The Huntress and Frankie

The Huntress and Frankie

You might think I was in trouble.

These fellbeasts are loathsome assholes but I know what I'm doing and I know this one. It took quite a bit of clever detective work to identify this particular beastie who's been terrorizing the ladies down by the River District. As a creature born from the fires of hell they're drawn to heat and the fascinating thing about these crooked creatures is that it doesn't matter if it's literal or figurative heat. Hence this guy has been hunting among the whores, attracted to the passion inherent in their business.

I've decided to call him Frankie, really does a lot to disarm what is objectively a horrifying motherfucker. His fur is eternally dirty with soot and matted with sweat. His fangs are skinny and crooked and there are far too many of them stacked in crowded rows. Worst of all is his breath, an acrid sulfuric rush of oven hot air.

Am I afraid?

Hell yes. But, like Odysseus lashed to his mast, I cannot run away from my buddy, Frankie. That's why I've recruited these little dark sprites to hold me down. Those little fuckers know they're being used but they'll do it just for the joy of getting their grimy little ash claws on my body. Luring this demon in with my naked figure is risky and I know it. I'd usually come to a showdown like this with the reassuring armor of a wide brimmed leather hat, my amulet, my rings, my heavy coat billowing around me with decades old blood staining the trim. Tonight I was naked, completely exposed, save for one trinket on my wrist. My skin shone pale in the moonlight and my fear laid bare for all manner of nightmares to feast upon. My baby soft hairs prickled sharp with fear and the claws wandering idly across my body didn't help my confidence.

Yes, I'm afraid and Frankie can smell it. He can smell my sweat and adrenaline. He can gaze at my body twitching against the little sprites, and he can watch as my breasts rise and fall as I try to keep my breathing deep and slow. I'm desperate to stay put, to stay in control. It's fucking terrifying but I get off on this... and Frankie can smell that too.

As he leans in my control slips but I'm focused on the power embedded in the vanquishing crystals strung around my wrist. I can feel genuine fear rising inside me. My "eat shit" grin falters slightly before melting away entirely. Frankie continues getting closer and a small drop of volcanic acid drips onto my completely exposed thigh. My back arches my arms fight desperately to pull away, I'm screaming now, hyperventilating with fear and agony.

Have I miscalculated? All I need is for Frankie to bite me. The crystal bracelet should take over from there, granting me immunity and healing any damage done to the warrior brave enough to stand against any beast from hell. All he had to do was bite and the supernatural poison of the holy crystals would rush through his monstrous body, dismantaling it with the burning brightness of faith in goodness. I didn't possess that faith but the crystals had been imbued with it and that should be enough.

But what if it wasn't enough? What if Frankie liked to play with his food? What if I wasn't quite as tough a toy as I thought?

I could feel the panic vibrating inside me and I started jerking against the dark sprites, I wanted to run away! This wasn't going to work! Several of the sprites took this chance to nibble at the little bits of flesh they could wrap their tiny jaws around. Their shriveled claws scratched overzealous ashen lines into my skin as they spread across me seeking better purchase. Trying their demon best they held me down as I bid them to earlier this wretched evening. Trust a sprite to get too worked up in worst possible way. Most worrisome were the little buggers crawling circles around my leg. They'd lost all manner of composure, driven mad by the wickedly festering acid burn. I swear I could feel their forked tongues lapping at my poisoned blood. I had miscalculated and now my stubborn hubris what coming home to roost.

Frankie's eyes glittered scarlet and gold as his tongue rolled out between his razor fangs, down from an ever widening jaw. The corners of his mouth turned up in a terrifying approximation of delight. His cat-bladed tongue slid between my thighs and licked up curling inside me. Everything comprising my whole existence screamed. I screamed in terror, in unbelievable pain. Everything was a bright white blinding sensation completely outside the ability of any mortal to process.

Collapsing under his sheer ecstasy, the fellbeast finally gave in, biting down across my entire body. I vaguely experienced his fangs ripping into my legs, my shoulders, wrapping around to slice through my back. After each moment had stretched as close to an eternity as a moment could be pulled, the crystals finally kicked in.

Frankie started making a gut wrenching noise I can only imagine was a scream. As the sound of steel nails scratching down a blackboard of glass rang through my head I felt every piece of him soften as every bit of me hardened. My skin turned to leather as it pushed back against the invading teeth. My flesh knit itself back together and my muscles condensed to stone, impenetrable, unmovable. Frankie's eyes locked on mine as his body slowly disintegrated around me. His acid spit turned to a cooling salve. His fangs disappeared. His tongue smoothed, no longer the barbed sand paper nightmare from before and the hell beast took one last swirl inside me for good fucking measure. Finally the golden demon eyes that were staring through my soul a moment earlier shifted and the lights within evaporated.

Every shred of fur, every claw, even the dark sprites dissolved away; vanquished. I looked down at my naked body as the last of the wounds glazed over with a pink shimmer. When the last, deepest punctures in my torso disappeared, the crystal bracelet exploded, leaving me, paradoxically, the only scar from the encounter.

The only visual scar.

Frankie left me with one final horrible gift. Hunters walk around laden with these gifts. If we survive at all there is usually one lasting memory that will never fade. I call them gifts; we've already established my affinity for irony. For the rest of my most likely short and tortured life, I will never forget the abject pleasure I felt from that beast's tongue driving inside me. I'll always relive the sensation of my invincible body getting wet for a fucking fellbeast.