Slake: An Unwilling Hero (fiction)

Wellll, today is the day I go on vacation. I'll be cut off from the internet for five whole glorious days, so there'll be no posts from me during this period (not that you'd notice from the rate I've been updating lately anyway ;P) Because I'm a whore for my character though, I'll leave a short little story I worked on for him, introducing Slake "properly". 

Give it a read, if you like! You'll probably be able to see my conflicting desires to write silly porn vs character-based drama all over the place.

The wind was frigid. It howled and whistled, and whipped ice and snow against the traveler as he worked his way up the treacherous pass. The way was treacherous, and he had to break his own path since few lived in this desolate mountain range, and fewer still attempted the journey up to the summit. But this particular traveler had come too far to be turned back by mere weather.

A normal man would have succumbed to the freezing temperatures long ago, especially without numerous layers of protective gear and spells to ward off the chill. But the Oni known as Slake climbed without the benefit of so much as a parka. He wore only the barest of loin-cloths, one of the few allowances he still made for his people, and didn’t seem to be affected by the cold at all. His blue hide shrugged off the icy blasts which assailed him, and he ignored the ice which formed on his strong body like a second skin. He simply kept moving, one step after the other, determined to get to his destination.

This storm wasn’t completely natural. Slake knew that. It was the act of a coward who feared his arrival. But he wouldn’t even let it slow him down. He had been born out of his father’s essence merged with a river flowing out of a frozen glacier, and it was to this environment that he now returned, albeit as far removed from that berg as one could get. A hundred dimensions away by now . . .

At last he saw a distant light. It must be the temple. None of the villagers below had willingly spoken to him of this isolated, holy shrine--not until he’d ‘motivated’ them to do so, at least--but Slake had known it was here. It was the point of his whole journey. He’d tracked whispers and rumors for over fifty years, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the place, and he’d finally found it.

It was a tiny little temple, on the coldest, loneliest mountain on this world.

And it was the place that, devils willing, could finally get him home.


The ogre tromped up to the sole doorway he saw leading inside, not bothering to mask his presence. What would be the point? Whoever was here already knew he was coming, and anyway, he didn’t have enough magic stored that he could waste it unless absolutely necessary. Cut off from his homeland, Slake couldn’t draw on the land’s powers without some sort of conduit, which were few and far between.

So much snow covered him that Slake resembled a white snowman more than anything else, but that was nothing compared to the beast who answered the door.

“Can I help you?” the shaggy thing intoned.

Slake looked up in mild surprise. The yeti stood a good head taller than he did, and he was no slouch himself in the size department. Covered in thick, white fur which draped over his form, even in front of his eyes so he looked almost like a sheepdog. The fur did nothing to disguise the rippling cords of muscles underneath, however.

“Are you the monk who is said to dwell in this temple?” Slake asked cautiously.

“ . . . No. I am the temple’s guardian.”

“Ah. So, if I want to see the monk, I have to . . . ?”

The yeti looked down at him disparagingly. “If your cause is just and pure, state it and you will be allowed through. If it is not, you will have to go through me.”

Slake grinned, and shouldered his iron club. “Through you it is, then.”


Inside the door, Slake brushed snow off himself, then tucked himself back into his fundoshi. He hadn’t had a good fight like that in ages, but the big yeti still hadn’t proved much challenge. And he could’ve sworn the guy even started to moan in pleasure once he’d been forced to ride Slake’s dick as punishment for losing. Left tied up outside in the snow and with cum leaking out of his raped, hairy ass, the yeti wouldn’t bother him again.

“Guess I’d better find this monk then,” Slake said, cracking his neck.

He picked a corridor at random and started walking. The temple was bigger than it looked from the outside. Apparently it’d been carved into the side of the whole mountain.

Now that the snow and ice had melted, Slake’s features were more fully visible. The Oni was gifted with a strong, built body. Big pecs, hard six-pack abs, and thick, brawny arms and legs. In other words, his body was packed with muscle everywhere. And he didn’t care how exposed it was either, as the tiger-skin fundoshi he wore left very little to the imagination. His groin bulged with the power of his manhood in the front, and the cloth nestled between his beefy buttocks in the back so most of his ass-cheeks were visible.

