Prisoner's Dilemma – Burning With Hatred
Samuel cursed under his breath, armour jangling with each step. Heavy plate had been a poor choice for a long prisoner escort, on foot no less. Then again, that had been the purpose of this humiliating exercise: punishing him – needlessly, in his opinion – for killing a fellow knight after an argument had gotten a little too heated. He hadn't been the one who started it, though his commander had argued it had been, for visiting the man's wife in their bed. It's not like he had forced himself upon her, or anything like that. The man simply couldn't satisfy her, and she had had an insatiable need that she was going to find from someone.

To add insult to injury, he'd been partnered up with Danial, an annoying young soldier fresh out of the academy, some dumb kid from a poor family who believed all the songs and tales of bold and brave knights. He was supposed to help bash some sense into his head, Samuel supposed; there was no place for dreamers in the military. When they had met, Danial had gushed about it, even though the two had never met; and if Samuel had his way, they never would again.

At least the prisoner wasn't going to be much trouble to deal with: some thug named Sal who'd murdered someone in a bar brawl. He assumed that was supposed to be part of the punishment, making it clear what would happen to him if it hadn't been agreed to keep things quiet. Fortunately, the other knight had only been a bastard, and Samuel was a true-born son of a lord. Fathers tended to push more for the latter, particularly when the future stability of the kingdom was on the line.

Danial at least had his uses: Samuel worked him hard, and at least the boy could do as he was told without messing it up too much. Of course, he'd lost his temper repeatedly on occasion, the lad having learned all the wrong things from whoever had trained him in duties. Danial had scurried away like a whipped dog after he beat him until he'd learned his lesson, or so Samuel hoped, when he'd slunk back and made his apologies. He tried to keep himself under control, of course, but the little worthless prick was entirely grating. Full of questions and wanting to talk, as if he wanted to indulge some rat-boy from the slums.

“S-sir,” Danial asked, shrinking down slightly in his cheap, leather armour, “I could really use a break.”

“Boy needs to piss,” offered Sal in explanation. If he'd cared even slightly, Samuel would have felt sorry for Danial: not even the prisoner, clad in only a loincloth and chains, had any respect for him.

“Boy has a bladder the size of a flea,” Samuel observed.

“That was… the other, sir,” Danial mumbled, half-trailing off. Samuel knew, of course; the boy had danced about the topic so much, and he'd been gone a good five minutes. He'd been doing one of two things, neither of which Samuel was particularly keen to talk about in terms of another man.

Samuel scanned his surroundings. He didn't like stopping this close to forests: archers could pepper you with arrows, and you'd drop before you even knew where they were. But death might have been preferable to listening to Danial's constant whining, so if nothing happened in five minutes, he'd let the boy run off and piss.

He used the term “boy”, although he himself was only a handful of years older than Danial; Samuel, however, had had actual combat experience. He'd been a natural, with his strong, muscular physique, tall frame and healthy constitution; he also had an affinity for killing men. Rebels, thugs, and enemy soldiers, Samuel's blade or spear had tasted all their blood, and – according to some after too much ale – he'd developed a taste for it. “As if the others didn't enjoy it just as much,” he thought, “along with the drinking, smoking and whoring we all enjoy.”

Aloud, he groaned, “Fine, but be quick about it.” His left arm tightened the grip on the prisoner's chain, the right swinging the handle of the spear, the tip sliding right up to the back of his neck. “And as for you,” he warned, “don't try anything stupid.”

“I ain't gone anywhere without you,” Sal promised. Samuel was satisfied; Sal had been imprisoned for a while, and although he was still quite strong, a prisoner left to rot was no comparison to a healthy, well-fed knight. He didn't need Sal's word, it was just good to remind prisoners about how things were, once in a while.

And so they waited in silence. Sal, as other prisoners before him, quickly learned Samuel was not a particularly chatty gaoler. Conversation irritated him: he felt far more comfortable giving or receiving orders, or being left alone to his thoughts. People who heard his reputation assumed he was a stupid brute, but you didn't get far as a soldier without a good helping of common sense and knowledge of the world and the people in it.

Samuel twitched his eyes in a regular pattern, slowly rotating around with Sal in his grip. His breathing slowed until his heartbeat rhythm had quietened down. His ears pricked to the slightest sound: the wind rustling the grass, the groaning of the wood, the muffled tinkling as the panels of his armour clinked together, the stream of liquid splashing on the ground as Danial whistled, passing the time. A sense of disquiet grew in him: something raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Someone was, or had, been here recently; something smelled strange about this place. There was a hint of something: a presence or sign, something subtle in the environment that made him feel uneasy.

Samuel opened his mouth to call out a warning, but Danial interrupted him, cheerfully calling out while still relieving himself, “Hey, I found a gold piece!”

“Quiet, you fool!” Samuel cautioned. But the sensation had past: whatever it was that had worried him was now alerted to their presence anyway, and had dissipated as though it had been just some mad fantasy. He strode about, striding towards where Danial was still standing. His gauntleted hand slapped the young soldier in the back of the head.

“Demonspit,” Danial swore, tumbling over his feet. Turning around, he whined in confusion, “What did you do that for?”

“Why don't you just invite a pack of bandits to shoot us dead?” Samuel snapped, tugging so hard on the chains that Sal fell to his knees.

“Here,” Danial lifted something shiny up into the light. Samuel examined it briefly, recognising it immediately as a gold piece of the realm. He'd seen enough of them throughout his life. No doubt whoever had lost it had either kicked themselves for losing it, or had beaten the servant or slave who had.

“What of it?” Samuel asked dismissively. “Keep it if you fucking want, just get up and let's get going!” To emphasise this, he kicked Sal in the buttocks, the prisoner quickly trying to pick himself up.

Wiping the dust from his knees, Danial tightened the leather straps that held the front of his pants together, and as Samuel glared on helped Sal to his feet. They waited the least amount of time possible for Danial to re-arm himself, Samuel staring spear-points into the soldier's eyes. If people thought he was a killer, he rationalised, he could at least use that to his advantage, plus it might help him stop being so useless if he thought his life was in peril.

