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In Shadows

By Laz Briar

Flesh is a practice in futility. It withers and weakens. It cannot stand against the measures of metal or blunt instruments. It is indignant, shaped by the will of its owner, yet ruthlessly timid in its forming. It bloats and wastes, or it carves and strengthens. But in the end, it is no more.

But there are places that reconcile this weakness. That can engineer purpose anew. Even from slivers of dead, dying tissue. Oh yes, in these places, in these dark pockets of the world, flesh is instead eternal. For a price.

And so Varris looked upon it.

It was an unflattering bumble of grey hills dotted with wicked, skeletal trees. Ruinous homes stood in limp decay, hung with lanterns belching an eerie, unnatural white light. The gates were ripped open and upon their iron toes were the indiscriminate huddle of random bones. Dark was the night, and darker was this place, this “once town." Any sensible creature would turn away.

But not Varris. His desires were too resolute. His heart a pitfall of mourning, his mind drowning in sadness. In his arm, he held a wrapping, stained and festering. Within its confines was a hunk of flesh and fur, some days old. Within it, the hopes of resurrection.

She was a black bitch, a good girl. Tall as a man and loyal to her heart. The remains of a broken family, the last companion Varris knew. And then she was gone.

He dared not exhume the memory of her passing, not anymore. Rather, he denied her death, to the point of madness. He could not bear it, would not. She was a good hound and she deserved better. So he would simply try again.

This resolution lured him to the derelict town. Enough that he ignored its inhuman chill and unearthly aroma as he walked through the cracked roads. Here, it was said, something lurked with the power to command un-life. Here, on the tallest of hills, resting in a cathedral shattered by age and corruption, was the answer to Varris' question: could he bring his hound back to life?

Varris started up the hill, noting the uncountable, neglected graves surrounding the cathedral's structure. It was strange – he saw no sign of life, no grave digger, no bird, not even hum of petulant insect. He thought he might catch a priest, even, perhaps standing by one of the tombstones, but no. Even the sky was silent.

He pushed passed the cathedral door, and it gave way to a horrid screech. Chains rattled loose and a pocket of dust clouded his eyesight as he moved through. He clutched the wrappings closer, and indeed, wrapped himself tighter – there lingered a dread chill in the air.

As he walked inside, something caught his eyes. Lights. More bizarre, pale hues, clung to candelabras or torches. Their light rimmed the ankles of massive pillars and gave light to decayed, ruined paintings. Webs infiltrated every space, and if there were gods once worshipped, they were long gone. Puddles of broken rock dotted the ground, and Varris felt his breath grow cold.

Then, his flesh recoiled. There, at the end of the cathedral, sitting near an altar, towers of books, scrolls, and fetishes surrounding it, was something. And it was moving.

Pensive, slow motions, that was what Varris saw. A single hand moving left to right, scribbling unseen words. Was this the maker of flesh he sought?

Remembering his purpose, he marched towards the altar. As he did, he could see the figure draped in long, endless robes of faded red, falling to the floor like rivers of scarlet. A strange, thorny apparatus surrounded its neck, and its face was white as bone.

Wait. Because it was bone!

No? Could this be? Varris froze. What he saw was the image of madness. It was not a man or woman that sat, it was a contraption of bones! A mobile, living skeleton!

To his terror, it appeared to notice him. The motions of the creature ceased, and its empty, voided sockets raised, affixed in his direction.

“It is flesh that I see."

A coarse, cold thing echoed from the being. Its jaw did not move, nor did it possess the skin to form words, but somehow, it spoke.

“And also the dying."

Varris was awestruck. Sense returned to him, and he felt his body retreat. “Fiend. . ." he muttered.

The skull of the thing tilted its dome.

“Fiend? I should say not. Keeper, preacher, and overseer. Those are better titles, accurate ones. Fiend? No, no. Do I look in possession of wings or fangs, sieur?"

Varris did not speak. What could he even say?

“I see the living are still lacking in manners. In you intrude my home, while I work, and dare you accost me with such words. What gall. Little flesh thing, what madness possessed you to break common decency?"

Varris realized if he did not attempt to capitulate the creature, it might do him harm. Or worse, inflict upon him some terrible curse. So, he remembered his reason for being here.

“I. . . I am Varris, son of Vorris. I've. . . I've come seeking one who can resurrect the dead!"

He held up his stained bearing of cloth.

“I have searched all of Solaria and come here, on the rumor it was a place that could grant me this wish!"

