Chapter 6: 6: It’s My Life

“This is good work, Ms. Jefferson,” Steve said, flipping through the freshly printed plans of the Goblin Bank with his large, brown and clawed hands. “Very good. And your coworkers say it got finished today because of your efforts.”

Honoka didn't say anything, her face emotionless as she sat stiffly on the uncomfortable chair in Steve’s small office. Or, at least, it seemed small because Steve took up so much of the space with his bulk. While it was casual Friday to the rest of the office, neither bothered to change it up, Steve sharply dressed while Honoka wore a black blouse over a black and white striped skirt.

“No need to come in tomorrow or Sunday now, is there? Haha!” Steve thought he was funny. Any other day Honoka would have given him a shy smile, but he didn't receive the usual reaction as Honoka continued to stare forward, not quite looking at him. “Anyway, I'll pass this along to the bigwigs upstairs and let them know you are the woman of the hour.”

“Can I get next week off?” Honoka asked in a flat monotone.

“You’ve certainly earned it. However, I just got handed a forty-floor superstructure the brass want finished by next month, and you are a valuable member of this team…”

Steve kept talking, going on about the company, how there was a possible raise in it for her if she finished ahead of schedule, but the depressed woman wasn't paying much attention. She'd had enough.

Steve apparently realized he wasn't as captivating or intimidating as he was used to being. The troll ended the meeting and Honoka slowly walked back to her desk. Sitting down, the architect took a moment to look at everything around her for a moment. None of it was hers, no pictures or doodads or little stuffed animals or even a small plant, all of it belonged to the company. Honoka only came here to work, but it never genuinely felt like her own space. Opening her email browser and shooting a quick but complete message to HR, she closed everything down and shut her computer off.

“Girlfriend, you still here?” Meredith peeked down, smiling broadly at the younger and smaller woman, her purple bangs covering her eye before she absently brushed them aside. She took advantage of casual Friday with a white sleeveless T, black yoga pants and big black boots, evident to everyone she knew she looked like a certain one-eyed spaceship captain. “Good, I caught you. Look, even if that bridge troll only has the male wits God didn’t give him, the rest of us know you got this bank done and we want to take you out for saving our weekend. How does Alonzo’s sound?”

“Sorry,” Honoka said, and with a shake of her head, realized she'd been apologizing too much and needed to change that. “I mean, I'm really touched you guys want to do that for me, but I just want to be alone for a bit.” Honoka stood up and spontaneously hugged the giant cyclops woman - or the bottom half of her - and tried to express everything she knew she'd never say. “Also, I quit.”

Meredith’s mouth fell open, one massive but manicured hand slowly coming around and gently patting the smaller woman’s shoulder. Honoka wasn’t able to stop a mischievous smile as she secretly reveled someone else other than herself was speechless for once.

“It's about time!” Meredith finally found the words, shaking Honoka a bit before they broke the hug. The large woman crouched down to properly smile at the once again shy Honoka who hid her face behind her hair but still smiling. “Steve killed the golden goose over a couple of vacation days, the…wanker.” They both shared a laugh as the cyclops gave the last word a bit of bad British accent. “When is your last day?”

“Today,” Honoka replied, picking up her bag with more confidence than she showed all day. “I had eleven days of unused paid leave, looks like I'm getting my vacation.”

“No fair! Now you need to come with us to Alonzo’s.”

“Another time?” Honoka’s face drooped, her moroseness returning as she gave her friend another quick hug. “I'm not in the mood.” The dark woman stepped around the giant and left, not wanting to talk to anyone else.

Huzzah, Honoka thought sarcastically, twirling a finger in the early August afternoon heat, first time leaving work by five since… the jobless woman frowned, dropping her hand. I think this is my first time leaving by five.

Honoka pulled out her phone to check her bank account, worried she made a terrible mistake, but put it back quickly when she remembered she turned it off this morning. She didn't want to turn it on, the competition would be over and she worried her team would be blasting texts about how they lost and it's all her fault. Honoka’s family was also probably sending messages and trying to call her about missing her trip back home and saying it's her fault for not coming. And then there was the possibility Diane called. Or worse, not called.

