Warlocks, Demons, Muscles - Part 2

[yahoopoint]

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Well, I added a little background story to clear things up a bit. But to be fair, I actually have no idea where this story is going to go so I'm dying for suggestions, comments, and feedback

As usual, this story started out as furry for FA but converted to suit human tastes here. Pardon any minor mistakes I may have overlooked!

***
Warlocks, Demons, Muscles
Part 2

The hallway doors slammed open as a tall, purple-clad mage barged through, his usually neat robes sticking to his body.

Magus Horace had teleported back to his opulent villa the first chance he got. Fear and excitement burned through him as he raced toward his study. To have such a chance at such life changing power! He would have been a fool to let it slip away.

A clicking noise greeted Horace as the magical lock recognized him and opened the way to the study. The study itself was as lavish as the rest of the estate, complete with the large plush armchairs, expensive carpeting and furniture made from rare wood.

Horace paid his regal study no mind, instead making a beeline for a large, wrought iron chest underneath one of the tables. It had been a long time since he opened this one; hopefully it would be the right one.

It was.

Horace could feel the excitement oozing out of his ears as detailed sketches of the demon he had seen shortly before stared back at him from the ancient text.

There could be no mistake, this was him.

And he was one of the Nameless Ones.

Horace's limbs had never shaken so much in the 26 years of his life, making scanning through the decaying notes difficult and irritating. His mouth had gone dry at the thought of so much power condensed into a single being.

Horace had never dreamed he would see a Nameless One. They were the nameless demon lords who wielded such incomprehensible power it was a wonder they did not rule the known universe.

Well, of course they weren't really nameless. It was just that they had never revealed their names to mere mortals like Horace, nor any of the independent demons who constantly sort to wreak havoc unto their mortal world. That was the principal reason the ruling Council despised warlocks and their demonic magic.

Speaking of havoc...

A thought floated into Horace's head, one that was both dangerous and strangely enticing.

His limps suddenly in control again, Horace made his way toward one of his shelves and began shifting through the assorted items that lay there.

And he found it quickly, a tiny, nondescript bronze hourglass filled with flowing sand.

Despite the simple appearance, merely touching it gave sufficient indication on the power contained within it.

Horace let himself stare at the sand that seemed to flow in two directions at once. The memories contained in this glass ornament could only be viewed once. It was an artifact he had committed months to obtain, and then never use.

Until now at least, with a Nameless One so close to him, Horace had to use this, he just had to see how much power he was dealing with.

Horace crushed the hourglass in his hands.

An entire desert of sand exploded from his clenched fist with such ferocity the world began to shake. Torrents and rivers and entire comets of sand surged through the air around him, dissolving the contents of his study and the ground beneath his feet. Up became down, left became right, the sand spun and spun around Horace until it was all he could see.

And then, he floated, suspended in the air by a strange force and an eerie silence.

The massive room was roughly circular in shape, and as intricately and exquisitely designed as the ancient records and said. Balconies seemingly carved around the walls were decorated with drapes and curtains and the crest of a civilization long extinct.

The kingdom that surrounded this room had been the most advanced of its kind at the time. Back then, they possessed the most powerful magic, the greatest alchemy, and the most brilliant military engineers of their era.

Now, no one even remembered their name.

Horace floated down to one of the balconies that overlooked the vast room, figures were started to materialize before his very eyes.

They were all memories, their faces forever lost in the sands of time.

Most of them simply stood still, their robes and armor unmoving, silent. And then Horace saw the spellcasters down in the middle of the room. There were seven of them, one clearly the leader.

And the seven ringed a demonic summoning circle so complex and vast that even Horace and all his talent could not grasp it.

The memory continued to condense and sounds began to make themselves heard. Horace noticed the spellcasters had their arms in the air as they channeled their spell, their hands burning with an unholy fire that cascaded down onto the circle like some twisted mockery of a waterfall.

Someone was speaking, his voice otherworldly and unintelligible, but Horace understood.

The leader was going to unleash an unspeakable power into the realm. He was going to push their civilization into the future. He was going to tame the near-godlike power that would soon come.

And he was going to fail.

Energy began to crackle amongst the spellcasters, the circle itself had begun to burn. The fire twisted, as if alive, until it formed a swirling ring where the circle once stood. Intricate runes began burning by themselves around the circle. Horace could feel the tension in the air despite the faded memory.

