Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Эпилог 2

Epilogue
111

Camrad_RIP 13.05.25 в 20:03

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Camrad_RIP 13.05.25 в 20:02

Somewhere in the vastness of Nonfapiel – the world,

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:11

which is not so far away

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:11

from Beriadon, although not nearby.

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:12

Among all the mages of the Elven Conclave of Domains, no one would call Master Willirthal the strongest fighter, the most powerful barrier-maker, or the most skilful artifactor, but he was said to be the best portalist not only among elves, but in the whole world. Willirthal did not argue with this truth, seeing no reason to spoil any conversation with unnecessary and feigned modesty. He was confident in his strength and personal prowess, having proved it many times in practice in one situation or another. After the Inferno had come to the lands of his world, he had to prove it more often, which was frustrating. The strike of the cultists who had crawled out of their holes, which, like a desert snake, had been preparing for a decisive attack for centuries, followed by the arrival of the first armies of demonic worlds, and the full-fledged open gate. All of this happened so nightmarishly fast, so suddenly for the whole world, that had become unaccustomed to the constant threats.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 17:51

The threat was missed, slept through, or other unflattering epithets, reduced to complete unpreparedness to meet the invasion. Everybody lost, everybody. The famous Secret Service of the elves, busy with the squabbling of individual units and enclaves among themselves. The human Сhancelleries, guards, and other silent masters. Everyone lost, even before the battle began, and after that, the demons and the cultists joining them in droves, most of whom had been forcibly processed and converted, were rolling unstoppably across the world. They went, taking city after city, settlement after settlement, country after country, giving to their Lust and admixture of other vices, and there was nothing that could stop them.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 17:53

How many eternal lives have fallen, having learnt a fate worse than mere death? It is still difficult to calculate. The fate of several enclaves blocked on all levels and spectra is still unclear, and many still believe in a miracle, understanding that their loved ones will never come again, leaving them to live out their eternity without them. Or, even worse, they will come, but not by themselves. Amongst the demonically treated, warped minds and souls, there were too many of his brothers and sisters in eternity. They had all lost. Armies had been defeated before the battle had even begun, captured or drugged commanders had failed to give orders or given them completely wrongly, vaults of artefacts and last-ditch reserve stocks were falling into the hands of the cultists one by one.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 17:54

The world was sinking into agony. The resistance was broken and disorganised. If the demons met a defence that had survived by some miracle, they simply bypassed it, blocked the surviving mortals, and went on their way. They knew that there was no one to unblock the besieged, that there was nothing to oppose the besiegers, no one to help. Calls on amulet communication went into the void, only rarely broke through the blockade of demons last messages of the fallen, the last cries or pleas. Much more often came false messages, deceiving even more shaken and collapsed defence forces of the mortal world. The messages lied that the fortresses still holding out had already fallen, that the fortresses that had fallen or had not even begun to fight were still holding out, the gates of which were opened from within.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 17:57

The world was dying and its children were dying, dying all together, so accustomed to despising each other that they had not even had time to realize who was worth hating. Even his people, eternal children of the forests and stars, did not have time to organize a new Exodus, did not have time to gather together. Separately, the enclaves of elves could not power or even create a ritual of transition. And yet they were ready. Ready to flee even barefoot and without supplies, leaving everything they had gained over millennia of life in the bosom of Nonfapiel, but they could not; there was nowhere to run. And the cities fell - Rokons, Paralzar, Kirk-a-Buark, and hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of victims stained the altars of demonic Lords, burst into huge orgies, where the naked and rapidly mutating bodies could not see the ground. The strongholds - Eclipse, Harpoon's Limit, Black Stone - burned with their defenders, and the survivors of the assault envied the dead. One after another, the eternal hearths of the dwarven underground clans went out, the forests of the elves burned when the central Trees of the enclaves were desecrated, the underground cities of the dark branch of their people were devastated in a hopeless battle, if they had time to realize that they had to fight, to break free from the captivity of vice and remember where they were and who they were.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:35

The world had already perished, they understood.

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:12

The world could no longer be helped, they knew.

