topgfsfurart3dcgdislitrpp2preq

/lit/ - Literature

Name
Email
Subject
Comment
File
Password (For file deletion.)

 No.12929

I'm absolutely uncertain how this hasn't been made yet. But I'm writing this as a sort of break from trying to come up with stuff for Tor, or Bottom. It's actually been really relaxing.

Anyway, this is a story based on the first Dark Souls game, I would have made one for Demon Souls first but I was never able to get my hands on any sort of Play Station. This wouldn't have been posted here at all as I feel it's in need of some heavy editing, but I decided to do so anyway as the game's remake is cominf out soon.

Needless to say, there WILL be spoilers and opinion based lore translations either based on my own interpretation or made for the purpose of writing this character. Please let me know what you think and drop any suggestions you have as a comment, as with most writers I love to know what the people who read what I've written thing of it.

***

Escaping the Asylum. (Gore, death, no sex, zombie)

I remember the first time I died. The moment was hardly special, some Cleric Lord had been coming too quickly down the street as I turned the corner, I don’t even think he stopped. I remember staring up at the sky and wondering how I had ended up on the ground, trying to sit up only to realise the arm I was trying to push myself up with was no longer there. I cannot remember turning my head, but I remember seeing my arm laying on the street along with the lower half of my body. It was surreal then, I don’t think that I formed a single coherent thought that entire time my consciousness was fading, though I do remember the pain flaring back to the surface near the end, pushing through the shock my mind and body been forced into.

I don’t remember waking up after that, though I feel it must have been days later given the state of my body. They probably killed me again as soon as they noticed the Darksign emblazoned in me, packed me in a cart with the rest of the undead and carted me away to the asylum like I’ve seen done hundreds of times before. For some reason i never thought it would be me in that cart, in hind sight I doubt many do.

But now here I am, a rotted husk left to continue rotting in this cell. I spent some time exploring it when I was first left here. I don’t know if I was trying to find a way out or something to eat aside from these undead rats or anything really. But I did find this sword, broken and rusted as it is, barely more than a handle now, but it feels comforting in my hand. I think I was a mercenary, back in Thorolund, maybe some kind of body-guard because I’m wearing armour, simple and cheap I’m fairly sure they meant to bury me in it before they discovered my condition. But still, this too is comforting.

I’m not certain how long he’s been crouching there, staring at me. But I know he’s there, even if I haven’t looked at him. He’s wearing heavy armour, by the sound his footsteps made when he walked over to the hole in my ceiling and looked down at me, but I haven’t looked up to check. I didn’t think that humans guarded the Undead Asylum, I thought that was left to the malformed beasts brought low by the Gods. Still, I can think of no other reason for him to be here.

I feel my face trying to redden in shame after I jump when he drops a body, even more rotted than I, directly in front of me. I’m not certain why I’m ashamed about being startled, perhaps because I was so stoically refusing to acknowledge him and my sulking petulance caused me to miss him dragging it over.

I look up at him, then back down to the body. There is a key embedded in its back. I look up at him again, and somehow I know it’s the key to my cell. I can almost feel him smiling even through his helmet. It’s infuriating, but endearing all the same. This little bit of light coming to me even in this rank place, what kind of man must he be to aid some simple Undead without a clue as to who they are? He nods, almost imperceptibly, then stands and walks away.

I find myself staring at the body for many minutes, perhaps even hours. Then I look down at my hand. Even through the glove I can feel the small ring on my middle finger of my left hand. I don’t remember her face, but her crackling little voice pierces my mind as clearly as the day she had given the piece of jewellery to me. “Thou, young warrior, thou hath not yet been tested. Oh do not look upon me so, whatever thou hath experienced will be brought again one thousand-fold fold upon ye, and yet ye will forge on, never ceasing until found is that end ye seek. Take this, this ring. It shall offer thee comfort when least it is expected. And it will be needed.” Her voice trails off in a laugh, more a wheezing rattle than a cackle as I recall.

The next thing I know, I am pulling that key from the corpse I’ve been given and moving toward the cell door. Questions flutter through my mind, “Why am I doing this? What is the point? What could I, of all people accomplish?”. But I feel a swell of determination and the gate swings open to reveal the no less depressing, but much more open, hallway beyond.

I make my way slowly down this hallway, the sounds of dry, ragged breathing coming at me from the nearest cells, containing undead nearly as emaciated as the one that was dropped into my cell, they stare and exist but I know that they do nothing more. I am nearly at the end of the hall before I notice it, a constant sound to me by now, but louder than it yet had been. A rhythmic thumping that shakes the crumbling stone tiles that I walk on. My head turns slowly to my right and I see it. A massive, bloated beast, covered in thick grey-green skin that falls in flabs over it. Horns wreathe its head, wings in a pathetic approximation of the Everlasting Dragons I remember hearing of from the Maidens, it takes a moment of staring, but then I see a massive flaccid flab of flesh dragging along the ground between its stocky legs. I turn ahead and make my way quickly out of the hallway and up the set of stairs beyond, hoping not to draw the thing’s attention.

