Succubus Inquisition

This Story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Yshomatsu

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this story or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The following is meant for Adults only, if you are under the age of 18 leave now. This story has elements of NonHuman, Erotic Horror, and Mind Control. If any of that bothers you then turn back now. If not, enjoy.

Elements of this story were influenced by GigglingGoblin. A special thanks to JonB1969 for his editing and to David for feedback. It's been a rough year with the passing of my fifteen year old dog. RIP Damen

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Prologue - Succubus Inquisition Story Arc Two

A deep-throated voice spoke within his mind.

So... You thought you saved the world by vanquishing the queen bee, the succubus from another plane of existence. You've spent months rounding up her creations...cleaning up the mess and rebuilding...

You have never been so wrong. There's something you need to see before you'll believe...

The bald monk felt pressure behind his tired eyes. His vision got fuzzy, at the same time as he felt light headed. Time and space rushed before Athanatos' eyes, before the bald, tattooed monk passed out. He didn't even feel the impact onto the ground as he collapsed. The effect continued within his head, just like his visions, months ago, of the past. Only this time, he didn't return to a past memory. Instead, he was a spectator to a time and place he did not recognize.

The monk floated in the air as the environment changed to a lush jungle. His spirit rushed forward into the earth as darkness enveloped him. Yet before he had any time to worry, his vision cleared and he watched a man he had not seen for a long time - since before the Monk Order collapsed at the hands of the red-skinned succubus.

* * * * * *

A blond haired man wearing a leather-brimmed hat stood calmly in front of an ancient relic. His strong features were posed in deep concentration. The man wore a cloth tunic, underneath leather-padded armor with chain mail laced throughout it, an old sword within a custom made sheath strapped to his waist, and a satchel over his shoulder, the strap wrapped around his body and slung over his shoulder, around his neck.

His crystal blue eyes scanned the room. The stone walls were crumbling, wrecked by decay. Arn Magson had disabled countless traps before reaching his goal. Weeks of studying had prepared him for most of them.

The golden relic had been carved into the shape of a powerful dragon. It dated back to a time when the winged beasts were rumored to have lived. Arn didn't believe the legends that his mentors told him.

Speaking of his mentors, Arn had been raised by monks. While not being a monk himself, they treated him as one of their own.

He had been dropped off as a child. The monks had grown attached to him and decided to keep him around. One respected monk named Athanatos had convinced the others that Arn should be allowed to pick his own destiny. The monk that never seemed to age had trained him to fight with honor, had taught him to never unsheathe his sword, unless his cause would be both justifiable and honorable.

The monks cherished all forms of history, written most of all. Arn enjoyed researching with them, but desired to touch as well. That's how he became their treasure hunter, if you will. He loved discovering all the facts about an object and then uncovering its location before delving for it. Nothing felt better than holding a delicate piece of history between his hands.

That's how he came to be within an ancient temple buried beneath the earth.

The blond-haired man studied the statue's base. It sat on a slightly raised piece of stone - one of those pressure plates, from what he could tell. That worried him, because he couldn't find any trap that it might set off. All of the others had been clearly defined - step here, set this off and so forth. This civilization had been so ancient that their name had been unpronounceable to Arn. Not even his mentors could come up with something that would have even been considered a decent attempt.

The temple had been built with huge stone blocks that would have taken a hundred or more men to move. It made him wonder if those winged beasts had actually existed, after all. He could imagine them dragging the large blocks - if they had existed.

An hour passed without Arn even realizing, and yet he still couldn't figure out the device the relic sat on. He considered himself clever, and didn't want to just blindly pick up the object. Sweat began to form on his brow as he spent another hour searching around the circular room. Arn removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his skin, before smoothing back his hair and replacing the hat. For all intents and purposes the room appeared to be solid. No hidden arrows, waiting for him to set them off. No windows or air shafts.

Just a perfectly circular room. Carved out of stone.

