Up From the Depths (vignette) (Patreon)

**** Work in progress!  Trying out another fantasy themed one. ****

“No!  You have no idea what it took to bind that horror.  Better death than to turn such evil loose on the land.”

“So all I need to do is sink an arrow in your heart and then break the stone.  Easy enough,” Dren hissed.  The nimble elf dropped to his knees, sliding under a massive, swiping tentacle as he turned his aim from the writhing horror over to the old wizard.  He drew back the glowing bow string, a spectral bolt forming.  “Don’t make me do this, Ithar,” he begged.

The wizard’s eyes flared, the tip of his gnarled staff becoming a glowing ember.  A smoldering ring appeared on the ground around him, searing away the layer of slick moss and surrounding him in distorting waves of heat.  “A quick end for all of us, then,” the old man said under his breath.  His long white hair began lifting as if from an unseen breeze, the burning ring at his feet growing hotter and brighter.  Dren cursed and let loose a volley of phantasmal arrows, each one dispersing in a quick flash as soon as it came within a few feet of the chanting mage.  Ithar’s eyes had gone orange and pupil-less, his voice so deep and booming it held its own against the tentacled horror’s piercing shrieks.

“Enough!”  Before Ithar could complete his incantation and incinerate them all, a hulking grey hand reached through the unseen flames.  Skord’s flesh sizzled and blistered, but the brawny stone-kin held firm.  With one muscled arm he clamped the wizard’s mouth shut and hauled him off his feet by the jaw, slamming him against the wall.  “I’ll take my chances with the demon,” Skord grunted, letting the old man fall to the ground before tearing the pouch from his belt.

The small ruby sphere looked even more so in the goliath’s fingers when he pulled it free, far less intimidating than the screaming, skull-faced terror creeping ever closer.  When he couldn’t break it with the strength of his grip alone, Skord set the sphere on the ground and swung his crackling war hammer with all the might of his giant ancestors.  The lightning flashed around the head as it met with an invisible barrier, stopping inches from the blood-hued stone.  A few feet away, the dazed Ithar lay with a feeble hand outstretched, mustering the last of his energy in a protective barrier around the crystal.  Skord gave a short laugh and shook his bald head as he wound up for another swing, this time adding a furious roar to the crushing blow.

Ithar’s cry of pain was drowned out by the din that followed.  There was a blinding flash of crimson light, followed by a shattering so loud it rattled their bones.  The sound of the crystal breaking was like a thunderous rockslide, making the group fear momentarily that their fight had weakened the structure holding the swamp above them at bay.  This was followed by several tense seconds of only their redlined, ringing ears before a supple, velvet laughter echoed around the chamber.  A great, rushing wind tore through the room, flecks of moss, lichen and mold seeming to gather at the center of the cyclone in an increasingly humanoid shape.  As the figure took form the laughter grew louder and louder, silencing even the screeching horror before the fungal shell broke and fell away, revealing a grinning specimen of perfect masculinity.

The man was gorgeous, with a full head of dark, ebony hair and razor sharp features offset by glowing, crimson eyes.  The rest of his body was equally stunning as his flawless, alabaster skin sported a prominent layer of chiseled muscle.  He wasn’t bulky like Skord or Ildelk, but lean and tapering, with a set of firm, pale cheeks and a long, thick cock that made the stone-kin’s mouth water.  The grey-skinned behemoth pried his eyes away from the image of perfection only long enough to see Ithar collapsed in a defeated heap on the ground while Dren held his bow at the ready.  Behind, Ildelk’s radiant wall was showing signs of failing, just like the stocky, bearded Dwarf who held it in place.

“A snarling terror and a handsome man waiting for me upon my exit?  What a pleasant surprise,” the man said, his flaring eyes and smooth voice causing Skord’s club of a cock to go rigid in an instant.  He reached up and stroked a finger along the shuddering giant’s wide jaw, smiling at the thick clumps of liquid that forced themselves through the damp, rough fabric at the front of his pants.  His eyes still fixed on Skord but somehow also looking around the room, the man took a deep breath, his perfect chest rising and falling slowly while he took in his surroundings.  “Oh my…this is truly something,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.  “Being let loose in such a nexus of power!  Why, whoever could have imagined such a thing?”  The too-wide smile that stretched across his face made it clear that at least one person in the room had imagined this very scenario.  But before any explanations could be offered, the man turned his attention towards the tentacled monster and the straining cleric.  “If I’m going to clean things up around here, this simply won’t do,” he said, rubbing his chin.  With a flick of his wrist, Ildelk’s chanting was cut short as the stocky dwarf was flung backwards several yards, landing with a loud thud next to Ithar.

