The rest of Zac's riding lesson went by very, very, very slowly. He thought it had been hours, but when Bune clapped his hands and announced that "twenty minutes in the saddle was enough for the first night," lest the Avatar get bow-legs, Zac had been surprised (and a little upset). The Aspidochelone, which Zac had already named Leonardo, had barely made it out of the stall.

  How the turtle could ever be considered a war mount was beyond Zac. It was slower than if Zac had to propel himself using only his eyelids. But Bune seemed so happy that something was actually going correctly and nothing was dying, catching on fire, or being sexually harassed, that Zac didn't have the heart to complain too loudly.

  On the walk back to Zac's room... during which Zac was already nearly floating in anticipation for sleeping and dreaming... he couldn't help but feel a slight nagging in the small, non-horny corners of his mind.

  "So, Leonardo is pretty chill," he started, "but uh, will he be able to keep up with Goremaw or Sir Hoofington or uh... a wheelchair-bound infant?"

  "What do you mean?" Bune's Left Head asked, briefly turning away from directing a small queue of ghosts and ghouls to different cleaning tasks. "The Aspidochelone is the perfect size for you."

  "I appreciate that I won't need to keep a step stool around when I ride him, but he is a tad bit lethargic." Zac did not want to insult his new turtle friend since it was the only one of Marchosias's pets that didn't seem to be repulsed by him. Why didn't they all love him like Goremaw did? It was a mystery. "I just think walking might be faster," he finished lamely.

  "Walk? Ha!" Bune chuckled. "Your war mount is your mobile battle station. Sometimes the battles are quite long, so having somewhere to sit is nice." Bune's Right Head turned and swapped places with the Left Head to take over the conversation. "And Ose has never been a brawler. Your powers are not as useful on the battlefield directly... it is too noisy and chaotic for the paladins to hear your lies. So, the Pygmy Island Turtle is a wonderful choice. And if we get you a seatbelt, the Captain will be so happy."

  Zac frowned. "Please don't turn Leonardo into a mobile high chair."

  "The battlefield is a dangerous place," Bune said as he led Zac up another staircase. "Being positioned next to the Captain will be the safest place for you."

  "Yes, next to my wolfy-hubby is where I belong," Zac said wistfully before hardening his expression. "But that's the point. Leonardo is slow as fuck. He won't even make it out of the driveway by the time the show has started. I'm gonna be late."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Bune waved one of his four hands dismissively. "The different battlefronts are hundreds of miles from here. It would take days for even Goremaw to run there."

  Zac waited for a few moments before realizing Bune wasn't going to continue unprompted. "So how do we travel to the battlefield? Hell-icopter?"

  "Such a flimsy device would be shot out of the sky nearly instantly," the dragon said, leading Zac down yet another flight of stairs.

  "Okay then what?" Zac asked. "And you didn't laugh. Helicopter. Hell-icopter. It's good, right? It just came to me. I should have been a comedian."

  "I transport them," Bune said simply, ignoring the pun.

  "How do you transport them?" Zac pressed. "And seriously, hell-icopter."

  "My necromantic powers give me many abilities," Bune said, his tone shifting to one of lecture-hall pride. "I am able to move the dead. Most think that is simply animating or conjuring, but there are more applications. Due to those, I am not limited as other necromancers are." The dragon smirked smugly. "I do not need to look for or wait for a dead body to reanimate."

  Zac nodded sagely. "You kill someone and make a dead body. Got it. Very metal."

  "No," Bune sighed, the sound echoing in the stairwell. "I move the dead. I can transport the dead underground, so I can animate whichever body types I need. It is a logistical advantage."

  "We were talking about Leonardo," Zac muttered, not sure how flexing on all the other goth mages helped his transportation issue.

  "I can transport the others underground to the battlefronts and back here," Bune said, finally stopping in front of a door and pushing it open to reveal another room that looked like Zac's but, once again, was completely new. "It is much faster than other types of travel, and Heaven is too mysophobic to ever think of digging down into the ground."