The skeleton did not speak. Rather, it studied Varris, setting down its quill, letting boned fingers steeple together.

“Wishes are for spirits in the Red East. The kind that fill their bellies with men's souls."

Fear tickled at Varris' mind. Was he in danger?

“Hmm, hmm. Rumors do travel far, then. I haven't seen a living thing here in ages. I was finally getting comfortable with all the quiet."

It creaked. Then, it began to rattle and crack. The creature stood, and here Varris witnessed its overwhelming size. A tall, inhumanely sized thing, looking down on him like a giant to a rabbit.

Varris stepped back, looking at the door. He might make it if he ran. . .

“You have heard right. I can will to power the means of flesh. Especially the dead kind."

Varris stopped. “What?"

The thing splayed out its arms, as if shrugging.

“Well, perhaps engineer is a superfluous word. I can bring flesh back from the dead, yes. But, this often requires. . . deals and pacts and, well, the labors of demonic politics."

Varris clutched his head. It was beginning to hurt. Was he in danger, or was this truly his answer.

“Tell me no riddles! Can you bring things back to life? Can you return my black hound back to me!?"

For a moment, the skeleton did not respond. Instead, it leaned, as if inspecting Varris.

“What? A dog?" The assortment of bones started to hiss and chortle. Laughter.

“Really? I can likely pull dead kings back from the pits of the abyss, but you come in search to bring back your dog? What a special thing it must have been."

Varris would hear no disrespect to his girl.

“She was part of the family! And she is all the family I had left!"

A raise of skeletal hands.

“Yes, yes. The great infatuation. The clingy obsession. I need not the story. But if you're serious, little flesh thing, know it now, this procedure is not without cost."

Varris was prepared. He fell to his knees and opened his arms. Whatever it took, whatever sacrifice was necessary. Fear left him now, with his goal so close in proximity.

“Take of me what you must!"

Another skull tilt.

“So eager. But might be wise to hear what the cost is, yes? Understand, flesh thing, what I bring back will not exactly be the same. Demons are fond of handing over the currency of life, but, on their own terms. And once more, I leverage my own fee, of sorts."

“Just tell me what you want. I came here and I shant go back."

The tall figure found amusement with the mortal's resilience. It imitated a sound like laughter, another chorus of hisses and rattles.

It gestured to the surrounding walls, which were assailed by tall citadels of books and webs. And bones. Bones of creatures assorted, ranging from unusual monstrosities to small imps. Then, like humans.

“Those who venture in my court, my church, are destined to serve. For all those who desire my service, I extract servitude. When the time comes, flesh thing, when all is settled and dust, you will reside here, with me, like all the others."

Varris ran his gaze over the surroundings. The frames of white appeared endless, of various species and beast. How many had come to this. . . thing before?

“You want my soul?"

The tall thing grumbled. “Nothing so dramatic. No, simply another attendant. You will find yourself in the Court of Bones, when the time has come to pass. Here your remains will lie forever, as a dutiful servitor to my works. It's not all bad."

Varris tried to parse the words. Could he do such a thing? It was a sudden demand, one with a profound price. To shackle himself in the afterlife, for a time unknown. An eternity?

And yet, by venturing to seek the dark arts, he already knew his soul was consigned to oblivion. To seek resurrection of the dead, that was a heresy all gods looked down upon. And what after? What terrible oblivion awaited those who cursed the art of life?

He clenched against the bleeding cloth. He already knew his answer. He would do anything at this point.

“Fine then," he hissed. “Do what you must."

“Splendid, splendid. You'll find the work quite manageable. But for now, let us attend to _that." _

The terrible thing pointing its long, skeletal digit at Varris' item.

“Give it to me."

Varris stepped back. “What?"

“In order to complete my ritual, I must have the flesh. There, I will bind it and navigate the bestial afterlife for its owner. Once I wrench the thing free, a little demonic magic puts life back into it. With the demon, of course."

Demons? Varris wasn't sure about that.

“I won't have the bitch hurt."

The tall figure of robes waved him off. “I doubt any more harm could possibly come to something dead. But you must pay the price. You consign yourself to me, and the dog must part with something from the terrible realms. It's a clever way demons like to hop into your plane of existence."

Varris rubbed his head. This was overwhelming. But what was he expecting? To fiddle and toy with the finality of death was certainly to test fates and tempt dark magic. As long as he had his dog back, he didn't care anymore.

“I have your word?"