Unfortunately, Samuel quickly learned that the opposite seemed to be true: ever since they had stopped, Danial seemed distracted, eyes continually going towards the forest even though he'd been ordered to watch the prisoner. Danial's hand always went to his groin – he'd stashed his precious gold coin there, as he had not brought his purse – and not at the sword at his side. “Little prick is probably spending that coin on whores,” Samuel thought. “Not that I'd blame him for that, of course. But can't it wait until we were on our own?” Admittedly, impatience with those who dallied doing their duty wasn't the only thing that infuriated Samuel, but it was one of the worst of what he considered a sin.

With road dirt crunching beneath his slightly-dirtied armour, Samuel's own mind went to the coin. When he'd seen it, he hadn't really paid attention to it, but now he wished he had. Uneasiness crept back into his mind again, as it had earlier when they'd stopped; it was like they were being studied, watched, and he did not like that at all. Surely, he wondered, such a coin would have been quite dirty, or whoever had dropped it would have noticed it dazzling in the sunlight. There was something else, too: he didn't like the way his mind seemed to slip around the details of its surface when he tried to think about it. Perhaps it was a clever forgery, with some kind of enchantment to bend the mind like this to keep from spotting its flaws.

Danial interrupted his thoughts, pointing to the woods and exclaiming, “I think there's something over there; I see another coin.” Samuel squinted, raising his hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun. Something was glinting over there – hells, even the prisoner was looking that way – and Danial piped up, “What if a merchant or someone got attacked, and fled into the forest to hide?”

“Then they're probably dead, idiot!” Samuel snapped, almost physically feeling his patience dissolving. “Get the other coin if it'll shut you up and focus your attention on your duty, or it'll be the last coin you ever see!” If he hadn't been so well-trained, he'd have swung his spear at the other soldier to completely clarify any confusion.

Danial bolted for the forest, sword in his hands. Samuel hadn't noticed his jaw had dropped in shock at the blatant stupidity on display, until his teeth had snapped together, jabbing it into the prisoner's back, and gave chase. “He's gone mad!” he thought; it was the only explanation he could see for the behaviour. He should have let him go off, to get killed on his own or branded a deserter, but he knew he'd get the blame for it. “Come on!” he ordered Sal, poking the prisoner until he got the idea, and the two of them chased after Danial.

Running in heavy armour quickly drained Samuel's energy, but he'd trained in it enough to know his limits. Danial had gotten a head-start, and didn't have metal plate nor a prisoner slowing him down, but he would often stop, reaching down to pick something up, before bolting off again. Each time he did, Samuel made sure to advance upon him, though as the chase went on it proved difficult.

The kid was going to perish, Samuel decided. He had the authority to do so, on the basis of dereliction of duty. Traditionally, hanging was what traitors deserved, but he was just going to thrust his spear through that pissant's little face, and leave him for the crows and bugs to pick over. By this stage, he didn't care what the men back home thought of what occurred: he was not going to brook any nonsense like this.

Danial had stopped, his body bent over as he leaned against a tree; Samuel could hear his raspy breathing. Whatever madness had possessed him seemed to have passed, and he seemed almost shocked when Samuel kicked him to the ground. “You're dead!” cursed Samuel, stepping down on his neck.

The man beneath his foot coughed, pointing a shaking hand a little further into the woods. “Ruins,” he croaked. Samuel knew he should have ignored him, and just ended Danial's life, but he followed the now-limp arm lying on the ground. The madness must be contagious, Samuel thought, as he looked at a long-decayed, weather- and time-blasted outline of a structure, with a giant pit sagging down into the earth.

Something he'd been taught, long ago, struggled and failed to be recalled by Samuel's mind. An ancient civilization, men and women long forgotten, their lands reclaimed from the wilderness when the kingdom expanded its borders. He'd remembered it out of motivation: that would not be permitted to happen to the king he served, so long as Samuel could breathe, stand and wield a weapon. Lifting his foot, he grumbled, “What possessed you to run off like that?”

Danial answered, his voice hoarse, “These.” A small handful of gold coins glinted from the dirt. Samuel shivered a little; they were the same unnerving ones the hapless idiot had discovered earlier.

They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the ruins as Danial recovered. Samuel decided to delay his execution, at least until he'd sorted out what was happening to his own mind. The gold didn't seem to have quite the same effect on him as it had had on the others, but then it had never interested him as something worth possessing; merely a tool to get things done. It was probably more money than both the other men had seen in their entire lives, he admitted; no wonder it was so alluring.

Danial's voice returned, wiping dirt from his uniform. “Sorry for running off, sir,” he apologised, “I'm not sure what came over me. It was like… I guess I thought there was someone who needed us here, and I wanted to be a hero.”

“After more money, more likely,” Samuel summarised. Out loud, he threatened, “Do that again, and you're a corpse.”

Danial nodded, “Yes, of course, sir.” Samuel glowered at him, but Danial seemed to have returned to normal. At Samuel's insistence, they buried all the coins, save one, which Danial fished from amongst his loins, playing with it between his fingers. Pacing slowly, they cautiously approached the opening: it was, after all, worth investigating, as bandits often used ruins as hideouts, and knowing where their locations were was always useful.

“There's a reason prisoner escorts are done in pairs,” Samuel reminded him. “He could have tried to escape.”

“I know that, but you'd break his back if he tries anything,” Danial cajoled, rubbing the coin between his index finger and thumb.

Samuel growled, “I should break your back, for this stupid idea.” He wasn't wrong, though; earlier in his career, he'd broken the back of a giant of a man, some freak from a village who played at being a lord a little too much. 

“But if someone's out there, being robbed, we have to check out if they need help!” countered Danial. When Samuel glared at him, he quickly mumbled an additional, “Sir!”

“Our duty is to transport this prisoner!” Samuel growled. “And I have seniority!” He was annoyed; Danial was arguably correct – they were tasked to aid the honest and faithful however they could, as their oath as armed men – but that didn't mean deliberately obeying your commanding officer to play the role of a hero from some bardic legend.

