⤟ About two weeks later ⤠

Grinning, Written Word bounded through the powdery falling snow, whomping along as fast as her six legs would take her. Not far behind her was Freckle Speckle, who shouted for Written Word to stop. Of course, the tiufel spawn didn’t stop, but kept going, because running felt good.

There was so much sensory input and it was almost overwhelming. The cold of the snow, the feeling of her body moving through the loose-packed powder, the taste and sensation of Freckle Speckle’s wooden stirring stick, the lightheadedness caused by laughter, the frigid air passing in and out of her snort holes, the wonderful taste of soap on her tongue—Written Word was high on sensation.

Taking Freckle’s stirring stick while she was working was Written Word’s favourite game and it was always good for a laugh. She started to turn to the right, but then darted off to the left, whipping her long, lithe body around, and then, very much to her surprise, Freckle tackled her. Knocked off balance, Written Word tumbled through the snow, rolling over, and Freckle redoubled her grip.

“I’ve learned your tricks!” Freckle shouted as she pinned Written Word with a hug. “Gimme my stick! I gotta make soap!”

Knowing that she had lost, Written Word spit out Freckle’s stick into the snow, then turned her head completely around to look at the little earth pony mare, not caring that such an act made little ponies freak out. Giggling, she stuck out her forked tongue and licked Freckle’s ear, which made the mare squeeze even harder.

“Oh, that’s yucky!”

The sun struggled to come out from behind the grey snow clouds, but failed. The day remained grey and the light flakes kept falling. The wind picked up, blowing downward from the north, and it brought with it a terrible chill. Freckle paused, sniffed the wind, and was distracted by whatever she had sniffed.

“Storm is coming, Wordy.”

“Storm.” Written Word said the word without error, and felt proud of herself. “Want soap help?”

The mare nodded. “Yeah, if I’m going to get my work done before the storm comes, I’m gonna need some help. I kept getting distracted by somepony taking my stick.” Smiling, Freckle gave Written one final squeeze, then let go and struggled to stand up.

No longer playful, Written Word picked up the wooden stirrer stick, then grabbed Freckle, who let out a startled cry. She tossed Freckle onto her back, turned about, and then bounded through the snow like an inchworm, bouncing the poor mare on her back up and down. Nopony could move through the snow in a straight line as fast as Written Word, not even Malcanus.

The she-demon wasn’t playing now, or running to play fair where she might be caught. She moved and did so with terrific speed. Freckle hugged her long neck, trying to hold on, and wrapped her hind legs around the she-demon’s body. Written Word’s claws gave her traction and her six legs allowed her to plow through the deepest, densest snow drifts with ease.

Playtime was over and now, it was time to work before the storm blew in.

Curled up by the fire, Written Word looked into her book at all of the new entries that had appeared, almost an entire pageful. Outside the wind shrieked and buffeted the walls of the cabin that she now shared with Malcanus. Words, there were so many wonderful words, and all of them were about her.

The most intriguing words were the following: Today, I understood responsibility and did the right thing.

Of course there were other entries that were also interesting and caught her eye: Today, I explored my infatuation.

Reading this, she looked up at Malcanus, and felt a hunger that food did nothing to satisfy. He was brushing himself, making himself sleek and shiny. Looking at Malcanus made her feel warm, it made her toes want to curl, and a part of her wanted to nibble him, even though he wasn’t food.

While she stared as Malcanus, new words appeared in her book: Today, I experienced intense lust.

Licking her lips, hesitant, Written Word prepared herself to ask a question. Words were tricky, she was still getting the hang of putting them in the right order, and asking Malcanus a question was even trickier. While there was much she wanted to know, more than anything, she just wanted to hear his voice.

“Why go you into Tartarus?” she asked.