Varris realized he was putting a lot of trust in this being. But, it didn't kill him the moment he saw him, so, perhaps it was partially trustworthy.

It laughed again. “You have my attention."

With a deal struck, Varris handed over the last remains of his companion. He watched the thing take it, uncertain if he had made the right decision. But, the skeletal figure soon explained he would take it to the deeper throat of his cathedral and conduct some kind of ritual. A mixture of fragmented gateways and necromantic arts.

It would rip the soul out of the afterlife, likely carrying a demonic presence, then imbue it into the flesh. Once accomplished, Varris was required to draw an intricate symbol on flat wood. This would bring his reborn bitch to him, “mostly the same," as the creature put it. It would require precision, but if all went well, then death would find defiance.

Varris prepared to leave. He didn't know where to go – though the entity recommended “one of the fine town lodgings."

Before he departed the cathedral, he observed the thing one more time.

“What is your name?"

The creature made a gesture, and massive creaking doors began to open near the altar. It turned, gazing at him with its void-bearing eyes.

“Hmm. You know, I don't quite remember."

It left.

Varris shook his head, exiting. He kept the symbol close to his mind, attempting to find somewhere to conduct the ritual. The cathedral doors groaned shut.

-*-

Waiting was not easy, especially in the town, a forsaken gravesite. Varris wondered if it was once a normal place, with people and families going about their business. Did soldiers of Solaria march upon the streets? Were rituals and parades managed during solstice time?

Ignoring the questions, he found respite in what appeared to be a disheveled tavern. It was empty of course, and dry of any drink. But among the leaning, shattered buildings, it was the only one held together.

Some illumination was present, but only from luminescent little flies and bright balls of white. They sent chills through Varris, like they could see him. Wandering souls, maybe? Or worse?

Moving on, he went upstairs, much to the protest of the creaking wood, lighting a small lantern to find himself a suitable room. He brought necessary supplies for camping, and it looked necessary. Most of the lodgings were littered with white centipedes or thick webs. Only one, a barren corner room, was spacious enough for his needs.

Careful with his itinerary, he lit several candles, allowing for at least some light to penetrate the veil of darkness here. It was not much, but suitable enough.

He did not know when the Nameless planned to conclude his ritual. But if he delayed, he feared he would ruin his one chance at resurrection. Worse yet, pay a bargain for an unfulfilled request.

From his baggage he retrieved a piece of chalk. Sometimes it was necessary to inscribe on stone when travelling, but it could make a fine sign-maker too.

With the ritualistic symbol still fresh in his mind, he set upon the ungodly work. It was not a complex thing, fortunately. It was a circle overlapped by a triangle, with another circle in the center. Varris was thankful, as he heard rumor of elaborate geometries for these kind of things. Why it was so simple, he did not know, but was beyond the point of caring.

He began forming a wide circle upon the floor, careful that each inch was accurate and precise. The dim light provided only so much illuminator for accuracy, so caution was necessary. Soon, the circle was complete. Then, the triangle, and then the circle within center.

As he performed the inscription, Varris felt strange. Like some invisible hand was lashing out at his mind, indistinct and terrifying. It inflicted upon him thoughts of dark things, profane things. He thought he could even hear laughter. Yes, but suppose for such dreadful work, this should be expected. He did, after all, seek the help of a Nameless skeletal fiend.

Once the symbol was complete, Varris stepped away from it, eyeing it with anxious hope. He did not know what to expect. It was a simple, ominous thing, and a chilly sensation over took him, like had formed a door between his realm and something far, far worse.

He sat idle, watching it. Minutes went by, then hours. Did he do something wrong, he wondered? No, impossible. Not even the ghost flies nearing his candles disturbed the inscription, and it was as precise as possible.

Perhaps the ritual took longer. Or perhaps it would not work. He set out a cot, lying on his side, staring at the shape. If nothing came of this, he would return to the Nameless, demanding answers.

He felt tired. He didn't know what time it was – the endless sprawl of dark surrounding the town blanketed the sky. Yet, he had travelled for what seemed like ages, and he didn't remember his last meal. His eyes closed. He yawned.

He could just rest a while. . .

-*-

“Varris."

Eyelids snapped open. It was dark. The candles had gone out, and only a trembling orb filled his room with the eerie, deathly light.

Damn! How long had he slept? He clenched his fists. Damn his mortal frame! Damn it all! The ritual swam back into consciousness, and he was sure he had ruined it somehow. What if the Nameless had tried to speak with him?

