Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The fire alarm cut through everything in it's path.

A legion of sonic infiltrators, smashing through doors and shaking people out of sleep.

Victor scrambled as fast as he could. Tripping over himself in haste, he grabbed a pair of jogging bottoms and slipped them on, before throwing on his fluffy black jacket and wrestling shoes onto his feet. He half hopped out of the hotel room, blinking through his confusion as he scanned the hallway for the fire exit signs. Before he even consciously registered he had seen one, he was now running down the stairs and out through the emergency exit.

The cold hit him hard in the stomach, taking all the air from his lungs as he half fell out of the fire escape.
He gasped, He still wasn't truly awake, but adrenaline surged to combat the sudden chill. He got clear of the building and looked around the street he now found himself on.
It was late and dark.
Even the heavy drinkers had long since packed it in, as the gentle patter of rain had ensured everyone had gone home. Victor didn't even know what time it was, and he'd left his phone in the hotel room. He shivered slightly, and began to hop from foot to foot. He regreted not putting socks on. And not getting his phone. And not getting his wallet. Clearly, whatever fire this was, either there was another emergency exit that was better placed than this particular alley...or no one else in the hotel considered it worth losing sleep over. He started to trudge around the hotel, hoping to get around to the entrance so he could be let back in.

He just about left the alley when the world stopped.

There was a horrible rending screech of metal as the buildings, including the hotel he was just in, flattened, as if someone had just stamped on a coke can. It happened everywhere, all at once, at least he assumed so as with the buildings went all the lights and he was plunged into darkness. He screamed, high and panicked. A voice sounded around him, as if someone had a tannoy system rigged for exactly this moment. Hope filled him as he heard a clear mechanical voice beginning to speak. The hope died as he realised, it wasn't just him not being fully awake - the voice came across the tannoy was making sounds like a dying fish.
It gasped and stuttered and made glotteral sounds that should be impossible with a throat. He stared around, trying to find the source for this noise, and gagged. Someone else had tried to come out of the fire exit he had left. Half of their body had made it out, before the building had crushed them. He stared at the mangled corpse, and retched.

Backing away, to put a distance between him and the body, his foot stumbled on a sudden gap, a hole where the street had been. He crashed down a set of ornate golden stairs, falling and spinning. The first impact was to his right shoulder and it hurt. The next was on his rib cage as he tumbled. His left knee took the shock after that, but before he had the chance to fully register it, he was frozen in place. In complete defiance of gravity and momentum, his body was held at a complete dead stop. He felt his bruised body knit together, and he was gently spun in place until he was standing straight up. The gulping, gasping tannoy continued, but with a slightly more frenetic tone than the one he had previously heard. And then he was dropped into the middle of the floor, placed gently enough he naturally stayed standing even without tensing his legs.

Wherever he found himself, it was pleasantly warm. He started to unzip his coat, before realising he was wearing nothing underneath it. He compromised between comfort and modesty, and unzipped the black fluffy coat down to his navel. He fished through the coat pockets absently, turning up nothing except a half packet of gum. Looking around, he put a piece in his mouth and began walking. Whatever was going on...there didn't seem to be anything else to do but walk.
As he walked, he started to truly wake up and his brain started to retroactively remind him of details he hadn't noticed originally. He saw the corpse. Oh god he saw the corpse. The arterial blood spurting. Only the narrowest slice of the torso had made it through the door before the building collapsed, and blood had gushed out of the armpit and groin at the point of serverance. The thinnest slice of the head and face had made it though. Whoever had pushed open the door must literally have been in mid step as they shifted their bodyweight through. And wait. Where was everyone else? Surely if he had literally fallen through the staircase, others must have found it and be coming? He looked back. No-one was.

A thought occured, and he tried to walk back up the staircase he had fallen down. It...didn't work? He could make a few steps up but it was like the air solidified as he did, becoming completely impassible. Fuck. He was trapped.
Panic set in. Actual true panic. He couldn't get a breath. He shrank into himself, his hands and arms tensing automatically as he fought for air. Until this moment,everything had been a dream, a half haze waking memory where everything seemed logical even whilst marveling at the absurd. Now it was painfully, overwhelmingly real. He breathed. He must have been gasping for minutes, but his brain hadn't held onto it.
A gap in his memory where the brain had been so focused on immediate survival it simply hadn't cared to record anything. That was ok. He looked around again, and truly saw where he was. There were three distinct pathways going from the stairs.

Ok.

Vague recolections of survival mantras flooded into him. He needed to find food, water and shelter.

