”

A bolt of pleasure rocketed up his body as that throbbing member was pushed into him. At the same time in the physical realm, the Unwritten curled around his dick, encasing it in its blackened mass before seeped down into his ass, slipping under his trousers and covering every inch of his rump from glutes to crack to pucker in its black slime. The alien figure rapidly spread down his legs, forcing them to pin together. Every inch of him was now covered by the Unwritten… and now the real work could begin.

The chill that had seeped into Duggin’s very core was suddenly interrupted by a burst of heat emanating from his dick. The Unwritten undulated and shifted, bubbling and roiling with loud, gurgling noises. Within its confines, Duggin let out muffled moans, struggling against the confines of the restrictive Unwritten as he was slowly rousing.

Within the dream, the farmer was lifted clear off the ground as he was spitroasted by both his son and grandson. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head in ecstasy, his mind completely consumed by the fantasy. Gray precum poured into his throat and ass, filling every fiber of his frame and feeding his oncoming change.

Suddenly, his body just seemed wrong.

The wry muscles all over his body seemed so small. So they inflated, filling with thick, juicy mass. His pectorals ballooned out, bursting out of his tunic and sprouting a forest of short, dense, white fur. This blooming of white spread all over his torso and even rushed down his abdominals which clenched and relaxed with each of his son’s powerful thrusts. A whole half foot was added to his height with the lengthening of his spine. The same white fur erupted from his spinal column, spreading over rapidly broadening back muscles and rippling lats that made it almost look like he had a pair of wings sprouting from his back. Then, coarse, black hairs sprouted from the valley of his pectorals; a bush of chest hair that called back to his youth when his head hair hadn’t been bleached by age.

Back in his farmhouse, the same transformation was occurring. His chest erupted out of his tunic, shooting out of his clothing; a black, rubbery earth birthing two new mountains. The inky surface of the Unwritten split open at the valley of his pectorals, revealing the huge chest covered in white fur and topped with a crest of black chest hair. The Unwritten’s mass peeled away further, revealing his rippling eight-pack that was highlighted by the tree of black hair.

The black suit slowly peeled away from his shoulders, splitting from the portion that still kept his head clamped down. Bowling ball shoulders were revealed, again covered in the same snow-white hair. Biceps tripled in size with his triceps quadrupling. The increased mass gave him extra strength that finally allowed him to flex his new arms and resist the Unwritten’s power to keep him paralyzed. As his arms rose, the Unwritten’s mass snapped around his biceps, revealing the furry mountains beneath interrupted only by the blue-green vein that snaked its way down his hands. Sweat glistened off his new arms and with one last flex, the rest peeled off his forearms. All he had to do was stretch out his fingers wide, black claws puncturing the constricting goo and the last of the Unwritten was stripped off his arms.

Even though his head and lower body were still covered in the Unwritten, Duggin had enough control and freedom to reach up towards his nipple with one paw and his cock with the other. The contrast between the feeling and jolt of pleasure from having his raw flesh tweaked and the dulled sensation of his fingers stroking his goo-covered cock was a difference between night and day. He knew what he wanted and that only made him stroke himself off faster.

His dream-self was no different. Enormous, furry paws gripped his imaginary grandson’s body, driving his deep-throating as much as the trusts of the bear in front of him. There was a jolt of fire that erupted from the small of his back. A small, fluffy tail burst from the base of his spine. White fur spread all over his ass, encouraging the mass to grow and spread and giving him more strength to actively milk his son’s dick that was embedded into him.

Strength filled his legs. Mass was added to his quads as the white fur spread down his hamstrings and thighs. Defined muscles glistening with sweat greeted the hot, noon sun. His toes kissed the rich, fertile soil. Black claws jutted out of his toes, spreading white fur that consumed his toenails and spread up his calves. The two growths of fur met just above his knees. The instant they met, their strength and effect redoubled. His quads firmed up and doubled in size, his calves flared out with an explosion that caused a small crater beneath each bare foot. That burst onto the ground mirrored the eruption of his legs from his trousers in reality.

Duggin knew he was almost complete and he could feel both his son and grandson on the verge of shooting their corruptive cum into him. His eyes were glazed over in a pearlescent white film. Despite knowing full well what the seed would do to him, he suckled on that cock and milked that dick like his life depended on it. This was what he wanted. This is what the Holder wanted him to want. This was inevitable.

In his farmhouse, Duggin’s features erupted from the constrictive mask that had held him. A broad, square muzzle tipped with a black nose pierced through the black ooze of the Unwritten. Savage fangs flashing in the dull starlight streaming through his window. Two, fluffy white ears sitting at the top of his head flicked off the remnants of the slime as the rest retreated from his ursine features, dropping onto his cot completely inert and useless. Blazing, amber irises burned to greet his new, monstrous form with the only thing still restrained being his throbbing cock.

A lewd grin crossed his features as the lingering memories of the dream seeped from his subconscious to his conscious mind. His paw gripped his member tightly, stroking it and urging to become longer, thicker just like his son and grandson’s. Those cocks had to come from somewhere after all. His balls jostled, filling with cum infused with the Unwritten’s directive. With each rapid stroke, his member grew, reaching past his crotch, rising to kiss his belly button and beyond. It filled his paw, pushing his fingers out wide and doubling the need to ejaculate, to cum.

He had changed. He had been corrupted. And now, he was about to cum.

Change. Corrupt. Cum.

With the mantra embedded into the farmer’s mind, the Unwritten finally released its grip on Duggin’s dick; all of its essence already infused into the formerly elderly man. Molten cum erupted from Duggin’s balls, shooting up the bright pink dick and exploding out in a shower of black-purple goo that sprayed all over the farmer’s snow-white body. Duggin let out a tremendous roar of triumph, flexing his spare arm as load after load rained down upon him, completing his form.

Not even a second after his last load was fired, Duggin was leaping off his cot and making his way to the door. The enormous polar bear didn’t even bother to push the wooden frame open. He just plowed right through it. That alerted his cattle and they immediately began panicking as the scent emanating through the air was foreign, predatory and evil.

Duggin didn’t care.

He was done farming for vegetables and raising cattle. There was a new kind of resource he was going to produce. And he wouldn’t do it alone.

Though it was the middle of the night, he could see perfectly. Powerful strides took him off his property and jogging out towards the only other farm in Grimvalle, the Raynoldus Family Farm. Despite his size, he vaulted over the fences with ease and cut through the forest of corn; the plants visibly shying away from his corruptive force. When he emerged onto the property itself, he spied the barn and the farmhouse, both of which were much larger than his.

Still grinning, he made a beeline for the barn which had its doors wide open. Light snoring could be heard inside. The youngest of the Raynoldus sons - 22-year-old Johannes Raynoldus - was slumbering in the haystacks. No animals were around. They slept out in the fields unless there was a storm. The strong, musky, woodsy scent that Duggin exuded was masked by the smell of wet hay, manure and cattle. It allowed him to stalk over to where Johannes slumbered.

The enormous polar bear oozing with masculinity quietly positioned himself over the young man, gripping his cock in one paw to avoid the constant dripping of his precum to prematurely wake the young man. He angled his heavy, musky balls right over the boy’s face and gently lowered himself down.

Johannes was dreaming of bringing his family honor. He never wanted to be a farmer. His ambitions were to join the fort guards and become a soldier under Baron Arthur Grim. Dreams of marching in formation, wielding weapons and charging into battle. Of bringing glory to Grimvalle and his family. Of sleeping in an actual bed alongside his fellow soldiers, bathing with them in the nude… of watching the light glint off their muscles… of touching their erect cocks… and sucking on their big, sweaty balls.

The young man’s eyes sprang open in an instant but his dull, slate-gray irises were masked by a film of white. A lewd grin crossed his features as he took in the huge, white, hairy orbs pressing against his upper lip. Fur carrying Duggin’s musk tickled the insides of his nostril, mingling with his own nose hairs. The strong, masculine, woodland smell seeped into his brain, twisting his thoughts, rewriting morals, removing inhibitions and revising desires.

Johannes Raynoldus didn’t want to be a soldier for Baron Arthur Grim anymore.

He wanted to suck the juicy sac in front of him. To change into a beastly bear. To corrupt his brothers and father.

To cum.