Sitting up, he clenched his teeth. He clambered around, relighting what few candles he had left. The room bloomed with another wash of orange, and Varris' eyes immediately went to the symbol. It remained untouched.

He rubbed his forehead. Was it fine then? And if so, how much longer was the bloody thing supposed to take?

Again, he stared at the symbol. And again, it felt like something was gnawing at him the longer he looked. He could feel his flesh recoil, invisible hooks tug at his thoughts.

“Vaarrriiis."

His heart stopped.

He started away from the symbol, looking around. Was he going mad? Did he truly hear a voice? It came from nothing. No. It came from within himself. Oh by Sol Solarius, it was true! Before the night was done his sanity would shatter, he was sure of it.

The symbol started to hiss, as if in taunt. Fumes of trickling, black fire began to erupt from it in tiny, wiggling tendrils. A terrible tearing sound accompanied the dark whispers, as though meat were torn asunder.

By all the gods, what had Varris done!

He watched in mortal horror as the white chalk turned to pitch, quivering. The black fire set itself upon each symbol now, tipped with incandescent blue of an unholy hue. Now the entire room warped and bent, set ablaze with unnatural shades as the symbol started to fluctuate.

Fear set upon Varris. He felt the fool; what terrible folly had he committed? Anything could tear itself into his reality now! There was no telling what the Nameless creature had wrought forth. All thoughts of his black bitch receded, replaced by terror. Surely, whatever came through, he was its first victim.

He considered praying to any god that might still hear him, that might absolve him of his dark fate. But no, even he knew he was well past saving. This was the price for cavorting with the likes of the dead and the demonic.

He flinched as the fiery opening belched a new pillar of flame. At first, it was nothing, just a conflagration that – strangely – did not set the tavern ablaze.

But soon, it morphed it shook and danced. Soon, the tempting eruption began to. . . form. Varris watched in frightened bewilderment as the darkness took a shape more familiar.

A silhouette. First it was bipedal, like that of a man. No! This was not his dog, it was something else! He'd been fooled, and he felt it, and now he was to pay a price greater than death.

But as the flames curled and twitched, their definitions cleared. Soon, the ragged edges of the black pyre smoothed and stilled and. . . curved.

A cackling laugh. But it was bizarre and rough and. . . womanly?

Varris shoved himself in the room's corner, looking at the broken door. If he had just a moment, he could flee. Yet still, his gaze was locked on the shape, and here, he noticed something.

He expected some abomination, a great cavorting demon with tendrils and claws to reach out and lash him. Or a terrible winged beast with a serpent's tail, like in the old stories. He saw neither.

Lo, instead, a figure of immense height came to life. It was several hands higher than he, and was covered in deep, abyssal black fur. To his astonishment, Varris could see that the form was like that of a human, yet it bore a canine's head. Like his black dog!

Stunned, more was revealed. Curves came to view. Wide, slender hips, thick powerful thighs, dreadful sinew of delicate muscle, a pair of buxom breasts that looked capable of battering down doors, long, pointed ears, and a grin.

A strange, sultry, fear inducing grin.

The ravenous blaze soon settled, and it coalesced into the thing standing before Varris. A long brush tail lashed about as the form stretched, her eyes a godless, deep crimson.

Varris was silent, cold sweat pouring from his brow. He studied the she-beast, certain that if he moved once, the fiend would end him. He covered his mouth, afraid that even his breathing might agitate the monster.

His fears were well placed, as the she-thing looked at him. The grin did not subside.

“Varris," she said. Now it was clear, the whispers from before emerged from this things maw. “Why do you huddle by your lonesome, master? Don't you recognize me?"

The voice was like black honey dripping into Varris' very soul. He could feel the otherworldly energy crackling from the beast's body, the black fur rimmed with an unholy shine – like oil caught in the sun.

At his fear, she laughed. “Why, that's a pity. After all that time spent trying to resurrect your dear bitch, you aren't even happy to see her?"

Varris stopped. What? What did that mean? No, surely this couldn't be, surely this strange combination of woman and hound wasn't his hound? Then, he remembered the words of the Nameless: “It's a clever way demons like to hop into your existence."

Was this what he meant? Was this the price of binding a dead spirit with demon magic?

“Lila?" he chanced, letting his hand fall to side.

The she-creature made a face, putting hands to hips.

“Agh, that name. I never liked it, you know. And it's hardly appropriate now, is it master?"

