Tomb of Burning Agony

The necropolis was like no other place Azalon had ever seen, not that the fox had a habit of loitering in graveyards. He was fairly certain though that the tombs and crypts of Montblanc looked nothing like this. While his home had a reputation for an unyielding devotion to debauchery, this place was in a class of its own.

With this being a place of death, the architecture had an unmistakably religious undertone. However, every available surface had been carved into the filthiest of reliefs. Every stone orifice was filled with statues that even the fox found disturbing.

The Rhysh Empire of course had a reputation for that sort of thing. Before arriving on the island Azalon had studied their art extensively, and it was fair to say that the idea of a ‘tasteful’ nude had never made it to their shores. Studying a single piece though was a far cry from having such aggressively sexual imagery surrounding him, bombarding his senses. He couldn’t help but stare.

While the fox was struck dumb by the scenery, it seemed to have the opposite effect on the pixie, who commented excitedly on everything she saw. “Holy shit, look at the cock on her. Are humans and horses related somehow? Cause that’s a horse dick.”

Azalon shook his head, ignoring her for the most part while following Ravingari through the narrow twisting paths through the crypts. It was possible that all this imagery was just completely random and meaningless. Somehow the dungeon had learned to just put as many dicks as possible on everything. The scholar in the fox told him to look deeper though, and if he put together everything he had seen so far certain patterns began to emerge.

One thing he noticed was that each tomb was only dedicated to a single person. Whoever was buried within was prominently featured in the various carvings adorning each tomb. Figures were shown fighting or fucking, sometimes both at once. The carvings were larger than life, and usually larger than what was anatomically feasible. They were records of accomplishments, the boasts of the dead.

If that was true though, then the biggest crypts weren’t for the larger households as Azalon had first thought. They were the crypts of the most prominent members of their society; the generals, the archmages. If that was the case though then where were the graves of the small people? Where were the slaves buried?

“Is that? Motherfucker! I didn’t know you could fuck nipples! Why hasn’t anyone ever told me you can fuck nipples?”

Azalon shook his head at the pixie and caught up to Ravingari, “So, any idea what we’re looking for down here?”

“Not exactly,” the elf pointed upwards towards the cathedral-like spire of one of the larger crypts, “But I thought that might be a good place to start. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one.”

“The adventurers I overheard often spoke of visiting the catacombs. I think we’re looking for a way further down then right?”

Ravingari nodded, “Just so.”

Glancing around them Azalon noted that most of the tombs had door shaped depressions carved into them. They were sealed with slabs of solid stone, but presumably the interior of the tombs were just beyond. “And you don’t think any of these would lead down?”

With a shrug the elf said, “Well, it’s possible. It could be that this whole place is some sort of puzzle. Open the correct tomb to proceed further. Open the wrong one and get attacked by whatever is trapped inside.”

Azalon nodded, “So we just need to figure out which tomb is the right one…” His attention returned to the various crypts surrounding them. There had to be something here, something important that the ancient people of Rhysh had left for them to learn.

“Hey! Hey! Look at this naga! She’s fucking her ass with her own head! Is that amazing or what?”

✦ ✦ ✦

Though the place had seemed empty, Azalon was still surprised that they made it to the first of the larger tombs without being attacked by anything. A short set of steps let up to the sealed door, which unlike the rest of the ornate structure, was completely blank. Ravingari and Azalon both looked around the sealed entrance, but as far as they could tell it was a simple slab of stone with no obvious way to open it. Finally the elf shrugged and pulled a thick chisel and a mallet from his belt pouch.

As the elf began scoring the stone along the edge of the slab, Azalon stepped back to get a better view of the tomb itself. Like everything else he had seen here, the carvings adorning the tomb were a strange juxtaposition of religious symbolism and utter perversion. The arched lintel above the doorway where Ravingari was working depicted some kind of mass execution. A dozen or so humans were being burnt at the stake. While that would have been bad enough, it was clear that they weren’t simply tied to the stakes. The stakes had been driven completely through their bodies, starting from below with their sharply pointed tips emerging from their wide open mouths.

Azalon frowned worryingly at the scene, wondering if this was really the tomb they ought to be breaking into. He should have recommended the one with the centaur gangbang instead.

Knowing it would take Ravingari a while to finish with the door, Azalon walked around the perimeter of the tomb, seeing what else he could learn before they broke into it.

Willowing sat on his shoulder as he looked around, uninterested in watching the elf work. “Man, these humans really didn’t like each other much did they?”

Azalon nodded, looking at the multiple depictions of men and women being skewered and roasted alive over an open fire, “This guy in particular. He seemed to have some… specific tastes.”

The pixie nodded, “I think we should have gone with the centaur gangbang one.”

The fox chuckled, it wasn’t often he and the pixie were on the same page. The back of the tomb featured a large statue of a human man, presumably the man entombed within. He was a muscular, imposing figure, standing dramatically in front of an abstract sunset. He was depicted in the nude of course, except for the sash and belt around his waist. Two naked women knelt at his feet, each clinging to one of his legs while staring worshipfully at the massive cock dangling heavily between his legs. He held an iron spear in his right hand, angled forward in an aggressive posture. With the way the top of the spear was painted white, Azalon could tell it was a popular place for birds to sit.

