A gay sex story: Vortex Quest Bk. 01 Ch. 09 == VORTEX QUEST 1-9 ==
== THE VAULT 1: AMONG TROLLS ==
The borrowed Wyvern dropped the pantheon off at a crawlway entrance flanked by horn-studded cairns.
The demigods wandered the tunnels, clad in Chay’s shadow to blend into dark corners and crevices, their white fundoshi now over balls ‘signed’ by a True Daemon.
Marcus was ready for action. The pit fight had been exhausting but being freshly filled with nectar and having failed to cream out a load left him antsy.
He kept cupping his balls as if to assure himself they weren’t currently getting ripped off. Once Gallant had a solution to this betrayal, Marcus would go back to Hrailoth and slice him up.
Xane had used the time in flight to refresh his butterflies. They jumped off his head as he cried out.
“I did it!”
“Shush,” Marcus made, a second ahead of Chay.
“I made a third mote,” Xane said, quieter. Three white butterflies danced around his head. “And there’s no one fucking here anyway. There’s not even lanterns.”
Nobody bothered the gang, as this was border territory and few had reason to cross the line. Algae was retaking the tunnel walls, swaying like seaweed in the breeze.
The men reached their target without issue — a secret ravine.
At the end of a jagged, low canyon was a small ectoplasmfall, green goo dripping from a skull’s mouth and carving a smooth ditch with its gentle, shallow flow, lined by stone skulls and piles of gnawed bones.
Gnarled trees bent over the creek, more root than trunk, with spiky leaves in dull red. A large, ethereal bird took on a black, solid form and fluttered away.
Chay kept everyone shrouded in light fog and advanced. He was invisible in his own mist, but the others had to stay low and advance from cover to cover.
They stepped into the creek of ectoplasm. The substance was somehow as viscous as honey but splashed as easily as water. Marcus felt the stream’s weak resistance on his feet and calves, disappointed it wasn’t cool but perhaps even warmer than the air. He’d stay sweaty.
“Should be two guards,” Chay whispered, “but I’d like to try a distraction.” He unfolded his fan without a sound and let Pie run onto the creek surface as heavy smoke. “Hey cutie-Pie, how are you doing? Want to bite some ankles? Yeah, right in there. Nom nom.”
They didn’t know how smart ‘cakes’ really were but Pie seemed to get the gist of it. She zigzagged to an opening where the fall wasn’t touching the rock and slipped in.
Rough voices behind the gentle green arose, confused, then angry.
“Yap, there’s only two.” Chay said. “Charge!”
Xane sent a blast into the curtain of ectoplasm to break an opening. The four demigods’ bodies still got lubricated from the spray, but it helped.
The Hellions were barely armored, their skullheads not covered. Pie had sank her teeth into the neck of a hellion who tried to grab her but caught only smoke.
The other had grabbed a battle axe, but Marcus was already on him. The martial artist had launched himself high and twirled to slam one foot after the other into the guard’s throat. Marcus dropped his whitefire-lit hands onto the skullhead and pushed the Hellion back through his spread legs, right into Goro’s hammerfist. The guard was rammed into the ground and a stomp made his skullhead split open.
Meanwhile Xane had send a force blast to the Pie-wrapped guard’s legs that sent him to the ground. The mage followed up with an ice shard right into the bone-like eyeball, threaded between the rings of Pie’s snake-tail.
“Good kitty,” Xane said and charged a final blow of lightning.
Pie let go of the enemy as it smoldered and got scratched behind the cloud-ears by Chay who nodded at the wall.
Beyond the Hellions station, where bottles of green beer and a runic card game laid, was a simple door of reinforced Elderite. Beside it was a chipped metal box, framing a palm-sized soul stone — one of the red garnets where tadpole-shapes drifted.
These soul stones powered machines throughout the abyss. To deactivate the door’s force field, you needed a key — or something more powerful.
Xane retrieved a tiny vial of Hrailoth’s blood from the leather strip on his left arm. As the most artistically inclined he’d proved most reliable at drawing runes.
Marcus watched back muscles flex as the short bodybuilder drew with careful but confident strokes.
Chay gestured at the Hellion corpses. “Make it look like a robbery. No one should be *too* suspicious.”
Marcus rummaged through the armor of one felled enemy, Goro through the other. They gathered a stack of five obols and a canteen embossed with the pandemonic word for nectar.
Red lines traveled across the door, lighting the plasma-fall hideout ominously, then retreated into the soul stone box. The door was open.
“We should, uh…” Chay said, eyes on the canteen. “To make the robbery more plausible and… Fuck it. Don’t make excuses for addictions.”
Xane grabbed the flask, popped up open and smelled the fumes. He looked like he was exaggerating an orgasm for comedic effect. “Open up,” he said. “I’ll make sure everybody gets a quarter.”
Marcus jostled Chay aside to be first. The mage drizzled a sip into his mouth.
The lithe Filipino animus-fighter got slammed by visions of Xane with a Daemon-like dick, hammer-fucking Marcus’ face. At the same time he got the relaxation of joy of a deep tissue massage, a long hot bath and a few glorious rounds of sex with the hottest chicks.
Then it was over and for a second he felt the urge to make his chakram slice into the shorter man’s arm so he’d drop the canteen and-
Marcus stopped himself. He stumbled back and breathed deeply, thinking about pussy and tits and female ass while fingering his nipples.
“Okay, let’s go,” Chay said, ushering Pie to seep back into his ring with a few fan swings.
===***===
The cave was wide enough to be a garage, but twisting randomly. Illuminated by frozen torches, which the men now knew were powered by soul stones somewhere in the interior, the pantheon crept forward.
The main chamber was larger than a football field but segmented by random stalagmites and columns.
It was a forge, hot with several glowing plates and fired up hearths. The smell of ash, metal and sweat drifted on a dry breeze. Chains clanked all around.
It was run by Trolls.
The troglodytes looked like parodies of bodybuilders. Around seven foot tall, they were so insanely broadly built they still looked stout. Despite torsos wider than humanly possible, their muscles still grotesquely bulged on their frame. Fairly small heads, a near absence of a neck and total hairlessness contributed to the dumb brute aesthetic.
Their skin was green, but with tan or even bronzed undertones. Troll faces were a cross of human and bull, many even having a nose ring dangling over their fangs. Other piercings indicated status and accomplishments.
They wore little more than leather pouches on belt to keep their crotches covered. Leather and chains were the theme for their habitat as much as their fashion.
“No Troll chicks, huh?” Marcus asked with an elbow into Xane’s side.