“Maybe I should cancel my phone plan altogether,” Honoka told herself, merging into the sea of people and moving towards the bus stop. “If I don't own a phone, no one can get hold of me ever, right?”

Babcock Building was close enough to BU bridge to find a unique mix this time of day. White collars like Honoka ready for the weekend, MIT and BAC students cramming their last bit of prep or partying before the semester began next week, delvers in kevlar or chain mail with weapons modern and magical waiting for the bus to Harvard. Honoka joined those expecting the bus and a polite black man in plate armor and huge mace immediately stood with some clanking to offer her his seat. At first, Honoka declined with a shake of her head, but a butch Hispanic woman in Kevlar and a large red scar covering most of the left side of her face shimmied a bit on the bench and patted the bench. Honoka relented, her posture hunched as she glanced at all these intimidating delvers.

“So, what’s your Ten?” the large African man said to Honoka with a thick Georgian drawl, leaning forward on his mace and getting loud groans from the rest of the delvers whom the shy black woman realized were apart of a team.

“Don't answer that,” the scarred woman said as she banged a fist on the armored man’s chest, pushing him back a bit with force. “Jake here has the tact of a pit trap and should try to keep it in his pants.” Her voice was also Southern but Honoka couldn't place it. She continued, aiming some annoyance towards Jake. “It's your fault we’re here instead of at Harvardtown, taking the bus like a bunch of noobs because you insisted we eat the best pizza in the world at that overpriced Alfredo's.”

“Its Alonzo’s and totally worth it. And what's wrong with askin’ a pretty girl out?” This produced some snickers and a few more groans before he turned back to Honoka, who obviously suffered from all the attention. “My guildies forgot how to have a good time, and I was wonderin’ if you might show a new guy in town some fun clubs around here this weekend.”

“Cool it, Casanova,” another woman said, dressed in long blue robes and using a glowing staff to push the armored man back a bit out of Honoka’s space. “Can't you see the girl is terrified?” When the woman turned around, Honoka met an older Caucasian woman in her fifties with eyes the shade of liquid mercury. “Forgive our abrasive manners, delving tends to make a person…abrupt. I'm Cleo Tate, and these misfits are my guild, Carnival, recently from New Orleans.” She offered her hand and Honoka took it.

“Honoka Jefferson.” Looking at the collection of people there, Honoka decided there was nothing to lose at this point. “Um, what does a delving guild do, actually?”

“Lots of stuff, most of it boring.” The scarred Hispanic stood up as the older Cleo took her seat next to Honoka. “Magic is still too fashionable a commodity, demand is higher than supply right now. Classes can do a lot of amazing things on their own but the crafters - enchanters, alchemists, artifacters and others - need materials to make their products and the only place to find those materials are in dungeons. What I'm getting at is delvers are mostly farmers.”

Honoka dwelt on that, unsure why she was interested. It didn't sound so bad, collecting magical stuff, but looking at the group of heavily armored and armed people, it probably wasn't very safe.

Screw safe.

“How can I become a delver?”

********************

“Pages six to thirty-two is the liability waiver, asking if you are of sound mind and body and is magically enchanted to prove you aren't under any harmful geas, compulsion, charm or another form of curse before entering the Harvard Dungeon. Make sure when you sign to leave a thumbprint with a drop of your blood to activate it properly. Pages thirty-three to seventy-six are the customs and tax forms, which include but are not limited to…”

Honoka stood in front of a teller’s kiosk, the Federal Dungeon Regulation building no different looking than a DMV. What did surprise her was the “open 24 hours” sign outside, but when she asked, the bored teller explained delvers worked odd hours, and the place was always busy. Honoka guessed he was right, it was almost eight o’clock and she was waiting with hundreds of people in all sorts of Races and gear comically standing in lines or playing on their phones. When her number came, she was dozing and rose with an embarrassing snort, explaining to an obese man with bags under his eyes she wanted a delver’s license.