As for his more unusual attributes, Slake’s skin was a vibrant cobalt blue, reflecting his otherworldly origins. Oversized fangs curled up from his lips, and a pair of short horns sprouted from his forehead, right at the edge of his hairline. A black and white ying-yang tattoo was marked on his left shoulder. His eyes were a bright yellow, and glowed whenever he called upon his power. Most who saw him at first mistook him for a demon, and that wasn’t too far off the mark.

As the burly ogre walked, he came across several doorways and intersections, but saw no signs of other people. Could the place be uninhabited? But no . . . He’d seen firelight coming from a window at the top level. He just had to find a way to get up that high. But the place was immense. Or rather . . . it felt immense, as the corridors and sanctums kept folding in on each other. Just how many worlds and times intersected in this place? Simply finding a stairway could take hours for all he knew.

“This way,” a passing breeze whispered softly in his ear.

“Eh?!” Slake swatted at the sensation. It was like the wings of an insect, or the breath of a lover. But he touched nothing.

“This way . . . ” it said again, and blew on.

The ogre stared after it for a moment, then shrugged and followed. Why not? It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

He followed after the mysterious voice, lead on by the occasional ghosting of air against his hairy chest. Who knew where a breeze could be coming from so far from the outside, or what it’s intentions could be. For all he knew it could be leading him into a trap. But, as his heavy feet stomped around corners and through doorways, he eventually came across a flight of stairs. And after ascending, it was only a few more minutes before he found another, and climbed again.

He continued in that way for some time. The further he walked, the more Slake began to feel he was taking a very specific route. Several times he would travel in a needlessly convoluted way around certain rooms, or approach intersections only from certain directions. But each time he started to feel foolish and become certain that the breeze was leading him in circles, another stairway would appear.

“Hey, you’re taking me to the top, right?” Slake asked it once.

“This way . . . this way . . . “ was the only answer he received.

He shrugged again. As long as it kept going up, he had no quarrel with the voice, whatever it was. He even bore the way it started panting the further he climbed. Not like it was getting tired and losing its breath, but like it was somehow getting its rocks off on him following it. Whatever floated your boat, fuckin’ perv wind . . .

Slake got so used to the trek, he didn’t even realize when he reached at his destination. It looked like any other oak door from the outside. But he could hear movement behind it, and the flickering of light underneath as a form moved in front of the light source. There was someone inside. The monk he’d traveled across a thousand miles and three worlds to find?

He considered breaking the door down with his club, but settled for loudly beating a fist against it instead. No need to resort to violence . . . yet.

“Who is it?” an elderly voice quavered from inside.

Feeling just a little foolish, Slake covered it by answering in a threatening snarl. “I’m the big, bad Oni who just trashed your guardian. I’ve come a long way to talk to the monk who lives here. . . . so you better let me in, or you’re gonna get it!”

He heard footsteps on the other side of the door. “Ah, yes. Slake, wasn’t it? I’ve been expecting you! The blizzard and guardian were little more than a mere hindrance to you, just as I expected. Just a moment, just a moment . . . “ The handle turned, and the portal slowly swung open on silent hinges. Behind it stood an elderly Monkey with a circlet on his head and holding a red staff which he used to lean upon. His limbs were gnarled and he had long white whiskers . . . yet behind his eyes Slake saw no hint of weakness or decrepitude belying his age. The monkey extended an arm to welcome him and smiled. “Come in, my boy. Come in.”

“ . . . All right.” Slake did so, lumbering past the tiny old sage. The top of the monkey’s head barely reached the first row of his defined abs. He looked around. The room was a warm, though dusty place, with books and tomes covering nearly every surface. A fire burned cheerfully in a corner, and a desk covered in various artifacts stood against the far wall. He recognized several of them--they all originated from worlds other than this one. So the monk’s power was either real, or a clever sham.

But first things first. “Expected me? So it was you who sent those storms . . . ”

“Oh, yes,” the sage said, closing the door behind them. “Just as a small test, you understand. I have been watching you for some time now.” He tutted and shook his head. ”I just wish you hadn’t been so hard on poor Mehteh.”


“The yeti down below,” the sage explained. He gave a tut. “He’ll be sore for quite some time, I expect . . . “ He bent his neck to take all of Slake in. “In truth though, I’ve been quite entertained observing your adventures. A very interesting life you lead, gallivanting across the countryside, shifting between dimensions in your search, not even noticing the destruction you carelessly wreak.  You get into fights with whomever you please, yet seek out only the strongest and most powerful foes as being worthy of facing you.“ He raised his furry white eyebrows. “You must have quite a chip on your shoulder, to always be trying to prove to yourself your own strength.”

