Gaius Verses the Nagi

Be warned, this chapter is light on the eroticism.

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So, as one might expect, Nagi are vicious creatures. They're the Gods damned centaurs of the reptilian world, and I hate centaurs. Now, before you ask, yes I found the one I was looking for. The slippery son of a bitch came at me before I could lay eyes on it. Now how, in the hells did this happen? Well, a squall had blown in from the coast and with all the noise and rain, he got the drop on me.

Right, so there I was, flat on my back. My sword a good pace away by this point, and this beast's tail was wrapped 'round my legs. He was dragging me back to his den, which I had no intention of seeing, but I wasn't in the position to protest. All I could make out was the muscled back and four arms of the creature as he slithered with me attached to him.

His scales were hard as iron and his tail was wrapped tighter than a virgin's cunt. The gravel and oysters were doing havoc upon my back as he pulled me along the shore. We headed into an outcropping of rocks that lay along the cliffs. I shouldn't have to mention how tired of caves I was by this point, but as it were, it looked like ole Gaius was about to go into another one.

Gods know why, but I picked up a rock and heaved it, best as I could, at the monster's head. The stone bounced with a clack off his shoulder and ended up bouncing back onto my chest. It took the breath from me and I nearly passed out again. Well, not that he knocked me out...

I realize that at this point my monster hunting must seem to boil down to nothing more than being knocked about, flung into caves, and fucking my way out of trouble, but there's more to it, and I am a seasoned fighter, I promise. Anyways,the Nagi saw fit to fling my carcass across his den and onto a mound of bodies. Taking a quick look, I grabbed a gruesome looking thigh bone from one of my predecessors and cracked off the tip of one end. See, I made a shank, that's resourcefulness, so stop your doubting.

The Nagi, seeing my ingenuity, made to strike at me. When he did I jammed the bone in his neck. The soft skin of his throat was unarmored and took the sharpened bone with ease. His four arms still snatched me up, in his gasping, sputtering struggle. He grabbed a limb in each arm and pulled hard.

Now, have you ever seen someone drawn and quartered? Execution at its finest, they tie a man to four horses, each horse roped to an arm or leg, then they spook the horses into running. Each go a different way, and bam! You can anticipate the results. Now, imagine a creature able to do this on his lonesome and you have my current predicament.

My only salvation was the femur lodged in his gullet and the thrashing that caused him to loosen his grip on my legs. A swift kick and I was able to press the bone into his neck further. Another kick to the creatures chest and I expelled the little air left inside of his lungs. You could say I was helping him along, into the great beyond.

At long last he died and released me from his vile grasp. So, as you can see, I'm fully capable of killing a monster. Now, that said, things went downhill from there. That Nagi was only a gate keeper. Behind me in the outcropping was a door. A big, bloody door. That damnable barkeep never mentioned it when he said to kill the snake.

With the Nagi departed, there came a noise. Stone scraping on stone. The door was unsealing itself and with the crumbling avalanche of rock it dissolved into a maw of inky black. In for a penny, I withdrew my new toy from the Nagi's throat and ventured inward. Yes, it was a terrible idea.

Then why do it? Reputation. I was down a kill, yes I was still sore about the fang. I had added Igred to my team, instead of killing her. Add to that a botched Nagi extermination and well, there goes job security.

The tunnel was understandably dark, and the smell of rot had me guessing that I had journeyed into a crypt. That or the pile of death I had been thrown into had left its scent on me, hope lead me to believe I was in a crypt though. With that in mind I stole my way through the murk, my hand to the wall.

There is a certain moss in the south that glows in the blackness underground. As my eyes accepted the pitch around me, I began to notice the gentle, green glow. As I descended it grew more concentrated, brighter and brighter until I was able to make my surroundings.

I was correct, it was a crypt. The inlaid stone work of the floor and walls was engraved with wards, protecting whatever was outside from what lay inside. Bully for me. The path before me ended abruptly, and it took me several seconds to surmise that the wall before me was actually a door. A gust of fetid air blew through the stone with a whistle. I pressed my foot to the brick and pushed. With a strain they gave way and collapsed, but I was fortunate enough to withdraw my leg before it was crushed.

After stumbling over the mess I had just created, I proceded into the tomb. The chamber beyond was lit by braziers of green flame. Magic, obviously, and warning enough not to tread any deeper, but I did anyway. There was a slab before me, a sarcophagus. Having failed to heed common sense so far, I continued to ignore it. I slipped the sharpened bone into the space between lid and box and levered down on it. The bone snapped, but not before shifting the coffin lid enough for me to remove the heavy stone by hand.

So, what was inside? What was so dangerous that it had to be interred, sealed, buried in a cliff, sealed again, and guarded by a four-armed, snake man? There is, as it happens, an old fable.

"Once ago, there lived a fair Queen,

Her reign was just and loved by all.

But with age, her looks lost their sheen,

The process of time she meant to stall.

When once she was plagued with her sadness,

She forged in secret a plan.

Then she was crippled by madness,

When her looks afforded no man."

It goes on from there, but the jist is that there was this stunningly beautiful queen. Her looks spurred knights into battle, and her serfs loved her. Now, when she grew old, old here meaning in her forties, which I might add is when some women become there most attractive, she began to feel that her luster was lacking.

Where the poem is vague, history books are clear, she tried everything under the sun to plump her skin and fight off aging. It didn't work, and driven mad she did some awful things. Things like slaying her chamber maids and bathing in their blood, or devouring their boiled skin. Yes, pretty bent.