The youngest of the Raynoldus sons eagerly opened his lips to take in the glorious orbs in front of him. Even before his tongue had lashed out at Duggin’s hairy balls, his own muzzle had already fully formed. The emerging bear, covered in gray fur, reached out with enormous paws, curling them around Duggin’s waist and seizing the polar bear’s ass, pushing those balls closer to his own face. He gobbled the testicles eagerly, driving his hips into the air like a wild animal. His cock burst from his clean, deep green trousers; a gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday. The member couldn’t quite reach Duggin’s ass but it had already developed into a long, fat cock befitting a monster before the rest of his body exploded out of his clothing.

It was not long after that both men were shooting their loads. Duggin bit back a roar, knowing full well that there were still three other men that he needed to convert into his ‘family’. Still, he throughly enjoyed the fountain of black cum that blasted across his back from Johannes. Coupled with his own eruption from his dick that splattered onto the back of the barn and soaked into the hay, he was feeling charged, satisfied and addicted to this joyous feeling.

Johannes’ last blast spluttered across Duggin’s traps and the new bear released the polar bear’s balls with a soft pop. Grinning up at his sire with bright, ember eyes, he said, “Change. Corrupt. Cum.”

Duggin stepped back and offered his arm towards the muscled bear in front of him. His new convert grasped his paw and he pulled the bear to his feet. “Change. Corrupt. Cum, my son,” he rumbled in return.

With matching grins, the two men left the barn and headed towards the farmhouse. Johannes knew the home well so he knew exactly how to sneak through the back door in the kitchen to avoid as much noise as possible. This time, Duggin did make sure to use the door so he didn’t cause too much noise by bursting through the frame.

They entered the living room where Johannes’ two brothers - Willis and Nils - slumbered in the same bed, backs to one another. Though they may have had more hands and a bigger harvest, the Raynoldus Family still had limited resources in this medieval, rural township. The patriarch and the sons’ father, Marvin, had the only room to himself down an adjoining hallway.

That was why Marvin never woke when the two, enormous bears moved towards the twins. Johannes positioned himself next to Willis and Duggin next to Nils. Both bears exchanged knowing glances and slowly lowered their cocks towards the two, slumbering men that were identical in every way.

Willis, the older of the two brothers, was the first to react to the aroma of sex, men and the woods after a rain. He huffed, still fast a sleep, drawing more of the scent into him. Immediately, he did not find it offensive at all and licked his lips. Perhaps it was because this scent was coming from his own, younger brother but Willis actively sought out the source of the scent, wrapping his lips gently around Johannes’ cock head and drinking from the corrupted precum.

Nils, on the other hand, shuffled in discomfort and even wrinkled his nose a little. He snorted, expelling the smell form his face as much as possible. When he grew annoyed enough that it was bothering him, he semi-consciously rolled onto his other side, facing his brother’s back. The sound of stretching leather, tearing fabric and soft moaning stirred him from a distant dream he had already forgotten. Through bleary eyes, he watched a mound of flesh in front of him growing out of the familiar clothes that were a match for his own. Dense, black fur sprouted from the tears in the fabric, muscles developing rapidly right before his eyes.

He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. So, he propped himself up, squinting through the darkness to see what was happening to what should have been his brother. His eyes adjusted to the gloom just in time to see his twin’s features - twisted into a lewd smirk with a throbbing cock deep down his throat - shift and change; a muzzle emerging, nose transforming into a black point and dark fur sprouting all over his body.

Nothing about this seemed odd. In fact, the only thought that sprang into his mind was the question that constantly plagued him ever since he was young: why did Willis always get everything first. Just because he was the older brother by a minute was not a justifiable reason to him. The burning question compelled him to spin around, grab the cock that was already erect for him and gobble it down without a second of hesitation.

Willis was still only partially conscious, drifting in a dream of warm cum, embracing his brother and sucking on his twin’s dick while his twin drank from his. Strength and power pushed through the initial cold emptiness that had shot through his body, reforging him into the protective leader that the family genuinely needed. When his eyes finally snapped open, the pearlescent white film over his irises only stuck around briefly before shining amber shone through. The newly awakened bear orgasmed, bucking his hips in ecstasy as the fleshy tube buried in his ursine muzzle pumped perverse cum down his throat.

At the same time, he felt their bed jostle and shudder, another furry ass pressing against his own. Two, nub-like tails brushed against one another. Nils had transformed as well, his brother’s cum shooting across the room and splattering across the ground. It made him smile how his little brother was always competing against him. No matter how many times he insisted that they were not in competition with one another, Nils still fought to prove his worth.

The twins pulled their muzzles from the members offered to them almost in unison. They looked up at the men that transformed them appreciatively before turning to one another.

“Change,” rumbled Willis, reaching for his brother.

“Corrupt,” agreed Nils, pulling his twin closer.

“Cum,” they whispered in unison before their lips meshed together in beautiful, incestuous union.

All four men pleasured themselves for a moment, stroking their cocks along with the others in a tight circle, quiet except for the wet slapping noises of their lubricated dicks being pleasured. They exchanged kisses, groped one another’s muscular bodies, licked each other’s frames in all sorts of configurations; knowingly grinning at one another. A fountain of cum was the result of this exercise, flooding the living room with their sticky produce.

Then, all four of them marched towards the sole room in the farmhouse, led by Duggin.

There was no hesitation in Duggin as he grabbed wooden door with one paw and ripped it clear off the frame.

Marvin Raynoldus was sound asleep, wrapped in a nightmare of providing enough food for his family and ensuring a strong legacy for his sons. All he ever wanted was to make sure his sons were cared for and that even when he passed, they would have a solid living. The constant competition between Willis and Nils was the driving factor in his desire to push Old Man Duggin out of the farming business. If he could take over Duggin’s farm, he could bequeath it to either of the twins. Then he could focus on getting Johannes into the fort and send him on his way to being a soldier.

Only then could he rest easy.

His nightmare was interrupted by the loud bang of his door being ripped off its hinges. Out of a nightmare and straight into hell.

“What the fuck is going one!?” he exclaimed, immediately breathing in the infectious pheromones emanated from the four bear-men standing just a few feet from him. With so much of the Unwritten influence in one place, his rage and confusion was replaced rapidly by curiosity and arousal.

“Rest easy, father,” rumbled Johannes.

He couldn’t tell how he knew that the towering gray-furred bear was his youngest son but he just knew it was. Some part of his brain likened the silvery fur to armor. Pride filled his chest and the contamination in his mind twisted the scene before him as his son not only achieving his dream of becoming a soldier but exceeded it to rise to the rank of a knight.

A smile crept across his features, his eyes glazing over and a film of white with an oily surface crept across his irises. Willis and Nils fell into view. The twins had their thick arms wrapped around one another’s waists, their sides pressed against one another. They never looked closer. Despite looking completely identical even in their ursine forms down to the veins on their cocks, he could tell them apart.

“My boys…” he huffed, breathing in more of their scent. Whether he noticed it or not, he was tenting in his trousers, a patch of wet fabric appearing at the tip of his cock.

“Join us, father,” rumbled Willis, leaning towards his brother and planting a wet kiss on Nils’ cheek.

“We’re family,” replied Nils, turning towards his twin and pressing his lips against the muzzle. Their passionate kissing, willfully ignoring everyone else around them, stirred fatherly pride and… something else in Marvin.

He wanted that too.

Then his completely glazed eyes fell on the polar bear that shone like a white beacon in the darkness. Duggin stepped forward, offering his paw towards the rival farmer.

“Come, Raynoldus,” beckoned Duggin. “Let’s feed Grimvalle in an entirely new way.”

Marvin didn’t need further convincing. His youngest had become a knight. His twins were getting along together. And now, there was this sexy man offering him eternal pleasure.

He reached out to Duggin and by the time his fingers clasped the bear’s paw, his own hand had morphed into a paw. His lips split across his dark brown muzzle, shreds of his clothing ripping off him as muscles shredded off his human form and he embraced his new life. An already erect cock erupted from his trousers, leading the way for the garment to be completely torn away from his body by a bursting butt and tremendous thighs. In the second it took for him to be pulled off his bed, the huge man stood just as tall as Duggin and his cock was spraying black and purple cum straight onto the polar bear’s chest.

The two farmers grinned at one another. Their conflict was over. The two rival farms had now come under a single purpose.