These faceless figures, they were the citizens of the greatest power on the planet. They were to witness the dawn of a new age, their age. They were going to use the promised power to reshape the world in their image. They were going to rule the known universe!

They were going to die.

"HE COMES!" The leader shouted with a sudden clarity to his voice.

Hellfire erupted from the circle like an exploding volcano, spreading like the tendrils of some hellish nightmare.

Horace could make out shrieks of terror amidst the once-again-muffled memory as the flame consumed all the spellcasters, except the leader.

Then, a humungous, clawed hand reached out of the burning portal and slammed onto the ground around it, digging massive gashes into the stone.

Horace had shuddered simply looking at the hand. He could have never imagined so much muscle inundated onto a hand, but there it was, so large and muscular it could have easily grasped him whole.

Huge masses of sinew bulged monstrously as the beast pulled itself upward before its claws grinded the floor to dust. Then another hand burst from the fire, it as muscular and sinewed as its twin.

Then the forearms came up, and Horace felt his knees go weak. Sinews larger than anything imaginable intertwined with one another across forearms that just got thicker and more powerful as the beast lifted its colossal body upward.

And then, with a roar that shook and cracked everything, the beast exploded to the surface.

For a split second, the monster's godly shoulders and pecs blessed his eyes with their glory.

Horace fell, the sight too much for him. His feeble mortal mind was unable to comprehend such a sensation. His eyes were unworthy of looking at the shoulders that stretched beyond his fantasies. His mortal soul unworthy of the two enormous , segmented, striated masses of flesh that fought each other for space on the god's chest.

But, despite his fallen state, Horace felt glad the god had only come up to the edges of his waist, the base of his cock just hidden. Had merely an inch of the god's glorious fuckpole been revealed, Horace would have probably been blinded, so unworthy was he.

Muffled sounds floated into Horace's ear. The leader, somehow unaffected by the demon's glorious being, was already listing his demands, the first of which was for the Dark One to bow before his new master.

The god however, refused to obey the commands of such an insignificant gnat.

Horace fought valiantly to twist his fallen body to face the gap in the balcony. He could not miss this moment of the memory.

The leader was clearly unhappy, his angry form spewing countless atrocities at the god before him.

Horace watched in trembling excitement as the god, who was hidden from his view, pointed at the insect and uttered a single, terrible word.

The scream that followed pierced through Horace like a spear through his heart. Horace could hear every bone in the leader's body cracking and crumbling as his body twisted like a rag being squeezed of water.

And then, what seemed like a thousand angry roars.

The once faceless, silent figures around the room sprang to life and colour. Weapons were drawn, spells were readied, hundreds and hundreds of warriors threw themselves at the beast who had so easily slain their leader.

As the cataclysmic battle unfolded around him, sand began streaming down from the walls and up from the floor. Horace could not find the strength to snatch a final glimpse at the demon lord. He simply lay there as the beast swept the warriors from existence, either crushing them with his massive fists or turning their very spells against them.

Despite the sound of rushing wind in his ears, Horace could hear the screams of battle. He could hear the structures around him crumbling to dust. He could hear hellfire tearing the island kingdom asunder.

Horace shut his eyes as the sand enveloped him...

...and opened them, to see his opulent study just as he had left it.

Horace fell onto his knees at once, his throbbing meat exploding uncontrollably as he wailed and wailed. Merely a split second of the Nameless One's glorious being had driven him to such a powerful orgasm.

Panting like a dog, Horace settled down on all fours as his orgasm subsided. Such power! Only he deserved it! How could that foolish novice warlock even control such a powerful monster?

Recovering fast, Horace brought himself into a sitting position and focused. He had already treated himself to a treat, now it was time to move towards his objectives. First, things first, he had best get to know his new enemy.

A flash of light, and Horace found his spirit split from his body, translucent and floating in the air like a ghost. He let himself smile; no one would be able to see him like this. It was perfect for getting past the barriers that surely protected the warlock's residence from magical spying agents.

One last look at his slim body, and the spirit-Horace was gone.

***

Jovaan paced the wooden floor, lost in his thoughts.

His new pet had teleported them back to his room, somehow pinpointing its location amongst the organized mess of buildings that comprised the shadier part of Naralad.

He still had not gotten over how the demon had obliterated an entire room of warlocks and wizards, leaving only a tiny amount of ash behind. That took some powerful magic, something none of the demonic minions before him had.