Another cackle, and she gestured to herself. Her palms came to roam over the front of her curves, across the heave of her mammoth breasts and then down to hips, a coaxing gesture.

Varris was still too beside himself to notice, though the pangs of frightened curiosity bore into him.

“Karna, now that's got a far better ring to it, know? And so does master."

She frowned, crossing her arms. “Well? Am I going to do the talking for both of us? Aren't you glad to see your pet?"

Varris was shocked. “This can't be. . ."

A flick of the ear. “Why? You made the pact, after all."

Well, the demonic presence wasn't out to hurt him, there was that at least. Finding his strength, Varris stood, though his eyes were locked on the black furred figure. It could strike him down at any moment, he was certain. When he stood, her great size was even more apparent – she nearly hit the ceiling with her head.

“Is it really you then?" he uttered, voice hoarse. “Have you come back to me?"

If this was true, she was so wildly different. She could even speak, and Varris was having a hard time getting beyond that. Yet, a part of him reconciled this – he knew there was a price, and this was it.

She snickered. “It takes you a while, does it master?" She bowed with excessive grace, her ample tits wobbling as she did.

“Yes, yes, it is I, your beloved hound. Reborn into this world, stronger than ever. Ready to rejoin you master, ready to serve."

She put great emphasis on the last word, tossing her sultry, seductive eyes at him.

Seductive?

Again and again, Varris looked her over. Was this truly his hound? Or was it some mirage, some shadow attempting to eat his soul?

“If what you say is true," he said, this time firmer. “Where did I raise you?"

She raised, crossing arms, eye quirking.

“You raised me with the family on some boring little hill, a fishing cottage, a jarl's shout away from Whitestone."

He blinked. She wasn't wrong. Yes, before the crusaders came, Varris found her as a pup and took her in. The wife and child took such a shining to her.

“It is you. . ." he muttered, stepping forward.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes master, yes. Spines and splinters, you're slower than I remember. All that time hauling me around dulled you. Poor, poor master."

Karna fold her hands behind her back, her hips so gently swaying to and fro. This caused a delicate clap of her buxom chest, and she retained that wicked, suggestive grin.

In himself, Varris was both relieved and perplexed. Fear was leaving him, commandeered by new thoughts, new feelings. Finally, his companion had returned to him, and this time with a voice. Yet, more than that. Now, she was beholden to a body like that of a woman. And what a woman. Not even the tavern mares sported haunches like hers, or a dandy pair of teats larger than his head.

What? What was he thinking! How could he, in this environment, this circumstance, even ponder such things? To lie with a hound, what sacrilege.

“I'm not a simple bitch anymore, master," said Karna, as if reading his thoughts. “I'm your eternal servant until your mortal coil grows weary of this place. And you've done such a fine job – all this trouble for little ol' me. Don't you think you deserve a reward for your efforts, master?"

Varris rubbed his head. “What you are saying is. . ."

Even he didn't know. “This is overwhelming. I find you returned to me in a form I can't recognize, and now my soul is quartered to a Nameless horror. What possible reward is there for me now?"

Karna sneered. “You're not very imaginative, are you?"

Now she turned, and swung her rear into view. It was far larger than what it appeared to be at first glance. Why, if Karna was on her side, then her haunches would stack to Varris' waist!

She wiggled at him, a seductive, tossing motion that had no place here. And yet, it was right for all the wrong reasons.

“Aren't you so tired of your loneliness, master? All those isolated nights, without a woman to comfort you, or a friend to confide in. . ."

A new wave of shock took hold of Varris. The metronome swing of the demon-bitch's hips held a frightening enticement. When was the last time he had seen another woman at all? The nights and days ran together like a blur of grey and black. All the shadows chittered and his only company were the barking frogs or squirming insects.

Yet there, rump danced in rhythm swings, so taunting and teasing. The hefty buttocks wobbled together, gently revealing the delicate snatch between them, a warm, inviting scene. Perhaps if he. . .

By gods, what was Varris thinking! He came to retrieve his companion from the afterlife, not lie with her!

Again, Karna appeared to notice.

“Having doubts? Why? Isn't this so much better? Isn't a loyal hound at your beck and call far better than just a slobbering mutt?"

She chittered. “Then again, I can do that too. "

Varris grit his teeth. “Why do you tempt me? Why mock me?"

Her tail flicked, eyes narrowing. “You think I splay myself to taunt you, master? Oh, how cruel!"

