Call of Duty

Several side passages led off in other directions, alternately dark and empty or glowing with exposed flows of lava. A blistering draft blew through them, generated by the natural forge of the volcano. She decided to forgo exploring them, spotting a large shadow moving about the dilapidated nave, which showed signs of having been converted into the Griffon's principle domicile.

A warbling shriek cut through the still, dry air. Komiere could also hear the rustle of feathers and scrape of claws as the legendary monster seemed to be fussing in its nest. She knocked an arrow in her bow and approached at a crouch. Being a quadruped herself, it was a simple feat to move slowly and quietly, even in full armor. She peaked over a cut stone pew–fractured in the middle–to spy on her daunting target.

At close range, the Griffon wasn't quite so awe-inspiring. He appeared to be of advanced age and was clearly malnourished. Whether he was molting, Komiere could not tell, but copper feathers were missing in great clumps. There were a number of battle scars visible on his hide and the knight's three arrows still protruded from the great beast's shoulder. He was apparently unconcerned with removing them, his attention on another part of his anatomy.

The swollen, red muscle of his manhood was flopped out on the floor. It was long and irregular of shape with prominent ridges of cartilage and a pointed tip. Though flexible and dexterous, the Griffon was unable to manually manipulate the pulsing meat of his lust. The way he was grinding against the cracked, pebbly floor looked extraordinarily uncomfortable.

The wolftaur swept a lock of silver hair from her face and raised the bow. Komiere knew she wouldn't get such a good opportunity again. Planning to fire an arrow past his collar bone, she hoped to hit a vital organ in the chest cavity. Her lupine tail swished in anticipation.

Clink!

A tarnished goblet, buried unseen in a pile of rubble and ash, was knocked aside by the motion of Komiere's tail. It would have been too much to hope that the Griffon didn't hear it. His raptor's head angled up, fierce blue eyes sweeping the old temple chamber.

There was no help for it now. The knight stood and loosed her arrow. The Griffon easily snapped it out of the air with his ax-like beak, but by then, Komiere had already cast aside her bow and leapt over the stone pew. She drew her gladius and charged, howling a guttural war cry.

Komiere's overhand stroke had enough power to split a skull in twain. The Griffon dodged, losing only a few feathers, but he was already off balance and could counterattack with only a swat from his broad, uninjured wing. The knight used her free hand to deflect it as best she could. Her four paws spread out to maintain a solid stance and she quickly recovered, bracing the sword's pommel for a thrust.

Now the monster's claw came up. The blade, however sharp, did little more than scratch the tough scales. Meanwhile, the chipped talons of the beast were honed to a razor edge and a mere glancing blow split the knight's vambrace. On his feet at last, the Griffon reared up and kicked his mighty forelegs, forcing Komiere to retreat. He came crashing down in pursuit, catching her mail skirt. It tore under his strength like cotton and the steel rings snagged on her pointed greaves, tripping her up. The knight cast a fearful eye back and saw the great beast bearing down on her. She panicked.

Komiere slashed wildly. Even a random swing from the fierce wolftaur would have given most combatants pause. But the Griffon was not most combatants and he merely barreled into her range, causing the gladius to land shallow and glance off his ax-like beak. The reverberation traveled up Komiere's arm and it went numb. Her sword spun into the darkness, its clatter unheard over the Griffon's screeches.

Talons raked across the knight's torso. Only the thick, well-crafted breastplate saved her from being eviscerated, but she still cried out in pain as the jagged tips sliced past fur, into skin. The Griffon then bowed his massive head and bludgeoned Komiere with blunt force. She was propelled across the chamber and rebounded off the wall. Bolts popped and leather snapped. Pieces of armor fractured and split off. Her right shoulder, smashed against a heavy pauldron, dislocated.

Dazed, she slumped to the obsidian floor.

