Shifty Characters, Ch. 01
Snatch wasn’t an especially violent man. Well, not more violent than most. Not more violent than, say, a southern berserker, or a badger in a beartrap. Or a southern berserker in a beartrap.
Snatch was a very violent man. And he really, really wanted to punch his new adventuring partner in the face.
“Listen, I know it’s hard for you to grasp,” Balabar was saying. The younger man’s orange eyes glinted in the dim light, full of plain amusement. “I understand you, Snatch. You were raised in a different land, with... different sensibilities.”
“If by that you mean we actually have them? Yeah. Yeah.” Snatch rolled over, scrunching his flat, fluffless pillow around his head to block out the unwanted noisemaker.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He heard Balabar chuckle. “That’s your problem. Whenever anybody tries to discuss sex in polite conversation—”
“Mercenaries don’t have polite conversation!” Snatch snapped. The thief knew this would only encourage his associate, but he was quickly losing his patience. Well, he hadn’t had any patience to begin with, but now he was losing his scruples about committing murder.
It had started so innocently. Snatch remembered arguing with the baron about it. He’d been reluctant. Snatch had never had a partner before—he liked to work alone. Other mercenaries always either showed him up, needed to be rescued, or complained about him being ‘habitually ill-tempered’. But the baron had insisted. “You’ll have to have a hypnotist on hand,” the fool had said firmly. “Doppelgangers can’t resist flashy things. That pocket watch of his will be the end of her.”
They’d refused to hire him alone, so Snatch had accepted. He’d even started to warm to the idea—much as he disliked the so-called “practical hypnotists” that used their powers on unwilling foes, it had occurred to him that a partner could be of some help. It would have been nice to have someone to help light fires and pitch tents for once.
Nobody had told him they’d be sharing tents.
“Look,” Balabar said slowly, “the Kingdom of the Chosen does a lot of things wrong, I’ll admit. But have you ever thought they might be a little bit right?”
Snatch said nothing. It was half-past midnight, and Balabar was still on this topic.
“My magic makes people happy,” Balabar said. Snatch could positively hear the big smirk he was wearing as he spoke. “Makes girls happy. Is that so wrong?”
“Maybe,” Snatch muttered. “Morality’s not my scene, Balabar. Go preach at the goblins. See how you like getting mindfucked.”
“Heh.” Balabar got up. “As if they’d be a threat to me. Hypnosis only works if the victim secretly wants it, Snatch. That’s the wonderful thing about my magic. Maybe the goblins are your idea of a good time. Me, I like my women a bit less warty.”
Snatch said nothing. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.
He heard the tent flap open and breathed a sigh of relief.
I’m never teaming up with another fucking partner as long as I live.
Larya’s eyes fluttered open. Vision blurred, she frowned, taking a moment to comprehend what she was seeing.
Green. Long blankets of thick moss hung over the branches around her. In fact, every way but up was a sheet of solid emerald. Even the ground beneath her was covered in soft, silky moss and turquoise lichen.
She sat up. Instantly, she clutched her head, groaning. Why did I do that? Stupid. Stupid.
“Y’alright?”
A gasp escaped her. She turned, still holding her head in her hands.
A little man. Not even four feet in height, he had a build so petite she at first took him for a child. Only his braided sideburns gave him away. Not to mention his grayish, wart-covered face and glowing silver eyes.
He grinned, showing razor-sharp teeth. “Sorry ’bout that. Din’t mean to afear you none.”
“Y-you’re...” Larya swallowed. “You’re a goblin.”
He cocked his head, looking surprised. “Hm? Not bad. Some chick knows her Fair Folk.” He giggled. “Well, Fairish, I s’pose. In my case.”
She smiled weakly, lowering her hands from her head. “Wh-where am I?”
The goblin frowned. “You’re in the, uh, ‘Greatest, Darkest Forest’. ’S what you humans call it.”
“Oh.” Larya’s voice was small now as she did the math.