Now, she stood erect, turning, and the fat of her bosom swung back into view. But this time, she did not stand idle. This time, she strut forward, all the delicate jiggles and bounces accompanying her. The candlelight danced along her abyss black fur, like she was a shadow washed with fire, until she stood over Varris, grinning.

He tried to step away but at once she embraced him, drawing him close. Varris felt the soft, tempting fur envelop him, along with her thick, hefty bosom. His head drowned in her cleavage, as her arms came around his back, shoving him into her embrace.

“I can see words aren't working well, so. There, isn't that nice?"

She tossed her chest in little throws, her hefty tits smacking against Varris' cheeks. Varris was speechless, his body tingling, a dark, profane sensation overcoming him. Her fur was finer than all the cloths and silks in the world, and her scent carried an exotic, perfume-like spice, as though a rose plucked near the rivers of Hell.

All his anxieties and apprehensions were crumbling. When was the last time he was with someone, let alone a girl? A beautiful girl? Beast or no, she was finer than all the barmaids in Saukeis, perhaps even more level than the Empress Eternal herself! Away with gold wings and halos of fire, this darkness was far better.

“Lila. . ." he muttered into her chest. This caused her to squeeze her tits extra hard into him, accompanied with vicious snickers.

“It's Karna. Master."

Karna, Lila, it didn't matter anymore. She was the black bitch. Or if not, she was something. And that something was all Varris had. He marched upon roads and encountered strange, exotic horrors. He spat in the eye of the gods and surely his soul was forfeit.

If he was to lie with a beast and demon, then it would be so.

Again, the sinister maiden seemed to sense his intent. Or, the twitching in his loins.

She leaned, whispering into his ear. “I think you're long overdue for some hot, soft, pussy, master."

The bluntness of her words sent shockwaves of new desire through Varris. So raw and indelicate, tossing away formality. His flesh came to life, and all the pains and hungers with it.

He could not find the words. What could he say? Aside from “yes." If the beast would take him, then he dare not speak against fate.

“Mmm, seeing as you haven't fled in terror, I'll take that as a dignified yes."

Karna looked around, frowning at the room. “Shame about the place, though. The dead have no taste."

Leaning away from Varris, Karna backed away and went to the floor. Her back rested upon the creaking boards, her thighs spreading, exposing the raw, inviting snatch between her. The soft out lips were plump and inviting, while her digits travelled low, spreading them, teasing at the suckling inner mouth. She cradled her neck with arm, looking up to him in seductive, servile fashion.

“This will do. Let's hope we don't bring the whole place down, eh?"

It quickly dawned on Varris, even after her embrace, just how much size Karna had on him. And what a size, quite generous in all the right ways, feeding his aches. The tired, wanting Varris was losing his control over such a sight, animalistic hunger taking its place.

Karna's tail bat the ground impatiently, as she looked at him with expecting eyes.

“Well? Claim your cunt, master."

Again, Varris lacked the words. But fine, she seemed talkative enough for both of them.

A surge of want jolted him to action. Feverish, hungry, overwhelming. It lives in all creatures, a sudden impulse that sets the body ablaze and hammers the mind to go forward. The knowledge of proximity, the satiation of it, yes. It boils the blood and turns a man's loins into a hot, hungry pike. Varris was no different.

He went, then, to the folds that teased him, pressing his mouth into the soft, beckoning cleft. His lips mouthed away in hungry, voracious motions, breathing against it, feeling his mind collapse to lust.

“Nnm, that's more liiike iiiiit. . ."

Karna's words cradled his ambition, pressed him on, as he kissed and ran tongue into the juicy nethers. His hands were as carnivorous as he, wrapping around the supple thighs and groping the curves of the beast's body – anything to feed himself on the womanly shape so generously offered.

She moaned and writhed against his attentions, wiggles that coaxed him onward. Her scent was intoxicating, provoking Varris to hungrier, exploring licks, tasting the inner folds. Karna's thighs reacted by squeezing him, as if drawing him in, gentle bucking motions bursting back at his attentions.

Even in an estate like this, even in a strange, derelict town where souls wandered and a Nameless fiend maintained law, he found himself needing. Varris' loins shook, twitched, springing to life as hot blood spiked through him.

Dainty digits accompanied by claw came to his head, running through his hair.

“Mmm, don't ignore yourself, master. There's still so much more of me, you know."

The succubus! It was as though she could pierce his thoughts, hear the howling of his soul. Perhaps she could – seeing as their bond now defied death itself.