I pass several other undead, but they are no more coherent than the rats that moved through my cell, and I do my best to ignore them and how I close I came to becoming one of them. It is after a long climb up a ladder out of a cistern that I find it, an open courtyard. The walls are still high and oppressive, but I can see the sky cold and grey as it may be. Thunder drowns out the still rumbling footsteps of the thing bellow and sparse plants bring some comfort, I find a small flower, grey like everything else here. It is a weed, I know this, but I still tuck it into the armour over my left breast where I can still feel the Darksign burning.

Better than any of these however, there is a sword. It looks flimsy, charred and perhaps poorly made. It is jammed into the earth, with burnt piles of what appear to be bones. But it is still a better weapon than this broken thing I hold. I move toward it, reaching out. But then my Darksign flares just before I can touch the thing, a burning sensation shooting through my arm and into the blade. A fire catches in the small mound of bones and ashes, the flame drawing me to sit.

It is some time before I realize that I’ve been resting here, all thought of taking this weapon gone, simply gazing into the flame as it twirls in a slow dance around the charred, coiled blade. But I must press on, this I know.

Standing from my place I look about the courtyard. The most obvious place to go is a massive set of double-doors up a set of stairs. I also note a smaller door set into the masonry to my right, but decide to look that way after investigating the massive gates.

They are easier to open than I had expected, though the reinforced wood is heavy and the hinges are rusted I am able to get them open after a few seconds of effort. Through them I find what seems to be some sort of destroyed chapel with another set of smaller doors on the other side. I am making my way toward them when that massive beast from down bellow, near my cell falls directly in front of me. No, not the same beast. This one is smaller, though not by much, and holding a gigantic hammer rather than the spear-like weapon I’d seen on the other. None the less, it is massive and not happy to see me. I cannot imagine it will do much, but I attempt to strike it with my broken sword, the decimated blade simply deflecting off of the thing’s hide. I hear it laughing, rolls of flesh jiggling before I feel myself crushed between its club and the stone tiles beneath us.

I jolt awake at the small fire I had lit in the courtyard only meters away. The doors are closed again, but I can still feel the pain of my splintered ribs piercing my sides. I decide to check what might be through the smaller door at the side of the courtyard.

It’s locked.

With a bit of trepidation I make my way back to the massive doors that led to where the disgusting demon had been found. I find the room empty yet again, but looking up I can see it through a hole in the ceiling. I imagine it waiting for me or any others to try to and make it through the door at the other side. I take my time now, studying the area for an advantage against the beast, in doing so I notice a small doorway to the left side of the large room that could once have been a grand hall. The portcullis is open, and looks thick enough from here that I wonder whether the demon might not be able to break through if I were to make it past.

It was waiting for me this time, I’m certain of it. It falls in the same place as before as I run toward the small doorway, but what had once been a flaccid mass of flesh dragging between its legs is now standing erect, nearly as long as I am and wider than my own body with almost as many rolls of fat and skin as the rest of it. I do my best not to dwell on this, focusing instead on pushing myself toward the doorway.

When I am running straight for it the run seems almost trivial, he is far too slow and I slip beneath the portcullis long before his hammer slams down. I hear the metal opening slam shut behind me, and wonder how that happened just as I hear and feel his hammer slam into the rusted metal. But it holds strong, prompting a roar of rage from the monster while I do not slow my sprint even as I run down a set of stairs and find myself standing before another coiled sword.

After lighting this and taking a nearly irresistible rest beside the flames I move through the dank area the only way I know I can go without heading back to the monster with the hammer. I’ve barely turned the corner when an arrow finds it’s way into my chest, sprouting from directly between my breasts. My armour takes the brunt of the damage, and I feel more able to continue with a wound like this than I would when I was alive, allowing me to take cover in a cell to the left, prying a shield from a mummified body within.

I’m in a hallway, similar to the one I had been placed though clearly higher in the asylum than my own given I could see sky through a hole in the roof. At the end of the hallway is another nearly mummified undead, this one is holding a bow and firing arrows at me down the hall. I lift my shield and move slowly toward it, deflecting each shaft that comes my way with relative ease. The thing shooting at me runs away as soon as I get near, ducking into another hallway to my left and disappearing.