The fox looked over the statue, nodding admiringly. As an appraiser of antiquities he had to admit, the work itself was excellent. “Mmm, not exactly subtle were they…”

Azalon listened to the sound of Ravingari unhurriedly tapping away at the door on the other side of the building. He had been worried that the sharp metallic ringing of the chisel against the stone would have attracted something’s attention, but other than the sound of the elf’s hammering the place was, well… quiet as a graveyard.

Taking his time, the fox circled around to the other side of the building, seeing more of the same, though there did seem to be more branding irons on this side. Having completed his circuit though he didn’t see anything that would indicate that this was the entrance to the catacombs. If anything the place seemed to scream, “Danger. Do not touch.”

Of course, if you really wanted to hide something, that wasn’t a bad way to do it. Perhaps the dungeon purposefully made this look like the very last place you would want to check.

After a solid hour of chiseling, Ravingari finally finished. He stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Despite the cold winter air he had unfastened his doublet, letting it hang open in a way that accentuated his muscular chest. He smirked at the fox when he noticed him staring, but didn’t move to close it as he walked down to meet him at the bottom of the steps.

Now that he had stopped hammering though, Azalon began to notice something else, a faint moaning sound coming from beyond the stone seal. Catching his worried look, Ravingari gave the fox a smile, “What? You’re not going to let a little thing like the anguished cries of the restless dead stop you, are you?”

Nodding firmly he answered, “That’s a pretty convincing reason to do something else instead.”

The elf shrugged as he fastened his doublet back up, “It’ll be fine. Look, we’re not going to learn anything useful just wandering around out here. If we want to figure these tombs out, we’re going to need to get inside them.”

Azalon sighed as he followed the elf to the doorway. If he had any better ideas he would have voiced them, but he really didn’t have enough information to say one way or another. The elf handed him a pry bar, “Right. Seal’s cracked though all around, just need to pull it loose. Follow what I’m doing on the opposite side. Got it?”

The fox nodded, sinking the narrow end of the bar into the crack, pushing it in as deep as he could before leveraging it against the door frame to slowly pull the stone slab outwards. Working together, they slowly inched the slab forward until it reached the tipping point. Inexorably it began to fall, hitting the stairs with a thunderous crash that echoed all around them.

As soon as the doorway was open the muffled moaning Azalon heard earlier suddenly grew intense. The noise was beyond the typical groans of zombies, this was agonized screaming, so loud it felt like a physical force howling from the open doorway. Surprisingly the interior of the tomb seemed brighter than the necropolis outside. The flickering firelight made the doorway look like some sort of gateway to hell, and when the dust settled Azalon saw that he wasn’t far off.

Azalon’s mouth twisted into a horrified grimace, and even Ravingari took a step back, seeing what awaited them within. The elf quickly recovered though, dropping the pry bar before drawing his sword and charging into the smoke filled tomb. Azalon, determined to be of some use to the elf, fortified his resolve and set aside his revulsion and horror, steadfastly following behind.

A thrusting spear clashed against the elf’s blade as he charged inside. Azalon of course recognized the undead warrior, his likeness had been carved into the reliefs and statues adorning his tomb. He had thought the statues had been exaggerating, but if anything the sculptures hadn’t truly depicted just how large the man really was. He stood a head higher than any of the other zombies they had fought, and was thickly muscled with arms bigger than a bear’s.

As the undead warrior and the elf faced off, Azalon could tell it wasn’t a mere zombie. His skin was shrunken and had begun to peel back away from his skull, leaving him with a horrifying permanent grin. His movements though were quick and deadly. Ravingari was fighting him with a sword and dagger, using them both to parry his quick thrusts. The elf had been able to score a couple of minor hits already, but was clearly having trouble getting in close enough to do any actual damage to the monster.

Azalon pulled his crossbow from his inventory, quickly arming it before carefully taking aim, when suddenly an excruciating pain exploded in his chest. He doubled over, nearly dropping his weapon as the intense burning sensation seemed to spread. He was on fire! His fur curled and blackened as the fire started to consume him. An iron rod, thicker than his arm, was slowly being pushed through his body. His screams turned into a choked gurgle as its blood soaked pointed tip emerged from his mouth. He felt his internal organs begin to cook, sizzling from the heat of the red hot iron rod impaling him.

As he was dying, he felt a sudden stinging sensation in his cheek. There was something different about that pain though. It should have been barely noticeable considering everything else that was happening, but there was something… real about it.

His eyes suddenly shot open as he looked frantically at the pixie who was kicking him in the face, “Wake! Up! Stupid! Fucktoy!”

Realizing that he had been under some kind of delusion, Azalon leapt to his feet. Ravingari and the undead warrior were still sparing, though the elf had dropped his dagger and was clutching his side. Azalon could tell that he too was in intense pain, and at this point it was all he could do to parry the monster’s attacks.

Seeing the fox back up though he yelled, “Kill the others!”