She had traveled over three hundred miles in had what felt like seconds. And for some reason, she was completely naked. How? Last she’d known, she had been helping her master, Solus, prepare a summoning circle. After that ...
She realized she must have been losing herself in thought, because the goblin cleared his throat. “So how’d you get here? We’s usually right good at spottin’ pretty lone lasses, but you snucked right in under our pointy noses.”
“I...” Larya closed her eyes. She had to remember. “I think … I think ...”
Larya gasped. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes!”
She heard the demoness laughing. “Patience, little ‘apprentice’. You aren’t ripe yet.”
She almost came just at the sound of that wonderful husky voice. That voice was oozing lust, dripping with desire just as much as Larya herself.
But she didn’t come. Instead, she lay there, panting. Her arms and legs were pressed firmly against the smooth stone wall. Her hands were clasped together above her head, and her legs were spread very, very wide. A blindfold lay across her eyes, keeping her immersed in darkness. She had never felt so helpless in all her life.
The worst part of it was that she wasn’t even physically bound.
“Juicy,” the succubus purred in her ear. “Your master may have been a fool, but he had exxxcellent taste.”
“Oh ...” Larya whimpered. “Oh, please ...”
A soft palm settled on her breast, gently petting her nipple. A long-nailed finger danced delicately along her naked belly, and Larya jerked reflexively.
“Oh, my. Ticklish, are we?”
Annuisetvio tittered, running her fingers across Larya’s bare chest like skittering spiders. Larya gave a sharp laugh, then started giggling uncontrollably. “N-n-no! P-plea—heehee—pleeeeEEASE!” On the last note of the word, something phallic had slightly prodded between her legs.
“Oh, so sorry,” Annuisetvio whispered. “My tail has a mind of its own.” She nibbled Larya’s earlobe slightly. “But you liked it, didn’t you?”
“Y-y-y-yeees!” Larya thrashed in her nonexistent bonds. She tried to force herself to close her legs, if only so she could start rubbing them together, but the succubus’s commands easily broke her weak will back down. Her mind couldn’t even fully wrap around the idea. Every time she tried to move a muscle, the fingers danced along her belly, under her arms, over her thighs, and she lost herself in another fit of giggles.
Eventually, the fingers’ ‘torture’ subsided. Larya felt hot breath in her ear.“I’m gonna make you come like a bitch with a bell,” Annuisetvio husked.
“Wh-what?”
“Go.”
Behind her blindfold, Larya’s eyes widened. Pleasure coursed through her, the purest, most sinfully perfect pleasure she had ever experienced. It filled her like a balloon, infusing her with need and ecstasy and promise—so much promise. She spasmed and jerked in frantic bliss. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
So she just bucked. She bucked like her life depended on it, desperate for the merest touch of the demoness’s tail against her dripping slit. But she couldn’t—she whined, whimpered, begged in nonsense words—just couldn’t—
“Go.”
And it was in. It was inside her. Larya opened her mouth and gave a squeal of glee, cooing and babbling as the big, thick tail schlupped in and out of her. In and out. She could feel the orgasm growing. In and out. Her babbling gave way to hoarse moans. In and out and in and out and in. The succubus was whispering to her, words in no tongue Larya knew, but just that wonderful, seductive voice—
And then it was out. Completely. Larya’s cunt felt empty and cold without it.
Larya gasped in shock. For a moment, she almost couldn’t believe it. “Wh … why?” She shook in her ‘bonds’, letting out a wail. “Why?”
She went still as a long, rough tongue licked her cheek. “Because I’m training you, you silly slut,” the voice cooed. “And … go.”
“Bu—mmf!” Larya’s protests were muffled as Annuisetvio lunged against her, taking her in a hungry wet kiss. The succubus’s tongue grappled with her own, tiny little fangs dipping in and—
Larya screamed into the kiss. Suddenly, her arms were free. Free to wrap around the demoness’s slick, nubile body and pull it against her own. She heard the succubus give an, “Mm?” of surprise, but she wasn’t letting her go. Not yet. Not ever.