I find a longsword on a corpse in the hallway, fairly kept though old. I am still examining it when the archer reappears not ten feet from me. I lift the shield and feel an impact, moving forward once more and blocking another arrow. I lower my shield and take the thing’s mouldy shoulder in my left hand, jamming my blade into its stomach and letting it drop to the floor with a hissing gurgle. It’s more satisfying than I’d like to admit.

After some exploration I find the other side of the locked door from the courtyard, a pleasant surprise that allows me some rest to recover from that arrow in my chest. Flames flicker over my body, bringing warmth, comfort and a tingle of pleasure while they heal the wound. This feels oddly natural and I hardly want to leave. But I do, working my way up a staircase when i find a massive metal ball rolling down toward me. I lift my shield, managing to be forced to the side rather than crushed beneath it, still ending up on my ass with bruises and scrapes, but alive. Looking back I can see that the iron sphere made a hole in the wall across from the staircase.

Curiosity gets the better of me more often than I think it should. Inside, to my surprise, I find the man in heavy armour who had dropped the key to my cell to me. He does not look well, his leg at an awkward angle and his breathing ragged. Looking up I can see that he likely fell through a hole in the roof, given the state of his body perhaps he was helped through by the demon up there.

As I approach him, his helmeted head turns to face me and I hear a young voice call out. “Oh, it’s you, I’m Oscar of Astora. I’m glad that you made it out of there. I’m done for I’m afraid, but we’re both undead. If you would... would you hear me out?” I consider for but a moment, he had helped me when I was at my worst not but hours ago, I could not very well deny him.

“Of course.” Is all I can say, kneeling beside him, feeling the thin layer of water that lay over the floor soaking around the leathers of my armour. He speaks of his failure, that he will go hollow just like those things in their cells, as all undead do eventually. But he then speaks directly of his mission, how an undead is meant to leave this prison and go ring a bell to awaken some... thing. And that doing so would allow one to learn the “Fate of the Undead”. He then with some difficulty passes me a small flash filled with some sort of warm liquid, and a key.

“I do not have much time, left. You should go, I would hate to harm you after death.” He finishes, a gloved hand lifting and stroking the tips of his fingers across my face. I cannot not help but smile. This man had helped me, not only by releasing me from that cell, but by giving me something to strive for. I need that, I can feel it. An impossible task to push towards all of my lives. A purpose.

“Thank you.” I say, lifting his visor on an impulse and leaning down. He looks human, rather than like a corpse. I wonder how he did that for a moment before I press my lips to his. I hear a quiet gasp, but pull away from him and begin walking out the hole I had come before he can do anything more.

A few more hours of exploring and many fights with the resident ill-equipped undead I find a place that I recognise. It looks to be the back of the room I had been crushed by the giant demon in, though I am some ways up I can hear his growling breath through the doorway and down, likely still waiting for me to come through one of the doors.

A surprise attack then. I wonder if I might be able to land on top of him, using my weight to drive this sword through his thick hide. There is nothing for it but to try, so with a running start I leap off the balcony into the dreaded room, finding the beast directly bellow me. I angle my weapon down even as he looks up, the massive shaft of flesh I hardly even dare name still erect before him.

I come down on his back as he flinches away from my plunging blade. I feel my sword sink into his flesh and past what I assume to be bone with a scraping sound before wrenching it out and sliding down his huge body to the floor. He roars in pain and attempts to spin and face me at his back, though he appears to be rather encumbered by his erection, the massive thing slowing his movements just enough for me to roll to the side as he brings his wicked hammer down at my head.

It takes some doing, but I mage to begin opening his body, cutting at one side of his belly before dodging his strikes and working at the other. His skin, however thick is easily split once I have a blade in it and soon he is well and open. He drops his hammer and small arms attempt to hold his roiling intestines inside of his belly. As he sways and I realise he is about to fall, I notice too late the twitching of his member just before it sprays almost half-heartedly in front of him and onto me. It could have been worse I feel as he crashes down before me. I wipe the searing semen from my face and arms. It smells of sulphur and heat. It had been clear how he had intended to use that thing before I had fully armed myself. I am certain I got the better end of the deal.

To my surprise, his corpse simply dissolves, though the sticky mess he left behind does not it seems. But where he lay is now a large key, almost as stout as he. I take it to the door I wanted to head through from the beginning.

I had taken a few glancing blows of his hammer through our fight, but nothing that I felt was too dangerous. However, before I try the door I decide on impulse to drink from the flask Oscar gave me. I only take a sip, though a generous one. It fills my body with warmth, and this only grows. It feels like drinking the fire from where I have been resting, the pleasure and comfort moving through me is almost a shock and I let out a quiet gasp, hardly even noticing as my wounds disappear.