Looking startled, or perhaps surprised, Malcanus lifted his head and blinked at Written Word. The tendons in one wing creaked as they tightened, and his ears flattened back against his skull. His snort holes widened, so much so that Written Word wondered if she might see his brains if they grew any wider. She didn’t want to see his brains, he needed his brains, and she wanted them to stay in his skull, not fall out of his snort holes.

“The war,” Malcanus replied in a smoky whisper, his inner fires stoked by his emotions. It was rare for him to exhale smoke, but when he did… he saw it as a warning sign. “Grogar, he came back. I’ve told you a little about him. Grogar, he… made himself a new body. He stole pieces of the souls of many. He stole part of the soul of a young sorcerer, and he took some of the soul of a nice filly that could pull things out of the dream realm…”

Written Word waited for Malcanus to continue.

“There were others too. This… this… soul thievery continued for a while, and then, with the blackest, most vile magics, a mare named Belladonna, she created an abomination within her womb, a terrible, black thing, a rotten thing… Grogar was reborn and he emerged as this half-goat, half alicorn… thing. He grew in strength and size with unnatural speed.” Malcanus set his brush down upon the table with the clatter of wood on wood.

“Belladonna was obsessed, fixated on making Grogar as strong as possible, and she needed terrible souls to do it. She and her forces invaded Tartarus, looking for the prisoners there, so that she could create a terrible amalgam of evil to bolster Grogar’s body. Most Equestrians aren’t even aware of the secret war that took place. Tartarus was a vault of ultimate evil, and it was raided. Many immortal entities that were secured there were killed. A lot of very bad things happened. Too many bad things happened.”

“And it make you sick?” Written Word asked.

“In the body and the mind, yes.” Malcanus nodded.

“Are you better?” Written Word found herself worried about Malcanus. He wasn’t like her at all—he could die. She could too, but it would take extraordinary circumstances, like crushing her heart between iron plates.

“Actually, I think I am,” Malcanus replied. “Glitter Glammer and Freckle Speckle have made me better.” The big stallion paused for a moment, and his voice dropped to little more than audible breathing. “You make me better.”

Closing her book, she did not notice that several more entries had written themselves. Extending her talons, she made a come-hither gesture with her talon-finger, and when Malcanus refused to come over, she dragged him over the floor by force of will. He was difficult and slippery to hold on to with magic—a trait they both shared in common—but Written Word was just now starting to realise that she had unlimited cosmic powers, being an eldritch abomination from the Abyssal planes. Using them unfairly was wrong though, and would get her lectured by Glitter Glammer, something that Written Word didn’t want.

Malcanus’ hooves scraped over the floor, and he stood, rigid, unyielding as he was dragged over to where Written Word sat beside the fire. She lifted her head, extending her serpentine neck, and she peered into Malcanus’ nostrils, concerned about the state of his brain. The big stallion was now close enough to breathe on her, and that left her in an excited state.

Reaching up with both of her talons, she grabbed his fuzzy cheeks, pinched them, and began kneading them between her talon-fingers. He stiffened at her touch, but then relaxed a little, and she watched his eyelids sag ever-so-slightly. Malcanus’ face was stretchy, like bread dough, something she was fond of playing with.

Working up her courage, she touched his lips with hers—it wasn’t quite a kiss, but it could be with some effort. Snoots touching, she breathed in his air, his scent, she drew in wisps of his magic. If she wanted to, she knew that she could suck the magic right out of him, increasing her own strength. She didn’t know how she knew this, but know it she did. She was a tiufel spawn—a succubus.

Malcanus was just standing there, rigid, a statue, and she continued to knead his cheeks while she thought about kissing him. She had done it before, a few times now. Her kisses were toxic, deadly, her succubus smooches were infused with venom, a poison deadly to ponies, and she wasn’t allowed to kiss anypony else under any circumstances.

But as for the stallion before her, her toxic kisses did nothing more to him than make him lightheaded for a moment. Sucking in a deep breath through her snort holes, she gave his lower lip a curious nibble, and she felt him tense in response. She teased his flesh with her razor sharp teeth, just a tickle, she wouldn’t dare draw blood, not intentionally.

