FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for DarkGoddessLilith | September 2020 | 10534 Words

For ages, the crypt lay undisturbed, the darkest recesses draped with thick cobwebs and blanketed with a fine powder of dust built up over generations. The bones of kings and clergy, nobles and influential artisans lay bleached and still in the niches and sarcophagi of the tomb, with only the occasional lost rat for company, and the torturous drip drip drip of water seeping through the underground ceiling. Yet on this cold, chilled evening, a flickering light washed over the bleached marble, illuminating the mortal remains of those who had long passed. For a moment, the light hung by the tomb’s entry, almost pausing out of reverence to the crypt’s many occupants.

“...shit!” The words echoed through the decrepit halls, followed by a shatter of pottery and a soft thud as dust flitted through the air, leaving the dashing sorcerer-rogue Cullen covered in a fine powder of someone’s earthly remains. Coughing and doing his best to dust himself off, the hapless ex-thief, and procurer for an illicit demon-hunting ring, cursed the fact that someone put an urn right at the edge of the entryway. The leather-armored adventurer sighed, shaking his head at his luck as he used the torch to gently burn away some of the thickest cobwebs, and did his best to step more carefully through the catacombs. It would not be an easy trek, of course, as the occasional long bone or skull which had fallen from its niche littered the path to his destination.

A solid granite door stood at the very end of the crypt, inscribed with a warning written in a dark and mystical tongue. Brushing his long brown hair aside, the square-jawed padfoot reached out to the door with a gloved hand, closing his eyes softly as he sensed the aura of magic pulsing from behind the seal. It was feint but palpable. “He’s here, alright,” Cullen said at long last, opening his eyes and allowing his leather gloved hands to glow a warm red, a buffer in case the door was sabotaged by some ancient curse. Instead, the granite simply creaked on its ancient hinges, dust falling off the ornate carving in motes and trails as the crypt opened to reveal a large throne room.

Cullen’s mere presence caused the room to illuminate, torches bursting into flame and glaring amidst beautiful, if dust-covered marble. An ancient throne of gold sat upon a raised platform in the center, a skeleton draped against the seat, as if he had died amidst his last proclamation, and was sealed within for eons. The enforcer carefully stepped inside the room, creeping closer and closer to the skeleton, his hand reaching down into his rucksack to remove a small golden crown, peaked with six inlaid rubies, each one immediately flashing a glowing red in the presence of the throne. Kneeling before the skeleton momentarily, he raised the crown in presentation, before reaching up to place it upon the skull.

A flash of lightning, a flare of flame; the skeleton suddenly began to wail as the disarticulated limbs and bones began to reassemble, the whole room swirling with dust and moldy detritus. Cullen stepped back, coughing as he drew his cloak before his face to protect from the wooshing debris, as a booming voice rattled the crypt.

“WHO DARES AWAKEN THE SKELETON KING?!” Cullen was still awash with dust, his eyes watering as he called out a response.

“It is I, my Liege, ‘The Nightmare’ Cullen, hunter of the demonic.”

“YOU DARE REUNITE ME WITH MY PHYLACTERY? YOU KNOW NOT WHAT POWER YOU UNLEASHED!” Cullen lowered his cloak just soon enough to see the remaining tatters of a flowing imperial robe mend themselves behind the now erect skeleton king, the foul creature pointing his scepter at the thief. “NOW YOU JOIN MY ARMY OF THE DAMNED!”

Cullen closed his eyes, tensing as he waited for the eldritch blast, or crack of lightning, or army of the undead to tear him apart… but when he opened his eyes, he instead saw the Skeleton King shaking his scepter in front of him.

“...A-ANY TIME NOW!” The demon gave the staff a few knocks with his knuckle bones before tossing it aside. “ALRIGHT, UH… ARISE MINIONS! ...MINIONS… MINIONS ARISE!”

“What’s the matter, a little rusty?” Cullen asked with a smirk, his hands balled in fists and glowing a warm blue as he stood.

“NO! I AM SIMPLY… DO YOU HAVE A MANA POTION I COULD BORROW?”

“You’re going to need more than that, my friend…” It was only then that the Skeleton King realized the same blue light was pulsing from the peaks of each previously red ruby. “...though if I were you, I wouldn’t be worried about me…” Cullen chuckled and let out a long, low whistle while continuing to channel the magic needed to dispel the Skeleton King’s dark aura, leaving him utterly helpless.

At the signal, a broad-shouldered and matronly woman stepped through the door. She was not wearing her usual apron and innkeeper’s frock, but rather a tighter set of leather and lamellar armor more akin to that which Cullen wore. Of course, this change in outfit only helped to accentuate her buxom chest and thicker arms as she sauntered into the light of the throne room. Casually as a courtesan, the other strange human smiled as she set down a flour sack upon the floor next to the throne. Opening the bag, she pulled out a large hand-cranked grinding mill, something which often was used to grind spices or coffee, and set it down right upon the throne.

“It’s always so much fun when the demons emasculate themselves, isn’t it, Cullen?”

“Heh, all those years without a brain, decided to trust someone handing his crown back. You wanna clue him in to what’s going on, Gwen?” The lady, Gwen, smirked as she reached out and grabbed at a rib bone, yanking it clean from the articulated skeleton with a rattle. Despite his lack of nerves, the Skeleton King let out a wail of otherworldly pain at the violation of his self.

“You see, demonic bonemeal brings about a pretty penny when it’s baked into pastries and pies.” Gwen chuckled as she pushed the end of the bone down into the hand grinder and began to turn the handle. “...and the people of Tristram will be happy to have one less king of the underworld to worry about.”

The cathedral’s lone monk silently prayed at the altar, beseeching the gods above for the adventurers’ success. Suddenly his prayer was cut off by the sound of wailing. Horrid, gnashing wailing. Other-worldy, demonic wailing… that just… wouldn’t… stop… And it was underscored by the slow turn of a grinding wheel. After the first few minutes it was enough to drive the monk from the building. After an hour, even the town guard decided to relocate their patrols out of worry for the noises they were hearing. But at long last, the screaming finally stopped. And from the basilica doors stepped the two adventurers, a bag of flour over Gwen’s shoulder as they emerged.

“I wish there were a more humane way to do that…” Cullen said as he snapped a finger next to his half-deafened his ears. “...it might have been a demon, but it’s hard to not feel bad for something being ground to dust while still alive.”

“Next time let’s find a haunted flour mill or something, my shoulder was getting tired by the time we hit his pelvis.” Gwen shifted his free shoulder, stretching and popping the muscles before sighing, “Fancy a drink? We can come back in the morning, it looks like the monk ran off when things got loud.”