“There's some ruins here,” the younger soldier exclaimed, a hint of desperation in his voice, as though he needed there to be something down in those old, dusty chambers. Suddenly aware that Sal was still there, he whispered, “There might be something in there.”

Samuel muttered back, louder and more aggressive, “You're lucky we're not being hacked to death by highwaymen. That was obviously some kind of trap.” It felt better to vocalise his worries: it made them easier to focus on. This whole thing did smell like a set-up, but even that didn't sit right. “Who uses a fortune to most people who'd walk this path to bait a trap that would gain you practically nothing in return?” he thought.

“Could lower me down,” Sal suggested. “To look.”

Samuel glared at him; the bastard was obviously trying to be let loose so he could escape. “Shut up,” the knight growled, his gauntleted fish punching Sal hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him with such force that he fainted. Matter-of-factly, the knight added, “He fell.” And that's at least one annoyance dealt with, he thought to himself.

“I won't argue with you,” the soldier answered. In a better mood, Samuel might have smirked when Danial fell back into his natural behaviour as a yes-man. This time, at least he was using his head. “But even if there are highwaymen, we might be able to capture them.”

“An unknown number of men against two?” Samuel exclaimed in annoyance. “You really are as thi-”

Samuel didn't get to finish his tearing-down; Danial had been standing closer to the hole, his eyes seeming to be drawn to it, and whatever it was he had been looking for he seemed to find. Excitedly, he exclaimed, “There's something down there!” He got closer, beckoning over to Samuel. He turned his head, body almost dancing spasmodically, and grinned, “There's a huge, golden statue down here!”

“What?” Samuel shouted back in disbelief. This had to be a trap: no bloody way was there going to be anything noticeably large and gold in ruins like this. Treasure like that would have been picked clean. The hole wasn't new, either; which meant crumbling support or the hand of men or weather had exposed it, and anyone staying here – a likely spot for travellers, Samuel felt, would have easily seen it if Danial had.

It was too late, though; Danial had grasped the edges of the hole, swinging down until he disappeared. Samuel howled in anger; this was getting ridiculous. Walking over to the edge himself, he peered down.

The stupid idiot was looking at what was, indeed, a huge golden figure: some kind of old serpent god from ages past whose name had probably been forgotten. Danial was trapped down there – where he can stay, Samuel thought – and was about to turn around, end Sal's worthless life and leave when he noticed a slight twitch, something akin to an involuntary muscle spasm. Only not from Danial, or the prisoner, but what he had also believed was a statue.

He started to cry out, but it was too late; the golden, taloned hand had swung, swiping Danial across the chest. Danial stumbled back, in understandable shock; Samuel waited for the killing blow, but Danial just seemed to collapse.

Remembering himself, Samuel tore his eyes away; “Wake up!” he screamed kicking the unconscious prisoner in the chest to rouse him. They needed to leave, right now, and if he had to go on his own, so be it. Something large and heavy rushed past him in the air, tingling the hairs on his neck; turning, his mouth was agape as he saw the “statue” in its full glory.

The snake creature was as tall as he was; or at least the human part was. Framing the human face was a gigantic, ornate hood built out of the same golden scales that covered the rest of his body. Samuel was glad to be in the forest; in broad daylight, the sun glittering off of his scales would have been blinding. The hood reached up, starting with two horns that added almost a foot to his height, branching down and outwards, to join two others, sloping inwards to connect to his head in the other. The hood rolled down his back, wider than the slender, but well-toned torso, striations of hard muscle visible in some areas even through the scales. Spiked flesh cupped his shoulders like armour. Talons tipped the ends of his fingers and toes, some of the former tinged red with Danial's blood. Behind him trailed a long, thick serpentine tail, whose end disappeared down into the darkness.

After the initial shock had passed, Samuel's training kicked in. The tip of the spear whistled through the air, his feet moving quickly with the extra energy from his rapidly-beating heart. “Just remember,” he ordered himself, “stay focused, and don't mess up.” He didn't know what skills or strengths this creature had, but he needed time to formulate a plan.

“Don't run!” implored the serpent-man, his voice containing a slight hiss to it. Samuel's eyes scanned the battleground: the pit seemed the best bet, if he could get the creature to fall into it, it might buy him a little time to come up with something else. They then quickly trained back on to the creature's eyes, a fiery ruby red colour. It was the only place he could look without the gaudiness overwhelming him.

Curiously, it didn't strike like it had with Danial; instead, he seemed to be studying him, tilting his head to this side and that. Despite the heavy armour he wore, Samuel danced almost gracefully around the hole, his hands steady. “It's just like any other enemy,” he lied to himself, feeling the red stare bearing into his body.

“I was like you once,” the creature said, using its tail to raise its humanoid parts off the ground, slithering around supported by its massive tail. The voice was incredibly easy to listen to, trickling into his ears like honey. Samuel's mind rebelled against its suggestive calling, as it added, “I was skilled and masterful, but bound by the limits of humanity. Until I met Asmodeus, who created this body for me. I can taste you have the same kind of power within you that he will appreciate and reward greatly.” He seemed to emphasise this last sentence by glowing brighter; even its red eyes flashed.

Samuel paused briefly before continuing to shift his foot. The same wrong feeling he'd felt earlier had been justified, but it seemed to swim around him, feeling sickly pleasurable. “That's what felt wrong about the coins!” he thought. This creature must have magicked them up somehow, to lead people into his trap. His body seemed to congratulate his quick thinking by sending a warm flow of energy rippling through him; despite the strained situation, his body diverted some of his energy to his groin, which began to thicken. “I need to calm down,” he reminded himself.

He'd circled the hole a number of times, but the creature hadn't done anything. Was he expecting Samuel to be talked to death, to pledge itself to whatever dark master this creature seemed to serve, and become some gaudy monstrosity like him? “Fool,” Samuel spat; until he heard scales rubbing up against each other, and managed to tear his eyes away from the hypnotic undulating of the snake-man's head. A pit, deeper than the one in front of him, sank in his stomach, as he realised he'd been the fool: the snake had lured him in, and was now ready to pull on the snare trap tight around him.

