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“What is that? Why is it so— so gross!”
Marcille lets out a disgusted snort when she lifts the lid of the cooking pot. A puff of steam seeps through the gaps. Laios tries to butt into view, but her big head blocks the way.
“What do you mean?” He struggles to look over her shoulder at this thing he’s created. His very first familiar! Marcille said it would be too difficult for him at his current level in magic, but ha! She was wrong. He drew the sigils perfectly, and all his hard work sits before him. His very own monster! It’s so… so…
Laios gets one glimpse, and his face drops completely. “That isn’t what I made.” He points at it, offended.
“Uh, it absolutely is.”
“No. Mine was cool ,” he gestures, sculpting out the shape of the awesome monster in his mind into the air. “Scales, feathers, wings, and even twin horns like a bicorn’s!”
And, yet from the depths of Senshi’s cooking pot sits a pitiful little creature cooked up from leftover monster parts. All the features Laios had dreamed up have melted down into a sort of… obscene fleshy lump. It wriggles, clearly alive with his magic.
Laios blinks at his creation.
“Ew, I’m going to kill it,” Marcille says. His instincts kick in.
“No!” He snatches it up before she can get her hands on it. “It’s mine. I’m sure it can do something , even if it… er, looks like this. Let me test it out. It’s my first time making one. Not all of us went to magic school.”
If Falin was here, she’d praise him for it. Call it cute. Marcille just rolls her eyes.
“Ugh, fine. I wasn’t even supposed to teach you this, anyways, but we are not eating that for dinner. Right, guys?” Chilchuck ignores her, and Senshi makes a non-committal sound. Izutsumi wouldn’t touch it, anyways. “ Right guys?”
Horror dawns on her face, and she scrambles to convince them otherwise.
Off to the side, Laios pats the familiar on its… head? It doesn’t really seem to have any discernible features, aside from a cavernous slit into its body. It’s weird. He remembers Marcille struggling with double vision, but he doesn’t seem to have the same problem. The only overlap of their senses is the inkling of his own fingers digging into the creature’s spongey sides, and the heat of his palms holding it towards his chest.
Curiously, two of them sink into the gap in its body. It’s gelatinous from the dried slimes and parts easily around the intrusion. Laios gasps. The sensation sends a tingling jolt to the base of his spine.
Huh. Weird.
Laios doesn’t think much of it for the rest of the day. He tucks his new monster friend into top of his pack and continues on, as though nothing was awry.
Somewhere along the way, it tumbles free.
Everything starts with a strange dampness spreading between Laios’ thighs. For a brief movement, he worries he’s wet himself. It’s not something he’s done since he was a child, plagued by nightmares that only Falin could help coax away. But, as an adult? No. Actually… one time, but it hadn’t been his fault. Man-eating plants have an exceptionally strong grip.
(Marcille and Chilchuck made a sworn pact to never address it. For his sake, probably.)
The dungeon corridor stretches for some distance. Its cobblestone path is partially swallowed up under a thick layer of moss. At the end, it opens up to a cavernous space. Trickling water echoes off the walls.
Laios stops midway to pat himself down. This isn’t something he would be eager to admit to the rest of the party considering the sort of territorial creatures lurking on the lower levels that would take his scent as an offense. He takes a mental inventory on what monster species make their home on this floor before being cut-off midthought.
It’s not that he’s pissed himself. No— what Laios feels is the distinctive swipe of a solid appendage, slick with mystery fluid, between his cheeks.
Frantically, he stuffs a hand down his pants. He roots around in them for the unwelcome intruder. Slugs, tentacles, maybe Kensuke getting a little frisky. He comes back with nothing. Not a hair or crease in his clothing is out of place. Then, what could it be? In the back of his mind, he recalls the familiar he’d created just this morning, and after a second check of his pack, he finds it to be missing.
Missing, and, uh, er…
Heat curls up his neck from the dawning realization ( that, and of the magical connection tethering its nervous system to his own). Marcille was right. This is out of his depth, and he… he…
Oh, this time, Laios can place the feeling. The rough texture, and its slippery pointed shape. It is a tongue.
His familiar is being licked— devoured greedily by a monster borne out of the dungeon’s depths. If the timing weren’t so poor, Laios might find himself curious about it. The sensory transfer. How it translates from his familiar’s squishy, amorphous body to his own, or the difference in how his and Marcille’s turned out.
All of these thoughts are emptied out of his brain in the face of reality. A reality of being split open on eager monster tongue.