“Blahh Blahh Blahh, I’m the Skeleton King! Nyeh heh heh! Let’s make spaghetti!” Cullen was busy making the skull of his recently vanquished foe yakk and talk, bouncing it on his hand as he edged the impromptu puppet closer to Gwen’s only slightly amused face.

“Oh gods, Cullen am I going to have to listen to the Skeleton King the whole ride back to Westmarch?” Of course, that was a silly question. Despite traveling by stagecoach upon the winding roads south and west, Gwen knew quite well that they would be cooped up inside the carriage with their bountiful harvest for most of the day. And that meant yes, she would have to listen to the Skeleton King much more, at least after looking outside the windows became too boring.

“It does make me wonder what magicks he would have used in battle. The enchantment I put on the crown did a little too good of a job, it dampened his power before he could even muster it.” Looking down into the skull’s hollow eyes he mulled it over, perhaps wondering what ridiculous name the Skeleton King called his spells. “…probably something ridiculous like the Gaster Blaster or whatever.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, did Gwen and Cullen feel their carriage lurch to a halt as a loud CRACK pierced the air. The stagecoach’s horses reared back, whinnying with a terrified cry as the world flashed, the sudden stop sending Gwen and the bag of bonemeal tumbling to the floor. Gathering his bearings, Cullen pulled himself up and to the carriage window, peering out just as a cold wind swept over his head and neck. A tree was already in the process of falling across the road, the wood aflame as it toppled down and crashed into the horses’ yoke, freeing them from the carriage and sending the two galloping off down the road. A second loud crack, this time closer, and crackling with a demonic magic, pierced the air. It struck right next to the coach driver and ignited the wooden carriage in a gout of flame. As Gwen got to her feet, Cullen gripped her wrist and pointed to the opposite door.

“We need to go. Now.” It was all he could say, Gwen managing just enough wherewithal to grab the bonemeal and leap out into the forest with Cullen. The air grew icy chilled all about them, the sky a strange swirling maelstrom of purple and cloud. They had picked the correct direction to flee as a small horde of demonic fallen imps descended upon the carriage, overrunning the wooden wagon as it began to catch fire. There would have been no chance to stand and fight, especially not with whatever dark magic had caused the cracks of lightning. But thankfully for Gwen and Cullen, the imps did not seem interested in chasing, nor did the otherworldly power extend too far past the roadway. Despite the thick forest all around, the further they ran through the undergrowth, the warmth of the world returned. The wind died down to a gentle breeze, and at long last everything became calm yet again, leaving them with only one small problem.

“Where the hell are we?” Asked Cullen aloud as he watched the smoke rise on the horizon, no sign of the coach driver having survived the ambush.

“…beats me,” Replied Gwen with a sigh as she set down the bag of flour, huffing softly to herself as she tried to catch her breath.

“Well… we hadn’t reached the second bend in the road yet… or was it the third? But… that looks like that might be the tips of The Spine Range off that way! So… yeah, we’re lost.” Gwen shot Cullen a look, shaking her head as he came to the same conclusion; they were stranded. In the middle of the woods with no transportation and only a bag of flour to eat. After the adrenaline had died down, they decided to take stock of where they were, and after a little scouting through the forest, Cullen was warily happy to report smoke off in the distance. It looked as if it might be a village, a few small wisps of smoke rising in a pattern indicative of chimneys. There was always a risk, of course. It could have been a bandit camp, or worse, a group of marauding orcs making lunch. But there was no other good option aside from maybe trying to find the road again with the hope that those attackers wouldn’t be scouting for any runaways. Hefting up their belongings, the two began to walk towards their only port in the storm.

With the sun hanging high in the sky, the forest eased off to scrubby brush, the sounds of music lilting through the air even before the tree line disappeared. Crouching at the edge of the forest, the pair surveyed what lay before them. A quaint village sat on the edge of a sapphire blue lake. The wind blew little ripples in the water, rising and falling fishing boats moored to the multiple piers jutting out into the water. A little ways from the shore was a village of twenty to thirty small homes and shacks. Most of the buildings sat hung with fishing nets or trapper’s pots, designed to catch all manner of lakeside sea life. There were a few larger stone-hewn buildings to provide some comfort to weary travelers; an inn with stables, a tavern, a chapel and a general store to trade supplies. One might expect to see hearty fisher folk working the boats and bringing back the day’s catch. But today was different, the drudgery put aside in favor of a celebration.

As Cullen and Gwen began their walk into the village, they were met with smiling, if still concerned for their haggard appearance, faces. The town’s simple accommodations were strewn with flowers, festive spring bunting created by the fishing village’s ropeworker blowing in the wind, hanging off the homes and businesses in the sleepy hamlet. As they approached the village square, followed by a growing throng of courteous and curious townsfolk, they realized there had to be some sort of celebration happening. The main square outside the inn and chapel were not only festively decorated, but held a large wooden scaffold, upon which a massive kettle had been set. Underneath the pot, which was nearly big enough to hold a horse within the confines of the black cast iron kettle, a rolling fire was lit, wafting the warm scent of a hearty fish stew bubbling and wafting to their noses. The innkeeper too had set up a stall to sell fresh breads and even cracked open casks of his finest ale for the town to enjoy. But as the growing crowd of fisher folk came forward to see what was happening with the two weary travelers, Gwen and Cullen were quickly cajoled and urged to step towards the massive stockpot, and the slender woman who was stirring it.

Her flowing white hair ran down her back to waist height, the lady’s easily most identifiable feature, made more striking by her piercing red-orange eyes and flowing green coat. Cinched at her waist, her hourglass frame was draped with a lovely skirt, hiding slender legs ending in sensible shoes for a woman who lived in a lakeside village. As she turned around, the pair got a good look at her loose fitting black collar, the buckle facing forwards on her neck, and the central O-ring strung with pearls, perhaps caught locally here in the town. As she saw the adventurers enter the square, her thin smile curled into a grin, almost a flash of wickedness in the way her mouth curled up at the edges. But it was quickly belayed as she raised her hands in a warm gesture of greeting.

“Hello Travelers,” She said with a welcoming tone, lilting softly before turning to a worried look, “Oh dear, you both don’t look so good, is everything alright?” Gwen stepped forward to the wooden scaffold and offered a smile, knowing Cullen didn’t quite have the same way with words she did.

