by Marc Robert
Nor did he want to.
Nooo … no, not at all!
In fact, the very opposite: he wanted to replay those smutty scenes in his head as often as he could, just as soon as he got some “alone time.” And it was in that exact moment, as Osman was thinking about THAT, that the duration of the “Stat Check Pause” expired and the dark elf reached out and touched his cheek with her gauntleted hand.
And he let her do it.
He wasn’t under her charm spell anymore, which meant that his mana would be safe. And, somehow, their minds still did have some vague empathic connection. It was a lingering effect of Rania’s magic that not even Osman’s silver pendant could wholly negate, so he let her touch him, suddenly curious as to what more could happen between them.
Clobbered
“Ahhhhh,” the dark elf murmured, gazing directly into Osman’s eyes, perusing the young man’s memories through their new-found mental link: “Those other … ‘monster girls’ made you BLESS them. I should have guessed it! Those kinky pagans. Maybe I should have just asked you outright, neh?”
“Maybe you should have,” Osman grinned, refusing to look away. The black slits of Rania’s pupils were boring straight into him again, although now he kind of liked it.
The dark elf smirked.
But then something else in the young man’s memories caught her attention: a glimpse, a face … Her mocking smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of utter revulsion: “Is THAT a dungeon sprite?!”
“It … it is,” Osman said, intrigued that she had fixated on the sprite, of all the monster girls whom he had encountered on his quest.
“You just met her — today? — for the first time?? — in The Wood???”
“I did.”
“That one is crazy. Far crazier than I am. She would lead you down all sorts of dark paths.”
“Whereas you’d just settle for sucking out my soul, right?”
Rania actually blushed a little at his words: “Even I have my flaws.”
Was that meant to be some sort of an apology? Osman wondered. He wasn’t sure, but the dark elf didn’t strike him as the type of … monster who apologized very often, if ever.
“What did she tell you, that sprite?” Rania asked, “That you are meant to become a dungeon core? That the two of you could rule The Kingdom Of Esk together? Some prophecy like this?”
“What do you know about it?”
“More than you do, that’s for sure!”
“I thought you were an assassin, not a sphinx.”
The dark elf grinned her fanged little grin: “What I know, Osman Spar, is that you are destined for … GREAT THINGS! That is why my lord and master sent me to collect you.”
“Collect me, or … kill me?
“That was my own little mana addiction that drove me to do that. And, for that, I am truly sorry …”
Osman arched his eyebrows: “Is that supposed to make me feel like I can trust you now?”
“Yes,” Rania said simply.
Osman eyed the monster girl.
He wasn’t so sure.
She had just tried to bewitch him again, after all.
But the dark elf shook her head, “I’m … I’m more in control of myself now, I promise you,” she said. And then she began stripping off her craggy demon armor. It wasn’t just some charm-spell fantasy in Osman’s mind this time; she was actually taking her clothes off for real …
First she removed her jagged black gauntlets, which she unbuckled and let drop to the ground one at a time, staring directly into Osman’s eyes as she did so. And then she took off her boots, which she slid off her feet and threw on the ground beside the gauntlets with a grin.
Osman looked at the discarded items and did not protest, so Rania continued.
She unbuckled the black magma gorget around her throat and lifted it over her head, removing the crown — or helm — of burning embers with it, as that was fused to it, revealing her exceptionally pointy ears for the first time and her long, inky black hair streaked with green. She bit her lower lip and tilted her head, gazing at the paladin. Then she put her hands on her hips, as if prompting him to say something … anything …
Osman stared at the dark elf’s wild hair and pointed ears, her tiny bare feet, and then the slender fingers of her hands. Her skin was ashen and smooth, and by the gods he wanted her to go on with her dirty little striptease.
Rania grinned.
She could vibe his desire through their mind-link and that was all the permission that she needed. She reached up behind her back and undid the leather straps and buckles that held her massive breastplate in place and then, with one well-placed yank, peeled the whole rest of the demon armor away from her lithe, athletic body. She let the armor clatter to the ground and stepped back, staring at Osman again, seeking … seeking what? His approval, maybe?
She was nearly naked now, wearing only her underthings, which consisted of a skimpy cotton loin cloth that barely concealed her crotch and a minuscule chainmail bralet over her huge, round breasts. The bralet covered her nipples, but Osman could still see them — pink and erect — through the metal mesh of the chainmail.
He was starting to get a massive hard-on!
Rania’s fanged little grin overtook the lower half of her face and she stepped forward, moving round the discarded demon armor on the muddy ground and coming to stand directly before the paladin. She looked him straight in the eye, and then knelt down at his feet and — with her slender hands — began undoing the leather belt that held his robes closed.