After having inspected the walls, he paid more attention to the pillar itself. The pillar had grooves in its base that matched a design. No not design, the floor appeared as if it would open up into a pattern that would fit those grooves. So the pillar descended into the floor. That meant countless things. It could simply lower itself for protection. Or spit out a mist of acidic gas. Or do both of those things.

The statue's pillar stood erected in the room's center with three feet between itself and the only door. He knew he couldn't just pick up the artifact and walk/run out. Nor could he swap it out with a bag of sand. He had tried just that a few times in the past. It never worked out. An idea came to him that felt so crazy that it just might work.

Arn walked over to his bag of tricks. OK, it just had tools and rope. He emptied the bag and began setting up. Outside of the room were two mounted torches, one of each side of the doorway. Arn tied a rope to each of them. The other end of one rope he tied tightly around the raised pressure plate. The other he left some slack as he very carefully tied it around the statue.

The only thing he could hear was the heavy pounding of his heart. To say he felt nervous would be an understatement. If he simply pulled on the rope the statue wouldn't make it to him. He didn't want to watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. Slowly he walked away from the room, remembering a trap he had dismantled before. Arn gathered pieces of wood and fastened the rope's slack to produce a masterpiece.

The six foot tall man took a step back and admired the contraption that looked like a child had constructed it. Sweat felt like it poured from everywhere, leaving him soaked as he almost second guessed himself.

Arn kicked the wooden device, which caused the rope to slingshot towards him. The second the golden relic left the pressure plate, the other rope tightened. The torch mount didn't last long as the old device collapsed. The pillar fell into the ground. At the same time a cloud of yellow gas shot up into the room.

The artifact launched toward him alarmingly fast. Arn's bright blue eyes bulged as he jumped backwards, catching the relic and sliding slowly to a stop, the leather hat flying off his head. With the golden dragon safely in his arms, he reached for his hat. A mechanism within the wall clanked as an unseen door plummeted towards the ground. He grabbed the hat and pulled back just as the large stone crashed into place.

The treasure hunter examined the hat to find its front brim to be missing.

He sighed. "My favorite hat."

The man placed the ruined hat back upon his head and secured the relic within his now empty bag. With the bag firmly strapped around his shoulder he turned for the exit.

Arn almost tripped and fell, as the temple shook violently. He turned just as the antechamber's wall caved in. Another fail safe? Without the wall blocking his view the man watched as the ceiling within that room crushed each fallen piece of stone from the wall. The pillar had descended into the floor as the room had been sealed, then destroyed. But the temple didn't stop shaking. Arn held onto his hat this time as he bolted for the exit.

The entire temple began to collapse around him.

He ran without any regard to his 'alterations' to the temple's traps. Arn ran through his countermeasures, causing small darts and weapons to fly out all around him. A spike of pain shot up his spine as he kept running, ducking, dodging along the way. A beam of light became his entire world as he ran towards it. The floor underneath him buckled, causing him to falter before jumping.

Arn launched himself out of the temple entrance, just as the place imploded behind him. A cloud of thick dust exploded out after him, coating everything in white filth. A neigh shocked the adrenaline fueled man as he looked up to see a prickly bush.

"Hi, boy. You need a bath!" The horse nudged Arn with its nose as it gave out another annoyed neigh. The fresh air blowing through his sweaty hair caused a sigh to escape his lips. "I really liked that hat."

Arn looked around, hoping to see it laying there. He couldn't help but think he had lost the hat at the last second as the temple collapsed. Finally he rose to his feet and shook the dust and cobwebs from his body. The faithful companion at his right sneezed and shook his own body.

"Stormbolt!" He cried out as he coughed from the thick cloud of dust that flew off the horse's hide. Now Arn had to shake himself clean again, laughing as he did.

A distant roar interrupted them as he turned and stared incredulously at the dust covered vegetation. Arn quickly examined Stormbolt as a jolt of pain shot out from his shoulder. It turned out that he had been the injured one. Something large had caught the scent of blood on the air.