“Thank you for your kindness, Ma’am. We were attacked by demons, imps on the road to Westmarch from Tristram. They were supported by some kind of foul magic which overcame our coach and driver. Myself and my associate here nearly died as well, had we not run off into the woods.”

“Goodness, you both have been through horrible suffering.” The white-haired woman lowered her head and clasped her hands together almost as if she were praying, pausing momentarily, before adding, “Please, let us welcome you to our humble home. You are both safe here in the village of Wartham, especially today, when every able-bodied person is in the town for the festivities. We, invite you to spend the night here to recover from your ordeal.” Gwen shot a look back to Cullen, the rake wishing he wasn’t so out in the open, as the two had become focal point of so many townspeople all at once. But the square-jawed man also noticed the copious steins of alcohol already being set out by the innkeeper and gave a shrugging nod.

“We would be honored,” Said Gwen with a smile, “My name is Gwen, and this is my business partner, Cullen.”

“And my name is Lucia. Lucia Triteracle, I am… well… I am the preacher for our little town. And I help the people here, acting as a sort of governor for their affairs.”

Lucia smiled as she stepped down off the scaffold, her slender frame walking up to Gwen’s heavier-set form. The priestess was perhaps a quarter foot taller than the matronly chef, but the way Lucia looked down upon her seemed a bit odd. Not in an off-putting way, but certainly odd. There was almost a hint of interest and attraction, a feint buzz of electric chemistry in the air. “It is very nice to meet you, Lucia.”

“Today is a special day for the village. It is our founding holiday, where we hold a little festival to celebrate the bounties of the lake. We have plenty to share with you both, the year has been a blessing for our harvest as the fish travel to spawn and shake off the cold of the winter.” Lucia turned to Cullen, whose gaze had turned to the casks of beer once more, adding, “…and our innkeeper has the best recipe for a cold-fermented ale.”

“…I suppose it would be rude to refuse their hospitality, Gwen,” he said with a broad smile as he picked up a fresh mug of ale and slugged back a drink. Rolling her eyes, Gwen followed suit, grabbing a mug and a thick apple pastry that had been laid out on the innkeeper’s table, the barkeep smiling as he pushed a few more forward.

“Please, eat and drink to your heart’s content.” He said with a broad grin, pushing forward more of the flaky pastries. But the pleasantries were cut short by a gasp as Gwen noticed something off about her clothing when she shifted. Reaching her hand around to the back of her skirt, she felt a broad opening in the seam, from bodice down to her ankles.

“Agh! Well this is embarrassing… I must have caught my skirt on something when we were running.” It was a logical assumption, especially considering that she was distracted when Lucia waved a finger softly, muttering a simple hex under her breath to undo the stitches. “Damnit, and of course my change of clothes is probably a pile of cinders by now…”

“Oh Gwen, dear, you needn’t worry about a thing!”

“Oh, I don’t.” Gwen replied with a sincere response, “It’s more funny than concerning. Not like I’m the only one who wears drawers, am I right?” This was followed rather nonchalantly by Gwen stuffing the apple tart into her mouth, groaning to herself at the pleasureful filling oozing out her jaws. “Ohhh… Mmm! Gods above I’m going to need to get this recipe before we leave.”

Lucia’s broad smirk grew even wider, Gwen’s lack of shame almost endearing. Stepping up to the table, she put an arm around the matronly adventurer’s shoulders, picking up a fresh peach tart and holding it in her slender fingers. “Oh dear, I insist. Allow me to gather you a fresh set of clothing. And to take care of you after that run through the forest. There is a bath inside the inn here, it will take but no time at all to draw you a warm tub.” Gwen turned her head, looking up into Lucia’s eyes and catching a flash of excitement. Or was that insistence she saw? Cullen of course just chuckled and waved off the comment, already on his second beer.

“Nah, you go ahead Gwen, relax and have yourself a bath… Besides, looks like dinner won’t be done for a while yet.”

Her smile turning to a slight smirk as she stared up into those warm orange eyes, Gwen chuckled to herself before adding, “Alright, but I’m taking a few of these in with me.” There was something imperceptible about the fishing village of Wartham, something off about it that seemed to grow step by step as Gwen walked inside the cozy stone-and-thatch inn, followed closely by the town priestess. As Cullen drowned his inhibitions and became friendlier with the locals out front, Gwen found herself walked back to a private room in the bathhouse, where a large wooden basin, a warmed pot of water and plenty of fluffy towels awaited her. As Lucia closed the door behind them, the tension swelled to fit the room as she stepped forward to the matronly adventurer, smiling broad as she placed her hands on the shoulders of her guest’s bodice. Had she paid better attention, Gwen might have remembered the sensation, that nagging little sense of chaos that tore down her inhibitions the fist time she met the Daughter of Hatred, the succubus Lady Lilith, so many months ago. The same roiling lust began to take hold in her once again as Lucia’s fingers touched her body.

“Oh, no dear… allow me…” Momentarily surprised, Gwen gasped and tensed as she felt the soft fingertips of the town priestess to touch her body, helping unbutton her garments and slowly remove them from her voluptuous form, cloth sliding off her shoulders and down the curves of her body. Yet there was something about this woman, her gentle demeanor, her natural charm, her sensual touch, that put Gwen at ease. But it didn’t stop at comfort, either. Her touch alit a passion she had not felt for a long, long time.

“Mmmm… thank you.” The brown-haired adventurer gasped softly as she felt Lucia’s lilly-soft touch caress down her midriff, playing softly over her body as she stepped a little closer to her guest and undid the waistband of her skirt from behind. She shuddered at the way her host’s slender fingers caressed, the warmth of her breath upon Gwen’s shoulder. “Gods above, if I didn’t know any better…” She mulled the thought momentarily, finding it silly to compare such a kind woman to a succubus. Allowing her inhibitions to drop, and the strange flutter of excitement to grow in her heart, Gwen didn’t notice she was being coaxed by the same gentle aura she had felt before, the same demonic powers of the succubus emanating an aura of chaos all about her. Except this time, the succubus was not helpless and bereft of magic.

“Go on, Dear, what is it?” Lucia’s smile flashed another wicked grin as she helped remove the frayed skirt from her guest, a hand idly running up Gwen’s thick inner thigh, teasingly feeling the sensitive flesh before caressing around her ample rump. This was no simple invasion of her body, but clearly an escalation. Turning around, Gwen locked eyes with Lucia, instinctively going to cross her arms in front of her ample breasts.

“H-hey, I-” Her complaint was cut short as Lucia pushed the peach tart she had palmed against her guest’s lips, pressing softly enough to tilt her head back ever so gently before her mouth opened to accept the treat.