None of them had such a delicious, sexy body either.

Jovaan turned to look at the demonic-muscle-god-thing sitting on his bed. The demon simply looked at his master with his fiery eyes and smiled, revealing rows of sharp teeth. In the better light of his room, Jovaan could see his walking sex-factory better.

The demon was a walking wet dream. About six and a half feet tall, muscles everywhere, broad shoulders, narrow waist, chiselled face. For the first time in his life, Jovaan had felt turned on by the sight of such huge, thick calves, calves that led up to thick, muscular quads that could probably crush melons without even trying.

But it was the demons torso that caused the drool to pool in his mouth. Eight solid brick-like muscles were embedded in his narrow waist, a waist which led up to lats that flared out like the wings of... some great creature with huge wings.

Jovaan shook his head, so sexy was this beast it interfered with his thought processes.

Then there were the demons upper torso. Broad and thick it was, and attached to those cannonball shoulders were two punisher-destroyer arms that were probably 22 inches at the biceps. Jovaan had difficulty trying to describe those godly pecs, so he did not try. But those pecs were pecs that rippled and flexed and bounced and moved and danced whenever the demon did anything, especially when he wanted to tease his master so.

But the demons more striking features were written over his handsome face. His eyes, eyes that were beautiful (to a warlock) and dangerous and evil. The pupils were mere slits ringed with a hellish fire, but the darkness within them stretched into forever. Then there were the twin fangs that stuck out of the beast's upper jaw, fangs longer and sharper than all the other already long-and-sharp teeth in his mouth. The long, slightly curved horns that stuck out of his furry forehead, and the wild, fiery red mohawk that ended in a wild tail behind his head.

This beast was huge. Yet he was so proportionate and sexy and hot .

Sooo sexy and hot, that even as he simply sat there gleefully smiling at Jovaan, it caused him to forget what he had intended to do.

"You... do not have a name, correct?"

The smile on the demons face never left it as he spoke in his deep, arousing voice.

"I do not, Master Jovaan. Would you give me one?"

A ferocious battle played out in Jovaan's head, but he beat the urge to pounce unto his pet.

"Fine... fine, I can't think of a demonic name to give you, so I'm just going to call you Wulfric for now. Understood?"

He nodded, clearly pleased with his masters blessing.

"Now," Jovaan continued, reaching for his travelling cloak, "I'm going to leave for a while to do some research, you are to remain here. Understood?"

The demon actually looked sad, but he nodded anyway.

"Will you be long? Master Jovaan? Are you sure you do not want my company?"

"I should not be long, no. I do not want to expose you yet, at least not until I know what I say."

Jovaan forced himself out the door and into the night. It actually felt hard leaving Wulfric behind, Jovaan did not know why.

The cold winter air greeted him as he made his way through the veritable maze of alleyways and pathways. The ruling council had never bothered giving this place any funding, so focused they were on keeping the money for their own districts.

Jovaan soon found the tavern he was looking for and entered. The entire place was dark, dirty and damp. The few patrons that were present raised their heads from their drinks or their dice to look at him and, upon seeing one of their own, turned back to their business.

Jovaan crossed the room toward one of the patrons, a large, brawny figure that had a hood over his head.

The brawny figure turned to look at him as he sat down, revealing white eyes that glowed softly in the darkness.

"Ah, Jovaan. Does someone need more banned potion ingredients?"

"Matthias, I need one of your old demonicons."

"A young warlock like you needing a demonicon? Well of course I can get you one."

"What do you want for payment?"

"Well, I have this magically sealed lock downstairs. But alas, I am not a warlock like you, I cannot open it. I'm sure the treasure inside will be well worth your demonicon."

Within minutes, Jovaan found himself in the damp cellar below the tavern, fumbling with the lockbox while the brawny Matthias watched.

The moment he undid the spell around the box however, it snapped open, unleashing an invisible force that struck Jovaan, hard.

But even as Jovaan fought to regain his consciousness, Matthias's boot whipped into vision and struck him hard, sending him crashing against the brick wall.

"Where is it?!" Matthias barked, "Give it to me if you know what's good for you."

Jovaan unleashed a spell that would have ignited Matthias with a fire that would cling to him like glue, only to have it fail.

Another swift bootkick slammed into his face.

"Ah ah ahh. I wouldn't try that if I were you, this cellar has been enchanted to dampen magic. It had cost me a pretty penny to get it done, but for what you're going to give me, it would be worth it."