And without knowing the layout of the place, he remembered an old solution from computing classes.
He laid his left hand on the wall, and began walking. As long as he kept his left hand on the wall, and kept moving, eventually he wouldn't ever pointlessly double back on himself. It might not be the prettiest solution, but it would work. As he walked, he became very aware of how unprepared he really was. He was walking through a maze, whilst wearing trainers, jogging bottoms, a coat and nothing else. The nothing else poked at his mind a bit.

He sped up, hoping he might find someone- anyone - who could help him. In time his enthusiasm faded. He slowed back down to a normal walking pace. His legs ached. His throat was sore from thirst. He struggled to keep his eyes open. He needed somewhere to sleep, and fast.His hand scraped across a door handle, drawing a thin trail of blood on his pale skin. Wait. What?
He grasped the extruded piece of metal, not even bothering to read whatever was written above it, and pushed. Then pulled, and the door opened.

He stared through it in shock.
The goblins stared back.
He kept staring.
All 4 goblins stared back.
His brain noted that though they were smaller than him, perhaps 4ft 6 or so, their limbs were almost as long as his were.
Then they made more of those fishlike drowning sounds and stepped towards him, brandishing sticks.

He ran.

He didn't dare turn to look behind as he fell into a natural running stride honed from years of practice. He knew better than that. Focus on breathing, let what's behind you take care of itself.
He heard the scrabbling sounds of the goblins chasing him.
He kept breathing, pushing through the tiredness, ignoring the way his shoes scraped his flesh, tearing blisters into his heel. God he wished for a pair of socks.
Something snapped into his legs, knocking them out from underneath him and he crashed to the floor.
The goblins screamed and chittered and gained. His hand moved down, trying to find what had caught him.

It was...a pineapple? Seriously? A pineapple? He couldn't believe it.

He turned.

The goblins stood over him. Where they had seemed short and vaguely menacing, they now seemed terrifying. His viewpoint gave him a perfect look up their wiry, muscular bodies, their sharp yellowed teeth and into their red eyes.
Red eyes that seemed focused on something?
He looked down. His trousers had fallen down as he had tripped, He wasn't fully exposed, but he scrabbled down to move them up.
A goblin stepped forward, deliberately placing it's horrible, green, clawed foot on his hand. It didn't put it's full weight down, but it pressed firmly enough that the message was clear.

He stopped moving his hand.

Another goblin reached down, and tugged his trousers free. If a fish could laugh, it would make the sound the goblin made.
But even then, this horrible, gasping noise had a nasty tone in it.

Oh god.

His trousers dissapeared somehow, as soon as they were free of his legs.
Just.
Gone.

He didn't have time to wonder how the goblin had done this as another now pressed into his torso, tearing at his coat.
It didn't even bother with the zip, instead it ran a sharp claw down the stitching, ripping and tearing at the side of the jacket. It scratched against his body a few times, drawing a line of red against his skin and the goblin didn't seem to care.
He wriggled, trying to break free and keep his clothes intact, but the goblins weight was now pressed onto his chest, the creature practically lying on top of him as it pinned him in place.
The first goblins wieght shifted of his hand, but a horrible grip clasped his wrist, digging into the bones there.
He was sure if he resisted, those weak bones in the wrist would be broken in a second.
His wrist was puppeted up, allowing the goblin lying on him to get at the seem on the other side, it's stubby legs scrabbling to pivot around him.
And then.
Just like his trousers, his coat simply disappeared.
He was lying naked, on the compacted dirt of the tunnel floor, with only his shoes still on his feet. And a goblin was lying on top of him. And, as he felt something poke into him, he was very aware of how the goblins intended to proceed.
He had forgotten about the other two goblins, and suddenly he was grabbed, one holding both legs, the other his left wrist.
The goblin that had been lying on him ground against him. It made a show of moving off, but he was very aware it took its time to rub it's erection against his flaccid groin, before getting clear.
Then as it left his body, he was picked up and hoisted to their rough waist height. The three goblins carried him back the way he had ran.
The Fourth, walked in front, like a man leading a procession.

His mind focused on the goblins, taking time to notice individual details.

All four wore a skirt, that looked like leather. It draped around their waist, coming to mid thigh.
The one holding his legs had it's back to him, and he could see a bandolier stretched across the muscles there, that flexed and moved as it walked. He looked up, The one holding his left arm, that had had it's foot on his wrist wore a hood, and smiled when it noticed he was looking. There were a lot of sharp teeth in that smile.
It casually moved it's free hand down, and tweaked his nipple sharply.
Pain lanced through him and he gasped. The goblin let go, still smiling.
The other goblin, the one holding his right arm didn't seem to notice or care about what it was carrying. It wore a thin shirt of some natural fabric, as well as the skirt and it's eyes and face just seemed...Bored?

