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Terramagica Chapter 02 (Red Hot) Written by Leo_Todrius Supported by my Patrons The city of Breim had long been the country of Zago's crowning jewel, boasting the world's most diverse and third largest population. It spanned over four hundred and fifty square miles from the Iron mountains to the Sea of Valae. Each district and borough had its own personality, and the waterfront had a collection of them. It was a beautiful sight, even when speeding along Waterfront Road at top speed.

Blue eyes gazed out across the bay, seeing the sailboats bobbing, their massive crimson sails lit by enchanted lanterns. More city lights sparkled on the other side of the bay, so far down it was practically on the horizon line. The street lights shimmered, each one changing as if enchanted to allow the flow of traffic to continue. It was a beautiful evening and the air was so fresh as it blew in through the window of Draeth's truck, his thick brown hair billowing behind him, coming down to rest on the nape of his neck any time he slowed the truck down.

Draeth Mazra was twenty six years old, the proud owner of a modest loft apartment over a garage, employed at night as a clerk at the semi-famous Terramagica shop and by day the aspiring balladeer for a band that never quite seemed to gather itself together. Well, actually, by day Draeth slept to make up for his night shifts, but he liked to think he could pull everything together well enough to write a song that would make his ancestors proud... if not his father.

The truck lurched to a stop as Draeth approached his turn, a stack of books sliding off the passenger seat and spilling to the floor. They were all the same title, "Breim: The City of Deep Bones." It was the latest issue of his father's historical documents, digging deep into the city's legacy. Draeth's entire family had been bards in one form or another, though that had eventually evolved into various branches of historian. Draeth had gone a different direction by not going to university. He felt his life was destined to go another direction.

The lights changed and Draeth's truck turned onto Shore avenue, speeding past a street car and taking a sharp turn into the alley next to the Terramagica. Draeth turned the engine off and hopped out into the narrow space between the truck and the next building over. He landed firmly on his size sixteen heavy combat boots, the toes tipped with metal spikes. They complimented his strong, sturdy legs shrouded in baggy camouflage cargo pants. A t-shirt with his family crest clung to his rotund stomach and chest, and yet despite his mass there was a fair bit of muscle under the flesh.

Strong hands rose up and tugged his black denim vest into place, a row of spikes glinting on each shoulder. He turned the corner and walked with confidence toward the front of his workplace. There were many unsavory characters in the neighborhood, but with the number of tattoos covering Draeth's meaty arms and the silver ring looped through his right eyebrow, he never seemed to attract any trouble. The human reached the front of the shop, but paused as he caught his reflection in the glass.

Draeth had what he'd call a strong jaw, though he had enough weight on him that it gave ample canvas for his stubble to grow out across. It was getting pretty thick, almost thick enough to be considered a beard rather than a nuisance. Sometimes Draeth thought about growing it out, but then he'd be confused for his father even more... or his boss. Draeth shook his thoughts off and flung the door to the Terramagica open. A loud, lyrical jingle sounded from the brass bell mounted to the ancient door. Draeth stepped inside, puffed out his chest and cracked his trademark grin.

"You can rest easy, Ori, I have arrived!" he said with no lack of drama, expecting the usual eye roll and a sarcastic remark. Instead there was silence. Draeth's face tensed up into confusion as he looked behind the register, then around the shop, trying to find his daytime counterpart. Not only was his fellow employee missing, but the bench that usually sat beneath the swords was gone too, a yellow cone in its place warning of a wet floor.

"Oriron?" he called out after a moment, turning as he heard a thump from the hallway that ran toward the shop's storeroom. The curtains of the dressing room slid open and a blond elf in his late teens stumbled out, his pale cheeks blushing brightly. "What are you doing in there, kid? And... where's the bench?" the bard asked.

The elf sped around the shop at top speed, grabbing his backpack. His white t-shirt looked drenched with sweat. Draeth wasn't sure what was going on, but he turned as he heard more movement from the dressing room, looking back as a second individual stepped out. This one was unfamiliar, a street punk werewolf with a brown mohawk, rust red mutton chops and at least seven dark brownish red hickies on his neck. Draeth put everything together in his mind and couldn't stop from grinning like a hyena.

"Oh my gods... Ori?" he asked in shock, looking back at the werewolf who regarded the bard with a simple, polite smile. Ori, however, refused to make eye contact with his co-worker.

"There's not much to do. I emptied the cans, I rotated the stock, but a new load of leather jackets came in from Razorback's Rags... They need to be tagged." Ori explained as he did most nights. It was a laundry list of tasks already completed and ones yet to be finished, many of which Draeth would never get around to. The large male stepped into Ori's shadow.

"I think you did a lot more than that, my friend!" Draeth said. The werewolf met eyes with the bard, putting a hand on the elf's back before lowering it down, gratuitously groping his pert, fit ass cheek. Ori yelped and blushed even more, fumbling for the door.