“What’s wrong, oh brave adventurer? You were so unashamed of your body…” Gwen moaned and shuddered as she felt herself bite down on the sugary pastry, eyes mellowing as Lucia slowly curled her slender fingers, caressing a knuckle against her guest’s tender folds. It was tentative, yet bold, a few gentle rubs up and down her slit before she reached her thumb up to fondle and circle the sensitive skin around her clit. A warmth passed over Gwen’s body, a trembling gasp as Lucia played with the pressure, exploring for a few more moments before removing her hand and tenderly licking the milky fluids off her knuckles. “…I know you saw how I looked at you… I merely want to make you comfortable.”

Her eyes softening as she chewed slowly on the tart, there was no way for Gwen to know that she was caught in the deepest enthrall of something far more powerful than her. Indeed, Lucia was cunning in her ability to hide her magicks, the aura of chaos ebbing and flowing from her body like smoke filling the room. The only one who might have noticed was Cullen, his keen magical sense dulled by his fourth mug of beer as he swilled down yet another drink with the friendly townspeople. Easing herself, Gwen blushed a hot red as she allowed her arms to drop, exposing her voluptuous breasts to the priestess, a warm smile creeping across her face as she relaxed, allowing herself to fall into the grip of her host. “Mmm… th- thank you, Lucia…” She said with a soft waver to her voice, letting the lily-white priestess usher her towards the waiting bath basin.

Built like a barrel, the basin was already warm as Gwen stepped inside, allowing Lucia to bring the kettle from the small heating stove and pour the warm water in slowly and steadily. Settling in on the wooden seat built into the side of the bath, Gwen sighed and leaned back, propping her arms along the back of the tub and kicking up her feet to either side of the basin, her hefty breasts bobbing softly in the water as she allowed Lucia to freshen and warm the bathwater straight from the kettle. At length, the seductress gave a lick to her lips, eyeing up her curvaceous form which quickly became obscured under the soapy bath water, before asking innocuously, “Pray tell, brave adventurer, what you and your accomplice do for a living? I don’t believe I had the chance to ask.” Running her hand through the water to check the temperature, and idly brushing Gwen’s thigh, the priestess took the kettle back to the stovetop to keep warm, listening intently as the matronly adventurer splashed the bath water with a gentle rustle of her fingers.

“We are… well… it is a bit embarrassing to say that we are demon hunters, when we had to run from a horde of imps… but that would be the easiest description for our line of work.” It was only a half-lie, their work at The Chop Shop in downtown Westmarch was often supplemented by hunting wild demons and bringing them in to cook or slaughter. But their trade in humanoid flesh was undoubtedly a secret to most citizens, and could get them in trouble with the wrong side of the law should it become known to the wrong people.

“My, there is no shame in running when the odds are against! I don’t doubt you have seen your fair share of the profane in that line of work.”

“From balrog to infernal bovine.” Lucia smirked as she stepped behind Gwen’s body, planting her hands on her guest’s shoulders and beginning to massage along her neck and upper back.

“Mmm… Such tense and strong muscle…” The priestess felt Gwen begin to melt in her hands, manipulating her muscle slowly and sensually until she could safely reach her hands around to cup and fondle her heavy breasts, the thick mammaries floating at just the right buoyancy to peek her perked nipples out from the water. “I bet that you could make even the Daughter of Hatred herself quake and shiver in fear…” Huffing and hissing softly, Gwen relaxed into the gentle massage, moaning as Lucia nestled her nose up against her shoulder, inhaling softly at the warm scent of her guest, before planting a soft kiss upon her neck, the spot tingling ever so softly, almost like poison.

“A-ahhh… I… bet I could… she… she would…” Losing her train of thought, Gwen felt a strange growing warmth wah over her, a sense of excitement flushing her body. All at once, her inhibitions began to drop, Gwen letting her fingers slip down over her belly, under the bathwater to gently fondle her tender folds.

“I heard rumors that someone from Westmarch had managed to defeat her…”

“Only rumors, my dear…”

“Rumors often speak the truth…” Another kiss to her neck, this time lingering longer as the warmth spread through her body, the hallmarks of a charm spell causing Gwen to grow lax as the arousal between her legs began to kindle, smoldering to a warmth as her fingers gently pressed between her folds in an exploratory pressure.

“I might have taken a few succubi in my life…” Gwen allowed the words to fall softly as she spoke, her enchanting host smirking as she began to remove her jacket, setting it aside before unbuttoning her shirt.

“Mmmm… then I doubt you would have any trouble handling me, dear Gwen…” Peeking back over her shoulder, neck still tingling from the enchanted kiss, Gwen gasped audibly as she watched shirt and skirt fall away to reveal the beautiful frame of her now naked host, eyes wandering slowly from slight belly button to wide hips. They held up a simple pair of ruffled drawers, cinched with a pretty little lace bow, the sheer fabric already showing signs of her arousal as she sported a wet spot big as a gold piece. Melting in full view of her one-night fling, Gwen huffed and licked her lips softly, her two probing fingers slipping deeper inside her tender pussy as she took in the sight.

“Mmmm… my, my… nobody told me that a ‘succubus’ would so easily corner me… And here, so vulnerable in the bath…” The tease was meant more as a role play than carrying any real weight, but Lucia’s eyes nearly flashed a bright red in excitement as she strode to the warm and steamy bath, stepping her shapely legs over the side to join Gwen in the relaxing waters.

“This succubus is not like others… most certainly not like her sister…” Lucia said slowly, licking her lips as she squatted opposite Gwen in the bathtub that was clearly designed to fit two, a quiet spot for lovers to have a fling in the private back room as they washed up. “She spins webs… she lures… she waits for just the right moment… and then…” Gwen gasped as she felt Lucia’s hand sensually rub up her inner thigh, tender and slow as she worked her fingertips along the sensitive and heat-mellowed flesh. They danced up her thighs until they met Gwen’s own hand, fingers delved into her soft pussy as she let herself go to the rush and arousal coursing through her veins. Taking her wrist, and guiding her hand out of the way, Lucia leaned forward to plant a soft and tender kiss on Gwen’s mouth, the demon hunter gasping as she realized all too late what had just happened. Her lips flush alight with fire as Lucia slipped her hand between her guest’s legs and rubbed up and down between her soft and engorged folds, moaning into the kiss as they locked lips. The tingle turned to a raging inferno, forcing Gwen to take long, slow breaths, punctuated by deep and needy moans as she could feel the succubus’s kiss flowing through her body like poison. “…and she wants revenge for the death of her sister.

