Welcome Back, Pledges!

The old board went kaput. New board time!

I expect to see a lot of old returning faces. Now bend over and grab your ankles, bros!

Oni U.

 

So I've kinda started this thing now . . .

Also, an Auction!

While we're on the subject of hot oni, over on FurAffinity me and my best friend Maryn are doing an auction together: Trespassers Get Fucked!! Yes that's right! Winner will get a story from me, and a piece of artwork from her! It ends Saturday night, so plenty of time to look it over, make an account if you don't already have one (be sure to enable adult settings~), and place a bid if you so wish!

That is, if you want to roughhouse with big, burly muscle demon ogres, who'll use and abuse your sorry hole until they grow bored of it and dump your ass back home, so stretched you have to walk with a limp for days . . . x3

Ahem! But regardless if you wish to place a bid or not, here's the flavor text from the FA submission:

The Oni Realm. A dark, barbaric land inhabited by the most savage and lustful of beasts . . . the demon ogres known as Oni.

It is also a realm of wild magic. Once every century, when the moons and the stars align just so, a mystic portal opens into this forbidden dimension. Any individuals unfortunate enough to be caught and sucked through the opening are consigned to remain there for a day and a night before being whisked to where they came from . . . though assuredly much worse for wear. Oni are highly guarded when it comes to their turf, and don’t take kindly to intruders. Shredded clothing, pronounced limps, and forever after blushing at the sight of tigerskin are just a few of the many troubles victims might suffer following their traumatic ‘visit’.

It just so happens that the last time this celestial event occurred, the portal opened directly within the heart of the Oni Court. Even more coincidentally, it was at a time when every established ‘Slake Saga’ character was present. How convenient is that! This includes Slake, Conquer, Slab, Raze, Ruthless, Bellow, Brash, Onyx, and any other named oni you might desire. All look upon the newcomer hungrily, each wanting to prove his superiority to the others in ‘welcoming’ him to their world. Thick demonic cocks rise at the thought, arrayed in a multi-colored spectacle all around the interloper.

Who comes through the portal? Well, it could possibly be you . . .

Slake Saga: Meanwhile . . .

And now to continue haphazardly posting my poor attempts at erotic fiction here!

For those of you just catching up, Slake and Conquer had previously busied themselves entering (and getting captured in) a battle tournament together. While that happened though, the Oni Realm didn't stand still. Others of it's denizens were moving, acting, and making plans all their own! Let's explore some of these new faces. First, in a flashback story to the first rootings of Slake and Conquer's conflict, and then a multi-part story about two other offspring of Conquer--the clever Raze and the stalwart Slab--and their quest to preserve the throne during the king's long absence.

Enjoy! And please don't be afraid to comment. ;3

Seeds of Hate

The troops had been on a forced march for over a week and the men were exhausted, their spirits low. Conquer did not care. He strode forward, his red clawed toes digging into the barren soil with each step, fists clenched at his side, accompanied only by his battlefield retinue. How dare his demon army be halted without his direct order!


“Report!” he barked as he arrived at the front line.


The general in charge, Ruthless, a red oni like himself with a patch over one eye, straightened up as he appeared. “They are still . . . milling about, my liege. Scouts are searching for a way around, but so far . . . “


“None have been found,” Conquer finished for him bitterly. He turned away from him and surveyed the sight of the disruptions himself. Yes, it was just as he’d feared.


In all the massive and dark reaches of his far-flung kingdom, the Oni enjoyed natural supremacy at the top of the food chain. No beast could challenge their might. There was evidence that such creatures may have existed long ago in the dim, murky past, but if so they’d all been hunted to extinction by their modern age. This was true . . . in all cases but one:


The dreaded tentacle beast.


The stuff of cautionary fables told to newly sired oni. Many scoffed at such stories. However, though extraordinarily rare, in the depths of the trackless wilds such creatures *were* known to actually exist. It was posited they were a curious result of mutation and wild sorcery from ages hence. Due to some genetic quirk, they were unable to breed on their own . . . but rather required seed from other lifeforms. To this end, they often hid under the ground, waiting for prey to pass by, and then spring out to seize them at the last instant and forcefully drain them of their essence. And, as oni seed was the most virile and produced the strongest offspring in them, they were a favored target of tentacle attacks.


Now, before Conquer’s vision, lay a whole nest of such creatures. Their sinuous, thick tendrils were countless in number, overlapping with each other. Though their “roots” were seemingly cemented in the ground, Conquer knew that to be a false marker, as individual tentacles had been recorded sinking their entire lengths into the earth and then re-emerging miles away. At the moment the things were quivering in the air, knowing that prey was close by.


“Who was it that first disturbed them?”


“I--It was m--me, my lord . . . “


Conquer’s eyes widened somewhat in surprise, as the large blushing oni who stepped forward was an offspring of his own loins. It was Slab, one of his younger sons. The boy was massive even by oni standards, with large muscles which flexed under a tough, but dull, yellow hide. The reason for his embarrassment was instantly clear to all who looked at him, as his fundoshi appeared to be in shreds, only kept in place by his own efforts to hold on to the tattered pieces. Furthermore, he appeared to have viscous fluid from the tentacle coils coating much of his body.


The King of Oni faintly recalled that this one wasn’t the brightest of his many children.


“I--It wasn’t my fault though! I was just walkin’ along, on point where I was supposed to be, an’ . . . an’ I tripped on a root! Alluva sudden these things were poppin’ up outta nowhere! They grabbed me and . . . “ he flushed, if possible, even redder. “There was nuthin’ I could do!”


Conquer held up a hand to belay any further ramblings. “Enough. I will deal with *you* later.” His large son loudly gulped and his buttocks clenched, but he knew better than to dispute the case further.


“And is that any way to stand before your king?” Conquer asked him sternly. “Arms at your side, back straight, chest out! You are an oni, not a simpering fey!”


Slab groaned, but did as ordered. His fundoshi immediately slid down to his ankles and his large cock flopped out. He was left holding that position surrounded by his grinning fellows, as Conquer from that point on ignored him.

Embarrassed Slab, sketch by Maryn

“My liege, Cutthroat’s Gully is still available to us,” Ruthless put in, “If we turn back now, we would lose only a day’s travel, and still--”


Without even glancing his way, Conquer cut him off with a backhand to the face.


“Fool! You think that rebel lord Bellow will sit on his rump during that time, and merely wait for us to arrive? He will finish his assault on the Feastlands, then scatter his forces to the four winds and it will take us another fifty years to find him again!” Conquer lectured down at his fallen general. His fiery eyes narrowed. “Or are you under his power, and would prefer that outcome for this expedition?”


“N--no, my liege! My body and soul serve you alone!” Ruthless declared his allegiance.


“Oh? And just who was it that failed to give the order to have this pass properly scouted before the main body’s arrival?” Conquer demanded.


“My . . . my liege . . . !” Ruthless choked on his answer, and instead prostrated himself on the ground in the typical oni position of obeisance--head down, muscular backside raised.


Conquer snarled and gave that rump a hard open-palmed smack, then turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The forced march had been undertaken to catch Bellow with his fundoshi down, as the saying went, but this new development sent all his plans into disarray. The nest of tentacles stood directly in his army’s path. He could do battle with it, of course, but that would waste valuable soldiers and resources . . . and there was not even the guarantee of success. Tentacles were tough, durable creatures, and once they had an oni within their coils there was no escape for him until they’d had their way with his body for as long as they pleased. There was no record of one ever being defeated through force of arms.


If only there was some way to communicate with them . . .


“My king!” one of his aides piped up. Another of his offspring, but the runt of his litter--a small, green oni named Raze. He pointed a trembling finger. “Some of them move!”


That was all the warning they got.


The next instant the front line was awash with tentacles, as the ground erupted with them. Calls of alarm were raised, many getting interrupted as slimy lengths were pressed into mouths as gags. Surprised demons of all kind were grabbed before they could bring forth their weapons, lifted into the air and the contents of their fundoshi pouches sought after by the prying things. Conquer saw Slab, already naked, get hauled up helplessly. “Oh no, not again!” he wailed as his beefy buttocks were parted by a pair of tentacles, and then, before the eyes of his very king, a particularly thick tendril shot straight up his exposed hole. “OHHH!”


Not all were taken so easily. As they saw their fellows taken many oni attacked the tentacles, both to fight off the invaders and to free their comrades. Ruthless was one such man, waving a massive scimitar over his head as he sliced at the creatures. Even his formidable strength inflicted mere flesh wounds on the powerful coils however, and only served to incite the creatures to anger. He was seized as well, and raised to join a growing number of his brethren. Before he could resist further, his muscular arms were caught and restrained by more of the lengths, and then others were spreading his legs. Ruthless was unable to fight back as his fundoshi was torn away and another tentacle wrapped around his flopping member. It seemed to secrete a fluid of some kind, and it affected Ruthless quite quickly as only a few rubs later the proud general was embarrassingly growing to full hardness.


“Ohhh, damn you creatures--!” Ruthless was interrupted by another tentacle cramming itself into his moaning mouth. It began to fuck him in revenge for suffering his attacks, pulsing in and out while it’s fellow expertly jerked him off. He wasn’t alone. Everywhere you looked now, an evil and burly demon was groaning as he either took large intrusion at various orifices, or his cock was stroked to maddening girth and length from watching the same happen to others.


Unbelievably, some tentacles even shot towards Conquer, intending to take the greatest prize of them all. The mighty king, however, merely glared and pushed out an aura formed of his own murderous intent. It kept any from getting too close. Raze, too, was close enough to be enfolded in the field, and he huddled close by for protection.


“My lord, we must away! They are too many!” he urged.


“Hmph! And lose face by fleeing?” Conquer dismissed the suggestion. He peered closely at the tentacles raping his struggling, groaning troops, attempting to discern some weakness.


(King . . .)


Conquer blinked, as he suddenly felt a presence in his mind.


(King?) he asked it.


(We want . . . the King . . .)


Despite his aura keeping them at bay, more tentacles were rising from the ground to join the others around him. He was surrounded now, with no way back to the main unit.


(King’s seed . . . is strongest . . .)


The tentacles were poking forward, one at a time. At each instance there would be a hiss, and they would scramble back. But they still went on trying, and always in a new part of the barrier. They were testing him for any weakness, just as he was doing to them. And given enough time, they’d likely succeed. He had other weapons at his disposal once this one was breached, but still . . .


(If I give you my seed . . . will you allow my army to pass unmolested?) he asked, thinking this might be the chance at communication he’d earlier wished for. If he could cut a deal, he could still turn this setback around.


(Yesss . . . ) The tentacles around even seemed to give an approximation of a nod. (King’s seed . . . produce many strong stalks . . . )


Conquer considered his options. The tentacles seemed to value him more highly than the rest of his men combined. By sacrificing himself, he could pull off an important military maneuver and capture a crafty foe who’d been a thorn in his side for almost a generation. Yet, that victory would be meaningless if he was not present to personally lead his forces. If only . . .


(I know of one whose seed is nearly as powerful as mine . . . and you may keep him as long as you like, if you allow the rest through. He is young, and will give you many milkings.)


There was a long pause as the tentacles seemed to communicate amongst themselves, turning and gesticulating with their slimy bodies. At last, they all turned back to him.


(Your terms . . . are acceptable . . .)


Conquer smiled, and turned to Raze.


“Bring me Slake.”


* * * * *


The eldest offspring and favored son of the king strode forward, his head held high and his muscular blue chest puffed out proudly. After having served successfully in a dozen campaigns and making a name for himself as a brutal and effective warrior and tactician, he was finally earning the notice of his Majesty, the mighty Conquer. He’d even sent a messenger to fetch him. Him, Slake! Not as part of a retinue or a unit, but him alone.


He must have some great task for him.


“I am here, my great liege! What is it you need of me?” Slake announced once he was in his father’s presence. It was at the front line of the army, typically served at by the strongest warriors. Oddly, many of those warriors were giving each other dirty looks and and shifting uncomfortably, as if they’d had to take something they weren’t prepared for. A lot of ripped fundoshi littered the ground as well.


“Ah, Slake, thank you for arriving so punctually. There is a task for you . . . one that is so great, only you can accomplish it,” Conquer smiled at him benignly.


Slake’s heart thrilled. He clenched a fist before his chest. “I knew it! Tell me what it is, sir, and I shall carry it out!”


“I’m glad you are so eager to start. Right this way.” The king lead him towards the very front of the army. The other brawny demons parted to let them through, some of them chuckling as he passed by. Slake ignored them. They were merely jealous of the great bond he and the king enjoyed.


The two stopped at the entrance to the pass the army was to pass through, beyond which was only emptiness and desolation. Slake hesitated as Conquer gestured for him to proceed, feeling many eyes on him. “Sir?”


“Well what are you waiting for, boy?” Conquer grinned, all sharp teeth, and gave him a solid slap on his muscular backside. “Your task awaits you!”


Slake stumbled forward, confused. Before he understood what was happening, things were bursting up out of the ground all around him. “WHAT?” he shouted as the things--tentacles!--gripped his arms and legs, and then hefted him aloft as if he weighed nothing.


Immediately he fought back, but their hides were too tough for his claws to scratch through. Not only that, but their slick, rubbery lengths were impossible to get a grip on, though they seemed to have no such difficulty getting traction on his own hairy and powerful body. He gasped as two more tentacles came and grasped his fundoshi on either side. They both started to tug, as if in a competition over who could yank it off the fastest. Neither the bindings nor the fabric itself could stand up to that kind of force for long however, and moments later a loud rip rang out as Slake’s only clothing was shredded off him in two pieces before the entire army..