"Have a good shift!" He squeaked rushing out into the night. The street punk flung Ori's red sweatshirt up over his shoulder, holding it by the hood over his chest before he followed after his recent conquest, or was it the other way around? Draeth's jaw dropped in shock, realizing that had been the first time he'd ever seen Ori without his old red sweatshirt on... The elf was habitually and endlessly cold. Draeth grinned a bit, feeling proud that his friend had finally become a man... even if it meant the shop wasn't quite as clean as usual.

Draeth looked around, taking stock of the stock before he shrugged to himself and retreated behind the register counter. His ample ass settled into the familiar chair before he lifted his leg and put one big boot on the counter, followed shortly after by the other. He languidly looped his beefy, tattooed arms behind his head and leaned back, ready to enjoy a few hours of getting paid to do next to nothing.

With a subtle sigh, Draeth closed his eyes. He felt his mind wander over legends and mysteries, of adventures, of hotties, and just as his attention started to drift toward sleep, he heard the all too familiar jangle of the brass bell. As much as he hated to admit it, he was paid to do a job. The bard brought his big feet back down, pushed himself upright with a slight groan and forced his best customer service smile. With luck they'd buy some hair tonic and be right on their way.

"Welcome to Terramagica, what can I do... for... you?" Draeth asked, his eyes widening in shock as he saw just who was trying to enter the store. The windows of the Terramagica were glowing white hot, ancient cast runes throbbing and pulsing as they strained with every bit of infused magic. The air in the doorway was rippling, both with the protection spell being tested and the heat emanating off of the large creature. The shop's door had been built large with a variety of customers in mind, but few tested it quite like this.

Solid yellow eyes peered into the shop with a mix of intention and malice, set into a face forged in the reddest flesh Draeth had ever seen. Most of the creature's scalp was shaved clean, save for a strip of black hair that ran down the center, starting between two ivory horns. Bushy black eyebrows matched the thick, well groomed beard that ringed his mouth and came down to a point six inches down. His thick mustache was kept back by the pristine white tusks indicating that the demon had, at one point, once been an orc.

The being wore little more than a loin cloth, a tattoo of three demonic masks covering his chest, runes tattooed across his right shoulder and another mask tattooed over his left knee. White claws gripped the door handle, trying to enter into the shop, trying to push through the magical protections. A long red tail swept back and forth behind him, wide at the base like a dragon tail despite ending with a spaded tip. The demon had to be at least three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and meat, if not more, standing a little over seven feet tall.

"Boss?!" Draeth called out, looking around for any sign of Sagen. Draeth had dealt with some unsatisfied customers before, but this was new even for him. The lights flickered, several relics started to vibrate and shake in a vain effort to warn that evil was near. The windows were starting to vibrate so fast that they were humming an ever higher pitch, and yet the more the demon tried to break through, the more the Terramagica resisted. There was no way he could enter the shop, at least not all of him.

In a last minute change of plan, the demon turned. His tail spiked into the shop, wrapping around Draeth's arm. Draeth gave the tail a tug, but the demon and the shopkeeper both disappeared in a thick plume of black smoke. With the sudden and immediate change in energy levels, the shop couldn't compensate. The windows exploded outward, showering the street with glass. The door cracked from one corner to the other and the old brass bell toppled outward, rolling into the street. The metal had been crushed by the sudden change, bent out of all recognition. There was a moment of silence in the wake of such utter devastation, but slowly a siren wail began to build in the distance as the alarm sounded that something dark and devastating had taken place.

**** Heat... excessive heat. It was the first thing that came to Draeth's mind as he came too. He was drenched with sweat, soaking his shirt, his vest and his pants. He groaned and tried to move, only to feel the tight pressure around his wrists and his ankles. His eyes opened and the human looked around, seeing the large room around him. There was a raised bed of rocks in the center, at least he thought they were rocks... Each one glowed with its own heat, brighter than the coals at the center of a fire. The air was humid, sticky. Draeth's brown hair stuck to his forehead.

"This isn't humane! I demand fair treatment!" Draeth shouted outward, looking around quickly. There was a stone chair in one corner of the room, almost a throne of sorts... Some shelves with various crystals and baubles, a golden chalice that looked like something Sagen would have sold... Puddles of candle wax sat on the cement floor. "HELLO!?" Draeth exclaimed.

His shout was met by the creaking of a metal door as the demon returned, walking into the room. The air rippled above him, heat seeping out of his shoulders and back. His tail swung back and forth with such confidence, and his bushy black beard glistened with the humidity in the air. He moved across the room, not to Draeth, but to the platform of stones. Holding out his hand, he tightened his fist until his white claws punctured his palm. Several dribbles of black blood dropped onto the stones before sizzling, a black mist rising up into the air.