She could feel the lusty venom coursing through her. Her only thought now was to please this creature. And she could feel herself filling with the keen understanding of how to do it.
Annuitsetvio was struggling against her grip now, but faintly, half-heartedly, as Larya left the kiss. The demon shivered as Larya kissed her way down, grabbing the succubus’s hips and holding them still. Her tongue probed in, eliciting an “Ooh! But—”.
Larya moaned. She didn’t care. She thrust her tongue into the succubus’s cunt, lapping at the clit and held the demoness steady as she started to hear moans. As she licked, she felt something strange. Something new.
With every loving lick to the clit, Larya could feel her arms getting weaker. With every shiver as she drew nearer to orgasm, she could feel her mind getting foggier. With every cry from the succubus above, with every shudder from the demonic body Larya was pulling mercilessly towards orgasm, Larya felt her body shutting down. With every—
“G-g-go!” screamed the succubus.
Larya came instantly. Hard. She doubled over, writhing on the floor like a worm on a hook. She couldn’t even scream. She just gasped and choked for breath. It was beyond pleasure. It was the memory of pleasure—the association of this succubus’s sinful delights with a simple word. She had been trained like a bitch with a bell. And somehow, that just made it even more overwhelmingly erotic. So this was what it felt like to lie with a demon.
Well, near a demon, anyways.
She was still orgasming when Annuisetvio began to recover. The ecstasy coursed through her without end, driving her spirit to buck and writhe along with her body. Her mind was nothing but bliss. Her words were nothing but wordless whimpers.
The demoness leaned over and stroked the wriggling Larya’s hair. “That was...n-n-nice,” she said slowly. “But I think a specimen like you is destined for bigger things than getting your soul sucked out.”
Larya could barely comprehend the succubus’s words. Just the voice itself—that husky, sensual tone—felt like it could extend her orgasm forever. “Your master was a fool to summon me, but you … you aren’t ripe yet, Larya. I’m gonna send you someplace nice. Find a better master—or, better yet, master yourself for a change. That sound easy enough?”
“Aaaaah,” Larya replied.
She heard the succubus giggle. “Maybe you prefer being someone’s slut, though. You certainly take well to it. Oh, well. I don’t envy you the headache you’re about to get, but trust me, this isn’t a good place for you to be right now. The Chosen are coming, and you’ve got to move.”
Something tapped her lightly on the forehead. As the orgasm finally began to fade and Larya started to black out, Larya was barely able to grasp the succubus’s last words.
“Be something more than someone’s pet, girl, and you might just be a hero. Now … go.”
The next morning, Snatch woke up late. Or tried to.
“Come, now, Snatch!” Balabar laughed from outside the tent. “We have to catch that tricky girl sometime, you know.”
Snatch pressed his face against his pillow. No. This could not be happening.
“I’ve already cooked up our breakfast. Pheasant eggs. You should get up before they get cold.”
Snatch ignored Balabar. Not that that ever worked. But he was not getting up early. He was staying in bed until the sun was overhead, like he always did on his missions, and no king, priest, demon or fey in the land could convince him otherwise
“It wasn’t easy to find the eggs, but you’d be surprised what those lovely fairies will do for you when ... motivated. Heh. You see, last night I—”
Snatch jumped out of bed like there were scorpions in it.
Never again. Never another partner. Never another perverted hypnotist.
The two sat at opposite ends of a roaring campfire. The fire was being maintained by three little women, each standing not even the length of a shortsword. Though they were technically flying, not standing, Snatch supposed. They hovered in midair, gossamer wings beating too fast to see as they fanned the fire with large leaves.
“Quite nice, aren’t they?” Balabar smirked, passing across a small tin plate and fork.
“Fairies.” Snatch snorted, messily eating the little eggs. They tasted better than he’d expected—but then, he didn’t have the faintest idea what a ‘pheasant’ even was. He’d assumed Balabar had meant ‘peasant’, but Snatch had robbed enough peasants to know they didn’t generally keep eggs this small.
