From: (nikolai kingsley)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: el diablo (2)
Date: Mon, 1 Dec 1997 20:06:55 +1100
Organization: anarchartists/FDP
Lines: 121
Message-ID: <>
X-Newsreader: Anawave Gravity v2.00.753

Gods. Here he was down on the twenty-third level of the dungeon. He shook 
his head in disbelief. Who'd've thought he'd ever survive this long?

He hefted the sword he'd stolen from some dead creature back on level 
seventeen, admired the way tiny motes of blue light drifted off the 
trailing edge as he swung it. This sword cut through just about anything. 
Much better than that piece of shit-forged tin he'd spent so much hard-
earned gold on, up in the village. That blacksmith always sounded so 
happy to see you - "Well! What can I do for ye?" but the bastard was a 
rip-off artist. It didn't matter that you were trying to save his 
revolting little hamlet; he routinely overcharged you for repair work, 
too. No gratitude.

Things would be different once he recovered the crystal, he vowed to 
himself. He'd plant it in his own forehead, wriggle into the unlimited 
power it held. He'd teach those dungsmelling peasants a thing or two.

Lost in his musings, he almost missed the furtive movement over behind 
the bizarre sculpture of bones that marked the end of the corridor. He 
looked up. This was a new one. He'd encountered zombies, skeletons, vile 
hopping things that spat acid and others that spat balls of fire; this 
one looked almost human. Then she stepped into the torchlight and he 

Cascades of black hair swept back over her shoulders, between the two 
black, leathery bats' wings that flexed slightly as she walked. It didn't 
escape his notice that she was entirely naked. What the hell are you? he 
thought, and his eyes widened as she answered: succubus. Her lips hadn't 
moved. He'd hardly noticed; he hadn't seen breasts that large since -

Gods! He'd forgotten where he was. Anything down here was more likely 
than not an enemy, and this one was more cunningly armoured than the 
rest. She distracted her prey with her obvious charms and while they were 
ogling, she would - 

He leaped back and just got his shield up in time to deflect the ball of 
red fire that she'd flung at him. The shock of its impact threw him back 
against the wall, and he barely had the presence of mind to keep the 
shield between them as two more fireballs struck home. Frantically, he 
took the offensive and hacked at her with the magic blade. Once, twice; 
with the third blow he was rewarded with a plaintive moan and the sight 
of her falling back to the dark grey sand, wings curled around her like a 
dying insect. There was little time to gloat; two of her sisters were 
approaching from the darkness of the corridor beyond. He took a second to 
drink down a restorative potion and brought the sword up to meet them.

It was hard work, this role-playing stuff. Fifteen minutes later, he felt 
that he was safe for the moment. He'd been through half of the twenty-
third level and slain over a dozen evil, fire-spitting, naked, pale-
fleshed and large-breasted succubi. It was odd; none of them had any 
visible wounds. The sword seemed to pass through their lovely bodies, 
leaving no mark but stealing their life essence as it went. Then they 
died, curled up on the floor almost as if sleeping. He'd had a nasty 
moment or two when he thought that perhaps they *were* just sleeping; 
he'd double-checked, and they were dead.

He stuck his sword point-first into the floor and rested his forearms on 
the crossbar. Some of the succubi - about half - had fallen on their 
sides when they'd died, arms hugging their knees close, one wing draped 
demurely over the hip. The rest had fallen forward firstly onto their 
knees, then further, forearms in the sand, heads bowed down as if he were 
some oriental monarch and they were abasing themselves before him. He 
wandered about the section of the dungeon he'd cleared, examining the 
examples of the latter. Something about the way their behinds were being 
so shamelessly offered, even in death, caused a stirring just below his 
healing-potion belt. He came back to the first three he'd killed and 
stood behind the third, who'd fallen forward in that bowing pose. He 
rubbed his crotch. So seductive, even in death.

He glanced about in the darkness, paused and listened. Apart from the 
crackling of the torch mounted in the sconce near the door, the dungeon 
was silent. He glanced at the succubus kneeling before him, rounded 
buttocks like soft pillows awaiting his touch... "Aw, shit, who's gonna 
know?" he muttered to himself, pulling his breeches open and forcing them 
down around his ankles.

There was a moment of confusion as he searched for a vaginal opening; it 
turned out that this creature didn't have one. He shrugged, thinking he 
was about to have congress with a creature of darkness. A dead creature 
of darkness. That he'd just killed. How he penetrated her seemed of 
little importance, so after checking that she was equipped with the 
requisite opening, he lubricated it with one of his potions of health and 
then forced his way in.

She was cold, too cold for something that had been alive less than twenty 
minutes ago. He smiled to himself and didn't feel so bad about killing 
her, seeing as how she was probably already dead when he'd struck her 
down. He grabbed her hips, thrust himself in further and cried out as her 
unnaturally long toes wrapped themselves around his thighs and her hands 
gripped his. She *hadn't* been dead!

For a few moments he crouched there behind her, completely at a loss for 
words. Almost by instinct he pushed a little further inside and 
blustered, "Okay, babe, don't make me use that." She laughed quietly and 
wrapped the ends of her wings around his waist, holding him firmly. He 
tried to return her laugh defiantly but only succeeded in sounding 
nervous. "Well, if that's the way you want it, I'm not going anywhere. I 
have all the time in the world."

"All of the time left to your world," said a voice so deep it was almost 
subsonic, "would not be enough to boil an egg." He tried to turn around 
and see who had spoken, but he was securely held down. His heart almost 
stopped when the speaker moved into view. Over two metres tall, dressed 
from head to foot in black armour which glistened as if oiled; behind the 
eye-slit of the helmet, nothing but abyssal darkness. A Death Knight. A 
goddamned Death Knight on level twenty-three! It stood at his side for a 
moment, one hand resting on the pommel of a sword almost as tall as he 
was. Then it laughed, a sound like oil pouring over sharp steel.

It slapped a catch set into the side of its armour and a bright steel 
protuberance sprang up from its crotch; three hand-spans long, detailed 
with thumb-sized rocket studs filed down to needle points. The situation 
was so nightmarish and utterly unlike any of his juvenile power fantasies 
that he could not grasp what was happening until the Death Knight dropped 
to its knees behind him, took a potion of health from his belt and 
allowed it to trickle down his back and between his buttocks.

yes, i finished that level