The expression was almost more confusing than anything else. Here he was, having been stripped, goblinhandled, and carried through tunnels he had never even considered could have existed beneath the hotel he was until less than an hour ago asleep in. And one of the creatures doing this too him was bored?
He felt the goblin at his feet shift it's grip, it grasped his legs higher, now holding him above the knee.
It's long arms wrapped around his skinny legs, and it reached it's hands back, resting on the inside of his thighs.
The goblin then began gently squeezing it's hands, idly teasing the sensitive flesh. He winced as it's fingers groped him.


He felt the rise as the procession carried him through the door he had opened.
He heard the goblins talking to each other in that strange, drowning, gutteral speech, before they roughly threw him down.
The one that hadn't carried him, kicked him savagely, right in the stomach.
He spat as fluid was pushed out of his throat. The fluid was red.
The goblin glanced up at something just above his head, before lightly tapping him with it's foot. In normal circumstances, a prod with that little force wouldn't have hurt at all.
But he was exausted, and still reeling from the first hit.

And it had tapped him directly on his left testicle.

Pain exploded through his body. His body called it quits, and he passed out.

Moments later, he shocked back into consciousness. His head had been plunged into ice-cold water and he screamed. The goblins let him expell all the air from his lungs, before pulling him back out. He managed to avoid inhaling the water, but was still coughing and spluttering.

He couldn't move his arms.

He couldn't move his arms .

He panicked and thrashed, ignoring the laughter from the goblins before realising his arms were firmly bound behind him.
The hands holding him up let go and he crashed to the floor, face first. The pain barely registered at this point.
He tried to move his legs to sit up. He had some movement, but found the limits quickly.
They had tied his legs open. Not firmly, but enough that while he could close them, he couldn't twist or get them under him.
He felt hands on him, pushing him down into the compacted dirt. His face ground against the floor, forcing him to close his eyes to protect them, all while his chin scratched deeply into the dirt. The ground started to get wet under his head and he couldn't tell if it was tears, blood or the ice cold water he'd be plunged into.
The hands moved.
The pressure remained, pinning him in place but now they weren't simply holding him down.
They were caressing, feeling, gripping, squeezing, pinching, grasping as they explored his back. And his legs. And his thighs. He shivered and writhed and they just laughed.
And then, his legs were pushed apart, and a single clawed finger ran down his back, before sliding between his buttocks.
Reflexively he tensed.
The finger found what it was looking for and pressed into him. He gasped.

He tensed harder, trying to force it out. The finger ground in and burned.
It was cold and hard and dry.
The goblin wriggled it's claw deeper, not releasing up the pressure for a second.
Another hand grapped his long hair, getting a firm grip on the scalp before pulling his head up by it. He gasped. Before he even conciously regestered what was in front of him, the goblin rammed it's cock straight into his open mouth.
It started thrusting hard.
He gagged and splutterd as the taste of the goblins rancid cock seeped into his tongue. He felt tension around the bindings of his wrist, supporting and helping him as he was forced to maintain an arc beyond the limits of his flexibility.
His back burned. His throat burned.
He felt the finger in his arse withdraw. It was replaced with a tongue before he even had time to feel any relief from the lack of sensation.
He felt the nose of the goblin ramming itself into his back as the goblin smashed it's tongue into him, alternating between teasing the rim and plunging deep.
He tried to contort away from the clammy wetness, but he had no leverage and no ability to move.
He felt a tug in his legs, as the binding pulled him up.

His feet left the ground and he was pulled up until the goblin skullfucking him was able to thrust down his throat with ease. The sensation was overwhelming. Every part of his body ached, but he couldn't feel it as his nerves just kept highlighting and focusing on the firm tonguing and the rough throat fucking. He had no idea how long they did this, it could have been minutes or hours.
Eventually though - the goblin in his mouth exploded and withdrew.
Hot ejaculate rushed directly down his throat and he sputtered and gasped and spat. It tasted even worse than the cock had - Salty and fishy and rotten.
The goblin dropped his head and it sagged as he gasped. Then he felt the tongue withdraw. And now something hard pushed into it's place. Even with the lubrication that goblin saliva had provided, it burned as the muscles in his hole were pushed and stretched.

He passed out again.

This time, the goblins didn't care. As the world faded from view, and exhaustion took hold, he felt another pair of hands lift up his head, and another cock enter his mouth. He didn't register the taste before blackness took him.

Chapter Text

Victor woke slowly. His body didn't so much ache as scream, but a hoarse whispered scream like it had been screaming for a very long time and destroyed itself screaming but still kept going.
Something reeked. It was him. He was completely soaked through, his entire body covered in a foul, sticky substance.
He didn't want to think about what that substance was.
His wrists and anything below the knee didn't ache. At all. That was probably very bad.
He twisted slightly, as much to relieve some of the strain as anything else, and he began to slowly spin.