“Del!”  Skord wanted to lumber over and check on his friend, but he couldn’t look away from the gorgeous newcomer.  His throbbing cock hadn’t stopped spraying since the man touched him, and it was all he could do to stay upright.  He’d never seen anything so beautiful.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dren gathering up the stricken wizard and beginning to pull the unconscious dwarf away, but without warning the lithe elf went rigid.

“Don’t go anywhere,” the man said without looking back.  Ildelk’s protective barrier down, he strode casually forward, unbothered by the massive tentacles swiping in his direction.  They always pulled away or stopped short just before making contact, and Skord realized that the squirming mass of screaming limbs was actually retreating.  “Not you, friend,” he said to the skull-headed beast.  “You’ve played your part.  You can go.  There’s only room for one lord of this castle, and I think we can both agree that it deserves someone with a little better taste.”

The hulking stone-kin wished he could have covered his ears against the horrid sucking sound that followed, but his hands were otherwise occupied.  He’d torn his pants free and was busily tugging away at his spurting log with one hand while kneading his low, heavy balls with the other, his eyes fixed on the man’s broad, flexing back as he made sweeping motions with his perfect arms.  He knew Dren was watching, that his actions were totally wrong given the situation, but he couldn’t stop himself.  He watched the creature steadily disappear, seeming to fold in on itself with each pass of the man’s arms until the last bit of snapping tentacle had been banished back to whatever foul abyss it called home.

“Skord,” Dren hissed as quietly as he could while the man was busy surveying the far side of the room, now free of colossal horrors.  “You have to fight whatever spell he has you under!  I know he’s pretty, but you need to get it together.”

“I’m glad you think I’m pretty,” the man whispered into Dren’s ear though he still stood on the opposite side of the room.  “But I suppose introductions are in order, aren’t they?  Here…let me make us all more comfortable.”  The man snapped his fingers, causing another blinding, crimson flash.  Where the first one was brief, this one lingered, filling their eyes with a ruddy haze and their bodies with a sensation of warm, weightless contentment.  They could hear grinding stone off in the distance, could feel air and water rushing dimly past their naked bodies, but nothing punched through the dull red haze.  It could have been mere moments or entire weeks that they floated in their blissful state.  As their senses returned and they saw the fully restored, opulent throne room around them they assumed the latter, though with magic anything was possible.  There was no longer any trace of the rot and grime that had marked the castle for thousands of years.  The decayed furniture was all back where it belonged, obscene tapestries adorned the walls, and flickering witch lights hovered in chandelier formations from the ceiling.

“Whose idea was it to let the demon out,” Ildelk asked, his tone dripping with scorn.  “I turn my back for five minutes to keep one monster at bay, and you idiots let loose another!”

Skord blinked, slow in shaking the dullness from his senses.  He was still naked and hard, but he could at least turn his head to see Dren in a similar state to his left, while Ildelk’s bare, hairy bulk was to his right.  He was confused at his friends’ aroused states since, as far as he knew, he was the only one attracted to other men, though he could understand making an exception for the gorgeous, naked man on the throne in front of them.

“That’s not very polite,” the man said, his full, soft lips pouting.  “After all, I’m the one who saved you from that delightful creature.”

“I don't think the fly considers it salvation when one spider chases another away from the web,” Ildelk spat.

The man grinned.  “It seems manners have lost all meaning while I’ve been away.  How about this, then?”  The man reached down and stroked his own rigid member, causing the brawny, russet-haired dwarf to spasm.  With each pass of his fingers, Dren and Skord watched Ildelk’s stout, seven-inch club recede little by little until a fat nub of no more than a few inches was all that remained beneath his burly muscle gut.  At the same time, as if pushed outward in opposition, the broad cleric’s ample rear began to inflate.  Given his short, wide stature, the rapidly oversized cheeks looked impossibly large, hanging off the back of his stubby thighs like balloons.  “You address a god.  Remember that,” the man hissed, his normally gentle voice going stern.  Ildelk’s furry shelf of a chest heaved as the stocky dwarf looked down over it, no longer able to see his shrunken equipment.  His thick bulk strained against the invisible forces holding them in place, causing his expansive rear to ripple and jiggle, and he began to mutter a chant under his breath.  The beautiful man on the throne only sighed and rolled his eyes, causing Ildelk’s chant to grow louder.