Change. Corrupt. Cum.

Marvin smeared his black ichor across Duggin’s chest, watching it with aroused glee as it melded with the polar bear’s white fur.

“I will enjoy coloring your fur with my seed, Duggin,” he rumbled.

“Call me Clemens,” answered the opposing farmer.

All five men felt a strange compulsion, like a lead pulling at their dicks and drawing them outside the farmhouse. They all turned and, one by one, left the farmhouse.

The grin across Duggin’s muzzle grew broader.

Strange creatures emerged from the barn. Each of them bore pearly white eyes and their bodies were vaguely ursine with their flesh made out of dried hay that were packed together to form the contours of a muscled torso and powerful legs. Instead of arms, each creature possessed a collection of farming tools that were held together by latex muscles ending in wicked scythe-like edges.

New Unwritten.

In Between the Pages

Lush, green grass. Distant, snow-capped mountains. A glistening lake filled with silvery waters that danced by reflecting the rays of a sun that was nowhere to be seen in a cloudless blue sky. An emerald green forest surrounded the entire scene. A small hill overlooked the lake on which sat a single, simple bench. And upon that bench was a man that was oddly dressed and wearing something silvery on his face that masked his eyes.

Skurrald, Barbarian Bandit King, was unsure what to make of the scene. One moment, he was fighting against an insolent boy that wielded a strange weapon and an enraged woodsman that fought just like one of his brothers.

The next… he was here.

He looked down at his hands… or his paws, as they were now. At his body which was covered in dusty, brown fur. At the muzzle that jutted from his face and the cock hung flaccid between his legs. It seemed like an eternity that he hadn’t felt the call of lust. A deep-seated fear of feeling that cold emptiness crept up his gut and he braced himself to feel that burning desire to fill that void. The only thing that ever provided any semblance of relief from that darkness was sex and even then, it was fleeting.

The period between the gnawing hunger for carnal pleasure tended to grow shorter and shorter with each orgasm. The eruptions of ecstasy and the satisfaction he received from fulfilling some unknown objective only grew. In his gut, he could feel that void growing bigger and more voracious and though drawing closer to Grimvalle and transforming more men into his Barbearians seemed to fill that void with greater and greater amounts, the abyss only seemed to grow. He was filling a container to the brim, stretching it to its limits, only for the same container to rapidly drain and now he would need more to fill it again.

Any rational person would have been afraid of this addiction. But at the time, Skurrald had been too consumed with the bliss of his lustful existence to care. He just knew what would please him and he followed it without a second thought.

And now…

“Don’t just stand there,” the man at the top of the hill said cheerfully, his concealed eyes looking out towards the lake. “Come over here. Don’t be a stranger.”

The Barbearing King lumbered over cautiously. “What is this place?”

“Between the Pages,” answered the enigmatic stranger. “A place between.”

“Between where?”

“Just between.”

Skurrald was already growing frustrated with this man. “Stop speaking in riddles! I was fighting a boy from Grimvalle and he… he…” His eyes widened in realization. “He killed me…”

The man didn’t speak.

A realization dawned on the bear. “Oh… I’ve died.”

“Yes,” answered the stranger. “In any other case, you would have dissolved into the Ink. In fact, that’s exactly what happened to your body. The very ‘stuff’ that you were made of was disassembled and reduced to the primordial ooze that you and those like you in your world are made of. The Ink.”

Skurrald didn’t pretend he understood the rant and just let his shoulders slump. “So… what happens now? Why am I here?”

The stranger tilted his head to the side as if listening for something. “Ordinarily, when your body died, your soul would have gone with it. Your part in the Story would have been over unless you were brought back for some reason or an afterlife was defined. Sadly, your world was so poorly constructed that nothing of the kind was ever made.”

The man waved a hand absently through the air. “However, because something otherworldly became involved in your reality, it created a little loophole that I could readily exploit. A little hole in the laws of time and space that I could reach through and bring your spirit here.” The enigmatic man flashed him an toothy grin. “See, the weapon you were killed with, the Archetype, that doesn’t belong to your world. Not even the world surrounding your world.”

“You made it?” snarled Skurrald.

A thoughtful hum came from the man. “No. Not really. I may have helped and maybe inspired its creation but I didn’t make it. No…” He gestured at the land around them. “The owner of this world made it. And because your story was affected by it, some part of you is tied to this place now.”

The man snapped a finger. “Think of it as going fishing. To the fish, the sea is its entire world. That’s all it knows. It knows nothing about the sky, the land or world beyond the stars. But when a fisherman throws a lure out into the sea and pulls that fish out of its home, it is plunged into an entirely different world.” The stranger gently jabbed a finger against Skurrald’s bare thigh as he was too short to reach any higher. “That is what the Archetype did to you.”

“I won’t pretend to understand what you just said,” grumbled the Barbearian King. He sat down beside the man on the bench. Despite knowing full well he was wide enough to take up the bench himself, for some reason, there was a respectable space between him and the stranger. “You haven’t answered my question. What now?”

The stranger lifted a finger, a smile on his face. “Now? We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For the others to arrive.”

Skurrald tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Others?” His eyes followed the path of the stranger gaze. For the first time, he noticed the figures standing on the shore of the lake, all of them peering down into the mirror-like waters. It didn’t take him long to recognize those enormous, muscled, furry figures.

“You can go to join them,” the stranger said with a gentle smile. “Enjoy the show.”

He gave the enigmatic figure a dubious look before rising to his feet and padding down the hill. As he approached his men, the horde he had made, he a pang of uncertainty hit him. It was his weakness that transformed these men. Though it felt good and he was sure they all shared a deep connection in their corrupt brotherhood, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he been stronger.

One of the bears noticed him and openly gawked.

“Skurrald!” exclaimed the ursine. “You made it! We watched you fall to Cliff and Verik!”

Were those the names of those two that had slain him?

“They will pay for what they’ve done,” he growled instinctively.

“Not after you see what is truly happening,” laughed his brother. The smaller but no-less immense bear grabbed his arm and pulled him to the front of the crowd. The other ursines finally took note of him. Some he recognized as being part of his initial raiding band. Some were the knights and guardsmen from Stormy Crossing. He even saw that envoy that he had changed. Their reactions to him were mixed with his original party greeting him with delight while the others swung between begrudgingly restrained disgust and relief.

His guide pointed down to the silvery waters…

… and Skurrald’s eyes widened.

Grimwalker Forest

Penmanship.

From what little Cliff could gather from the hints in his HUD, this new skill improved his handling of the Archetype in its most basic of forms - a single sword. Any bonuses would not be conferred to his sword and shield combination, however. It was another score that he could improve and obtain ability points from. Combat oriented, however, which meant that unless he actively sought out enemies or swung at training dummies with the magical blade, it would not improve passively like his athletics skill.

They’re making this tough on me.

Cliff surveyed the remnants of the Barbearian encampment, such that it was. It seemed that the corrupted Ink that they were infused with reduced the need for basic necessities such as food or water. As he and Verik trudged through the Ink-soaked camp, using their weapons to purify the Ink and restore their own health and reserves, he noticed that there was a distinct lack of supplies. There weren’t even any tents or any forms of equipment or bedding. The horde had just been two hundred horny, bear-men driven by Oaks’ inscrutable designs.

I can’t help but wonder if he wrote them to be like that as part of some grand design or it was just a fanciful impulse.

His eyes drifted to Verik who was making his way towards the edge of the camp back towards Grimvalle. The Barbearian’s actions had driven that mother bear to attack Verik’s home and kill his wife and child. The fact that they turned out to be bears as well was no coincidence. It made his stomach turn thinking that he was still dancing to Oaks’ tune but for now, he focused on getting back to Grimvalle and making sure Arthur made it back safely.

He followed the lumberjack, reaching the line of trees before they plunged back into the forest. Both of them stopped and cast one last look at the aftermath of their battle.

“You know,” Verik rumbled softly, his lips barely moving and visible beneath his coarse, red beard. “I thought that killing this horde would bring me some form of satisfaction. They were the reason that bear attacked me and took everything away from me. But after all this… I just feel empty.”

Classic revenge story. Though most of the time, the outcome of the revenge is never explored. Either through the power of friendship, life experiences or some other event, the protagonist never follows through with their revenge quest or spares the object of their revenge at the last moment. A sign of character growth. Seldom do the vengeful heroes genuinely get to punish the cause of their pain.