With ragged breaths, Varris raised his gaze, watching the grinning she-wolf. “I hope your mouth is useful for more than just words," he rasped, ideas ticking his mind.

She licked her chops – though instead of a long, flat tongue like that of a hound, it was instead thin and serpentine.

“Ohhhh? Why don't you find out for yourself, master?"

She widened her legs, gesturing to her hefty front, tossing breasts again.

“Find a comfortable place here, why don't you?"

Indeed, there was certainly enough of her to be useful. Varris, far beyond the point of sense and decency, nodded. He obliged by pulling away his clothes, tossing away his cloak and freeing himself of the remaining binds. Once bare, his flesh tingled at proximity to the she-bitch, partly terrified, yet completely aroused.

His heart drummed and he looked the prone hound over, excited by all the possibility. Karna's tempting breasts were difficult to look away from, especially with her persistent bouncing of them.

Not in all his years with his wife nor any maiden from youth past did Varris know an experience so unique as this. Not even the finest strumpet from a jarl's tavern fashioned such a lusty appearance, or offered different, strange things to him. Now. . .

He shifted, finding himself resting upon Karna's waist, letting his cock slip between the expanse of her generous cleavage. The fur was soft, a caressing silk, and he grunted as she squeezed him in the hug of her plentiful tits.

“Ahh, there we are, getting the ri- HGLK!"

Before Karna could finish her sentence, however, Varris had thrust himself into her maw. Or at least what inches were capable of pressing into her lips, the rest of him still massaged by her ample front.

Karna looked surprised, but only for a moment, her half-lidded scarlet eyes “smiling" as she offered a rumbling, pleased moan. That was enough to speed Varris on, as he bucked his thighs through the massage of the black hills.

The she-bitch reached to place a hand at his back, pressing him close, encouraging him, as he unleashed a barrage of thrusts into the hound. His shaft trembled at each stroke, tickled by the inviting fur. He groaned each time his crown met Karna's lips, a hot wetness enveloping him as her long tongue slipped free to coil around his inches, massaging him to the base. By the gods, what perversions! But perversions he was far too happy to oblige now.

He gripped her shoulders and continued to bounce into her, loud suckles emitting from her maw as she embraced his tip into her oral chamber, each thrust bringing new waves of tingling pleasure. He had to watch, had to stare as his flesh wiggled between her supple, incredible breasts. The ache of loneliness was leaving him, replaced by a dark, perverse warmth.

“Thatsitmaster!" Karna said through licks, snaking her elongated tongue in winding, circular motions.

Eventually this coaxed Varris to press himself completely into her muzzle. He gripped the scruff of her hair, plunging himself wildly into the massaging, moist heat of her jaw, losing himself to desire. He groaned, louder than he ever had in his life, as her lips – timid and plump – wrapped around him with enthuse, drawing him out, beckoning his release.

“Nnnnng, wait, wait. . ."

He still found a measure of control himself, and none too soon. The electric heat rumbling through his cock threatened to burst, but, he wanted more than this. As much as his loins protested, he drew away, a river of sticky saliva bridging his bellend to Karna's maw.

She quirked a brow, still lapping at his inches. “Oh? Wait? I hope you aren't planning on leaving, master."

He shook his head. Silently, he drew away from her, onto the rug-covered floor, heaving. He was voracious, though not enough to release into the beast's mouth. If he was truly to pass his seed, he would be inside her.

“Mount me," he said, a mixture of plead and demand.

The demoness giggled, shifting. “Oh? You want your hound bouncing on you, master? Moaning for more?"

Again, she looked around. “Well, suppose we'll test the integrity of the place then, won't we?"

Here, she moved to crawl over Varris, his gaze full of black furred beast. Her thick, hefty tits swam up to him, and at once a hand came to fondle and toy with her tit, squeezing at the black cupped nipple, pulling it toward him. This procured several amused moans from the girl, as her immense hips came to rest over his own, her fat buttocks squeezing cock.

She wiggled her hips, the heat of her nether snatch touching his own, sodden and seething. Varris uttered a hundred delighted curses in his mind, his other hand coming to hip.

“Let's hope I don't break you."

In his mind, Varris didn't know if he cared.

She leaned to smother him with a lewd, taxing kiss, tasting him. Varris returned with a feverish, lip smack, dancing his own tongue with hers, feeling the demon's dark ways pour into him. The light faded from his mind. The fires of goodness and holy vows were extinguished in his soul. He now belonged to the she-bitch as much as she did to him.