Samuel struck, lunging with his spear: it was one of his favourite weapons, and knew how to use it effectively, even when slightly off-guard. His aim was true, his technique flawless; that just made the abject failure even more crushing. The tip of his spear slid uselessly across the scales, the handle vibrating almost out of his hands.

The serpent-man moved much faster than he'd have believed of a creature of that size. Almost immediately, it was upon him; their two bodies touching, nearly completely if Samuel hadn't been wearing heavy armour. Golden lips pressed against his, and he felt his heart race and cock stir instinctively. As their lips parted, the tingling sensation on his lips began to spread quickly, filling his whole body in moments. His movements slowed, until there was nothing he could do but breathe slowly, observe and think.

Picking up his body under one amazingly-strong arm, the snake-thing carried Samuel back down into his hole. “I'm dead,” Samuel thought to himself, cursing his own foolish mistakes. Lolling and jostling about, he noticed the creature had also brought Sal in with him, and Danial, later on as they descended into the darkness. Although the creature wasn't glowing as brightly as it had been, he gave off enough illumination to see the trail of rot and decay passing through the ruins buried deep in the earth.

The ruins delved surprisingly deep into the earth; natural light had practically disappeared when the monster stopped, depositing the three immobile men on the ground, before falling down into an even deeper hole. They had all been more or less lumped together; surprised, he learned that Danial had survived. “Perhaps the creature isn't quite as deadly as he seemed,” he wondered.

Time passed achingly slow for Samuel; he could not move – and thankfully, not feel pain from lying immobile in his armour – and very little comprehensible happened. The creature paused, then became aroused, squirting some fluid that rained down on the three bodies. Seizing Sal, of any of them, the serpent dropped down the hole.

It seemed a long distance; something seemed to catch the pair. Metal strained, snapped and clattered to the floor. He wasn't entirely sure, but Samuel thought Sal had woken for a moment, as muffled words came from down below. Following the conversation was difficult: he gathered that Sal had been “rescued”, although Samuel didn't believe this had been the intention of the trap. The voices had gotten quieter, and another sound, familiar to someone who had spent days in men's only spaces, echoed up slowly. Others began too: Samuel couldn't place whether they were eating or fucking Sal, but in either case what they were doing was incredibly wet and did not finish quickly. He guessed it was sex later, when the moans had echoed up from the chambers below were distinctly erotic in nature.

Listening to the sounds, he felt his body betray him: his stout cock, seemingly immune to the paralysis, straightened out to grow as stiff as the rest of him. Samuel took only a little relief in knowing he wasn't the only one: the way they landed, he'd learned that Danial, too, had become very aroused, as the tip of his penis poked him in the face. The rutting below went on for quite some time; he had to compliment them on their stamina, if nothing else. The scents rising out of the glowing pit were intensely arousing; both he and Danial were soon dripping from the tips of their cocks. Samuel wished that whatever happened would be over with soon; he'd rather die than have Danial shoot his load all over his face like some gutter whore.

By the time he thought they'd been forgotten about, left to rot while the creatures fucked whatever was left of Sal, Samuel felt large hands reach up to scoop him up along with Danial. These hands definitely didn't belong to the snake creature: they were jet black, though with pulsing golden veins, and much larger than those he'd seen earlier. The chamber below oozed with sex; it was hard to maintain a clear head when the very air you breathed tormented your nether regions. Of course, Samuel was often tormented like this – it wasn't for nothing that he'd started sleeping with whatever women were available, married or not – but he could put it off when he needed to, and if he was allowed to, he would exercise that right.

What had pulled him down was significantly more human-like overall than his servant, or whatever the relationship was between him and the golden snake. The black skin with their almost volcanic arteries and veins weren't confined to his hands; his whole body seemed like a shadow that would have darkened the night. In spite of being tall, he wasn't as thick-boned as a giant, nor as spindly as some tall men were; instead, it was as if the perfect warrior human had been doubled in size in each dimension. Aside from his skin, the only inhuman parts were the two pairs of horns that curled out of his head, the fiery demonic eyes, and the massive erection that swept past, raining some kind of liquid down upon the two men's bodies.

This creature – Asmodeus, if Samuel remembered the name the snake had used earlier, and if he had attributed the chain of command accurately – wasn't the only new creature in the room. A thick-muscled, rectangular reptilian beast also resided. Covered in deep green, almost crystalline scales, and sporting wickedly sharp claws and fangs, it eyed the two men as they were lowered to the floor, still unable to move. It too, was aroused, boasting a strange, inhuman cock; the snake-man, too, seemed affected by the atmosphere in the room. Or, Samuel thought, perhaps that was just this group of creature's natural state of being: perpetually aroused. “No wonder it reeks of sex,” he thought, trying to ignore the erotic achings of his own body. He hadn't noticed Sal anywhere; even Samuel knew he would have shuddered at that realisation if he could have moved at all.

“You were quite right about that one,” the big creature said to the golden snake, the two of them grinning and eyeing each other like two youngsters eager for their first time. There was a long, silent pause, then all three seemed to burst out laughing; though Samuel wasn't quite sure about the most inhumanly-formed of the three. He wondered how, or why, they would talk to each other at all in a human tongue; did these creatures simply not have a language of their own, or were they still trying to mess with their captives' minds in some way?

The smaller creatures came over: the golden one slithered up to Samuel, while the green went to Danial. They easily lifted up both men, standing them upright, spreading their limbs apart. The large, black one ran a talon down Danial's torn armour, slicing the cut leather into two. Samuel watched as the green soldier bucked his hips when the talon grew close to his groin; he knew immediately that whatever magic they had used had ensnared him already, meaning he only had himself to rely on to get out of here.

Danial's undressing continued, claws sliding down the inside of both lets from groin to boot-tip, the leather flaps dropping worthlessly to the ground as Danial moaned. His brown eyes had glazed over, panting and looking lustfully at the demons in the room as the green one helped him out of the rest of his clothing. Samuel muttered under his breath, “Fight it, you fool.”

“Fine words,” the snake whispered in his ear, the tip of his tail rattling as the giant approached, “but it won't be long before you, too, are begging for the touch of our master, Asmodeus the archdemon. There's quite a treat in store for you, but I best not spoil the surprise.”