Azalon had been purposefully ignoring the tomb’s other occupants, wanting to block out what he was seeing. The overpowering agony he had felt though, it had to have been some kind of psychic attack. And it could only have come from them.

Besides the undead warrior the tomb held six others. They were all humans, but of different genders. There were three women, two men, and a single futanari. At first Azalon hadn’t considered them a threat. How could they be when they were bound and chained in the most agonizing ways imaginable? All six were hanging from chains embedded in the ceiling somewhere far above them, on hooks like slabs of meat being hung to dry.

The tomb held two long trenches carved into its sides, filled with glowing coals that were burning brightly beneath the dangling figures. Their feet had been burned away. Nothing remained there but blackened stumps. The flesh of their legs transitioned from black cracked flesh at their ankles to horrifically seared at their thighs.

A vast array of branding irons were arranged haphazardly in the two fire trenches, their tips buried deep in the glowing coals. The bright red flesh of the creatures looked like they had been branded so often that there wasn’t a single inch of flesh that hadn’t been burnt away and scared over.

To his disgust, Azalon found himself salivating. These humans smelt far too much like roasted pork for his liking. Shaking his head he aimed down the site of his crossbow at the closest one to him. His hands were trembling, and his first shot missed the head of the tortured creature, sinking deep into her breast instead.

As the bolt penetrated her chest, two things happened that shocked him. The first was the stabbing pain in his own chest, in the exact spot where he had shot her. It must have been some kind of ability they had to reflect the pain they were feeling. Feeling he was shot in the chest nearly made him vomit, but the thing that surprised him the most was her reaction. She screamed. Bright red blood gushed from the wound and splattered down onto the coals with a hiss.

The fox nearly dropped to his knees, “Impossible…”

They were alive. It was unimaginable, but it was the only thing that made sense. These things bled, and they clearly felt pain. They had to in order to reflect it. But then… had they been buried alive like this? How long had they been here? Hundreds of years? More than a thousand? Suffering this torture for all those years?

The fox snarled angrily, determined to put an end to this. He was sweating profusely, like he too was slowly being roasted over a pit of coals. He tried to ignore the burning sensation, knowing it was just an illusion, as he raised and fired his crossbow a second time.

Azalon screamed, feeling the crossbow bolt embed itself into his skull. This time though the pain was only a flash, ending when the creature slumped in its cradle of chains. The burning pressure eased just slightly, and Azalon glanced in the elf’s direction. He had positioned himself between the spear wielding undead and the fox, protecting him so that he could kill the others. Even with his inexperience though he could tell that the elf was getting tired. He needed to move fast.

He took another shot, aiming at one of the men this time. With the burning sensation slightly abated it was easier for him to aim, and his shot hit him right between the eyes. The fox felt himself die, but it wasn’t as shocking as the first couple times it happened.

Again, he took aim at the other man across the room from him. He carefully lined up his shot and fired. This time however, the undead warrior had been watching him. Just before Azalon fired the bolt the monster made a gesture with his free hand, and the chains holding his target above the fire suddenly went slack. His shot missed completely as the human creature dropped, landing face down in the trench filled with glowing hot coals.

Ravingari and Azalon both screamed, feeling the burning sensations consuming them. Taking advantage of the elf’s sudden pain induced paralysis the muscular undead attacked him. He barely managed to dodge out of the way of the thrust, but he was caught in the chest as the creature followed through with the butt of his spear.

Azalon watched the elf crumple to the ground, sure that he had at least broken a few of his ribs. The monster towered over him, raising his spear, sure to kill him with his next attack. Azalon fumbled with his crossbow, knowing already that it would be too slow. But what else could he do? None of the magic he had worked against zombies. But then it hit him. This wasn’t a zombie.

He thrust his hand forward, his arm glowing with geometric symbols as he yelled, “Blind!”

He didn’t have to say anything to cast the spell of course, but he at least needed to let Ravingari know what he was doing. The metal tip of the spear scraped against the stone as the elf rolled away just in time. The creature swung his spear wildly, blindly trying to catch Ravingari or the fox with the weapon, but only managed to hit the bound futanari with a slash that split hir stomach completely open.

Azalon grunted at the disturbing sensation of having his intestines falling out of his body while also being roasted alive. He cocked his crossbow and fired at the man face down in the coals, quickly putting him out of his misery, and theirs as well. The wildly flailing zombie was pushing him further back into the corner of the tomb, but it allowed Ravingari to silently sneak behind him. Suddenly the assassin slashed at it with a flurry of blows, striking the creature several times in the spine.

The fox thought he heard the thing groan, “Bastards,” as he toppled forward, but with another solid hit to the back of his neck, he spoke no more.

With the creature finally defeated Azalon sank to his knees, panting. He looked over to Ravingari who was in a similar position, collapsed against the huge muscular corpse next to him, but after making eye contact the elf gave him a weak smile and a nod.

Though the burning sensations were still present, they had lessened significantly now that most of the bound humans had been slain. There were still two that needed to be taken care of, but that wasn’t such a pressing need that he couldn’t catch his breath first.

Before that could happen though a deep booming voice, absolutely dripping with malice, echoed throughout the tomb. “You have defeated my servant. Well done mortals.”