Cliff was honestly at a loss of how to approach the situation.

“If you’re looking for something to fill that void in your life,” he began, “A purpose, maybe? Might I suggest exploring that thing Skurrald mentioned?”

Verik’s eyes darted towards him, eyebrows lifted. “You believe that beast’s claim about a barbarian horde and a ‘Circle of Kings’?”

“Why would he lie?” Cliff responded with a shrug. “We were surrounded by his bears. He was clearly stronger than us. All the advantage rested with him. There was no reason to lie.”

The woodsman rumbled in agreement. “You’re right. Arthur doesn’t know about that.” His eyes hardened as he turned to the east, towards the Grimvalle. “You and he were bound for the capital. We must all go and tell the king of what transpired here.”

Feels like were steering back to the Plot.

And I’ve just barely scratched the surface of what Oaks put into this world… the core of the Story.

“It’ll sound more convincing when it comes from two of us,” Cliff agreed. “I don’t think anyone will believe that a horde of bear-men came close to attacking Grimvalle and apparently had the power to turn other people into their kind through… I want to say sex?”

Verik let out a snort and clapped his shoulder, that firm, broad hand squeezing down comfortingly. “Let us not forget you who apparently wields the only weapon that can defeat these monsters. That warrants an explanation, by the way.” The woodsman jerked his head towards the forest and led the way back to town.

“It’s… a long story,” Cliff sighed. “A long… unbelievable story.”

“We have time. It will take us at least an hour to get back to my home. Another half hour to return to the Charcoal Brothers’ hut. Another to get back to the city by horseback. If we’re lucky, we will arrive there by dawn.” He flashed a little smile over his shoulder. “We have the time.”

The warmth from Verik hinted at a budding relationship. Something Cliff was sure Oaks wanted. As much as he wanted to pursue it with this hulking, handsome, red-haired man of the forest, he knew what he was about to say would shatter the man’s heart.

“Well… if you insist,” he sighed, flicking his wrist and letting the Archetype vanish into a spiral of light.

They trudged through the forest at a leisurely pace and Cliff began his measured explanation. Omitting key facts like he was an English Major from a place called Nebraska in a country called the United States of America or what the Internet was, he wove an intricate story that he thought would fit the greater Narrative of this world. Verik listened quietly but intently, only occasionally stopping him not ask a question but to listen to their surroundings for any threats. They were still in the middle of the night, after all.

A short ten minutes later, Cliff finished his own story.

Verik stoppedd a few feet away from him and turned, cocking an eyebrow at him. “So you’re telling me you’re from a ‘higher plane of existence’ and ‘fell’ into this world when the man you looked up to imprisoned you in this ‘Magnum Opus’ and you are trying to find a way to escape.” He pointed at Cliff’s right hand. “That weapon you wield, the Archetype you called it, is the only proof of this.”

“Pretty much,” Cliff explained, hoping his persuasion skill was high enough to convince Verik of his outlandish story. “And those Barbearians? I think they were genuinely residents of this world that were infected by my… mentor’s minions, the Unwritten.”

For a long moment, Verik’s eyes search his, probing him, judging him. A pang of doubt shot through Cliff as he wondered if the tale he had spun was far too fantastical. Though not too far from the truth, he was painfully aware that if he broke the Protagonist of this Story, he could very destabilize the Plot and plunge the world into the Ink.

Realism’s words rang through his mind.

‘But don’t be in a rush to escape the Story.’

Am I pushing this too far too fast?

No. Verik was asking and I need him to trust me. If I outright lie to him, he’ll never trust me.

“You’re hiding something,” Verik accused. The he shrugged. “But at the same time, I can tell you’re being genuine. You care about this world. About me.” He little twinge of a smile touched his lips. “In your own way.” He turned and began marching through the underbrush again. “Keep your secrets. I trust you’ll reveal them in time.”

God… you made this guy really hard not to like, Oaks.

“Thank you.”

They traveled closer and closer to Grimvalle and along the way, Verik asked him a few questions. About his powers. His abilities. Nothing probing about his past or his origins. Just what he could do. He answered them all to the best of his abilities but got stuck when asked about the collaborative strike they and executed.

“I honestly don’t know about that,” Cliff confessed. His eyes drifted to his HUD, to the signal wave that represented his synchronization rate with Verik. The wave had gone back to the low amplitude and low frequency blue wave. “I just got the feeling that you trusted me and I trusted you. We were just moving in synch and…” He grimaced at the sappy words he was about to use. “… I guess the connection of our hearts empowered us to overcome Skurrald?”

Verik stopped for a moment just to snort and bite back a mocking chuckle.

“Hey!” Cliff snapped. “That’s the best explanation I can give! I honestly don’t know how else to describe it!”

“I’m sorry,” Verik said, waving away his laugh like that little gesture could erase his derision. “Just I realized there was some irony in mocking those words while realizing they were the truth.” His eyes shone even through the darkness. “I felt connected with you, Cliff Gale. I hadn’t felt that connection since I fought on the battlefield with Arthur. Even when I married my wife…” A big, hairy hand lifted to his chest. “There is just a different sort of bond forged in the fires of battle.”

Aaaaand there’s the foundation of the romance.

There was a temptation to nip this nascent relationship in the bud. Verik had gone through too much already, however. Losing his wife. Nearly dying. Rushing to get revenge only to achieve it and find himself empty. Thrust into a world-changing event that - as far as he knew - involved gods and fallen angels. Adding rejection from a potential love interest into the mix could very well be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

I’ll let him have this one.

“Battle makes for strange bedfellows,” Cliff agreed.

His eyes drifted into the forest, a distant hope lingering in his mind that he might just be able to save Verik from Oaks’ grip… somehow. A flicker of something in the gloom caught his attention. At first, he thought it was just a trick of his eyes then he saw it again. A flash of red. Then it came again… and again.

The Archetype was instantly in his hand again.

“What’s wrong?” Verik demanded.

“Something is out there,” he said, pointing his free hand in the direction of the light.

Verik squinted then reeled back, his eyes wide. “No…” He glanced at Cliff. “Stay close to me. Do not wander away!”

Then he was bolting into the trees, Cliff right beside him. With each step, the red flashes grew more and more numerous. Then came the smell. Fire. Ash. Burning wood. A knot formed in Cliff’s stomach the instant he realized what all those added up to.

A forest fire.

Verik still charged forward, a man possessed, even as it became clearer that there was a fire burning through the Grimwalker Forest. They burst out into a clearing surrounded by tree stumps with a little cabin sat at the center. The familiar scene was cast against a hellish backdrop of a forest ablaze. Walls of fire that reached well up to the top of the trees cast the cabin in an ominous silhouette. From the flames emerged strange creatures.

They were vaguely ursine in build but their bodies were made of blazing flames. Black plates made of solidified Ink latched onto their bodies, forming the vague outlines of muscles and the bear-like mask that formed their face. They stood no bigger than about four feet tall. A dozen of them approached the cabin slowly.

“Unwritten?” Cliff asked. “But… they’re unlike any Unwritten I’ve ever seen before.”

“Doesn’t matter!” roared Verik. “They are not going to burn down my home! I won’t lose them again!”

The lumberjack charged, axe raised. The Unwritten turned their featureless, white eyes towards the noise. They scrambled on all fours towards them, leaving little trails of flame which quickly ignited the grass around them.

Shit! I’ve got to douse those flames!

Lucky I’ve got just the spell!

Cliff lifted his hand towards the approaching creatures while keeping his sword pointed down, ready to adopt his MOM Stance.

Water!

Three projectiles of water sprang up from his palms and danced around his fingers like baseball-sized planets orbiting his hand before shooting straight towards the Unwritten. Each impact ended with a burst of water the size of a human’s torso. Flames were instantly doused and even the hit Unwritten visibly recoiled as the fire that gave them life weakened.

A new notification appeared on his HUD.

New Objective: Defeat the Burnbears [0/12]

Cliff wondered who came up with these names… and then feared that he was naming the Unwritten subconsciously.

Verik’s roar cut through his musing. The woodsman crashed into one of the Unwritten, slamming his axe into it before landing a foot on the plate that made it’s head and kicking it away. Ink purified and seeped into Verik’s body but the Unwritten remained mostly unharmed.