Through the door I find myself in a graveyard out on a cliff surrounded by nothing but mountains miles and miles away. But, more importantly I am outside of the Undead Asylum. Free to pursue this quest that Oscar spoke of. I do not linger, making my way as far away from the Asylum as I can. Something fills me as I distance myself from that place, taking root in a hole I had not realised was there deep in the pit of my stomach. I feel alive again.

As I reach the very farthest edge from the Asylum that I had learned to hate so much, I hear it, the beating of wings. It is a sound that feels comforting, not the same warmth as the bonfires from before, but something I feel a connection to. An image enters my mind of a weeping Goddess surrounded by crows, and even in that moment a massive crow appears before me, wings opening to reveal reaching claws. I almost fall into them and I am carried away.

 No.12930

It's good to see you writing again. I'm excited to see when you come back with more for Top or Bottom, but this concept is also quite intriguing. Can't wait to see where you go with it.

 No.12934

>>12929

alright stuff but I'd be careful about putting things out through TOR or any other mainline publisher, they won't last much longer than Barnes and Noble and that's dying fast. Find a smaller, faster, hungrier publisher or learn the amazon skills sooner than later.

 No.13381

I'm fairly sure this is going to be boring to read. I'm writing this character in a very dry way, and I'm not good at making that interesting yet. I'll get there.

I'll be trying to write for Top, or Bottom next, whenever that may be. But I've been enjoying this, regardless of how good or not of a read it is.

***

The view I get of the land this Crow appears to be taking me to will prove helpful I’m certain. I’ve heard tell of the lands surrounding the city of the Gods. Lordran. Where Lord Gwyn had created the First Flame and placed the seat of his power before the Curse had struck mankind and the Gods had turned to seclusion. It hadn’t held together as well as I had been expecting, even from this far away I can see crumbling walls and overgrown towers.

She brings me to a small circular area that I think may have been the upper levels of a castle at one point. But now has crumpled and become nothing more than ruins filled with trees and moss. The centre of the place holds yet another of those coiled swords, this one already is already tit with a larger than usual fire in it. The bird flies off, roosting nearby as I sit gladly at the fire. While I am resting there I notice that I am not alone, there is a man wearing full chain mail sitting against a wall watching me.

I decide to ignore this for now in favour of examining my thoughts as well as what I’ve picked up in the short time except escaping my cell. First I go through the three keys. I’ve used all of them already, so I just slip them back onto the ring without much thought. Then there’s the flask that Oscar gave me. It’s half filled with that burning orange liquid that healed my wounds before. Definitely, something to keep around. A black crystal wrapped in white cloth, I’m uncertain what this is for, but it seems important so I’ll keep it around. A small bundle of hardly solid white matter, it floats in my hand as I look at it. I WANT it. I want it badly and I’m not certain why. On an impulse, I crush it in my hand and the white flows around my hand into my chest. That’s good. I don’t know why, but it is.

Then there is this small black creature. It rests in my hand in much the same way the odd white object had, but I can feel it pulsing with life in the palm of my hand. I stare at it for a time, it feels important, and I remember it finding its way into my satchel after I had killed that massive Demon. Once again acting on impulse I crush this as well, pressing it to my chest and almost shoving it into myself. I feel something a bit more substantial, almost like a small fire burning in my rotted core. The fire almost seems to lean toward me now, as though it too is hungry for that little thing inside of me. I pull myself to my knees and reach toward the searching tendril of fire, the flame catches my wrist and wraps around my arm. I can feel it being pulled out of me, but before I can lament the passing of that filled hole I see my flesh knotting together, the rot leaving my form and showing me to be a whole, living human once again.

I gasp, standing and looking over myself, pulling off my armour a piece at a time to examine every part of myself, too distracted to notice the appreciative grunt of the man across from me as I strip. Have I been made human again? Just like that? But then I find it again, on the left side of my chest, just over my heart. The Darksign. I’m still undead, just... alive? Maybe, it looks like it. I feel like it. My mind is clearer than it has been in a long time. And I can’t help but wander, lamenting how long this will last. I need more of those small creatures.

I look up to the armoured man, he has a despondent way about him, even though he’s managed to push some of his mail aside and is stroking his hardness, staring at me. I feel a moment of annoyance and anger at this, but that smoulders to rest beneath the surface quickly, still there, but less important than my need for information. I walk toward him but he doesn’t stop working his hand up and down the twitching shaft that I try to keep my eye off of. His voice has a smug, patronizing tone to it as he tells me that the hope and purpose I feel are pointless. According to this man, Oscar was wrong, and the Bell of Awakening is actually the Bells of Awakening, a pair of them. One high above us and one far below.