“Argh! No!” Slake thundered in a fury, battling the powerful beasts. He’d never felt this way before. As if he were the prey and these things the hunters. And implacable hunters they were, too, as despite his best efforts his naked body was spread-eagled by them, a tentacle holding each of his limbs.


“H--help!” he roared to the others, but to his astonishment, none of his fellow oni were rushing to his aid. Rather, they were all now marching by underneath, leaving him behind! The most any did look up and leer, chuckling and elbowing each other as their kingdom’s strapping young prodigy got his just desserts.


While Slake’s mind tried to process the betrayal, a tentacle rose to give his pain a physical element as well. It dove between his brawny cheeks and forced itself right up his hole. Slake howled at the sensation, as if he were being split into two. The tentacle ignored him however and merely continued writhing inward, as if it wished to fit it’s entire enormous length into the blue demon.


“Once you’re finished here, report back to the main group,” Conquer shouted up at him, smiling in satisfaction at a successful negotiation. “Don’t dawdle, now! If you do, the punishment will be severe!”


Anything Slake might have shouted back would never be heard, as his mouth was full of slimy and horny tentacle head. He strained, moaning, trying to free himself but getting nowhere. Conquer stood, watching, as another tentacle joined the one working it’s way up Slake’s tight and muscled ass. Just how much could Slake be stretched? He’d always wondered. Now he could see first-hand.

 Oni Overstuffed, art by Hellboy/Soto

Beside him, another was looking on with even more fascination. Raze stood by, eyes locked on the tentacles so easily raping the proud warrior . . . so easily doing whatever they liked with him. The pouch of his fundoshi bulged as he saw one of them grasp Slake’s rod and begin working it, building him up to the first of many releases as his ‘big brother’ bucked, growled, and groaned.


But before that could be witnessed, Conquer turned away. He strode at the rear of his army, pushing to overtake them and assume his rightful place at the head of it. Raze took one last fretful look at the scene, before hurrying after him. “My lord?” he asked, seeing an unusual expression cross Conquer’s face.


“He will never trust me again,” said Conquer.


Left on his own, Slake had plenty of time to mull over the gross betrayal at his father’s hands as the tentacles fed on his seed over . . . and over . . . and over . . .

While the King's Away

Part 1

Under the leadership of it’s lord and master, the Oni Realm was a tightly wound coil of barely checked aggression.


By their very nature, the demonic denizens craved to dominate and do battle with each other. In order to ensure a kingdom which would not devolve to incessant and directionless violence, it was therefore necessary for disparate factions and monstrous egos to be manipulated and pitted against each other in a complicated system of checks and balances. This allowed the most disruptive of tempers to be unleashed under controlled conditions, much like releasing a valve, while leaving the general realm still free to be controlled and used. When bloodlust rose too high in the general population itself, an outside enemy--an outlying kingdom, a rogue demon, even a rebellion whose seeds were planted specifically for this purpose--was located to focus this aggressive feeling on. All of these maneuverings were skillfully carried out by Conquer, who had many long centuries of practice.


And in that fashion, his kingdom had prospered.


In his absence, however, chaos reigned.


It did not happen immediately. Though his departure had been abrupt, he’d still left careful and detailed instructions for his most loyal generals and advisors before doing so, and for a time he  communicated daily via sorcerous means as well. One day, however, his missives simply . . . ceased. Contact could not be re-established, and tracing spells could not get a fix on his location. Conquer had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared.


Efforts to find him would have been easier if Conquer himself had not so effectively masked his presence. He’d told no one of where he was going. And though many tried to pry, the king had decreed the object and purpose of his journey to be of utmost secrecy. Thus, when his failure to communicate regularly first began, no one could say if the reason was because something had happened, or if he was simply choosing to momentarily ignore his royal duties. The speculation only began after many days had passed. Was some form of interdimensional interference blocking his messages? Was this some sort of test he was putting to them? Or had he abandoned his rule? Or, most unimaginable of all, had he actually been captured, or even killed?


For a time his advisors tried to keep it a secret. They put forward their own proclamations and signed them in his hand. He had not vanished upon journeying to worlds unknown, they said. No, he was back in the Realm even now. He was on a tour of duty inspecting his vast armies. He had sequestered himself in his tower of sorcery to unearth new spells and enchantments. He was walking the corridors of his sprawling dungeons, visiting the cell of each and every wretched fool who had ever sought to overthrow him.


However, after a solid month wherein Conquer had not been seen seated on his throne, the secret could be kept no longer. It was clear that the king was gone. And it was impossible to say when, or even if, he would ever return.


A void of power emerged like none ever before it, and the mad rush to fill it was then instantaneous. For a thousand different oni, a thousand years worth of ambition was suddenly brought to light . . .

* * * * *

The roaring sounds of battle and wet smacks of muscular flesh rang through the Imperial Palace, as well as assorted deep-voiced groans and moans. It seemed as if every oni who’d ever had the slightest desire for power had descended on the place to stake his claim. But only one man could sit on the throne, and so the culling had begun. Each day more and more demon ogres fought each other for dominance, and each day more and more were eliminated from the running, to instead be used and abused at the whims of those who defeated them.


Even now, as royal aide Raze stealthily made his way down the grand halls and past the once-serene courtyards, he witnessed countless scenes of violence and degradation, chaotic and brazen.


Here, two huge titans swung their clubs in combat, both pitting their entire essence against the other . . . but unaware that they were being approached from behind by other oni wielding chains who would soon be taking advantage of their exhaustion and lack of attention. There, a victor in battle held his defeated opponent by the back of his hair, forcing his fellow ogre to suck on his thick cock or risk submitting to an even more humiliating punishment for losing. Down the corridor, one oni had another slung over an outstretched knee and was mercilessly spanking him.


“Argh! Let go of me, damn you! You’ll pay for this!” the defeated oni roared as his ass was hammered with hard blows. After several minutes went by without any change in the tempo however, he had changed his tune significantly. “Yoww! Very well! I accept my--Ouch!--defeat! I’ll never challenge your might again!” He kicked his legs helplessly, sucking in a breath as his butt cheeks burned and squirmed. “Please stooooop!”


But the victor grinned and only got a firmer grip. “Naw, I think you still need a lesson on crossing your betters . . . !“ He kept up the relentless beating until pained howls filled that entire wing of the castle.


Only a week ago, these brutes all served together under a common banner. Now they’re at each other’s throats. The King would be outraged to see so much of his army turn against each other, Raze thought as he moved on. Having served as Conquer’s personal aide for over a century, he had some idea of just how much effort it took to mold the legions of evil demons into any semblance of organization. All that work was getting flushed into oblivion now.


But he couldn’t think about that. He had a mission that might salvage some of this situation, and he needed to reach the throne room in order to carry it out. He just had to hope no one noticed and challenged him before he made it . . .

 'Raze', art by Maryn

“Hey! What’s this little man doing sneaking around in the shadows?”


Raze ground his crooked teeth together in frustration as he felt a large hand take him by the scruff of his neck and left him up like you would a kitten, except much more painfully in his case. He was brought face to face with an ugly thug of an oni, a limestone-colored beast who he dimly remembered held the rank of a common trench-digger and footsoldier in the 5th Legion. His name was . . . Bash? Slash? Rash? Something like that. It seemed that the current state of affairs had changed his station, too, as Raze could see a necklace of captured fundoshi hung around the lug’s thick neck from all the opponents he’d apparently vanquished.


“I--I wasn’t sneaking, honest!” Raze grinned uneasily at the hulking man. Not for the first time, he cursed his small size. Born shorter and far more frail than the typical oni, before his royal appointment Raze had made his way through life constantly avoiding bullies who enjoyed torturing those weaker than themselves. And, in this Realm, that was pretty much everyone.


“Oh, no? It sure looked like you were,” the larger oni grinned, giving Raze a whiff of stale breath.


“Look, Rash, I’m just on my way to the throne room, so if you could just--”


“Rash? My name is MASH!”


Raze winced. “Uh, right, sorry. But um, still, if you could just let me go--”


“Oh no.” The large oni was frowning now. “I think you need a lesson on who your biggers and betters are, little man. And I know just the way to do it!” He started pawing at his crotch, giving a clear indication of just what bigger size he was planning on showing off. Raze groaned and looked away, already preparing for the limp home . . .


WHUMP!


Somehow or other, Raze was dropped to the floor on his rear. Looking up, he was able to scoot back just in time to avoid an unconscious Mash falling on top of him.


“Wh--what . . . ?”


“Oh, hey there Raze!”


Standing over the unconscious bully was Slab, one of Raze’s many “brothers”. The hulking ogre was the color of dull sand and was far more muscular and broad than even the standard oni ideal. His stupidly grinning face was crested by a single horn sprouting from the very top of his head, and he held a solid tetsubo in each hand, having apparently used one to knock Mash unconscious with a good slug to the back of the head.

'Slab', art by Maryn

 “Slab? What’re you doing here?” Raze asked curiously as he got up and brushed himself off.


“Oh, you know. I saw everybody fightin’, and I hate being left out of a good fight . . . “ Slab explained as he knelt by the knocked out Mash. With the barest flex of his arms, he’d torn off the other’s fundoshi to leave the demon totally naked, then he casually spread Mash’s brawny buttocks apart.


“You just . . . saw the fighting?” Raze asked, his eyes drawn to Slab’s stiffening member as it got retrieved from it’s fundoshi pouch. With a happy grin, Slab pressed himself into the defeated ogre’s hole. Despite being knocked out, Mash regardless let out quite a moan as his anus was stretched wide around the ridiculously large cock, and Slab started to fuck him. Raze couldn’t help but jealously wonder what it must be like to haul around such a large “weapon” on your person, to be used at any time.


“Yeah, that’s right!” Slab grinned as he established a good humping rhythm.


“Well . . . what faction are you with?”


“Huh? Faction?”


“ . . . Slab, do you even know the reason why everybody’s fighting in the palace?”


“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . “


The smaller demon slapped his forehead. “That is so typical of you.” He watched for a time as Slab did his thing, fitting his whole improbable length into the helpless rump. It was doubtful Mash would be able to walk after this. Raze considered his brother. “Well . . . you can’t just fight everybody. If you do, even you’ll lose eventually.” The smaller demon mulled the matter over for a moment, then snapped his fingers with a grin. “How about this. Once you’re done, would you like to join my faction?”


“Huh? You have a faction, Raze?”


“Yeah . . . That’s right. And you can be it’s first member. All you have to do is protect me on the way to the throne room. Think you can handle that?”


Slab smiled his dopey grin. “Sure thing! You can count on me, bro!” The noise of fleshy smacks repeated themselves for some time until the huge oni’s seed was finally unleashed. They left the knocked out Mash on the palace floor, cum overflowing from his abused backside, but free for the taking of any other ogre who wished to claim his hole.

Part 2

As the two scions of the vanished king made their way towards the throne however, they didn’t know was that the room was already occupied. Heavy weapons clashed and elements flared as two combatants circled each other like wild, snarling dogs.


“Pathetic! Is that all you’ve got?” spat the aggressor, a tall, well built red oni covered in scars of battle. A patch lay over his right eye, and his black hair was drawn up in a topknot. “The throne is mine. Surrender your claim, and I’ll spare your miserable hide!” He was lord of the Northern Peaks. He was called Ruthless, and styled himself the greatest of all Conquer’s warlords.


But his opponent merely smiled grimly. He was an older blue, having existed long enough that some of his long hair and thick braided beard had begun to turn gray. Resembling a grizzled viking raider in appearance, he was just as battle-scarred as his opponent, if not wiser due to his greater maturity. “Surrender my claim? Surrender yours, whelp! I’ve been awaiting this day since before you were sired . . . “ He was lord of the Southern Seas. He was called Riptide, and styled himself the greatest of all Conquer’s warlords.


Due to the obvious conflict their opinions presented, they had glared venomously in each other’s directions for decades. But under the rule of Conquer, their rivalry had never been allowed to develop into full-blown warfare. With him out of the picture, however, there were no longer any such obstructions.


They closed again, battering ceaselessly with their weapons. While both were skilled warriors with centuries of battle experience under their belts, they abandoned all hints of subtlety in this match and merely pitted their raw strength against each other.


“Die!”


“Up yours!”


Riptide was well armored with a suit of full-plate mail, formed from the ice of the very glacier which had spawned him, and he wielded a battle axe of the same material.  The axe in particular was a great treasure of his, as the ice had been carved out and repeatedly pressed using arcane means until it was far sharper than any steel. He lashed out at the other brutally with it.


Against the ice axe, Ruthless swung an obsidian great sword inlaid with sorcerous runes. It had been a gift from Conquer himself, long ago, and had been ensorcelled to never fail him in battle. In stories told by his soldiers around their evening camp fires, it was said that every swing he made with it felled another enemy.

Sketch of General Ruthless, by Maryn

“You’ll never best me . . . I was placed in control of the entire northern continent by our forsaken liege. That proves even he knew I was worth more than you, pirate!” Ruthless roared as he swung his sword with both mighty arms. It cleaved off a piece of Riptide’s armor, scattering chips of ice everywhere and exposing a hairy forearm on his opponent.


“The northern continent? Bah! That was only so he could keep a close eye on your sloppy work!” Riptide taunted back as he switched to a defensive stance, blocking further blows. “Isn’t it true that to this day you can’t keep even your safest holdings safe from raids by that overblown pickpocket, Bellow?”


“Argh! Why you . . . !!” That insult enraged the red-skinned warlord, and his attacks grew more frenzied. The grizzled blue found himself getting beaten back by the other’s fury. More and more attacks broke through his guard, and more and more of his armor was cut off, slowly stripping him. Already much of his muscular, gray-haired chest was revealed, along with his outer thighs.