It was a slow process, but super-arousing.
And then, finally, she slid the belt away and parted the cloth. She pulled Osman’s pantaloons down and took his aching cock into her warm, wet mouth, working his shaft with her lips — unhurried at first, but then faster, and faster, and faster still!
It was a dreamy and glorious feeling, Osman thought, and she was SUPER-GOOD at doing it!!!
He could feel the orgasm building inside himself and so cupped the back of the dark elf’s head with the palms of his hands and held her firmly to the task.
Rania moaned when he did that, one of her own hands straying down between her thighs, fingers sliding under the cotton loin cloth that she wore. She touched herself and shuddered, staring up at the paladin, her amber eyes feral yet … willing to submit.
Seeing that caused Osman to thrust his hips, and thrust them again, pushing himself deeper into the dark elf’s throat, her mouth enveloping the whole of him then, all warm and wet. She leaned her head back and, with her forked tongue, licked the tip of his cock just under its throbbing head: licking it … and sucking it there … and teasing Osman with her lips and tongue until he came in her mouth, filling her up with his seed, his hips bucking and body shuddering as he did so.
The young man exhaled, feeling better than he had felt in a … a very, VERY long time!
Rania exhaled too, her whole face full of mirth, staring up at him. A little spark of hope ignited in her chest. Maybe THIS was the cure she had been searching for all along?!
Osman crouched down and took her face in his hands and stared into her odd, cat-like eyes. Then, he kissed her.
And she kissed him back!
They kissed each other for what felt like forever and then she nuzzled his throat and he wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close.
But, of course: that was when he thought of Kendall.
Both he and Kendall had gotten off in the game before; that was no secret! In fact, they both had agreed to play Other Earth with “lewd mode” on, so they were both well-aware that stuff like this could (and did!) happen. However, that didn’t change the fact that it brought out Osman’s berserker-tendencies any time Kendall mentioned even the slightest hint of hooking up with some grody NPC or other. And so, since he reacted that way about her in-game escapades, Osman felt compelled to keep his mouth shut about his own.
Rania tilted her head and stared at him quizzically. “Are you thinking
about that reeky human girl again?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I … ” he started to answer, but then they both heard a weird sound on the wind, or more like … some malevolent voice! It was chanting a jumble of words Osman couldn’t quite understand; however, the voice itself was VERY FAMILIAR. Osman recognized it, or thought he did, although he couldn’t quite remember from where. He narrowed his eyes, trying to jog his memory even as the chanting continued.
“What is that?!” Rania asked.
“I … I don’t know … ”
A preternatural gust of wind swept across the muddy road then and blew all around them, like a storm was blowing in. But the sky itself was crystal clear, blue as the sea, and cloudless. Osman furrowed his brow. And then they heard it — no, not that voice now, which continued its chanting — but the creaking and clattering of the fire-demon’s armor itself standing up of its own accord, like some reanimated corpse.
Osman’s jaw dropped.
And Rania’s too.
Living flames in the shape of a huge, hulking man inhabited the massive breastplate as well as the leg harnesses and greaves, the spaulders and gorget. The Thing hadn’t bothered to put on the boots, which may have just melted anyway, for the creature had roiling, red flames for feet. Osman could still hear that foul and super-familiar voice chanting on the wind and he knew that that was what was animating this Thing.
It was an actual fire-demon this time, perhaps even the very same one who Rania had skinned alive in order to obtain the magma-forged armor for herself, brought back from the grave by some act of Elder magic. The demon let out a great, big belly-laugh and Osman saw that it was wearing Rania’s death’s head mask as a face and had white-hot coals for eyes. And what’s worse: it held that ginormous, fiery war-hammer in its gauntleted hands and was already barreling towards them.
It all happened so fast!
Osman heard Rania scream and then the fire-demon was towering over her. He shoved the dark elf out of the hammer’s path and — even as the killing blow descended upon him — he didn’t think of her elfin face, nor of Kendall’s fair expression, but of that dungeon sprite whom he had met so recently in The Wood: her pouty mouth and portentous words. He {wished} that he had taken her up on her offer to him to become a dungeon core. Maybe then, if he had done that, he wouldn’t have —
The massive, flaming hammer crushed Osman’s chest, setting him ablaze as it did so!
{Kill-Shot!!!
-42 HP}
floated up and away from his burning body, becoming three miniature white doves that flew around and around in a circle before merging into one great, big, red heart that promptly exploded into a thousand pixelated fragments that showered down upon that muddy road like little bits of digitized glass. And then Osman’s charred remains began to dematerialize, fading out like a Force Ghost, leaving behind only his mana core:
… a tiny, oddly-marbled gemstone glinting in the mud …
The Dungeon Sprite
Osman’s Soul Stats flickered to life before his eyes.