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:12

But some didn't know it, some were simply not told that there was no way to win, that salvation was impossible, that the chance for it had been lost three years before the attack, when the cult had achieved its main goals. When Queen Suzanne's mind was defiled and enslaved. When they replaced Grobrush Ironhead with a demon double. When they quietly opened the seals on the Secret Treasury, taking out everything that could be taken out, replacing it with forgeries that oozed demonic foulness. This someone simply did not know all of this, and therefore began with the enthusiasm of deceptive youth to defeat, crush, purify, sanctify, and, as he would say, ‘for pwning’.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 17:59

No one really remembered where he came from, not at first, and afterward even more so. It was just that a certain young man had appeared one day from the forests long ago, where the raiders of the cult and their masters were lazily fishing out the last groups of survivors who had not had time to take refuge behind the walls of Lorecald. He was short, overweight, with a head that had not been washed in a long time, and a face decorated with teenage pimples of such quality that the first thing you notice is the pimples. This young man would be homerically funny, as funny would be his words and grimaces, reminiscent of those of a boy waving a wooden stick in the yard of his parents' house, imagining himself a knight, defeating demons. Yes, he would have been funny, but no one was drawn to laugh after the first couple of minutes of conversation. It was not possible to laugh at the sword and dagga clutched ridiculously in chubby and clumsy fingers, glowing with divine grace. It wasn't funny at all when the young man stopped fooling around and pretending as if he couldn't take his eyes off the tits of the plump Taurus guard, replacing lustful words with a litany of battle prayers.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:37

Oh, yes. All of them, those who had met him first, had been deceived into thinking that the young man was a cult spy with a washed-out mind, or just a victim of the filth that had come into the world of Lust, who had almost lost his mind in lustful visions. But the demons who met him were deceived much stronger and much more terrible. They were deceived in a way that only happens once for all eternity. The second chance, so far, among those who met Him creatures received a few. Mostly those who initially stood far away from the place of the meeting, or simply started to run away without looking back from the very first seconds. The latter, however, did not always work.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:03

Senior guardian of the Wall Hundred of all Lorecald, the only survivor of the attack of the cult's agents, was not a particularly experienced warrior, but she still had the power and skills to bring the remnants of the surviving forces to order. She, unimpressed by the boy's assurances of his exceptionalism, but seeing that he could do something, sent him after the heads of a group of succubi that had been harassing the walls and defenders of the city for the past couple of weeks. Sending passionate dreams, taking away the will and constantly turning the people behind the walls into their obedient puppets, they not only kept the whole city in tension, but also prevented groups of survivors from approaching it, prevented them from leaving it, locked up the supply of provisions and supplies, which they were still trying to carry out from the neighbouring to Lorecald and much better fortified Bakmalash.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:05

Roughly speaking, she'd sent a kid who'd managed to learn a few prayers and found a demon hunter's blades somewhere to his death. It wasn't the best thing to do, but Guguna Steel Boot had a city full of people she'd sworn to take care of. And the boy's already a cook, she thought. He was drooling all over her in all seriousness and asking “mommy” to be sure to “step on his face” before being sent on a mission. If it weren't for the complete absence of foulness in his body, he'd have been killed right there, but as it was, Guguna thought, he might have been able to make some of the cultists laugh to death with his grimaces. And she wouldn't have chased him to his death. She was just waiting for him to realize he was wrong, stop staring at her chest, and apologize. The boy did not argue, did not apologize, and generally accepted the task with such a look as if he was sent to the neighboring village for fresh bread. More importantly, he came back, soaking wet, covered in all kinds of filth and glowing with grace, reporting that the sweet, sweet succubi were gone, and none of them wanted to sit on his face, which made the boy very sad!