Got to be smart about this.

“Verik!” he shouted and thrust his hand forward, mentally shouting ‘Water!’. Bolts of liquid shot from his palms and slammed into the Unwritten trying to lunge at Verik from the right. The flames all over its body were abruptly doused and it stopped moving, a blackened husk of what it had previously been. Verik immediately swung his axe at it, slicing through its arm in one mighty cleave. The lumberjack grinned, gave Cliff and nod and then kicked the helpless Unwritten to the ground before smashing its skull with one well-placed stomp.

That’s the ticket!

He flung water spells, keeping the Unwritten clear off Verik. The Burnbears would reignite a few moments after being doused if Verik didn’t finish them off quickly enough but they were quickly incapacitated a moment later. Cliff made his way towards the woodsman, flinging spells to provide his ally with openings. All the while, he pondered how elemental damage now played a part and how this battle would have gone had he not equipped himself with the water spell.

Better prepare for the future.

During the battle against Skurrald, he obtained two extra ability points so he invested that into the Earth and Wind spells. Now he had the typical tetrachotomy of RPG elements - Earth, Fire, Water and Wind. Ice and Lightning were also available but he decided to save those for later. With the first four, he would be able to deal with most threats with elemental affinities.

He reached Verik and flung a water spell at the closest Burnbear. The Unwritten ground to a halt. As it was weakened, he unleashed his typical combo with the Archetype, cleaving through its frame and scattering the remaining corrupt Ink to the night. He noticed his Ink reserves had depleted somewhat and so had his health; a consequence of relying heavily on spells.

I need to be careful.

The last of the Burnbearns toppled to Verik. The lumberjack charged around his house, stopping just around the corner to stare at the wall of flame that consumed what would have been his backyard. Thankfully, the fresh graves of his wife and daughter were undisturbed… for now.

“What… What could have caused this?” gasped the red-haired man.

“Oblivion,” was all Cliff could provide. “Maybe he doesn’t want us returning to town?” Gesturing to where the Unwritten had fallen, he said, “No doubt he was behind it but… why?”

“Then we stop him before he endangers the town and its people!” Verik began marching towards the flames. “Come!”

Panic struck Cliff. This felt like a provocation. Or perhaps it was retribution for ruining the Story? He wasn’t sure. Why would Oaks actively attack Verik’s home like that. Surely the Holder of the Magnum Opus must have known how much he had divulged by now. Attacking the cabin with his Unwritten would only further the link between Verik’s loss and the actions of ‘Oblivion’.

“Wait!” he cried, holding out his hand towards Verik.

“What?” demanded the woodsman, spinning around and genuinely searching him for a reason to stall. “Our friends and your family are in Grimvalle! What if Oblivion has done something to them? What if he sets his Unwritten on them? We need to hurry!”

“Just… Just give me a second to think!” Cliff demanded. “This… this feels wrong. It’s… it goes against the Plot. At least… at least what I thought it was…”

Verik rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

Holding up a hand, Cliff had to remind himself of his objective in this Story. Find the part of Oaks that had sparked this creation of this tale; that part of him that had driven him to make this world. If only he had asked Realism for more details on what to look for. But with what little information he had, he reviewed everything he had learned.

“Why are you stalling!?” Verik shouted, gesturing at the inferno behind them. “Every second we wait is another second that our path to Grimvalle is cut off! We need to get going now!”

What do I know?

Verik is the Protagonist. There’s no doubt about that. Arthur is a love interest. So am I. Oaks’ goal was to embroil me into this Story, trap me here forever so he could make a profit out of my actions in this world.

But he still made this world from something of himself.

A memory? Trauma? A passion?

He looked to Verik.

Or does he see himself in Verik? Is that what he considers his ideal self? A big, burly, shoot-first kind of guy?

Thinking about what he knew of Oaks, that didn’t seem appropriate. Even when met with hecklers and critics of his works, Oaks always greeted them with grace and humility. Nothing anyone ever said fazed him. Not the politicians who tried to censor him, not the feminists who demanded he write lesbian porn and certainly not the community-led boycotts that claimed he was corrupting their children. He just sat there, smiling at them and calmly explaining that he wrote what he liked and clearly people responded to them. If those who didn’t like it didn’t want to read his works or didn’t want their loves ones to read it, that was their prerogative.

That was always something he admired about D. E. Oaks. He embodied Realism’s saying of ‘Your Story. Your Writing. Your Way.’

So what am I missing? What did Oaks put into this story?

“We need to go!” shouted Verik, seizing his arm. “Arthur could be in trouble!”

Cliff pulled his arm back. “Just give me a minute!”

“Why?” cried the woodsman in desperation. “Why are you so hesitant!? You didn’t waste a second when you jumped in to defend Arthur against the Barbearians! You didn’t think twice when you told us to turn around and flee while you held them off! Why now? Why are you stalling now when this very forest is burning around us!”

Irritated at the towering man’s demands, Cliff finally shouted, “Because you’re the goddamn Protagonist, okay!?”

Verik reeled back in his typical way of showing confusion, pulling his head back and knitting his brow together. “What?”

Never before had Cliff wished there was a rewind button in life. He ran a hand down his face in exhaustion. “Look… When you said I was hiding something, you were right. But not because I’m doing it on purpose. I don’t understand it myself.”

Grimacing, he said to Verik, “We’re in a Story, okay? A fictional world written by Oblivion whose true identity is a writer by the name of Desmond Eli Oaks. Everything else I told you is mostly true. I was a big fan of his work and wanted to be his apprentice. He invited me to his home and showed me the Magnum Opus. It somehow sucked me into it and I was told by these two spirits, Poetry and Prose, that Oaks had built a world - this world - for me to live in. My very essence, my soul, would breathe life into it. Make the characters more… realistic and relatable. Everything I said was true… I got sucked in by the Unwritten and I found myself awakening In Between the Pages with Realism. Realism gave me the Archetype and told me there was a way to break out of this place. I.. I didn’t tell you how I was supposed to do that.”

Verik glowered. “And how do you do that? By finishing the Story?”

Cliff shook his head grimly. “No. He said that I had to find the ‘spark’, that bit of inspiration that started this world. I needed to exorcise it so I could claim this part of the Magnum Opus for myself. Once I got enough control of the Opus, I could leave.”

The woodsman pressed his hand against his chest. “And what does that have to do with me? Why did you call me a ‘Protagonist’?”

“I think Oaks made you the Protagonist of this Story. The main character.” He gestured in the direction of Grimvalle through the flames. “Think about it. You are the only one with a wife and child in all of Grimvalle. My own dad made the very same axe that you’re holding now as a wedding gift. The Baron has feelings for you. This whole thing started when your wife and daughter were murdered by a bear. The Story revolves around you.”

Verik scoffed. “You are the one with the magical sword. Why didn’t he make you the Protagonist.”

Good question. You’d think if you wanted to trap someone in a fantastical world forever, you make them the main character of the Story…

But…

“Because I think it’d give me too much agency in the Story,” Cliff said. “If the Narrative followed me, I could do anything I want with it. I could go completely against the Plot, against Oaks’ will and the Story would have no choice but to shape to my desires. I could literally will it to make me a door out of here and it could do that.”

“Then why don’t I just do that if I’m the Protagonist?”

Cliff winced at the question because even he dreaded the answer. “Like it or not, you’re made from this Story. You’re limited to this world. To its rules. I’m not.” He waved the Archetype lightly through the air. “Case in point…”

Verik grumbled begrudgingly. “Fair.” He jabbed a finger in Cliff’s direction. “Fine. Say I believe you. Now tell me why we are standing here waiting to be burned to ash? Are you so consumed by going against Oaks’ Plot that you would let everything and everyone die around you?”

Cliff shook his head grimly. “No… That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

He took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I was thinking about my main mission here. To find that inspiration. That Piece of Oblivion, let’s call it.”

Ha… it’s literally PoO.

“If you’re the Protagonist,” he continued, “then that Piece has something to do with your story. What you’re going through right now. The emotions you’re feeling. The challenges you’ve gone through. It’s somehow related to Oaks.”

Verik gave him a mighty shrug. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Cliff. I lost my wife and daughter. Now, I don’t want to lose anything or anyone else. The cabin can burn. But I value those that still live.” He stepped forward, resting his big hands on Cliff’s shoulders. “And I don’t want that kind of pain to befall anyone else.”