It was now Samuel's turn to be stripped of his armour. He'd decided to let them, of course; see him aroused, for all he cared. His body was just responding according to its nature, but his mind was well-disciplined when he knew he was under attack. The claws tore through metal just as easily as they had through leather, the plates shrieking. Stuffing burst out of the padded undershirt he wore. A flick of the giant, strong fingers was all it took to send his pauldrons flying off his shoulder; a firm tug the only action needed to slide the gauntlets off his hands. The leather straps binding his undershirt snapped, leaving red welts as it was yanked off from him. Throughout the entire thing, Samuel kept his teeth gritted, his grey eyes steely staring ahead at nothing.

His torso was quickly exposed, sweat glistening on his muscular chest. Asmodeus' flame-kissed eyes caught his line of sight, the archdemon licking his lips hungrily. “You certainly are a fine specimen, aren't you?” he observed, “And we haven't even seen the main course yet!” Samuel wasn't remotely bothered by this leering: he had a fit, strong physique, nearly equal to the archdemon's pet snake's human body, and he'd received compliments on it before. Predominantly not from fourteen-foot archdemons, of course, but he'd grown inured to complements already.

Unsurprisingly, Asmodeus lingered on removing the plate in front of his genitals: while the snake still held his arms, the other lizard-creature and Danial moved over, each taking one leg and sliding off the plates that covered him. The demon's hand lingered, his natural heat warming Samuel's already-aroused cock, pulsing. Failing to stifle a gasp as his manhood bobbed free into the air, he felt a rush of blood to his face before he grimaced again. Glancing around, he did feel a little strange; usually he was the most well-hung man in the place, but here he was distinctly average; Danial was smaller than him, the snake's was his match, and the strange reptile's was so oddly shaped that the comparison seemed pointless.

“Maybe you aren't quite so stoic as you have thought?” Asmodeus chuckled, crushing the plate as the final articles of Samuel's clothing were removed. The snake finally let him free, but not before sliding a hand down his torso as his abdominals slowly rose and fell. The touch of the scales was warm, and surprisingly dry; then again, Samuel only knew how to handle snakes and what to do if someone had been poisoned by them, he hadn't cared for the animals themselves in any capacity.

“And now,” the archdemon announced, “the contest!” Samuel felt a pit open in his stomach; that was not what he wanted to hear. “The rules are simply this: Samuel and Danial, each of you has certain agreeable traits. Samuel, your training and diligent mind mask the real you: a large, angry, powerful brute, just waiting to burst out of your skin. Danial, although your mind and body are weaker, your need to stay true to your values – however they may change – will make you a fierce warrior.

“The two of you will fight for the honour of becoming like Mammon,” Asmodeus continued, pointing at the golden snake-demon. “A true demon sired by my best seed, and commander of his own legion of demonspawn in time. The loser becomes his first demonspawn, much like Amaymon – who used to be the man you called Sal – was sired by Mammon.”

Samuel let himself smile slightly; normally he would win, but Danial was so aroused he'd be easy to outwit and kill. A small chuckle chilled his blood, as Asmodeus added, “Of course, to win, you must prove your dominance over the other. Physically, certainly; but in the manner of lust demons: by spilling your seed into the other.”

Heart pounding, Samuel quickly turned to face Danial; he didn't want to lose a single moment. He thought he'd had the advantage, but here he was wrong: Danial clearly sexually desired men now, having succumbed to the demon's magic, whereas he had not. “Wait,” he thought, trying to clear his head, “I don't want to win this contest; I want to escape!” He clenched his will stronger: he still needed to win, of course, but by killing Danial, possibly bargaining him off to whichever of them was horny in exchange for escape.

Clapping his large hands together, Asmodeus declared, “The contest begins now!” Samuel quickly crouched, bracing himself as Danial rushed directly at him, an almost maniacal, lust-filled grin on his face. He barely seemed to remember his old self; now, he was just the demon's puppet. Not that that really mattered; Samuel would have been willing to punch the worthless squirt in the face anyway.

Looming over the soldier's prone body, Samuel grabbed one arm, pinning it behind his back as he pressed one knee down. Using his weight, he wanted to snap the man's spine; that would give him the time he needed to finish the job, then try to find some way to escape. Failing that, he'd win by default; or at least, he hoped: the demons might be able to bring him back from the dead.

Something warm and wet splattered across his bare back; Samuel turned, trying to find the source. He gritted his teeth, discovering a few details about the match that the demons had failed to mention. The main one being that they were going to be stroking their inhuman cocks, splattering the “combatants” with this fluid to distract and arouse them. This also had the effect of making keeping a tight grip on each other in an “unwanted” manner difficult: you couldn't keep your eyes shielded while trying to choke someone to death, and if you didn't you'd end up blinded and at a significant disadvantage.

Growling angrily, Samuel let Danial free, though not without kicking him across the head. The young man just seemed to brush it off: the demonic magic working through him seemed to make him recover quickly. Samuel backed off slowly, circling him on the stone floor; the last thing he intended to do was show Danial his bare ass.

Samuel needed time to think: the demon's seemed to have every advantage. Circling proved advantageous: he checked to see if there were any doors, anything that might service as a secret passage. Searching, however would require time; time that he didn't have. His heart pounded in his chest: the easiest way to “win” would be to do what the demons wanted; after that, surely, the demons would have been spent. Eyes darting away from Danial for a moment, he glanced at the three cocks, slick and drooling a heavy, intoxicating fluid that filled the air with erotic electrical energy.

Danial tried pouncing on him again; Samuel wrestled with him, straining to keep hold of the fluid-lubricated bodies while ignoring the pleasurable ripples surging through his aching cock. It was getting more difficult to keep sex from intruding on his thoughts; his balls aching for the need to let loose his seed. He'd been aroused longer, but that had been when his tool was in use. Then he only worried about siring a bastard, or having his cock rot off from some disease. Now, his self-respect and humanity was on the line. They grappled each other, the heat of the room and the demonic fluids dripping down their bodies making them slick and slippery.