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:40

But it was not funny to listen to these nonsense not out of pity for the defamed freak, but because he dumped in front of them a bag of demonic artefacts completely cleansed of filth, the debris of the altar, which had been cleansed and even become holy, as well as a piece of petrified from the resonance of filth and grace body of the supreme succubus, The horror-filled frozen face of which was easily recognisable to Guguna herself and a couple of the remaining mages in the city, as well as to Ser Broderick the Pious, to whom this creature had given the head of his son, describing in colourful detail how she had ‘ridden’ her ‘horse’ before tearing off the head. At this point, it became quite uncomfortable to mock the young idiot. Which, obviously, turned out not to be an idiot at all, and probably not a youngster at all.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:07

The new assignment followed the previous one. Confrontation with a horde of altered at the Gabital Gorge, where a raid-teleport to the rear of the demon formation allowed to completely destroy the strike circles of infernal mages, and then hit the back of the battle creatures stuck in the attack. And who led that raid, whose teleporter transported a group of suicides in a beam of pure light and grace with such a jeweller's precision that it's even embarrassing, who covered each and every ‘suicide’ from the devil, allowing eight of nine raiders to survive? Yes, yes, the same kid who tearfully begged the supreme demoness and one of the most skilful generals of the infernal army not to run away, and let lick that heel! Alas, but the demoness in the aura of grace and shield litanies of her ‘admirer’ dissolved and burned together with a bunch of captured souls even before he touched her, and certainly did not hurry to give her heels in the glowing grace palms.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:09

The siege of Zelenoslavsk taken by the creatures, the lifting of the siege of Svyatograd, the storming of the Dungeon near the clan stronghold of the Bronze Hammer, the elimination of Zharazda of the Rustling of a Thousand Faces, the destruction of Gruk'Shmrhams'K'Lab, a huge chthonic creature of myriad tentacles, whose stomach was continually mauling those who could not die, gifted with smaller tentacles. Some of these victims he even managed to save and cleanse from the filth, some of them were even his, Willirthal's, relatives and acquaintances! The battle on Devil's Isthmus, the destruction of the Gate of Zamkada, right in the middle of the fallen Seven Hills, where neither the living nor the dead remained, only a huge cloud of defiling fog, in which you would not notice how you would become another mutated creature. The cloud of absolutely invulnerable to magic demonic mutagen, which is the body of a great demon in a step from one of the Lord, turns out, still perfectly able to burn.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:42

And scream.

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:13

It seemed that in any place where all hope was lost, the pimple-covered face of a fat young man grinning with the grin of a lustful degenerate moron appeared. And at once the situation ceased to be hopeless. The invincible creatures, considered invincible, died forever, not even having time to retreat to their Inferno. Innumerable armies melted away as snow in the sun and candle wax in the purifying fire. No one, no one at all, in the world that was gradually restoring battle orders and broken communications, believed in this clownery by that time. The versions of why the greatest of the Saints who had walked on this sinful earth was behaving like this, looking like this, pretending to be like this were countless.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:11

Some believed it was a subtle play on the nerves of demons and allies who had forgotten what virtue and piety were. Some shouted that Stepauron the Greatest and Most Magnificent - at one point, the name he demanded of himself seemed no longer narcissistic stupidity or sincere mockery of others, but rather a modesty of a sort. He had made some vows before Heaven and Light that compelled him to behave in this way in exchange for the impossible and unattainable by any reasonable means, the power of his litanies. Others saw in his behaviour a profound wisdom, a knowledge of Lust, which he opposes at the level where it becomes a weapon against the traitors who have chosen Vice.

Camrad_RIP 26.05.25 в 18:12

Willirthal personally thought that all of these things were a little bit of everything, knowing very well that behind the pretense, behind the ostentatious perversity of the boy suffering from the accumulated unspent seed in his loins, behind the contrived and incredible conceit, there was a sophisticated and deadly mind, hidden steel, no, mifril, adamantine will, and also a lot of modesty. Stepauron could not cry about the fact that in his “Team of Naughty Suicidal Fornicator”, he really made sure that they were recorded in historical and archival chronicles as such, only brutal men, warriors, paladins of the whole pantheon at once, trackers and killers, no. He could have entered Willirthal's house with his flykick and simply demanded his mother and sister diggy's pose right in the throne room. And no one would dare refuse him. Not even his sister. They would have fought, even his sisters in eternity would have fought, for the right to jump on the bed of the Saint who had saved their world and eternity time after time!