It was a poison of passion and chaos, a deadly combination as Gwen’s eyes rolled back in her skull. Lucia’s slender fingers began to probing and exploring her tight and tender vaginal walls. “N-no…” She gasped softly, before the erotic poison seeped deeper and deeper into her mind, ensuring there would be no fight from her captive. The succubus’s other hand thumbed softly over Gwen’s breast, squeezing and feeling the sensitive flesh, giving the areola soft pinches and tugs as she searched for just the right spot inside her captive and enraptured demon hunter. Chest bumping softly in surprise, Gwen breathed in a sharp shock as Lucia found her g-spot. The best she could do was try in vain to clench her legs for a modicum of modesty, but the succubus in disguise shoved her knees between Gwen’s, holding them spread open as she worked over her enthralled lover.

“Shhhhh… this will be your last chance, sweetheart… be glad I am giving you a sweet death.” Crooning cruelly in Gwen’s face, Lucia growled low as she worked over her tender folds, rubbing her sensitive inner walls slow and tender with one, then two fingers, her thumb starting to reach up to rub her engorged clit, massaging the tender nub and receiving a deep gasp in return. “I know you did not afford the same pleasure to my sister, Lilith.”

“A-ahhhh… ohhh please…” Gwen gasped, shuddering as she lay back helpless in the steamy bath, her legs propped in missionary position as she moaned and shivered in the grip of the succubus. The wicked demoness’s fingers invaded her most intimate spot, threatening to pop the whole of her fist inside Gwen’s pleasure-racked snatch. Working her hand with more feverish thrusting, Lucia whipped up a milky white cloud of leaking fluids about Gwen’s groin, her gentle cooing taking on a mocking tone as she whipped her victim closer and closer to the edge. “O-ohhhhh gods… I- ahhhhhnnn!” Gwen gasped as she could no longer hold back, her back arching as her supple folds squeezed on her captor’s hands. The blossoming orgasm grew unstoppable as she finally surrendered herself to the succubus’s insistent grinding. Turning her head to the ceiling, Gwen let out a yelping moan as her body quaked in the bath, hips tensing and toes curling just outside the bathwater as she let go, the beautiful sensation of hundreds of electric dominoes shattering under her skin, an unmitigated torrent as she squirted hot milky fluid into the bath. In a flash, Gwen shot forward in the bathtub, creating ripples in the steamy warm water as she rode the orgasm through, Lucia’s hands never letting up as she forced her right back up the roller coaster of emotions.

“No, no, you’re not going to be done yet…” As Gwen felt her body quake, shuddering in the rapture of a second forced orgasm, the world around her began to slowly melt and shift. It was clear that Lucia was far more powerful than she let on, the unassuming small-town priestess allowing the carefully crafted illusion to drop. What had once been a quaint bath house in the back of a small-town inn faded away to reveal charred and burnt walls, the floorboards of the room curling as embers whisked about the floor from a draft through a shattered glass window. Even the tub Gwen was laid in was truly unfilled, the illusory water draining out and leaving her gasping against the hard-wooden basin, her second orgasm splattering pathetically onto the bottom of the broken bathtub she lay exhausted in.

Lucia finally withdrew her hand, leaving Gwen to exhaustedly quiver and spasm on the floor of the tub. The cruel succubus couldn’t help but take pleasure in her forced arousal, licking her hand clean of the hot and sensual juices coated upon it, reveling in the purest expression of lust the way a vampire lapped at blood. Before she could catch her breath, the succubus had leaned back down into Gwen’s face, wiping off the dregs of her own orgasm on her cheek. For a moment, Lucia contemplated adding one last kiss to seal the deal, one last succubus’s charm to ensure her compliance for the torture she had planned. But after a moment of pause, the demoness decided against it. “Was that good for you, sweetheart?” she crooned, her eyes flaring with hot revenge as she hissed in Gwen’s face, “…I want you to be clear-headed for what I have planned for you… I’ve been hunting you down ever since I learned my sister went missing…” Ever since that fateful night when Cullen waylaid the Daughter of Hatred, they should have known they were living on borrowed time until someone came looking for her. Rumor was all that Lucia needed to figure out who had done the deed, and a trip to Tristram was just what she needed to ensure they fell into her clutches.

Placing a hand firmly under the naked woman’s shoulder, the buxom matron adventurer was hauled up to her feet, the town of Wartham such a different place from when she had arrived. Lucia’s magic no longer kept the façade of a quaint fishing village, the faded illusion no longer hiding the fact that she had burned and ravaged the buildings. The inn they were inside had been largely spared the worst, the thatch roof burned away but the structure mostly intact save patches in the walls where fireballs and flame had punched holes. Through these openings, Gwen could see there was total devastation in the tiny village. The huts and shacks had all burned down, the chapel’s steeple toppled into the dirt, and the village’s boats cut free, bobbing in the wind as the same wicked maelstrom that was conjured over their stagecoach began to darken the sky above. Gwen looked on in horror as she realized not only was the village in shambles, but the kindly people of Wartham were not spared the terror. Each one had been killed in some horrific way by the ravaging succubus, reanimated and prettied up by an illusory spell. Their usefulness long gone, the life faded from each corpse’s eyes, collapsing onto the ground in a heap where they stood. The musicians stopped playing, and the dancers and revelers fell upon the town square. The only sound left was a horrified, drunken Cullen as the world around him was suddenly a smoldering ruin.

“Wh- What?! Wh… GWEN?!” He slurred and stumbled towards the inn just as a naked Lucia dragged an equally naked Gwen out by her arm, the succubus’s charmed kiss waning but strong enough she couldn’t fight the tug to follow. “Oh- Thhhere you two are! Th- tha’ barkeeper got a ‘lil schleepy. Also, eeeeeverything’s on fire now, so. That’sh new.”

“Cullen, you dolt!” Despite her predicament, she couldn’t help but laugh at how much worse it got “Gonna need you to sober up real quick!”

“Oh shhhhit, is it tha’ town guardsh? I can’t go back ta’ prishun, Gwen, not fer’ public dunken- hic! Drunkennesh!”

“Cullen, focus! Lucia is a-”

“Oh, Cullen dear,” Lucia said with a grin as she clapped a hand to Gwen’s mouth to quiet her down, “I see you’ve been enjoying the ale? I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

“Ish’ tha’ besssst part’a the town, the beer!” Gwen growled as she shook her head to get out from Lucia’s muffling grip.