He doesn’t seem keen on what happens when one should ring both of them. He strokes himself the entire time that he gives me instructions to the bells, one in an old church and one bellow in some sort of plague-infested swamp that he seems afraid of. Once he finishes talking I only have a short warning before he lets out a crude grunt and sprays his seed over my bare stomach and thighs to a dark chuckle from him as he replaces his cock. I sigh, reaching down an collecting some of his semen from my stomach, bringing it to my mouth and tasting it. It may just be my current predisposition to toward the man, but it tastes rank and I flick the rest of it from my fingers and across his face before turning about and stalking back toward where my armour lay while he spat and grumbled dejectedly.

Once I have dressed once again I spare a glance off toward where the man had said the Undead Church could found, though he had displayed confidence that I wouldn’t make it. I’m unsure if his assumptions are baseless and underestimating me or if I ought to be more worried. Probably the latter, but I’m not, not yet. Even so, I decide to explore the area I’m in, make certain it’s safe before moving on.

The first thing that I find is what looks to be an overgrown well with an unmoving body slumped over the edge. There are three more of those small black creatures to be found on it, perhaps they aren’t as rare as I had assumed and there is something more they could be used for. I’ll discover whether this changing of my flesh is permanent or not before I decide what to do with them. The next thing I find is a room that looks like a small chapel with the altar to a mother Goddess and her child. I can’t remember her name, but I make certain to pay her the proper respect before moving on, noting that the massive Crow is perched above me.

Outside there is a graveyard. I spare it barely a glance, it feels wrong, too full perhaps. Regardless, though I can see objects, perhaps weapons beyond the graves I have no wish to die again any time soon, so I make my way up. The being near to the Crow gives me that familiar comforting feeling, but it doesn’t seem interested in me at all, so I soon leave it be, soon finding another way. It seems a dead end at first, but I find a corpse at the end holding clay urns. I recognise these from the hazy days of being a Mercenary I can hardly remember. They burst into flame when thrown, useful for killing at range or flushing prey out. The only other thing to find in this Shrine is a man I decide to avoid. I recognize his garb as that of a Cleric from Throrolund, my own country and not something I wish to be reminded of at the moment. I share a glance with him as I pass by, but thankfully he seems just as happy to leave us in silence as I.

I returned to the fire then, certain that there was more to explore, but I would leave that until after I had found this Undead Church and decided what to do about the bells. And so I looked out at the aqueducts that I assumed would lead me where I needed to go and set out.

Things at first are satisfying. Easy to fight my way through these stupid hollows, they rarely try to attack in tandem, and it’s nearly trivial to cut through them, I find the activity cathartic, driving my sword into the back of one as it’s reeling from its attempt to hack at me with its shattered sword, then taking a step forward into the attack of the next, catching its sword on my shield and driving my blade into its gut, twisting my sword to the gurgling sound of death. I catch a firebomb to the side of my face in punishment for being too occupied enjoying this hollow’s death, feeling the flesh and hair of my left side scorching and burning for a moment before I make my way up and take revenge on that soldier.

I find a rat in the aqueduct oddly enough. Far too large, quite the unusually sized rodent, but easy enough to dispatch. Once out of the aqueduct I find myself in what appears to be the ruins of a town, the guard of this place still vigilantly standing sentry, only instead of attacking wrongdoers in their streets, they find a target in me. My hubris from the ease of the last fights earns me a broken sword in my gut and a large axe in my shoulder before I can dispatch this pair, but most of these wounds are closed with a drink from the flask given by Oscar, though I still feel some bleeding where I was stabbed.

I am ambushed by a few severely hollowed creatures while exploring, but sustain only a few scratches from their ineffective weapons, my armour taking the brunt of the damage. But then, something absurd. Something I know I must be imagining, a dragon appears as I make my way out of a building onto a walkway. It lands for just a moment, breaking parts of the wall and nearly knocking me to the ground just from that. And then it is gone before I can even fully grasp what it was.

I move forward tentatively, worried it might come back, or that my mind might make more odd fabrications. I see a few more soldiers and walk that way, toward a fight I can quantify, recognize from more than children’s tales. But my distraction from the dragon and how focused I am on these soldiers earns me a crossbow bolt in the eye. I cry out and fall to a knee, pressing the point of my sword to the ground and shoving myself back just before two broken swords and another bolt can strike me. I fight desperately, raising my shield in the direction of the archer, leaving myself open for a gash straight down my from a sword. The two I fought finally dead I am about to head up to wreak vengeance on the archer when another soldier bursts from behind portable board walls, forcing me to backpedal back onto the bridge where I saw the dragon, gaining another massive gash across my breasts before I kill the hollow.

