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Intro
Hey all, it's been awhile. I've never given up writing, just ended up kinda drifting away from the site. For the last few years, I've had a few friends I've written some things with, and some solo stuff as well. But as life happens, people get busy, and so on.I've been writing/roleplaying for almost ten years now, and I'd like to think I'm pretty decent. With my new job, I have a lot of free time, both at work and off of it, and I'm interested in picking up some new stories. Truth be told, the thing I miss the most is the ability to bounce ideas off people, and discuss the writing. I feel comfortable promising around a reply per week, sometimes more. So yeah! With all that out of the way, I do love books, especially fantasy. Recently I've gotten more into anime/manga as well.
The Meat
I'm interested in telling stories, first and foremost. That doesn't mean I don't love some smut, but pure smut is more or less off the table. I have a pretty wide range of kinks, and if you're interested in the plot that's something we can talk about. I do tend to prefer submissive characters, but I'm fine with writing dominant characters too, if required by the particular story. I generally prefer longer replies, generally 1000-2000 words. Some replies will just naturally be shorter.
I generally prefer to play female characters. I do love FxF romance, and it's definitely my preferred pairing, but I don't mind MxF, or even MxM. If I do write a male character, expect him to be pretty effeminate – side characters not included, of course. I think the plots make it evident, but darker stories are generally my thing. Violence and gore will likely come up. With very few exceptions, I don't have any interest in writing fandoms or otherwise existing characters.
Plots
Probably what you clicked on this for, huh? These do have some set pairings, I'm willing to be pretty flexible on them. If one catches your eye but you don't like a certain aspect of it – message me and we'll work it out. Genders can be malleable.
Closing
If any of these catch your eye, shoot me a message. Since it's been a little while since I've posted anything on this sight, I've also include a more recent writing sample.
Plots
Probably what you clicked on this for, huh? These do have some set pairings, I'm willing to be pretty flexible on them. If one catches your eye but you don't like a certain aspect of it – message me and we'll work it out. Genders can be malleable.
Once, they were childhood friends. That was before the war in what seemed like another world. The war took its toll on everyone, and they were no different. Yoshiko had been home with her mother when the bombs struck, her father away as he oft was. The fire spread too fast, tearing through the city in a flash. It was a night that would never leave her. The fires. The screams. Even the river was not safe, yet somehow, Yoshiko survived. Her mother did not. Her father had been the one to find her; he did not take it well. Ever since that day, it became his quest, his own war – to destroy the Yakuza.
They tried to stop her, but ever elusive, she slipped the guards her father had put on her. That terrible night, she saw the destruction of the bombs first hand. Her grandmother's house was but a few streets away. She felt the heat of the flames, saw what remained of her grandmother. At first, she couldn't comprehend it. But as the fires slowly died, and with destruction brought opportunity. They stepped in, providing food, water, and other goods to the survivors at a steep cost. It was then her grief turned to understanding. All that mattered was power.
Years have passed, and even that day seems nothing more than a distant nightmare. The process of rebuilding has began, and each have their roles to play. For one, it is the heir to a powerful Yakuza family, the under belly of society, where darkness lurks. In the aftermath of the war, they've thrived. For the other, as a daughter of a now-powerful politician, appearances are everything. Though in some ways, beneath the false appearances, her world is every bit as deadly.
After all these years, a chance encounter. Her father, the oyabun was growing old and with no male heir apparent, the choice was simple. She would inherit. As the years passed by, she was expected to take on more responsibility within the family. It was a simple public appearance, designed to further the family's influence through the guise of charity. Yoshiko's father couldn't attend himself, and as such she was sent in his stead. Her goal was simple – keeping up appearances, but more than that, her father suspected the Yakuza's hand. All she had to do was report back.
But as the two meet again under the blossoming cherry trees, an unexpected connection formed. A connection neither family would approve of, yet one both were determined to keep.
They tried to stop her, but ever elusive, she slipped the guards her father had put on her. That terrible night, she saw the destruction of the bombs first hand. Her grandmother's house was but a few streets away. She felt the heat of the flames, saw what remained of her grandmother. At first, she couldn't comprehend it. But as the fires slowly died, and with destruction brought opportunity. They stepped in, providing food, water, and other goods to the survivors at a steep cost. It was then her grief turned to understanding. All that mattered was power.
