Normally, when you walk off into the sunset, a lone, wandering hero, you sing some jaunty tune as you clean your six-shooter. You gaze up into the darkening sky and feel the smiling gazes of Lucky Luke, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Chuck Norris.

  But you have no horse. You have no six-shooter. The only remotely western thing you know is the cowgirl. You are Quinn, Lust Demon extraordinaire. Wrangler of cocks, rider of pussies. And after an awesome exit, you sort of started to regret it. You have plenty of energy, and you could rest for a while in your own personal hell. It’s quite comfortable. But walking…It’s so boring… You do have a pn, contrary to what that vulture perched on the cactus over there may think. Fuck him for underestimating you. Originally, you’d thought that this world was a desote wastend with interspersed vilges. A primitive Narnia or Mad Max. Or the majority of Australia. So, mad max. But that tech in the pods. It looked pretty modern. And it seems this big bad either is this world’s crazy Leonardo Da Vinci… Or he went to some sort of college. Your best lead is to figure out where he learned how to make magitech. Or find Trilomorphs. In conclusion: Get out of the boonies. Sad to think all the people you’ve met (and sexed) so far have been this world’s hillbillies. No wonder Keli was okay with you fucking your own imps! Well, you were okay with that, too. But they weren’t really your family the same way your previous family was. You’d normally be disgusted at the thought of screwing your own family. At least, you’re pretty sure. You know close to nothing of your past life aside from the people in it. But this was…okay somehow. More evidence that you’ve changed a lot mentally. But the downside of incest is kind of null here. No genes. Nor pants. Ha! Maybe. You’re not sure how half-demons come about if you can inseminate or be impregnated with full demons. Eat your heart out, Mendel. Thankfully, you’re freed from stupid philosophical and semi-scientific arguments with yourself by transforming once more. Your wings ripple and change as down grows, then primaries, secondaries, and tertiaries. Obviously what coming closer finds feathered wings very attractive. Maybe something innocent and pure, like your new, beautiful wings. You bring a talon up to your lips in thought. Then again, feathery wings have taken the pce of your arms, your hands reduced to two fingers and a thumb at the crook of each wing. Not just that, but your legs below the knees were repced by wicked raptor talons. You do feel DESIRE stemming closer and closer… But something else is repressing it. Activating your soulsight, you try to find more. Something’s coming over the grassy knoll to your left. You feel a lot of purity, chastity. Honor. Loyalty. Holiness. And it’s getting closer. You spawn a mirror. Horns will have to go. Talons dulled, and feathers poofed. And your eyes…Stay green, but it takes more effort to hide the snake pupils and bck sclera. Eyes are windows to the soul, after all. A harpy (the hot kind) smiles in the mirror, innocent air surrounding it. Oop! Your spade tail disappears. A beautiful gray-skinned harpy with a rusty red wings stares back at you. The mirror fades out of existence. Any second now… And… A massive galleon soars over the grassy knoll. You’re not sure how its flying but it has a whole spread of thin sails flowering from the front, with two fins on the bottom to catch the wind. The fins glide across the tallest of the grass and your breath is taken away at the sight. Shaking yourself, you take to the skies and stick out one lower talon as a hitchhiker would. The ship slows down and veers slightly to accost you. A grim-looking harpy female, completely gray with piercing yellow eyes, stands atop the pnk of the port bow. “Greetings. I am Stabilus Grim, captain of the Holy Harpy Hegemony, the one true Harpy country. Who are you, hitchhiker, and where do your loyalties lie? I hope for your sake not with demons, for we deal with heresy quite swiftly.” Oi. ”Yo, I’m Quinn. I’m just a…harpy on a quest to kill a genocidal maniac. Would you happen to be heading towards any major city soon?” “Aye. We’re just doing a bit of scouting on the edges of the Holy Harpy Hegemony, the one true Harpy country.” That’s the second time she’s said that. “And one of our instruments detected a strong demonic presence a few days ago. I decided to investigate, but our supplies are about to run low, and there is little in the manner of foraging or hunting in the wless Grassnds. We were going to turn back tonight.” Well shit. Demon hunters. Maybe you should hitchhike some other flying military galleon. But this is certainly convenient. And what are the chances they suss you out? “You are welcome aboard, fellow harpy. Come fly with us to the Holy Harpy Hegemony, the one true Harpy country.” You’re starting to doubt that the Holy Harpy Hegemony is the one true harpy country. ”Thanks. I’d be willing to help with any task