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:46

He could cringe at the fact that “demonic beauties” and “cute succubos” burned in his aura, not having time to “play with him in the dog”, but in the battle with demons, no matter what kind, the sex and beauty of his purity remained unshakable. Well, just that all the female demons pissed off and plunged into a complete stupor manner of St. Stepauron to lead a super-fast and multi-flow duel one against a dozen, not taking his eyes off the “tits, asses, pussy and legs”, almost drooling from the corner of the mouth, and sometimes really drooling. Those creatures that could actually believe in this tomfoolery had gone in the first months of Stepauron's triumphant march through the infernal world of Nonfapiel, bleeding from infernal wounds. As for the Formicators, they had long since stopped pretending to believe in their Saint's pretense, though the latter always played up his resentment and anger at being “misunderstood” with amusement.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 14:49

Their squad... They were all gathered from different places, units, and armies, joining the path of the Saint in one way or another. They all shared his greatest Gift with him, taking upon themselves a portion of his power, granted by the Tablet inscribed in the souls of those who accepted it. The impossible power, the limitless gift that Stepauron gave freely, became the backbone of the force that broke and tore out the backbone of the demonic onslaught. Though even Willirthal smiled involuntarily at the way Stepauron had shouted something like “I could have asked for a harem of catgirls right away?” at the reception of the Blessed Magdalena, whom he had ‘accidentally’ called a “milfpriest”, this feigned indignation and resentment was so natural that he almost believed it for a moment. They came to the squad in different ways, but all of them were united by Purpose, all of them were bound by Loyalty, all of them followed the Holy One, defeating, purifying, and, of course, redeeming.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 16:57

To atone for their own mistakes, their own weakness and cowardice, stubbornness and shortsightedness, which led to the fact that only the appearance of the Chosen One sent by the distant deities could save the world. St. Stepauron methodically and gratuitously, without asking for anything in return, solving other people's problems, correcting other people's mistakes.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 16:59

Against this background, the need to be included in the historical chronicles as a “Fornicators” seemed not even a payment or a mockery, but an easy reason for pride. Because I would like to look into the eyes of the one who would dare to mock their team, the one who would dare to utter this mockery even away from their ears. Stepauron also had the ability to forgive, but his mercy was often very cruel or very, very harsh, requiring him to pay for it. And to repay not to him, Stepauron, but to the whole world at once, to repay not for profit, but out of the most sincere feelings and piety. Everyone who repented sincerely got a chance, and everyone who believed that he wanted to help got an opportunity to help. In fact, this ability to forgive was in other aspects even more effective as a means of warfare than the direct destruction of evil.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:00

Even more!!!

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:03

St. Stepauron managed to enlighten even a demon! A demoness, to be precise, but still! When Urrrayash Malachran Arkal, Lady of Fantasy, plunged herself and the Saint into a specially prepared trap world, a compressed illusion of years and years of uninterrupted Vice, she thought to become the one who would kill the Enemy, defeat or even seduce the Holy Mocker, the Blessed Deceiver, the Cursed Benefactor. She believed and wished, but she saw something there, in that illusory world, and realized something. She realized and fell on her knees before Him, begging not for leniency and mercy, but for forgiveness, recognizing the right to rule over herself, ready to serve and submit. And then St. Stepauron, who even at that moment did not lose his usual deceptive appearance of a boy, completely consumed by lust, gave out something like “at last my first demonic mommy!”, and blessed her with a holy sign.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:03

And the Lady of Fantasies burst into flames, her entire pseudo-body, her aura, and even that which replaces her soul, and many souls within her cluster found freedom. But did not go to rebirth, but voluntarily returned to the bunch, fusing that with the body, creating a new one to replace the old. And the demoness was reborn, swelling around her not with foulness but with grace. She covered her vicious body with a deafening cloak of pure light, knelt before the Holy One, saying that henceforth she bore not Vice but Repentance, that it was now her duty to give Forgiveness to those who would come to her for it, to forgive and help the fallen to soar as they had helped her. Willirthal was ready to swear that for a moment the armor of Stepauron's contrived primitiveness and blunt perversity gave a crack, and he couldn't help himself. A single, stingy tear fell from the corner of his eye as he ordered Sister Urraya on her way.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:06

Now she, who had built her nest on the site of the small monastery she had ruined, tested and tested by all the gods at once, took upon herself what only the Saint himself could do before. She cleansed the filth and restored sanity to those who had not yet completely lost it. Any cultist. Anyone who had tainted themselves. Anyone could come to her and be let in. Anyone could repent, and only if their desires were sincere, their guilt and shame unconcealed, would they be forgiven. It would be painful to scorch the filth and gifts of demons, painful to be born again, where his past sins would remain - husband or maiden, ordinary cultist or leader - but forgiveness was possible. Yes, you will have to work hard, yes, you will have an indelible stigma, but is that not the essence of repentance itself?