“That’s right, Snatch!” Balabar looked delighted. He speared several eggs on his plate, picking them daintily off his fork like a shishkebab. “It seems you know more about the Fair Folk than I gave you credit for.”
Snatch stared at him. “They’re fucking tiny women with bug wings.”
“Oh, they’re much more than that.” Balabar smiled widely. He lowered his fork and gestured to one of the little creatures. “Lapis, won’t you give my friend a closer look?”
“Oh, yes, Master Balabar!” The fairy’s squeaky voice had a curious vibration to it, making it sound like there were several speakers at once. Snatch noticed it carried an oddly breathless tone as well. Without warning, the fairy zoomed up straight at him. It moved as quick as a hornet, and buzzed twice as loud.
He gave a cry of surprise, swatting at the creature reflexively, but it dodged out of the way. It—or she, Snatch supposed—settled on his outstretched arm. She sat down there, beaming and kicking her legs. “Hello!”
After a moment, Snatch overcame his shock. He vaguely considered flicking the little fey away, but something stopped him. He frowned, staring at the creature.
Her eyes were a bright, solid blue, and took up a huge portion of her face. They were almost insectile, Snatch thought. Her four wings weren’t transparent, as he had thought, but mirror-like. He saw his own dark brown eyes reflected in her wings, and blinked.
Lapis smiled shyly. She was completely nude, her tiny, dark-skinned, perfectly-proportioned body on full display. But that wasn’t what had caught his attention.
He had seen fairies once or twice before—he’d seen their eyes glinting in the darkness, watching him as he made camp. If Snatch was to be completely honest (not that he ever was), fairies were the one type of fey he didn’t really mind that much. They never bothered him and he never bothered them. Sometimes their glowing eyes had even helped lead him out of dangerous areas.
Lapis’s eyes weren’t glowing. They were dull. Almost lifeless.
“Like what you see?” Balabar said, his voice smug.
Snatch snapped back to attention. He shook his arm, but the fairy only slid over and settled down on his shoulder. He paid her no heed for now. “No.”
“Hm.” Balabar shrugged. “Maybe girls aren’t your thing.”
“They’re eight inches tall, dumbass.”
“So are a lot of things.” Balabar grinned. “Trust me, they have their perks.”
Snatch grimaced. “Let’s just get moving. The shapeshifter’s probably already gained a lot of ground on us.”
“We’ll make it up.” Balabar stood. He reached out one hand, and the other two fairies flew over and nestled in his palm, huddling against each other for warmth. “If her hideout really is in these woods, she can’t be far. She’ll be mine soon enough.”
Three weeks ago...
“And that is final, Peska.” Baron Jasper said. He handed the papers back to his adviser, a slightly plump young woman in dark court dress. “If they didn’t want their homes to be repossessed, they shouldn’t have bought them in the first place. Honestly, am I expected to solve all my serfs’ problems for them?”
Peska was a quibbling, ‘idealistic’ sort of woman, and she fidgeted with her stringy crimson hair as she spoke. “Um, no, my lord, but you are expected to keep them … alive.”
“What concern is it of yours?” Jasper snapped. He stood up, resting his hands on the table in a somewhat possessive manner. “You and your family are well-looked after. Do I pay you to complain on others’ behalves?”
“I merely mean that the king—”
“You mean the late king?”
Peska swallowed. “I understand, my lord. I shall send the missives.” She turned and hurried out of the conference room.
The baron rolled his eyes, sitting back down. Everyone thought they knew better. Everyone thought they could do his job. He took a long drought of his coffee: Black as a demon’s heart, and twice as foul. Coffee beans had gotten incredibly inconvenient to import in since the Chosen had started their little crusades, so Jasper took what he could get.
A voice sounded behind him. “Anything to keep the dreams away, huh, Jazzy?”
He froze.
