Becoming the Witch’s Familiar

Sara made an audible gulp.

Fully dressed, she watched the man’s every movement, having taken up the whole couch as he tried his best to squeeze out of his worn leather hunting boots. Thanks to her high level disguise magic picked up from the elven senator, she seemingly avoided the detection of the monster slayer in her midst.

“S-so what kind of creatures do you hunt?” She asked, fully dressed in the thin throw she put on the night before.

Monterrey was a monster himself. She had always remembered him being a tall, burley fellow, but with her now shorter size, he was down right massive. “Oh, nothing too big! Jus’ the usual direwolf and occasional griffin if one gets too close to town.”

A slight sigh of relief escaped Sara’s lips.

Monster hunters usually divided themselves by specialization: those who hunt more ‘natural’ beasts kept to that distinction while those who hunted more esoteric creatures were more often than not a part of the church since they require specific training versus a mammal’s familiar anatomy.

“But I’ve been looking for a big bag to score, lately! Heard tale of a strange monster lurking around Georges and figured we ain’t too far from there…” The man dragged on the last part of his sentence with a low growl. Something spiteful dug something up within him, it was plain to see.

Her eyes widened as she finished the thought: the traveling party.

She was so caught up in her lust and revenge, she allowed the girl to run back to her precious Pontifex to give a forewarning of her arrival! How could she be so stupid? The former general within kicked her over and over! Why would she give up her most important advantage, the element of surprise? No one comes back to life as a monster! And now the word has spread that she-

“Do you want me to walk you home? You don’t look too well.” Gildroy caused the woman to jump as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

Sara could still not avert her gaze from the bear of a man. Without a weapon, she felt even more naked than she did when he arrived. “I’m… I’m fine. Just got a… little too warm last night.” She brushed the lord’s hand off of her shoulder. “But I probably should go now…”

“I’da take him up on his offer, missy!” The man’s boisterous laughter caused her to jump more than when Gildroy surprised her, “Just ‘cause it’s daylight out, don’t mean dangers aren’t about!”

“Th-that might be true…” she looked over at the man who’s cum still swam inside her, she could see the saddened look on his face, “I- I guess he’s right. You can walk me home.”

Gildroy’s expression suddenly flipped.

Without so much as a word, the two stepped out into the brisk winter day. The stone fence surrounding the manor was piled high with snow cleared from the inner courtyard, creating drifts more than half the height of the mansion they surrounded. Following the cobblestone road out, the Olson home was thankfully squarely in the center of Thistlebrook, just a brisk walk away from the river, if one wanted to take a dip in ideally a more agreeable temperature.

Sara shivered as the two walked silently. Wishing she opted for a coat instead of the form accentuating dress she knew would draw attention at the bar, she could herself slow down, something that never really bothered her in the deserts of Merreign.

“Here you go.”

Taking off his own jacket, he placed it on Sara’s shoulders. “Th-thanks.”

The man simply smiled in return.

- - - -

Explaining not only why she took up residence in a dead lord’s manor but why three elves and a slime creature have taken up occupancy as well would have been nightmarish, so she sent the man off upon reaching the gates.

Gildroy seemed content. No attempts at a future plan, no desperate beg for a kiss and not even much else aside from a simple goodbye and hand wave left her thinking about what he was looking for. He stated he loved her, but seemed to not press himself upon her. Something that quite possibly said more than anything else the young lord could ever say.

“You are late, Succubus Sarakiel.” In a rare showing, The Eternal leaned against one of the staircase railings in the foyer. Even more shockingly, he seemed to have no books nearby, something she felt carried an ill omen more than anything else.

“Late for what?” She asked, glancing around to see Faruzad and Mujad waiting in the wings as well, “I was out hunting.”

As Mujad’s eyes lit up, The Eternal stood upright, “Perfect. You are going to need that mana. We are going to take your magic training more seriously, as a thanks.”

“By doing what?”

The Eternal crouched low, the beak on his mask nearly touching his chest. While dulled after finding a new way to kill her foes, Sara still had enough instincts to put her arms up as a zephyr struck up in the midst of the manor, pushing her back to the door she just walked through.

Bracing herself, she still felt the wood hit her spine, grateful the shapechange spell seemed to change her very anatomy, removing her much more vulnerable main body.

“Lesson starts now!” She could barely hear her teacher over the tempest pressing her into the creaking wood.

The groans of the facade of the home turned into cracking as the galeforce continued to press her into it. With just a few more seconds, it finally gave way, launching her into the courtyard.

Sara rolled a few hands, before quickly bouncing back up. “Well, shit! Warn me next time you want to smash my front door!”