“Oh… fu…”
Laios claws over his jaw in a weak attempt to hide the inkling of arousal which threatens to spill out. He fails miserably. Chilchuck is the first to notice. He’s always been the most attentive of them all. When he catches sight of his leader’s pitiful state, he folds his arms.
(Expression: unimpressed .)
Sweat pours off him. This creature… it is awfully persistent. A moan slips free, loud against the stone. His entire party comes to a standstill. What could it want? It’s not like his familiar would make much of a meal. Not to mention, Laios isn’t eager to feel the sharp edge of a fang piercing the meat of his ass. If not that, then—
A hunger of a different kind. The revelation comes to him, and Laios exclaims, “That’s it!”
Yes, a heat!
It must be curiously snuffling around for a mate, or some conveniently shaped hole to quell its urges. It would, at least, explain away the tenacity which has Laios weak in the knees. But, for him, it would spell even deeper trouble.
Marcille looks him up and down and says, “Is it the mana sickness again? You don’t look so good. I think we should give him a break. Rest for a bit.”
Chilchuck scoffs, “Is he acting any weirder than usual?”
Laios’ legs press tight together. His cock stirs, wet with pre. He can only hope it's not obvious to his companions. Izutsumi’s nose scrunches in disdain. Failure No. 1.
“No, we can keep going! I’m totally… totally… fi—!”
His jaw hangs agape. Another moan stuffs it full. It’s as though the monster sits before him, its tongue wrapped around his ballsack. It slithers beneath them— lapping over his taint and, then, his rim to take him completely. The width alone rivals that of any humanoid species’ cock, and it elicits a shiver once it wriggles its way into his guts. A part of it hurts, but the other— oh, the other — fills Laios with a desire he’s never had before.
His fingers twitch, itching to strip himself of his armor. He’s baking inside of it. One Laios served stuffed and charbroiled.
“Marcille is right. It won’t do any good to push too hard. I’ll see what I can fix up for you, Laios.”
Under normal circumstances, he’d be excited for Senshi’s cooking, but Laios doesn’t have the attention span to focus on much else. He buckles and fusses with the strap of his cuirass, desperate to get it off.
“Are you sure you're not sick? Let me take a look. I think you’re running a fever.”
Marcille tries to come closer, but he backs off out of the fear she’ll notice a little too much in closer proximity.
“You know, maybe I did catch something!” Laios fake sneezes and sputters with a cough. “It’d be best to, uh, keep your distance. I wouldn’t want to infect you, too.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
Laios utters a whine to himself, and his erection sputters. A pitiful drool of precum drips down his thighs, as the appendage sinks deeper. It curls inside of him, intimately, as though daring him to cum. He can’t— not here. Not in front of his friends.
“Did you eat something weird when we weren’t looking? Is it food poisoning again? A tapeworm?”
His voice shakes, “N–no.”
It’s so deep now he thinks it’ll breach his stomach. Laios holds his hand there, instinctively. He can’t feel anything beneath the metal, but even if he were to press his palm to the soft of his stomach, there would be nothing there.
The monster is toying with his familiar (and, himself). There is no biological purpose for it to be this thorough, or maybe, he needs to take a second look at the Adventurer’s Bible. What species are most likely to play with their prey— or, their mates— possibly even to consume them? Some types of serpents. Arachnes. None of them feel like a proper match.
This creature is warm-blooded. Big. Sharp. Laios gulps, his limbs suddenly go gelatinous.
Awkwardly, he attempts to stagger away, “I’ll be back.”
“Hey, hold on! What’s that supposed to mean? It’s dangerous to go alone—-!”
Chilchuck catches her arm. “Let him go. You didn’t notice? Sometimes young men need their alone time.”
In Laios’ absence, he makes a sweeping obscene gesture into the air. Its phallic nature is obvious, even to Marcille. Her face floods with embarrassment, and then, annoyance .
“He’s… he’s …” She squawks. “Here of all places?!? Really, Laios?”
They don’t follow.
Laios doesn’t make it very far.
The ground beneath him grows wet. Drool slicks over his lips, dribbling from his chin to feed the dungeon moss below. His eyes sting with glossy tears, and his cock dribbles, loose from his pants. The illusion of hot monster saliva coats him like a second skin.
Laios wonders what it would feel like to truly be engulfed in the stuff. The warmth is welcoming, like the fresh steam off a hot bath or the sun’s rays showering him after emerging from the dungeon. He’s read that the spit of some monsters can possess medicinal qualities, among other things.
Poisons. Hallucinogens. Aphrodisiacs.