He couldn't even lift his head to look up. The muscles in his throat and neck just weren't responding, and he was forced to stare straight down. Straight into the cold hard ground he was only maybe two feet above. And the growing pool of fluid below him.
An idle part of him noted that the fluid had mostly seperated into seperate viscosities, as the gentle dripping from him continued to stir the mess.
Distinct clear bright red mixed into and out of sticky white droplets, but they were drowning in a grey-green sludge and a putrid yellow. In a way, it looked like a painter had tried to make the exact right shade of off-green/yellow, but hadn't yet stirred the mixture thoroughly enough to get the new colour.

He couldn't even retch. The muscles in his chest simply wouldn't do it.As he span, he tried to tense his muscles and see what would respond.
As he flexed his shoulders, he felt the rope give. Just a little, but then he hadn't moved much at all.
What was once solid, hard rope had weakened as it had been put under constant strain, and as it had been soaked in...well..him.
Ok.
Priorities.
Step one, break the rope.
Step two, get the cnych out of here.

He strained against the rope, flexing with his shoulders and biceps.
It gave way almost instantly, and he slammed face first down into the disgusting mess. Reflexively he opened his mouth to cry out, and the fluid came into it.
He spluttered and gasped and writhed to get his mouth clear of the horrible slime.
Somehow, it was even worse than the cold water had been. He was now, very very awake.
The goo ran up his nose and into his eyes. It burned and stuck, gluing his eyes shut.
He felt the dripping, mess tug against the stubble of hair around his mouth and neck.
His face was and head and hair and hands and even his entire body was utterly coated in filth as he scraped himself against the flooring trying to get out of it.

Somewhere in his thrashing the rope holding his legs also failed, dropping him fully into the mess.

He scrabbled and rolled out of the muck. It wasn't just a faint feeling, this stuff was actually burning him. Fuck.

He tried to stand and failed.
His legs, feeling slowly rushing into them, just didn't have the strength to hold him yet.
He scrapped his body against the ground and started to desperately crawl. As he crawled, regaining feeling in his arms and legs, the cold hard ground scraped some of the muck off him.
The sticky, clammy residue stuck. As the more liquid portions left, it started to dry.
It felt oddly like a mix between pva glue and wet playdough. It stuck in the crevaces of his skin.
It irritated all the slight cuts he'd recieved, from the goblins and the scrapes he was giving himself now, like iodene.
He wished it was like iodene. That somehow, someway it was sterilising.
He knew it wasn't.
On top of everything the goblins had done to him, unless he got clean very very soon, he was going to get very very sick.

And if he got sick, he would die.
The thought oddly invigorated him. He kept crawling.
Eventually, he got his feet awake enough to try to stand again. This time he managed it.
He wobbled. His ass burnt and cried. He cried.
But he stood. He had to. And he limped.
He had to.

Every time his body made contact with itself it stuck.
It was worst at his joints. The inside of his knees were constantly being pulled, but so was the inside of his elbows and his armpits.
The armpits were definitely the worst.
He hadn't had time to register it, but the hair there had been matted and glued and even the slightest movement met with resistance as the remaining hairs he hadn't already pulled from the roots clung on.
The resulting limp was odd. Trying to bend as little as possible, almost moving like an action figure, arms and legs rigid and seperate from his body.
It still hurt. But it hurt less than anything else.

He looked around for the door he'd been carried through and for the first time since regaining conciousness, the world that was more than 2 feet away from him came to his attention.
The goblins hadn't left. They had all evidentally finished with him, then passed out less that 10 feet away, by the door he'd come in.
Dispair filled him. They were too close to the door, and his squelching was too loud.
Even if he could get to the door, if they woke up they would catch him. And between his smell, his noise and his tiredness, that was almost guaranteed.
He had no choice. If he wanted to live, he had to go deeper.

Victor limped past the sleeping form of a goblin, just trying to get distance between them and him.
His feet squelched with every step, and he really didn't want to think about what juices the trainers had absorbed.
He moved as quietly as he could, clenching his teeth hard and trying not to breathe so he didn't puke.;
He cried freely. Tears running down his cheeks, and interminginly with the grime.

He didn't know where he was going. He just walked away from the door, down to the far side of the room.
He moved quietly, slowly. Not because he thought he stood a chance at not waking anything, but so that he could hear.
Even with his ears clogged and dimmed by the gunk...it was still the only sense he had that would give him a warning if the goblins woke.
Eventually, slow and quiet steps led him to a new door, in the back of the room.
The door was old, and jarred and stuck, but with a little know-how and gentle pressure he openeded it without it scraping.
He almost fell out of the room, and then turned and gently- Oh so gently, with quivering hands - closed the door behind him.