Draeth watched with confusion before he realized that he was starting to feel very dizzy. He wasn't sure if it was the vapor or the heat or the dehydration. He shook his head, trying to remain focused. He struggled and strained against his bindings, pulling even tighter as the demon turned and started to walk towards him slowly. Sweat dripped from Draeth's forehead, running down his cheeks and his full chin, saturating the collar of his shirt even more. He growled, looking up at his captor.

"You won't get away with this! You're going to pay!" Draeth snarled. The demon reached out, his ivory claw pressing against the human's meaty arm. As the claw broke the skin and slipped into one of his tattoos, the ink beneath the surface began to reshape and reorganize, eroding away the random dwarf metal band logo, forming it into a demonic sigil that wrapped around his upper arm. As the symbols connected, they began to glow, turning red, orange, yellow, white and then so bright that Draeth passed out.

**** The bright light of the afternoon sun faded away as Draeth closed the door to his home behind him, exhaling a bit that his school day was over. Somewhere outside there was the steady growl of the school bus as it pulled away from the curb, heading to drop off the rest of the students after their studies had concluded. Draeth dropped his backpack unceremoniously on the floor and walked past the couch. The spectravision was showing one of the countless game shows from the dragon channel and the fireplace crackled with a few pieces of kindling.

Draeth's first few steps had been confident, but he slowed as the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something filled his mind. He turned and looked out of the bay window at the front of the house, seeing the entire west side of Breim stretching out beyond the bottom of the hill, the entire downtown glittering with the gilded elvish towers, the human skyscrapers and the ancient trees rising up from the protected blocks. Draeth's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Son, you're home!" A warm, welcoming voice boomed from the kitchen. Draeth turned to look at his father, a very tall man with a big bushy black beard and a narrow strip of hair running back along his otherwise smooth scalp. Draeth looked at the man before he felt a faint ache in his arm, but a grin crossed his face. He ran over to his dad and stood on his tip toes. The man leaned down and planted a quick kiss on his son's lips before grinning, "How was your day, my boy?" he purred. Draeth grinned.

"Music class was amazing, I think I'm great with the guitar too, but lead vocals is where my real talent shines." Draeth said.

"What about history?" His 'father' asked. Draeth shifted a little, rubbing one foot nervously against the other.

"I... I mean, I learn so much from you already..." he hesitated. His father's face grew a little sterner at that.

"Draeth, did you fall asleep again?" he asked. Draeth blushed and nodded.

"Yes father..." he admitted. His father ran a hand up, stroking his thick black beard.

"Well, it is important that you learn history, but perhaps they aren't teaching it well. Not with the same grace and poise that a true bard of clan Mazra would be capable of! Sit down on the couch. We'll drink milk and talk about the true history of this land." his father grinned. Draeth nodded eagerly and ran back into the living room, giving the couch a running leap before he landed on it with a few bounces. He brought one leg up onto the coffee table and then the other, leaning back as he crossed arms behind his head. A slight whiff of his pitts made him rethink his position, though... Had he really sweat that much to smell that rank? It had been a rather hot day... but why was the fireplace lit if it was hot?

"There you are, my boy." His father said, startling Draeth as he set down two big frosty mugs of milk.

"How'd you get that so fast?" Draeth asked. His father raised a big, bushy black eyebrow as he sat down next to his son.

"You think I'm getting slow in my old age?" He questioned. Draeth blushed and shook his head, grabbing one of the mugs of milk.

"No, I didn't mean that. Maybe I was just zoning out again." Draeth muttered. His father lifted his own mug and tipped it back, getting a few good gulps of milk in.

"I have to admit I'm a little worried, my boy. You're strong, you're smart, you're the most handsome man in your class, but you get distracted so easily. I've been meaning to talk to you about your plans." he said. Draeth took a sip of milk to steady himself, although it was so sweet and so thick, he couldn't help but take another gulp, then a third, then a fourth. It was so refreshing as it ran down his throat, filling his stomach. His body felt like he really needed some fluids after all... but he brought his focus back to his father.

"I've been meaning to bring that up too. I mean, I know about our family's tradition, but... I feel like I'm being drawn another way. I was thinking... maybe I should take a gap year after graduation, really figure things out." Draeth said, looking at his father with concern and fear. His father was stoic and silent for a long moment before he nodded.

"I think that's wise... Maybe even a few years." he said, "You could get a job, save up some money, have time to think things through. There's this shop down near the waterfront, I think they're hiring. I heard the wizard's last night clerk was turned into a bat after a rather unfortunate run in with the Red Current gang... but I'm sure you'd have more success." he said softly. Draeth was so stunned at his father's measured, realistic reaction... It was too measured, too understanding. It hadn't happened that way at all...