What followed was a string of monotone questions and a stack of papers thicker than her arm. The actual license fee wasn't much, only fifty-five dollars or one gold coin, which she didn’t receive an explanation for. Basically, what she’d figured out so far was the government taxed what a person brought out, but dungeons themselves were considered sentient and, in some ways, autonomous. In other words, new laws and regulations couldn't stop someone from going into a dungeon, and whatever happened inside, the government wouldn’t do much of anything to police or control it anyway. To mitigate lawsuits and outrage, everyone signed death and harm waivers and then it was no longer the government’s problem.

“…and the last page is to list next of kin and their contact information. When you’re done, take your papers to 4C over there on your left and they’ll get you your license.”

Honoka nodded, hefting her paperwork in one hand and grabbing the offered pen and sanitized needle sealed in paper in the other, going back to her seat. She initially took the chair in the back corner because the area didn't contain anyone else, but now two Racial women sat next to her bag, a minotaur and goblin if she ventured to guess. She almost snagged her bag to see if there was a more private part of the room, but with dismay, she found the room even more full than when she arrived and most of the seats taken. Sighing, she plopped herself down and began reading the novel.

“Gonna be a delver?”

Honoka looked up, the goblin woman next to her politely keeping out of Honoka’s personal bubble while casually motioning to the stack of papers in Honoka’s lap. The goblin was shorter than the young woman, dark green skin with a lightly pebbled texture, a cartoonishly large nose dominating her elongated face with oversized arms and hands that made the Race look more gorilla than human, small red eyes the last noteworthy feature. There was a bit of black hair on her head, pulled back into a simple ponytail. She wore a grease-stained pair of blue mechanic coveralls, a couple of modest breasts tenting the front the only clue to her sex, her large clawed feet bare and swinging in the air as she talked. Honoka nodded, not really wanting to start a conversation right now.

“Tough work, hard to do without a guild.” The goblin’s accent sounded muddled, her voice raspy with a soft lisp.

Honoka shrugged, grimacing a little as she finished a page, initialed it, then flipped to the next. Cleo explained she was unable to hire a level one for liability reasons and because they were new to Boston, they didn't know of any feeder guilds, but she would send Honoka an email next week with a list if she was still interested. It stung at the time but the young woman remained determined. This was going to be her distinct path, even if it was difficult.

“Do you already have a guild?”

Honoka shook her head, growing irritated as she came to the first page to sign, scribbling her name and pricking her right thumb before adding a bloody print in the box. A tiny flash and some smoke burst under the script, but she had been warned and only let out a little yelp.

“No guild? Great, because my friend and I were looking to start one and wondered if you'd be interested.”

You are reading story Becoming Monsters at novel35.com

“What?” The distracted woman pulled away from her paperwork, giving the pair sitting next to her some attention. “Why me?”

“Lots of reasons.” The minotaur woman spoke, her voice surprisingly high soprano and girly despite looking over eight feet tall and weighing over a thousand pounds of pure, exaggerated, veiny, put-the-Hulk-to-shame muscles. She sat in one of the larger seats provided for Changed Races, but even the extra support didn’t seem strong enough to hold her. Her head was an anthroed bovine, small horns curling out of the top of her head. Her skin was covered in white and brown fur from her massively trapped, broad and rounded shoulders, tapering to light pink skin down her arms and chest. She wore a flannel shirt but the fabric didn't look like it would hold much longer as they strained to keep breasts the size of actual king-sized pillows from bursting out, nipples clearly full-on teats making it abundant she went braless. Underneath, her waist didn't narrow much as slabs of hard meat writhed while she breathed, more fur coming from her back and flowing down the sides of her thighs into a pair of jean shorts. Her legs were thicker than trees, stretched out underneath the chairs in front of her and ungulating into massive hooves, fur doing little to hide sharp crevices cut into her skin by muscles on top of muscles. One massive three-fingered hand held a double mooned battle ax the size of Honoka propped against her chair, the weapon looking well used.

Honoka blushed, forcibly pulling her eyes from the enticing body of the minotaur woman and back to her paperwork. She purposely ignored the pinnacle of her fetishes sitting so close, but now she had a hard time concentrating. Her too late reply came with only a bit of her usual stutter, “I d-don't know what you mean.”