I take a moment, falling to my knees and panting, blood spilling from my lips as I relish in my cover from the Hollow Archer, though I can hear its bolts breaking on the wall just beyond, ghoulish mind still pushing it to kill me even though I am out of sight. I down another sip of the flask and move forward, my remaining eye flashing every which way as I raise my shield to the crossbow, feeling periodic impacts against it. But there seem to be no more soldiers, and in a flurry of furious slashes, I dismember the archer before making my way back down to where I can see more soldiers wielding spears, doing my best to ignore the bolt still in my eye.

Fighting spearmen is different than the others. It requires patience that in my heart pounding frustration and pain I don’t have, attacking recklessly after drawing the first one out away from its fellow, my sword bounces off its casually raised shield and it buries its weapon into my gut, I grunt but grab the shaft of the weapon in my shield hand. The hollow pays no attention to this, jerking the spear back and forth as though attempting to continue stabbing me, thrusting the few inches I’ll allow it in and out of my raw wound. The pain causes me to groan, but I feel a heat between my legs as it shakes me. My sword finds its neck quickly and its head rolls across the brick as I wrench the weapon from my body and down yet another drink of my flask. I will have to watch how much I drink, recklessness will kill me. This thought is brought intentionally to the forefront of my mind to cover the arousal I know that I felt at being impaled.

I dispatch the other spearman much more carefully and easily, slamming my boot to its shield and splitting it in half. The next several hollows are just as easily dispatched, even one that hides behind crates, hoping to take me by surprise doesn’t lay a finger on me, allowing me to find a small crossbow myself. I wrench the bolt from my eye and load it into the weapon, putting it on my back. I find a much less hostile hollow as well. He seems a greedy little worm but isn’t trying to kill me, so I barter with him, earning myself a key and several more bolts, as well as warnings of the dragon and two demons. Nothing to discourage me from my purpose, but welcome warning none the less.

Making my way back up past where I killed the archer I notice a makeshift bridge to a nearby tower that I had failed to notice in my earlier rage and desire to kill. With a self-hating sigh, I head into it to find another fire that I take a nearly irresistible rest at, my remaining wounds close and I feel my eye shaping back into place, bringing my depth perception back. But I hear something behind me, and looking over my shoulder I see that the archer has returned, facing where I’d come from. It seemed I’d rested long enough for the other undead to return as well.

I take my time and the rest of the area is easy enough to work my way through, luring soldiers across a bridge that bomb throwers bombard, burning the hollows easily. Winding my way through buildings, destroying the occupants as well as their furniture. I even manage to recognize a laid trap, an oil barrel with a soldier behind it atop some stairs, waiting to light it and send it rolling down toward me. I manage to evade in time, earning only a singed elbow-pad.

I am about to head back up the staircase, stepping over the trap makers corpse when I notice another way. Down. Interested, I make my way into a small alleyway and stop at the sight before me. A massive, heavily armoured and well-armed knight in black plate stands before me, facing away. It looks familiar, as though I’ve seen something like it before, but I cannot place it despite the tickling of memory in my mind. I will kill it.

I sneak carefully up behind the knight, I can smell its charred armour from here. But, before it can react I slam my longsword into its back, sliding between plates of armour and laying it out on the ground before me. I don’t wait for it to get up, but turn and run back up out of the alley, luring it to a more open area where it will be easier to fight. I hear its heavy boots as it follows me too close behind, I can even feel the swipe of that massive blade as it cuts the air behind me.

Finally, I spin around to face it, my shield held up and absorbing its first blow. I catch the second and knock the knight off balance, taking the opportunity to slam my sword into it again. It roars as I kick it from my blade and onto its back, yet it climbs back to its feet and attacks again. We circle and strike at each other for what seems like hours or seconds, but eventually, it strikes once too many and I feel my shield arm crumble beneath the brutal blow.

It feels its triumph as I fall to my knees with a cry from the strike, I can hear it laughing beneath the helm as it steps forward, batting my raised sword from my hand and sending it skittering across the stone. A massive hand reaches down and grasps me by the throat, lifting me into the air only to slam me back against the nearest wall, my head striking the bricks and dazing me for a few moments. When my vision clears the monstrous knight has torn through the leggings of my armour, leaving me bare beneath my battle-skirt and its own codpiece has been removed. My good hand tries to pry the gauntleted appendage from my throat, only prompting more laughter as from the withered and burned flesh bared between the knight’s legs sprouts a crusted and withered, but still massive shaft.

I let out a cry and try to struggle again, but the knights free hand comes forward bearing its sword and driving the charred metal into my gut and the wall behind me. I gag on blood as it wells up in my throat, staring in agony at the sky as the pain radiates through my body. Then, there it is again, that warmth between my legs at the pain, this time undeniable as I hear my slickness dripping to the stone beneath me even through the ringing in my ears. The knight is heedless of this, simply slamming its length into my body in a single stroke, tearing through my still tightly contracted inner walls and puncturing far deeper than my much smaller body was ever meant to take an object. This last longer than our fight, his body moving against mine, jostling my impaled form against the sword inside of my body with each thrust. I feel my shame as I near my own climax from being so brutally raped, but then something spurts inside of me, filling my insides with rotten watery seed and the hand around my throat squeezes, tearing my head from my shoulders and the world goes black.