In the half gloom he'd normally associate with pre-dawn, he saw another door ahead. There was a long corridor between him and it, but the more closed doors he could get between him and the goblins, the harder a time they'd have to capture him again.
Progress was agonising and slow. As he moved he could feel fluid running off of him. And out of him.
He tried not to think about that. At least whatever it was was thick enough he wasn't leaving a glistening trail behind him.
But even without that obvious sign, he knew anyone would just have to follow the smell. Which is probably why the goblins had done what they had.
Or petty cruelty. Or they thought it was funny to humiliate him.
He limped on. He tried not to think about the goblins again.
The door was closed. They couldn't catch him. He could just not think about it anymore.

Eventually he came to the door, marked with some undescipherable scratches, and he opened it quietly.
Whatever was inside, he'd have to hope it was either friendly or asleep. Without looking, he stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.
Behind the door was a true, honest room. Clean waxed wooden panels extended across the floor. There was a chaise-lounge off to one side, and behind it a series of book cases that were packed with hand-bound tomes.
On the other side was a small dark table, and a soft chair.

Victor stared.

He flushed as he became horribly aware that he was dripping onto the clean floor. And he was naked except for his shoes in what was clearly someone's house.
He desperately looked around to find something, anything to cover himself.
There was nothing, not even a curtain.
And then he heard a faint noise, approaching. Not, thank god, from the outside, but from the ceiling.
Victor panicked. He dove behind the chaise-lounge and prayed he wouldn't be visible as a slat in the ceiling was gently lifted and moved across.
He knew better than to look up. He'd be spotted or he wouldn't. Looking would only increase the risk, and it wasn't like he could do anything except run back towards the goblins. Anything but the goblins.

He heard the clacking of stilletos on wood.
Clack. Clack Clack. Clack. Clack Clack.
They didn't sound like a normal human stepping, but they were beating out a rhythm.
It was as if someone was dancing, not walking.
Clack. Clack Clack. Clack. Clack Clack.
One. two three. Four. five six.
The staccato beats were being emphasised, like a practiced tapdancer might do automatically.
The clacks got closer, and as they did they sounded less like stilletos and more like shards of porcelain
There was a subtle pause and grind after each clack, like a sharp hard edge was being pressed into the wood.;
He kept his breathing slow and shallow. Minimising movement, minimising sound. Minimising anything that might give him away.
Clack. Clack Clack. Clack. Clack Clack.

Then a sharp but polite cough. The sort someone posh might give a bored clerk who hadn't yet noticed them. ;
He was caught. He knew it.

Chapter Text

He didn't move.
He knew better than that.
He heard an effeminate sigh, and more clacking. Then a face appeared directly infront of him.
It was an ageless face. The sort hollywood had told him was beautiful. Whoever this woman was, she could have been in her late 20s and a bit unlucky, or in her early 60s and very fortunate.
Her skin was the colour of Muga silk, slightly too metallic to be natural. Her eyes were dark, her eyebrows carefully perfected and smooth. Her hair was a dark red, almost purple, shading like a Black Baccara Rose.
In her hair were a number of ornate hair pins, which looked like they were made from jade.
Her nose wrinkled, the smell of him clearly wafting too close. She said something, in that strange gasping tones the goblins had used.
He stared blankly, and when it became clear he did not understand, she withdrew.

He heard a few clacks, in rhythm again, and then the sound of something heavy being laid down in front of him.
His viewpoint was too low to see anything of use, and he weighted as it seemed more things were being placed.
More clacking, then silence.
True. Honest. Blessed. Silence.

It was too good to be true. Far, far too good to be true, and Victor knew better than to come out immediately.
As the minutes ticked by though, it became clear he had been truly left alone to do as he wished.
Carefully, slowly, like a rabbit coming out of it's burrow he came out from under the chaise-longe.
And, he saw what was infront of him. It was an old fashioned tin bath, with a shower head attachment and a full set of controls.
The woman had even set up a modesty screen around him, and had retreated to the far corner of the room.
"Thank you?" he croaked. His throat shot through with pain but it seemed only appropriate.
He stepped into the bath, and tried spinning dials and pressing things until something happened.
A second later, he was doused in warm water.

Blessed, clean water. Pure. It streamed onto and through him, warming and healing.
His feet collapsed under him, as every moment and morsel of stress and tension began to fade.
For a moment, he closed his eyes and he was home. No worries, as all the dangers of the past day washed away.
He picked up the shower head, and began to move it around him, to clean off all the filth.
He got lost in it, massaging and soothing and pressing away all the horrible goo and blood.
He tried not to think about the blood. All the blood. And the crusts that had started to form on his skin.