“First, you look new, probably low leveled,” the goblin woman took over, holding up a long, clawed finger with too many joints in it. “We’re both low leveled and breaking into a more serious guild takes a resume we don't have. Second, you’re female. I can smell something else on you, but who am I to talk?” The goblin grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow fangs. “We experienced problems with men getting too handsy down in the dungeon and decided an all-girl guild would be the best for us. Third,” she held up a third claw, pointing her nose at Honoka’s stack of paperwork, “Races get a different set of forms, like yours. Everything might be all polite out here in the world, but the dungeon is filled with a rougher crowd, a more prejudiced crowd, and accidents are known to happen between sorry/not sorry humans and dead Races. We need someone who looks human enough to pass as, well, human in case we find ourselves in trouble. None of that's the main reason we’re asking you to join our guild, though.”

Honoka was a bit overwhelmed, not understanding it was that bad in dungeons. She'd heard stories, sure, but it was common practice to sweep anything under the what happens in a dungeon stays in the dungeon rug. Shaking her head to clear it, Honoka asked the leading question. “Then what's the reason?”

“Can't form a guild without a minimum of four people and a bond of a hundred gold coins.” The minotaur replied, leaning back in her chair as it creaked and threatened to break under her weight. “We have our fifty gold, but we’d still need one more after you and then the coins. If we can nab a fourth, it shouldn't take us more than a month to get the other fifty. Then we'd be set. At the end of the day, we need warm bodies.”

“Look, you don't know us,” the goblin leaned closer, causing Honoka to reflexively squirm back a little. “But you smell nice enough. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out, you get a fair split of the assets and we find someone else.” She pulled out a business card for a local car shop and handed it to Honoka. “I'm Eve and the cow is Banda.” Apparently, Banda didn't care for the cow remark and growled, but Eve only smiled wider. “My cell’s on the card, give us a call after you’ve thought it over.” Jumping off her chair, the goblin quickly scurried down the row of chairs as Banda took more care getting up and walking out, her hooves clacking loudly on the linoleum floor.

Honoka appreciated the view, feeling herself throb while she got an eyeful of the minotaur’s rippling rear under far too much cutoff jean shorts. Tightening her grip on the pen in her left hand, she went back to reading the legalese, idly tapping the business card on her leg.

********************

I am spending all of tomorrow in bed, Honoka thought, exhausted as she trudged up her apartment stairs, her left hand cramped from all the forms and her right thumb throbbing from all the needle pokes. Thinking a little, still not turning in her phone to check, she sighed. Scratch that, I think it's past midnight, I am spending all of TODAY in bed.

Reaching into her bag for her keys, Honoka dropped them when she rounded the last bend in the stairs and found a shocking scene.

Curled up in a ball, her face in her knees, wings limply folded around her, Diane huddled in front of Honoka’s door. Her kelly eyes found cobalt blue, they were red and puffy but also scared, like a frightened animal. The usually forward and seductive succubus looked sad and lonely, how Honoka imagined she must look to most people.

Diane wore yellow sweats, a purple t-shirt with a white windbreaker hiding most of it and a pair of old sneakers. Behind her, taking up almost the entire landing of her floor, were some bags and several boxes stacked against the wall. It didn't look like a whole lot of stuff, but it was probably everything the prostitute owned.

“Hey.” Diane spoke quietly in the silent stairway.

“Hey.” Honoka wasn't sure why she wasn't reacting, standing there without her usual emotion.

“You haven't been answering my texts.”

“I turned off my phone.”

“Oh.” Diane looked down at her knees again, hugging herself tighter. “Then you should—”

“I don't care,” and Honoka was surprised to realize she didn't, bending down and picking up her keys and moving to her door, unlocking it and walking in. When she closed the door, she locked it, but Honoka lost her strength and slid down. The dark of her apartment wrapped around her as she stayed there on the floor.

“Please, I couldn't think of another way, it all happened so fast.” Diane came up against the door, only some cheap wood between them while she talked. “You don't know what he’s like, Solomon Church is the evilest person I know and if he found out about you, you’d end up in a cage at the bottom of that Hell, just like the rest of us.