The short, stout warrior seemed surprised at the unintentional increase in volume, and even more so at the corresponding increase in pitch.  Instead of a deep rumble his voice became a light chirp, and surprise turned to dread when he heard the words he actually spoke.  “Come on…who’s going to come over here and play with this little cock of mine?  I’ve got a fat, round ass just made for stuffing, boys.  My tiny poker can’t do that anymore, but it doesn’t mean you can’t do it to me,” he giggled, instead of invoking the God of Light as he’d intended.  He paused and collected himself before trying again. “Ugh!  Really?  You can fit this whole acorn in your mouth!  Oh, better yet, let me get you in my mouth so you can fill this beard with cum.  Plenty of room at the other end while I’m at it!”

“Don’t fret, my eager friend.  Those are still prayers, just not the kind you’re used to.  You stand in the presence of Tothak, little priest” the man said, his seated form, and the throne itself, growing larger as he spoke.  “Your god has abandoned you.”

“If I had a gold piece for every demon who said that,” Dren spat, hoping to pull the creature’s attention away from the warped cleric.  “As much as I’m sure Skord is enjoying the view right now, can we just skip to the part where you tell us what you want and we make a deal?”

Tothak cocked his head to the side, returning to his normal size.  “What I want?  But you’re the ones who set me free!  This is about what YOU want.  I already have everything I could possibly need,” he said excitedly, gesturing to the dazzling, dizzying room around them.  The shifting lights from the stained glass reflecting off the glittering floors only added to the surreal terror of the scene.  “This worked so much better than I could have hoped.  Do you have any idea how frustrating it was for someone of my…stature…to be stuck in that gem for so long?  I could barely get out a whisper!  Fortunately, sometimes a whisper is all it takes.  Do you really think it was a coincidence that merchant sent you here?  I’d been whispering to him in his dreams for months.  Months!  I knew what awaited you down here, just as I knew that, faced with certain death, at least one of you would choose to set me free rather than face your fate.  Of course it was you, Dren,” Tothak cooed.  “It’s appropriate, don’t you think?  The man who hunts for pussy as fiercely as he hunts for monsters setting free an imprisoned god of lust?  And here, of all places?  In a nexus of realities?  Thanks to your efforts, I’m at the top of the pantheon.  I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”

Dren grunted, his eyes going wide when Tothak began stroking himself again.  Like Ildelk, he could feel the god’s fingers caressing his thin five inches as it began to withdraw, but unlike his dwarf friend, the shrinking didn’t stop.  The wiry elf’s grunting turned into a low, lusty moan when his new orifice formed, no longer feeling Tothak’s fingers stroking, but instead rooting around inside a familiar opening.

“No more hunting,” Tothak cheered.  “With your ample experience, you know exactly what to do with it, too.”  The god’s eyes flared, eliciting another low moan from the shuddering elf as a veritable waterfall began pouring from his untouched entry.  “Don’t worry…he’s merely reliving all of his many conquests, only now he’s experiencing them from the other side.”

Skord winced as Dren’s moans grew to a fever pitch.  He could only imagine what it must be like for the lean, handsome elf to suddenly be experiencing dozens, if not hundreds, of cocks thrusting inside him.  Dren was a ladies man of no little renown, though it was clear his days of bedding women had just become days of him being bedded.  But that would only be a concern if they could get away, an outcome that was seeming less likely by the second.  Even to someone who didn’t have a scrap of magic in him, Skord could feel the entire structure vibrating with power, a power that now flowed directly into the naked, lustful deity in front of them.  “Wai…wait…” the broad goliath finally muttered, struggling for what little control he could muster.  As the only one who’d always been attracted to other men, Tothak’s presence was hitting him harder than his two friends, or at least it had been.  Now Dren and Ildelk seemed just as enamored, despite the fear hiding behind their eyes.  “Where’s Ithar?”