Slake crossed his brawny arms. “That’s none of your business, old man.”

“I suppose not. But you must forgive an old monk his chatter. I get so few visitors up here, you see.” The man puttered over to the desk, where he retrieved a cup with steam wafting from it. It smelled of honey and cinnamon, and had obviously been prepared in advance. “Tea?”

Slake narrowed his eyes and did not take the concoction. “Thanks, I’m good.”

The monkey shrugged, and took a sip from it himself before setting it back down. “Or perhaps . . . it’s your way of training yourself,” the monk continued slowly, “Of pushing your body and skills to their limits as best you can. Perhaps you wish to become strong enough to defeat . . . a specific person?”

The blue ogre growled, and grabbed the slight man by the collar of his robe. “I didn’t come here to be psycho-analyzed by an old fool!”

“Of course not,” the sage said calmly. “You came for my power, did you not? That is the reason most like you come, however, they all leave disappointed.”

Slake growled, and lifted the small monkey up into the air. “And why is that!”

“Because it is very difficult to intimidate me,” the monk told him, tail and feet dangling, ”In order to be granted my help, you must convince me your cause is just.”

“Oh really?” Slake let out a toothy smirk. “Difficult? I think maybe you just haven’t been intimidated properly yet, such as by an Oni like myself . . . “ His grip shifted, and then he was heaving his arm down, flinging the old man against his own floorboards. “Let’s see if you’ll be more cooperative once I ‘grant’ you a few broken bones!”

Then he blinked. His hand was empty.

A moment later he heard the quiet tap of the sage’s staff touching the floor behind him. “That is the trouble in talking to dimension hoppers such as myself,” he said once Slake had whirled around. “You can be discussing things with us one moment, the next we’re in a completely different space. Can be quite disorienting, I understand.”

Slake snarled. “Making a fool out of me . . . !” He charged again, arm thrown forward in a punch to knock the old man unconscious--if he lived through it. But his fist only hit the wall behind where the monk had been standing, leaving a crater and a shower of stone dust. Of the monkey, there was no sign.

An instant later, he felt a sudden hard *crack!* against his backside, making him grunt out in surprise. Slake turned again. The monk was now twirling his staff over his head, that having plainly been the thing to strike him. “It must be very frustrating for you. Especially with the added knowledge that, in truth, I am only toying with you. If I wished it, I could leave at any time and you could not follow.”

With a roar, Slake dove at him. “I WILL force you!”


He received three more smotes for his trouble, all performed with the staff, and all landing on his muscular rump while he was off-balance. The Oni actually yelped at them, before turning around yet again. His eyes widened. Hanging on the tip of the monkey’s staff now was his own fundoshi.

“No, you will not,” the monk said to him with a small chuckle, and a meaningful look downward. Slake’s face flushed as he realized he was completely nude now with his big, blue manhood fully displayed. He instinctively went to cover it up--then huffed and reached around to massage his stinging butt-cheeks instead.

“Okay, fine. So you’re pretty fast . . . for a geezer.”

“I’m glad you think so. So, now that we have that out of the way . . . ” the monk spoke in a calm, though clipped tone as he stepped around to his desk and sat down. The fundoshi remained on top of his staff, where he swung it absent-mindedly, seeming to have no intention of giving it back. Slake remained in the center of the room, standing naked. “Perhaps we can explore other avenues of agreement, hmm?”

“ . . . All right,” Slake replied, re-evaluating his estimation of the wizened sage. “What did you have in mind?”

The old man steepled his fingers. “Why don’t we start with exactly where you would like me to send you.”

The question sparked an image in Slake’s mind, and for just an instant he saw it. The land he’d come from, and dreamed of returning to. A dark place, yes, full of cruelty and battle. The sky, the ground, and even the oceans and rivers were tainted the red of blood. It was the only place he understood. His spirit ached with the urge to take it, to dominate the land and its occupants, his own brethren, his brothers and countrymen,  his fellow Oni. It was what he was meant to do. To make it all his, to wrest control of it from its present ruler . . .

“Ah, I see. Your homeland,” said the sage, as if Slake had told him the answer himself. The ogre looked up in surprise. The monkey raised a hand. “Do not be startled. A little peek, that was all.”