So, the legend goes, the worse off she got in the head, the uglier she got. Soon, nobody could look upon her. Driven batshit insane she ordered the death of every girl and woman able to have child. Naturally you can anticipate how the soldiers, all men who quite enjoyed women in this bracket, took to the order.

They rose against her and well... here I am, some 700 years later. It should be said that no more women died, and instead, her former subjects doubled their population within the year. A fervent "fuck you" to their once fair queen.

In that darkened tomb, laying in the coffin was the queen, staring up at me with milky eyes. Her gaunt features repulsive. Also she was alive. She sat up, her breath a rasping, dry wheeze. She pulled herself from her grave, her joints creaking like an unoiled gate.

"Who are you, fair knight, which free me from my imprisonment?" Was what that gargling, putrid voice said to me.

Now, I know what's crossing your mind. Gaius, if she wasn't dead, what's with the corpse breath and the creaking bones and the horrific features? Well, she was fuck ugly at the end of the fable wasn't she? Yes. Ugly is ugly, alive or dead. And how fresh is your breath in the morning, not at all is it? That's after seven hours, imagine seven centuries! That explains the creaking joints as well.

Right, now then! Had she attempted to couple with me, I'd have taken that femur bone and vented my throat with it. As it happened, she wasn't concerned with that, so much as why I had freed her.

"My name is Gaius," I began diplomatically, "I didn't come to free you, so much as I came to slay the beast that guarded your tomb. You see, he was bothering the locals, and well, his death opened your tomb and I came in to see what all the fuss was about."

She stared at me, her grizzled face wrinkling in concentration. I wasn't about to tell her of the nursery rhyme or history lessons, hells I was going to play dumb about knowing who she was.

"I see, there is nothing to stop me from completing my transformation then." She spoke, with the authority of a ruler and the insanity of a zealot.

"Pardon?" I squawked. Now that one threw me for a loop, because to me, that sounded like she was making herself ugly and wanted to continue the process.

"Do you think so hideous a form was accidental?" She spat, her form wafted around the opened sarcophagus, towards me, "what, I wonder, do they say of me?"

I repeated the rhyme to her. It wasn't voluntary, believe me, she compelled me to do so. As I recanted the tale of the stunning maiden and her withering sanity and beauty, she did nothing but grin at me.

"Ah, then it worked." She said with malicious glee, then she disrobed. She was all gray and wrinkly, now just keep with me for a moment, I know it isn't appealing to the senses, but you weren't there so keep the complaints to yourself. I had to look at the crow's loose skin and folded, dry flesh.

She took one finger and traced a line, from forehead to nethers. A line formed in her finger's wake and when she had finished, she gripped at the flesh of her chest and pulled with both hands. He skin separated like a husk, and she peeled it off as if it were a dress.

Low and behold, there was the milky maiden underneath. Well, she looked to be just shy of forty, which made some sense to me. Her flesh was supple and white, hair of red, like blood draped down to her shoulders. She removed the haze from her eyes and beneath the paleness lay two emeralds. Green as the fire around us, her eyes were.

"Well that was unexpected," I muttered, "what was the purpose of all this, if not to entomb you?" I asked again in control of myself.

"My rule was to be eternal, but I was hindered in my endeavors by a priest. He and his ilk would stop me at every turn, halting my progress. So, I formed my shell and when it was complete I had my servants bury me here. My most trusted guard was ordered to protect me until it was time. So, tell me, is the order of the Silver Owl disbanded?" She asked, her fingers played with her nipples absently while she spoke, causing them to blush and then produce milk.

Now, I'll get back to all the titty nonsense in a moment. The Silver Owl was destroyed, but from its ashes had risen the order in which I was a member. I wasn't planning on divulging that, but I may not have a choice.

"They are gone." I said keeping it blunt. From the darkness around me, I could hear a whispering sound. Dozens of voices, calling hungrily for their queen.

"Good," she sneered, "then I am free to do as I will. Arise my beauties, and feed from your mother's bosom." Eyes, all emeralds, opened around me in the darkness. The whispering grew louder as one by one the queen's subjects approached.

Maidens, all just of age, and of all shapes came up to the queen. One by one the girls suckled the milk from the Queen's swollen breasts. When they had drank there fill, they stood to the side, allowing the others to feast. Some were short, some tall. Some were thin, others thick. Dark skinned, alabaster, and every shade of flesh in between. All were different from one another, save for their eyes.

"The rhyme, Gauis," she spoke, a gorgeous girl latched to each of her nipples, "it got something right. I do devour others to stay young. Men though, not virgins. I draw their seed from them and with it, their souls. Every life I claim brings me another decade, subtract from that a year for every beauty that drinks from my teat. They bring me young lovers to sate my appetites and I give to them my milk which sustains them in lesser measure."

To my count there were fifteen succubae in her court. Their various qualities diverse to attract many lovers to fall victim to their queen. One by one they left the tomb, until only the queen and I remained. She made no move to draw my essence or harm me, but as she turned to leave I realized that I was powerless to stop her. Immobile, she would have as much of a head start as her power granted, but before she vanished I asked one thing from her, her name. The rhymes and stories never gave it.

"Nymphrodite." She called from the darkness, her echo said it thrice more after she left. When at last I could move, I ran back to the village stopping only to retrieve my lost blade. The village was empty and found no sign of Igred.

Alone and with little to go on, I would have to figure out how to stop whatever this Nymprodite had planned...