I awake with a gasp back at the fire, my hands flying between my now once again clothed thighs, my cunt is still gaping and dripping but cannot feel my fingers through the hardened leather of my armour. I whine and collapse onto my side, considering what just happened. I’d died again, but more than that... I lift my hand, drawing it over my torso where the Black Knight’s sword had impaled me, imagining the feeling of that metal inside of my body. I let out another frustrated groan and claw at the armour between my legs, body begging for release. But the growls of undead just outside keep me from rashly undressing and bringing my body what it so desperately craves. I need to finish that Knight.

I fight my way through the ruined town once again, finding my mind distracted, and the few times my armour chafes against my thighs and crotch even more distracting. That is helped however when I find a small pool of blood and seed. By blood. I kneel and on a sudden impulse, I bring both fluids to my mouth. Both taste putrid and horrific, but I feel a rush of power and focus as it flows down my throat, and soon I am gulping it down like fine ale, standing once again with a sense of determination along with the remaining arousal. This Knight will soon know the mistake he made in fighting Pyrhea of Thorolund. I blink. A name, I have a name.

The rest of my path to the Knight passes in a moment, no more swords or axes cross my chest as I bat them away, feeling almost disdainful as I decapitate my last foe and turn, facing back down that deep alley. There he is, standing with his back to me once again. A flash of anger runs through me at that. The Arrogance, he thinks that he can kill me and just forget me? That I won’t come back for him? Well, he will learn this mistake as well. I drive my sword into his spine and rush back up to where we had fought before, whirling about just in time to catch his thrusting sword on my shield, batting it aside and stepping to push my own through the plates of his thick armour with a snarl.

He barely seems phased, as before. But neither am I, batting his blows away one after the other an taking the opening to impale him on my steel. Then comes a blow, a stab rather than the slash I had been expecting. My shield is raised rather than in front of me and I feel my innards displaced as the monstrous sword pushes through my body. I feel that rush again and cannot stop a low moan from escaping my lips as he pushes me from his blade. I stand as quickly as I can, discarding another blow, but the strike I follow with is weak and he sees the end.

The Knight’s shield comes in, slamming into my chest. I feel my lungs collapse as he steps forward and brings the blade down, across my shoulder and through my entire body leaving me in two pieces on the stone. Then he simply begins walking away, leaving even more aroused and frustrated than before, wailing in agony for but moments until the world goes black.

I wake up with a cry, slamming my fist into the brick before me, the pain in my hand reminding me not to act on my now almost overwhelming arousal. I remember the pool of blood from before, how it had helped to turn that passion into a weapon rather than this agony and hindrance in the pit of my stomach. I need it again. I stand and walk from the safety of the fire.

When I finally make it back to where I died I find a group of hollows surrounding the pool of blood. They are laughing in a rasping, harsh rattle and I see their withered shafts held in their hands, spraying whatever seed they have left into what remains of my corpse. I lunge forth, slicing the trio into little more than meat before kneeling beside the pool. It is clouded with their semen, but I do not hesitate, leaning down and drinking it up like a horse at a water trough. The focus and power fill me once more and I continue on toward my true quarry.

This time I do not run. I drive my blade into his back, kick him from it and stand over him. He turns about with a snarl, I can hear the annoyance and frustration in his voice that I’ve come back again. His blows rain down upon me, but I step between them, his large sword deflecting off the narrow walls and finding the floor rather than my flesh. He cuts me once, twice, never managing to land a full blow into me while I give him dozens of small, otherwise superficial cuts. Finally, he falls to his knees and I step up to him, grasping his sword in my hand and wrenching it from his grip. “I think I’ve earned this.” I mutter to him, then drive the blade into his hidden face.

The weapon I took from the knight was heavy, too heavy. I move slowly back to the comfort of the flame and rest. I look over the blade as I rest. It is gorgeous, well made and shaped masterfully. But it is covered in blood and burns which I cannot seem to scrape away. I know that I cannot hold such a thing yet, but I resolve to practice until perhaps I will be able. Something else had come from the knight as well, a ring inlaid with a blue stone shaped like a tear. I cannot know if it is any use or if it is simply a keepsake for whomever the Knight might have been. But I put it on regardless. Then, I stand and make my way into the city once again, my arousal unsated, but my determination to move forward too strong to ignore.