  "What's me-so-phobic?" Zac asked, tilting his head. "When I hear me-so, I usually think me-so-horn-"

  "It means they are scared of being dirty," Bune cut off Zac's unfiltered thoughts with a sharp cough, "as if dirt itself is a bad thing."

  "That's a bit ironic coming from you," Zac said as he entered his anti-demon-rape room. "You're quite serious about stains."

  "Because they upset the Captain," Bune coughed into a fist. "Now, if there's anything else you-"

  "Why does March's opinion matter so much to you?" Zac cut off the dragon’s attempt at a quick goodnight. He leaned against the doorframe, his tail twitching. "I saw you wrestle Skarg in the pantry, and I can tell you could have taken him down much faster than March did, if you really wanted to. You're a Duke, and you're stopping yourself from letting a virgin vibrate on your vent when you could be corrupting me."

  Bune froze. For a split second, there was silence.

  Then, with a wet, sickening tear, Bune’s Third Head erupted from between his shoulders. The Left and Right heads immediately looked shocked and mortified, recoiling from their own body.

  "YES!" the Middle Head roared, spittle flying as its red eyes locked onto Zac. "COME OVER HERE AND GRIND ON MY CLOACA YOU FILTHY LITTLE VIRGIN!"

  "DO YOU HAVE A HEMIPENIS?!" Zac yelled back, his eyes wide. Bune's third head had been missing all day, and Zac had told himself he wouldn't miss the opportunity to ask when it arose.

  "CLASPERS!" the Middle Head bellowed, its tongue lolling out. "NOW GET OVER HERE!"

  As Bune's Left and Right heads began apologizing profusely and screaming at the smug-looking Middle Head, Zac clutched his chest. He felt like he was having a heart attack. Claspers? Wasn't that a shark thing?

  "You... you... you..." Zac couldn't even form proper words. "You got two cocks?"

  Zac felt like he was in a trance as his body moved toward the dragon demon. All this time, he thought the others were hot and the dragon was just keeping his hand out of the cookie jar. But this... this changed the calculus entirely.

  And what Bune's Middle Head roared next, just as the other two heads managed to grab the handle and slam the heavy door in Zac's face, sent the human into a mini-seizure.

  "THREE!"

  The information was simply too dense. It was a cognitive payload too heavy for the human brain to process. His eyes rolled back into his skull. His knees, which had been carrying him faithfully through days of demonic thirst, finally gave out and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

  CRACK.

  His head hit the stone floor with a sickening, solid thud. The world didn't just fade to black; it was violently switched off.

  ...

  ...

  "...he's finally here..."

  "...places, everyone, places..."

  "...does the lighting catch my good side? How does my mane look? Is it voluminous enough?..."

  ...

  Zac blinked.

  He wasn't on the floor anymore. He was standing, but he couldn't see anything. A thick, heavy fabric was tied tight around his eyes. He reached up, his fingers brushing against silk, and yanked the blindfold down.

  He wasn't in his room. He wasn't even in the keep.

  He was in a castle, but it was wrong. The stones were asymmetrical, jagged, and rough-hewn, lacking the sleek, obsidian perfection of Marchosias’s fortress. The windows were narrow slits, but instead of the eternal, bloody red glow of the Pit, a pale, artificial moonlight streamed through. It felt like a set. A stage.

  Zac looked down and realized his footing was precarious. He was standing on a grate of cold iron. He grabbed the bars surrounding him. He was in a suspended birdcage, hanging by a massive chain over a dark, seemingly bottomless pit.

  He leaned over the edge, squinting into the abyss. "Hello?" he called out. "Any Void Leeches down there? Or is this just a dramatic drop?"

  He looked across the room. On a raised dais, sitting on thrones made of skulls and spikes, were two familiar figures. But they looked... different.