Hot, sulfurous air came out from Malcanus in a smoky huff, a cloud of somewhat toxic, but mostly stinky fumes. The cabin filled with the redolent stench of rotten eggs, a smell that left Written Word excited and jittery. Her whole body trembled with a need that she did not understand, a desire she had no concept of, a hunger that she did not know how to satiate.

“You are a bewitching creature, succubus,” Malcanus said as more sulfurous fumes billowed from his toothy maw. “What have you done to me? How have you weakened my resolve the way you have?” His words were somewhat slurred by the fact that Written Word kept nibbling on his lower lip.

There was a wet sound, like water dripping, and Written Word looked around, curious, her talons still kneading Malcanus’ cheeks. After a quick search, she found the source of the dripping sounds, she saw it plain as daylight when she peered between the front legs of the draconic pegasus pony she was bewitching. Like the rest of him, what protruded down below his belly was made for maximum aggression, it was a terrifying, intimidating organ, and it was dribbling a ribbon of clear, glimmering liquid that broke off in heavy droplets. Even as she sat staring, there was a splash when yet another droplet hit the wooden planks of the floor.

“I haven’t been with a mare in a long time,” Malcanus confessed in a hot, eggy whisper. “I can’t be with the little ones, I’ve had to deny myself. I’m too big and they’re too little.”

Licking her lips, her leathery tongue lingering over her razor sharp teeth unharmed, Written Word could see why this was a problem. If Malcanus buried that into Freckle Speckle’s backside, it would get lodged in her throat. Malcanus was a big brute of a nocturnal pegasus, but Written Word was confident that she could take him.

She would have to keep the teeth down there from biting too hard, but she suspected that nibbling would be just fine. Strange knowledge filled her head, horrifying knowledge about herself. Those teeth were there to hold things inserted in, so she could feed, so she could drain their potency, suck dry their essence.

“This feels wrong, Written—”

Pulling her head back, Written Word pinched Malcanus’ lips together between her talon-finger and talon-thumb. Closing her eyes, she tried to gather her thoughts, her feelings, her desires. She feared her own insatiable hunger and what it might do to Malcanus, but she also knew that she could hold it back with will. She had choices that she could make.

And it was a choice she had to make. Her lower half was burning with infernal, internal fires. The area between her hindmost legs was moist, humid even, and she feared that, like Malcanus, she was dripping on the floor. Her hind-maw was drooling with desire, hungry for a meal, and she reminded herself once more that it was okay to nibble, but not okay to bite.

Then again, Malcanus’ length was scaly around the base, so she might get away with chewing on it, just a bit, if she was careful.

“Me to bed, take,” She said to Malcanus as she opened her eyes.

Much to her surprise, Malcanus did just that. He moved with supernatural speed, clamping down on her supple, slender neck, and she could feel his teeth pressing into her flesh. There was a gentleness to his roughness, and Written Word found herself being dragged over the floor, towards the bed, to a fate that she no doubt deserved. All of her different toes and talons clenched and flexed with anticipation, and she could feel her teeth grinding together at both ends.

She was thrown belly down onto the mattress, with some of her hind half hanging off of the bed, and four of her six legs gripped the bed, while her hindmost hung over the side. Written Word had no idea what was about to happen next, but Malcanus was still clamped down on her neck. His hairy, fuzzy bulk came to rest on top of her, and she tried to keep her spines relaxed. After a moment, her tail was lifted, shoved aside with great impatience, and then…

Stars filled her vision and Written Word let out a vicious snarl when Malcanus buried part of his length inside of her. She was being stretched, everything felt tight, and her prehensile possum tail coiled around Malcanus’ left hind leg. A drool-inducing mix of pleasure and pain wracked her body, leaving her defenseless, helpless, and joyous.