Slake glowered at him. “Outta my head!”

“I should have expected it when I noticed the enchantment placed on you. You have been magically banished from there, yes? And by quite a powerful sorcerer. Which makes it the one place you cannot go . . . Anywhere else, your own rudimentary talents at sorcery could take you--even if the journey is long and hard since you cannot draw on any land’s power as well as you can the one which birthed you.”

“Can you break my banishment? Return me to the land of the Oni?” Slake asked. It was what he’d been attempting to do for years. To overcome the spell which had whisked him out of that world, and into a countless stream of other, lesser places.

The monk considered for a long moment. “ . . . Yes. That is within my power.”

Slake’s face turned up into a huge demonic smile. Yes! The moment of his return was finally at hand!

“ . ..  but I will not.”

“WHAT?!” The brutish ogre’s hands slammed down on the desk, causing everything on it to jump into the air and land in disarray. “Why not!” he demanded.

“Because I choose to use my gifts only for the pure of heart. And you, my large and belligerent guest, are a beast. The very reason I assumed this life of quiet contemplation and inner peace was solely to avoid being coerced into serving monsters such as yourself,” the monk replied simply.

Slake saw red. His muscles strained with the effort not to reach across the desk and strangle the life from the wise old fool. His eyes glowed with the power he suddenly subconsciously drew on, causing the focus of the room to shift and warp. “You dare . . . !”

“But,” the monk held up a solitary finger. “There is one way.”

The ogre stilled, with great effort. “What,” he said testily.

“If you become . . . a hero.”

That startled the ogre enough that he drew back. First, his look was quizzical. Then, his mouth slipped open. A flash of sharp teeth gleamed as he grinned. He then threw his entire head back as a hard laugh took him, rumbling the whole room. “Me, a hero?! If you haven’t noticed, I’m about as far from one of those as a guy can get. I think you really are off your rocker, old man!”

The monk shrugged. “That is my offer. You may take it or not, as you see fit. But in all the worlds you have visited it, you must know this: I am the only one who can grant your desire. You simply have to ask yourself which is more important to yourself. Your vaunted life of villainy, or returning to the place you’ve been dreaming of for the last several centuries.”

That quieted Slake. What the old monkey said was true. He’d been searching for a way for so long . . . and he was growing desperate. No one else he’d met had the power to do this. The enchantment placed on him was simply too strong for ordinary sorcery to break.The monk’s gift must be a billion in one odds to learn. He narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you can really do what you claim? You might just be yanking my chain.”

The monk smiled. “One moment, and I can prove it to you beyond a shred of doubt.”

Slake blinked his eyes, and in the moment between his eyelids falling, then rising again, the monkey had vanished. A moment passed, then he was there again, sitting behind the desk as if he’d never moved. He held out a strip of tiger-skin cloth. “I trust this will remove all doubt.”

Slake glanced at it. “But that’s just my . . . “ But no. He’d been about to say it was his own underwear being handed back to him, but that still lay on the tip of the sage’s red staff. This was a different fundoshi. One from his homeland?!

He took it in trembling hands and felt the texture. Rough and gritty, like it hadn’t been washed in years. He took it to his nose and breathed in deeply. This musky odor . . . Slake recognized it at once. Only one creature could leave such a scent. A strong Oni male, in the prime of his life as a warrior and who gave little thought to the pouch which housed his sweaty manhood. It recalled a dozen different memories to Slake at once, recalling his time being in charge of such men, living and fighting with them every day, leading them howling into battle . . .

“It comes from a sentry posted along the eastern border of the largest kingdom in your land,” the old monkey said, smirking slightly as he watched. “I hope it’s owner will not be teased by his fellows overmuch for losing it. Your kind wears so little in the way of clothing.”

Slake grunted, too overcome for the moment to speak. This was the first piece of his homeland he’d held in centuries. It brought back everything from those days. And along with those memories, his single-minded ambition to return and conquer it.

He crushed the fundoshi in his fist.

That settled it, then.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

The monk raised his eyebrows. “Ohh?”

“You heard me. I’ll do what you ask. I’ll become a fucking hero.”

The monkey tapped his long fingers on the desk. “I did not expect you to agree so quickly . . . It’s not that simple, of course. One cannot simply declare they are a hero, and have it be done. You must perform heroic deeds. You must prove yourself.”