As he and Danial rolled around on the floor, Samuel heard Asmodeus' voice almost as though his horned head was right next to his ear. “You're my personal choice,” the archdemon declared, “I can feel the strength and power locked inside you. There's no way for you to escape: the demonic power already has ensnared you, and there's no way you can escape this chamber unaided. It was, after all, supposed to keep me sealed here for all eternity. And I am a demon.”

Danial reached for Samuel's erection; Samuel parried by raising his head, butting it into Danial's jaw, dazing him for a few precious seconds. “Get out of my head!” he ordered the demon. His heart was pounding: Danial still had that stupid grin on his fluid-soaked face. The demons seemed to particularly enjoy him, he played up; in lulls in the fight he would rub it into his body, relishing as he absorbed the demonic strength.

“There's only one way for you to win,” urged Asmodeus. “Let it out, your inner beast. I can smell him in you; he's amazingly powerful, and he would only become more powerful once I have made you my spawn. You would be the strongest, the most powerful warrior known across this world. And not just now, but for all eternity, your own army waited to let you fuck them with your massive demon cock, or obey your every word with mindless dedication. Imagine all that frustration of insubordination gone.”

Samuel snorted, nostrils flaring wildly. The demon had seemed to know things about himself that he'd failed to admit: when he'd killed his fellow-knight, he'd enjoyed it; losing control, the wrath he felt pummelling the man until he'd driven the life right out of him. He'd wished the knight's wife had been there to see it, ready to bend her over the table, grab his slippery, muscular male body, and… “No wait, that's not right,” Samuel thought, his head pounding. His resolve was weakening, and there was nothing else to grab on to.

“But that won't happen if he wins,” Asmodeus cautioned. “He burns to become one of my spawn, and the more power he has, the better he thinks he will be loved and cherished. That's useful, but you are a much greater prize. If he wins, have no doubt you will spend eternity worshipping at his feet, bearing your tight hole or mouth to him whenever he commands it, nothing more than a stupid, rutting beast with his hands wrapped around the end of your leash.”

Both parts of Samuel agreed: Danial wouldn't be allowed to win. He almost felt physical pain, as he realised to win, he'd have to relent and succumb to what the demons wanted him to be. But that seemed destined to happen anyway; better to be the beast of the king, than one of the beast's bitches.

Howling incoherently, Samuel slammed Danial down: all of his concentration going to spreading the young man's cheeks apart and forcing himself inside. Demonic magic flowed in him, and he welcomed it in, the power surging through his body. His manhood pulsed, his attraction for the squirming flesh beneath him growing with every second. Shoving down hard, Samuel smashed and smashed. Demons rained their essence down all over him, feeling it almost drawn to slithering along his skin, coating him and worming its way into his very core.

The soldier's firm, supple hips popped into the air; Samuel grabbed Danial's manhood in his hand, and started stroking. Danial moaned, his own juices dripping out; bucking around as Samuel's legs entwined with his own, keeping his hips spread wide. It didn't feel too different to the times, when he had been younger, and had first started getting erections; Danial's cock felt differently, but it still felt good to have a cock – any cock – under his control. He glanced up, grinning feverishly at Asmodeus, looking at the two-foot shaft he stroked, hungry to know what it would be like to control that thing.

Danial moaned beneath him; Samuel's hand moved faster. He rocked his head back, feeling the human's seed flowing out because he desired it. This man below him writhing in pleasure, was not deserving of the great prize Asmodeus offered. It would be his alone. Danial's laboured breathing hastened; pushing his ass up into the air, the soldier cried, “Fuck me, my master.”

Samuel claimed his prize, heavy hands forcing the firm buttocks apart, revealing the quivering, puckered hole that awaited his service. He jabbed at it roughly, his rounded cock-head bouncing off the smooth, fresh flesh around it, grunting like a beast. Something grabbed his cock – Samuel didn't even notice, nor care, that it was the golden hand of the serpent – and helped him guide it inside.

Practically whinnying like a stud stallion, Samuel trembled with arousal: the hole was so tight and warm, slick with juices and ready for him to claim. His hips thrust forward; ramming into Danial awkwardly, his penis awkwardly, but diligently burying deeper inside.

He didn't need to get all the way in; half was enough for his body before the last vestiges of his self control evaporated. Samuel ejaculated, thick squirts of cum shooting into Danial's tight hole, dribbling out afterwards, lubricating Samuel's continued, mindless thrusting.

“We have our winner,” Asmodeus announced, “as if there was any doubt.”

Samuel's mind barely recorded any memories; he vaguely noticed he'd continued pounding into Danial, his cock oddly still needing release. He'd pulled out, looking at his seed dripping from his ass. His hand had finished the rest, squeezing out the rest of his stores; but he still hungered for more. Clarity, however, did return; he'd lost himself to the demon inside, but when he'd ejaculated, some of its energy had left him.

He'd fucked a man: the demons had encouraged it, certainly, but he would always known he had done so of his own volition, enjoying every minute of it. He'd let himself become the demon's plaything, and yet he yearned for more. Bellowing in frustration, he collapsed to his knees. He had won, and lost, and his raw mind swirled in confusion.

Samuel turned to look at Danial, his cum still dripping out, as Amaymon, the crocodile-demon – strange, he'd never known what that creature had been, nor did he remember being told his name – led him to one side. Mammon followed, the golden snake looking on with excitement; Samuel heard him say, “I remember when Asmodeus made me into this. It was incredibly intense. Don't let the past hold you back, embrace your inner beast.”

The floor having been cleared, Asmodeus squatted on the ground, his massive demonhood bobbing before him. Samuel felt almost hypnotised by the impressive shaft, still slick and dripping. An unearthly hunger burned inside him. Asmodeus intoned, “Samuel, you have won the contest, step forward and claim your first prize: the bounty of an archdemon!”

Samuel felt oddly light, almost floating forwards as his eyes locked on to those of his new king. He vaguely aware he'd sworn an oath to another; but then he remembered he was to be a demon, a new being, not the one who had made that pact. The glans of Asmodeus' shaft was wider than his mouth, but he brought it up to his face, waiting as the horned demon squeezed his shaft. His mouth opened, fluid draining right into him. Strength and energy pulsed back into him, the effects of his orgasm dissolving as his body was primed to handle a demon's pleasure.