But coupled with these acts came a moan, long and howling and dark. It came as Karna began to sink her thighs upon Varris' cock, his size spreading her wide as his pike plunged itself into the dark, hot space. The she-wolf craned her neck, tongue hanging, as she danced her hips in little hops, the weight of her immense, enormous buttocks falling upon Varris.

“GGH! Gods and devils!" Varris spat, bucking himself into the wet tunnel.

“Mmmmmf, none of that here!" Karna said, body quivering. She leaned, whispering. “Just us."

Varris wondered what the sight must've looked like, the immense, wide hips and fat, rumbling ass. Bouncing and jostling, riding him into the ground. Oh perhaps next time, yes, perhaps next time he would see.

But for now, he was holding on for dear life. The she-demon had taken to dancing herself upon him in quick, pounding grinds. First, long and slow, tedious motions which forced her snatch to massage his cock with a suckling embrace. Then, hastier, faster, thick sweeping jumps which banged him into the floor.

Every swing of her fat rump caused the floors to creak in terrified protests. The strange, ghostly orbs fled and if there was anything living, surely it ran. Varris groaned in long, pained moans, the kind where pleasure was so intense it was almost too much. The room shuddered, dust fell from the ceiling, and wood splintered.

Indeed, Karna gripped him closed, smothering his face with her weighty tits while she threw her hips into his loins, loud, lewd claps echoing throughout the room, coupled with her hasty moans and whines.

Each slam of her hips sent an ever-increasing bolt of radiating pleasure through Varris. The tight caress of that incredible hound pussy was like nothing he had never known, as though it was shaped exactly for him. It even brought forth new spikes of pleased delight previously unknown to him, like the mysteries of his own flesh came undone.

“AGGH!"

Varris shuddered and felt his body spasm in uncontrollable bucks. A sudden burst of white hot issue left him, soaking the inner folds, drowning the tunnel until he was completely spent.

“Nmmmmm, master!"

Karna was not finished, however, content to bounce herself through the orgasm, pummeling her owner so hard the floorboards were beginning to shatter apart. Her deep eyes of scarlet flickered, and she gave one last bounce of her hips, shoving the cock as far into her cunt as possible.

For a moment, there was a long, clenching hold. Varris' tested roiled over, filling the awaiting hole with as much of himself as there was to give. Panting, draining, the evacuation of hunger. Karna's inner thighs tightened, snug, until pulling away as dollops of their coupling dripped free.

Karna looked down at her master, licking him, bearing that same, terrifying grin.

“Mmm, there. Nice, wasn't it? How does it feel to be with a real woman, master?"

Varris was coated with cold sweat, and his chest felt strange. Like something was ripped out of him, or a piece of him gone. A part of his soul, probably, filled in with the dark tampering of something else. But he cared little.

“Finer than all the bitches and women I've encountered," he said. He reached out, petting her cheek.

“You will stay with me?"

She laughed, shrill and cold. “Oh of course master. Until all this is no longer fit for the realms of men." She pinched his shoulder, letting her breasts pancake against his chest.

There was a large, deep groan. A guttural creaking and snapping of pillars. The tavern around them began to protest, and the floorboards started to buckle.

“Oooh, better dress, master, I think the whole place is coming down."

-*-

Varris soon dressed, evacuating the building with his new companion, as, to their non-surprise, the building fell apart soon after. Afterward, Varris returned to the Nameless, but this time not alone. The tall, skeletal fiend regarded him with amused intrigue, along with his companion.

“Ahh, quite a thing they did. You certainly are meatier than I'd expected," it said, offering a hissing cackle.

Karna tossed her nose, flipping off the skeletal abomination.

“My business is done here, fiend," said Varris. “I will honor our deal. But only when the time comes."

It huffed, waiving him off. “Yes, yes. Do as you will. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. Though, I must wonder, what you truly have unleashed? There's more to your hound than you may know, little flesh thing."

Varris ignored it. He instead left, returning to the winding roads covered in pale grass. He did not know what he intended to do – perhaps return to the cottage and live out his days with an eternally subservient she-wolf. Yet, even with Karna at his side, near him with devout loyalty, there was a strange feeling ahead of it all.

Flesh was not eternal, least of all his. And when time came to serve the Nameless, what of Karna? What would she do?

He ignored it. It no longer mattered. He, like his soul, was covered in shadows. There was only darkness ahead, one he was ready to embrace, because that darkness was his black hound.