Seeing his prey lie prone, the Griffon approached confidently. The wolftaur twitched and groaned, her silvery fur stained with blood and ash. What remained of her knightly armor were a few twisted plates, ripped apart as easily as paper, as well as the tatters of mail and padding. As the beast drew closer, his sharp blue eyes discerned feminine attributes that were previously hidden beneath steel. The nose atop his great beak was not as keen, but could detect the lingering traces of sexual secretions.

The legendary monster snorted, drinking in the scent. It was something he missed and craved. His head lowered and a long, narrow tongue slid out, which snaked over Komiere's lupine body, matting her coat in saliva. The feel of the slimy muscle roaming her body, slipping between limbs and under clothing, roused her from unconsciousness. Frightened and reviled, she tried to crawl away.

But the Griffon would have none of it. His powerful claw swatted the wolftaur like a toy, sending her sprawling across the polished volcanic stone. Pain speared through her dislocated shoulder and she clutched it weakly, curling into a ball to protect herself as much as was possible.

Again, the beast was upon her, straddling her elongated form and pressing down with tremendous weight. His feline hips lowered and the twisted crimson member prodded her. The Griffon began to thrust blindly, stabbing Komiere's hindquarters with the pointed cartilage tip. He was at first satisfied with merely grinding, but the wolftaur realized with a growing anxiety that his motions were getting closer to the mark. Her lupine womanhood was still moist with arousal, despite–or perhaps because of–the violent encounter. Komiere cursed herself for her own perversion.

The deep sense of violation that overtook the knight chilled her heart, even while the rest of her sweated under the intense heat that permeated the temple. The Griffon's alien manhood finally found Komiere's feminine counterpart. Her furry nether lips parted for the tapered head. She willed herself to reject it, but could not prevent her inner folds from enveloping the contorted shaft.

The throbbing mass was neither soft nor smooth. Its rough texture felt like the sharpest of barbs to the sensitive petals of Komiere's womanly flower. Muscles in her long jaw twitched as she gritted her teeth. Each thrust drilled into her, bruising flesh and bone. To be impaled on a spear would surely be less agonizing.

Even then, a new feeling swelled within her. The knight always used her strength to sexually dominate her lovers. But now she was the one being dominated; held down and forced to submit. Humiliation began to arouse her.

The mournful-sounding howl that echoed around the valley and was heard by the cowering villagers contained not fear, but lust. Komiere panted and moaned, writhing under the Griffon, a climax fast approaching. It came over her like a seizure and her lupine body convulsed, the muscles of her womanhood squeezing the beast inside her.

The force of her orgasm coaxed a blast of hot ejaculate from the Griffon's twisted member. Like a volcanic eruption, the rush of seed utterly filled her with searing heat and then overflowed, staining the obsidian floor with pearly cream. The Griffon's seed would not stop gushing. He continued to pump, his efforts increasing in fervor, spilling more beastly semen with every monstrous thrust.

Komiere's lust was sated, but she continued to endure the Griffon's. On and on he went, rutting the wolftaur mercilessly and eventually, all sensation faded into numbness. The sexual act became a mechanical one, a repetitious motion that rocked her battered form without end. She barely noticed when he came a second time, alerted only by the sudden draft created by the triumphant flapping of his wings.

There was no sense of time deep in the earth. The knight was aware of little more than flickers of light and the rumbling of the inky blackness surrounding them. Then, a strange sort of clarity awakened parts of her mind not directly involved in the exchanging of flesh and bodily fluids.

Komiere looked around at the temple walls and noticed, for the first time, ancient words carved into them. The ages old text was partly iconographic with only the crudest use of a traditional alphabet, but it seemed tantalizingly familiar. Something tickled the edges of her memory and the knight recalled some distant instruction in the history of the Aukanna Knights.

The beliefs they held changed many times over the centuries, often from assimilating a new faction into the main body which now formed the Order. One of the earliest knightly bands were little more than mercenaries that took on contracts to protect trade routes in exchange for wealth, drugs, and slaves. There was a long tradition of lawlessness and paganism in the Unclaimed Northlands. That such depravity once afflicted the Order was among their dirtiest secrets, known only by the highest ranking nobles.

