Zac quickly pulled the fabric down, his heart racing with anticipation, only to be met with an immense, soul-crushing sense of loss. Marchosias was already facing away from him, fully clad in his dark undershirt and trousers, currently pulling his heavy, black metal gauntlets over his paws and tightening the leather straps.
"There is a clean uniform for you on the counter," Marchosias said without turning around, his armor clinking.
Zac pouted, slowly beginning to dry himself off. As the towel rubbed across his skin, his overactive imagination immediately supplied the visual he was currently being denied, transmuting the upcoming battle into a classic 80s teen sports movie.
There were explosions and magical fires burning in the background as Zac lounged on the back of Leonardo's shell, casually sipping a strawberry milkshake. He watched Marchosias jogging toward him in slow motion, high-fiving Skarg and Nock after a killer war-off performance. They had totally kicked ass, and the holy losers were all walking away dejected after the wolf captain had totally dunked a hole-in-one buzzer beater.
"Did you see that, Zac?" Dream-Marchosias would say, pulling off his helmet and flicking his sweat-dampened head fur back with a ruggedly handsome grin. "We won nationals."
"Of course you did," Zac would say, batting his eyelashes over the rim of his milkshake cup. "You're the captain of the team, after all. I never had a doubt that you'd bank-shot a touchdown from the three-point line. You work so hard."
Imaginary March would wave the other demons off, stepping right up to the giant turtle to look up at Zac with smoldering amber eyes. "We are gonna have a big party tonight at my place. Did you want to come?"
Zac would blush and smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Of course. Though, this might be the last time I see you, since the big pro-war teams are totally going to be scouting you after that killer performance."
"They can try," March would say, reaching out with a massive, muscular arm to grab Zac by the waist. "But I'm not going anywhere without my number one fan."
Zac would completely melt into the big jock wolf's arms. "Why don't you join me in Leonardo's back seat? I think we can have our own little party before we head to your place."
"AVATAR!"
The sharp, gravelly bark shattered the daydream into a million pieces.
Zac blinked, snapping back to reality. Marchosias was standing over him, fully clad in his terrifying, magnificent black angelic plate mail. The pauldrons shaped like howling wolves seemed to sneer down at him, and the Captain's amber eyes were fixed on Zac with zero patience.
"I said we are late," Marchosias growled. "Get dressed."
Zac nodded dumbly, the ghost of his sports-anime fantasy still clinging to him, and reached for the fresh leopard-print onesie waiting on the counter.
It only took Zac a minute to finish drying off and slip into the very familiar pajamas. He zipped the front up, adjusted the hood, and spun around once, his leopard-print tail twirling around his legs in a lazy arc. He looked up at Marchosias.
The Captain's amber eyes swept over him, checking for any exposed skin or untucked fleece, before he gave a single, curt nod of approval.
"Is this really what I'm going to an active warzone in?" Zac questioned, his hand resting on his hip. "There were a lot of explosions and fiery swords and decapitated heads flying around when I watched that live broadcast during dinner a few days back. This is basically just tactical sleepwear."
Marchosias actually grinned, a dark, dangerous expression that exposed his gleaming fangs, and let out a low rumble of a chuckle. "Of course not."
Zac let out a silent sigh of relief. Even though he was totally just going to sit in the back on a rock-solid turtle and watch the hunky demons gang up on a robot, he had been a bit nervous that a stray bolt of holy magic or friendly demonic fire might clip him.
Marchosias reached under the marble counter and pulled out a small, dark bundle. "These are Ose's," the Captain said, holding them out. "I've had them modified to fit you."
Zac looked at the two offered items.
The first was a ragged grey cape. It looked old, the hem frayed and the fabric looking less like woven cloth and more like a heavy, dense fog that had been stitched together.
The second item was a crown. But it wasn't just a simple ring of gold with pointy bits. It was an incredibly ornate, oversized headpiece. The base was a thick band of dark, brushed metal, but it rose up into a bulbous, red velvet dome that looked like a very expensive, very evil papal tiara. It was heavily studded with dark, glittering jewels, and protruding straight up from the very top was a sharp, iron, upside-down cross.
