After laying on the floor until his head stopped aching, Zac had plenty of time to think. What was the point of the princess rescue storyline? Did demons remember feelings from dreams? Was immersive roleplay actually just training in disguise, and Marchosias was truly a tactical genius that would be spoken about for eons?
And most importantly: why didn't he rip that sheet off of Nock and stare at the lion's junk?
Zac squeezed his eyes shut and felt the tears fall on his cheeks. Barbs. He knew there were barbs or something and the lion tube steak was impressive, but he couldn't remember the feeling of it, just that it had made him a bit damp.
However, after wallowing in self-admonishment for nearly an hour, he realized that he was not going to be able to go back to sleep, how could he ever think about drifting off when there was no demon to give him dream strip teases. Even with the lingering effects of the demon dream visit (which once again had left him quite limp) his blood was boiling with the hormones of a thousand degenerate fan girls waiting to get books signed by their favorite yaoi author. Even if he could not raise his mast to sail the seas of his imagination, he needed to take action. He needed... to cruise.
The light outside the window was still its static vague red. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or unconscious. He also had no clue as to where exactly he wanted to go. But when he pulled himself up by the doorknob and found it turned easily in his hand, he knew that Bune's embarrassed exit the night before was now his free pass to get into trouble.
Zac peeked out into the corridor. It looked exactly the same as any other time he'd been in the halls: cold, stony, and aggressively gothic. He felt a bit of anti-climax; he thought there might be some early morning mood lighting, maybe a sconce dimmed for ambiance. Totally a missed opportunity.
He padded down the hall, looking at the very sharp-looking weapons mounted as art on the walls. He felt a bit judged by the different suits of armor as he passed. He hoped they were not filled with bugs, but he was not really in the mood to find out. He was still a bit salty from being rejected by the Arachne-Strider down in the stables the night before.
He tried to remember his way to the dining room as he walked along, rubbing the sore spot on his head. It seemed like whenever Bune led him around, the dragon just confidently walked down whatever hallway he fancied and the keep would lead him where he wanted to go. Zac felt like this would work out for him too. You know what they say: play it by ear if you want a hot wolfman in your rear.
Zac struck a confident pose, pointing forward down the corridor. "Alright my soon-to-be-betrothed wolf man's million-dollar bachelor pad! Show me the kitchen! Kitty wants to get some breakfast!"
He strutted down the hall, his tail swishing with purpose.
Twenty minutes later, Zac was less confident. Somehow, he had found himself in a long hallway with no end in sight in either direction. He had turned around after walking for about eight minutes in one direction and was growing ever more unsettled that there were not even doors now. He should have been back to where he started at this point, but it would appear that the building did not like him very much.
"I swear to god," Zac muttered under his breath, glaring at a sconce, "I am not above pulling one of these wall lights down and starting a fire. I will do it. I'm crazy."
"You're gonna start a fire?"
Zac sighed before turning. He should have just had a killer jumpscare (he had no clue someone was behind him) but now he was just a bit embarrassed he was overheard earnestly threatening an inanimate object.
Halphas was standing in front of him, looking a strange combination of winded, amused, and also a bit concerned. The eagle demon was dressed in a jogging outfit that consisted of very short shorts and a tight white wifebeater.
"Fire hot... so fucking hot..." Zac murmured as he stared at the eagle's shorts.
Halphas's legs were thick. Zac didn't know how, but even with the light dusting of feathers, he could tell these were beefcake legs. Nock might have had a sexy vein, but these legs were sculpted. How the feathers on the eagle's inner thighs didn't rub off when he walked didn't make any sense, but Zac wasn't questioning the physics of thigh gaps right now.
"Yeah, that's one of its key features," Halphas chuckled as he watched Zac get instantly dick-hypnotized… or dicknotized as Zac would begrudgingly refer to it later in his memoirs.
Zac was lost in a fantasy involving Halphas in a bodybuilding competition, and Zac got to play the role of the very eager judge. He imagined himself oiling up those massive thighs, giving a thorough, hands-on critique of the eagle's gluteal striations.
He returned to reality as Halphas snapped his fingers in front of the zoned-out human's face. "So what is it? You trying to get sweaty?" the eagle asked.
"Yes," Zac said instinctively. Getting sweaty with a hunky jock was an easy ask.
Halphas crossed his arms and looked pleased, his biceps flexing. "That's the spirit, new guy. It would take you a while to get back to the main keep anyways if you weren't up for a run."
"Run?" Zac questioned. "Like... with my legs?"
The keep, apparently, was quite large and also quite demonic. The magical and spiritual powers that were infused into the Pit had given the building an atypical floor plan. The corridor was, according to Halphas, about two miles away from where Zac had begun his early morning escapade.
Twenty minutes later, Zac was dripping with sweat and panting as he struggled to keep up with Halphas, who was barely breaking a sweat jogging slowly down the corridor. Zac was half-listening as Halphas droned on about the keep and how it was excellent for his morning cardio routine. The carpet was a bit bad for his joints, apparently, but being able to run a marathon without any distractions or interruptions was quite nice.
"I need... a break..." Zac wheezed, the fleece of his leopard onesie clinging to him like a wet, sweaty second skin. He felt like dying.
Halphas laughed, a sharp bark, and barely slowed his pace. "That's the spirit, new guy! You'll get whipped into shape in no time."
Zac fell dramatically to the floor, holding a hand up. "But I'm a bottom! If I get buff, people will want me to fuck them!"
Halphas stopped, jogging in place and looking down at the sprawled-out human with a grin. "This is cardio, not weightlifting. Endurance is key for any position."
Zac sucked in air, his chest heaving. "There are better forms of cardio," he gasped, "like getting held down onto a mattress and struggling until I can't move while a big cruel demon groans about how tight my-"
Zac trailed off, hugging himself and rolling around on the floor as the fantasy took hold, momentarily overriding his exhaustion.
Halphas shook his head and laughed, the sound echoing down the endless hallway. "You'd be fun to fuck for all of five minutes before you passed out. Are you even doing kegels?"
Zac slowly opened his eyes and stopped hugging himself. He looked up at Halphas from the floor, affronted. "I'm not an old blown-out grandma."
Halphas stopped jogging in place and clicked his beak in disapproval. "Do you think someone with no experience would be better in the sack than that old blown-out grandma?" He reached down, offering a taloned hand to help Zac up. "If she's truly blown out, she must have been quite the slut back in the day. Experience counts for something."
Zac reluctantly took Halphas's hand and allowed himself to be easily heaved to his feet. "Touché. You've really made a great case for fucking grandmas over virgins."
Halphas squawked with laughter. "That's not what I'm trying to say." He slapped Zac heartily on the back, nearly sending the human sprawling again. "I don't wanna risk getting flayed by March unless I know you've got the stamina to keep struggling for at least half an hour. Where's the fun if you go limp after the first round?"
A shiver ran up Zac's spine. The wheels in his mind began to turn. It was true that he did not really care to become a buff bodybuilder, in the same way that a reader does not truly care to write, Zac was a consumer of the visually impressive. But... half an hour of hardcore, intense, passionate demon assault really would be a taxing ordeal. In Zac's fantasies, he never considered the physical demands of holding himself in different positions for extended periods of time. Or the core strength required to ride a boulder.
Zac felt a rush of panicked realization. He should actually work out a bit.