Pleading tears filled Verik’s eyes. “So please. I can’t do this without you. Let’s go. Let’s save Grimvalle. We can discover what the Piece is later.”

Verik is some fantastical version of Oaks or potentially someone that Oaks has interacted with. Maybe he is completely made up but the trials he’s going through reflects something in Oaks’ life.

It could be anything…

A movie he’s seen. A plot he’s read. An interaction he’s had.

But I’m not going to figure out what that Piece really is right now.

“You’re right,” Cliff said, nodding grimly. “I’m sorry. I just…” He laughed at himself a little. “… I just keep fearing that whatever I’m doing is exactly what Oaks wants me to do.”

Verik started for the path back to Grimvalle. “That’s not true.”

“How can you say that?” he asked grimly. “If God laid out your fate, what choice do you have but to follow?”

The lumberjack gave him a slight smile over his shoulder. “Because you’ve told me God exists.”

Cliff tilted his head in confusion. “Huh?”

Turning towards the starry night sky partially obscured by the smoke, Verik said, “You’ve given me a gift, Cliff. You’ve told me that someone, somewhere is out there trying to lay out my future for me. Now whether or not I choose to defy it or if open defiance is exactly what was fated for me isn’t something someone as simple as me to think about. I will however take comfort in the fact that the path I take is one I choose.”

Cliff lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Even if the road you choose is laid out by a higher power?”

“It’s still the road I chose to walk. I have no one else to blame for that but myself.”

Your Story. Your Writing. Your Way.

A smile touched Cliff’s lips and he nodded firmly, his resolve strengthened. Marching forward, he caught up with Verik. No other words were spoken between them as the collaboration bar jumped to a shining yellow. They charged through the burning woods, Cliff casting water spells to douse the flames in their way while Verik used his axe to chop through any fallen debris and charred trees.

There was no stopping the blaze, not with how weak Cliff’s water spell was or how little his Ink reserves were. At the very least, they found themselves on the dusty road back to the Charcoal Brother’s huts. With a little bit more breathing room, they charged through the smoke and ash and erupted back into Grimvalle’s official lands. Neither of them stopped running until they crossed the rickety bridge over the small river that marked the edge of the Grimwalker Forest.

The sounds of orgasm, erupting flames and explosive birth of more Burnbears made them both stop.

Cliff’s jaw dropped as he watched two huge bears with pronounced bellies but with incredible, muscles framing their guts shooting brackish seed right into one of the furnaces of Nycolas and Gyrard. Their black cum shot into the mouth of the incinerators which immediately spewed a large ball of flame from its chimney. That ball crashed into the ashen and scarred ground a few feet away and immediately reformed itself into another Burnbear.

“No…” he breathed.

The two ursines immediately noticed them. The one on top, a brown bear, pulled his still hard, still dripping cock out of the one on the bottom, a black bear. A lewd, hungry grin was plastered onto his muzzle and he walked away from the furnace, planting himself securely in middle of the road. The other bear, the black one, licked his lips and followed the other’s lead, stroking his cock with excitement.

“It’s about time you got here,” rumbled the brown bear. “They sure took their sweet time, didn’t they brother?”

Brother? Oh no.

“Yes brother,” growled the black bear. “We had to send our boys out to smoke you out. Not that we minded.”

“Who are you two!?” snarled Verik, axe drawn. “And what have you done with Arthur? What about Nycolas and Gyrard!?”

Cliff threw the woodsman a questioning stare. “Really?” When Verik regarded him in confusion, he said, “They’re clearly Nycolas and Gyrard.” He waved towards the two. “Two brothers? Working their furnace? Where those two should be? It’s pretty obvious.”

Verik dropped his gaze a moment. “Not to me…”

The bears laughed, their bellies jostling with the movement.

“Don’t worry, Verik,” laughed the black bear. “Gyrard and I are going to clear everything up.” He gathered some of his thick, gray precum onto a paw and smeared it all over his muzzle, licking the residue with a long tongue. “You’ll love it.”

“Even the Barbearians said that,” snarled Verik. “And they died to us. Don’t make us do the same to you two!”

Gyrard, the brown bear, held out a paw. Flames from the furnace surged out from the mouth and curled around his fist, twisting with some solid Ink to form a hammer with a haft as tall as he was and a head as wide as his belly.

“Trust us, Verik,” grumbled Gyrard. “We will not go down as easily as those simple fools.”

Nycolas lifted both his paws into the air in front of him. Again, fire from the two furnaces surged towards his finger tips, wrapping around his claws and reshaping into a pair of enormous, flaming gauntlets armed with black spiky knuckles made of solid, corrupt Ink. The flames from their twin furnaces surged. Two jets of flame shot up from the chimneys, sending sparks in all directions and filling the air with smoke. With the inferno consuming the Grimwalker Forest behind them, Cliff couldn’t help but feeling that he was on the threshold of Hell about to fight the guardians keeping him from fleeing into the world of the living.

“Now…” rumbled the brothers in unison. “Burn!”

Grimvalle

The rider in the distance immediately set Brienus on edge. The town gates were closed and the dark-skinned guard had taken up position in the lone, wooden watchtower perched just behind the gates. It had been a long, boring day but everyone in Grimvalle had their purpose. His was the guard the gates day or night. In an hour or so, he would trade shifts with his partner Foulk and get some sleep then, by midmorning, he would stand beside the elderly guard, watching the gates throughout the day.

It wasn’t a glamorous life but it was his life and he didn’t mind it. Most days were filled with greeting people traveling to and from the city, closing the gates at night and standing watch. He took comfort from the simple purpose and drew strength in the knowledge that things could be much worse. Woe to the day when something would actually cause him to use his city-issued halberd.

And this mysterious rider could very well be herald of such a day.

Moving towards the edge of the watch tower, his armor quietly clanking on his tall, broad body, he placed a hand on the railings and peered down towards the gates. The torches hanging from the frames of the gates cast some light upon the rider. There was a glint of something metal around the shoulders of the rider. Familiarity sparked in his mind and he quietly went through all the people who had gone through the gates that day. Even before the rider reached the gates themselves, he realized who this was.

“M’lord!?” he exclaimed in surprise. “You’re back!” A pit formed in his stomach. Baron Arthur Grim was without his cloak and was missing his two other companions. As Grim came more into view and the torchlight illuminated his features, Brienus saw the sweat, wide eyes and cheeks red with effort. “Where… where are Verik and young Cliff?”

“Buying me time,” shouted Grim so that Brienus could hear. “Open the gates! Then sound the alarm! Gather everyone to the Fort!”

Brienus saluted and immediately bolted down to the base of the tower, grasping the frame of the ladder leading up the watchtower and sliding down its length. His heavy frame slamming into the ground woke Foulk who was slumbering quietly on the lone cot in the attached guardhouse where the tower sprang from. The guardhouse was fairly small, barely big enough to fit their puny armory, a single bed, a table and their tower. But it was his home for as long as he could remember.

“Wake up, Foulk!” he shouted, charging for the door. “Sound the alarm! The Baron says so!”

Foulk was immediately up. The paranoid old man slept so lightly that a light breeze could wake him but, at the same time, he could fall asleep in an instant. Somehow, the elderly guard was fully aware and awake and he jumped off the cot nimbly. He nodded to Brienus, trusting that this was no prank, bolted for the table and grabbed his helmet.

Together, they emerged from the guardhouse. Foulk made for the alarm bell sitting at the back of the guardhouse while Brienus charged towards the gate. The dark-skinned and much younger guard grabbed the wheel beside the gates and began turning it, his large muscles bunching beneath his tunic. Usually, this took two men to do but adrenaline was pumping through his veins, giving him the strength of five men.

The wooden gates slowly swung open. As the clanging of the bell filled the town, Baron Arthur Grim bolted through crack in the gates.

“Close it immediately!” shouted the Baron. “Be on the watch for another two riders. If it isn’t Cliff or Verik, then it would be Nycolas and Gyrard.” The Baron swung his horse towards the Fort. “Man the gates. I will return with my troops.”

“What is going on, m’lord?” Brienus asked. “Are we under attack?”