The adrenaline caused by escaping the temple had worn off as panic slowly replaced it. He glanced between the giant sequoia trunks, attempting to figure which direction to go. With so much leaf volume he couldn't see the sun. Small beams of light filtered through but he couldn't figure out which direction was west. Truth be told, having heard the beast roar had been a blessing, because it had given away its element of surprise.

Direction could be figured out later. Escape had to come first.

The six foot treasure hunter pushed through the pain, now that he felt it, climbing up on to Stormbolt's saddle. With a shout and a very light kick the horse bolted out of the area, just as a large beast burst from the shrubbery. Arn watched in horror as the orange furred creature roared before giving chase. The black stripes almost masked the beast's bulging muscles. Arn kicked harder than he liked to, as desperation fueled by fear took over.

Under any other situation he would have admired the magnificent predator. Admiration didn't matter when you were the prey, however. Stormbolt raced faster than Arn had ever felt before. Even so, the large tiger slowly gained on them. They raced against fate, pushing harder than ever. Stormbolt jumped over fallen trees and rocks without hesitation. The man upon its back would have been proud, if he hadn't been preoccupied with watching the hungry cat. Drool foamed at the beast's mouth as it flawlessly navigated its environment.

Suddenly Stormbolt reared up on his hind legs. They had charged to a dead end. A truly massive trunk barred their path. Arn had been caught off guard as he was thrown off the horse. He landed hard as he watched in horror as the tiger leaped overhead, slamming into Stormbolt. The leather saddle took the brunt of the blow as the horse bucked wildly.

One kick landed perfectly, snapping bones. The tiger howled in pain as it lashed out with swinging claws. The horse kept hopping whilst kicking. The injured predator kept its distance. A wound gushed blood at its right shoulder. Reduced to a limping crawl the tiger turned its focus towards Arn, whom currently laid upon his back.

Arn slowly rose to his feet, standing tall as his left hand gripped the sword on his right hip. With a deep breath he attempted to appear large and menacing. The hurt tiger couldn't remain on all fours as it slowly approached him, growling with pain filled snarls.

"Don't force my hand," Arn spoke softly.

Part of him wanted the tiger to give up and run off. Another part wondered if it would be crueler to do so, with its broken shoulder blade. The predator got within distance and prepared to pounce. Arn sighed as he lowered his gaze to the ground, grip tightening.

The tiger leaped into the air as Arn took a step to the side, unsheathed his sword, swung it over his head and brought it down. Once his other hand closed below his left he put all his strength into the downward swing. The tiger flew past Arn, landing with a thud, missing its head.

A wave of guilt had come and gone as Arn cleaned his sword with a leaf and returned it to its sheath. Stormbolt finally calmed down enough for Arn to check his wounds. Luckily the leather saddle had truly shielded the steed, as only three shallow cuts had pierced its hide. Crystal blue eyes stared into Stormbolt's brown with a smile. They had both survived.

Arn pulled a small dagger hidden within the saddle and cut the ruined leather off. That would allow the small cuts to breathe without chaffing. Once that had been completed he returned the dagger and climbed up onto Stormbolt's back.

From there, they turned to home.

Over the course of three days they traveled without incident. The moment the familiar green valley came into view, Arn felt a warm joyfulness fill his heart. Wind caused the oceans of green grass to undulate in waves. Even Stormbolt quickened his pace, feeling closer to home.

The bubble of safety popped as they reached the hill's peak, in view of the monastery.

The once ancient building that many called home sat in ruins. Only a few walls remained standing. Arn's jaw dropped. Bodies covered from head to toe in bright shining metal armor littered the entire field. For a moment he felt hope since he didn't see monks laying among the dead. He whipped the reins, causing Stormbolt to charge for the ruined building.

Arn leaped from his horse as they came to the monastery. He ran forward, eyes bulging as he cried out, spun around and fell to his knees.

Within the ruins he saw all of his friends. Those that raised him. His only family - all dead! All that mattered to him had been ripped from his chest. He sat there crying with his hands covering his face, afraid to look back.