In addition to his attacks, the red must also have been channeling his element, as the room’s temperature had been slowly climbing as they’d fought. It was now as hot as a furnace, making the blue sweat and making more of his armor melt away, along with the pieces already scattered on the floor. The floor was slick with melted ice as the two ogres took and gained ground on each other. But Riptide was becoming well-aware of the fact that if the contest went on much longer, he’d be battling naked.


“Nngh!” His attention was diverted from such thoughts by a small gash on his arm.


“You’re weakening . . . “ Ruthless said eagerly.


“You think so?” Riptide replied grimly. He took that moment to focus on his own connection to the land. In his case, that was the arctic seas. It was time to even the playing field.


All of a sudden, a flash blizzard swept through the room, dispelling the great heat which had been gathered there. But it’s focus was around the other general, and the great puddle Ruthless had been standing in was transformed instantaneously to thick ice, freezing his bare feet to the spot. As he cursed and tried to pull them loose, more ice gathered around him, slowly inching up his legs.


“You damn frost mage! Release me!” he roared, but Riptide simply smirked as he willed the ice to grow up the man’s muscled calves.


“I think not.“ With his opponent now unable to maneuver around, disarming him was a simple task. Riptide casually did so, making the obsidian sword go clattering across the room and leaving Ruthless even more helpless. The red oni snarled as the axe was held up to his throat, adam’s apple bobbing as he felt the chilled blade against his skin . . . then gave a groan as Riptide reached down and firmly grabbed his fundoshi pouch instead.


“D--Dammit . . . !“ he snarled as his cock was taken out and began to receive a stroking from the smug ocean raider.


“We’re going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we Ruthless? Once you swear fealty to me, your nude body will make the perfect figurehead . . . chained to the prow of my new flagship . . . “ Riptide smirked, building his opponent’s rod up to a good, full hardness. The red oni growled and cursed him all throughout the process, but there was nothing he could do to keep his thick cock from thickening under the other’s touch until it stood straight up. Once that was accomplished, Riptide stepped back and casually pursed his lips. “But until then, I’ll just keep you on ice for a bit until you cool down.”


The red struggled uselessly as the frozen water continued to climb up his muscular body, First to his waist, sealing his dripping boner inside the clear crystal, then up his firm abs, his pectorals . . . his arms were encased as well, frozen against his sides. He groaned and exerted all of his strength to break free, but it was no use. It wasn’t normal ice, but enchanted by a demon who was master of that element. The last thing Ruthless saw before it crept over his eyes was the blue’s smirking face.


“Sweet dreams . . . “ Riptide mocked his new ice sculpture.


“NO!” Ruthless screamed out silently, and his consciousness swam while fighting to keep from passing out in his frigid prison. He could not let it end like this . . . He could not . . .


And from beneath the ice, a fiery mountain surged.

* * * * *

“So what’re we gonna do in there, anyway?” Slab asked as they approached the doors to the throne room, after encountering only a few other slight mishaps.


“It’s simple,” Raze explained. “I’ve just spent the last few days combing the archives searching for a precedent for what we are to do under the present circumstances--when the king unexpectedly departs.”


“A . . . pressy dent . . . ?”


“Precedent, yes. It’s part of our kingdom’s eldritch legal system.”


Slab just looked at him blankly.


Raze sighed. “Our realm operates on a fixed pattern of repeating motifs, and those are held in place by certain sorceries set down generations ago by our demon ancestors. You know that much, right?”


“Repeating . . . wha . . . ?”


“Basically it’s just a bunch of magic laws and accords that, once called upon, bind any oni around to do what they say. Sort of like insurance. Our ancestors must’ve known how wild we can get, so they set these up just in case.“


“Um . . . “


“Anyway, one of them concerns kingdoms which have lost their king. I had to spend weeks going through all the texts until I found it.” The slim green oni rummaged around in his fundoshi pouch, then took out a sheaf of yellowed papers. “If I incant what’s on these scrolls before the empty throne, I can stop all the mindless fighting that’s been going on and get everybody back on track. The ley lines running through the land will make it so.”


“ . . . I don’t really get it . . . “ said Slab, who was actually rather fond of mindless fighting.


Raze smiled with a mouth full of hookteeth. “The point is, all I need to do is read all this stuff uninterrupted. The only tricky part will be doing it before some clod crowns himself king. So let’s get a move on!”


“Okay . . . !” While Slab didn’t understand the particulars, he did know that his little brother needed his help, so he didn’t hesitate in busting open the menacing black obsidian doors which housed the oni’s throne room. The two raced inside, Raze clutching his papers and smiling in satisfaction. But what he saw once inside nearly made his heart stop.


General Ruthless sat smirking on the Throne of Kings.


“Why hello little Raze, maladroit Slab,” he said, smiling. “How pleasant. Of all my new subjects, I didn’t expect you to be the first volunteering to kneel before me.”


“Kn--kneel!?” Raze stammered.


“New subjects?” Slab scratched his head.


Raze’s mind was already spinning. Of all Conquer’s warlords, Ruthless had always been among the most prideful and conceited. It wasn’t surprising that he’d make such a play for power. It was only sickening how quickly he’d done it. The unmitigated arrogance!


Carelessly tossed over Ruthless’s lap tied up and gagged was another oni, this one a strong looking bearded blue. His face was turned away in shame, so at first Raze couldn’t recognize him. He was scarred and clearly battle hardened however, dressed in the remnants of ice armor. The rear plates had been removed to expose a firm and beefy ass, which quivered helplessly as Ruthless gave it a mocking squeeze. The muscled buttocks were blushing a burning red from what could only have been a hard spanking. Something about the scene was somehow familiar to Raze.


It was only when Ruthless smugly pushed a red finger between the blistered cheeks and into the captive’s hole, making him turn his face to let out a heaving groan that Raze knew him. It was General Riptide himself, Lord of the Bloody Seas!


Once the most feared pirate of the kingdom’s southern coast, Riptide had been responsible for countless pillages of seaside villages. Almost a thousand years ago however, Conquer had bested him in open combat and secured his services for himself. In a show of generosity, the king had offered Riptide the chance to continue his seafaring ways--albeit as a general in Conquer’s armies, and with a share of his plunders going into the kingdom’s coffers. Various orifices still sore from the royal poundings he’d received, the defeated pirate had been quick to agree. Since that day, Riptide had plied his new duties magnificently, sinking rival ships belonging to other kingdoms and capturing countless new slaves with every successful raid.


Before stepping into the throne room, Raze might have pegged him as the man most likely to come out ahead in any battle for power among the king’s inner circle, as his influence was great and he was popular among the people. Clearly, however, that had not been the case this day.


“By the look on your faces you are surprised to see me,” Ruthless said, amused. He gave a loud slap to the blue bottom. “Riptide here was surprised as well . . . He was even more surprised when his little ice prison spell didn’t work on me and I finally broke free to best him. But then, no mere glacier can hold the force of a raging volcano, can it?” Ruthless chuckled as he began to work the muscular raider’s opening with his finger, sliding it in and out rhythmically. “And he was so sure he’d gotten me.” After a moment, he added another finger. Riptide moaned into his gag with angry humiliation but otherwise didn’t resist.


Raze finally realized what about this scene was so familiar. It was exactly like that time his eldest brother Slake had foolishly tried to failed to seize the throne from their father. That time, too, the blue oni had lost to the red, and paid for it with a beating over the very knee of the man he’d sought to overcome. Apparently history liked to repeat itself.


“So . . . you two fought a duel in here for the throne?” Raze asked nervously. “Already?”


“As you say, diminutive one. And as Riptide here was the only man in the kingdom who had any true chance of disputing the position, I trust there will be no further objections to a new reign, under my rule.”


Though he bristled at the slight against his size, Raze knew when the fates had turned against him. His ancient compact would only work if no one had claimed the throne yet. As that was no longer the case, the best thing to do would be to run like hell and hope Ruthless would forget about them while cementing his doubtless iron-fisted new reign.


Before he could bow his way out, however, Slab had to step in.


“We didn’t come to kneel in front of you!” the massive dunce said staunchly. “We came to stop you from sitting there!”


“Oh?” Ruthless gave a dark chuckle. He fixed the smaller brother with a stare. “Is that true, Raze?”


“Er . . . “ Raze sweated. “N--no, I have no idea what his meathead is talking about, eheheh. Congratulations on your new kingship, er, sir, but, oh! I just remembered! Today is my turn to do laundry for the palace guard. And well, you know those guards. Five hundred pairs of sweaty loincloth aren’t gonna wash themselves . . . ”


“Huh? But Raze, outside you were saying . . . “ Slab started.


The smaller oni stomped on the bigger one’s foot. “Shut it!” he hissed.


Laughter ran throughout the throne room, as Ruthless seemed to find the two of them quite amusing. “A comedy duo to congratulate my victory, how thoughtful! But now now, no need to be coy, little swamp rat. Why don’t you come forward and show me those papers you’re holding?”


“Er, what papers?” Raze said quickly, trying to hide them behind his back. Before he could work out a plan of escape, he felt the butt of a spear drive into him from behind, driving him forward. “Gah! What gives?!”


Another blow spurred him further, stumbling over himself towards the throne. Looking behind himself, he saw several palace guards had entered the throne room. They had once served Conquer . . . now they served Ruthless.


“Hey!” Slab moved to defend his smaller companion, but two spears crossed in front of him to bar his path. Another pair of guards advanced in from behind, forming a ring of steel around hm. They pressed in, not allowing him room to swing his tetsubos.


“Just him,” Ruthless said to them, beckoning Raze closer.


Seeing no choice in the matter, Raze advanced until he stood before the throne, close enough to feel the heat radiating from Riptide’s blistered and hairy buttocks. He extended the papers with shaking hands.


Ruthless read through them once, completely, before letting out a snort. “A dusty old treaty, forged a millennia ago and forgotten before you were born. You really thought this would have any meaning here?”


“It was merely a suggestion, my lord,” Raze said obsequiously.


“What it was . . . was FOOLISH!” Ruthless suddenly roared. He ripped the documents to shreds before Raze’s eyes.


“No!” he cried in dismay before he could stop himself. Scraps of paper fell all around him, littering the polished floor. “Those were valuable--a piece of our history!”


“History? Pah!” Ruthless spat. “All garbage. The only thing that’s real is the here and now. Nothing else matters. That is why the throne is mine, won by my cunning and skill, not through dusty rulings set forth by the long dead.”


“You’re wrong! You have won nothing!” Raze said, finding his courage in the heat of the moment.


Ruthless looked down at him. “Ohhh?” He smirked. “And would you dispute with me, as Riptide did?” Another ferocious spank on the upturned buttocks, another moan into the grizzled veteran’s gag. Raze gulped.


“Conquer is gone away . . . that is all,” he said nervously, trying to convince the arrogant warlord with reason if not through might. “In his absence, our duty is only to locate him, and offer assistance if necessary. Not to . . . declare yourself master and take what you have not earned.”


“Yeah, dad’s gonna be real mad that you’re sitting in his chair,” Slab put in.


Ruthless’s gaze darkened, and he stood, leaving the bound and growling Riptide to flop naked onto the floor where he yelped at landing on his ass. “I am King now,” he said in a steely voice. “Anyone who says otherwise will find their personal circumstances becoming most . . . unpleasant. I offer you one last chance. Do you recognize me as your new lord?”


The slender green oni bit his lip. “No, you’re not king,” he said, deciding that if he’d already come this far, there was no more harm to be done. They were doomed either way now. “The only way to become King here would be if you fought Conquer in single combat and emerged victorious . . . which the whole kingdom knows you’d never have the balls to do. You’re just a coward who’s trying to take the wheel while no one’s looking.”


The warlord stepped forward. “A coward, am I?” he spoke, his voice hissing, and a wisp of flame issued from his nostril. “Foolish little demon. As Conquer’s aide you were kept insulated from the true ways of our kind.  You are truly blind to the ways of our world.” He took Raze’s chin and angled his face upward, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Allow me to show you . . . “


Gulping, Raze knew better than to resist as he was taken, turned around, and bent forward, his fundoshi pushed to the side to expose his butt. He grimaced as Ruthless’s hands grasped his hips. Well, I’m really in for it now!


On the floor in front of him, Riptide struggled in fits, knowing his reprieve would only be temporary. Looking between his legs, Raze could see Slab getting overpowered by four of the burly guardsmen. None were as strong as his brother, but working together they were able to manhandle him how they liked and snatch away his fundoshi over his protests. Raze closed his eyes tight as he felt the usurper’s cock aligning with his rather tight hole, praying he wasn’t about to be raped to death.


This was gonna suck.

'Inopportune Realization', art by Maryn

Part 3

 “Well that could have gone better . . . “ Raze said sourly as he walked stiffly along.


“You said it, bro,” agreed Slab, stopping every few seconds to rub his butt.


Both brothers were in considerable discomfort following their meeting with the new ‘king of the realm’. They’d ended up provided quite an entertaining diversion for him and his guards. Raze seethed in wounded pride, recalling the feel of Ruthless’s hardness pounding into him.


For Slab’s part, his round and muscular rump had drawn some unwelcome attention from the elite guards who’d subdued him. They’d spanked him good and hard, making his firm cheeks bounce in pain, and competed amongst each other to see who could raise the largest welt on the broad buttocks or the loudest cry from their hapless victim. Once his entire backside was a single mass of red, they’d finished by plugging his various ends with their rampant dicks--one in his mouth, and two up his ass. The ones who couldn’t squeeze in had to make do with pumping their seed all over his body while the others did their thing, leaving him a sticky embarrassed mess once they were finished.


Since tigerskin fundoshi were rather skimpy even on the slimmest of oni who wore them, much less one with Slab’s colossal frame, most of his punished ass cheeks were plainly on display as he walked in front. Raze kept finding his eyes wandering to them as they absently flexed, looking so deliciously punished as they journeyed through the swamp together.