“Cullen it’s the only part of the town! She’s the one who attacked us! Gonna need a dispel real quick!” The gears turned in the drunk man’s mind, putting two and two together about what had happened earlier in the day.

“Huh… I though thoshe storm cloudsh looked far’miliar.” By the time the observation was made, Lucia had already dragged her helpless captive towards the scaffold at the center of the town. Indeed, the village had been preparing a feast, setting up the large stew cauldron in the square. It had been no hard feat for Lucia to conjure up a beautiful amber oil to fill the previously empty pot, disguising it in her illusion as a simmering stew. Now revealed, the oil glistened in a gorgeous shimmer under the crackle of lightning above, illuminated by a roiling fire below. The succubus could tell her charm was fading on Gwen, requiring more and more force to get her to walk towards her own demise, causing her to snarl wickedly as she gripped the matronly adventurer by the hair and shoulder.

“Come now, Gwen, don’t tell me you can’t handle the heat? You’ve been cooking and preparing my kind for years.” Eyes growing wide, Gwen tried to twist and jerk as each step neared the closer to the pot. Peeking back over her shoulder, she could see Cullen was doing his best, having picked up a charred piece of wood off the ground and hurriedly inscribing runes in a bid to do what he did best. “Come now my little turkey, if we put you in head-first, you’ll die relatively quick. Probably quicker than my sister did at your hands. Heh, and they say demons aren’t kind…” Shuddering as she took yet another few steps towards the roiling oil, Gwen knew she had to swallow her pride to buy the sorcerer-thief a bit more time to work his magic.

“W-wait! Wait…”

“What ever for?” Lucia growled in a perturbed voice as she gave another yank to Gwen’s hair to keep her moving across the scaffold and towards her death. “The festival is in shambles and I grow hungry…”

“I… You… You were the best sex I’ve ever had, Lucia…” The words came out slow and soft, but they felt candid. Candid enough they could stop a vain succubus on the precipice of her revenge. But a moment later, Lucia began to laugh, bemused at the mere mortal’s comments.

“Were you not a human, I would take that as a compliment, my dear… but your kind are easy to break.” Before Lucia could react, Gwen reached up to wrap an arm around her captor, fighting the compelling charm spell long enough to pull the seductress close, eye to eye, face to face. Huffing a sultry, low gasp, Gwen closed her eyes, swallowed her pride, and whispered.

“No… you were… beyond anything I could imagine… please… I… I need to repay you before I die… Let me kiss you one last time, and then… pleasure you… eat you out… here, now.”

“Tch… you would willingly give in to a succubus’s kiss?”

“I’m already fucked, aren’t I? I might as well go out with you on my lips…” The words practically dared Lucia to do it. The demoness’s vanity was her only weakness, at least enough to buy a few more minutes and distract her from Cullen’s stumbling about trying to crayon-draw runes on walls and dirt. Slowly, cocking her head to the side, Lucia leaned in kissing Gwen deep and passionately, cocking her head to the side as their lips touched. The swell of lust felt like a roller coaster, the deep, tingle she had come to expect coursed through her body as the succubus’s charm spell wove deeper than before. A burning desire alighted within Gwen as she could feel her arousal grow and flicker once again. The two locked tongues, making out deep as they tasted one another’s need, mere inches from the fire that was meant to end Gwen’s life. When the kiss finally broke, Lucia just licked her lips, Gwen’s eyes practically glowing green from how lost and enraptured she was with her own personal demon.

“You have three minutes, dear,” the naked succubus growled as she pushed down on Gwen’s shoulders, forcing her to her knees. Lucia planted a hand on the back of her head to ensure her victim never pulled back from her final meal, the tender flesh of her snatch already moist and dripping. Enraptured by her captor, Gwen allowed herself to give in, her tongue slowly lolling out to brush up and down Lucia’s engorged folds, losing herself in the unique taste of forbidden sex. Gasping, Lucia pressed down firmer on Gwen’s head, pushing her face a little closer and encouraging her to explore, a shuddering gasp as her tongue began to slip between her supple lips. “Ohhhh… oh just like that…”

Slowly, sensually, Gwen began to eat out her torturer, moaning softly as her nose began to bump and grind against the succubus’s tender clit. Her nose softly nudged up against the hood each time she delved her tongue in deep, letting her sloppy digit caress the tender inner folds. Lucia moaned and shuddered, her velvet smooth walls slick with forbidden nectar, fluids dribbling down Gwen’s enthralled face and chin as she ate out her captor, enraptured in the glamor and lust of her succubus. Letting out a soft moan, the matronly adventurer tried to pull back for air, but was met with a tightening vice grip on her shoulder and head, holding her tight to the lewd and licentious succubus. “Mnnnnn… mnnpfh!”

“No no, sweetheart, finish your final meal… Ohhhh you may be mortal, but you are skilled with your tongue…” Gwen gasped and shuddered as she felt her face smooshed into her captor’s snatch, her cheeks growing slowly purple as she dove her tongue in deep upon the succubus’s command. Unable to disobey, she simply clenched her eyes, hands stroking along Lucia’s slender yet meaty thighs, lapping deep to try and find that sweet spot. Sloppy, noisily, Gwen struggled in breathless need as she tried to pleasure her captor, struggles turning to nervous panic as she felt the tension build within Lucia’s loins, the slow spring winding as the succubus began to gasp and cry out, louder and louder, crooning with wicked pleas for more. Gwen felt her cheeks turning from purple to ashen, a creeping loss of sensation in her limbs as she smothered upon Lucia’s snatch. Just as the world began to fade, the lack of air nearly causing her to pass out, Gwen felt a sudden crack strike her body, like a washing of water flowing over her, giving her the strength to lean into the last few moments eating out her captor.

Lucia moaned and shuddered, tongue almost lolling out of her mouth as she felt her orgasm grow, the winding spring suddenly snapping, a shudder of relief causing the slender seductress to double forwards, tugging Gwen’s head against her hips as she hit orgasm. A hot spurt of cum washrf down Gwen’s tongue and throat as she swallowed greedily, trying to get every last drop. The powerful climax left Lucia quivering for a few moments before she realized she was suffocating her deep-fried turkey-to-be. Not wanting to give Gwen the easy way out, she finally allowed her some room to breathe, her buxom tits bouncing as she took in a full lungful of air, breath hot with the taste of pussy juices as she did.

“Ohhhh… fuck that- that was… mmm… it’s almost a shame to end your life, sweetheart.”