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:10

For that alone, and for all the brethren of eternity who had traveled this path back from where they would never return, Willirthal was willing to forgive St. Stepauron anything, if he could find anything to forgive him for. This blow struck the invasion force even harder than the Saint's other victories on the battlefield. Until now, the bulk of the cultists had fought with the desperation of the doomed, realizing that they had only the victory of their masters or doom. St. Urraya and her monastery provided a third way, a way out of the battle, especially if one sincerely wishes to do so, rather than simply cowardly in the face of the inevitable. No, of course, the gods and their clergy had been able to purify the defiled before, but it was difficult, costly, and dangerous for the priesthood, and offered no guarantee. The Holy Sinner, like Stepauron himself, could perform such cleansing almost on a large scale, en masse, without misfires or fear of low-quality work.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:11

And she, thanks to her nature, even if ascended, but a demon, had no limitations, was able to pass through the sins of other people's souls, to take on their guilt and pain without pause, allowing you to pass Repentance and not burn in the inevitable fire of holy grace, Forgiving everyone, as forgiven her, accepting the torment of others with tears of joy in her eyes. Needless to say, the Holy Sinner was being hunted by demonic killers so persistent that it was second only to the hunt that was going on for Stepauron's life and soul. Stepauron Merciless and Merciful, able to turn to ashes and stop the blade in a millimeter from the throat of the doomed, with his mercy managing to show not weakness, but strength, to achieve not hatred and contempt, but gratitude and loyalty. Perhaps one had to be a true Saint, for some reason stuffed into the ugly body of an obese young man, to be able to pull off such combinations without any preparation at all, on pure improvisation and experience.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:13

What was the situation with the intrigue of the Presiding Hierarch, who was known as the Queen of Elves in human parlance? When she and her secret service, wanting to save as many eternal lives as possible, to lure a real saint to her and force him to protect the elven enclaves in the first place, crossed the line.... He had fooled everyone with stunning ease. Back then, they still believed that his pretense might not be a pretense, for he played it too well. Then they had sent him two of the best ever-young seductresses with all their arsenal of love magic and a few drops of an ancient spell potion from worlds far beyond their own. A potion that should have broken through the defenses of the Saint's litanies, that should have allowed the whisper of passion to leave the right compulsion in a practically invulnerable mind.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:23

It's nothing like that, it's just. It was just that it was the elves who should be helped first, because they needed it more, because their lives were more important! Willirthal, when he heard about it, for the first time felt such rage towards the representatives of his people, for the first time, he was not ready to admit whose side he would choose if it came to the blades taken out of their sheaths. An unthinkable sacrilege for an elf, but he understood all too well what was being played with by the puffed-up cunts who thought they were smarter than the smart ones. And he laughed heartily then, having locked himself up in an isolated room beforehand, or he would not be able to prove to the barbaric brute Kronan or Goodrin Ironbeard that he, too, could laugh uncontrollably, when he realized that St. Stepauron had managed to substitute the potion for plain water. All the time he was being “treated,” he was pretending to be that stupid human teenager dreaming of “elven aunties stepping on his face with stocking-clad feet”!

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:25

And then he calmly asked to meet with the Hierarch and her head of the Secret Service. They say, and those who would not lie, that they both fainted when they realized the depth of the pit they had driven themselves into. And he came in, smiling like a fool and not the least bit embarrassed, began to explain that, in principle would not mind even the first thing to lift the siege of Seroflower or even to repel captured elven children in one of the demonic fortresses. Very young blood, from which were prepared not sacrifices, but vessels, in which should be placed the essence of the highest of creatures. He had read such a story as the one that happened this night in a dirty picture book. There were also two hypnotic elven twins in stockings, who sat on the face of the protagonist, stupefied, subdued, and sent him to death, very surprised that he returned. And he would be happy to give that book to read to his “buddies”, but there is no book around. And in general, there is not much good literature available in this Nonfapiel of yours.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:37