Years have passed, and even that day seems nothing more than a distant nightmare. The process of rebuilding has began, and each have their roles to play. For one, it is the heir to a powerful Yakuza family, the under belly of society, where darkness lurks. In the aftermath of the war, they've thrived. For the other, as a daughter of a now-powerful politician, appearances are everything. Though in some ways, beneath the false appearances, her world is every bit as deadly.
After all these years, a chance encounter. Her father, the oyabun was growing old and with no male heir apparent, the choice was simple. She would inherit. As the years passed by, she was expected to take on more responsibility within the family. It was a simple public appearance, designed to further the family's influence through the guise of charity. Yoshiko's father couldn't attend himself, and as such she was sent in his stead. Her goal was simple – keeping up appearances, but more than that, her father suspected the Yakuza's hand. All she had to do was report back.
But as the two meet again under the blossoming cherry trees, an unexpected connection formed. A connection neither family would approve of, yet one both were determined to keep.
Promethea was a world of sin, and decay. Money made the wheels turn, as with anywhere. Cybernetics, memories, even people could all be bought, if you knew where to look. Though nobody would admit it, drugs were one of the planet's most popular pastimes, and the black market was thriving because of it. It was a dangerous world at the best of times, especially for him. He needed to get out.
It had been a few years since the last interstellar colonial ship had stopped at Promethea. It was rare, but not unheard of. The colony ships often needed to restock on rare materials, and far more often – crewmates. This time, it was eighty members, selected by their merits and health. Only the best of the best were accepted.
Some colony ships were beautiful – works of art. The last one had been, but not this. Much like the people that occupied it, the ship was sleek and practical, more like a vessel of war than a colony ship. From Colony ship to Colony ship, everything changed drastically. From the command structure to the culture, these ships were in effect, their own country. Most importantly, once inside them, you were one of their own. There would be no getting to him there.
On it's surface, it might have seemed like a strange fit – After all, Veyan was a biology major with excellent scores, who'd worked two years at one of the planets most prestigious firms. He'd had a spacious hab, plenty of money and all in all, a wonderful life. Still, he'd gotten entangled in with the criminal underbelly, and one thing led to another. Naturally, he met or exceeded every standard. The perfect studious candidate. There was only one problem. Veyan was all a lie, and it was only a matter of time before it was found out.
It had been a few years since the last interstellar colonial ship had stopped at Promethea. It was rare, but not unheard of. The colony ships often needed to restock on rare materials, and far more often – crewmates. This time, it was eighty members, selected by their merits and health. Only the best of the best were accepted.
Some colony ships were beautiful – works of art. The last one had been, but not this. Much like the people that occupied it, the ship was sleek and practical, more like a vessel of war than a colony ship. From Colony ship to Colony ship, everything changed drastically. From the command structure to the culture, these ships were in effect, their own country. Most importantly, once inside them, you were one of their own. There would be no getting to him there.
On it's surface, it might have seemed like a strange fit – After all, Veyan was a biology major with excellent scores, who'd worked two years at one of the planets most prestigious firms. He'd had a spacious hab, plenty of money and all in all, a wonderful life. Still, he'd gotten entangled in with the criminal underbelly, and one thing led to another. Naturally, he met or exceeded every standard. The perfect studious candidate. There was only one problem. Veyan was all a lie, and it was only a matter of time before it was found out.
In the bitter north of Siberia, the Church was the glue that held the tight-knit village together — or at least, most of it. To skip Sunday service was to invite sidelong glances and hushed judgment; those who stayed away were marked as outcasts. Yaromir, the woodcutter, was no exception. Gossip swirled that it was his fondness for drink, more than any quarrel with God, that kept his family from the pews. Yet Vera — the priest's sharp-eyed daughter and unofficial first lady of the congregation — saw more than a sinner in the shadows. She saw a girl: Luchina, Yaromir's quiet daughter, pretty and lonely.