“Who said you’d be ending my life?” The sarcasm almost drooled off Gwen’s lips as she smacked aside Lucia’s hands, her mind and eyes clear as day, though still recovering from the suffocation. The sudden defiance was a shock to the succubus, who couldn’t register what exactly was happening until Gwen had stood, crossing her arms in front of her ample breasts with a proud smirk on her face. “You were tasty, hun… but last meal material? You are not.” Behind Gwen, the Horadrim-trained Cullen was gleefully holding up the charcoal stick, standing next to a sigil he had smudged onto the wall of the old cathedral. It was one of about twenty which glowed in a circle about the scaffold, creating a purge of magical energy at a focused spot around the cauldron. Gwen’s gambit had paid off in spades as Cullen had managed to dispel the seductress’s charm spell and render her magically deaf.

Confusion over what happened, and why her hold over Gwen so rapidly disintegrated, gave way to rage as Lucia’s hands suddenly crackled to life with lightning, causing Gwen to step back in a panic. Despite his drunken state, Cullen’s eyes grew wide as he stuttered out, “…oh, tha’sh not s’hppos’ht’ happen…” As Lucia stepped towards the recoiling Gwen, Cullen raced about the impromptu sealing circle as fast as his intoxicated legs would carry him, pausing momentarily when he noticed a faulty rune, re-working an algiz or wiping away the extra lines of a mannaz to make it an ehwaz. Drunkenly editing his work, Cullen hardly noticed when he got it correct, the crackle of lightning suddenly fading from Lucia’s hands and wrists in a wash of electricity, leaving the succubus dispelled and helpless upon the scaffold, a look of sudden confusion hitting her face as she tried to summon a power she could no longer channel.

Gwen, however, had dealt with this hundreds of times in The Chop Shop. And the moment she was safe to act, it was her turn to strike out. Putting her weight on her heel, she stepped forward towards the demoness, stocky shoulders squaring off with Lucia’s lithe frame. Before she could react, meaty knuckles struck Lucia’s chin, practically breaking her jaw and sending the succubus to the floor in a single strike. Gwen hissed through her teeth, her hand pulsing with pain from the punch, but she couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the succubus cold on the ground. “…well… that was a close one,” Gwen said aloud, shaking off her hand as Cullen stepped forward to lend a hand. “Good work there.”

“S’horry about all ‘at…”

“Not your fault. You were just as much under the spell as I was…” Remembering she was naked as could be, Gwen breathed a sigh of relief that Cullen was drunk enough he didn’t ask questions about how the succubus’s chaotic aura had affected her, nor why either of them were stark naked. “We’re gonna have to do something about her though.”

“Thas’h what got us in trubble las’ht’ime…” Cullen chuckled as he knelt to hold Lucia’s slender legs, in case she stirred while Gwen went to fish out some rope.

“I dunno… maybe turn this one in to the town guard when we get back to Westmarch…” But as Gwen went about rooting through the ruins of the old inn, she found more than she was looking for down in the root cellar. A few lengths of rope but also a baker’s dozen of fresh laid eggs. Despite Lucia lying cold upon the ground, Gwen felt something tingle inside her body, a passion other than lust. A hunger fueled by the chaotic miasma that flowed and ebbed along the destroyed village of Wartham. As if the Daughter of Hatred herself were speaking, a thought crept into her head. She would have killed you… make her suffer. When Gwen returned to the scaffold, she brought with her not just a set of rope to restrain the succubus, but also a stout mixing bowl, filled to the brim with gooey, scrambled eggs. Helping to restrain the seductress, Gwen grinned broadly as she asked her associate to go fetch the bag of bonemeal flour for her.

The world spun for Lucia as she flickered her eyes a little in confusion. The last thing she remembered was taking a step towards Gwen and then nothing but a throbbing headache. But that groan quickly turned to a low and lusty moan as she felt her hefty breasts being massaged by two firm hands, kneading them slow and steady and… cold? “Ohhh, does that dredge feel good, sweetheart?” Gwen crooned, licking her lips as she gave an idle pinch of the demoness’s pert and perky nipple, quickly turning to a squeeze and twist that caused Lucia to cry out. But as she did, it became apparent that her body was bound tight, wrists and ankles tied behind her back and looped in a firm hogtie to ensure compliance.

“Nnngh! Ohhhh… wh… what are you…? Let me go! Th- ahh… this instant!” The demand fell upon deaf ears as Gwen twisted Lucia’s nipple a little harder, digging her nail in to get a lovely wail from her. Satisfied, the chef went back to what she was doing, carefully slathering the slender and lithe body with a cold and gooey egg mixture.

“No, I don’t think I will… after all, I’ve got a business to manage. After roasting to death your sister, and serving her to the high society of Westmarch, I know you’ll fetch a fine penny when they find out she had a sister.” For the first time, Lucia felt fear catch in her throat as she realized she was helpless. No magic to save her, no seduction to charm her way out. And there was no hiding her fate, she would find out what happened to her sister, intimately so. “…you would certainly have killed me if you threw me into the oil as you planned… but that’s no way to serve a visually appealing meal.” Up and down her tender body, Gwen made sure to cover her soft and supple flesh with the egg wash, working the gooey mixture into cervices and over the sensual curves of her body. Perhaps out of pity, she even worked a finger over the engorged clit, shushing her future meal as she gave a few goodbye strokes to the tender nub, as if to say, ‘you were great, hun.’

Opening the flour sack of shimmering bonemeal, Gwen carefully began to coat Lucia’s body in the talc-soft milled flour, sifting it through her fingers in careful coatings to ensure she didn’t waste any of the precious commodity. It didn’t help that despite her predicament, Lucia did all she could to squirm and struggle, but in time, her lithe and dredged body became lily-white once again with a fine dusting of flour. It obscured her form ever so slightly, the curves of her breasts and thighs no longer as clearly visible, but it’s wasn’t like her beauty was going to be judged by any traditional sense of the word soon.

Cullen stepped in to help lift the seductress’s body up off the scaffold and lay her dredged and floured form on a fisher’s net, one which had escaped the destruction of Wartham, a fitting shroud to cloak the one who ruined the village. As he helped gather the ends of the net, sitting Lucia up on her haunches to prepare for her swim, Gwen decided to get creative with the cooking process to help prolong her victim’s suffering. Taking two wooden stakes, longer than the diameter of the pot, She slipped them around either side of Lucia’s slender neck, looping a length of rope around front and back of her head to create and impromptu cuff and collar. It was then that her captive understood why Gwen kept her head unflowered, Lucia’s heart sinking as she shook her head in horror.