Zac hesitantly took the objects from the wolf's massive gauntlets. He felt the weight of the cape… it was surprisingly light… and then looked closer at the elaborate crown.
He turned it over in his hands. "A blanket and..." He frowned, noticing a small leather strap dangling from the inside rim. "...a helmet? It has a chin strap."
Zac had barely fastened his new… not armor… to himself by the time they made it back into the stables. Unlike the earlier, quiet, peaceful room where Zac had his emotional breakdown, the cavern was now raucous and filled to the brim with demonic activity.
Nock was standing near the entrance, radiant in his blindingly polished silver plate mail. Timon the rodent mage was currently standing on a stepstool, frantically brushing and spraying the lion's mane with a demonic aerosol that made the hair look dramatically windswept, yet simultaneously rock-hard, ensuring the actual wind would have zero effect on its volume. Behind the majestic feline, Pumbaa was carefully draping a fresh, stark-white funeral shroud over a skeletally thin pale horse whose eyes glowed with an eerie, corpse-green light.
Further down the aisle, Andras leaned against a wooden pillar in his usual dark blue greatcoat and tricorn hat, methodically running a whetstone down the edge of his cutlass with a chilling shhhk sound. Just behind the owl demon, Goremaw was actively trying to murder his handlers. A trio of odd, pasty-skinned demons wearing draped white togas and laurel wreaths were desperately trying to buckle a heavy leather saddle onto the warg's back. Zac winced as Goremaw suddenly snapped, tearing one of the toga-wearing demon's arms clean off with a wet crunch. The lesser demon merely sighed, picked up his severed limb with his good hand, and began trying to reattach it.
Zac's eyes widened as he looked across the stable. Halphas was walking with purposeful strides, carrying a massive, heavy-looking olive-drab ammunition crate toward... Zac had to do a double-take.
It was a Humvee. A completely normal-looking, sand-colored, military-issue, four-wheel-drive High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, parked right there in the middle of the infernal stables. Private Cher Ami was currently crouched by one of the massive tires, tapping it with a clipboard and checking the tread.
Near the center pens, Bune was meticulously brushing the flank of a massive, placid Bicorn that was already fitted with the Captain's heavy war saddle. Marchosias pulled his black gauntlets tight, his armor clinking as he strode purposefully toward the demonic steed to inspect his mount for battle.
Then, Zac noticed Skarg.
The massive caribou demon was sitting on an overturned bucket. Hovering above him were a few more of his bat-winged demonic cherubs: a baby rabbit, a chubby little wombat, and a raccoon that looked entirely too pleased with itself. They were attempting to drape a heavy, lush cape woven entirely from vibrant green vines over Skarg's broad shoulders, much to the wendigo's annoyance. Skarg growled, swatting at the air like he was being harassed by overgrown mosquitoes, trying to brush the cute little flying woodland critters away.
Skarg suddenly paused. He noticed Zac staring.
The wendigo's icy blue eyes locked onto the human. The green vine cape fell onto his shoulders as he abruptly stood up, scattering the cherubs. He stalked right over to Zac, his hooves thudding heavily against the floor, and stopped inches away, looming over the smaller man and letting out a vicious, territorial growl.
Zac just smiled, adjusting the chin strap of his evil papal crown. "Hey, Skarg."
Skarg leaned in, his icy blue eyes practically glowing, and hissed directly into Zac's face. "If you think being the 'Demon of Love' makes me some big pussy, I'm gonna fuck you until you orgasm so hard that you'll beg me to stop."
Zac nodded enthusiastically.
Skarg bared his teeth. "I mean it! You'll be completely out of seminal fluid, and it will feel like you're cumming glass shards!"
Zac nodded again, his eyes wide with anticipation.
Skarg's fur bristled, his voice rising to a bellow. "You will not enjoy it! Pleasure will become your new baseline, and everything else in existence will feel utterly meaningless unless you're getting fucked like a dirty, desperate whore!"
Zac nodded a third time, a dopey, lovesick smile spreading across his face. "Promises, promises."