Minutes passed. Hours could even have passsed. Eventually he looked around for a bath plug.
He couldn't find it, but playing with the settings, he found he could increase and decrease the size of the drain at the bottom.
Now that he was mostly clean, he closed up the drain and let the water envelop him, like falling into a nest of blankets.
He passed into a perfectly relaxed, dreamlike state.
Meditation aided by exhaustion and the soothing, comforting water to be truly at peace.
Eventually, a smell wafted from the water, and soapy bubbles filled the bath. It smelled like honeysuckle and orange blossom and almond and roses.
Not artifical, not like honeysuckle scented perfume, but like he was lying in a meadow. It was gentler, broader, cleaner than anything that could be described as "notes".

"HELLO CRAWLERS!" in the silence, it felt like a shout. It was also in english. The first english Victor had heard in over a day.
"Another excellent, exciting day!
We're happy to have you with us and we hope everyone is having a great time!
You're really bringing it and we at borant truly appreciate the enthusiasm you're giving to this production. I have a couple of announcements! First off, we want to assure everyone we have quashed all the bugs with the new toilets." Victor was confused.
The voice was a clear, feminine announcer over what sounded like a tannoy system? And what was this about toilets?
He focused again.
"A couple of additional patch notes, we have added support for all of the languages that were missing from our library!
So for those of you who are hearing this and finally understanding what I am saying for the first time, welcome!
You'll figure the rest out I'm sure. Also with the languages, we've implemented full cross-support for native speech."

What? His brain raced at the implications. Cross language support? Implementation? Was...was this all some sort of strange software? Was it a game?

A strong but still feminine voice carried through the room.
"Ah, can you understand me now?"
He gulped, the movement in his throat raw and painful
"Yes...sorry? Who are you?"
"My name is Reshmi. I'm here to act as your educator and guide in this place."
Victor, had no words. None at all, and after a polite gap Reshmi continued "If you feel up to it, I'd like to take you through the basic tutorial as quickly as possible. Is that ok?"
"Victor. My name is Victor." He paused. "Yes, ok let's do that. Thank you."
"Ok, let me open up your user interface. It defaulted to empty while the translation issues were ongoing."
A disembodied, dispassionate voice said "You have been granted access to crawler menu." Suddenly Victor's vision was awash with notifications. It was like he'd just clicked on a bad downloading link while pirating textbooks.
After a second, Reshmi continued.
"My my, you have a lot of notifications and awards. You really have been busy." There was laughter in her voice.
All the notifications cleared, and Victor was left with a red health bar, and minimap and a few more bits of UI.
It reminded him of every MMO he'd ever played. There was a green dot (him?) in the middle of the minimap, and a blue dot in the corner.

Reshmi walked him through basic menu manipulation, map movement.
Then she showed him his stats and Level.

Apparently an adult human was somewhere between 3 and 5 in every stat.
Strength 1 was really, really not good, and neither was constitution 2.
Intelligence 6 is flattering, but it didn't really feel right?

Reshmi looked surprised, but then she showed him a secondary set that let him see the active effects on his stats.
He had three negative effects currently. Diseased, Poisoned and Suggestable. He also had one positive effect Blissed.
The first negative effect was pretty obvious, and was reducing his constitution and strength.
Poisoned...he guessed that was something that had happened while he was unconcious? Or another result of the filth?
It was reducing all his physical stats by 1, so he'd probably have to do something about it soon.
Suggestable didn't really seem to be doing anything though. He'd have to worry about it later.

Suddenly Reshmi made a strangled sound. "Ah, they've found out. I wasn't meant to keep you here this long or offer this much help." She was talking fast, but clearly, like a lawyer or an auctioneer.
"We need to cut this short" She continued, barely pausing for breath. "You have an icon for boxes in the top corner. You can only open boxes in a safe room or training area like this. You need to open and equip everything you get right now before they force me to make you leave."

Victor complied. He saw all the boxes, and clicked on them and suddenly they were in the room.
"Go. Go. Go." Reshmi urged him, and he ran to the nearest box. He was dripping wet, and had forgotten he was completely naked in his panic.
He started opening boxes, the bronzish ones first.
He tried not to focus on their names, but a voice in his head read them aloud as he opened them.

Bronze Slut box: There were 6 of them. They all contained a small amount of condoms and lube. He stashed them away. At the very least the lube was sealed and the condoms were individually wrapped.
Bronze Plague Rat box:He equipped the small scarf inside and it wrapped around his neck.
Silver Nudist box: Inside was a ring which he put on, quickly.
Silver Klutz box: It was a small bottle of something.
He really really hoped there would be some actual clothes in one of these.
Silver Slut box:There was a tube of lipstick.
Silver Escapologist box: A small tooth cap. As he equipped it he felt it attach to one of his back teeth.
Silver Pacifist box: An arm bangle thing. He equipped it. It locked hard onto his bicep, constricting the bloodflow a bit.
Silver Sneaky box: A pair of slippers. They were comfortable and soft and flexible.
Silver Toilet box:A small jay cloth.