Since his own rear was unmarked, it’d be easy to assume that Raze got off lighter than his brother. But receiving the personal attentions of the kingdom’s new ruler had still been less than pleasant. He’d escaped a spanking and a gangbang, true, but had paid for it in other ways.


Raze wasn’t certain if the arrogant demon had called upon his volcanic powers while having his way with him, or if it was simply an aspect of all red oni’s seed he’d been hitherto unaware of--but the general’s semen had burned like hot lava when it got released into him. It’d flooded every inch of his anus, and then seemed to flow deeper, eventually feeling like it was burning a hole through his insides. Even now, Raze felt like he should be checking to see if any smoke was issuing out of his raped asshole, the heat lingered so in his most private region.


“At least they let us go . . . “


“Yeah,” Raze coughed, tearing his eyes away from his brother’s muscular ass and back to the matter at hand. It had been a lucky break for them indeed that Ruthless had been feeling generous . . . though he knew that hadn’t been the real reason they’d been released. Rather than an act of mercy on Ruthless’s part, it had just been another way for the arrogant warlord to mock them. The action said they were so pathetic that they weren’t even worth taking as slaves. Raze didn’t mention that to to Slab though. Why ruin his simple brother’s good mood?


Riptide had been a different matter. Being the biggest rival for the throne before his defeat, Ruthless had made an example of the proud hairy oni by stringing him up in a prominent place right at the palace gates, with his soldiers encouraged to enliven their dull watch duty by having their way with him any hour of the day and night. Now all who entered could witness the raider captain’s humiliation, and think better of doing anything to risk joining him.


“So what’re we gonna do now?” Slab asked morosely.


“Plan B,” Raze answered, trying to sound confident even though all his instincts were telling him to cut his losses while he could. To run to the hills and hide himself away, living the rest of his life quietly as a hermit. But he couldn’t do that . . . not while there was still a chance to get the real king back on the throne.


Raze had been born the runt of his litter, and half his life had been spent learning to avoid the casual tortures of his brothers, cousins, and everyone else. In a world where anyone could overpower and rape you on a whim, Raze had been forced to sneak, hide, and do all manner of unpleasant things just to survive. No one had ever thought he would amount to anything on account of his size and weak muscle power.


Not until Conquer had taken notice of him.


Raze’s existence had only became bearable once he was made into his powerful father’s aide. Here, his true talents could shine. Organization, bookkeeping, a keen wit, keeping track of small details, learning about the kingdom so he could expound upon any topic without a moment’s delay--these were the functions he was suited for. And he had been acknowledged for performing them! Conquer himself had favored him with brief smiles, nods for tasks well done . . . at least when Slake hadn’t been around to steal all the attention away . . . And that had been more than enough.


He just couldn’t serve any other king, especially not one like Ruthless. Conquer had been the only one to see the potential in him. Conquer had been the one who’d lifted him out of the muck. He couldn’t go back to his life before that. No, he wouldn’t go back. He had to somehow locate the all-powerful ruler, wherever he was.


“Hey Slab . . . what do you think of our father?” he asked suddenly, thoughts of the man spinning through his own head.


“Huh?" Slab stopped, looking confused. "Well, he’s great,” he answered, “I mean, he’s the King.”


“So you still see him as King?”


Slab seemed to consider. “Well, nobody knows where he is. So if he comes back . . . yeah, I guess.”


Raze nodded, thankful for a distraction from his turbulent thoughts. He could always talk to his dunce of a brother, at least. “And so you’d be upset if he got overthrown?”


“Hmmm . . . I didn’t say that.“


“Yes, of course--wait, what?!” Raze asked, not expecting that answer from his simple brother.


The large oni gave a small shrug. “It’s our circle of life, you know? A fella is on top for a while, ‘til another guy comes along who’s bigger and stronger, and he knocks ‘im down. Then it just repeats again, over and over. Survival of the fittest and all.” Slab made a face as he slogged through a deep section of muck. “I’ve always thought it was kinda weird, actually. Everybody else’s position changes all time, everybody ‘cept for dad’s.”


“I see,“ said Raze, having never thought of it that way.


“I mean, not that I mind! It’s prob’ly just that he’s so, y’know, strong. Everyone’s afraid to fight him because they’d just get creamed.”


There was a moment of silence as both acknowledged the plain truth of Slab’s words.


“I wouldn’t want it to be Ruthless who took over, though.”


“No?” Raze asked.


“Naw, he’s just mean. And I don’t think he really cares about making our kingdom better . . . He just wants himself to be powerful.” Slab gave a lumbering sigh. “Actually, I kinda always wanted it to be Slake.”


“Slake?!” Raze said, astonished that Slab even still remembered their eldest, and most foolhardy, brother. “But he used to bully you every day. Didn’t he used to tan your rump far redder than this--” he poked a talon into a beefy cheek, “--just for looking at him the wrong way?”


“Uhhh, well yeah, he did. But . . . he wasn’t mean about it, you know? He was just, uh, establishing the pecking order. It’s not like he actually enjoyed makin’ me beg and plead all those times.”


Raze raised an eyebrow. “But I’m pretty sure he did enjoy it. A lot.


“Well, okay,” Slab acknowledged. “Ummmm. But when Slake did it, it was always for a reason . . . When Ruthless does it, it’s just because he can.”


“I don’t really see a difference.”


Slab scratched his head. “It’s hard to explain.”


“Don’t strain yourself.” Raze rolled his eyes. “It’s a moot point anyway. Slake’s gone and won’t be coming back for a good long time . . . if ever. I took a look once at the spell that Conquer used to banish him. It’s a real doozy.” He gave a little shiver. “Blacker than black sorcery.”


“Awww . . . “ Slab looked dejected again. “I kinda miss him. Say . . . “ he looked around, seeming to notice where they were for the first time. “Where are we, anyway? Looks sorta familiar . . . “


“I don’t know why it should look familiar to you,” Raze told him, “But for your information we’re right in the middle of Swamp Brackish.”


“Ohhh . . . “ Slab looked all around. On the whole, the place looked disgusting. A sort of green ooze lay over the ground everywhere, and a haze of mosquitos hovered over the travellers. There were tall, heavy trees interspersed, poking through the fetid muck with thick vines hanging off them. The only larger animals they could see were frogs and snakes.


“It’s also the place where I was born.”


“Huh, you were born here?!” Slab asked, his mouth opening wide. “Wow, so you mean King Conquer himself came here and . . . “


“ . . . and mixed his essence with this very swamp, yes.”


“Wow . . . “ Slab said again as his eyes widened like dinner plates, and he looked around in new appreciation. He imagined the king’s virility in action, the majesty of his powerful loins . . .


“And then I popped out a month or so later.” Raze’s eyes lowered as he remembered. His first memory had been of opening his eyes to see his larger, more impressive swamp brothers surrounding him, all grinning. They’d begun playing their ‘games’ with him very quickly after that. “Of course, father was long gone by then. Some urgent matter needed his attention. An invading army probably. Or a new dimensional nexus. A king is always busy.”


“OH!” Slab snapped his meaty fingers. “THAT’S why I thought this place looked familiar, bro! This gross muck that’s all over everything.” He rubbed the oozing bark of a tree trunk, then smeared his hand over Raze’s chest. “It matches you! See? I guess you really are from here!”


“Yeah . . . thanks,” Raze said in distaste, trying and failing to wipe the gunk back off.


They continued on for another few hours, picking their way carefully through the marsh. It was not a pleasant trip. Sometimes there was no dry land to walk on, so they’d have to wade instead. And the further in they went, the more the place reeked of sweltering pus. Dead animals were seen floating face-down in the green ooze. Raze and Slab were soon worn out and tired, as well as hungry since they knew better than to eat anything in swamp either, as most things that looked edible there were in fact poisonous.


“Oh!” Slab suddenly cried out.


“What is it now?”


“I think a snake just brushed against my leg . . . “


“ . . . Ah.” Raze climbed up to a spot of dry land and turned to face his larger brother. “Hmm. Maybe this would be a good point to let you know what our true purpose in coming here is. Do you remember the incident on your first campaign?”


“Uhh, which one?”


“The one where you . . . tripped.”


“Oh!” Slab immediately blushed. “Y--yeah . . . that was pretty embarrassing. Because of me, the whole army was held up for a while . . . Dad paddled me good and hard later on for bein’ clumsy, too.“ Slab massaged his ass at the memory.


“Right. You somehow uncovered a whole nest of tentacles, and we weren’t able to keep marching until Conquer negotiated a deal with the them. In return for free passage, he ‘loaned’ them Slake for a while.”


“Hey, yeah! I remember. You were right with dad when he did that, right? That must’ve been cool. . . . Better than where I was.” Slab recalled the feeling of being wrapped in tentacles and hefted into the air for a good milking. He and a bunch of the others had been nabbed when the tentacles attacked that day. Even General Ruthless had been easily caught.


“Yes . . . “ Raze paused now, seeming unsure of how to proceed. He began to pace back and forth is. “The truth is though . . . when Conquer and the tentacles spoke mind to mind . . . I heard them too. In my head. I heard their whole conversation.”


“Huh?”


“I’m not sure how to explain it. But it was like . . . I could eavesdrop on their mental contact.”


“How?” Slab asked. “Nobody else could.”


Raze scuffed his foot on a tuft of lichen. “I wasn’t sure. And at first I thought it was just my imagination. But the more I thought about it . . . I think I’m actually the reason they were able to talk at all. Or rather, that I was the link between them. Everything happened so fast. I was huddled behind Conquer in terror, we were in close physical contact . . . ”


“ . . . I don’t get it.“ Slab scratched his bald head.


“Neither did I, until I did a little research,” Raze told him. “It turns out those tentacles are from this very swamp. The same one I was conceived in. I think my inborn attunement to this land must give me some sort of . . . natural connection to it, and everything that lives here--including the tentacles. In Conquer’s fervor to find a solution, he drew on my mental link without realizing it and made it stronger.”


“So you can talk to tentacles?” Slab asked dubiously.


“Yes . . . “ Raze nodded. “Though it’s not so much ‘talking’, as ‘bartering’. Their minds work a lot differently from ours. When they’re awake, all they ever really want is to catch and feed on what they consider prey.”


Slab scratched his head again.


“But anyway . . . now that we’re here, I know that my plan can work. Where persuasion failed, brute force will win out. And there’s no way Ruthless can beat a whole army of tentacles invading his castle.”


“A whole army? Wait a sec, where are we gonna get an army?”


“Haven’t you realized it, Slab? This whole time we’ve been talking, I’ve been communicating with them. And they’ve already agreed to my plan.” Raze tilted his head to something over Slab’s shoulder.


He turned around with a gasp. As far as the eye could see, Swamp Brackish was now crawling with tentacle monsters. Every few seconds another would pop up, thrusting out of the water. His mind couldn’t grasp how the land could even support so many. In fact, he was only now realizing that many of the vine covered ‘trees’ they’d passed by had actually been tentacles in some sort of dormant state which were now all awakening at once.


“They sorta like me from what I can tell, so they’re willing to help out. Sounds like oni are a real delicacy to them anyway, so it didn’t even take much convincing.”


Slab was still in the midst of being astounded by their numbers in fact, when the first pair swooped down and wrapped around his biceps.


“Uhh!” he gasped as he was then lifted off his feet by the slimy things. “Uhhh, bro?”


“Oh . . . yeah, sorry, Slab. One of their conditions for helping me is a ‘sample’ of what they’ll find once we’re in the palace. I had the feeling they’d ask for something like that from our last encounter, so I brought you along.”


Slab gulped nervously as more tentacles slithered up, twining around his beefy muscles and coating his body in some sort of clear liquid that made him tingle. With a snap, his fundoshi came loose and sailed down. “A sample? Y--you mean . . . “


“Yep, they’re gonna drain every ounce of spunk out of you,” Raze told him plainly.

 'Slimy Yet Satisfying', art by MiOtoko

“Whaaat! Aw man, not again . . . “ Slab moaned unhappily as the tentacles got to work. One was already poking curiously at his hole, while another was preemptively stroking his big balls. When another tentacle jammed into his open mouth, it was clear he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.


Raze just leaned back and watched.

* * * * *

When Raze walked through the palace for the second time that cycle, it was far different from the first. No longer did he hide or skulk in the shadows, shrinking from every other oni who came into sight. No, now he boldly marched towards his destination, chest puffed out and face held high.


His overwhelming tactical advantage did a lot to boost his self-esteem. The look on everyone’s faces had been priceless when the tentacles had sprang up out of the ground all around them, bursting through the obsidian floors and breaking in through the barbed windows. Most hadn’t even had time to grab their weapons.


Rather than challenging his approach, all the cocksure oni guards who patrolled the palace were now too busy being held tightly in slimy coils. Any who struggled too much found their vulnerable backsides immediately crammed with one or more tentacle heads, and their manhoods grasped to be milked dry. It was a veritable feast for the tentacles, who hadn’t had such an opportunity in ages.


“Sorry guys . . . normally there’s a seal around the palace to prevent these fellas from getting in. Your bad luck that I knew a back way,” he told them nonchalantly. Finding a weak point in the palace’s perimeter to allow the tentacles through had been child’s play, since it’d used to be one of his responsibilities to make sure the the seal was maintained in the first place.


The only responses he got back were either curses or, more often than not, helpless moans. Raze smirked. Finally, he was the one with the advantage.


The doors to the throne room were already open when he reached them, but he gave a little knock anyway. Apparently Ruthless had been holding audience or, more likely, extracting tribute from his new ‘subjects’ when he’d been interrupted. The king didn’t look too pleased with his new position now though. His wrists and ankles were all wrapped securely by the slimy lengths, pulling down and forcing him to remain seated on the throne he’d stolen.