“I have put much thought to your new form,” Samuel's master told him. “You are fantastically strong, certainly, but imagine being even stronger; fusing the strength of two powerful animals with your own impressive body. A tough hide, to protect you from both elements and enemy blows. Stronger legs, to run faster, and charge foes with impressive horns. Muscles bulging everywhere. And, of course, a might penis to add to the pleasure you receive and give, with a sack bulging with potent demonic seed.”

Some of that very seed gushed into Samuel's mouth; he staggered back, stomach bloated and body drenched. Immediately, his body began to change: his cock became erect, expanding in every direction. He moaned, grabbing on to his shaft; he'd only just ejaculated, but now the aching in his balls was so much more intense than it had been in the whole battle. Both hands throttled it, veins bulging as it stretched beyond limit, the colour turning from dark red, to deep purple, to a coarse purple-grey. The same colour spread across its length and width, spreading around to encase the swollen testes groaning below them. Human seed trickled out with little fanfare; Samuel hunched over, the added length letting his mouth suckle on the demonic fluids draining out of him from an infinite source. Gulping down his last chance to breed as a human, he returned to the thick, pulsing well-spring for more.

The purplish-grey stain spread, his skin thickening with knotted lumps blistering from his swelling thighs, and thick ridges of even harder flesh wrapping around his legs. It was almost like being kitted with a new set of armour, Samuel felt, groaning. As the change crept down his legs, he was glad for the thicker skin, the muscles looked almost as thought they could burst through at any moment, and if he had still been human, they would have.

Asmodeus shifted slightly, Samuel quickly draining another mouthful before the head of the archdemon's cock was wrenched from his grip. “Let me now introduce you to the pleasures your new body can give you; the same as you have given,” he purred. Samuel snorted, grinning as he turned around. The corruption hurried down his legs, planting his thickening toes down against the stone floor, falling forward with hands outstretched. His palms hit the ground, shaking the bones in his bulging arms, the changes to the hue and thickness of the skin being followed by more extreme changes.

The balls of Samuel's feet had widened, equalling the size his whole foot had been. Feeding off of the remaining demonic essence, the balance between shin and foot changed. His toes merged, nails extending, growing to resemble the hooves of a huge, prize-stud bull. For that was what he was, Samuel felt proudly: Asmodeus' stud beast.

Aiming his shaft at the grey, puckered ring pointed at him, Asmodeus pushed in. Samuel groaned, the demon's gigantic cock stretching his hole quickly. His bellows echoing around the chamber, Samuel felt a surge. The way his master filled him was so… so right. He craved more, shaft squirting the equivalent of his largest human load every second.

The extra fluid Asmodeus deposited around his ass quickly absorbed through his demonic grey skin. A thick, ropey finger of hair coiled out of the base of his spine. While Asmodeus groaned, easing himself into Samuel's cavity, the fluid he absorbed fed the finger growing, swatting from side to side as he tried to get it out of the way of the cock now firmly implanted into his body.

His already impressive torso widened, the healthy muscles becoming obscenely huge. Dark veins criss-crossed his chest, his large cock hitting the thick groove between the eight paired muscles bulging out of the centre of his muscles. The grey had even consumed his nipples, which Asmodeus tweaked, talons digging into the thick bulges capping his swollen pectorals, thickening to make this quadrupedal stance easy to use.

By now, Samuel's legs were complete: massive hooves supporting the almost-scaly, thick skin on what had been his feet; contracted, thick calves; and lumpy, swollen thighs. He stomped his hoofs, the spiky ends of old large toes digging into the thick, erotic air. So was his massive penis, spraying his underside with thick, concentrated demonic magic, the pool growing underneath him sending the other demons – and human – in the room into a sexual frenzy. “There's nothing like the siring of a new demon,” Samuel learned from Asmodeus. Despite the arousal, he blazed with rage; he should have been the first, getting to experience all the pleasures of the demon. He pushed back; despite the length and girth of the archdemon's member, Samuel was keen to take more.

He continued to fume, his arms bulging. Samuel's hands were the most extreme, equalling the size of his cloven feet, the sinews taught, extra flesh protecting the backs of his hand. His fingers bulged, ugly claws overshadowing the nails. Spikes tore through the flesh painlessly; he had been inspired by both cattle beast and the exotic rhinoceros, and the namesake's horns had to be placed somewhere. Thick veins pulsed on biceps the size of a human's head.

He'd grown larger, Samuel could tell; accepting Asmodeus' shaft, now buried deep inside his body, was something he could do with relative ease. His anger seemed to grow unabated, flames of hatred burning through his mind. Cock aching, he glowered at Danial, nearly passed out as his human form tried to keep up with a demon's libido. The steely grey of his stare darkened, blood-red streaks criss-crossing them as they reflected his angry, horny, demonic soul.

Samuel's head was changing now, the final changes needed for his rebirth. Bulges formed around his neck, the rough lumps more armour for his excessively-protective body. His wide shoulders creaked, lines showing the patch-work of skin, with the striations of muscle and folds where Asmodeus' ideas met and merged. His cropped hair was replaced by two large horns, curling around his face, slightly angled should he wish to charge like a bull.

Much like a bull, Samuel snorted, writhing around. His once handsome face creased and terrifying, he rocked back and forth, a beast comfortable on two legs or four: a barbarian and warhorse all in one. Red light shot out of his eyes; Asmodeus possessed him tearing through his thoughts, discarding some memories while changing the importance weighed on others.

The four demons came together, fiery loads emptying out; torrents of demonic seed burst out from the varied penises. Asmodeus spoke the word – Sathanus – and the new demon was truly reborn. Smoke billowed from his nostrils, infernal eyes scanning the chamber for the spawn he had earned. Pleasure washed over him; caught up, he reverted to bovine bellows, the sounds farmers here when their prized bull – him, Sathanus reminded himself – had successfully bred another sire. His cock ache; Sathanus scowled. “Where is my spawn?” he snorted, moaning as Asmodeus pulled all two feet of his demonhood from his ass.