"Almost there, two more to go!" Reshmi called "Come on, quickly!".
Victor froze.
He'd forgotten she was in the room. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
He quickly put a hand infront of his genitals, and an arm across his chest desperate to retain some modesty. His cheeks flushed red.
"You haven't got time for this! Open the rest, modesty can come later." Her voice was laced in irresistable command, and his body moved to the next boxes even while his brain processed what was happening.

Golden Slut Box: Inside was a dress. He equipped it and suddenly he was wearing it. It was short. Very very short, but technically it covered everything. Just.
Golden Whore Box: A small ring. As soon as he equipped it, he felt it bind onto him, gentle, snug and not quite cutting off circulation. It wasn't a finger ring.
He felt stunned, but before he could fully process what was going on, he was roughly shoved out the door.

He stumbled forward, and the details of what had happened flooded through him.
Reshmi...wasn't human.
Her face might be, and her torso definitely was. But from the waist down was a full spider body and thorax.
The carapace of the spider was the colour of spilled oil on porcelain, black and fluid, but in parts where the light shone on it? Her? it was irridescent.
She was wearing a dress, on her human half, and was absolutely covered in jewelry. Piercings, Necklace, Armbands, Body chains.
All the same jade green as her hair pins, with gold and black detailing.
Her legs had been covered in what looked like gilded armour, covered in that same shining coating her carapace was. They were hard and sharp and looked smooth like porcelain.
The whole effect should have been horrifying. A melding of man and monstrous arachnid. It...it shouldn't have been enchanting. Intriguing.
He shouldn't be wondering about her waist, and where the line between spider and woman was. He should be terrified. His brain mused on how that porcelain would feel pressed against him. Would she take it off? Would she let him taste it?
It was wrong. He didn't think like this. He- Her human body had been beautiful as well. Full, thick, powerful muscle evident underneath layers of fat, like a powerlifter. She could lift him, easily. Crush him if she wanted.
That thought should have scared him to, and it did. It shouldn't have made him hard though.
The fabric of his new dress was soft, feeling like new jersey material, and his cock rubbed softly against it. It felt warm and comfortable, like snuggling under blankets.
He felt the ring at the base of his cock. It gently constricted, cold and smooth and that somehow made it all better. The mix of cold and hard and warm and soft.
He half rolled his hips, feeling the material of the dress slightly stretch around him, pulling at his arse and teasing his cock head.

No. No.
This wasn't him. This wasn't how he thought. He snapped out of his reverie., and looked back at Reshmi.
She smiled apologetically at him, before closing the door.

And just like that, Victor was back in danger.
As his thoughts returned to normalcy, fully returning to himself, he realised all his body hair was gone.
It didn't bother him. He'd shaved his legs before, when he'd been doing serious athletics and the lack of friction was a minor benefit. He was clean, he was awake, and he had to get moving. Soon. The goblins would still be nearby.

He examined the items he was now wearing.
Note for future me: Dress is a flat bonus to charisma, it's a virgin killer sweater basically, that doesn't even go to the base of Victor's ass. Tooth cap is something he can break to get out of sticky situations once per floor. Slippers are actually good stealth, giving him quiet step and reducing the distance people can see him on the minimap from. The Nudist ring is a scaling bonus based on how little he's wearing. The armband is a part of the predicament bondage, and will passively grow over time. The cock ring is going to develop, getting more restrictive and developing more pleasure points (vibrators etc) as it goes.

"NEW QUEST" The AI shouted in his ear. "Embrace submission: submit to 10 mobs, crawlers or hunters while you have the Submission Ring equipped."
Victor's blood ran cold, and the AI continued.
"Reward: Your Submission Ring will be upgraded!" Something about the way the AI emphasised upgraded made Victor shudder.
He needed to get this ring off, and fast.
He remembered the goblins, and started to run.

Chapter Text

The running felt odd.
His blisters had healed in record time, and the slippers provided amazing support, making each push off provide so much more movement.
His footfall was, as promised, completely silent.
But..somehow it felt easier than ever before. He was running faster, and he could tell his form was somehow better.
His movements smoother, conserving more energy and able to push better.
As he was wondering about this, he arrived back at the original crossroads. The stairs he'd fallen down were directly infront of him.
He hadn't even registered running past the door, the goblins or the slight twists and turns in the path.
He put a hand out in front of him, and almost immediately hit an invisible wall, preventing him going back up the stairs. He'd expected that, but confirming it still left him with a sinking feeling.