  The warthog demon, Pumbaa, was draped in heavy velvet robes trimmed with ermine fur. He wore a crown that was slightly too small for his head, sitting crookedly between his ears. He looked like a caricature of an Evil King from a dark fantasy novel.

  Beside him, the rodent demon, Timon, was dressed in tattered black robes covered in silver stars. He held a staff topped with a glowing green orb. He was clearly going for "Dark Wizard," though he looked more like a lawn ornament gone bad.

  "Hey guys!" Zac waved enthusiastically through the bars of his cage. "I didn't know you were on the dream invite list! Look, if this is still about the conditioner, I really didn't mean to steal it. Even though it did smell really good, and I bet it would be great to use when I'm jerk-"

  "Silence, Princess!" Pumbaa huffed, slamming a scepter onto the stone floor. "There is no escape for you now!"

  Timon hissed in amusement, rubbing his spindly hands together. "The Evil King Pumbaa will make you his consort! He will fill you with a child and take over your kingdom! Now be silent, wench!"

  Zac blinked. "Fill me with a... wait."

  He looked down at himself. The leopard-print onesie was gone.

  In its place, Zac was wearing a skimpy, silver chainmail bikini. It was less "armor" and more "suggestion." Gems dripped from the chains, catching the moonlight, and sheer, flowy bits of transparent silk hung from his hips and shoulders, designed purely for dramatic wind effects.

  Zac blinked again.

  His brain broke a little bit. He touched the cold metal against his skin. Then, he looked back up at the demons, a wide, delighted grin spreading across his face.

  He shook his shoulders. Jingle jingle. He shook his hips. Swish swish.

  "Oh my god," Zac whispered. Then he laughed, shaking his ass so the gems clattered against the iron bars. "Princess Leyah eat your heart out, bitch! Look at this fit! I look expensive!"

  "Stop that!" Pumbaa hissed, looking uncomfortable. "You're the Princess! You are supposed to be cowering in fear of my dark seed!"

  Zac stopped dancing and pointed a manicured finger (when did he get a manicure?) at the warthog man. "You'll never break me!" he declared dramatically, pressing his chest against the bars. "Even if you ravage me over and over and over..." His voice trailed off into a husky whisper. "...and over... and fill me with your royal oats..."

  "Cut!" Timon screeched, banging his staff. "That isn't any way for a kidnapped maiden to act! You're ruining the tension!"

  "I'm building the tension!" Zac argued. "I'm a defiant princess! It's a valid archetype!"

  Before the rodent wizard could retort, the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the chamber exploded inward.

  BOOM.

  Splinters of wood showered the room like confetti. Dust billowed out, swirling in the shafts of moonlight.

  "Halt, evil doers!"

  A voice, rich and baritone, echoed through the chamber.

  As the dust settled, a figure emerged. It was Sir Nock. He was clad in armor so shiny it was physically painful to look at. He held a massive sword pointed toward the ceiling, his other hand resting on his hip. He struck a pose, holding it for a solid five seconds to ensure everyone saw it.

  And his mane.

  It was magnificent. It was voluminous. It defied gravity, blowing in a wind that didn't exist inside the stone room. It was the mane of a lion who used excellent conditioner.

  "Release pure Zachary," Nock bellowed, his golden eyes flashing, "and I may let you live!"

  Zac’s chainmail jockstrap became quite uncomfortable very quickly. That lion was so fuckable it was insane. Why the hell did God think it was appropriate to make the demons so alluring? Falling from grace and turning into a demon was supposed to be a punishment, right? Not an all-expenses-paid trip to Korean pop star-level plastic surgery.

  "Ha ha ha!" Pumbaa laughed thickly, snapping back into character with a jolt. He spread his arms wide, his velvet robes billowing. "What a fool you are to have come here! You have fallen right into my trap!"

  "Fool!" Timon hissed manically, crouching beside the throne and waving his staff. "Complete fool!"