The voice was husky and crackly, like the speaker had a needle jammed in her throat. Despite this, it brimmed with amusement—and something else. Pure hatred.
Jerkily, like a puppet with a few broken strings, Jasper turned to face her—no, it, it was an it. Except he’d never been able to convince himself of that. Not while looking upon her. Not while smelling her scent. Not even while seeing her body shift to his liking before his own eyes.
She’d taken her old form. It was a petite shape, thin and almost unhealthily pale. Her equally pale hair, kept up in elaborate ringlets, framed a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were steely gray, her lips ruby red, though he knew she had used neither paint nor pigment. She fluttered thick lashes, giving a little smile. “I’ve missed you, darling.”
Jasper opened his mouth. A croak escaped his throat. He closed his mouth. She’s supposed to be dead. She has to be dead. It’s a trick. Another dream. Please. Please.
The creature raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, Jazzy?” She thrust her chest out, pouting. “Don’t tell me you didn’t miss us. I don’t believe it for a second.”
“You...” Jasper almost didn’t recognize his own voice. “H...how?”
She seemed taken aback. “How?” She considered it, her smile wry. “How’d I escape the slavers you led me to, you mean? You’d be surprised how easy neogi can be to work with if you actually bother to learn their language.” She winked. “Or, y’know, you’re born speaking all languages fluently.”
“They ... they said they’d take you far away.” Jasper couldn’t speak above a whisper. “They swore by … by ...”
“Yeah. Thing is, Jazzy?” The creature took a step closer, eyes narrowing to slits. As she drew near, Jasper was able to see the goatlike hourglass pupils that had once entranced him so—and that still did, to an extent. She reached forward, and he flinched, but didn’t resist as she cupped his chin in her hand. “They’re spacefaring spider slaver monsters. They don’t care about our gods or how they died. Why the heck would they care about our oaths?”
Jasper tried not to show any reaction. Inwardly, he was cursing himself. She was right. The neogi didn’t believe in any gods, and certainly didn’t fear the Reality like his world did. Of course they would have betrayed him. Of course it wouldn’t have been so easy.
“I’m sorry,” he lied.
“For what?” the creature asked. She shrugged. Subtly, her hands started to twist and morph, getting more gnarled, more claw-like. Her expression remained as naïve and angelic as that of a Lobotomage. “For dumping me? For breaking my heart and betraying me? For tearing that heart to pieces and throwing every piece into deep space?”
She beamed, those innocent eyes worming into his head, working his mind like a pat of butter. Jasper trembled. Even now. Even now, after everything he knew, everything he’d done. He still wanted to trust her. He still wanted to be hers.
“You know ...” The creature leaned close, resting one claw on the table. He leaned back, sitting on the table now, unable to get his face more than a few inches away from hers. Whenever he squirmed, she would gently adjust his chin with her other hand, holding him still and captive. Her smile had taken on a beguiling quality. “I’ve been wondering, Jazzy. I spent a long time wondering after I convinced those monsters to fling me back into the atmosphere. I spent a long time wondering while I waited to hit the ground.” She released his chin from her soft clutches and cocked her head.
It was such a childlike gesture. Coupled with that smile, Jasper felt it draining just a little more of the fight from him. He stared into those silver eyes, the eyes he’d once compared to lustrous will o’ the wisps.
“Why, Jasper?” Her eyebrows arched. “Why did you do it? I would have left if you’d asked. I never made you do any of what we did together.”
Jasper leaned back still more. His head was almost flat against the table. He felt a soft hand cradling the back of it, stroking his short black hair like he was a mere babe. The baron didn’t answer.
The creature frowned, as if confused. The expression seemed purely genuine, despite what Jasper knew. “I wouldn’t even have told the poor baroness. Experiences were all I wanted from you, Jazzy. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Finally, her voice broke, just a fraction. “Why did you do that to me?”