“Yes,” Grim answered darkly. “A malign army of two hundred… monsters has taken residence in the Grimwalker Forest. We figuratively and literally poked the bear. They could be on their way here.” The Baron nodded towards Brienus. “I will gather my forces. Stay guard but do not be a hero and retreat to the Fort the moment you see any inhuman monsters approach!”

Then, with a loud ‘hiyah’, Baron Grim rocketed up towards the Fort.

The adrenaline pumping through Brienius’ chest intensified. His simple life of being a guard had finally reached its full potential. Excitement or fear coursed through his veins. A toothy grin crossed his features, showing off his pearly, straight teeth. He turned back to the guardhouse to the rhythmic melody of the alarm bell and raced back up the ladder. The townspeople were waking. They all knew that the ringing of the bell meant they were to retreat to the Fort. Cries of confusion and questions filled the air but he didn’t pay them too much mind.

The Baron had given him a mission and he was not going to disobey.

Within a minute, he had climbed the ladder and was once again perched at his position, gripping his halberd tightly and his black eyes focused on the sole road leading out of the town.

Had he been more attentive to his station, he would have noticed an alien, black creature with milky-white, featureless eyes slithering past the gates right behind the Baron. It had slinked off into the shadow of the walls, unnoticed as he closed the gates once more. The Unwritten waited until both Brienus and the Baron were racing off to their particular tasks before it slithered after the guardsman. It coiled through the air, a dark spiral with the ladder as its center and traveled up to the top of the tower right behind Brienus.

The ebony guardsman’s attention was completely focused on the road that he didn’t look behind him. His back was always covered by his partner, Foulk. Of all the people he trusted in Grimvalle, Foulk and the Baron ranked amongst the top and with both of them behind him, he never expected an attack from behind.

The Unwritten, hovering through the air, angled its pointed tail towards the middle of Brienus’ back… waited from the guard to release the breath he had been holding…

… and struck!

It’s black form shot right through Brienus’ chest, a thin, blade of black-purple Ink erupting from the guard’s chest, slicing through the guardsman’s iron cuirass like it was paper. The guard could barely let out a gasp as he was lifted off the ground by an entire foot. His wide eyes fell to the dark blade jutting from his chest, filled with disbelief, shock and confusion. An all-consuming cold spread out from the wound, replacing the burning of adrenaline and leaving him with a numbing emptiness… an emptiness that he just needed to fill.

A heat emerged from his crotch, his already sizable cock growing as erect as the dark Ink that jutted out of his chest. Again, there was a brief flash of confusion. Why was not dying? Why was he so horny? Why hadn’t he ever fucked Foulk after so many years of working together?

His mind suddenly inundated with thoughts of sex, cocks and cum. A need to change, corrupt and cum filled him. The geyser of darkness in his chest didn’t seem so… bad. A soft moan left his lips and his grip around his halberd loosened. The weapon dropped to the ground with a clatter that was drowned out by the ringing of the alarm. All urgency or purpose faded into the waves of arousal and lust that had consumed his body.

Brienus reached towards his crotch, gripping the erect member through his dark trousers. His toes curled in his boots, feet dangling in the air as he remained suspended by the Unwritten. A pulsing radiated from the ‘wound’ in his chest. Beneath his cuirass and tunic, the Unwritten’s corruption seeped into his veins, pushing the blood vessels against his ebony skin. A spiderweb of inflamed veins crisscrossed his already firm pectorals, feeding the muscles with more mass.

A pleasured groan left his broad, full lips and he instinctively lifted his right arm, giving it a taut flex. Black tendrils from the Unwritten behind him crawled over his shoulder, their needle-like points creeping across his arm, searching for the perfect place to enter. They found it and shot past his tunic and straight into his veins. A burst of ecstasy like the release after an orgasm exploded from his arm which was quickly followed by the sensation of the muscles there growing firmer, becoming pumped like he had just swung his halberd a hundred times as part of his drills. A tearing noise joined the ruckus of confused villagers fleeing to the fort. His bicep burst from beneath his tunic, black veins crawling all over the growing mass.

A white film crept over his eyes, enshrouding his mirthful dark eyes and filtering his perception with nothing but lustful imagery and the pursuit of carnal release. Brienus stuck out his tongue, drooling in satisfaction. Mass pumped into his arm as more of the Unwritten shot into him, creeping up his forearms and bending the bracers he wore. The metal bent, screamed in protest but could not hold against the burst of muscle that shredded the rest of his tunic off his body. Metal clattered to the ground. Brienus uncurled his hand, letting the dark corruption sweep up his palms and fingers. Little explosions of relief erupted from his fingertips. Black claws jutted out of his fingers and light brown fur crept out from their base and all over his transformed arm. The veins remained plump and even beneath the coat of fur, a reminder of his change.

Brienus huffed and actively thrust into his still human hand. Each motion brought him closer and closer to the Unwritten that had speared him. Those dark tendrils wiggled their way towards his neck where they immediately pierced his vital blood vessels. His eyes, fully consumed by the pearlescent white of the transformation, rolled into the back of his head, eyelids fluttering with the drumbeat of the Unwritten pumping into him. Black veins wriggled ups his neck, ballooning it two twice its size and dropping his voice an entire octave. A broad smile on his face transformed into the lewd smirk of a bear. The same brown fur crept out of the punctured locations, sweeping up his cheeks and pushing his ears to the top of his head where they were left with nowhere to run. Auditory organs were consumed by brown fur, morphed and twisted into two, shorter, fluffy discs sitting at the top of his head. The transformation of his skull dislodged the helmet that sat on his head just in time for his muzzle to fully come into being, a lighter, sandy colored fur covering his muzzle with only his black nose and the dark outline of his rubbery lips breaking the color palette.

His brain was now fully infected by the Unwritten. The will of the Holder rewired his neurons, twisted memories and rearranged his priorities. Brienus willingly threw himself against the Unwritten, slamming his back into it. Lances of dark Ink pierced his back and hamstrings. A few even punctured the seat of his trousers and shot into directly into his ass.

Mass quickly spread all over his body. Muscles bunched and exploded, ripping the rest of his tunic off his body to reveal the brown fur beneath that served to highlight the thick, lean, vascular muscles beneath. Rigid abdominals were framed by veins bringing to mind the imagery of bronze walls crawling with creeping vines. The muscles of his other arm flared out, a paw quickly erupting to enclose his cock.

His trousers were next to give way. A tremendous tearing noise followed a pair of juicy, fluffy glutes erupted from beneath the dark fabric. He tensed his ass instinctively, striations and definition appearing clearly against their furry frame beneath a little nub of a tail. His ass cheeks slapped together with a faint sound of thunder. This moment of tensing added more power to his thrust and propelled his cock to rocket out of his trousers, pushing his fingers apart and letting the monster of a dick to greet the night, free and spewing gray-precum.

Brienus’ whole body curved back, forming an arch. The emptiness that had consumed him was nearly completely engulfed in the fiery desire that would define him. Bones were steeped in the Unwritten Ink, lengthening and allowed his feet to touch the ground once more even though he remained somewhat suspended in the air. Black claws erupted from his boots, weakening their structure and enabling his appendage to shuck the human garment with ease. His bare paws planted against the cool wood of the watchtower, giving him the traction he needed to thrust and stroke his dick of his own accord and no longer be dependent on the Unwritten hoisting him up.

Just as well since the Unwritten completely entered him, the blade in his chest sinking back between his two, rapturously firm and enormous pectorals. Oddly enough, the bronze belt that formed part of his uniform remained securely around his waist. Each stroke and pulse of his cock knocked against the buckle that bore the emblem of Grimvalle - three trees standing side by side and a single spear standing horizontally at their base. This also meant that the precious dagger that Reeve had made for him remained latched to his side.

He didn’t care about the belt’s symbolism or the importance of the dagger. Not anymore.

All he wanted was to change, corrupt and cum.

He had already changed. He had been corrupted.

So all he needed was to do one last thing.

His cock exploded with joy, all the tension building in his heavy, hair, orange-sized balls instantly being relieved as cum with the color of midnight traveled up his lengthy member and shot into the sky. A steady stream of his corruptive seed soared out of the watchtower and landed on the other side of the gates.