on the ship.” You struggle to keep the sultry tone out of your voice. Stabilus Grim runs a tight ship, and one mistake and you’d likely be crucified. Wait, that’s what they do to saints. They must do a lot worse to demons. “On a completely unreted note, would you like to see the demon detecting gem? It’s a rare treasure forged from the blood of a dragon.” ”Umm, no thanks. I don’t want to cause a fuss.” Stabilus Grim ughs. “You probably think it’s a massive gem. But no, it fits in my cw! I just need to raise it in the air…” She gets a gem out and raises it in the air. Fack. It starts going into ‘give everyone epilepsy mode while shooting sers in your direction. All the harpies stare at you. ”I cum in peace?” You smile sheepishly. “DEMON ON THE DECK!” You are a powerful demon. (maybe) Your strength has crushed liches. (one). Your will has been enforced on hundreds. (for orgies) Your tongue has touched many a-penis. (Three, maybe four) But when you’re dogpiled by dozens of harpies, wearing odd armor that makes you weak…Well, now you’re being carried under the deck. You can’t see anything but roiling cws and feathers. Their armor shines somewhat in your soulsight, and you see a bunch of runes etched into it. Okay. So you’re a fairy type, and you’re weak against steel types. If only there were some sort of graph that could give you type matchups. You think about summoning Cloth, Latch, and Tropo, but you don’t like the look of those holy weapons. No respawning. The flock of harpies throws you into the brig, and four of them simultaneously cmp your limbs down. The chain and manacles glow brightly in your soulsight, runes jumping out at you. You feel a prickling sensation and you revert to your human form. The harpies leave the brig, and you finally get a real view. It’s a long, dimly lit hallway, chains hanging on the sides. Your back is to the smallest wall, facing the door at the end of the hallway. VIP. You look at your manacles and try to summon some magic. Good news: You don’t lose any of it. Bad news: Nothing happens. Not even when you try to escape to hell. Not even when you call for your imps. Shit. You’re on your knees, sitting your plump ass on the manacles holding your feet. You could move, but you couldn’t stand up, the chain isn’t long enough. “So this is your true form, demon?” You look up to the lone harpy. It’s grim. And her name is Grim. She’s so close that if you were to reach for her, you could almost brush your fingers against her pretty little face. ”Well, I’m sort of indecent. Do you have any clothes?” Her eyes trail down your svelte body. You could feel her DESIRE. It’s small, but it’s there. You pull at it, and a turgid length grows out of your snatch. The erect penis stands at attention. This works, but not transformation? What? Whatever, maybe because this is the most rooted power. Minor modification. Grim takes a step forwards, DESIRE starting to trickle. Yes… Another step… And— OOF! She just punched you in the gut. Her DESIRE is gone. So’s your dick. Her eyes are clear and angry. “Your tricks won’t work. I am Stabilus Grim the steadfast. My will is indomitable, unbreakable. I am not chained to the sinful pleasures of flesh as you are. I am free. And when we return to the Holy Harpy Hegemony, we will study you. We will find more ways to defeat your kind. And one day, be it a year from now, or a century, we will destroy Niflheim.” Wow. Your charms failed. And you’re a tad reluctant to use your pheromones. If they work on her. Mostly because your tail is free. The second she turns around; you’ll start working on the wood holding the chains. But first, appeal to logic! ”Listen, Grim. I know this looks bad, but you can rest assured that I’m a good girl!” Not now, sexy voice! "I wasn’t lying about my quest! There’s a bad guy out there, kidnapping people and stealing their energy by any means necessary. I’m trying to stop him!” Grim shakes her head. “Demons are known to obfuscate the truth by any means necessary. The very fact you, a demon, cim to be searching for someone capable of such evil actions contradicts itself, save for the possibility that you wish to aid him.” You groan. ”Can’t you just do some soulsight? Verify the truth? I have a soul, you know!” “No doubt bckened and shriveled by the dark forces that create all strife in the world. And speak not of the heretical powers of the people of the Grassnds! They commune with lesser demons every day!” Where is she even getting this crap? “I await the day the Holy Emperor Bovem Stercus orders us to advance and burn away the Grassnds in purifying fme.” This is crazy. Warhammer 40k meets Temprs in a wholly holy unholy matrimony crazy. ”You’d burn the innocent without batting an eye?” “I’d bear the sins if my emperor wills it. The purifying fmes will only burn the wicked, and I will mourn them after the deed is done. But the deed is necessary, justified. Only the pure may succeed if we wish to rise.” ”That’s…” “Awful. I am aware. But there is no quarter given