As Draeth looked at his father, the air seemed to ripple and shudder. His 'father' shifted as horns appeared, tusks, his skin turning a deep red. The tattoos bled through the guise until the entire house around them shattered, leaving the overheated demon's lair, the stones sizzling. Draeth stumbled upwards from where he'd been sitting, panting hard, looking down at himself. He'd been stripped of all of his clothes, standing there naked. Draeth brought both of his hands up to cover his manhood.

"What are you trying to do? What is this?!" He asked sharply. The demon tipped back his mug of milk, taking six long gulps before it was empty. He set it down and sighed with relief, a forked tongue licking the milk that had collected in his thick mustache. He looked at Draeth with his solid yellow eyes, considering for a moment.

"It's been hard for you, hasn't it Draeth? Trying to live up to the legacy of the great Iago Mazra? You're not a chip off the old block at all. He didn't understand you, he wasn't there... Not like I could be." The demon growled. Draeth's face scrunched up in disbelief.

"What is your sick game? What do you want, hell beast?!" He asked, still covering his junk with his large hands. The demon chuckled and stood up, moving back over to the platform. Once more his claws punctured his palm, dripping black blood onto the hot rocks. The air began to fill with a sickly sweet aroma.

"The question is, what do you want, my boy?" he asked. Draeth's tattoos burned hot and hard, causing him to reach up and grab it instinctively. He let out a yelp of pain before it became too much and everything else disappeared in a flash of white.

**** There was a sizzle in the asphalt, the cicadas chirping away on the hot summer's day. Graduation had come and gone and Draeth had barely made it through, but as a reward for his success, he'd been given a fantastic gift. The truck sat halfway in the garage, half way in the driveway. The paint was rusted in places and had to be sanded down, but the body was classic and the beast could really haul. Draeth laid on his back, working on the transmission, a few smudges of grease on his cheek. He worked his tools like a pro, replacing elements, tightening others, getting a good feel for his gift. It would no doubt take him some time to get it back to its former glory, but if it had been good enough to haul two trolls around, it had to be good enough for him.

A warm wind blew beneath the truck, making Draeth wipe his brow. He was still sweating like a pig. He turned his head as he heard footsteps coming around the truck, seeing his father's large feet. Debating his options, Draeth surmised it was probably best to take a break. He pushed out from under the truck and sat up in time to see his dad standing there in just his shorts, holding two big mugs of milk.

"You look thirsty." Iago said with a smile. Draeth grinned.

"You have no idea..." Draeth said, standing up and sitting on the truck's bumper. His father settled down and joined him.

Draeth clutched the mug with both hands and tipped it bag, gulping down the sweet cream. It wasn't cold, in fact it was a little warm, but it was still refreshing, a good way to rehydrate. He chugged it down in just a few moments, letting out a long sigh of relief. Iago was a little more reserved, though in a few moments he had finished his as well.

"How is it going?" Iago asked. Draeth grinned.

"Well, if I can get a new catalytic converter I think I'll be okay. I'm also thinking of getting some new rims for it when I can afford that." Draeth said.

"Have you given any thought to what I said about a summer job? There's that nice Terramagica shop on the corner by the waterfront." Iago said. Draeth looked up at his father, not wanting to let him down. He nodded after a moment.

"Yeah, well... It could be good. It's not exactly what I pictured doing with my life." Draeth said. Iago reached over, rubbing his son's shoulder, kneading the flesh and muscle through his t-shirt.

"Sometimes we have to take a different path than we pictured to get what we want. I know you'll make me proud. You already have. You graduated, and you're turning out to be quite handsome. Look at all that fuzz." Iago grinned, reaching to rub his son's chin. The stubble was getting to be a bit long, turning from peach fuzz to brown with each passing day. Iago grinned, "I'm glad you didn't shave it. It looks good on you."

"Hey, if my old man can keep his beard during this heat wave, I can't disappoint" Draeth grinned. Iago looked at his son for a moment, a glimmer in his eyes.

"I've waited a long time for you to grow into the man you are... So strong, so handsome... a chip off the old block but your own man at the same time." Iago said softly, continuing to rub his son's stubble before he leaned in and brought his lips to Draeth's. Draeth's heart fluttered in surprise, in confusion, and then a bit of arousal. His lips worked against his father's as his eyes closed. Mouth to mouth, Iago tilting his head to get a bit deeper. His tongue gently probed his son's, a hand reaching to gentle rub Draeth's lap.

It took mere seconds for Draeth to get rock hard, starting to press against the hand on his lap. He lifted upward, Iago pressed down tighter. Their kiss grew more intense, Draeth's tongue teased his father's mouth, batting back and forth, sliding side to side, hitting Iago's strong, thick, hard orc tusks. Draeth jerked back, realizing his father didn't have orc tusks. The truck, the garage, everything around him dissolved away into dust.