“Ah, the wizard.  I was wondering when you’d finally notice.  Seems you all didn’t care for him much more than I did if it took this long.  He’s been here the whole time,” Tothak laughed.  Skord gasped when the grinning god slowly stood, his stomach turning at the sight of Ithar’s familiar face carved into the headrest of the throne.  The distinguished features were twisted in ecstasy, the cause of which becoming clear when Tothak had risen high enough to reveal the long, flesh-colored cylinder sticking up from the seat of the chair.  “He kept me imprisoned all those years…this only feels fair,” Tothak shrugged.  “Lest you think me unforgiving, he can still see and hear and, importantly, feel.”  He reached down and stroked the pole, a steady stream of liquid spilling out from the engraved head of the carven phallus.  “Trust me…as someone who just spent plenty of time in limbo, there are worse fates than this,” Tothak sighed, slowly lowering himself back down and giving a twist of his hips.  “Consider this the wizard’s way of making amends.”

Skord looked over at his friends, unable to tell if the sight of Ithar’s current fate was enough to punch through their lustful haze.  Dren was still slack-jawed and glassy eyed, his fingers dancing against his dripping slit while the bottom-heavy Ildelk just grinned and shifted his weight, causing his inflated rear to bounce and jiggle.  “Totha…my Lord…please…there has to be something we can do to…”

“Ahh, respect from the bruiser of the group,” Tothak interrupted.  “I would have expected the attempt at charm to come from the elf, but,” he paused, looking Skord’s muscled frame up and down, “you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?  I haven’t seen too many stone-kin lusting after their fellow man, but I have heard their prayers.  Even when I was locked away, I could hear them calling.  Do you know how infuriating that is?  To hear the voices pleading for help, your help, and be unable to answer?  I’m not just a god of lust: I’m a being of forbidden desire.  Hidden loves.  Secret trysts.  Taboo longings.  The god for every being who ever felt the need to hide their heart’s desire.  They all had my favor,” he said, his tone wistful before going hard again.  “Until my brethren had me banished.  My fellow gods!  The ones who wanted to pick and choose who they cared for.  The ones who wanted to cast my people against the stones of fate!  They partnered with those mages to cast me out, leaving my people, leaving you, to fend for yourselves,” Tothak spat.  He paused to compose himself, his smile returning as he continued.  “But things are different now.  Thanks to the architects of this lovely castle, my fellow gods can learn what it is to be rendered impotent while I bring their children under my…unique…sway.  There are powers older than all of us, even the gods.  Older than the very idea of this world, and just as cruel.  though not without their uses, as everyone will soon find out.  But, before then, I owe you a gift,” Tothak smiled.  “Come.  Approach the throne.”

Skord tried to stop his legs from carrying him forward.  His massive frame shook as his overwhelming desire to be closer to the glowing god in front of him fought with his common sense.  It was a moot point.  His massive frame moved of its own accord, though the distance to the throne seemed to be getting longer.  It was only after several faltering steps that the muscled giant realized what was happening.  The distance wasn’t growing; his stride was shrinking.  Skord’s overall proportions weren’t changing, but his perspective.  The strapping stone-kin's chiseled muscle all still seemed to be where it should, there was just less of it.  Against himself, he was every bit the built, burly bruiser he always had been, but that status quickly changed when compared to the world around him.  By the time he’d climbed the steps and was gazing up at Tothak, Skord’s seven-and-a-half foot frame was just over three.  Even Ildelk would stand a foot taller than him now, and the stocky dwarf could likely pick him up just as easily as Tothak.  Skord gasped and shivered when the beautiful figure scooped him up and set him down on their lap, his comparatively diminutive cock erupting on contact.  He couldn’t help it.  Simply being near Tothak pushed him to the edge, but actual contact was pure bliss.  He sat on the god’s lap, spraying like a fountain as he looked out on his altered friends.  They stared back with equal hunger, and not even the knowledge of who it was they sat on could dull the shrunken goliath’s ecstasy.  He felt small and out of control for the first time he could remember, and the foreign sensation turned him on like no other.  He was suddenly aware of how badly he wanted to be manhandled and made to feel tiny, how his ample muscle was no longer good for much beyond a show.

“Don’t worry, little stone-kin,” Tothak purred, leaning down to kiss the top of Skord’s bald head as he tweaked the former giant’s little rod.  “The castle has risen once again and our family will grow.  We’re just getting started.”