Every day for almost a month, she tried to talk to her, but Luchina continued to elude her. Still, every day Vera kept at it until at last, she let down her guard just a little. They started off sharing lunch together from then on. Gradually, they glew closer. As the years passed by, they became inseparable, doing little without the other. They fought on occasion, mostly over Vera's devout worship – but through summer and winter alike, it was a time of joy.
Until heaven fell, and the very stars in the sky vanished. That day, everything changed – not just in that sleepy little Siberian town, though Vera did not yet know it. The Shiver split the town in half, twisting the familiar landscape into the unknown. Then the stars that were not stars started to appear, each and every one a contractor. That day, Vera was cursed. That day, she lost her humanity, and gained an incredible power. She wasn't the only one.
Vera fled from the horror of the town, at what had become of its residents. It was the logical thing to do. She never stopped running. She thought she could outrun it all, the memories of that day. She told herself that Luchina was dead. Until one day, a ghost of a life she had thought left behind came to her door, with but one task. To eliminate her.
Every day for almost a month, she tried to talk to her, but Luchina continued to elude her. Still, every day Vera kept at it until at last, she let down her guard just a little. They started off sharing lunch together from then on. Gradually, they glew closer. As the years passed by, they became inseparable, doing little without the other. They fought on occasion, mostly over Vera's devout worship – but through summer and winter alike, it was a time of joy.
Until heaven fell, and the very stars in the sky vanished. That day, everything changed – not just in that sleepy little Siberian town, though Vera did not yet know it. The Shiver split the town in half, twisting the familiar landscape into the unknown. Then the stars that were not stars started to appear, each and every one a contractor. That day, Vera was cursed. That day, she lost her humanity, and gained an incredible power. She wasn't the only one.
Vera fled from the horror of the town, at what had become of its residents. It was the logical thing to do. She never stopped running. She thought she could outrun it all, the memories of that day. She told herself that Luchina was dead. Until one day, a ghost of a life she had thought left behind came to her door, with but one task. To eliminate her.
Over the years, there has been dozens of VRMMOs. Ever since the technology for full body immersion became commonplace the genre exploded in popularity. Nowadays, it seems like there's one for every sort of player. Of course, almost all have some sort of limitations. Even the most extreme have some basic pain limiters. Many more censor gore, coddling the players as if they were children. Not to mention the laws, both unwritten and written, enforced by NPCs and GMs.
Lawless was different. An endless fantasy world, populated by only monsters and players. No rules, no limitations. Murder, slavery, anything. At its base was a revolutionary technology – the ability to copy conscienceless. Cheap and replaceable, it greatly broadened access to VR. A fraction of a price of the immersion pods while offering something even they couldn't. Another simultaneous life, parallel from the real world. Once you started playing, the only escape was death.
It has been years since the game launched, and the systems are well established. Out of the total power vacuum, warlords and kings have rose and fell, the clashes constant and never-ending. Newbies are little more than lambs, caught in the crossfires of veterans. The fearsome reputation followed the game like a cloud, and most gave it a wide birth.
It is in this dark and brutal world that Yukira has carved herself a place. At first, it was simple curiosity. Now it has become all she has left. Even as her life has crumbled around her, it didn't matter. She had this one thing, this world. She had her Master. It was enough. Eventually, most people got the message. They gave up when she ignored their messages. Only a few even tried coming to her house, and most gave up after one attempt.
Most people were not her. Yukira had lost track of how many times she'd come. Hell, she'd practically tried every trick in the book. Food, sweets, books, movies – she tried not to think about it too much. Though she meant well, eventually, she'd give up like the others had. But she hadn't. Her visits became less frequent, but still continued.
Until one day, a rising mercenary made their way onto the airship. It shouldn't have been noticeable, Master hired dozens of them. Often desperate, or down on their luck, they took the job for some quick cash. She was different, her gear alone made it clear she wasn't in it for the measly sum Master offered. Then there was her smile… it reminded Yukira of something, of someone. But that couldn't be. Everyone knew the reputation of Lawless. Tracking her down here would be insanity. You had to be at least a little broken to play this game.
*Obviously, all content within the roleplay will adhere to site rules. Due to the implied brutality of the setting, thought it was worth mentioning.