The hierarch, the honorable Birazel of the House of the Turquoise Branch, listened and nodded, listened and nodded, including the juicy and absolutely obscene descriptions of what the two elven seductresses were doing to the drugged and bewitched hero of that “book”, fooling around and enjoying their power. She only turned pale more and more and wanted to say that she had not planned anything like in that book, no, no, no, she only wanted to shift the accents a little. What humiliated her the most, as a politician, was that she had listened to the most shameful retelling of the shameful literature of the Passion Rose genre, interspersed with giggles and chuckles, with which Stepauron savored especially “tasty” moments of the classic dominance of the seductresses of the eternal people over the men of the short-lived races. But it came to her only at the end of the story, as if it had been deliberately designed that way, and when St. Stepauron asked her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, if she could arrange such a book for him, to enlighten the whole world with good literature, she got it.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:39

Having calmed down and realized that he did not cut off her eternity, or, what was much worse, simply throw all the elves at the mercy of demons, refusing to help them, Birazel took the blow with dignity. In large part because she was ready to cry with relief, as she admitted. So she accepted the almost direct hinted demand without any resistance. A week later, the decree was signed and rejected; the Hierarchs, who were pushing the plan to correct the Saint's thinking, did not dare to object. It's hard to object. If you are simply sent with your objections to Stepauron, who just decided to stay in the elven enclaves, cleaning and sniffing out any filth, at the same time freeing the minds of a whole network of agents who did not even know that they had become unwilling and unaware of their slavery slaves of demons, regularly arranging vicious orgies with each other and do not remember that in the morning.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:50

Another week later, all the secret halls of the Library of Exodus were opened. Including even those that could not be opened by mere mortal one-dayers. All this splendor was made public. Any magic, including the most advanced magic that human magisters could only dream of, any recipes and blueprints for artifacts, any knowledge! Everything previously only available to the most loyal and sworn Humans and other short-lived, that not even every elf could access became completely free. Any hopeful adept could read the highest grimoires of elemental magic, just by proving that they had the minimum qualifications to understand what was written. If you're not qualified, here's a comprehensive training program for elven gifted, don't be shy. We'll also give you tutors and the appropriate reagents for practice.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:29

Yes, Stepauron knew how to forgive. He knew how to make Mercy very, very Cruel. Especially for a Guardian of Knowledge or Supreme Master over Coin, that's right. What was even more ironic was that he had managed to pull off, without Willirthal or anyone else realizing exactly how, exactly the same trick with the rest of the world. A completely open exchange of knowledge, interest-free loans, or even gift contracts for mages, where the payment for artifacts, textbooks, teachers, and alchemy was only a promise to continue the fight against demons! All over the world! As the Saint himself said, habitually pretending that he was terribly upset and didn't want any of this, and in general hinted at sending him again those two elven girls to “ implement the plot of the retold manga”: they got “a natural world flibusta on magic propulsion”. However, he never had time to explain what flibusta was, for they had to run to another cleanup of the demon lair, detected by Stepauron's network of sensory litanies.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:31

And they went.

Camrad_RIP 18.05.25 в 13:10

And they cleaned it up.

Camrad_RIP 18.05.25 в 13:10

And again, and again, and again, time after time, doing the impossible, sometimes walking into the jaws of the enemy to the cries of the Saint that he would fall into such an obvious trap purely out of principle! They tried to catch them, and they threw themselves into the fight and won it. They were driven into a desperate situation, and the Saint found a way out and pinched the fingers of the Lord with the door. Sometimes also pinched their neck. Of the thirteen Lords that came into the world, only seven were frolicking on the Old Continent, and there were already five of them left. Very little was known about what was happening on the second of the continents; everything there was covered by demonic fields, and the last panic signals from the holding strongholds disappeared a month and a half after the day of the invasion. However, the invasion itself started from there, making us glad that, according to the ancient treaty, there were no elven enclaves on New Earth, discovered and conquered by Humans; there were only some diplomats, envoys, or agents there.... who were no longer there.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 18:58