  "I may be a fool," Nock said passionately, holding his free hand to his armored chest and closing his eyes, a single beam of moonlight perfectly highlighting his profile. "But I am only a fool... for love."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Zac let out a soft, appreciative whimper from his cage.

  "It pains me to see an evildoer like you," Nock continued, his voice dripping with tragic empathy. "For I know you are just stuck in a cycle of violence. It is a curse that you must rise above! The fair Zachary does not love you, and taking the kingdom will not fill the void in your heart."

  Nock opened his eyes slowly, a subtle, practiced twitch at the corner of his lip adding just the right amount of rugged sorrow.

  "It is not for love!" Pumbaa declared, rising from his throne with a snort. "It is for the power! For the riches! You see, ever since I was a young boy, I have desired to command others. So I started my evil plan! To become the Dark King of... uh..."

  "Helltopia," Timon suggested in a stage whisper.

  "HELLTOPIA!" Pumbaa roared, correcting himself. "To become the Dark King of Helltopia, I needed to amass a small fortune, an army, and have a royal bride!"

  As the Dark King's monologue droned on, Zac found himself drifting. He gripped the bars of his cage, pressing his face between them to get a better look at Nock. The lion was very kindly holding his pose, standing perfectly still while the antagonist spelled out his evil plan in excruciating detail and the dark mage played hype-man.

  The armor looked so... form-fitting. Was there a zipper in the back? Or maybe magical clasps? After seeing the lion's impressive swimmer’s build while he strutted around in his robe earlier, Zac realized that the breastplate must be incredibly snug across those pectorals. It was essentially metal lingerie.

  "But it matters not that I've told you," Pumbaa concluded with a menacing flourish, "since you will be dead soon anyways!"

  Nock shifted his weight, the metal of his armor clinking melodiously. He changed his pose, swinging his sword out to the side and widening his stance. "You say you fight not for love, but for power. And that is why you will lose!"

  He changed poses again, this time pointing his sword directly at the warthog, his chin lifted defiantly. "For when you fight for love... you can never lose."

  Pumbaa growled, a low, rumbling sound of frustration. "Let's see your love save you from this! Evil Wizard, destroy the interloper!"

  Timon stepped forward, his cackling laughter bouncing off the stone walls like skipping stones. "Your wish is my command, Dark King Pumbaa! I will erase this noble hero and there will be no one to stop you from taking over the world! Bwahahaha!"

  Nock dropped into a defensive stance, his boots scraping dramatically against the floor. "Do your worst, vile sorcerer! My heart is my shield!"

  Zac gripped the bars of his cage, wishing he had a bucket of popcorn. The plot was basic... like, 'first draft of a high school D&D campaign' basic... but the character designs were top-tier, and the lead actor was incredibly hot.

  Timon swirled his staff overhead, the green orb at the tip pulsating with an eerie light. A magical wind whipped through the chamber, smelling faintly of ozone and wet dirt. The stone floor in front of Nock cracked open, and with a grinding rumble, a rock golem pulled itself from the earth.

  It was a clunky, lumpy monstrosity, looking like five boulders glued together with glowing green slime, but it towered over the lion.

  Nock gripped his massive sword with both hands, sneering at the construct. "Too scared to fight with your own hands, you fiend? You hide behind dolls!"

  "You are not worth lifting a finger for!" Timon screeched, pointing his staff. "Attack him, Dark Golem! Crush him into paste!"

  The humanoid rock monster lumbered forward, swinging a fist the size of a microwave in a slow, telegraphic arc.

  "HA!" Nock shouted, sidestepping with a flourish of his cape. He parried the stone fist with the flat of his blade, grunting with theatrical effort. "Is that all you have? My grandmother hits harder!"

  Zac, getting into the spirit of things, shook the bars of his cage. "Get him, Sir Nock! I will be your sword maiden and tend to your sheath if you free me! I'll keep your sword nice and warm!"