Draeth sat bolt upright, sweat flinging from his bangs. His eyes searched around wildly before settling on the yellow eyes watching him, gazing at him, studying him. The human tugged on his bindings, feeling how wet the rope had gotten. He must have lost a couple pounds of water by now. It was a miracle he was still up and kicking. He tugged on the bindings yet again, trying to work any give.

"You don't have to keep with the mind games, just tell me what you want." Draeth said. The demon smiled slowly.

"I can tell you what I wanted before... what I wanted you to get me. Your employer, Sagen, is a collector. Perhaps even an obsessive collector, collecting things that don't exactly belong to him." The demon murmured, "And like a dragon protecting his hoard, he built himself a cave full of traps and wards, ways of keeping me from what's mine. I cannot enter that shop, but you can..."

"You wanted me to steal something for you? And you did all this?!" Draeth asked. The demon growled, the temperature in the room spiking even hotter.

"It is not stealing if it was mine to begin with! It is my... my touchstone." The demon admitted with a bit of shame. Draeth stared at his captor, not sure what to say. He'd never taken demonology in school, it had been an elective. He had no idea what a touchstone was. The demon looked offended that he had revealed such a truth, and worse, that the human had no idea about the significance of it. He reached out, grabbing onto Draeth's arm, his claws digging into the demonic tattoo. Once more the flash overtook Draeth, sweeping him into another illusion.

**** The scent of freshly mowed lawn hung in the air. It was sweet with a hint of tang to it, the fresh scent slowly fading into something that was a bit closer to hay. It was a good smell, and even better now that his chores were done. Draeth was ready to get out of the heat. He moved back into the house, though all the lights were off. He passed through the living room, glanced down the hall, checked the kitchen before he finally moved out into the back yard.

An awning had been set up to provide some shade. The pool stood covered, broken and unused. Draeth looked at it a bit longingly, yearning for that cool, clear, refreshment more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. He could almost drool at the thought of it, though his mouth was too parched even to drool. He stood there, arms drooping at his sides, sweat running down the back of his neck.

"You look over heated, my boy." Iago said from where he was standing by the barbecue, cooking away. He'd cast away his clothes aside from a towel around his waist. Draeth was confused by that, wondering why his dad had on a towel if the pool was broken, but at the moment he was too dehydrated to debate anything.

"I'm so thirsty, dad..." Draeth said, his eyes filled with an intent sadness. Iago showed him some empathy, nodding softly.

"I'm sorry my boy, I've probably been pushing you too hard. Here, there's some milk here." Iago said, gesturing to a pitcher on the table. Draeth's eyes lit up at that and he ran over, bypassing the cups. He lifted the glass pitcher and tipped it back. He gulped at it, his throat undulating with each precious swallow. He was too eager and some ran down his chin, dribbling onto his chest. As the milk was depleted, he tipped the pitcher back further and further, but the milk stopped coming.

Draeth opened his eyes, seeing the last few drips run down the glass and drop into his mouth until there was no more. Draeth felt heart broken, as if all the rivers of the world had dried up, as if the last drop in the bucket hadn't been nearly enough. He wasn't even sure why he was so sad. It was just milk after all, but it was all gone. He lowered the pitcher down to the table, looking at it with mounting despair. A hand reached out, lifting Draeth's head by his chin. Iago smiled softly.

"Don't worry, my boy. You may have drunk the pitcher, but you can always get more milk from the source..." Iago said softly with a smile. Draeth watched his father reach to his towel, untucking it. As the white cotton fell away, Draeth was presented with not one, but three distinct surprises. The first was his father's body as a whole; fitter than he expected, hairier, tattooed... The second and perhaps most obvious was just how hung he was, but the third was perhaps the most shocking.

Draeth had heard that when men got older, their balls sagged a bit. He'd never heard that they grew bigger and fatter and fuller, and certainly never heard that they grew udders, but there they were... Iago's sack was full, bigger than a hot water bottle and lined with four fat, full teats. As Draeth stood there, Iago's skin shifted to a bright crimson hue, his horns reemerged, his tattoos shifted to the demonic masks and sigils and his long tail swayed back and forth behind him.

The demon grinned, his tusks glinting in the sunlight, his thick, full black beard glistening as if it had been freshly oiled. His clawed hand hoisted up his foot long demon cock, revealing his udder balls beneath. He reached down with his free hand and gave one of his teats a squeeze and a tug, issuing forth a hearty squirt of milk that sprayed out and splattered to the ground. Draeth was frozen in shock, but the heat was doing its best to thaw him out.

"You see, my boy? You can always get the milk from the source. It's what you need if you're going to grow big and strong... Maybe you'll get a beard like your old man, maybe you'll get your own udders. All you have to do is take a drink." Iago said. Draeth's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I... I shouldn't." Draeth whispered, although at the moment he couldn't remember why. Iago moved up closer until they were inches away from one another.