“He's here, somewhere under the mess,” the archdemon chuckled. Sathanus' fire burned brighter; Asmodeus had expected greatness, and he had surpassed those expectations. He rose up, hooves sloshing through the steaming pile of liquid magic. Danial had been left, near a puddle of ejaculate. Giant fists balled up, slamming into the ground; he was a demon now, he could actually kill any of the others if they had ruined his first siring.

Bounding over on all fours, Sathanus sniffed, lips drawing back. The human was sticky, but unsired as yet, and still unconscious. Grabbing the naked man's body easily in his oversized hand, Sathanus used the human like a rag, letting his body soak in the corrupting juices oozing from his insatiable demon cock.

The human responded quickly; Sathanus felt him squirming into consciousness. Breathing in the musk billowing out of the grey creature as hard as the stone he resembled, Danial quickly enveloped the wide slit on his bulging cock head, fluids running into his belly as Sathanus contracted some muscles, practically drowning the human in his cock's near-constant ejaculations.

“To truly sire something,” Asmodeus taught him, “you need an image in your mind's eye. Feed him the right energies, and he will grow into exactly what you desire his form to be.”

Sathanus could feel the thump of Danial's heart beating, aligning with his own. He felt a twinge of power – Danial was truly his to control, in both mind and body – and his thoughts reached out, grasping the strands of power that threaded through the human, a quick tug on them able to twist flesh into whatever form pleased him. So he tugged, magic ripples pulsing out of him and into the human, like an arcane ejaculation.

Filling Danial's body, Sathanus' fluid oozed out: from his mouth, his ass, even his aroused cock, which quickly bloomed into a huge, pink shaft as the skin stretched into a sensitive rod. Sathanus didn't hold back, drenching the human's system in demonic juices, his new spawn's testicles quickly filling and producing the fluids all of Asmodeus' line produced.

Danial's mouth stretched, the tongue sliding around Sathanus' cock, the thickness and his texture changing into one thicker and rougher. It felt better suited; the demon's cock twitching as the roughness grazed against his smooth skin, coaxing even more fluid out into the soldier's bulging muscles, rents appearing in his skin. Thick hairs, bristling black and white, revealed; they started wet, coated in the demonic essence that flowed through his body. They quickly dried, partially from the warm, intoxicating atmosphere; partially from the rubbing of Sathanus' hard hands against his body as the demon dug its claws in.

Tearing open his skin revealed the design: across the black fur base, a bone-white skeletal pattern covering him. Sathanus' hands slid over the body, admiring the thick muscles he was making. Danial would be strong and powerful; he would be even more so, of course, but he liked that his spawn reflected himself. He felt the bulging veins running over the meaty slabs under the hairy skin, twitching with barely-contained energy. 

Danial's muzzle inched up Sathanus' demonhood, the demon lifting his hands up. The magic pulled up along with it; he grabbed some of his fluids with his claws, letting them drip onto the sides of Danial's head. Bony antlers twisted out, impressively thick and scary; the white, pointed spikes twisting through his fingers as Sathanus used it to thrust his cock deeper into the demonspawn's awaiting mouth. Tilting the head up, he looked into Danial's eyes, already able to see the flecks of red consuming the orbs.

Leaving the antlers to grow on his own, his hands flicked past the pointed spikes of Danial's increasingly cervine ears. The shoulder muscles were thick, but not a match for Sathanus, turning his spawn around, pushing him down. The demon's cock swung to the side, demon fluids spraying to the side. Danial's hole had been primed and ready, a white tail lifted above the juicy, tantalising ring. Still needing his lust to be sated, he slid his shaft; it went in easily, rings of muscles milking his length, no matter how far he pushed in.

Asmodeus' hand ran down Sathanus' wide back, claws catching the ridges of flesh. Moaning, he accepted his master's touch, hands trailing down to his thrusting buttocks, working them apart. The other demons moved in; the golden snake sliding up behind the emerald crocodile, raising the green thick tail into the air, while the demonspawn sated his lust, the crocodile violated the dripping deer maw.

Despite the pleasure of his master sliding inside him once again, teasing the root of his shaft, Sathanus continued the final parts of Danial's corruption. The feet sliding through the fluids extended, toes swelling to gain traction, absorbing the demonic energy from both without and within. Hairy calves raised away from the ground; Danial's spine growing longer. Sathanus buried himself inside, cock squirting pure demon seed into the core of Danial's body.

“Dantalion,” Sathanus commanded, “You are my spawn.”

“Yes, master,” the new stagspawn pledged.

All the demons shared in each other's pleasure, the mental link enhancing the pleasure. Their common blood bound them forever, pulsing through them as one. Sathanus let the bestial instincts consume him, his animal side consuming him: he let himself dominate and be dominated, pleasuring himself and others. His past became a meaningless dream, a mere delusion to be considered for what it was worth, and forgotten about.

The writhing demonic orgy continued for days; above them the forest flourished, feeding off of the demonic energy. Trees burst out, fruit ripening and falling, new trees at full height within days, their sap concentrated demon seed. Black vines twisted between the branches, spreading contamination as they pulsed and writhed. The soil soaked in demonic seed, the area turning into a dreadful swamp over a matter of weeks.

Eventually, even demons needed to recuperate their energy. Dantalion rose, for the first time, on his legs; his humanoid torso capped with a fearsome stag's head, the skeletal pattern in his fur glowing an unearthly white, illuminating the fluids that still caked his body. Sathanus extracted himself from the orgy as well; their bodies calling to the demon-tainted lands above. They could feel it: someone was coming.

Sathanus burned with lust and anger: he hated that humans were intruding on their domain, but when confronting the enemy, they usually came with men, primed and ready to battle, or seduce. It was his time. The demon and his spawn leapt up easily, practically sliding through the chambers, demon essence dripping off of their bodies; the atmosphere was so laden with it, it remained a slimy trail leading towards their master's chamber. He felt Mammon and Amaymon following after them; they would be in change of providing more clandestine methods of ensnaring the enemy that approached. Many pens would be needed, he hoped; his demonhood bulged, thinking of all the spawn he would sire.