Stormbolt came over and nudged his shoulder. Arn looked up, eyes bloodshot and watery. He didn't know how to go on. Everything he lived for had been in that building. His horse impatiently stamped the ground with a hoof, and Arn knew exactly what he had to do.

He crafted a makeshift sled for Stormbolt to pull and began pulling his family from the rubble. Each time the sled was filled up, he took them to their graveyard. Slowly he dug graves. At first he tried a single grave for each, but after a while he couldn't close his fists. Pain shot up his spine as he overextended his shoulder. Arn reached over his right shoulder with his left hand. It came back covered in dirty blood. The wound from the jungle had torn open.

Forced to take a break and address the wound, he cleaned it as best he could and patched it.

A few minutes later Arn decided to dig a mass grave. His body ached and rebelled but he kept digging. Time felt like it dragged on as he pushed his body beyond its limit. The sunset melted the bright sky into a fiery canvas as he carefully placed each body within the earth.

Sadly, he couldn't get to all of them. With how his muscles ached he just couldn't move some of the chunks of debris. By night fall even Stormbolt had had enough. With trembling hands Arn removed his steed's saddle, followed by his sword. Heartbroken, with wet eyes, he struggled to create a small fire, before collapsing down near his horse. He tossed and turned the entire night, not able to sleep. Every howl of the wind sounded like angry cries of the fallen.

By sunrise he forced his stressed body to begin filling in the mass grave with dirt. His right shoulder felt tight but otherwise better than he expected. He had gotten all of his family that he could find. Athanatos had not been among them. He hoped against all odds that the man he respected most among them all had survived the tragedy.

Hours later his stomach grumbled, but they were out of food. He thought back to the large cat, left for nature. So much meat. It caused his belly to grumble more. Arn would have to go into the town of Easthallow. He fastened his sword belt around his waist as he hoped the town hadn't befallen the same fate.

The monks had always kept to themselves, and in return, had been left alone. The locals believed they were peaceful religious worshipers. They had no idea of the monks' special form of communication. Not like that mattered now. Arn had never learned the secret dream walking that Athanatos spoke fondly about.

It didn't take long to reach the town. Stormbolt recognized the route and quickened his pace. When the two trotted into the town square, one thing caught his eye right away. The famous gallows - that honestly kept the peace by being a deterrent - had been destroyed. But the rest of the buildings seemed to be intact. The market place especially carried on as it always had.

Arn made his way to the tavern. Or rather, Stormbolt did. The animal could smell food, and wanted it. The two of them had developed a deep bond over the years. They knew each other, and Arn only needed to provide slight nudges rather than hard whips or kicks. The blond haired man wouldn't have it any other way. He couldn't imagine issuing commands by pain.

The two-story building came into view as Stormbolt gave a playful neigh, having spotted his meal. Arn couldn't hold back his smile, even though his thoughts were filled with painful regret. If only he had been there to help his family, they might still be alive. Or he'd be dead along with them.

Villagers whispered as he passed by. Arn pretended not to notice, but he could hear them. They questioned where he came from. If he had been part of the large army that vanished. He could understand why they'd think he belonged to an army, with the way his armor had been designed. Yet the whispers peaked his interest. At the monastery there were armored men scattered around the valley. Arn had left them there; without the strength or food to remain at the site, he couldn't bury them all. He had given a proper burial to those that raised him. But honestly he couldn't bring himself to do the same to those that apparently had killed his family.

He would just have to ask the innkeeper inside the two-story stone walled building named The Mossy Log. Stormbolt came to a stop and stomped his hooves as a young man filled a bucket with feed. Arn swung his leg across and descended to the ground. He lightly wrapped the reins around the post, knowing Stormbolt wouldn't wander off. The solid oak door opened wide as two patrons exited. Arn nodded in passing as he slipped inside before the door closed.

Fine crafted tables and chairs were positioned around the room with a bar surrounding the door to the kitchen. Slowly Arn's eyes adjusted to the low light. Several of the townsfolk were clustered around the bar. The conversations here weren't whispered. In fact the loud shouts echoed around the room, stinging his ears.