With her wings extended, Written Word gasped as Malcanus continued to spear her, driving more and more of himself inside of her. He rocked on top of her, sliding back and forth, oblivious to her spines. As more and more of him entered her, she could feel the thickness of his shaft, his girth, growing wider and wider. Try as she might, she could not stop her teeth from scraping him, and there were scritchy-scratchy sounds as their sharp points trailed over his penile scales.

A rough, hard ridge was being drawn over a sensitive area like a saw in an act of penetrative violence. There was nothing kind nor gentle about this coitus, this was the breeding of monsters, a draconic pegasus and a tiufel spawn from the blackest pits of the Abyssal depths of Tartarus. With each frenzied thrust, Malcanus bit down a little more on Written Word’s neck, and she let out a low, horrifying stygian moan in response while her spine arched to allow him easier entry.

Already, it felt as though she was approaching some great destination, her body was tensing, and she was alive with sexual violence. Twisting her head completely around, Written Word chomped down upon Malcanus’ neck, and her teeth pierced his flesh, just as his teeth were buried in hers.

Her talon-fingers, seized with a need to claw something, let go of the bed and latched on to Malcanus’ shoulders, bending in unnatural ways to reach them. The scent of blood was in the air, along with musk, rotten eggs, and she-demon pheromones. The first violent shudders wracked Written Word’s body, and she sank her various pointy bits into Malcanus, holding on for dear life while he hilted himself within her.

This was a love unique to apex predators and eldritch abominations.

Hissing into Malcanus’ neck, Written Word reached the peak of her climax. The stallion atop of her showed no signs of slowing, there would be no abatement of the sexual violence taking place. Each thrust produced a horrible sound, like some poor damned soul being cast into the vilest muck available in the stygian depths from where Written Word was born. Scales were peeled away from the base of Malcanus’ shaft, and blood intermingled with the milky-white fluid that ran down to the floor in rivulets.

Written Word avoided the temptation of drinking Malcanus’ essence, choosing to love instead, however horrifying this love might be. At last, the frenzied sexual violence reached a crescendo, and Malcanus acted as though he was a battering ram, allowing himself to totally let go with his lust. Written Word was still drifting, still burning without and within due to her post-orgasmic bliss. Her rough, sandpapery tongue lapped against Malcanus’ hairy flesh, tasting blood and life-giving salt.

Roaring, still savaging Written Word’s neck, Malcanus thrust his hips forward with such force that most creatures would have their bones shattered. He remained buried, and Written Word felt him grow wider, grow larger when he flared inside of her. She felt as though she was stretched almost to the point of breaking, she could feel her own insides straining to contain the monstrous cock that almost doubled in girth while inside of her. Her hind-teeth sank into his flesh, biting deep as he swelled within her, and the stallion found himself locked in place, trapped, with Written Word’s battered, slippery slit clamped down on him like a bear trap.

Whimpering, from both pleasure and pain, she felt him collapse on top of her, his body going limp, perhaps from relief, and his teeth were pulled from her neck. The she-demon relaxed her own grip upon him, pulling out her claws and teeth, though her hind-teeth remained firmly lodged into his throbbing, spasming, spurting length. With a powerful, dangerous muscle spasm, she crushed his cock, squeezing free whatever semen was left, making it squirt out like toothpaste from a tube. Written Word breathed a sigh of relief when his rough tongue licked the back of her neck where he had bitten her, and his hot breath could be felt on her fevered flesh.

The pair of them began to recover from their combative coitus, and on the floor, near the fireplace, Written Word’s book flashed with a brilliant pink light as three new entries manifested within its pages.

The first: Tonight, I was fucked silly.

The second: Soon, I will lay eggs.

And the very last: Soon, I will know the joys of motherhood.

Author's Note

I dunno, my mental block still sorta half-exists, but I was able to write this. Everything I wanted to convey in the ending is present, so, we have concluded.

Thank you, all of you for your patience.