This temple was evidence of that dark time. As Komiere's lupine eyes–already possessed of excellent night vision–grew accustomed to the ruddy gloom she made out the inscriptions of perverse rituals that were held in this very temple. It was then only natural to see how such a virtuous creature as a Griffon could become so twisted. Conscripted to defend a den a sin; witness to the most disgusting of violent and sexual acts. According to the carved histories, partcipating in the rape ritual was even part of the temple guardian's duty!

She now realized that all those corpses with crushed pelvises were the Griffon's previous victims, abused as playthings, then consumed as a meal. At least, she hoped it was in that order. The possibility that he might have taken to molesting a half-eaten corpse inspired, not so much fear, but a great surge of pity for the legendary beast.

The wolftaur raised her eyes to the shadowed ceiling as one particularly violent quake filled the temple, creating new fissures in the obsidian walls. Glass dust rained down on her. She noticed a glowing slash along the wall where a vein of magma flowed to close to the surface. Though her gladius was out of reach, a large chunk of sharp volcanic stone had been shorn off a pew during their struggle. A plan formed.

When the Griffon arched up for his latest orgasm, Komiere extended her good arm as far as she could and seized the stone shared, then whipped around, slashing him across the feathered neck. A gurgling shriek erupted from the monster as he staggered away, ripping his contorted member from her vaginal canal. Two geysers erupted from his body; one red and one white.

There was no time to lose. Every last ounce of strength and discipline remaining in the knight was harnessed, propelling Komiere to her paws and across the temple chamber. She leapt the ten paces to her gladius, swept it up and drove its heavy blade into the wall.

One strike. Two! Three!!

The pounding of the floor told her that the Griffon was coming for her again. She did not sway from her task. Another strike, and success! The obsidian shattered like glass and hellish magma poured forth. Komiere withdrew her hand to avoid losing it to the earth's lifeblood, but the mere heat of proximity singed her fur.

A deafening cry filled the decrepit halls and Komiere could only imagine the Griffon, now awash on liquid fire. Battle-hardened veteran though she was, the knight could not summon enough courage and watch a once proud creature suffer such a tragic death. She fled.

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Shaking legs and sore paws somehow carried Komiere down the mountain. She cradled her dislocated arm like a baby, for every step elicited a new surge of pain. When she finally looked back, the wolftaur saw a river of lava flowing from the temple's entryway and noted how no more ash plumed from the volcano's summit. The pressure had been relieved. Toma was far enough away that it was no longer in danger.

The desire for sleep stalked her through the rocky foothills, but she stumbled on, unwilling to surrender. As she grew near the village, her half-mast eyes made out the glowing points of many torches. Its inhabitants were familiar with the moods of the volcano and sensed immediately when something changed. They were gathered around the wooden dias, now little more than kindling, awaiting Komiere's return. That she did at all was proof enough the 'Mountain Beast' was dead and a whooping cry went up among them as they broke into celebration.

One lone figure did not join the festivities. Elise the foxgirl remained rooted to the spot, conflict evident in her bright green eyes. She did not know whether to run from or towards the knight, whether to escape or embrace.

Komiere, too, was uncertain. She couldn't help comparing herself to the poor wretch whose bones were now dissolving in magma. Was she also a tool of the nobility, performing the tasks expected of her through rigorous conditioning? Or was she merely looking for some scapegoat on which to blame her own sickness? What was it worth to simply fulfill her duty if the spirit of the knight, the honor and desire to protect others, did not persist?

It did not seem like she could be any more depressed than she already was upon taking up this mission. The spiritual gravity that burdened her now was far worse; the emptiness in her heart and between her legs were inconsequential by comparison. What could her lifemate be thinking of her, watching from the afterlife? Was he ashamed of her fall or proud of her awakening?

Whatever fate had in store for Komiere, she was at least sure of one thing: Things were going to be different from now on.