  Nock froze mid-parry. His ears swiveled toward the cage, and a goofy, lovestruck grin broke through his determined scowl. "My sheath?" he called back, turning his head away from the monster. "Oh, sweet Zachary, I would be honored to let you tend to my-"

  CRUNCH.

  The golem’s other fist connected squarely with the side of Nock’s head.

  The lion knight didn't even have time to finish his sentence. He crumpled instantly, crashing face-first into the stone floor with a deafening clatter of armor.

  Zac winced. "Ouch."

  Nock groaned, pushing himself up on shaking arms. His chest piece was dented and his perfect mane was mussed. He looked up at the golem, then glared past it at the rodent wizard. A low growl started in his throat. "Timon, what the hell was-"

  BAM.

  The golem didn't wait for the dialogue. It delivered a brutal, spartanesque kick to Nock’s chest.

  Nock went airborne. He flew backward across the room, slamming into the castle wall with a bone-jarring impact that cracked the masonry. He slid down the wall and landed in a heap, wheezing, clutching his breastplate as he struggled to catch his breath.

  "Mwah ha ha," Pumbaa said, his voice wobbling. He looked nervously at Timon, who was cackling with a little too much genuine glee. "The... uh... the hero was all talk, it seems?"

  Zac realized the scene was going off-script. He pressed his face against the cold iron bars, shouting down at the fallen lion. "Get up, brave Sir Nock! You can't let them win! You're my only hope! I need you to save me so we can ride off into the sunset and do butt stuff!"

  Nock’s head snapped up. His golden eyes flashed open, but the romantic sparkle was gone. In its place was the burning, molten rage of a High Demon of Hell who had just been embarrassed in front of his crush.

  He stood up slowly, the dented metal of his armor groaning. He didn't strike a pose. He didn't check his hair. He just gripped his sword until his knuckles turned white.

  "You evil fucks are dead," he snarled.

  Nock's eyes snapped open, his vertical pupils dilating until his irises were swallowed by black pools of violence. For a second, Zac swore he saw a faint, golden aura flare around the lion, but he shook his head... this was a dark romance fantasy, not a Shonen battle anime.

  Nock roared, charging back into the fray. This time, there was no posing. He met the golem head-on, ducking under a sweeping haymaker with liquid grace. His massive sword became a blur of steel, no longer deflecting but attacking. Clang. Crack. Crunch. Every swing connected with purpose, the blade biting into the stone joints, exploiting hairline fractures Zac hadn't even seen. The golem staggered, chunks of its rock-flesh cleaving off in showers of gravel.

  "Stupid golem!" Timon hissed, slamming the butt of his staff onto the dais. "Must I do everything myself?!"

  With a wave of green light, the earth rumbled again, and a second, larger golem burst from the floor. But Timon wasn't done. He pointed his staff at the debris field of the first crumbling construct. " Lapidem Bullet! "

  The fallen shards of stone levitated, vibrating with kinetic energy, before launching themselves at Nock like a shotgun blast.

  Nock didn't flinch. He spun, his cape flaring, his sword weaving a defensive web that batted the projectiles out of the air. He didn't lose momentum. He rolled under the second golem’s legs, slashing upward into its knee joints, severing them cleanly. The construct toppled with a deafening crash. Nock was a hurricane of feline fluidity and roaring steel, dismantling the stone giants with terrifying efficiency.

  Zac noticed Pumbaa, still sitting on his skull-throne, clenching his fists into the velvet fabric of his robes. The warthog looked genuinely nervous as chunks of golem flew dangerously close to his head.

  "The brave hero will save me, Evil King!" Zac yelled, rattling his cage to get their attention. "You'll never get to smell my ripe bikini after I toss it into the hamper when I jump into the shower! And then when I get out of the shower and catch you, you'd be all embarrassed and aroused trying to hide how naughty you were being!"

  Zac's voice dropped to a husky, roleplay whisper that echoed weirdly in the stone chamber. "And I'd pretend to be so upset with you. I'd tell you, 'If you don't want anyone to know about your little sniffing habit... take those pants off, you filthy piggy.'"