The circle of life continues thousands of feet beneath the surface. It’s a monster eat monster world, and one of monsters begetting more monsters. Laios has managed not only to insert himself into the dungeon food chain but its reproductive cycle, too.
It’s a miracle it has not ripped them both apart at the seams. His familiar had been such a small thing when he plucked it from Senshi’s pot, and the creature which has captured it is massive. The length of its swollen erection grinds against his backside, every inch seared into Laios’ brain.
How can it possibly take it without being torn in two? Without him being torn in two?
It does. It has.
The soft body gives from the penetration of that great cock. It’s as though this is what Laios made it for. To be fucked, bred, and split apart on all kinds of being seeking release. For Laios, it stabs him with an immense pain, but in the same breath, pleasure. It builds, sticky and hot, in the base of his stomach. Were he to touch it, he half-expects to feel the creature inside of him. Its length distorting his flesh, shuffling around his organs to make room for itself.
Laios gasps. It wriggles inside of him, desperate to sink deeper, as far as it can possibly go. The tapered head reminds him of the kraken’s tentacles a few floors above. Though less spongy and smooth in texture. He has considered them before. Twice.
(How many could he fit? What would they feel like stuffing his throat full? Would they make good sashimi?)
Inside, the length swells. Veins throb, and the whole thing twitches. It isn’t enough for Laios to discern species. Disappointing. He’d like to know what manner of creature it belongs to.
For now, his imagination will have to do the work for him.
A shaky hand reaches for his cock. It kicks against his palm, eager to be spent. Laios bites through his cheek. The sheer force of the monster fucking his familiar is dizzying. There’s no way he’ll be able to continue in the dungeon without dealing with this first.
There’s only two solutions: rescue it or wait long enough for it to be crushed under paw, claw, or hoof.
Laios prefers the former. It seems a bit cruel to bring it into the world and then abandon it. Plus, he’s finally figured out its purpose. Laughter wells in his throat. It cracks, broken and overcome. Kensuke Jr. is the bridge between himself and the monsters. The one thing that can allow him to get closer than any adventurer before him.
All while conveniently protecting him from severe bodily harm. For as long as it lives, that is.
A weight bears down on Laios’ left shoulder blade. He collapses beneath it, back arched in a natural form as if to present himself up for mating. It would take him as its mate. He’s sure of it.
(And, deliriously proud at the realization.)
All sense is lost with each new thrust. Laios is long milked dry and his orgasms? Even dryer. A blunt pressure grinds at his entrance. More? Impossible. His familiar has taken it all— been pounded into the dust and dirt. How could there possibly be—
A thick bulb swells from the base of the monster’s cock. It slaps against them, begging for entrance. He knows what it is, even when his mind can barely string together a coherent thought.
A knot.
That narrows things down significantly. Laios squirms, as it attempts to squeeze the fat bulb into the confines of his little familiar. It won’t fit. It’ll kill it, but what if it didn’t ?
What if that throbbing knot was able to bully open the already strained slit in his familiar and stuff it to the brim with fresh seed. It can’t be impregnated. It’s just an amalgamation of monster meat and Laios’ own mana. Could he? Probably not. But, there is that slim chance which seeds doubt and stirs his gut with peculiar intrigue.
Laios winces. His forehead collapses to the ground when it finally pops inside. He’s convinced if any of this were real that would be the final straw. The last thing to absolutely break him. His wails echo, and there is no doubt that the rest of his group has heard. It gives him so precious little time to finish this.
Luckily, once fully seated, the monster gushes with a torrential rush of semen. Laios sputters, coughing on his own spittle, so sure that some of it will come up as cum. Of course, that is not the case because despite feeling like an overstuffed roast, he is in fact empty.
(A surprising disappointment, really.)
Eventually, his familiar is abandoned, no longer a good hole to sink into, or perhaps, the monster has found a better would-be broodmare.
He’ll have to be careful that the next one isn’t him.
Half an hour later, Laios is drawn from his daze by a projectile thrown at his head. “The thing,” Izutsumi cringes. “Smelled like you. Barely does now.” She sticks out her tongue like she's going to wretch. Laios can’t blame her. The sad body of his familiar is sopping wet.
Wet with monster semen that is.
“Get rid of it,” she says before turning around. “It reeks.”
Laios looks at the poor thing apologetically. Marcille had been right. He should have destroyed it, but… he thumbs over its tender, fleshy slit. The creature twitches and oozes, overstuffed with bubbling cum. It catches on his fingers, and curiously Laios raises it to his lips for a taste.