The game? … What am I still doing inside the game?! he thought. I had just … I had …
He had just been bludgeoned to death and burnt alive by that fire-demon!
:-(
But so then how did he end up here, in this cavernous room?
And whose voice had that been on the wind, summoning the fire-demon back from the grave?!
He thought of Rania and hoped the dark elf was okay. The way she had screamed with such abject terror when the demon’s hammer descended! He knew she was tough, and willful … and cunning, and he wanted to believe that she had been able to fight the creature off, or at least somehow get away. He thought of everything that had happened between them and of how they had kissed each other just before he died. He wished that she was here now, beside him …
His Soul Stats flickered again, the letters and numbers wavering in the air as if beset by some glitch or ghostly interference:
Name: Osman Spar
Race: Dungeon Core
Mana: 0 / ∞ (MP)
Health: 50 / 50 (HP)
Class: Crafter
Level: 1
Rank: Novice
Alignment: Chaotic
Primary Skill: Sorcery
Innate Abilities:
(1) Night Vision
(2) Soul Scrying
Minions:
(1)
(2)
(3)
Thralls:
(1)
(2)
(3)
Items:
Hooded Cloak (black); Tunic (black); Trousers (black)
Cursed Mana Core (Dungeon Core) (1)
Osman wasn’t quite sure if this … “rebirth” was a stroke of good luck, or if it meant that he had somehow been terminally hexed. But he had gotten EXACTLY what that dungeon sprite had offered to him back in The Esk’lyn Wood!
He was a living dungeon now.
But where was the sprite?
He looked around the cavernous room: shouldn’t she have appeared there, to be his first thrall or minion, as soon as he had elected {YES} to starting a new game? He assumed that that’s how it would work.
But, instead, he was all alone …
… again!
Osman clenched his jaw.
The Hunger was gnawing at his insides. That ravenous need for mana, and more mana, and EVEN MORE MANA STILL was threatening to overwhelm his rational mind and turn him into some monstrous beast. He needed to come up with some sort of plan, and fast!
Osman focused his mind’s eye, trying to remember as much as he could about his first encounter with the dungeon sprite:
She had been mind-meltingly hot, almost wholly naked, with close-cropped hair and a slim body and perky breasts that curved upwards, accentuating her nipples, which had hardened when he stuck out his hand to greet her. The young man had seen them hardening through the feeble attempt at a bra that she wore, which was really just two bright green leaves held together by an old piece of twine. Her panties — if one could even call them that — were composed of the exact same material: one tiny green leaf strung between her pale thighs, barely concealing her crotch, which Osman’s eyes dropped down to stare at even as he was shaking her hand.
She was on a whole other level of alluring!!!
And Osman had never seen anyone quite like her before, whether in Other Earth or anywhere else, for that matter. She was lithe and fair and had a tiny, pouty mouth that was currently turned up in a smile. Extending from her bony little shoulder blades was a huge pair of wings much like a butterfly’s wings — or that of a night-moth — gossamer-thin and finely powdered and adorned with a purplish-white Rorschach-blot-pattern that caused him to think of caves and skulls and his future to come.
What was it that she had said to him when they first met?
“When you’re at your lowest, do not despair. Come and find me!”
Was that supposed to be some kind of wordplay or riddle? he wondered. Or maybe some … seedy pun?
Whatever it was, it was certainly a weird way to start a conversation. Osman remembered that very clearly because he had blinked his eyes three times in rapid succession when the sprite had said that weird shit to him, trying to blink her away, thinking she must just be some horny mirage or vision brought on by that cadaverous-smelling brew that the dryads in The Wood had just forced him to drink.
But alas, the dungeon sprite was no mirage. She was real! And, already, her very presence was beginning to bend the young man’s mind.
Osman had read in one of Simulah Corp.’s “Lore Of Legends” monster manuals that dungeon sprites were “portents of doom” and that, when one appeared, chaos was sure to follow. Life-changing chaos. And derangement. And the chance for great riches, too.
Temptation, he thought, Always temptation, around every friggin’ corner …
The sprite was already talking up a storm even while he was having such wary thoughts about
her presence there and just WHAT she could possibly want. So, already, Osman had missed quite a lot of what she was so desperately trying to tell him — all manner of odd things — about dungeon cores and dungeon lords and Osman’s great destiny; the secret pact her Hive had made; the rise of The Crafter King; a human with dragon eyes … a dragon with human eyes … Osman’s massive, god-like mana potential; the unclean spirit and a girl with a fractured soul.