Looking around the courtyard, an object of interest caught her attention. The problem was that it was closer to the front door than midway down the dirt path back out the fence or where she found herself. “I think I can do something…”

“Faruzad! Clean this up, please!” The Eternal stepped out onto the porch, lightly stepping around the shattered planks.

Turning his attention back to his student, the Sage nodded in her direction, “The first rule of magic combat is that you…” Making a quick motion with his gloved hands, he gestured them towards Sara.

In the blink of an eye, her ears rang with a loud crash.

A familiar weight pushed down on her head. Quickly lifting her hand to confirm, she nodded: her disguise has been broken.

“You never fight a better mage than you.” Finishing his sentence, he leapt down off the porch and onto the same ground as the exposed succubus.

Without a weapon yet, she lifted her hands defensively. Training took over, demanding the defense of her head and neck, but a quick thought reminded her that most of her vital organs were not there anymore. Regardless, it felt right.

Shooting her goal a quick glance, she ran forward. While her mind reverted back to her soldier days, her body did not, proving to be a bit slower than she wanted.

Drawing closer to the mage, still where he landed when jumping off the porch, she could hear muffled speech coming from him. Keeping his hand movements subtle, Sara was grateful for the decades of martial combat to alert her to the threat soon to be at hand.

Violently lifting both hands high, the ground beneath her began to shake itself loose from the rest of the rock surrounding it. Still running, she could see herself rising above the snowdrift covering the fence.

By the time the earth beneath her raised her to where she was eye-level with the peak of her roof, she grasped her target from the start: a piece of rod iron exposed when the plant it supported died during the winter. Faruzad must have never made it to fixing the outdoors, meaning the piece was possibly left from one of her former daughter’s attempts of cultivating her green thumb.

As the earth beneath her rose higher than the apex of the tallest evergreen trees one could see for miles, Sara caught her breath.

She just needed some speed before who knows what would happen next.

Sara began to run forward, bee-lining for the edge of the rapidly ascending plate of earth beneath her. Between breaths, she muttered an incantation now familiar to her.

In the blink of an eye, her vantage grew taller, her speed picked up and her strides began to have more force behind each and every step. Looking down, her normally awkwardly obtrusive breasts were replaced with lean pectorals: she had become Samuel once more.

Dropping off the edge, she- or maybe he, now- slid down the side of the rough vertical wall, slowing the descent, but still seeing the ground come in fast.

Reaching the peak of the house once more, Sara grasped the rod firmly before taking a leap off.

Falling down, free from the wall, she chose her landing: atop the Sage still focusing on his spell.

The rod pierced his shoulder, causing him to turn into the shape-shifted man who collapsed onto him before rolling off and into a stance, still holding the makeshift spear in The Eternal’s shoulder.

“And the first rule about martial combat is never think someone is worse than you.”

The Eternal coughed. As she rolled off of him, Sara felt his mask beneath her back. Looking at it now, it seemed to not be able to bear the weight of a full grown man who carried bone breaking kinetic energy into his fall before rolling over it.

Loosely holding up a gloved hand, the Sage coughed again, “Fair point. You won this bout.”

“Fantastic.” Without so much as a warning, she pulled free the stake from his shoulder, causing a yelp of pain from the masked man.

Or, at least, he was masked before.

With The Eternal’s wincing from the pain, his mask finally split, revealing the man beneath.

His dark skin contrasted neatly with his long white hair. An androgynous face could be seen underneath, youthful in it’s appearance despite the title it bore implying something else. Locking naked eyes with her, she heard his voice without him moving his lips, “I…! You should not-!”

Dropping her shape shifted form, she leaned down to help up the elf, “Oh shut up, I won’t tell anyone.”

---

World notes: Monster Hunter

A profession as old as mankind, few take up an oath to defend towns, protect people, and most importantly, slay the creatures that threaten both.

For every type of creature that walks the earth, there is one who knows it's full anatomy. More often than not, those who study dangerous monsters usually get more recognition, but there has been a few cases where understanding of more timid and minute creatures may be called for. Hunters usually form teams, encompassing a wide array of knowledge and desire to either learn more about their subject or diversify under another creature, usually within the same kingdom. However, since Hunters are usually self-interested hobbyists, strife often emerges within these teams.

Scholars often seek to find and catalog the data these hunters provide and store it within their libraries. The Quintessentialist Church in particular looks for information on witches, devils, demons, and the like and employ their own hunters in a sect called The Prosecutors.

The first line of defense to the creatures that threaten mankind, Monster Hunters are as varied as they are numerous. The life they lead never really leads to glamor, but the pride they take within their work is almost second to none.