I watch her always through these yellow eyes. She comes here to my home time and time again, enchanting the earth with her spells, hoping to draw me out. She even suits up in those skimpy metallic plates that cling right to her skin, leaving those wide hips bare, along with the higher swells of her lovely breasts. She drags that "ominous" sword around with her, the 'drake slayer'. Paagh. She couldn't possibly know that I am here. Her guild masters force her to prove her "worth". She has no worth to –me-.
It's night time again. She creeps alone, the golden visor hiding her pretty eyes from my sight, and mine from hers. She places a book on the ground, her back to me. I observe the curves of her luscious body again – what a fragile frame. The beasts of the planet are attracted to that smell she makes, the scent that burns up in my chest every time I inhale. It's toxic, addictive, and smooth, like the surface of her flesh. The wings on my back shudder, my mind racing. Do I purge this vision of beauty from the earth, taking a bit of the light away? Or do I transform her into the beasts she teases every day of her life with her voluptuous body. Mm. I like the sound of the latter.
My back straightens a little as I lean against the wall. I feel the cold, scaly flesh surrounding the blood racing into my cock tightening. It peek down at that which makes me a Demonicon male; my fifteen inch cock, drops of steaming, white precum dripping to the ground and hissing as its acidic properties make divots in the stone. I fantasize about what a full load of this would do to a human female without any of those arcane shields stuck to her skin.
She walks away after finishing her rituals, that long set of golden, wavy hair spilling to her exposed shoulder blades from under her helmet. I tap the top of my cock with the knuckle of my index finger a couple times, making it bob up and down like a tightly wound spring. Soon.
---
"I planted them everywhere", announced Mira to a man covered from neck to toe in rune-embossed armor, "they're invisible, like you suggested."
The man cast a widened, black eye at Mira, baring his teeth for a moment. He said nothing, though he did display a vague hint of fear.
She continued, "I know it's dangerous. But I am safe."
The man straightened his posture and let out a sigh, lying an aged hand on the woman's shoulder. Despite her skimpy attire, intoxicating smell, and sensual voice, he displayed no form of wonton desire in any way.
"Mira, you don't understand. Maybe some of the battlemages here encouraged you, but I do not."
"I choose for myself, Master Devamin."
The man withdrew his hand and stroked his forehead with it. It took Devamin a while to reply. "I... Your life is not in my hands, according to the royal council. I am not responsible for you, and if you get hurt, I am in no way obligated to tend to you, or even commune with the people of the Higher Planes for your well being."
She shifted her jaw. "I know, Master Devamin."
Devamin slid the same hand over his bald head before it stopped at the back of his neck. "I may find myself tending to you anyway, but I don't want to be put in a situation where I have to borrow supplies from the Curator Guild."
"Like you did when I broke my arm?"
Devamin couldn't help but smile now, his wrinkled face twisting meekly to form the expression. "Exactly, dear Mira."
He tilted his head and exhaled, nearing her and placing both his hands on her shoulders. "I want you to be safe, always. You are strong."
Mira returned the smile with one of her own. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old, and Devamin was like a father to her. Everything she knew about drawing runes and fishing the mysterious energy from them, she learned from him.
"I won't fail you."
Devamin's smile slowly waned. "If you fail... It won't matter, because not a piece of you will be left to tell your tale."
With that, he returned to a small room lit by violet candles to lecture a few students.
---
How irritating. They all started glowing about a half hour ago. She must be ready to carry out her plan. The cave is getting colder around me. The velvet chair I sit in looses its touch. My fires are gone. The golden candle stands have turned to rust. I have to blink every five seconds. Little bitch. She's right above the entrance with her sword drawn, ready to introduce it to my brain stem. I draw a claw along my cheek, causing every other scale to turn out and flick back against my face. Paagh. I'll have to step out before too long, but not before I give her a show. I won't kill her. I've made up my mind.
---
Mira's drawn weapon hovered without trembling before her, the sharp point facing downwards at the cave's entrance. She knelt quietly on the outcrop, her eyes steady and forward, despite the dazzling display of colors caused by the rune-traps all around the padded and scorched earth outside the cave.
"Come to me", she whispered softly, "three millennia is far too long for anything to be alive."
An hour passed, and the hissing from inside the cave grew louder.
---
Keep breathing. Her muscles will go lax!
---
A second hour passed, and Mira shifted knees often. She, again, wore those same metal plates that seemed to change shape to fit against her curves.
Suddenly, from within the cave, came a loud yelp, a squeal of agony at best. She readied herself, listening to the clattering of brass objects against stone, and the crunching of gravel beds. Her eyes narrowed a little, her sword prepared and anxious to penetrate flesh.
She leaped with perfect timing upon a dark shadow that swept from below her, directly out of the mouth of the cave. She was perfectly silent as the blade dove into the back of a humanoid's head. As she pulled back and spun, a fine crescent of blood followed her blade and landed on her back, making a speckled line of crimson dots from her scapula to her hip. Her face was that of terror as her eyes came to land on a monstrous non-human.
His face was concealed and easily three feet in elevation above her own. Where ears should have been were a collection of thick horns that seemed to twist tightly around one another, stretching up above his head, getting smaller at the points. His tiny nose hovered over a pair of pale lips, and his eyes were thin and gold like the sun. Everything about his face carried perfect symmetry with the other side, an expression of structural greatness. His neck dwarfed the size of his face, though not his entire head. The tendons reaching out to his shoulders were tremendous.