I find myself in a tower, chasing a small lizard with a stone set into its back. I’m unsure why I want to kill it, but it glows and it attracts my attention. When it dies I pull the stone from its hide, the poor thing left twitching on the stairs. I pocket the stone and move on.

There is a long bridge, bricks littering it on the way to another tower that will hopefully allow me on. I move slowly across it, wary of the dragon from before. I am not even a third of the way across it when a crossbow bolt finds my back, tip sprouting from my right breast, I fall to a knee and growl, spinning about in time for another to impale my cheeks. I stand and rush toward the tower, seeing a ladder beside the door I had just left. In my relief at defeating the Knight, and my exhilaration of cutting the hollows down like so many weeds I had missed something so obvious. I chastise myself even as I shrug off the confusing pain and arousal from the bolts in my body, leaving them there in a moment of weakness, enjoying how they feel jostling my wounds as I climb.

The Soldiers atop the tower provide little issue, cut down almost as soon as I arrive. I drink from Oscar’s flask and wrench the bolts from my body before climbing back down and continuing on my way. I am hardly where I had reached before the bolts found me when a great beast leaps over the far tower and lands on the bridge. It looks like some cross between man and bull, skull-like plating over its head with a muscular, fur-covered body and a massive, flaccid shaft that hangs down almost to its knees. I spin about in a moment and sprint back for the ladder, hoping to escape it and regroup before deciding how to take this new absurd foe down.

I pant softly as I reach the top of the tower, moving where I hope is out of sight of the beast to catch my breath. Even as I stand straight and turn to move back and see where the creature is now, it leaps up on top of the tower. It holds an axe and stares at me with hate. What have I done to earn its ire? I wonder for a moment before feeling my eyes widen as its axe swings toward me. I roll beneath it and swing my sword with two hands at its leg. I lean quickly that it is slow and heavy, needing moments to swing its weapon. As we fight on and I run lower and lower on the flask that Oscar gave me, my bones reknitting with each dose we both feel its impending victory.

With a triumphant roar, it swings its arm forward and grasps me to my surprise, pinning my arms and sword to my side with a single movement. I shout in frustration as I feel my body being crushed in its grip. I look up into its face to see its hate turned to amusement. It drops its axe once my sword clatters to the stones, fallen from my broken hand. My armour is torn from my body and I am laid, broken and hardly able to move in his palm. I feel shame as elation flutters through my form when my body is lifted to its mouth, its tongue moving over my still aroused sex. I pant and cry out in inescapable joy until his teeth gnash down over my hips. My arousal grows from this, but I still have yet to reach release as he gnaws on my body, bones, and flesh crushing and tearing between his teeth. The world goes black.

I awake beside the fire, laying on my side and sobbing in frustration as my yet grown arousal soaks the inside of my armour and runs down my leg. But I stand, yet again and make my way back toward where I know the beast to be, hatred flaring in my own eyes now.

I dispatch the archers first this time, drinking of my blood pool and making certain my escape route is clear before lifting my shield and moving carefully across the bridge until the beast shows himself again. I spin about and rush down the way I came, climbing back to the top of the tower and retreating to the back edge, rubbing my blade with coarse powder, pushing an electric charge into it and awaiting his arrival.

The lightning surrounding my blade makes all the difference. With my relative speed and precision, the beast is nearly brought low when with a desperate backhand I am thrown from the tower an back to the bridge. My ears ring and vision wavers, but I stand, and down the last of the refilled flask, barely dodging the mighty blow that the demon attempts to bring down onto my head. With a final blow from my still sparkling sword, his left leg comes free and he lands on his back, dazed, wavering and hardly alive. I climb onto his chest and stand atop, looking down into resigned eyes. I press the point of my sword into his left eye and pull away my lower armour, revealing my still dripping cunt. He grunts in surprise as I lower myself to his mouth, but his tongue comes out and licks at me. I know what he’ll do next, but I drive my sparking sword into his head before his jaws can lunge forward and trap me again. Instead, they snap shut over his tongue, severing it off inside of me. I slide from his corpse, holding the tip of his still twitching tongue in my body until it falls still. I pull my armour back into place. I still haven’t felt release, but that was... good. I want it again

 No.13382

Apologies, I meant to mention this in the intro. But please do let me know if you think of changes/additions that you think would make this better and why.

 No.13390

The latest chapter was really good, I love the concept and the teasing in between lets me enjoy the story as well. Please more!

 No.13391

The latest chapter was really good, I love the concept and the teasing in between lets me enjoy the story as well. Please more!

 No.14494

Just making sure not to lose my stories due to that dgerqwad.

 No.14814

Bump to save from faggot spammer



[Return][Go to top] [Catalog] [Post a Reply]
Delete Post [ ]
topgfsfurart3dcgdislitrpp2preq