Lawless was different. An endless fantasy world, populated by only monsters and players. No rules, no limitations. Murder, slavery, anything. At its base was a revolutionary technology – the ability to copy conscienceless. Cheap and replaceable, it greatly broadened access to VR. A fraction of a price of the immersion pods while offering something even they couldn't. Another simultaneous life, parallel from the real world. Once you started playing, the only escape was death.
It has been years since the game launched, and the systems are well established. Out of the total power vacuum, warlords and kings have rose and fell, the clashes constant and never-ending. Newbies are little more than lambs, caught in the crossfires of veterans. The fearsome reputation followed the game like a cloud, and most gave it a wide birth.
It is in this dark and brutal world that Yukira has carved herself a place. At first, it was simple curiosity. Now it has become all she has left. Even as her life has crumbled around her, it didn't matter. She had this one thing, this world. She had her Master. It was enough. Eventually, most people got the message. They gave up when she ignored their messages. Only a few even tried coming to her house, and most gave up after one attempt.
Most people were not her. Yukira had lost track of how many times she'd come. Hell, she'd practically tried every trick in the book. Food, sweets, books, movies – she tried not to think about it too much. Though she meant well, eventually, she'd give up like the others had. But she hadn't. Her visits became less frequent, but still continued.
Until one day, a rising mercenary made their way onto the airship. It shouldn't have been noticeable, Master hired dozens of them. Often desperate, or down on their luck, they took the job for some quick cash. She was different, her gear alone made it clear she wasn't in it for the measly sum Master offered. Then there was her smile… it reminded Yukira of something, of someone. But that couldn't be. Everyone knew the reputation of Lawless. Tracking her down here would be insanity. You had to be at least a little broken to play this game.
*Obviously, all content within the roleplay will adhere to site rules. Due to the implied brutality of the setting, thought it was worth mentioning.
Lovemaking is an art in Lysendalle, a divine gift from the Gods themselves. None more so then adepts of the Rose Court are more than simply skilled lovers. They are excellent conversation partners, discreet, graceful and fluid. As much, if not more so than any noble-born son or daughter, they are well-educated, with an extensive knowledge of the intricacies of a noble court. After all, an Adept who is not discreet may soon find themselves without any clients at all. The most popular among them oft, but not always posses some sort of artistic talent, be it with music or poetry. Of course, even in such a country as Lysendalle, such an education does not come cheap.
Many Adepts take years to fully pay off their marque, the price of the Rose court. Only when it is paid in full may one consider themselves truly independent of the House that bore them to such heights, subject to no one whims but their own. So it was that when a noble approached a rising star with great promise, the deal seemed nearly too good to be true. Ismerie should have known, then. The entirety of her marquee paid in full – who could refuse such an offer? Of course, there was a catch. There always was. In return for her freedom, Ismerie would be required to gain the catch the eye of the heir apparent, and most importantly of all, to gain their trust. Nothing untoward – simply information was all the noble wanted.
At the time, it seemed like a good deal. Such was the price of freedom, or so she thought. It had seemed a simple task. There was just one snag – as she grew closer to the heir, one thing was obvious. She had fallen in love with the very person she had been tasked to seduce. Now, caught between her love and her benefactor's wrath, Ismerie must decide who to stand with.
Many Adepts take years to fully pay off their marque, the price of the Rose court. Only when it is paid in full may one consider themselves truly independent of the House that bore them to such heights, subject to no one whims but their own. So it was that when a noble approached a rising star with great promise, the deal seemed nearly too good to be true. Ismerie should have known, then. The entirety of her marquee paid in full – who could refuse such an offer? Of course, there was a catch. There always was. In return for her freedom, Ismerie would be required to gain the catch the eye of the heir apparent, and most importantly of all, to gain their trust. Nothing untoward – simply information was all the noble wanted.
At the time, it seemed like a good deal. Such was the price of freedom, or so she thought. It had seemed a simple task. There was just one snag – as she grew closer to the heir, one thing was obvious. She had fallen in love with the very person she had been tasked to seduce. Now, caught between her love and her benefactor's wrath, Ismerie must decide who to stand with.