"You shouldn't. You're right. But since when did you follow the rules? You're a rebel. You're mischievous. You live life on the wild side. I have to admit, I've grown to like you. All of these interesting thoughts in your head. You didn't even hide them from yourself that well. You wanted your daddy to love you, you wanted your daddy to realize you were a man. I'll give you both." Iago whispered, leaning in to kiss Draeth, wrapping an arm around his backside.

Draeth's eyes clenched shut at the kiss, but his resolve melted quickly. He wanted to be loved, he wanted someone to want him, he wanted someone to pay attention to him. He opened his lips and kissed the bearded demon eagerly, hungrily, greedily, feeling the clawed hand squeeze and grope his fat ass. There was so much to love, but even the faintest movements were making Draeth realize how dehydrated he was, how close he was to the edge, to the end. He broke the kiss, tasting the demon's saliva on his lips. He reached up, feeling how parched they were.

There was a choice to be made... a deal to be struck. Draeth had lived a complicated life, but if he wanted to go on living, he'd have to make some choices. He looked into those glowing yellow eyes one more time before he dropped onto his big knees, leaned forward and took one of the demon's fat teats into his hungry mouth. Iago howled out loud in shock as the human gave in so suddenly, his thirst intense.

Draeth sucked on the demon's udder like he'd never sucked before. He used his cheeks, his tongue, his lips. He sucked and manipulated the flesh all in the same go, and for that effort he got his first reward... a salty, creamy squirt of milk, then another, then a third. Draeth closed his eyes and focused on getting as much milk as he could. He sucked and slurped, he let the milk wet his mouth once more, soaking into his tongue, flowing down his throat and filling his stomach. He reached up, grabbing onto the demon's sack, massaging it to try and coax out more of the life giving liquid.

Iago moaned, throwing his head back. His clawed hand caressed Draeth's stubbled cheek, feeling the hair get softer and longer, growing out little by little. The stubble darkened as it grew out, coming in thicker by the second. Draeth was a hefty guy, but all that extra skin was just extra surface to get covered. The hair dominated it all, covering his upper lip, his chin, his cheeks, but that was just the start. The demon moaned happily, forcing his head back up, watching with eager intensity.

Draeth had been so focused on satisfying the pain of his thirst that he almost hadn't noticed the mounting pressure in his skull. It had started as a dull ache before becoming something more. The ache became pressure, the pressure became pain. Something in there was focused and the skin on his temples started to get red and irritated, rubbed from the inside. Draeth nursed on Iago's teat before he suddenly changed to another one, getting a renewed squirt of milk. He bobbed his head back and forth, tugging on it.

Iago growled, moaned, and then grunted as he smelled the coppery tang of blood hit the air. A single drop ran down Draeth's left temple as the tip of a horn emerged, ivory white and a bit different to Iago's. A moment later the skin on his right temple gave up as the matched horn poked free. The redness ebbed from the skin, no longer holding back such a profound change. The white horns pushed out centimeter by centimeter, curving up a little on the tips before more pushed free.

It was hard to picture, but Draeth wasn't even trying to. He felt life returning to his body as he filled his stomach with milk. His organs were functioning again, heat stroke was staved off. The fluids he'd lost were being replenished - but that wasn't all. He was growing, he was changing, he was feeding from his father... his new father. His skull was buzzing with life as new bone matter extruded outward, inches of new bovine horn spilling out of his head. His beard had gotten bushy, hugging his face, but other changes were seeping through his body, circulating in his blood, passing through every inch.

The son of the bard continued to drink greedily, kneeling before his new demonic father. His cock had been hanging before him, limp at first, growing harder as he changed. Blood rushed into it, filling it to its full six inches. It lifted upward, bobbing and throbbing, growing as hard as it had ever been - then harder. More blood pushed in, then more. It ached, it stung, and it started to grow more. It stretched outward, rising upward, growing wider and longer. It shifted from a well tanned flesh tone to red to nearly purple, the head of Draeth's cock bigger than a kiwi.

Draeth moaned, reaching down to wrap a hand around his growing cock, stroking it up and down, moaning and dribbling some milk from his mouth into his beard. His eyes looked up in a drunken stupor, but Iago reached down, caressing Draeth's bearded cheek before he grabbed his head and pulled him down tight to his udder. Draeth latched back on, suckling from it, filling his belly with more and more milk.

The former human's head was heavy with his new bull horns, his ears pointing slightly. His beard started to drop down from his chin, filling out another inch, then two, then three. His cock pushed out to a foot in length and almost four wide, showing little signs of stopping, but the real activity was centering just a few inches down. Even though the milk Draeth was drinking was filling his stomach, one might have been forgiven for thinking it was going somewhere else. With each gulp, each swallow, each self satisfied stroke of his growing cock, Draeth's balls were growing too...