  The sound of battle died instantly.

  Nock froze mid-swing, his sword buried halfway into a golem's torso. Timon’s staff faltered, the green light dimming. Pumbaa’s jaw hung open. All three demons stood motionless in the debris-strewn room, staring up at the suspended cage.

  Inside, Zac was hugging himself, swaying back and forth, eyes glazed over as he muttered something about "snout play" and "truffle hunting."

  Nock cleared his throat. It was a loud, sharp, deliberately unromantic sound. HRA-HEM.

  Zac’s eyes fluttered open. He looked down. The demons were looking at him like he was the weird one.

  "Oh," Zac said. "Are we... still fighting?"

  Nock blinked, shaking his head as if to clear water from his ears. He yanked his sword free from the stone torso with a spray of sparks and snapped back into a heroic stance, pointing the blade at the dais.

  "Fear not, sweet Zac!" he bellowed, his voice cracking slightly before returning to its booming register. "Keep your eyes upon me and dare to hope! Your knight is coming!"

  Timon was a few moments too slow getting back into the proper "Evil Wizard" mindset. He was still trying to process the phrase "ripe bikini" when Nock lunged.

  The lion's sword flashed silver in the moonlight. It sliced cleanly through the wooden staff, shattering the glowing green orb, and continued its arc, embedding itself halfway into the meerkat demon’s skull with a wet thwack.

  Timon let out a choked squeak. Nock didn't hesitate. With a violent twist of his wrists and a savage upward heave, he ripped the blade free. The force of the motion nearly exploded the demon’s head, sending a spray of gore across the dais. Timon’s body crumpled to the floor like a puppet with cut strings.

  Pumbaa yelped, swallowing hard as a piece of his friend's brain landed on his velvet sleeve.

  "The dark wizard is no more!" Nock declared. He swung his sword to the side with a sharp flick, splattering a line of blood and grey matter onto the floor. He planted a shining, armored boot on Timon’s twitching corpse and pointed his blade directly at Pumbaa’s snout. "This is your last chance, Corrupt King! Free Zachary and forfeit your titles! Only then will I let you live!"

  Pumbaa’s eyes darted nervously to the mangled remains of the wizard. He tried very hard not to look directly at the open skull cavity. "If... if I leave peacefully, you'll let me live?"

  Nock’s expression grew somber. He lifted his chin, his golden eyes filled with tragic resolve. "Of course, you'd never do that. Killing hurts my soul... but sometimes it is the only answer when such darkness exists."

  Pumbaa whimpered, raising his hands in surrender. "Really! I think I'll relinquish my-"

  "HRAAAAGH!"

  Nock gave a heroic, bloodcurdling roar and charged, his sword already swinging in a lethal, decapitating arc.

  Pumbaa squealed in terror. He scrambled backward, grabbing a massive, ornamental war axe from beside the throne just in time to block the blow. CLANG. The impact sent Pumbaa flying off the dais, his crown clattering away as he hit the stone floor and rolled.

  "Why are you making me fight you?!" Nock shouted, tears gathering in his eyes as he advanced on the scrambling warthog. "You could have lived! Why did you choose death?!"

  "I DIDN'T!" Pumbaa screamed, barely parrying another strike that would have split him in half. "I SAID I QUIT!"

  "Vile fiend!" Nock bellowed, swinging again with enough force to crack the floor tiles. "This hurts me more than it will hurt you!"

  Zac, watching from his cage, slowly started to frown. This wasn't exactly the noble duel he had pictured. It was basically a heavily armored super-soldier chasing a fat guy in a velvet robe around a room while screaming about mercy.

  "Uh, Sir Nock?" Zac called out tentatively. "He looks pretty sorry... maybe we can just skip to the rescue part?"

  "Don't listen to his lies, sweet Zachary!" Nock cried, cornering the wheezing Pumbaa against a pillar. "Evil never surrenders! It only waits!" He raised his sword high for the killing blow. "I do this for YOU!"