“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!” he was raging.


“Now now, Warlord, no need to get upset. I believe you’ve met my friends here before, haven’t you?” Raze stroked one of the tentacles that travelled with him, inspiring it to purr like a kitten.


“Raze! You dare show your face here again?!”


“That’s right. I don’t think we truly finished our discussion last time. Do you?”


Ruthless seemed to hesitate, his eyes darting from the tentacles so vexingly holding him in place to the ones that seemed to follow Raze about like loving pets, apparently obeying his every command. “I . . . have nothing further to discuss with you.”


“That’s fine, actually, because the discussion I’m planning to have only involves you listening, not speaking,” Raze said. He snapped his fingers. Just like that, a tentacle burst from those clustered around him and shot right into Ruthless’s mouth, instantly gagging the man.


“Mmph?! GRRMMMPH!” The upstart king growled in outrage as he flexed uselessly on his throne.


“Now then, where were we? Ah yes, you were going to relinquish all claim to the crown, I believe . . . and publicly denounce yourself for rising above your station.”


“MMPH!?” Ruthless didn’t seem to take kindly to that idea. He battled with the tentacle gagging him, trying to force it out of his mouth while the armrests of the throne rattled with his efforts to move his arms.


Raze sighed. “This would go so much easier if you’d simply agree to my very reasonable terms, lord Ruthless . . . it took me all day to think them up, you know.” The slight oni shook his head sadly, before snapping his fingers again. The tentacles wrapped around Ruthless’s ankles immediately shot up, upending the muscular red demon so his back was on the throne’s seat, his legs up in the air.


“Phmmff?” Ruthless said, looking concerned at the position he found himself in.


“Now let’s try this again. Here, I’ll even sweeten the deal. You renounce the crown and agree to serve in a probationary capacity as regent instead. Yes or no?”


It took only a second for Ruthless to give an answer. While he remained gag, the enraged grunt he emitted could only have been a negative.


“I had hoped it would not come to this . . . “ Raze said in sadness, though the bulge he was sporting in his fundoshi said otherwise.


He gestured, and the warlord’s loincloth was thrown aside, his manly and muscular red backside exposed to several delighted feelers. Ruthless could only shiver and writhe in anger as one, then two, then three thick lengths all sought to fit themselves inside him.


“Ooh, tight squeeze, huh? Too bad. It looks like you haven’t been loosened up in a while. But my friends do hate to be denied.”


Ruthless winced and gasped as they slowly all crammed in, the tentacles holding his ankles pulling them further apart to allow their brothers more access. “GRRRRGHH!”


“Yes, I’m sure.”


The warlord fought and resisted as much as his upended position would allow, but it was clear the tentacles would be having their way with him whether he wanted them to or not. With a shudder, his resistance began to ebb. The slimy invaders snuggling into his rear drained his strength to fight on, and his muscles slackened. The slimy tentacles began a series of pistoning movements, taking turns pressing deep inside his ass.


“Mmph! Mmmmmmph . . . !”


“This can end anytime you like . . . “


Ruthless looked angrily at the smirking Raze. Somehow the runt now held all the power over him and he could simply not understand how it had occurred. He sat on the throne now. That made him the strongest oni in the land. No one should be able to force such indignities on him. No one! Certainly not the weakest of all the pathetic princes. 


But he had only ever counted on an attack from his own kind. A tentacle assault was completely unexpected, and one which had never happened in living memory. If Ruthless ever bothered to read the historical archives like Raze did, of course, he would have known that tentacle attacks on oni settlements used to be far more common. But he would have judged such an activity to be a waste of time that would be better put to use positioning himself to seize power.


To the haughty warlord’s great humiliation, the unspeakable then happened. As he was fucked so maddeningly, squirming and wincing, held down on his own throne, his clenching hole used so . . . plump red balls bouncing with every thrust . . . he began to grow aroused.


“Ooh!” Raze practically squealed when he caught sight of the rising boner. “Does the big bad Ruthless actually enjoy what’s happening to him?”


“MMPH!” The red oni grunted a denial, but then an especially hard thrust speared him and he let out a trembling groan. His hard-on grew another inch.


It was suddenly grasped by Raze. “Perhaps you’re more willing to discuss our terms now,” he asked, giving a firm squeeze to the pulsing rod. That caused Ruthless to further jerk and quiver.


“Now . . . let’s get this straight. You will resign from the throne. The full might of this kingdom will be put, not to filling your own personal essence, but with locating our true rightful king: Conquer. You will never seek to challenge him--or me--again. You will declare yourself Regent only, and I shall be posted as your closest advisor.”


Ruthless let out another moan at the indignity that would bring. If he did as the lanky oni insisted, the meaning would be clear to every demon in the kingdom. Ruthless might rule for a time in name, but Raze would hold all the real power.


Rather than fight against his fate further however, he felt himself spurting--once, twice, then three times as Raze jerked him in time with each new thrust into his ravaged ass. An instant later, he felt the tentacles orgasm as well, filling his hole and mouth with their fluids. Their task finished, they slid out of him and returned to the underground from which they’d sprang. With their release Ruthless collapsed on the throne, a naked mess with no more resistance to give.


“I’ll take that as a yes,” Raze said dismissively to the moaning warlord, and wiped the semen on his hand off against the red oni’s leg. The clacking of his footsteps on the obsidian floor as he made his exit had a note of finality to them, as much as the ooze which now leaked from Ruthless’s hole and dribbled down his chin.


As discussions went in the oni realm, Raze had won this one rather definitively.

Slake Saga: Forging Bonds

More stuff with Slake! At this point in Damian's Tournament, Zyxxs and I got really into the idea of making our characters pals, so we RP'd the fuck out of them together. Hence this entire blog post of what basically amount to RP logs. I don't think there's even much sex in this one. It's mostly just character interaction. But it's still good! Well, if you're me and Zyxxs.

. . . I didn't sell that very well, but go ahead and pretend I did.

Anyway, the scene opens here in the wake of Conquer's defeat (and, unknown to our heroes, capture) and just what that means to his angsty, angry, steadily getting drunk-off-his-ass, son . . .

Slake belongs to me, Screwjob belongs to Zyxxs, all other character mentioned or cameo'd belong to their respective owners. :]

('On a Short Leash', by Maryn, colored by myself)

 The Night Before

(co-written with Zyxxs)

The interior of the gay leather bar was dark, musty, and full of cigarette smoke -- it was everything that Screwjob loved. He had dressed in his "Sunday best"...namely, decked himself out in his favorite leather outfit -- shiny black leather pants, black leather vest donned over his bare chest, heavy boots, and his favorite biker's cap perched on his head, nestled neatly between his horns. The troll gulped down his first shot of a hard ale, his other arm wrapped around his partner's shoulders -- the blue oni was seated next to him at the bar.

"Isn't this great, partner?" Screwjob was beaming from ear. "We're winners! Winners, winners, chicken dinners!" The troll rambled in a singsong tone. It was the night after their first tournament victory, and he was in the mood to celebrate.

"Yeah . . . it's great," said Slake sourly. The oni was nursing a bottle of spirits, not even bothering with a cup as he slugged the drink back. He was in a shit mood, despite their team winning. Had been in a shit mood over a week, really . . . ever since watching the re-run of that fight, seeing his all-powerful father actually lose . . . though not in any way satisfactory to Slake. The whole thing made him grind his teeth and gave him the urge to punch things. And hanging out at a place like this wasn't going to lift his spirits any.

For his part, the oni had been obliged to shed his pants before entering this hole--some kind of tavern that Screwjob had been to before, where everyone dressed in the tanned hide of cattle. It was obviously sexual, which had made the big blue fighter roll his eyes when he'd discovered the kind of place his partner chose to take him to 'celebrate'. Regardless, the place had a strict dress code and so, in addition to his fundoshi, Slake also wore a leather collar around his thick neck with a leash attached to it which Screwjob had 'just happened' to bring along. Slake wasn't sure, but he suspected his partner was having some fun at his expense.

He slammed the bottle down--his third--and turned to glare at the troll. "Don't see what you're so happy about. That win was nothing . . . Even if the other side was far stronger, anyone could beat 'em if they know ahead of time they just gotta knock 'em off those wood pillars . . . It was meaningless."

Screwjob turned his head and stared at Slake for a moment, blinking. The troll had obviously been expecting the oni to be slightly happier with their victory in the first round. "You oni have a strange, strange way of celebrating, Blue." The troll waited for the bartender to pour another shot of ale for him, which he downed in a second. "We had some pretty tough competition there -- we definitely earned our win. And come on, after that one night you got trash talked..." The troll just sighed and decided to stop there, not wanting to press the issue and irritate the oni more. They were gonna have fun tonight, dammit!

Just then, a mean-looking dwarf passed behind Screwjob and Slake, with a brute of an orc in tow -- the greenskin was on a collar and leash, very similar similar to the one Slake was wearing, and the rest of the orc's outfit left very little to the imagination.

The dwarf stopped, and the green beast behind him halted in turn. The short, stocky bearded man then eyed the pair at the bar up and down -- first Screwjob, and then Slake.

"Nice pup ye got there, troll!" The dwarf grunted in a thick Scottish accent.

Screwjob just smiled. "Thanks! Same to you, dwarf!"

The troll tugged firmly on Slake's leash, hoping the oni would go along with the act -- he had explained to Slake beforehand that they needed to keep up appearances and blend in with the crowd.

"Quite an exotic one. Stupid here and I gotta get going for now, but we'll have to talk more later -- I'd love to hear all about how you acquired such a fine-looking beast!" The dwarf took a long drag on a cigar he was holding in his free hand, nodded to the pair, and with a tug on his own "pup's" leash, he and his green brute of a slave were off to tend to their own business.

"See?" Screwjob turned his attention back to Slake. "The guys here are liking you already!"

He was met with glaring yellow eyes. "What. The. Fuck. did that dwarf just call me?" Slake grabbed Screwjob by the sides of his leather vest and pulled him up so they were chest to chest, the fierce oni glaring down at his partner. After the week he'd been having, he was NOT in the mood for this shit.

Screwjob let out a low, grunting gasp as Slake gripped his vest and pulled him in.

"Hey! Easy on the leathers, Slake!" It was all too apparent that the oni was irritated. Screwjob had to defuse this quickly. "Calm down. I don't expect you to understand the culture of the leather world, but could you please dig down deep for me and be a little more understanding? In his own way, he just dealt you a great compliment!"

Maybe Screwjob did want to show off a little to the crowd...but the troll struggled to remember why he thought that trying to pose Slake as his own puppy slave without the oni knowing was a good idea.

"A compliment?!" Slake snorted and turned back to his beer.

"Yeah, right. I may not know much about this kinda shit, but I ain't stupid," he said caustically. Another glug, and he was wiping the foam from his scruffy chin. " . . . He think I'm yer bitch, don't he."

The fuckin' idea . . . Him, an Oni prince, thought to be submissive plaything of a mere troll mercenary. How the mighty had fallen. But rather than react in prideful anger, such thoughts on this night only made Slake think on his father again . . . which caused him in turn to knock back another round. When it looked like Screwjob wasn't drinking his own glass anymore, Slake took that one too.

In truth, the oni had never imbibed alcohol in any large quantity. They didn't have the stuff where he came from . . . mostly just gorged themselves on the blood of their enemies. And so Slake wasn't even fully aware how overdrinking could affect him.

Screwjob just blew out a huge sigh. "Look, I'm sorry if I got a little overzealous about our night. But by all the gods, Slake, you're being a huge stick in the mud."

The troll grumbled, just swirling his next shot around in its tiny glass. The night was certainly not going as he had hoped. "What's eating you, man?" Screwjob finally relented. He knew that Slake was a very private person, but enough was enough. "Come on. Something's bothering you. Something's been bothering you. Why don't you just come clean?"

"Come clean? With who? You?" Slake snorted to himself . . . then paused, and took a good look at the big ugly troll, his eyes slightly bleary. For all his faults--and he had many--Screwjob had never turned against him. Other than a few little tussles, that was, and who could blame him for that, they were both big guys who liked to roughhouse. But no, as he thought about it, the troll had never expressed disgust at him, had never judged. In fact . . . they basically got along. And ever since his exile, Screwjob was the one person Slake had spent any significant amount of time with.

He was practically a friend.

The oni shuddered at that, and shook his head again, more at himself than at Screwjob. "Why don't you just mind your own fucking business, troll. I came out here 'cuz you insisted, but I ain't about to start spoutin' 'bout my *feelings* like that damn . . . Magic Pony Show."

He hiccupped.

Screwjob just grunted, crossing his beefy arms, giving Slake a serious look. As exasperated as he was, the troll needed a cigar.

"Slake, I'm really getting tired of your bullshit," Screwjob grumped as he lit his stogie and started puffing on it. "I'm your partner in all this; I deserve to know what's wrong. If you leave something to eat away at you, it's gonna affect our performance -- we'll lose and you won't get what you're after."

The troll sighed between a huge puff, patting the oni on his shoulder. "Besides, believe it or not, I do care about you."

"'What I'm after'? Pah! I've already LOST that 'cause of this DAMN Tournament!" Slake exploded, suddenly slapping Screwjob's arm away. Though he could tell the troll's offer was genuine, Slake just wasn't in the mood to talk about this.

"Whatever. You wouldn't even understand," he said, nursing another drink. While Slake resembled a massive brute of hairy and muscular man, the truth was that in oni years, he was still only a few centuries off from being a teenager still. He usually hid it well, but the shock of seeing his father appear before him again and then vanish just as quickly, coupled with the gallon of ale he'd downed was making it show through. "No one would."

Getting up from the bar, Slake started to unsteadily stalk towards the exit . . . forgetting that Screwjob still held his collar's leash.