“N-no, oh god please don’t… Don’t do this to me, Gwen… I… I beg you, please… kill me, drown me in oil, don’t-”

“Don’t deep fry you to death?” A wicked smirk crept across Gwen’s face, a mixture of revenge and hunger egged on by the chaotic aura all about her. “…I think I’d prefer to listen to your cries instead.”

The pair carefully hefted the fishing net, excess flour shaking off Lucia’s body as her bound form struggled in vain to escape. That was, until she felt the wisps of heat curl against her bare ass, hot steamy air emanating off the seething oil. Afraid they might drop her, the seductress sat ramrod straight and still as they got her into position. It was deliciously ironic that her last moments would be spent helping them settle her over the oil.

“Please…” Lucia whimpered as she looked Gwen in the eyes, pleading with the only empathetic argument she could muster, “…I just… my sister… I wanted…”

“Slow, Cullen.” Her heart pounding, the succubus cried out in panic as the fishing net lowered closer and closer to the oil, her hogtied body quivering as her knees were first to touch the oil. First an inch, the amber oil suddenly spattering about her kneecaps in a gorgeous plume of roaring heat. Then two inches, the torturous dip finally catching up with Lucia’s pain receptors, the helpless demoness crying a wail of horror and pain as she descended. Inch by agonizing inch, she was lowered into the pot, toes and fingers curling and splaying wildly as she pleaded through unintelligible cries for the pain to stop. But Gwen just smiled as she continued to lower her meal inside, a fire of revenge glowing in her eyes as she and Cullen settled her ex-captor into the roiling cauldron of oil. Gwen watched with rapt curiosity as the features of her deep fried demoness disappeared under the oil; the way her thighs clenched in a vain attempt to keep the oil from her supple snatch, the way her hips twisted and jerked just before her belly button disappeared under the spattering amber fluid. When the oil reached Lucia’s breasts, the matronly chef couldn’t help but have Cullen help her raise them back up an inch or two, dunking her hefty bosom in and watching as glittering oil skittered over the bouncing breasts and soaked into the batter she’d been coated in, before once again lowering her into the oil.

There was no solace to take when the wooden cuff, designed to keep her head above the oil, settled on either side of the pot. By that point, the seething heat had done more than crisp the outer layer of breading, skin and nerve endings. The torture showed on Lucia’s face, tears rolling down her cheeks as her cries became fevered, unintelligible as her head rocked back and forth in a vain attempt to do anything to end her suffering.

“You know, deep frying is not something I get to do often… especially not to a live victim… But it really is an interesting method, my dear…” Lucia’s bloodshot eyes, face spattered with droplets of oil, fixed on Gwen’s gaze as her chef leaned in over the rim of the pot, pleading against hope that she might be spared the pain. “You see how the bubbles have died down to a low simmer? Low enough I can put my head over the oil… inches from the death you intended to give me? The boiling oil dehydrates the outer layers of meat… while heating up the inside…” Gwen grinned and licked her lips before Lucia’s eyes, the pain becoming too much to bear as she broke down into another sluggish scream, the first gentle wisps of steam curling around her mouth and nostrils as she did. “…your body will steam from the inside. And naturally, it will keep the oil out from the meat…”

As her tortured form began to falter, head listing to the side as she cooked outside-in, Lucia’s eyes began to lid, her body starting to fit and struggle. At least as much as the outer breading all about her body would let her muscles to tense and twitch. Taking a wooden stirring spoon, Gwen gave a very gentle prod into the oil, noting that the meat was already beginning to float back up to the surface. Not too fast, or too slow. Just right As her eyes closed at long last, darkness fading in her pain-tortured mind, the last thing Lucia heard was Gwen’s tender voice, crooning softly. “A perfectly fried girl should come out golden and succulent. Not oily and soaked. Don’t you worry, my dear… you will come out perfect.”

It was, surprisingly, also the last words Cullen had heard, the drink-intoxicated man stumbling to a spot under an oak tree to close his eyes and falling fast asleep. By the time he awoke, it was nearly noon, the sun bright overhead and at the perfect height to glare right into his eyes. Unable to stave off sleep any longer, the hungover sorcerer-thief stumbled back into the little town to find Gwen.

“Ughhh… what happened yesterday? My head feels like it got hit with a blacksmith’s hammer.”

“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Gwen chuckled as she passed her associate a mug of cool well water. “You’ve been out cold for most of the fun.”

“All I remember was we had a party and then… something about a succubus or something? And you were cooking.”

“I didn’t think you were blackout drunk, but I suppose that’s fair… Hey, why don’t you have yourself something greasy and fried, that’s always good for a hangover?” Gwen hiked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to a small farmer’s cart she’d rigged up to a horse that had escaped the destruction in a little backyard stable. Next to the cart was a small fire and frying pan, a thick sliced cut of breaded meat was hissing and sizzling in the cast iron skillet. Upon stepping closer, Cullen noticed that it wasn’t just any cut, the bottom of the meat appeared fatty, like bacon, leaving a thin layer of grease in the pan to help sear the rest of it to a perfect fried temperature.

Taking his knife out, Cullen carefully sliced off a thin strip of the meat from the larger hunk, making sure to get some of the breading with it, and gave it a good look over. The flesh was soft, a little fleshy like pork, but crisp where it had been most exposed to the heat and oil. With a shrug, he took a bite from the meal, eyes going wide as he tasted the rich flavors, gamey and wild, untamed, almost unbridled was the only way he could describe it. “Oh… oh mmm… it’s like a storm was baked into the meat… Gwen did you?” Chuckling, Gwen lifted an oil-soaked tarp from the back of the wagon, a lithe and curvaceous form laid out crisp and succulent underneath. Golden breaded, and fried to a perfect end, what remained of Lucia lay still and quiet on the bed of the wagon, save for a clean slice taken from her belly. Cullen was right that the cut was nearly bacon.

“Did I cook something last night? Yes, yes I did.”

“I thought I recognized that taste… succubus, right? Like Lady Lilith was?”

“Indeed, it happened to be her sister of all things.”

“Gods above, that’s a catch. Two of the same family of demons? The Baroness will be pleading for a taste.” Taking a second bite, then a third, the hungover rake savored the rich flavors of chaos, the gamey taste of a living goddess, with a hint of crunch from the specialty flour she’d been breaded in.

“That’s the hope. Though hurry up, you can rest in the cart on the way back. I want to try and get through the East Gate before shift change. You know how bad the noontime watch hassle travelers, and I do not want to give me any trouble for our prize in the back.”

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