Brienus huffed, a satisfied grin across his features. He couldn’t rest in the warmth of afterglow, however. The ringing of the alarm bells brought him out of his stupor, pulling away the glaze of white from his eyes and allowed bright, yellow irises to burn in the night. The smirk on his muzzle took on a different meaning as he finally let his heels touch the floor with a heavy thud.

The huge bear turned and chuckled softly when he realized that neither the ladder nor the hole in the floor of the watchtower would fit him. He lumbered over to the other edge of the square watchtower - the side facing the town. Most of the townspeople had already retreated to the fort. Still, Foulk continued to ring the bell as was his duty. He was supposed to keep at it for a full half-hour.

His partner needed help.

The titanic bear ducked beneath the ceiling of the watchtower… and jumped clear off.

For Foulk, he couldn’t remember the last time he rang this bell but he could still remember his duty. Grimvalle had a set of rules and he would follow them to the letter. Even if the entire town was burning around him and the flames of the underworld were ripping apart his flesh, he would continue to ring the bell until his alloted time was over. That was what made him one of the best guardsmen.

Then again, between him and Brienus, there really wasn’t much competition.

He had long figured if his fellow guardsman would be the sociable and pleasant guard, he would be the one to follow the rules to the letter. Let everyone else think he was paranoid or nervous. There were rules to be followed and he would be the one to enforce them.

But even this elderly guardsman had his weaknesses.

As he continued to ring the enormous bell that was half his size, pulling on the ropes and putting his entire body into each swing, he never noticed the titanic bear land in front of the guardhouse. He never noticed when that very same bear with glowing yellow eyes approached him from behind, cock fully erect and dripping corruptive gray precum onto the ground. The only warning he ever got that something was wrong was when he took a short breath to tee up his next pull of the rope that would ring the bell and he caught a whiff of manly musk, sex, fresh cum and the woods.

By then, it was already too late.

Two huge paws curled around his waist. One seized his cock through his trousers and the other securely grabbed his inner thigh. An enormous, broad chest pressed against his back, trapping his head between two, titanic pectoral muscles. He could almost see the peaks of those mountains creeping into the periphery of his vision.

“Let me help you there, partner,” rumbled Brienus.

Foulk wasn’t sure how he knew the deep rumble came from Brienus but he just knew. Then, he was being lifted into the air by the powerful grip easily. While much older than anyone else in the village, Foulk was still very strong and his body held lean muscle from years of being a guard. He stood at, perhaps, 180 pounds. Almost two hundred with all of his armor. This beast lifted him as easily as one would a puppy.

Something long, hot and wet pressed against the small of his back. He could feel its length creeping up his ass cheeks and riding up his spine. There was no doubt what it was; Brienus’ cock.

And he wanted it in him.

Foulk let out an almost girlish moan. The heady smell from his partner, the direct contact with his flesh and the oozing, corruptive precum that somehow made it past his leather vest and soaked into his tunic was twisting his mind. Some part of him demanded that he stick with his duty, fulfill his purpose. It reminded him of his quiet promise to himself that no matter what happened, he would see his duty completed.

His duty to change, corrupt and cum.

But how could he achieve that in this weak human form.

With a grunt, he yanked at the bell’s rope, pulling himself down towards the ground. Brienus accommodated him, mirroring the gesture and grinding the throbbing member against their bodies. Then, Brienus lifted him against, giving the slack to the rope needed for another mighty pull.

CLANG!

They pulled the rope together, Foulk still suspended in the air thanks to Brienus’ immense height. At the same time, there was a loud, tearing noise. The seat of his pants split. The mountains of his glutes was revealed, a light dusting of gray hairs covering them.

CLANG!

Light, brown fur erupted from Foulk’s crack, spreading all over his ass. Those mounds doubled in size, cradling Brienus’ cock more easily. Curiously, the gray hairs remained and even multiplied, giving his juicy rump a bit of texture.

CLANG!

Another ring of the bell and this time, the movement squeezed Brienus’ dick into Foulk’s hole. A vast emptiness roiled throughout the older guardsman, an abyss that was hungry for the cock that was just inches away from him. He couldn’t wait for the next time they rang the bell. He pushed himself against Brienus, relaxing his hole and allowing the long, dripping member to push into his virgin ass and spew his partner’s juices straight into him.

CLANG!

Foulk’s trousers exploded from his body. Immense thighs ripped the black fabric to shreds. Gray hairs highlighted the contours of his quads and the distinct V-shape of his hamstrings. With his new legs and increased height, he was able to add force to his leap. New muscles bunched with the effort. Calves flared out and splitting his boots apart even if his surging feet didn’t already rip them to shreds. He jumped into the air, his body nearly rising past Brienus head and sliding off the other bear’s cock for a brief instant.

The bell swung away from him.

Then both he and Brienus threw their entire weight into pulling the bell down.

CLANG!

Foulk threw his head back, letting out a scream of absolutely ecstasy. Brienus hilted into him, his stomach momentarily distending as the huge member pushed up against his insides. Muscles around his abdominals quickly bubbled and grew, wrapping around the distorted outline of the dick inside him and walling it off behind a barricade of firm, clearly outlined abdominal muscles covered with light, brown fur with a light dusting of gray hair that sprang up from his crotch.

And there was no stopping there.

He wanted more.

He jumped into the air, enjoying every inch of his partner’s cock sliding out of his needy hole until he could just barely feel the head kissing his pucker. A little burst of precum splashing against his anus was all the sign he needed.

CLANG!

His own cock surged up violently. Thick veins coursed up a member that was impossibly long for any human. With a thickness that could rival even an average man’s arm, he knew that he would be taking Brienus’ cock more often than not. Fur crawled up from his abdominals and across his chest. The muscles beneath blossomed into huge snow-capped peaks that split his leather vest apart and sent the shrapnel falling to the ground.

Again, he didn’t care or mind. The absolute ecstasy he felt from fulfilling his duty, from taking each step to accomplishing his purpose was all he needed.

CLANG!

Strength shot throughout his arms. Shoulders tore free of the fabric of his tunic, creating a schism that quickly split down the remnants of his sleeves as his biceps breached them. His forearms shucked the fabric but momentarily stalled when the iron bracers creaked and groaned, preventing the change from taking his hands.

That didn’t last long.

Clang! Clang!

Both pieces of armor snapped down the middle, the shards flying off to his left and right. Huge paws seized the rope. The muscles they were connected to tightened, braced themselves.

Foulk jumped into the air…

… and speared himself on Brienus cock again.

CLANG! CRASH!

All the power he had gained went into that last pull and with it, the last vestiges of the human guardsman that had been Foulk. The large, iron bell flew off its mount, slamming through the wooden frame that held it suspended off the ground. The Foulk’s cock erupted, sending a shower of black and purple cum to celebrate the destruction of the bell and his humanity. The roar he emitted was far from human. The features of the paranoid old man vanished into the broad, amber-eyed visage of a wizened bear with tawny, brown fur, gray flecks around his cheeks and a white muzzle.

Cum spewed from Brienus’ dick straight into him as quickly as he ejected his seed from his own balls which were covered in gray fur. Brienus’ grip around his thigh and cock tightened, his member pulsing with every load he fired. Foulk released the rope from his grip and reached behind him, curling his thick arm around the back of Brienus’ neck and pulling his partner into a deep, longing kiss.

Why hadn’t they fucked sooner? They had been guardsmen for as long as they could remember. Standing guard together. Sharing meals together. Even alternating the use of the same bed. Now, nothing was stopping them from seeking out the depths of pleasure with one another.

The last drops of his warped seed oozed out of his cock. Just like his partner, however, he could not celebrate in the waves of afterglow for long. That longing returned; the abyss of need that needed to be satiated. A purpose, a duty, needed to be fulfilled.

Both men broke the kiss, sharing an affectionate stare through their amber eyes for one moment before Brienus pulled out of Foulk. With most of the townspeople already on their way to the fort, none saw the transformation of the two men or the sight of absolute depravity that they had indulged in.

No one saw them turn together towards the guardhouse.

No one was there to see them turn their erect cocks towards all the equipment that lay around them.

No one knew that they ejaculated all over the halberds, the armor, the daggers, shields and swords.

And no once could have known that their cum twisted through the equipment, bringing them to life and creating a new brand of Unwritten.

All according to Oaks’ plot.

The bear men exchange glances, grinning at one another.

“Change,” they intoned in unison. “Corrupt. Cum.”