Screwjob found himself growing more and more irritated at the oni's emo, passive-aggressive attitude, the troll grinding his teeth together audibly as Slake suddenly got up and started to walk away.

"No, pup!" Screwjob held fast to the end of Slake's leash, giving the leash a hard tug the moment it snapped taut. "Come back here!" The troll was speaking calmly but firmly, as if he was talking to an actual misbehaving animal.

Screwjob figured that Slake would be more than pissed off that the troll was now treating the oni the way he was dressed (or undressed), but Screwjob needed to take control of the situation. He didn't want Slake walking out on him -- Screwjob would get to the bottom of the blue one's troubles one way or another.

"Urk!" Slake let out as the leather band suddenly tightened around his neck, getting jerked back by it. He almost lost his balance, but reclaimed his feet as he whirled around to glare at his partner.

"What. The. Fuck did YOU just call me?!" he said, also calm, but in his case dangerously so. He'd been planning to walk off the booze and hike back to their trailer, but there was no way he was gonna leave the leather bar now. Not until he gave Screwjob a much-needed ass kicking.

He took one step towards the troll, fists clenched--but for some reason the floor kept tilting. Made it hard to walk on it. Before Slake knew it he was already stumbling, tripping over his own two feet and sending him headlong right into Screwjob's face.

"Whoa--whoah--MMPH!" his arms flailed unsteadily as he realized what his lips were pressed against. Oh, now this was just embarrassing.

Screwjob smirked as he watched Slake lose his equilibrium and was sent tumbling in his direction -- the situation couldn't have made a better turn. The troll literally met the oni with open arms.

As he felt their lips press together, Screwjob, still holding his cigar, clutched between two fingers, wrapped a large hand around the back of Slake's head. He then sent several pulses of sexual energy coursing into Slake's body, Screwjob's tongue slithering into the oni's mouth.

"MMMH! Mmmngh . . . " The rough kiss took Slake by surprise, something his partner was quick to take advantage of. Though he at first tried to halt and reverse his momentum, the troll was quick to grab the back of his head and keep him in place. At the same time . . . Slake found himself actually ENJOYING the experience. Kissing wasn't something an oni was wired for--romance being virtually unknown among his kind, who were more concerned with physical dominance and winning control through force--but before the drunken Slake was aware of what he was doing he had opened his mouth up, letting Screwjob's tongue in and . . . moaning against it. And all as he practically melted in the troll's strong arms.

All he wanted was for the troll to use him as he liked and give him the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had. That is . . . until realization hit him over what Screwjob was really doing.

"You . . . son of a bitch!" Slake hissed, separating their mouths with a look of repugnance. It was that troll's damn sex magic again. It'd momentarily confused him, made him react when he otherwise wouldn't, increasing the alcohol's effects even more than before . . . and given him quite the throbbing arousal while he was at it. Slake shoved Screwjob back, making his heavy barstool slide back a good foot while he fell back into his own stool, hiding his boner which was peeking over the edge of his fundoshi so none of the other patrons would see. "I’ve fuckin' WARNED you not to try that shit on me again."

Screwjob looked into Slake's deadly-serious eyes as the oni pulled away from him. The troll could tell that Slake had managed to resist the magic -- Screwjob inwardly cursed himself for not pouring it on a little harder. He figured that he could grab Slake and try again, but ultimately decided not to pursue.

Screwjob just sighed audibly, flicking his cigar ashes into a nearby ashtray. "Well, it was worth a shot," the troll mumbled, having to adjust himself lewdly in his tight leather pants. After a few awkward moments, the troll spoke up again, "I'm not gonna stop pressing the issue, Blue. If we're to have a good working relationship, you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Hmph! We're back to that? You really are a nosy bastard," Slake said harshly, adjusting himself, too. Ever since he'd first met the troll in the Tournament showers, Screwjob had enjoyed pushing his boundaries. Towel-snapping his ass with a shit-eating grin. Copping a feel with any easy opportunity that presented itself. Slake was annoyed at the many attempts, but had realized over time that it was just Screwjob's way, and in his own fashion was even paying him a compliment. Didn't mean he ever had to like it, though.

But he did settle down this time with a snort, lowering his hackles . . . if only for the moment. "You really want to know?" he asked as he regarded his partner, blinking as for a second it looked like there were two of him. He planted his elbow solidly on the bar and leered smugly across the polished surface. "Arm-wrestle me."

Screwjob raised an eyebrow and just stared at the oni for a moment, curious as to whether or not Slake was actually serious about this. Screwjob hoped so, as it would be a sign that he was finally breaking through.

"OK then, Blue," Screwjob took one long drag off his cigar, and then rested it on top of the ashtray.

The big troll then followed suit, placing his elbow on the bar and clasping hands with Slake.

The oni peered into Screwjob's eyes, making sure he was serious about this. Good, looked like he was. Slake's fingers stretched out for a moment, then gripped around the troll's, hard. A test of strength. This was what he'd been wanting. What that damn fight on the pillars hadn't given him . . . Some people were addicted to drugs. Some to food, or games, or sex. Slake was addicted to measuring himself up against others.

"All right. On three . . . " Slake said, planting himself firmly, transferring power into his beefy right arm. Screwjob's hand is warm, he found himself noticing. Clammy, but warm. He shook his head, then focused totally on the contest. "One . . . Two . . . "

"THREE!"

The troll knew what he was up against...an oni's strength was certainly something to not be trifled with.

Although Screwjob's magic specialties were sex and healing, it wasn't all he could do...as he was about to show Slake. Channeling, magical energy suddenly surged into his arm, lending the limb's already great might with even more, supernatural strength. Screwjob then began to strain against Slake...and felt the oni fight back powerfully.

Muscles puffed, fat veins popping as the two men struggled mightily against each other. Even with the magic leverage that Screwjob was using, Slake was proving to be more than a match for the troll. Screwjob, however, was determined to not lose this one and pumped more magic into his arm. His entire body started to glisten with sweat, and he felt himself absolutely cooking from his own body heat within his leathers, and still he would not relent...

Pushing and grunting...straining and cursing...cracking and...

Cracking?

"HEY!" A burly, mustached human bartender suddenly bellowed at the two men, "Watch the bar, assholes!"

Both men were startled out of their concentration, dropping arms. Panting loudly, they both looked down simultaneously to see that their epic arm wrestling struggle had split a rather large crack in the bar's countertop.

"Well..." Screwjob wheezed, struggling to catch his breath, his arm feeling like jelly as the artificial strength within his muscles started to dissipate. In a way he was glad that the match had ended in a stalemate...it was like two brick walls pushing together -- they'd have probably been locked in combat all night long.

"I did what you asked," Screwjob continued after a moment. As absurd as it was going to sound, he was determined to not drop the issue. "Now tell me what's biting your butt already!"

"Fucking dammit!" Slake snarled as he saw the damage they'd caused. Fucking weak-ass mortal plane with their pathetic constructions that were always breaking under his brawn . . .

"Fine, fine," Slake relented as Screwjob pressed the issue. "You did give it yer all . . . though no way in hell would it have been enough without that interference." He glared at the bartender--who for his part wasn't perturbed at all by the demon, and merely responded with his own evil eye.

"May as well just come out with it then," he said, almost like he was talking to himself now, instead of Screwjob. He peered sideways at the troll who was still panting from the exertion, while Slake was barely winded. "Remember that Tournament match I tried to watch last week? The one you . . . " He scratched a cheek, face coloring a darker blue. " . . . interrupted?"

"Try not to get us thrown out, Blue. I do have a good reputation around here and would very much like to keep it that way," Screwjob nodded an apology to the bartender before continuing, "And yeah, how can I forget? Are you still mad about that shit? I've apologized a million times -- I had a rough night, got stood up, and I wanted to get my mind off the tourney for a bit. Maybe I was being a bit of an asshole, but there was no reason for you to try to kill me for the remote."

Screwjob picked his cigar back up and took another drag, pondering for a moment before asking, "What was so damn important about that particular match anyway?"

"A 'bit' of an asshole?! I couldn't sit all the next day because of the damn spanking you gave me! Not to mention what else you did to my ass!" Slake hissed in a loud whisper, glowering and shifting uneasily on his stool as he recalled the feeling of Screwjob's horny cock pushing it's way into his hole. It was annoying how the troll had gotten the drop on him that day . . . but at the same time it was almost expected in the Oni lands Slake hailed from. There, a good fuck could be the reward for even the simplest of brawls, and the loser had no choice but to pay up with his rump. Still, Slake had vowed one day soon to get real even with the merc.

"But no, I'm not still fucking mad about that. At least, not right now. No, that match was . . . special." Slake's eyes took on a faraway look as he knocked back another gulp. "One of the fighters in it . . . I knew him. Another oni, like me." At Screwjob's expression urging him to go on, Slake finally pursed his lips and spat. " . . . My father."

"Well, you had it coming..." Screwjob mumbled as he cast his eyes downward, drawing circles on the countertop. Granted, he did feel ashamed about losing control like he did, but he wasn't about to admit it. Slake really knew how to push his buttons sometimes...

"Wait, WHAT!?" Screwjob snapped back to attention, staring at the oni. "The big red oni was your dad!?" The troll huffed. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

Screwjob felt himself getting angry. Slake's father participating...well, participated, anyway...in the tournament was kind of a big deal, and Screwjob couldn't help but feel slighted that Slake had kept that fact a secret from him -- that the blue oni didn't trust him enough with such information.

The troll forced himself to calm down, though. He didn't want to blow up into another argument with Slake -- Screwjob knew how vital it was to maintain a good working relationship between them. Furthermore, the troll supposed he should have figured it out for himself -- what were the chances of two incredibly rare oni (for this realm anyway) entering the tournament, and not have anything to do with one another?

"Because it was none of your business, that's why!" Slake shot back. "It's nobody's business but mine. And besides . . . !" His angry face softened somewhat, and he looked more glum than anything as he looked down at his beer. " . . . I'm tellin' you now, ain't I?"

It was funny. He'd gotten so used to keeping his own peace, making his own life. Even while under his father's thumb, the prince of his realm, he hadn't been close with many . . . Trust the wrong person, and you could find yourself betrayed, sold out to or ambushed by your enemies . . . But for some reason, he felt like he could trust Screwjob. At least somewhat.

"It's funny," Screwjob continued after giving himself a moment to settle himself, "I almost asked your dad to be my partner."

The big oni chewed his lip as he waited for Screwjob to calm down. An unusual expression for him. On anyone else it might've looked cute, but on Slake it just looked strange. That is, until Screwjob revealed his first choice of partner. "You . . . what?" Slake asked, his frown turning at once into a huge grin. He leaned back in his stool, , tipping onto it's back legs and laughing his head off at the thought. "Oh hell! That's rich!" he said, almost out of breath. He smirked and poked the troll right in the center of his leather harness. "My old man would've had you for lunch."

Screwjob was a little taken aback at Slake's sudden laughter and mockery at the troll's confession, but Screwjob let it roll off his shoulders -- mostly because Slake was probably right.

"It's exactly why I decided not to approach him," Screwjob gently grabbed Slake's wrist as the oni poked his chest, calmly pushing the blue hand away. "To be honest, I sensed some really bad vibes coming off your dad; it got me on edge. There was just something I really didn't like about him."

Screwjob wasn't aiming to toss a barb back at Slake by insulting the oni's father -- the troll was speaking with the utmost honesty. Conquer may have looked like the ideal partner at first glace, but the more Screwjob had watched Conquer from afar, observing his mannerisms and interactions, the louder the alarm bells in the troll's head sounded.

"If it means anything, I asked you next because you appeared to be almost as strong as your father. Plus you didn't make me at all uneasy," Screwjob grinned -- it was another genuine statement, remembering how he had felt comfortable enough with Slake to flick his bare butt with a wet towel.

Slake nodded at Screwjob's caution. "You made the right choice, bud. My father is--well, let's just say he's not as easy-going as I am." Slake remembered well the first time he and Screwjob had tried seriously training together. Halfway through he'd ended up tossing the joking troll over his knee for a good dose of discipline. If Screwjob had been partnered with Conquer however . . . that little spanking would've been just the start of the 'training' he might've put Screwjob through. Hell, he might even have put the Captivas Curse on Screwjob just to get some peace and quiet around him. Not that Slake didn't contemplate tying the troll up and gagging him himself on a frequent basis.

The oni grimaced as he realized thinking about Screwjob tied up at the mercy of his father--or his muscled bare ass squirming and clenching under Conquer's hand--was giving him a boner. Dammit, not again. Ever since meeting his father in that park he'd been having all sorts of weird feelings. He bristled and crossed his legs before going on.

"Where I come from, he rules. He's the king of demons. Trust me on this. The darkness in him is something you DON'T want to mess with," Slake advised. "He'll chew you up 'til yer nothing, then spit you back out just a lump. I've seen him do it to others. Hell, he almost did it to me . . . And HEY!" He operated on a delayed reaction. "What do you mean I appeared ALMOST as strong as him!!"

"King of the Demons, eh? Yep, I definitely know bad news when I see it," Screwjob nodded, taking another puff, expending his cigar, the remnants of which he ground into the ashtray. "The 'live dangerously' side of me does have to wonder, though," He thought aloud, "What it would have been like to partner with him, exactly. I mean...the cruel ruler of an entire oni realm...in a way, it would've been...cool...to fight alongside him. I love me some bad boys, after all!" Screwjob gave a toothy grin. "Guess I'll just have to settle for the prince instead."

Screwjob then threw up his hands defensively as Slake snapped at him, "Whoa there, Blue. Sorry to insult you, but you yourself just admitted, in a roundabout way, that you're not as strong as your father." Screwjob then reached over and gently brushed the side of the oni's face.