in the holy war. For the sake of the children of the Empire, this must be done.” She turns around and walks quietly down the hall. Stoic. You’re honestly a bit sick. The notorious combination of disgust that thrums deep within your soul, the realization that your chances of escape are slim, and airsickness. You desperately move your tail closer to the back wall. With a few reluctant taps, you manage to find a good spot. With a powerful swing of your butt, you manage to break through the pnks. Only to hit metal. Prickly metal. You sigh, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. Activating your soulsight, you see more enchanted metal inside the wall, in the shape of an ankh. Fucking perfect. Already, your wings are the smallest you could make them so they don’t get in your way… But with this, flying out with the chains still attached seems more impossible. On the bright side, looking at it with soulsight fills you with optimism and a sense of purpose. Ironic. Is the ankh that gives you hope while also being an obstacle even made of iron? Questions for another day. Maybe you could pick the lock? You check your manacles. The spade of your tail won’t fit, but maybe your tongue? Best muscle, do your thing! You stick your tongue inside the keyhole, but you feel a small shock. You try to continue working unabated, but the cuffs start to squeeze your wrists. Painfully. ”Aouw, aouw, aouw…” You pull your tongue back out, and the cuffs stop squeezing. You lean back against the wall. No powers… Minimal transformation… No summoning… And no means to entertain yourself until someone removes the chains. You sigh. Maybe you should meditate. Concentrate on your soulsight to make it stronger. Or you could masturbate…Professor Oak’s words echoed: “Quinn! There’s a time and a pce for everything, but not now.” Meditation it is! You close your eyes and clear your mind. You extend your consciousness…You become one with yourself… You do all that stuff in that Buddhist book you skimmed through in a Washington hippie café. The ship and yourself essentially become connected. What was once alive may live again. The wood and the fx that makes up the ship could be given life once more… But what would that do? Get you twigs that won’t be able to pick locks? Slow down the boat? A neat ability, but still only a minor miracle that won’t release you from your bonds. It may even give you more yers of binding! You simply will some leaves to grow underneath your legs so you can sit more comfortably. On the bright side, you can grow yourself a dildo to bounce on. You clear your mind again. You feel the minds of over a thousand harpies roiling around the deck. Mostly male. All chaste. All virtuous. But you feel smaller minds in the lower decks. Rodents! Isn’t it a small miracle to convince animals to help you out? You push yourself gently onto one of their minds and mentally whisper a request. You feel the mouse climb higher up the decks. It’s close to the guard in the room outside yours. It approaches the keys on the table… Arm! Fear! … Maybe using a rodent to steal a key from a creature that is essentially half their predator was a bad idea. You close your eyes and concentrate some more. There has to be a way. You are grim. Stabilus Grim. Loyal to the Emperor and His mighty empire. Have worked for His glory without question for years. Despite those that believed you were too weak because you are a female. Despite the corruption of the nobility. Despite the meager pay even at your high rank. You pilot the pride of the Empire’s air force, the H.R.E. Sword of Virtue. You’ve captured a high-css demon posing as a harpy. Her lies slid off of you like water off a duck’s back. It’s been a few days, and the Sword of Virtue has made considerable progress. You’ve checked on her a few times in the brig. Her power…It scares you. Lesser demons would be screeching in pain from contact. Those chains are one of the Empire’s greatest assets against demons! Only three ships in the entire navy are equipped with them. And even then…You shudder. Somehow the wood beneath her had grown leaves, acting as some sort of cushion. And you’ve heard whispers of the rodents deep in the ship acting smarter. One even tried to steal a ring of keys. And through it all, the demon kept a neutral face. Eyes closed. Deep in thought. But you are resolute. You are steel. You will never break. So even when the cloud cover around the galleon dissipates… Even when five pirate skiffs and one smaller galleon reveal themselves… You will not waver. “Man the ballistae! Aim for their balloons and their masts! Archers, shoot the fliers! Spear-harpies, protect the archers!”Your harpies rush about to fulfill your commands as you turn a hard port. The Sword of Virtue crushes one of the skiffs that tried to sneak up on the port stern, the massive girth killing all those still on the skiff with only minor damage to the hull. You are no spring harpy. Arrows whiz to and from your ship and theirs, harpies falling