And they continued on their way, leaving behind only holiness and the corpses of those who did not survive that holiness. The attempts to destroy them all became more and more sophisticated. More and more often, Willirthal was confronted by demon portalists trying to redirect the passageway-portal to the wrong place where the magister of space was aiming. Kronan's favorite daughter was sent several demonic wolf-killers, whose fangs had a complex curse that would transfer the daughter's wounds and death to her father. However, the daughter of the strongest adept of the martial arts, even before the Tablet could pass through the city wall, leaving behind a hole in the shape of his body, was like her father and tore those wolves with her bare hands. As the father said, “She is my son!”, which caused Homeric laughter from Stepauron, who, however, once again refused to explain the context of the joke understood by him alone.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 19:17

There were also some downright dangerous moments, like that curse using the desecrated altar of one of the strongest temples of Uramash, the Warrior God, who was also called the Fighting Cat, for he was the patron saint of beastmen, and was descended from them. If the saint's writings were to be believed. The artifact, activated by a demon who had broken through in a suicidal rush to the Saint, had even penetrated Stepauron's battle litanies to the desired effect. The world seemed to flash and in place of the obese saint with two blades in his hands, dressed in light but very dense armor made of pure mithril with even more expensive impurities, was almost undressed beautiful catgirl in only ringed panties, with huge breasts, plump lips, innocent and bewildered face, and armed with two vibrating dildos instead of blades.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:52

It wasn't an illusion or even a full-fledged transformation. The world seemed to flash and for a moment they all, the entire group of Fornicators, remembered that instead of St. Stepauron there was always Slutty Peppa beside them, as if two sets of real and entirely true memories. Then, when Magister Willirthal the Revealer, Magister Biolir the Bastion, and Magister Rubert the Firestorm studied the remains of the artifact together, they nearly grayed in horror. The main trick of the tainted altar, which only had demonic power aside from the tainted grace, was like another of the Lord's, it wasn't even a transformation, no. The point was that the victim, too, remembered two sets of memories, real and induced. The victim remembered and realized what change had been imposed and what it had turned the victim into. And the next thing to do was to start resisting, to try to push away the false and bring back the real as the last layer of the trap was triggered, swapping the real and the false in place. The victim would finish transforming himself, and in the memory of the whole world would appear the version of reality in which Peppa the Slutty Peppa, who had been taken with them to relax and relieve tension, was tried to be transformed into some ugly young man whom they should have considered their leader.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 17:59

Even the full power of St. Stepauron's litanies would not have been enough to throw off that influence, and it would not have ended with him alone, traveling further down the chain, absorbing his full power. And someone else would become someone new, trying to shed the false image, only solidifying it, turning the real image into a false one. And instead of their raid group, there would be a crowd of promiscuous sellswords of different looks and tastes, but all of the Catfolk tribe, who came here to earn more copper and silver from soldiers. No one would have recognized them, no one would have understood anything, and if someone had been near them, having seen the transformation process, he would have fallen victim to the cursed altar himself. Enraged by their success, frightened by how quickly the roles in this war, the demons wanted to desecrate and kill the very memory of them all, to erase them from the world and replace them with corrupted copies, still possessing the Tablet and therefore deadly after desecration and processing.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 19:19

Even now, Willirthal shuddered in horror at how close he had come to this finale, and also filled with immense reverence for Saint Stepauron. Which didn't even think to resist, but quickly stuffed the two ladies' saviours into the special pouches on his belt, grasping his own chest and shouting loudly into the air a triumphant, ’That's the one!’ - Having done the only thing that could save him. Instead of resistance, there was only acceptance and exhilaration, and so the enclosed structure of the altar chewed itself up, bursting into a bubble, a rollback of the released grace, gifted with defilement, pulverising to dust three full large circles of demonic mages, almost entirely supreme, if not forthcoming to the Lords. And what of the Saint? He habitually pretended that he was terribly saddened and pissed off that he'd been turned from ‘beautiful titty catgirl’ back into himself, shouted a thunderous shout, and then began to smash the opponent with a fury unimaginable before with battle holy magic.

Camrad_RIP 27.05.25 в 19:22

Apparently, even this fate, which was worse than death, did not frighten him, but it did make him quite angry.

Camrad_RIP 14.05.25 в 10:15