"Not as strong? I'm JUST as strong. Fuck! I'm stronger! He's just been *lucky* to best me the times we've fought so far!" Slake said with gritted teeth, not noticing Screwjob's hand on his face . . . not feeling it. He was too lost in his own world of old hatred. "But just you wait! Next time we battle, he's going down! And I'm gonna make him pay for all the things he's done to me!"

"Well, regardless, you've outlasted him in this tournament. He bombed out in his first match while you're still very much in it. I mean, from what you’re telling me of his douchebaggery, I'm a little...confused...as to why you're unhappy about that."

" . . . that's the reason I've been pissed as hell," Slake acknowledged. "He's already out. Which means I WON'T be fighting him. 'Least not officially, in this damn tourney. And even worse, I can't even find him now to rub that loss in his face. It's like . . . he vanished off the face of this world." He glared into space, imagining what it would feel like to finally get his hands on his father. There was an audible *crunch*, and Slake looked down in surprise to see shards of glass bottle in his closed fist. Another thing he hadn't noticed.

"You ever want somethin' so bad, that you dedicate your whole being to acquiring it, ignore everything else . . . only for it to be snatched outta yer grasp at every turn?" Slake asked Screwjob, showing him the cuts on his palm from the glass bottle. "That's me and Conquer."

Screwjob looked away for a moment as Slake mentioned it... where did the losers of the tournament go anyway? In particular, Screwjob had hoped to see Kingman and Argo, his and Slake's opponents in the first round, again...if only to see how they were holding up. But he hadn't seen nary hide nor hair of the two after their match.

However, the thought was quickly forgotten as Slake began to pour his heart out. In a way, Screwjob felt victorious that he had finally broken the ice with the oni...but for the most part, the troll's heartstrings were being tugged ferociously. All at once, he understood where Slake was coming from.

"Aww, hell, Blue," Screwjob shuffled his barstool even closer to the oni...so close that they were now touching -- the troll draping a comforting arm around him. "I had no idea. I really do appreciate you coming out and trusting me like this, though. It's good to talk about your feelings -- lest they eat you up inside."

Screwjob took a moment to rub the oni's back. "You wanna just get out of here then? I promise I won't press you for more information...but if you ever need to talk, I'm always around."

"Pah! Feelin's. Whatever . . . All I feel . . . is rage 'an anger," Slake mumbled, slurring out his words. Who would have thought the big bad oni would turn out to be a sad drunk. "Only thing anyone's gonna eat, dammit . . . is my fist . . . "

He turned, eyes bleary, and noticed Screwjob's big arm around him, feeling warm, the troll pressing against his side. He blinked. "You know, you ain't so bad," he confided.

"When we first met . . . just wanted to kick your ass all the time. Now though . . . well, I still wanna kick your ass all tha' time . . . But . . . you ain't so bad. Kinda . . . comfy, too." Slake surprised them both by leaning his head back, tucking it under Screwjob's chin and against his solid chest. His breath reeked of booze. Not surprising, considering he'd been drinking non-stop pretty much all night, not being experienced enough to moderate himself. And now the effects appeared to be kicking in all at once.

From beneath Screwjob's chin, the troll could hear Slake start to loudly snore.

Screwjob really had to strain to understand what Slake was saying, the oni was so drunk...but he managed to decipher most of it and smiled warmly, thrilled that the oni was continuing to open up to him and show some warmth.

Predicting what was about to happen, the troll wrapped his big, muscled arms around Slake as the oni finally passed out.

"You're quite the lightweight, Blue," Screwjob cooed as he hugged the passed out oni to his strong chest, running his fingers through Slake's ebony hair. "Adorable."

The troll relished the moment for a while before he finally got to his feet. Things were a bit awkward...what with Screwjob's arm still not fully recovered from the arm wrestling match, plus Slake was not exactly a feather...but the troll finally managed to get the oni up on his feet, slinging Slake’s arm around his shoulder so they could both stumble on home.

"He gonna be okay?" The bartender asked.

"Yeah," Screwjob answered, not looking away from Slake's adorable snoozing face. "My puppy had a long night. I'm taking him home."

Screwjob hoped the dwarf master with his hulking orc pet wouldn't be too miffed at the oni and the troll not meeting back up with them as they'd planned, but Slake needed a warm bed -- and truth be told, Screwjob half-felt like joining him in it . . .

('Two For the Price of One', by Maryn, featuring her demon DeFrAg having his evil way with us. Not an illustration for a story, but since this whole post is about Slake and Screwjob it felt right to include it x3)

The Morning After

(co-written with Zyxxs)

The light was ruthlessly stabbing pitchforks through his eyelids.

The oni groaned in utter pain and misery as he groggily came around. Oh hell. What the fuck had happened to him? This felt worse than half a dozen of the finest tortures his old man had cooked up for him back in the day. Where was he?

Slowly, memories and imprints flowed back into his fractured skull. He'd gone out drinking the night before . . . with Screwjob . . . Everything past that was a blur. In slow, torturous, millimeter increments, he forced his eyes open. He blinked, rapidly. His mouth felt like cotton. Could he have been run over by a train last night?

At length, he recognized his own bed, the sheets unmade around his body. He felt something wrapped around his neck--the only clothing it looked like he had on--and memory filtered in of a leather collar. “Damn Screwjob,” he muttered and groaned, turning over . . .

He hadn't realized before the big warm spot on his back. Or the hairy arm draped over his side. But he realized it now, as he came face to face with an ugly, happily drooling face.

There was a troll in his bed. A really big . . . naked . . . troll.

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK!!!" the oni's roar shattered the morning peace. And his own skull too, since he immediately hissed and held his head.


* * * * *


Screwjob didn't know where he was, nor did he care.  He was fixated upon Slake. The oni was kneeling, doubled over.  He was sobbing hard and cursing.  Screwjob didn't understand why -- the troll felt like he should go over to Slake and comfort him, asking him what was the matter...but for some reason he couldn't compel himself into action.  He could do nothing but stare at the distraught oni, his heart racing a million miles an hour, feeling so utterly terrible for Slake.

It was just then that Screwjob caught a glimpse of a figure slowly walking away from Slake -- tall and muscled, skin as red as the fires of hell, fading more and more into the darkness beyond as he moved.

"H...Hey!"  Screwjob feebly yelped after the figure, "Come back. Slake needs to see you! Hey asshole...HEY!"

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK!!!"


* * * * *


Screwjob was startled awake, and in the split second that he thought he was still in his dream yelling at the big red man, he had continued his sentence, "HEY, ASSHOLE!"

“WHAT did you call me!!?” his partner screamed.

In the next moment, Screwjob's senses came back to him.  Suddenly he felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in his face as he stared into the murderous eyes of Slake...and then the troll's face grew red-hot with embarrassment as he pieced together what exactly happened.

After a few very awkward moments, Screwjob wrang the fabric of the bed's comforter and stammered, "Umm...good morning, Blue...?"

"G--good mornin'? That's all you've got to say?" Slake raged, though wincing at each word. It was like a war between the misery he felt from his hangover and the anger he felt at Screwjob for whatever he'd done were warring in his head. In the end, anger won out. "What the fuck're you doing in my bed?!" he demanded.

Even as he asked the question, his jumbled mind was busy trying to come up it's own answer. Them both naked and nestled up together, it didn't take a genius to jump to certain conclusions. "I didn't--?" he started, then his brows furrowed. "YOU didn't--!?" then he groaned as his headache intensified at that moment. "WE didn't--?!" His short tusks glinted and he brought his angry face right up close to Screwjob's morning breath. "What the fuck're you doing in my bed!!" he repeated.

Every ireful and distrustful word was like needles to Screwjob's heart.  He winced, and then quickly turned away from Slake, positioning himself so that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned to the oni.

"We didn't do anything, Slake, don't you worry,"  Screwjob spoke calmly, though his voice became more somber with every word, "You got drunk and passed out, so I took you home.  I figured you'd be more comfortable in the buff...and...I thought you could use some company.” How could he say it? Slake had been so torn up the night before. Screwjob had wanted the oni to spend just one night feeling like he wasn’t alone. But from the way Slake was acting now, he’d been so drunk that he didn’t even remember last night anymore. “Really sorry if I offended you in any way."

"Eh?" Slake blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. Normally if the troll caught him flat-footed in one of these situations he'd throw out some teasing remarks, make playful sexual innuendos. Instead, right now he just looked . . . sad.

Was he telling the truth? They HAD gone out drinking, and Screwjob WOULD know that he typically slept naked, since they were roommates and all.

Slake tried to rise up too, but moved too fast and fireballs exploded behind his eyes. "Auuugh!" he groaned as he flounced back down on the bed. The mattress squeaked in protest as his big blue body splayed out on it. "So this is . . . one of those mortal 'hangovers' you're always going on about?" he reasoned from behind his hands. "You warned me, but . . . you didn't tell me it'd be this bad! Ooogh, how much did I drink last night?"

The troll didn't even have the heart to look back at Slake. "About half a barrel of ale, all on your own.  With your size, I thought you would be able to handle it -- I suppose your kind just isn't used to these spirits."

Screwjob lowered his head, not caring when strands of his long, dark hair fell in front of his face.  Granted, he was glad that Slake had seemingly calmed down, but nonetheless he was still rattled.  Being a mercenary, the troll was no stranger to stress, but this was a situation unlike anything he'd ever been in.  Before he knew it, tears began to stream down his face.  Being in touch with his feelings -- not being at all a subscriber to the "real men don't cry" idea -- Screwjob just let them flow.

"I meant to tell you last night,"  Screwjob spoke softly, trying his best not to stammer or sob, "I want to apologize for making you miss your father's match.  I was just in a rotten mood that night...and I had no idea.  I know now what it must have meant to you, and I feel like shit for what I did."

“Eh?” The oni was even more puzzled now than before. Granted, his partner was always acting peculiar, in ways that surprised him . . . but when he saw tears running down the troll's cheeks, Slake was shocked. Being who and what he was, Slake had no idea what could’ve lead to  Screwjob crying. The troll wasn’t in pain, wasn’t humiliated or embarrassed beyond his ability to endure, hadn’t lost in battle or in ambition. This was the first time Slake had encountered someone shedding tears on behalf of another.

But Slake did know that he immediately wanted them to stop. Screwjob looked a lot better when he was grinning like a big idiot.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, succeeding in sitting up this time with a wince. He shifted up to Screwjob, taking a seat next to his partner and letting both their hairy legs hang down together. "That's what got ya in such a slump? Ey, it was no big deal! I mean, yeah, I'm still a little sore," Slake grimaced as he settled on his ass, "but that match? . . . It was crap anyway. I watched a repeat."

Slake watched Screwjob carefully, gauging how he'd react to his words. If this didn't work, he was prepared to switch tactics to something else--though what that would be he wasn't too sure of yet. Just in case it'd help though, Slake also thoughtfully reached up and gave Screwjob's back a pat, having a vague memory of that being done to him at some point last night.

"I was pretty crazy that night too, besides. We, uh, y’know. We both lost it."

Screwjob smiled as he listened to Slake speak such kind words of reassurance, and things got even better as the oni reached over to rub the troll's back.  Screwjob thought the gesture was beautiful -- so Slake was capable of compassion after all.  The troll wiped his eyes as he calmed down, even feeling his loins stir a bit.

"Thanks, partner,"  Screwjob whispered.  He closed his eyes and indulged in Slake's gentle caresses, "I really care about you, Blue.  You know that, right?"

"Sure," Slake said matter-of-factly, though the true meaning of Screwjob's words actually had gone over his head. "Same here. You're my fighting partner. If we don't watch out for each other, we might lose the next match."

Unfortunately for Slake, that was as far as it went. He was an Oni. His aspect was in destruction. The act of love, of tender feelings for another, they were as unfamiliar to him as the heart of a star was to the basest slug. They had no rightful place in his world.

At least, that was what he'd always been taught.

"So buck up, partner," Slake mock-upper'd the troll's chin, then rubbed away a tear. "We're gonna wreck the competition and go all the way to the top. You'll see."

Screwjob's smile widened all the more, his heart aflutter at Slake's words.  As the oni wiped away Screwjob's tears, the troll leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Slake's forehead.

"You're a sweetheart, Blue,"  Screwjob stared lovingly at his partner for a moment. "Anyway, I'm still a bit tired.  You...wouldn't mind cuddling with me for a while, would you?"

"Cuddling?" Slake appeared slightly cross-eyed as he translated the word into syntax he could understand. The very idea was almost a foreign concept to the hard-battled warrior. He looked at the troll suspiciously, thinking this might be a trick. But no, his partner seemed sincere . . . Though honestly, he'd been acting a little funny ever since waking up. All these weird emotions running around. Maybe this was how trolls acted when hung-over?

He frowned as he looked over at Screwjob--who now that Slake thought about it, was looking at him pretty funny too. Like he was still dazed from one too many blows to the head. "Will a . . . 'cuddle' help you recover in time for the next battle?"

Screwjob smirked. "Yes, it would most certainly help.  Now come here, you."

"Urk . . . !" Slake grunted a bit as he fell back on the mattress again, the troll again pressing his hairy front against the oni's back. The troll then wrapped his big, muscular arms around Slake, pulling him back into bed.  Screwjob positioned them back into the places they’d assumed during the night, so that the troll was hugging the oni from behind, pressing their bodies together.  Screwjob reveled in the feel of Slake's warm body -- the troll needed this. And he had the feeling that, just maybe, Slake did too.

The blue ogre thought about dislodging the troll and kicking him out of his sleeping area for such audacity, but . . . Screwjob made it feel so natural to be lying together like they were, his warm body against his and embraced in his big arms.  Like he just . . . fit.