Jasper was now lying back against the table, his head in the creature’s hand. His eyes stared straight up into hers, unable to look away. She lay atop him, curvaceous figure pressed against his trembling body. Both of them could feel his rapid, fluttering heartbeat. He stared up into her beautiful eyes, feeling himself becoming slowly lost in them. He knew her too well for his own good. It only took one look and he wanted to melt in her once more. And there was nowhere to look but those eyes.
But that meant his hands weren’t being watched. And he also knew this creature too well for her own good.
“Because,” he said hoarsely, “you made me want you. You … you owned me.”
She smirked. “You wanted me all by yourself.” She licked her finger, then traced it down his cheek, onto his lips. He shook, feeling his lust beginning to overcome his fear, feeling his cock starting to harden. “And you wanted to be mine.” She leaned very close—close enough he could smell her sweet breath. “It’s a common symptom of being around me, but it’s not my fault. Why do you have to blame me for your own weakness? Why’s it such a big deal, anyways?”
“You’ll never understand why,” he whispered. “Never understand humans. You’re going to die alone, and fucking strangers isn’t going to change that.”
Her face went devoid of expression. She seemed to think a moment before speaking. “I came here to kill you, Jazzy. It’s going to be slow, and it’s going to hurt. I’ll be here for every moment of your death.” In spite of the words, her tone was fond. Her other hand stroked the back of his head softly. “I’ll look after you once again, dearest.”
“I think I’ve had my fill of being looked after.” And Jasper lunged. His hand darted down to the creature’s belt, drawing out the dagger where he remembered she kept it. She blinked, momentarily caught off-guard, and started to get up. But her proximity now betrayed her, slowing her movement by just a hair.
Giving a snarl, Jasper plunged the dagger into the doppelganger’s stomach.
Many-hued blood sprayed out onto his hand and chest. The creature screamed, falling away, desperate to escape her own weapon. “No! You can’t—”
“That’s your problem, you miserable monster.” Jasper sprang off the table, grabbing a nearby chair. “I can do whatever I want. Nobody is going to get in my way—especially not some shapeshifting whore. You may be faster, and stronger, but you’re dumb as a brick, ‘dearest’.”
“No!” Her body was morphing rapidly. Teeth grew, then retracted. Skin went translucent, showing the black blood and organs beneath, then went as black as ebony, then as white as quartz. Her ears grew elfin points, then enlarged and grew fur until they were more like bat ears, then stretched bizarrely until they were like bat wings.
The creature struggled to her feet only to be slammed into. The baron rammed her to the ground with his shoulder. She twisted, trying to rise again, eyes wide as saucers. “No! I have to—”
“You’ve had this coming a long time, you demonic bitch.” He raised the chair over his head to break the shapeshifter’s neck.
The door opened. Reflexively, Jasper turned to see Peska in the doorway. Beside her stood Bisem, the captain of the guard. They stared in shock.
“Bisem! Peska!” He scowled. “I wonder how this monster—”
“Your Excellency!” Bisem looked horrified. He rushed forward, drawing out a spine-covered shield. “Don’t!”
“What?” Jasper blinked, looking back down at … the scrawny-but-attractive woman that was his wife, Oefeli. Her face was screwed up in concentration.
Then Bisem rammed into Jasper, the man’s plate armor brutally bruising the baron’s side. Jasper was literally sent flying, slamming into the stone wall.
“No, you fool!” he howled, twisting to avoid being grabbed by the brawny guardsman. “It’s a doppelganger! A doppelganger!”
Peska gave a strangled cry. “Bisem, look!”
Bisem stopped trying to grab Jasper and turned. Still lying on the floor, Jasper looked as well—just in time to see a young woman with feathery, wing-like arms zoom by them.
She leaped, crashing through the window. Rainbow blood sprayed everywhere as Jasper helplessly watched her struggle in the air a moment, then right herself and zoom away.
Bisem was calling for his archers. Jasper knew, though, that it was too late. The doppelganger was gone. And if she managed to tell someone what he’d done with her … with it ...
He’d have to call in some professionals.