In the crossroads, he took the time to stretch.
He'd be running a while it seemed, and an injury would make any form of escape impossible.
He started lunging, then rotating, pressing and pulling each muscle in turn, feeling the tightness and strength, testing and finding the limits.
It...it was incredible. Somehow he'd gained an incredible range of motion. Before this he'd barely been able to touch his toes.
Now he could do so easily, and hug his calves.
And doing so felt joyous. His muscles didn't scream, they sang.
As elation rose in him, he decided to sprint. Just to see how fast he could go.
He had no way of marking distance, but he could get a feel at least.

He dropped into a full sprinters 4 point start. He coiled his body, applying more and more tension as he pushed past his former limits.
And then he exploded forward. His legs pumping hard, up and down, Each step pushing harder and harder and driving him faster and faster.
Small steps at first, and he naturally stayed low, his body somehow naturally moving into the right position.
Even without wind, he could feel the air pushing back against him, and that spurred him to go faster.
He pushed into the air, harder and faster and harder and faster, feeling the muscles in his thighs, his calves, his core pulsating to accelerate and hit the rhythm.
And then he was there, and he extended his legs, opening up his stride.
The steps came further apart now, but they were harder, drove deeper as he almost jumped from one foot to the next in huge strides.
He could feel the sweat building up, almost acting like a lubricant in it's own right.
He'd naturally fallen into a breathing pattern, letting the hard thrust of his legs push air in, and breathing out as he fell into the next stride.

All his problems faded.
He breathed, and he ran and there was nothing but breathing and running and feeling.
Feeling the air, Feeling the gentle rub of his thighs, feeling the dress on his skin as it danced against him, feeling the slippers kiss his feat.
Feeling the sweat wick away, feeling his blood pumping.
It was beautiful.
It was euphoric.
He felt the pleasure building in his core, his breath catching as each thrust was building on the last, resonating through him.
The rhythym drove the feeling, each press coming deeper, warming the spark that was growing inside him.
Then an orgasm ripped through him, and he saw stars.
He just about managed to slow to a stop, as each ripple and step just prolonged the surge through him.
Holy god.

He was exhausted. He was covered in sweat. His muscles were strained and sore.
And for this one moment, he wasn't merely happy. He was truly content.
In the bliss, nothing was wrong.

"New achievement!" It was the voice of the AI in his ear again. This time the voice was throaty and low, breathing almost as hard as Victor himself was. "Hands free! You managed to get yourself off without touching your genitals! Reward: 1 silver solo-play box!". All the blood in him ran directly to Victor's face, as the AI continued "But hey, next time you feel the need: Maybe make a bit more of a show of it. Daddy like's it when you gasp, but I really wanna hear some moaning."

That. That was really really creepy. Victor wanted to plead his innocence, declare that he hadn't been masturbating, just going for a run.
He moved his hands to cover himself, desperately trying to tug the dress lower and hide his face at the same time.
Wait. If the AI saw this. Oooonnoooo. It saw the goblins. And thats where his rewards had come from.
Shame swallowed him whole, devouring any of the remaining afterglow.

The caves echoed with the sound of a car backfiring. It jolted Victor out of his reverie.
He came to a hard stop. It was an odd burst of normalcy, in a world of goblins and spider-people...there was a car?
Had some-one, somehow managed to drive a car down the steps?
His mind played a moment from a comedy he'd seen a few years ago, a skinny proud man screaming "Why is there a cab in this scene!?" The thought made him laugh. Actually, hard laugh.
The sort of laugh that makes your chest hurt and leaves you gasping.
The sort of laugh that merges with a cry.
It was a relief to know that not everything was about him, and that somewhere someone was doing something as mundane as driving a car.

More muted, popping barks. They were distorted by the caves, odd echoes shortening and lengthening and dampening.
But. A car backfiring that often...something was seriously wrong with it.
Like, seriously seriously wrong.
Or it wasn't a car.

Fuck. FUck. FUCK. ooohhhhfuckfuckfcukfuck.

People have guns?! They have fucking guns! He was in a fucking dress and slippers, and people had fucking guns?!
Oooohhh fuck fuck fuck.
He stopped, and took it in, and felt cold.
A bubbling, horribly human, scream rang out.
oooooooohhh fuck fuck fuck.
He turned and scrambled and ran, panic taking him.
His body naturally fell into that perfect, somehow practiced, sprint.
His mind raced in blind panic. He tried to remember what he knew about guns.
They were distinct pops, not a burst. And a pause between the first and the next.
So, either that first shot was an accident and the rest was panic.
Or it was aimed fire, and the rest was capitalising on the surprise.
And the scream had come after the burst, not before.
His mind raced, He'd never been that into shooters, and was trying to remember some Tarkov a friend had streamed.
One more gunshot.