from the skies. You’ve disciplined your men enough for them to be careful, so the only harpies in the air are the pirates that think themselves too agile to be hit. Considering one just got speared into the mast of another ship, they’ve underestimated your crew. You casually move your head out of the way from a well-aimed arrow and pick off the archer with your own crossbow. You’re not sure if you killed everyone on that skiff that you crushed, but it never hurts to be sure. You whistle and point to the edges of the port side and a dozen of your harpies wait, weapons poised. As you thought, some harpies tried cwing their way up the side. The swords in their heads and spears in their guts disprove that delusion. You pass the wheel to your first mate for a moment to check your hull. You frown. Apparently, some pirates hacked their way through the hull with axes. You get to the communication pipes, holing a specialized harpy shield to catch arrows as they flew in your direction. One harpy that managed to avoid the hail of arrows from your ship nds onto one of your men and tears his throat out with a dagger. He turns to you, and just as he starts to leer, your rapier has punctured his throat. You open the pipes. “All harpies below deck! There are intruders, in the ship. Sections A through D abandon ballistae and clear the ship. Section M and N, reinforcements needed on the deck!” You drop the pipe in time to avoid a spear, which you grab, rip out of the flying harpies grasp, and puncture his wing. You fp up and knock the destabilized harpy off the ship. Growling at the sight of the skiffs getting higher, you push a body off a ballista and aim. With only a moment’s hesitation, you fire, obliterating the head of one of the skiff captains as well as breaking the wheel. The skiff turns sharply into another, the roar of wood imploding eliciting a satisfactory grunt from you. Shrapnel soars through the air, injuring and killing the airborne harpies, leaving them the plummet to their deaths. The st three ships are keeping out of your reach. But they’re pnning something. You know it. The galleon drops behind you and the two skiff fly high above the sides. They turn away from you. What are they pnning? The two skiffs are flying away, only to tack and jibe back down towards you. That’s easily avoided— A bright orange light at the stern arms you. You squawk in fright. Fire?! Are they insane? On WOODEN ships, held together by FLAX, CANVAS, and FLAMMABLE GASSES?! The aerial ram sculpted in the likeness of a dragon actually spits out fire! You have no choice but to be herded. “SHOOT THEM, DAMMIT! Bring them down before they ram us! WE ONLY HAVE ONE KEEL, YOU PLUCKED TURKIES!” You take the stern megaballista and begin firing shots at the galleon. Volleys and volleys of spears, ballistae, and arrows rain onto the skiff’s blimps, but the angle at which they’re coming, the hull takes most of the hits and what few manage to hit the canvas, mostly bounce off.They’re still punctured a few times, but the collision is imminent. At least their ships are useless after this battle. Oddly enough, that thought does not bring you comfort. “BRACE!” The two skiffs collide into your treasured ship, and the pirates abandon their ships to board yours. Ballistae are abandoned to fight the invading harpies, equints, and minotaurs. The harpies from the galleon fly up and scurry through the holes, leaving their ship to slowly crash into the earth far, far below. Is that? You flinch. Impossible. They live so far away…and there are so few of them! But you see it there, flying. It jerkily locks its glowing blue eyes with yours. You hastily bring up your crossbow and fire a shot, before throwing it down and picking up a dead soldier’s to fire again. Just as they are about to hit their mark, they…stop. The metal creature zily fps around them, and they continue on their way. The dispassionate way it moves. The ck of care in the deaths of allies and foes alike. You see now why they are worshipped as gods. Tears start to sting your eyes, but you shake yourself. You look about, and see your men holding their own. But not for long. They tire, and they’re outnumbered two to one. Not to mention that below deck, more battles rage. Below deck… Your mind is in turmoil, and you move automatically towards the stairs. You avoid a swinging minotaur before goring his brain with a swift strike through his eye socket. All without thinking. You find yourself hard of breath. And all you hear is a dull buzz and your own heartbeat. You continue on below deck, smashing the faces of all those that attack you. Two people even try to attack you in front of the brig, but you grab one to take the other’s hit, before throwing him at his companion. You lunge forwards and snap both their necks. Opening the door, with the keys clutched in your talons, you make your way down the dim hallway. The buzzing gets louder as you approach her. And she smirks. That smirk sets your heart abze with rage. ”Need help?”