  Pumbaa's high-pitched squeals of fear were cut short as Nock began, quite literally, mincing the pork. The lion knight stopped occasionally mid-hack to wail about how he "didn't want it to end this way" and that "the evil king forced his hand," despite the fact that Pumbaa was very much dead and very, very tenderized.

  Finally, silence fell over the chamber. Nock stood panting amidst the carnage, turning slowly to face Zac. He was covered head to toe in blood and viscera; it slid down his dented chest piece in thick, crimson rivulets. For a moment, Nock smiled, looking genuinely pleased with his butchery, before a thought clearly struck him.

  He winced dramatically and fell to one knee, supporting his weight with his sword like a tragic hero on the cover of a romance novel. He breathed heavily, looking tired and spent.

  "Are you..." his voice was pained, rough with emotion. "Are you alright, sweet Zac? I am here now."

  Nock slowly looked up. His pupils were dilated, swallowing the gold. His mane, miraculously untouched by the gore, was thick, voluminous, and perky. Through the mask of blood covering his face, his pearly white smile shone like a beacon of "I'm going to allow you to get fucked by me" energy.

  Zac couldn't help but fall to his knees too, clutching the bars. "My hero! Please, free me from this cage so I might look more closely upon my rescuer!"

  Nock’s exhaustion vanished. He scurried over to a chain tie affixed to the wall with impressive speed for a man in full plate. Within a minute, the cage was lowered, and Zac was stepping out onto the cold stone of the dream castle.

  "Oh, Sir Nock," he said, hugging himself and shivering slightly in his chainmail bikini. "You're so hunky... I mean, brave."

  Nock turned and reached for him. He stepped forward, his massive, blood-slicked gauntlet gently lifting Zac’s chin until the little human was looking up at him. Zac’s heart raced. The "pizza delivery boy" part of the script was done. It was finally time for the real action.

  Zac fluttered his eyelashes. "The bad guys are taken care of..." He looked down pointedly at Nock's armored codpiece. "I think it's time you sheath that sword."

  Nock chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Yes, my chaste maid. Follow me, and we will escape this horrid smelling place."

  He took Zac’s hand and led him toward the door he had burst through earlier.

  "Oh, we have to travel a bit?" Zac asked, trying to keep up with the lion’s long strides. "I was thinking a little bit of pregaming here... you were so badass fighting those golems that I'm sure you could use a massage. Where I massage your face. With my butt."

  Nock didn't answer. He simply led Zac over the threshold of the shattered door.

  Zac looked up. He thought the lion man was right in front of him, but the moment his foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted. The cold stone dungeon vanished.

  He found himself in an entirely different space. It was a luxurious yurt, vast and airy. sheer white linens hung from the ceiling, billowing in a gentle, warm breeze. Soft, amber lighting bathed the room in a golden glow, and the floor was made of smooth, light wood that felt warm underfoot.

  Zac walked forward slowly, pushing the white drapes aside, his breath hitching as he found his way to the center of the room.

  There, Nock, now stunningly clean and minus his blood-soaked armor, was sprawled out on a massive, circular bed strewn with red rose petals. He was naked, save for a single white silk sheet that was tastefully draped over his crotch, much to Zac’s immediate and profound dismay. His golden fur gleamed in the soft light, his muscles defined and perfect.

  When Zac clutched his chest to be sure his heart wouldn't beat out of his own chest, his hand didn't feel the cold metal of a chainmail bikini, but soft, weightless fabric. He looked down at himself and held out his arms. He was wearing a white silken robe, nearly see-through, that flowed around him like mist.

  "Oh, pure one," Nock purred, gesturing Zac closer with a single, beckoning finger. "Your soft skin... it makes me grin. Your thoughtful eyes... make my spirit fly. Your... delicious ass... makes my thoughts quite crass."