Times were changing rapidly, but still the country stuck to old and dated traditions. Despite suddenly finding herself the daughter of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the country, the old nobility turned up their nose at her. Oh sure, they were happy to attend her lavish parties and drink the fines wines, but their disdain lurked beneath the surface. The side looks, the upturned noses. Many held a grudge against her father for his monopoly over the railroad, and the wealth that came from it.
Ostracized by the old blood she always idealized, Elenara was determined to win them over. At first, she thought it was simply a manner of dress, of manners, of education. With her father's wealth, she hired the finest tutors, devoting herself to her studies. But that changed little. Still, they looked down on her. Though the lavish parties Elenara threw gained her some respect, they did not see her as one of their own. There was only one thing the nobles and commoners of Kaisk loved more than the finest of wine, or lavish parties: The arena.
In Kaisk, with its old military traditions, strength has been ever vaunted. Fighting in it herself would be looked down upon, and any common fighter, even a talented one would do little to change things. There was still hope, however. In the untamed mountains far to the east, there were rumors, little more than legends really that drifted down to Kaisk – of a people half-wolf, half human. It is said they fight with a ferocity unrivaled, capable of tearing apart foes with nothing but their bear hands.
It was not easy. Many expeditions ventured forth, never to return. Sometimes, traces were found. Sometimes not. Occasionally, a few stragglers made it back, though they never talked of what befell them. Even she began to doubt if she was chasing after nothing more than tales, sending men to their deaths on a mere whim. Still, she paid well, and many jumped at the chance. At the eve of winter, the eighth expedition returned. This time, they returned with a captive. The stories, it seemed, were true. A savage, part wolf, part human. Her gladiator, her pet, her toy.
Ostracized by the old blood she always idealized, Elenara was determined to win them over. At first, she thought it was simply a manner of dress, of manners, of education. With her father's wealth, she hired the finest tutors, devoting herself to her studies. But that changed little. Still, they looked down on her. Though the lavish parties Elenara threw gained her some respect, they did not see her as one of their own. There was only one thing the nobles and commoners of Kaisk loved more than the finest of wine, or lavish parties: The arena.
In Kaisk, with its old military traditions, strength has been ever vaunted. Fighting in it herself would be looked down upon, and any common fighter, even a talented one would do little to change things. There was still hope, however. In the untamed mountains far to the east, there were rumors, little more than legends really that drifted down to Kaisk – of a people half-wolf, half human. It is said they fight with a ferocity unrivaled, capable of tearing apart foes with nothing but their bear hands.
It was not easy. Many expeditions ventured forth, never to return. Sometimes, traces were found. Sometimes not. Occasionally, a few stragglers made it back, though they never talked of what befell them. Even she began to doubt if she was chasing after nothing more than tales, sending men to their deaths on a mere whim. Still, she paid well, and many jumped at the chance. At the eve of winter, the eighth expedition returned. This time, they returned with a captive. The stories, it seemed, were true. A savage, part wolf, part human. Her gladiator, her pet, her toy.
Closing
If any of these catch your eye, shoot me a message. Since it's been a little while since I've posted anything on this sight, I've also include a more recent writing sample.
In Hell, some things were how you expected. Hellspire, for one. Built in the bubbling abyss of Mount Hekla, was a city powered the great mountains volcanic life blood. The heat remained at a tolerable broil – though uncomfortable for mortal souls, it was far cozier for the many devilish inhabitants. For millennia, the city was stoic and unchanging like a hungry beast digesting the lost souls within. Time came and went, and the city stayed, eternal, everlasting. A place to break down the most wicked of souls, to grind them into obedience. The law ruled with an iron fist – it was Hell's vicious prison.
The city's eternal static nature was precisely why what was currently happening was impossible. It wasn't that the city reverberated with screams – it reverberated with screams of the demons and devils. Gunfire roared; alleyways glowed with dozens of small skirmishes. Slowly, street by street, the denizens of hell were rounded pushed towards the Infernal Palace at the heart of the metropolis. Great beasts that were found were either rounded up, or shredded by machine gun fire.