"What are you talking about," Jovaan managed, "I have nothing to give you!"

"Don't lie to me warlock!" Matthias roared, brandishing a glowing purple crystal, "So much power emanating from your being, I know you have a powerful artifact somewhere, give it to me before I tear it from your rotting carcass!"

"What artifact?!" Jovaan cried, earning him a meaty fist to the gut.

"THE ARTIFACT OF POWER YOU MUST BE CARRYING YOU WORM!"

Jovaan had pushed Matthias over the edge. Knuckle after knuckle after fist after fist rained down upon Jovaan like meteors, slamming him so hard his breath came out in gasps. Tears streamed down his face as he fought the urge to beg for mercy.

"GIVE! ME! THE! ARTIFACT! YOU! LITTLE-"

Matthias's sentence ended in a gasp, just as a ferocious, unholy roar exploded into the cellar.

Something seized Matthias's body with such forced Jovaan could hear bones cracking. Then, his weight vanished from Jovaan's body.

Relief overwhelmed him as he realized the torment was over. Eyes closed, Jovaan forced himself into a corner and curled into a ball. He felt weak, vulnerable, shaking with a fear he had not felt in years.

But even as he cried, his cries were drowned out by the horrible screams coming from Matthias's lips. He could hear flesh being torn apart, he could hear bones being grinded to dust, and he could feel the ground shake as something slammed repeatedly into it.

Matthias's horrible cries eventually died away, until the only sounds were of Jovaan's muffled sobs and of a deep, heavy breathing that still seemed to seethe with an insane fury.

Wulfric's warm hands eventually found him, and Jovaan felt himself being pulled against a powerfully warm chest, his balled body protected by bulging, veiny arms.

Jovaan pressed his face against Wulfric's muscular chest, and sobbed.

***

Horace was disgusted. What kind of warlock cries?

Horace's spirit form floated after the ancient demon that carried Jovaan, the novice warlock, in his arms.

He had found Jovaan a little while ago along the streets. And he had followed him down into the cellar where the shady dealer tried to rob him. It was such a pity the dealer's detector could not detect the difference between an item of power and the bond between warlock and his powerful demon.

Horace continued to follow the Nameless One as it navigated through the streets. Mere moments ago Horace had borne witness to the demons unbridled fury. The beast had attacked someone with such ferocity there was nothing left of him but a mess of flesh and blood. He didn't even need to use magic!

The trip back to Jovaan's quarters was uneventful. It was a good thing no one could see him, allowing him time to observe his surroundings.

The warlock's room was small, simple. The demon was tucking a now sleeping Jovaan into the large, four poster bed. Beside the bed was a small table with an empty jug that probably used to hold water.

The rest of the room was pitifully stark. Apart from the fireplace, there really wasn't any furniture or decorations. The small window had no curtains to them, there was no carpet, and the large pile of books and scrolls in a corner indicated the lack of any-

"You were a fool to come here," commented a dark, cold voice.

In his shock, Horace's dream form spun around.

The ancient god stared back at him.

At him.

[silvershadow]

This story is fantastic! I can't wait to read more. hm suggestions...well from the way you were speaking about the whole memory thing maybe the demon can change its size from convenance to more of a battle size that just over powers everyone? (like 10 to 12 feet I don't know how many pounds xD) Maybe even give it a more demonic look when it does that to? Tat's and wings and a long tail but a human body still. I like the personality your giving the characters to. It would be intresting seeing the young warlock's past as to why he came to tears? And maybe his warlock brother hood still exist just obvously not the ones that were in the tunnel with him? I hope those are some great suggestions to help you come up with idea's. I'm enjoying the read.
Side note: I loved the ending it made me giggle. I mean come on! Astrial projection!? He's a demon lord how the heck is that gonna hide him from the demon? xD Guy's not as smart as he thinks he is.

[Syon]

Hallo everyone,
I know this is an old post, but I love this story sinse the first time i have readed it and in my opinion it has a realy great potential.

I already have send yahoopoint a pm because i had some ideas and made a plot for some more chapters from them.

Sadly there was no answer from him, and sinse he hasn't postet anything the last year, i would like to know if theres some other way to get into contact with him/her or if its ok to continue the story without asking (if there isn't any way to get into contact)

Let me hear what you think
(And sorry for my English, its not my natural language and i'm not realy used to write or spreak it )