They had grown loose at first from the heat, growing smooth and relaxed and open. That had given his balls plenty of room to grow, swelling to the size of tangerines, then oranges... but that wasn't all. New tissue formed, new ducts. The skin got tougher, more durable. Tiny bumps formed, then the bumps swelled longer and wider just as his cock had. They grew furious and full before tiny little slits opened in each one. They tingled like a cock just before it started getting hard, and then they grew longer.

Iago moaned harder and harder, feeling the power seeping into Draeth, into his mind, his body. For now that would be enough. He'd grown rather fond of the boy... But he needed one last blessing. Iago stepped back, popping his teat from Draeth's mouth. Draeth looked up in confusion before the demon's gigantic, fat red cock came down in front of him. Draeth knelt before his father, sporting a demonic cock and ball udders, bull horns sticking out from his head and a full beard to rival his dad's. Draeth opened his mouth wide and popped his lips around Iago's head.

The demon growled, grabbing onto Draeth's horns as if they were handlebars. He pulled his son's head closer, filling his mouth, then his throat with demon cock. He thrust forward and back, forward and back, gaining inch after inch, using his son as a sleeve. Draeth's hands reached up, grabbing onto the base of the cock. There was so much that he couldn't take it all in, but he could still give his daddy as much joy as he could.

Iago hissed and thrashed, shuddering, his clawed toenails digging into the patio beneath them. His tail swung side to side, his eyes glowed brighter than ever before. He moaned, then gasped, then threw his head back. As the demon's lips parted, a series of unearthly words left his lips, the vision of the backyard burning away to be replaced with the demon's den... but Draeth wasn't any different in reality than he had been in the vision. His face was shrouded in a long, full beard. Huge bull horns stuck out from his head. His huge cock was bobbing in front of him, and his newly minted udder was already getting full.

The roar continued as the demon's back arched. Draeth only had a single spasm to warn him before his throat and stomach were suddenly filled with hot, sticky demon cum. Even without it hitting his tongue directly, Draeth could taste how musky and potent it was. It was the sperm of a creature bent on lust, on greed, on self pleasure and corruption. It was a self indulgent flavor, an addictive flavor. It was the taste of vice, and Draeth loved it. He gulped at it and felt it fill his stomach, filling every inch that he hadn't already filled with milk.

Iago stood there, holding onto Draeth as moments gave way to minutes, and then eventually until his flood became a trickle. With great reluctance, he finally withdrew his cock from Draeth's mouth as if it was a dipstick coming out of an oil well. The tip popped free, though a long string of the demon's cum stretched out from his urethra to Draeth's lips. The former human's tongue darted out, collecting as much of it as he could before he smiled, savoring the flavor. The demon smiled, reaching to pet the human's hair affectionately.

"What a good boy..." Iago murmured. Draeth looked up at him.

"What must I do for you, father?" he asked. Iago looked back into his eyes.

"You must do the hardest thing I've ever had to ask any of my children to do. You'll have to return to your old life, to your old job... To wait until the time is right, and then to return my touchstone to me." Iago whispered. Draeth smiled warmly.

"Of course, father, I won't fail you." Draeth said. Iago sighed a bit wistfully.

"There is one more burden you must endure, my boy... We can't let them see your gifts, not all of them, not all at once." Iago said. Draeth's face scrunched up, looking crestfallen.

"I have to give up all of them?" he asked. Iago considered for a moment before he grinned, shaking his head.

"No, not all of them... You liked my milk so much, you may keep your udders. As they grow so full that they have to be milked, you will remember your duty, your purpose, your family... I love you, my boy. I will count the days until we can be reunited." Iago whispered, leaning down, pressing his lips to Draeth's. As their lips met, the demon pressed his claw into the tattoo on the bard's arm. Once more the symbols grew brightly before light enveloped every part of Draeth's perception and memory all at once.

****

A bright flash of headlights shone into Draeth's eyes, making him wince and close them. It took a moment to let his irises contract again before he opened them back up. He was standing on the long cement path that ran along the waterfront, looking up Shore drive towards the shop. There was glass all over the cement, police tape fluttering in the wind, and Ori outside sweeping.

Draeth looked both ways, waiting for a gap in the traffic before he jogged across the street, his big boots clomping along. He slowed as soon as he got to the other side, considering that was enough exercise for one day. As he got closer, he had to admit that the whole view was beautiful. The sun was setting, the skies were painted in shades of salmon, violet, navy and pink. There was a glow that hung across the city even before the lanterns snapped on, but then Draeth realized that it was night time, it was... almost time for his shift to start. The human slowed to a stop on the street corner.

Ori had spent the entire shift cleaning up. There was no way to allow customers in, between the damage and Sagen's security measures it was even hard for him to cross the threshold. Still, there were some merits to that. It gave him time to clean up at his own pace, occasionally being helped by his employer... but Sagen had returned upstairs, coordinating with the police, trying to find Draeth. Ori's blond hair fell across his face as he swept, making it hard to see beyond what he was doing, but his newly changed sense of smell was picking something different up on the wind. It wasn't sea brine, it was... musk.