The mortal revolution was still imperfect in their takeover the city, however – the demonic inhabitants knew the concrete jungle better than human souls ever could. In their long lives, they'd learned every nook and crack in the city, long before men had walked within it. After a nigh eternity of rule, it was strange that the gunfire slowed and quieted in mere hours. Outside of the beating heart, the palace which remained under siege, the revolution had taken the city. Still, beneath the sticky pavement in the labyrinthine cosmopolitan intestines, clever and wounded beasts found some refuge.
A day later, it was through one of those passages from which Luki emerged, breaths coming in short gasps, ears straining for the sound of footsteps or rifles. The creatures heart thundered in his chest, blood churned through his veins. Seconds crawled away, and slowly, he relaxed into the rough stone of the wall. That was when the stench of the alleyway hit him – the strong scent of sex, of blood, of piss. He gasped, stumbling away. His mind felt cloudy all – he frowned. Luki had come here for a reason, he was tired and his mind muddled, but he had come here for a reason. The unmistakable slap of boots on cobble, shouting voices helped clear his head.
He felt hungry, his cock pulsed, strained in anticipation. Instantly, he recognized the sensation – another succubus was here... But – those shouts were unmistakably human. It was then he remembered, through the overwhelming scent, through a cloud of hazy lust that there was a safehouse oh so close. He took another stumbling step away, than another, forcing his body to obey, adhere to his command to retreat. Demons were not accustomed to retreat. The footsteps grew louder, and with them, his arousal. Luki's cock drooled down his leg, dribbling uselessly onto the stones below.
A voice rang out from behind him, bold and sultry, "Awww, a lost little pet. Come here, now. Momma will take care of you."
Luki's eyes widened, attention jerking to the sound of the voice. He couldn't help the little gasp that bubbled from his lips, as he stared at the demon before him. No more than ten feet away, she towered a full foot over him, with long, jet black hair, and fiery red skin. His attention was drawn to what lay between her legs. For some reason, that made his dick twitch wildly in his pants. All he had to do was get to the sigil, the sigil, the sigil. He tried to retain focus as he ripped his eyes away from her. His knees went weak. As he fell, blinded by the presence and focus of the powerful succubus, he reached out a hand, for that one black brick in the road where he'd hidden a sigil decades ago. A flash of bright pink light – and then nothing.
Forty-eight years ago, Luki had prepared the flash-ward on the off chance that a play between two greater demons had gone badly. Never thought he'd need it for a reason like this, in fact he scarcely remembered the thing was even there until hiding behind a sewer grate trying to silently dig a silver bullet out of his arm. Those things stung, silver bullets. How the hell, had the mortals figured that out anyway? They weren't supposed to have access to that kind of thing, hell was a never ending series of dull grey buildings, and the occasional office, and lots of pain and starvation.
The mortal souls didn't die, merely reappeared in the labyrinth ringing the city when slain so that they could be tortured to the point of disappiration over and over again. Some one had figured out how to make weapons that even the devil himself might fear. It wasn't even the small arms that had terrified Luki, it was the anti-tank weaponry he'd seen turn a true prince of hell into a fine red mist. Demons didn't respawn like mortal souls, when killed, he would be dead. For real, simply gone back into the red ichor of the mountain.
When Luki reappeared it took him a moment to figure out where he was. The presence of that powerful succubus was, fortunately, gone. His mind was clear and, despite his disheveled state, he felt like he might have gotten through the worst of it. He shivered, pale skin beneath a dull neon light in an abandoned room on the far side of the city. Through the window he could see a pulsing red and black sky and wasn't sure if it was the spirits of all those slain demons wafting through the air having fallen in such immense numbers.
Luki took a deep breath, he could pass as human if he wore a hat, and he didn't think that the mortals would be able to tell the difference. "Just keep your head down and maybe when we reassert power, I can be one of the elder leaders." Then again… his mind shot back to that succubus who had been focused on him. She was powerful, far older than he was, why would she have been working on behalf of the mortal militia? Maybe they were using some of us to hunt our own kind. Most demons would gladly sell out their own if a gun were to their head. Then again, given the weapons, maybe the mortals had unlocked some other arcanistry?