And anyway, his head was still spinning and pounding. Slake huffed and decided he could remain for a spell.

"Goodnight, Blue,"  Screwjob kissed Slake behind the ear. "And thanks for bearing with me.  I'm sure to feel fresh and rejuvenated for our next match!"

"You'd better be . . . You owe me for this, troll," he said curtly. But as Slake too fell grumpily back to sleep, a tiny smile lingered on his face.

And that was the change that started it all.

 ('Inner Struggle', by Maryn, colored by myself)

The Crushed Cigar

(co-written with Zyxxs)

"Screwjob and Slake win, and are moving on to the individual bouts!"

The troll could still hear the announcer's voice echoing through his mind as he did a spry Irish jig followed by a back flip in the middle of the high tech locker room. "Screwjob and Slake win! Screwjob and Slake win!" He couldn't get enough of it.

Screwjob was overflowing with joy, his heart racing and his body surging with so much energy that he felt ready to run a marathon. Screwjob was so proud of his team -- their battle against Rinah and Jake had been quite fierce. In fact, in the beginning of the match, it looked as if Screwjob and Slake might be easily bested by their opponents. But the troll and the oni didn't give up, fighting back tooth and nail, and had managed to pull off the victory in the end. Screwjob counted himself very fortunate that the "Toontown" arena hadn't disoriented him very much. Screwjob had found that Toontown was akin to the Astral Plane, which the troll had visited many times, so he was already used to functioning within a realm that completely defied of the laws of physics.

With a huge grin plastered on his face, Screwjob turned to Slake whom was standing behind him. Wrapping his muscular arms around the oni, the troll scooped him up in a tight bear hug and gave him a big, wet smooch right on the lips.

"We did it, Blue!" The troll cried ecstatically, "We DID IT!"

"Yeah, and about time, too," Slake said shortly against his lips, hardly sharing his partner's jubilation. The kiss had caught him off guard--as everything Screwjob did so often had--and he broke it quickly by tossing his head to the side. The bear hug, too, was broken with a grunt as Slake flexed free.

The troll was always pulling such stunts on him. Letting his endlessly cheery emotions run wild, getting caught up in the moment. Slake hated it, of course. Such acts of affection went against his nature. He was Oni . . . Why didn’t Screwjob understand that?

Slake faced away from his partner, choosing to glare at a row of unused lockers as he spoke instead of at the troll's face. "Now that this last fight's done, there ain't any more team battles . . . Ya heard the announcement. From now on, its all solo fights. Way I see it, this is a blessing in disguise. Means we don't gotta put up with each other any more.“

"What do you mean? Hey, where you going, partner?  Where are you slithering off to?"  Screwjob giggled like a schoolgirl as Slake wiggled free from his grasp, playfully grabbing for Slake to make it seem like he wanted to pull the oni back in -- Screwjob had expected as much from the sourpuss, and even thought it was rather cute at this juncture.

He teasingly hounded Slake for a moment more, poking him in his sides and clapping him on his back and butt, before he finally let the oni be.  Screwjob's hand dived into his pocket and retrieved a cigar, and in seconds he was puffing away on it -- still so psyched about their accomplishments that Slake's cold words just went in one ear and out the other.

"How rude of me!"  Screwjob immediately produced a second cigar -- and this time, it was his imported "special one" -- big, fat, flavorful, rare and expensive, enchanted with even more powerful stimulant magics than his regulars. "Take it, Blue!  Let's do a victory smoke!  Team Oni-Troll for LIFE!  You'll like it!"  Screwjob elatedly extended his arm, pleading for the oni to accept the exotic cigar. "You deserve it!"

Slake glanced at the offered thing.

When Slake had been very young--hardly over a hundred--one of his father’s generals, a strong green ogre named Sabre, had tried to use him in a powerplay. He had been a foolish whelp and let himself be taken in by the man’s lies, only to end up captured and bound, turned into a mere bargaining chip as Sabre tried to force his father to step down from power. It didn’t go well for him. It had been one of the few times Slake had ever seen his father enraged. An odd memory, now, to think back on. But so many things change over time.

With a curl of his lips, Slake batted the cigar aside with the back of his knuckles. It fell to the floor, burning at one end. "Ain't you been listening to me, dumbass? Team's done. We don't gotta play this game of . . . pretend, anymore." He snorted harshly, and crushed the cigar beneath his heel.

"I really couldn't have asked for a better part--"  Screwjob hadn't even finished his joyous ramblings before the oni's hand knocked the cigar from his hand -- THAT got the troll's attention.

The jubilant grin melted off of his face, and it was like slow motion as he watched the cigar fall to the floor, to be crushed underfoot by Slake a moment later -- the cigar may as well have been Screwjob's heart.

Slake still remembered the sickening crunch of that general’s lifeless body falling into the pit they’d dug out for him. The look on his face. It was the same look Screwjob wore now.

"From the start, this team was nothin' but a convenience. Now that I can fight on my own, proper-wise, I'm not gonna spend another second palling around with a . . . filthy troll like you," Slake said harshly. All the pent up hostility he'd been biting back over the weeks, it was all getting released now. But better this than to carry on a sham. He bit his lip and looked to the side. "So get outta my face, guy. From this point on? You're just another opponent in this tournament that I'm gonna massacre."

For a brief eternity, the troll just stared, absolutely dumbfounded -- the once-powerful rush that he had felt whirling inside of him like a hurricane dissipated into nothing in an instant.  Part of him refused to acknowledge what had just happened.

"Blue?"  Screwjob finally squeaked, his blood turning to ice water as the oni's cruel words swarmed into his ears, into his brain, like angry, stinging wasps.

Screwjob just couldn't believe it.  He wanted to get angry.  He wanted to snap out of his stupor and punch Slake in the face and kick him in the balls.  But he couldn't -- the troll felt like his soul had been shattered into a million pieces, leaving him numb to the world, barely able to even breathe.  Slake may as well have taken a dagger and plunged it into Screwjob's guts -- the oni had just wounded him deeper than anything he'd ever felt in his entirely life.

Screwjob felt his jaw drop, his vision beginning to blur with tears, "Blue..."

What the hell was happening?  He had truly felt that he and Slake had bonded through the course of the tournament thus far -- that they were like blood brothers now.  His love and respect for the oni had blossomed into something beautiful, and the pain of realizing that the kinship hadn't been mutual for Slake was absolutely crushing -- more than he could ever bear.

"Blue?"  In a daze, Screwjob slowly reached out to the oni, beyond desperate for a sign that Slake wasn't actually serious.

"And STOP calling me that!" Slake finally snapped, his face twisting. He saw Screwjob reaching out for him, and that reminder of their bond, that closeness he'd never shared with anyone in his millennia-long life . . . it was more than Slake could handle. He knocked the troll's arm to the side, then with an enraged snarl grabbed Screwjob by the neck and SLAMMED him up against a locker.

He was Oni. He was a monster. And it was about time his partner knew that.

"What, gonna cry some more?" Slake asked at the moisture he could see in Screwjob's panicked eyes. The oni sneered. "You're fucking pathetic." His clawed hand squeezed itself around Screwjob's throat, making it impossible for the guy to breathe. "Because you seem startled by this sudden turn of events, let me make it c-r-y-s-t-a-l clear for you, troll." He took a deep breath . . . and his grip almost loosened. Then it was back, full force as Slake's glare returned.

His time spent with the troll before this had been a lie. Slake had been . . . confused. Lost sight of his goals. Allowed himself to feel . . . what no Oni should. But that was over now. He was free of this troll.

Screwjob had tricked him somehow into caring. Maybe with that sex magic of his.

But this? This was the real Slake again.

Oni didn’t have friends. They didn’t feel warm when they looked at anyone.

He had to do this.

(sketch by Maryn)

"You are nothing to me. You are less than nothing. A roach. Every day spent with you was it’s own private hell, and now that I'm free of it, I ain't never going back. I was only using you. We were never 'friends'. And if you're unlucky enough to get matched up against me, I will CRUSH you without a second thought."

He released his grip, and turned as Screwjob slid down the floor, coughing and clutching his throat. Slake turned to leave, grabbing up his club as he went.

Slake didn’t look back.


* * * * *


Screwjob found himself completely helpless, as if Slake had cast some kind of paralysis spell on him. The pain manifested itself into something physical as he was choke-slammed against the lockers, the oni handling him like a ragdoll. Slake could have killed Screwjob in that moment and the troll would've put up no resistance, perhaps even welcomed death, just to stop the pain.

Squeezing his eyes shut, tears cascading from them, Screwjob turned his head as Slake screamed in his face, every word like a sharp punch in the gut. When finally released, Screwjob collapsed to the floor on one knee, choking and sobbing as the oni stomped away.

After a brief eternity, Screwjob finally pulled himself out of the fetal position, slowly crawling across the floor toward the smashed cigar. He stared at it miserably before his hands started to move seemingly on their own accord, feebly attempting to cobble the mess back together. Screwjob packed as much of the tobacco back into the wrapper as he could, furling it all back into something vaguely cigar-shaped. What was once a prized luxury was now a malformed disaster -- perfectly reflective of how Screwjob felt inside.

Cradling the sad cigar in the palms of his hands, Screwjob shakily got to his feet, trembling and crying.

"Screwjob?"

The troll lifted his head and whirled around, finding himself facing a large, very concerned-looking anthropomorphic white tiger.

"Oh, hey, LT," Screwjob managed to choke out a greeting, and then quickly asked, "Do you smoke?"

"What?" Lightning Tiger was taken visibly aback, and before he could answer, the troll shoved the cigar into his hands.

"Here, take this. Please go and celebrate your win with Joe. I'm sorry it's all mashed," Screwjob rattled out before immediately turning around and running off with his hands clutched to his face, not wanting to give the big cat a chance to ask what was wrong.

Lightning Tiger was left holding the twisted cigar, horribly confused as to what had just happened.

Trophy #14: Slake

The desert sun had been on the way down, but it'd still been hot as sin in that arena. He'd started to sweat as soon as the teleport had brought him in. Everywhere there was only rusted metal and blowing sands, and everything was bathed in dark reds and long, black shadows.

Not Slake's favorite place to fight--too dry and arid for his taste, having been borne of water--but he'd thrown down in much worse.

His opponent this time wasn't so easily taken down, however. He was no fox half Slake's size in a closed in boxing-ring like the last guy he'd fought. No, this guy was a lion. And he had a sword floating beside him of a type that Slake had never encountered before.

From the start the fight didn't go his way. The lion--whose name was Ishida, not that Slake overly cared--turned out to be quite skilled in close quarter fighting. Not as much raw strength as Slake perhaps, but he was no slouch. And that sword he had could block even the strongest blow from Slake's tetsubo. Disarming it with a water element was no good either, as Ishida could apparently reform it at will. And using his own gifts too much weakened Slake . . .

By the mid-point of the fight, Slake had grown weaker both from the relentless heat and from his powers overtaxing his body. Ishida, on the other hand, seemed to get renewed the more attacks of Slake's which he blocked. That sword was feeding him energy somehow . . . That information came too late to help Slake, as by that point the tide of battle had turned too far against him. As the telekinetic sword slashed him one final time, Slake's last thought before falling unconscious was . . .

Well that could have gone fuckin' better.

* * * * *

Instead of sinking into blissful oblivion however, the next moment Slake was somehow snapped back into full consciousness, and with the odd sensation of something crammed into his mouth. He'd been teleported again, but he wasn't back in the cheap slum he'd been staying after breaking it off with Screwjob . . . no, this place was totally different.

"Mmmph?"

He was trapped in a glass . . . tube of some kind, filling it with his muscular body. Strong rope were securely wrapped around his ankles, wrists, biceps, and chest, preventing him from moving much. He'd somehow been effectively captured and rendered helpless in the blink of an eye.

". . . GRRMMPH!!"

As he momentarily fought with the tight bindings, he became aware of another aspect of his imprisonment--his cock was ramrod hard, smearing and pulsing up against the glass while he twisted and struggled. It was different from the erections usually brought on by bondage. Those were due to his father's curse, and with enough willpower he could at least partially fight against them. This one however he had no such defenses against, and Slake soon found himself moaning with an intense desire to release his seed the more he struggled.

"So I guess the old saying is true, eh?"

Slake's attention was suddenly diverted to a figure outside his case. Someone was outside of it. A fox, smiling at him sardonically. Slake didn't know who he was, but he instantly wanted to murder him by the possessive and lustful look he saw in the fox's eyes.

"Like father, like son?"

Eyes narrowing, Slake decided to ignore the fox and continue trying to get loose. The fox watched Slake struggle for a few minutes, playing with himself as he did so, until he seemed to grow bored. Then he picked up a suitcase with a piece of rope drooping out from one corner and smugly walked away. It was only as he passed by several other tubes just like his own that Slake realized he wasn't alone in wherever he was. Every tube was holding another captive, and Slake recognized several as fellow tournament champions. In the one closest to him was the tiger, Iudicium, who'd fought in the match just prior to Slake's. Next to him was Lightning Tiger, a friend of Screwjob's. Both were as tied up and naked as Slake himself was, complete with bobbing erections of their own.

Slake's mind spun as he tried to figure out what was going on. What was this place? Were all champions who got defeated in the tournament brought here? He hadn't signed up for this, dammit!

And what was that the fox had said about his father?

Slake was interrupted from that train of thought when he realized from the taste that what he felt stuffed into his mouth could only be his own fundoshi undergarment that he'd been wearing, reworked into a makeshift gag. His rage at that knowledge was a sight to behold, but of course it was an impotent rage. Still, it caused much thrashing in his ropes and furious grunting as he vowed to get even on who had done this to him . . .

"GRRARHMMMMMPH!"

 ('Slake Defeated', by Bogrim)