...
"...he's finally here..."
"...places, everyone, places..."
"...does the lighting catch my good side? How does my mane look? Is it voluminous enough?..."
...
Zac blinked.
He wasn't on the floor anymore. He was standing, but he couldn't see anything. A thick, heavy fabric was tied tight around his eyes. He reached up, his fingers brushing against silk, and yanked the blindfold down.
He wasn't in his room. He wasn't even in the keep.
He was in a castle, but it was wrong. The stones were asymmetrical, jagged, and rough-hewn, lacking the sleek, obsidian perfection of Marchosias's fortress. The windows were narrow slits, but instead of the eternal, bloody red glow of the Pit, a pale, artificial moonlight streamed through. It felt like a set. A stage.
Zac looked down and realized his footing was precarious. He was standing on a grate of cold iron. He grabbed the bars surrounding him. He was in a suspended birdcage, hanging by a massive chain over a dark, seemingly bottomless pit.
He leaned over the edge, squinting into the abyss. "Hello?" he called out. "Any Void Leeches down there? Or is this just a dramatic drop?"
He looked across the room. On a raised dais, sitting on thrones made of skulls and spikes, were two familiar figures. But they looked... different.
The warthog demon, Pumbaa, was draped in heavy velvet robes trimmed with ermine fur. He wore a crown that was slightly too small for his head, sitting crookedly between his ears. He looked like a caricature of an Evil King from a dark fantasy novel.
Beside him, the rodent demon, Timon, was dressed in tattered black robes covered in silver stars. He held a staff topped with a glowing green orb. He was clearly going for "Dark Wizard," though he looked more like a lawn ornament gone bad.
"Hey guys!" Zac waved enthusiastically through the bars of his cage. "I didn't know you were on the dream invite list! Look, if this is still about the conditioner, I really didn't mean to steal it. Even though it did smell really good, and I bet it would be great to use when I'm jerk-"
"Silence, Princess!" Pumbaa huffed, slamming a scepter onto the stone floor. "There is no escape for you now!"
Timon hissed in amusement, rubbing his spindly hands together. "The Evil King Pumbaa will make you his consort! He will fill you with a child and take over your kingdom! Now be silent, wench!"
Zac blinked. "Fill me with a... wait."
He looked down at himself. The leopard-print onesie was gone.
In its place, Zac was wearing a skimpy, silver chainmail bikini. It was less "armor" and more "suggestion." Gems dripped from the chains, catching the moonlight, and sheer, flowy bits of transparent silk hung from his hips and shoulders, designed purely for dramatic wind effects.
Zac blinked again.
His brain broke a little bit. He touched the cold metal against his skin. Then, he looked back up at the demons, a wide, delighted grin spreading across his face.
He shook his shoulders. Jingle jingle. He shook his hips. Swish swish.
"Oh my god," Zac whispered. Then he laughed, shaking his ass so the gems clattered against the iron bars. "Princess Leyah eat your heart out, bitch! Look at this fit! I look expensive!"
"Stop that!" Pumbaa hissed, looking uncomfortable. "You're the Princess! You are supposed to be cowering in fear of my dark seed!"
Zac stopped dancing and pointed a manicured finger (when did he get a manicure?) at the warthog man. "You'll never break me!" he declared dramatically, pressing his chest against the bars. "Even if you ravage me over and over and over..." His voice trailed off into a husky whisper. "...and over... and fill me with your royal oats..."
"Cut!" Timon screeched, banging his staff. "That isn't any way for a kidnapped maiden to act! You're ruining the tension!"
"I'm building the tension!" Zac argued. "I'm a defiant princess! It's a valid archetype!"
Before the rodent wizard could retort, the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the chamber exploded inward.
BOOM.
Splinters of wood showered the room like confetti. Dust billowed out, swirling in the shafts of moonlight.
"Halt, evil doers!"
A voice, rich and baritone, echoed through the chamber.
As the dust settled, a figure emerged. It was Sir Nock. He was clad in armor so shiny it was physically painful to look at. He held a massive sword pointed toward the ceiling, his other hand resting on his hip. He struck a pose, holding it for a solid five seconds to ensure everyone saw it.
And his mane.
It was magnificent. It was voluminous. It defied gravity, blowing in a wind that didn't exist inside the stone room. It was the mane of a lion who used excellent conditioner.
"Release pure Zachary," Nock bellowed, his golden eyes flashing, "and I may let you live!"
Zac's chainmail jockstrap became quite uncomfortable very quickly. That lion was so fuckable it was insane. Why the hell did God think it was appropriate to make the demons so alluring? Falling from grace and turning into a demon was supposed to be a punishment, right? Not an all-expenses-paid trip to Korean pop star-level plastic surgery.
"Ha ha ha!" Pumbaa laughed thickly, snapping back into character with a jolt. He spread his arms wide, his velvet robes billowing. "What a fool you are to have come here! You have fallen right into my trap!"
"Fool!" Timon hissed manically, crouching beside the throne and waving his staff. "Complete fool!"
"I may be a fool," Nock said passionately, holding his free hand to his armored chest and closing his eyes, a single beam of moonlight perfectly highlighting his profile. "But I am only a fool... for love."
Zac let out a soft, appreciative whimper from his cage.