Ori sniffed a few times before he lifted his head, looking right at Draeth. He stood there, tall and strong, an imposing presence if not for his cuddly personality. He had on his combat boots, his camo pants, his t-shirt and his vest, in fact it was the same outfit he'd been wearing the day before, not to mention that his hair was messed up like it'd been soaked through and then dried that way. The broom fell from Ori's hand as he rushed over, skidding to a stop just in front of his co-worker.

"Draeth! Are you okay, what happened?" Ori asked. Draeth looked a bit puzzled at the question.

"I... I don't know. I woke up in a fountain, that one with the statue of the mer-king." Draeth said. Ori slipped an arm under Draeth's and around his back, although as he got close he could smell the dried sweat, not to mention pheromones. Whatever Draeth had been through, it was an ordeal.

"Don't worry about that right now. Let me get you inside so you can rest and we can call off the search parties." Ori said. Draeth looked at his elfin companion.

"Search parties? I didn't mean to make a big fuss..." he muttered.

"I don't think it was you that made the fuss. Someone tried to break into the shop but the defenses repelled them." Ori said, turning to the side to help Draeth over the threshold. Even with a broken door, the air rippled as he passed, scrutinizing him. He continued to waddle in, pulling Draeth along with him. The air grew tighter around the human as he passed, but once he crossed the threshold it let up. Draeth exhaled, shaking his head a bit.

"Okay, you just sit down here..." Ori said, helping Draeth over to the bench. Draeth froze where he was standing.

"This was missing this-" Draeth paused, looking at the clock and then back at Ori, "Yesterday." he corrected himself preemptively.

"Yeah, well, I had it cleaned... It's all good now." Ori said, helping Draeth sit down. The human pivoted to the side and spread his legs wide, feeling some great relief as his manhood wasn't being squished anymore. Ori looked around, sniffing the air a bit, not sure exactly what he was smelling. The elf returned to the stairwell and looked up the steps toward the second floor.

"Master Teklic, Draeth is back!" Ori called out. There was a scuffle upstairs, a chair scooting out, then a pool of green smoke as the wizard appeared next to them. The smoke pulled in, wrapping around the satyr, forming into his robes. He was five foot eight, though his digitigrade legs stole a good portion of his height. His ram horns were thick and impressive, his ears long and pointed, and a long smooth beard hung down to his chest with a grey stripe down the center. The satyr moved over, reaching out to press his thumb to Draeth's forehead.

The human looked up, cross eyed at what the wizard was doing. Ori said nothing, standing near by, watching with dubious concern. Sagen closed his green eyes for a long moment before he let out a sigh, shaking his head. He pulled his bend back and moved back toward the cash register, reaching for the phone.

"No memories, then?" Sagen asked. Draeth looked up and then shook his head. He hated to disappoint Sagen. He'd been his first good employer, he was practically a father figure to him. Draeth shook his head.

"I don't have anything, but if I get any glimpses, you'll be the first one I tell." Draeth promised. Sagen nodded.

"The important thing is that you're okay... Relics can be replaced - mostly. But you, you are precious." Sagen said as he picked up the phone, calling the police. Draeth smiled a bit, feeling relieved. Ori scrunched down next to him, sitting hip to hip.

"I finished your dad's book by the way, it was a good read." Ori commented. Drateh chuckled.

"He always could tell a good story. I guess that's what bards do." Draeth said. Ori reached under the bench and pulled it out.

"Did you want it back so you could lend it to someone else?" Ori asked. Draeth nodded.

"Yeah, Okta at the Lumberjack wanted to read it. He says historians never get the plight of the dwarves right." Draeth grinned. Ori smiled at that.

"I'm glad you can remember that, and me. It's a good sign. Let me go get you a drink though, you're probably famished." Ori said, leaning to kiss Draeth's stubbled cheek before he stood up and moved into the back.

Draeth sat thee, holding the book in his hands. It felt good to be back, to have his team worry about him, but something just didn't feel right. He hadn't expected to feel Ori's lips reach his cheek, and he felt like there was something he was forgetting, burning in the back of his mind. He shook his head and looked down at the book. It was a good three inches thick, the navy blue coverer fading into the skyline of Breim at night before the image reshaped and resolved into just a gold outline instead of a full photograph. Draeth's eyes traced down the cover.

"Breim, the city of Deep Bones by.... Marcus Mazra..." Draeth whispered to himself, feeling even more confused. His father's name wasn't Marcus, was it? That didn't sound right at all... It was shorter, more powerful... Draeth's brow furrowed. Maybe he had been hurt a bit worse than he expected. Maybe it was a concussion... Maybe he just needed time to rest and heal. He was sure it would come back to him, and he'd remember everything he had to do.