This place had been a secret little safe-house he'd put together half a century ago. It's doors were sturdy and no one knew it was here but him, hidden safely behind a false wall. There were clothes, a number of old contracts that didn't matter anymore and a few other key gadgets. Luki dressed himself carefully and crept to the door. This had been an old abandoned factory near the labyrinth, the demon lords would never have thought to check a place this far from the city. Halfway through unlatching the door and stepping out into the narrow room beyond Luki came to a deeply uncomfortable thought: he probably wasn't the only one who had realized that the demon lords would never have thought to review this location.
It was his view of two mortals in the far room that confirmed the brief moment of clarity. One was a grizzled looking veteran with some type of firearm on his back, the other was a young women pawing at some piece of digital technology Luki didn't understand. It seemed to be connected to a complicated large device that had been placed against the wall. Everything looked very different from when Luki had been here last, when he'd been casting this end of the flash-ward. There was a large table with a map of the city on it, notebooks everywhere, about four extra firearms sitting in the corner…
Luki and the grizzled old man looked at each other for several seconds, both in a state of shocked surprise. The tension was so intense that Luki could almost feel it like a stone sarcophagus holding him in place. Then everything moved. The old man yanked up his firearm and pointed it at Luki, the girl pulled a pistol from her waistband and did the same. Luki didn't pause to wonder where the girl had been hiding her gun as, in a panic, he slammed shut the door that separated him from the outer vestibule. Luki could almost feel radiant energy from the old mans' gun, those weren't just silver rounds, that was something else. Yeah, the demon lords never checked this place, which is why the mortal militia had, like Luki, decided to use the place as a god damn safehouse or staging ground or something.
Luki looked at the thin false wall that separated him from the, now shouting pair of militia officers outside. "Fuck." He dropped to the ground just as two bullets punched holes in the door at about chest height. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
The city's eternal static nature was precisely why what was currently happening was impossible. It wasn't that the city reverberated with screams – it reverberated with screams of the demons and devils. Gunfire roared; alleyways glowed with dozens of small skirmishes. Slowly, street by street, the denizens of hell were rounded pushed towards the Infernal Palace at the heart of the metropolis. Great beasts that were found were either rounded up, or shredded by machine gun fire.
The mortal revolution was still imperfect in their takeover the city, however – the demonic inhabitants knew the concrete jungle better than human souls ever could. In their long lives, they'd learned every nook and crack in the city, long before men had walked within it. After a nigh eternity of rule, it was strange that the gunfire slowed and quieted in mere hours. Outside of the beating heart, the palace which remained under siege, the revolution had taken the city. Still, beneath the sticky pavement in the labyrinthine cosmopolitan intestines, clever and wounded beasts found some refuge.
A day later, it was through one of those passages from which Luki emerged, breaths coming in short gasps, ears straining for the sound of footsteps or rifles. The creatures heart thundered in his chest, blood churned through his veins. Seconds crawled away, and slowly, he relaxed into the rough stone of the wall. That was when the stench of the alleyway hit him – the strong scent of sex, of blood, of piss. He gasped, stumbling away. His mind felt cloudy all – he frowned. Luki had come here for a reason, he was tired and his mind muddled, but he had come here for a reason. The unmistakable slap of boots on cobble, shouting voices helped clear his head.
He felt hungry, his cock pulsed, strained in anticipation. Instantly, he recognized the sensation – another succubus was here... But – those shouts were unmistakably human. It was then he remembered, through the overwhelming scent, through a cloud of hazy lust that there was a safehouse oh so close. He took another stumbling step away, than another, forcing his body to obey, adhere to his command to retreat. Demons were not accustomed to retreat. The footsteps grew louder, and with them, his arousal. Luki's cock drooled down his leg, dribbling uselessly onto the stones below.
A voice rang out from behind him, bold and sultry, "Awww, a lost little pet. Come here, now. Momma will take care of you."