  Nock shifted, throwing his arms back over the headboard in a gesture that Zac interpreted as Come touch my perfect body, I give you permission even though I know I'm too good for you.

  Zac didn't need to be told twice. He practically cannonballed onto the bed, the mattress absorbing the impact with a plush bounce. As he rebounded, he quickly scrambled onto his hands and knees, crawling toward the waiting lion with a hunger that defied all concepts of "chaste maiden."

  Zac was shaking violently as he held his hands over Nock's sculpted body. He could see the adonis belt through the golden fur, the definition sharp enough to cut glass. He could even make out a thick vein running up the lion's powerful thigh where the fur was shortest.

  "Thank you for spending time on the details," Zac whispered reverently. "They are so very important."

  Nock grinned, looking quite smug. "Do not be afraid to touch," he purred. He reached over, pulling something small and square from under a pillow, and brought it to his mouth, biting the corner with a practiced rip.

  Zac was oblivious to the lion's actions. His hand was slowly reaching toward the silk sheet, his heart beating so hard his ears hurt. He was desperately praying that the lion man did not have a literal lion dick and more of a...

  Zac's mind slowly turned off as his hand hit the sheet and he felt what was under it.

  He gripped what would be a painfully large human organ. Through the silk, he could feel bumpy bits at the tip and near the hot, thick base. Barbs, his brain supplied helpfuly. Are they barbs? Oh, you fucking feline. Hook me like a fish.

  Zac finally came back to reality as Nock laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "You can do more than feel it through the sheet, sweet Zachary."

  Zac looked up at Nock. The lion was holding a condom.

  Zac's head slowly tilted to the side. "Wha... what's... is that a rubber?"

  Nock nodded solemnly. "We do not want you getting pregnant, my sweet."

  Zac looked around the dream-yurt, confused. "But, uh, mpreg is kind of hot. You don't wanna fill me with lion cubs? Because I wouldn't mind a bit of dream husband domesticity."

  "Oh," Nock looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable. "Well, I still shouldn't. Marchosias told us we cannot defile you."

  Zac nearly pulled his hair out. "SKARG LITERALLY PINNED ME DOWN AND FORCED HIS BIG DEMON DICK INTO MY TIGHT VIRGIN HOLE AND I LOVED IT!"

  Nock’s eyes dilated instantly. He grabbed Zac, pulling him into a passionate, consuming kiss.

  Zac's eyes went wide before he collapsed into the lion's strong arms. His brain was on fire as he slowly made out with the perfect 10 lion man. Mmm, totally sandpaper, he thought blissfully as the rough tongue explored his mouth. His body felt like little pieces of ice were touching him all over in the best way possible.

  Zac whimpered as Nock gently pulled away.

  "My dear Zac," Nock whispered, his voice heavy with regret. "I hope the prophylactic doesn't upset you. I trust that you are disease-free, but..." The lion man looked down in shame, his ears flattening. "I cannot say the same."

  Zac's lust cloud cleared just a bit. "Oh. Uh, if you've got lion herpes or something that's okay. I think like two-thirds of all people have the herpes virus or something."

  "No, it is not that," Nock sighed. "It is much worse."

  Zac sat up a bit, putting a comforting hand on Nock's chest. "If it's... if it's HIV, I understand. We can use the condom until I get on some of those pills they have. I think they even have a yearly injection now. It's no big deal, Nock. I'm glad you are such a gentleman and are honest, but I don't think we need to worry about it in my dream."

  Nock shook his head again, looking tragic. "I'm sorry my sweet Zac, but there is no cure for this. And my demonic powers are so strong, it follows me into my dreams. I... I... I..." the lion stuttered. "I have the plague."

  "The what?"

  Zac opened his eyes.

  He was laying on the cold stone floor of his room in Marchosias's keep. His head was still throbbing in pain from when he fell and hit the floor earlier.

  He slowly rolled onto his side, staring at the wall.

  "I didn't even get to see it," he whispered to the empty room. "FUCK."