“Fine, I’ll do whatever you want,” Slake said shortly. He would dress in a tiger-skin mini-skirt and become a go-go dancer if that’s what it took. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

The monkey considered, eyeing the proud, strong, and nude Oni. “You must defeat great evils. You must assist the downtrodden, mitigate disasters, battle cruelty wherever you find it.”

Slake nodded, though his head spun at the idea of doing such things. He had no compassion for the weak, and usually he was the one perpetrating acts of cruelty, rather than fighting against them.

“Hmmmm . . . Ten. Ten great deeds must be done, I think. Yes. that should be enough. Once completed, you will return here, and I will send you where you wish. Deal?”

“Okay . . . fine,” agreed Slake. “Do I need to bring proof or shit that I’ve done them? Or are you gonna be . . . “

“Do not worry,” the monkey smiled grimly. “I will be watching.”

“Figured,” Slake grunted. “Fine.”

“Can I ask you one question, however?” The old monkey asked him. When Slake gave a nod, he went on. “I glimpsed it, in your thoughts . . . You want to conquer this land you hail from, don’t you.”

Slake crossed his arms and nodded. “Yeah.”

“And the one you wish to defeat . . . and the one who banished you . . . they are one and the same.”

“. . . Yeah.”

“He is also the king of this land.”

“ . . . Yeah.”

“And he is also . . . your father.”

Slake’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Which makes you a prince. Your reasons for wishing to beat him and take his throne . . . is it because he is an evil and vicious king who rules through fear . . . and you wish to shatter his dominion to usher in an era of peace for your people?”

“Hah! Are you kidding?” Slake chuckled darkly. “It’s because that throne should be MINE. If anybody’s doing any oppressing, I should be the one to be doing it. His time is done, pure and simple. And if you think his reign is bad, just wait ‘til I get my hands on the power.”

“I see . . . “ the monkey looked downcast. “You are simply a power hungry demon.”

“Damn right I am, and don’t you forget it. The only reason I’ll be playing hero is so I can do way worse later on. Now, this’ll take no time at all. I’ll do these stupid deeds of yours, and be back in a week,” he said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. Regardless, he hefted his club and readied himself to leave. He held out his hand for the old coot to return his fundoshi.

The monkey did no such thing however, but simply smiled sadly. “If you say so, though I think you may find the life of a hero quite challenging . . . As well as change you in ways you least suspect.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“We will see. Now, if you wish . . . it’s possible I can assist you in your first task.”

“Huh, how’s that?” Slake asked. “You know of a dragon in these mountains that needs bringin’ down or something?”

“Something like that,” the monk replied, glancing up and down Slake’s defined body. “In truth, I’ve been admiring your masculine form since opening my door to you, and am developing quite the problem beneath these robes, if you know what I mean. I think that perhaps . . . providing a lonely old man some companionship for a time would count as quite the act of heroism.”

Slake’s face fell. “Are you serious?”

The old monkey leered at him. “By the way, you can call me Wuku.”

“ . . . You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me . . . “

* * * * *

A short while later Slake was bent over that self-same desk, muscular ass in the air, groaning in annoyance as he was penetrated by the old sage--who for his part was letting out high-pitched whines of pleasure. For an old guy, this ‘Wuku’ was plenty horny. Slake had taken a lot bigger in his time at least so it didn’t stretch anything, but to submit to the old coot like this was still just embarrassing . . .  He grit his teeth as he received a slap on the rump while the “wise old monk” rode him.

He’d just better keep up his end of the damn deal.

One heroic deed down, nine to fucking go . . .


And there you have it! For those who made it to the end, I'd also like to announce Slake's participation in 'Damian's Tournament' held by the artist Bogrim on Furaffinity. For those not familiar with it, the Tournament is a massive event where powerful fighters clash with the outcome of the fight depending on votes. The fighter with the most votes goes on, but the loser is secretly transported to another area where he is stripped, tied up, and gagged, inside a glass case, his nude body turned into one of the Tournament "prizes".

It starts in just two weeks or so, so be sure to keep a lookout for Slake's matches! There's also still time to enter your own character, if you've got one. For more info you can read here and here, or start reading the last Tournament from the beginning.


  1. Awesome story, wished it had more emphasis on the sex though. I'd really want to know more about the rest of Slake's journeys.

  2. I love your writing. you should seriously consider making Slake's story a regular segment if you haven't already. Not only is it hot but it's quite interesting.