Luki's eyes widened, attention jerking to the sound of the voice. He couldn't help the little gasp that bubbled from his lips, as he stared at the demon before him. No more than ten feet away, she towered a full foot over him, with long, jet black hair, and fiery red skin. His attention was drawn to what lay between her legs. For some reason, that made his dick twitch wildly in his pants. All he had to do was get to the sigil, the sigil, the sigil. He tried to retain focus as he ripped his eyes away from her. His knees went weak. As he fell, blinded by the presence and focus of the powerful succubus, he reached out a hand, for that one black brick in the road where he'd hidden a sigil decades ago. A flash of bright pink light – and then nothing.
Forty-eight years ago, Luki had prepared the flash-ward on the off chance that a play between two greater demons had gone badly. Never thought he'd need it for a reason like this, in fact he scarcely remembered the thing was even there until hiding behind a sewer grate trying to silently dig a silver bullet out of his arm. Those things stung, silver bullets. How the hell, had the mortals figured that out anyway? They weren't supposed to have access to that kind of thing, hell was a never ending series of dull grey buildings, and the occasional office, and lots of pain and starvation.
The mortal souls didn't die, merely reappeared in the labyrinth ringing the city when slain so that they could be tortured to the point of disappiration over and over again. Some one had figured out how to make weapons that even the devil himself might fear. It wasn't even the small arms that had terrified Luki, it was the anti-tank weaponry he'd seen turn a true prince of hell into a fine red mist. Demons didn't respawn like mortal souls, when killed, he would be dead. For real, simply gone back into the red ichor of the mountain.
When Luki reappeared it took him a moment to figure out where he was. The presence of that powerful succubus was, fortunately, gone. His mind was clear and, despite his disheveled state, he felt like he might have gotten through the worst of it. He shivered, pale skin beneath a dull neon light in an abandoned room on the far side of the city. Through the window he could see a pulsing red and black sky and wasn't sure if it was the spirits of all those slain demons wafting through the air having fallen in such immense numbers.
Luki took a deep breath, he could pass as human if he wore a hat, and he didn't think that the mortals would be able to tell the difference. "Just keep your head down and maybe when we reassert power, I can be one of the elder leaders." Then again… his mind shot back to that succubus who had been focused on him. She was powerful, far older than he was, why would she have been working on behalf of the mortal militia? Maybe they were using some of us to hunt our own kind. Most demons would gladly sell out their own if a gun were to their head. Then again, given the weapons, maybe the mortals had unlocked some other arcanistry?
This place had been a secret little safe-house he'd put together half a century ago. It's doors were sturdy and no one knew it was here but him, hidden safely behind a false wall. There were clothes, a number of old contracts that didn't matter anymore and a few other key gadgets. Luki dressed himself carefully and crept to the door. This had been an old abandoned factory near the labyrinth, the demon lords would never have thought to check a place this far from the city. Halfway through unlatching the door and stepping out into the narrow room beyond Luki came to a deeply uncomfortable thought: he probably wasn't the only one who had realized that the demon lords would never have thought to review this location.
It was his view of two mortals in the far room that confirmed the brief moment of clarity. One was a grizzled looking veteran with some type of firearm on his back, the other was a young women pawing at some piece of digital technology Luki didn't understand. It seemed to be connected to a complicated large device that had been placed against the wall. Everything looked very different from when Luki had been here last, when he'd been casting this end of the flash-ward. There was a large table with a map of the city on it, notebooks everywhere, about four extra firearms sitting in the corner…
Luki and the grizzled old man looked at each other for several seconds, both in a state of shocked surprise. The tension was so intense that Luki could almost feel it like a stone sarcophagus holding him in place. Then everything moved. The old man yanked up his firearm and pointed it at Luki, the girl pulled a pistol from her waistband and did the same. Luki didn't pause to wonder where the girl had been hiding her gun as, in a panic, he slammed shut the door that separated him from the outer vestibule. Luki could almost feel radiant energy from the old mans' gun, those weren't just silver rounds, that was something else. Yeah, the demon lords never checked this place, which is why the mortal militia had, like Luki, decided to use the place as a god damn safehouse or staging ground or something.
Luki looked at the thin false wall that separated him from the, now shouting pair of militia officers outside. "Fuck." He dropped to the ground just as two bullets punched holes in the door at about chest height. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