“He’s an incubus. The Race isn't well known because they keep their powers secret, but they feed like parasites on succubi and other demonics. If he knew about you, someone who can become any race, you would disappear. I lost it for a little bit last night, first because I thought you were just another pimp, then when I realized you broke the tracking spell they put on me.

“I panicked.” Diane was sobbing now. “I needed to make his lackey Benedict think you were just a Jane that took too long. I'm kinda known as the…witch who gets ‘em off and moves onto the next one. They would have monitored you, followed you home if they thought to snag another hook in me. I needed to sell it.”

Honoka didn't say anything for a long time, but eventually, she climbed up and turned on her lights, opening her door. “How did you find me?”

Diane cleaned up her face with her shirt, showing her enticing stomach, which Honoka pointedly ignored as the succubus brought herself into a sitting position. “I know a cop, he’s an old friend. I called him and asked to track down your address and help me move my things out this morning. He’s a good man and…nevermind. After a quicky to make it look legit, some of his fellow cops distracted the bouncers and we escaped there clean. Church is probably sending out goons to look for me, but I doubt he’ll ever expect me less than five miles away in Norwood.”

“What you did hurt me.”

“I know. I'm so sorry.” At this point, Diane groveled pathetically.

Still not sure if she was ok with all this, Honoka stepped to the side and waved Diane in. “There isn't a lot of room. I'm not sure I can forgive you, but you can stay for at least a couple of days while we figure something out.”

“Thank you!” Diane cried softly, stumbling up and stepping inside. “I can pay you back if you want,” she said as she began to remove her windbreaker.

“Nope,” Honoka replied, shaking her head firmly. “If we start up again, then we’ll do it as lovers. If not, then I don't want anything to do with you or your job.” The usually timid woman surprised herself with how forceful she sounded but realized she meant it.

“O-ok.” Diane gulped as she hugged herself and looked around the studio apartment. “Not a lot of room. However,” she quickly interjected, “I should be fine on the floor here.”

Honoka looked at her faux wood floor and gave up, waving the succubus to follow. “You’ll get the bed, only ever use it two-thirds of the time anyway. I'll be in here.” Opening the bathroom door, the futanari motioned her inside and gave the now gaping woman the grand tour of everything, including the Fortress Of Debauchery.

“Hot water? All the time? Marry me.”

Honoka giggled behind her hands. “There is an unstoppable sex machine with a waterproof bed, seven showerheads and high def TV. Are you sure all you care about is the water heaters?” They both broke down, laughing at the absurdity of it.

“You don't know what it's like,” Diane said, tears coming down her face as she laughed. “I haven't gotten a hot shower in years! The Johns always came first.”

“That's what she said!” This brought on another round of laughter as they both experienced a much-needed catharsis. This went on for minutes.

“Ok, that's enough,” Honoka insisted as the laughter died down, walking out of the bathroom. “Let's get your things inside. After, I still need my schwing problem taken care of but the bathroom is soundproof so you shouldn't hear anything. And no,” she said, picking up the first box, “I'm still not sure about us, but we can talk tomorrow after we sleep in. My wifi password is on my desk.”

Diane nodded and they worked to move Honoka’s roommate in. It didn't take long, there wasn't much, but Honoka was silently curious why most of the boxes sounded like glass tinkling inside. After, Honoka set a video up while Diane made use of the bathroom. Maybe it was her current living arrangement, but the footage Honoka picked boasted the same redhead cheerleader as two nights ago.

Two nights? Life was coming at the shy, small, anxious, black Asian, hermaphrodite woman faster than she would ever guess. The two switched rooms and said goodnight. Honoka wasn't sure what Diane did before going to sleep, but the pent up hermaphrodite fantasized a great deal as she built to climax and blacked out to the pounding of a huge cock in a tight redhead.

You can find story with these keywords: Becoming Monsters, Read Becoming Monsters, Becoming Monsters novel, Becoming Monsters book, Becoming Monsters story, Becoming Monsters full, Becoming Monsters Latest Chapter