They would be here. In the massive keep. The evil, tempting, incredibly stacked demons would be sleeping under the same roof. Eating in the same dining hall. Walking these same dark corridors at night.
Hope blossomed in his chest like a nuclear mushroom cloud.
'I can do this,' he thought, a thrill running through him. 'The game isn't over. It's just moved to a smaller arena.'
A ping of guilt blipped through his mind. Whoever found him alone in a corridor at night first might get punished by Marchosias. The Captain had been very clear about flaying flesh from bones.
'But that's okay,' Zac rationalized instantly. 'It wouldn't be my fault. It wouldn't be their fault, really. It's totally natural. It's meant to be. I am the irresistible force, and they are the moveable objects. Fate will find a way. And if Fate needs me to "accidentally" leave my door unlocked and wear nothing but a smile, then who am I to argue with the cosmos?'
He grinned, a wicked, predatory expression that mirrored the monsters he was lusting after.
"Bune," Zac said sweetly, starting to walk again. "Where did you say Halphas was going to be staying? I should probably… inspect the area. For... personal reasons."
Bune's heads dismissed Halphas with synchronized sniffs of disdain. "That bird will likely roost in the highest tower he can find. He likes drafty places."
The butler pushed open one of the massive double doors and gestured grandly for Zac to enter.
The Hell Kitchen was a cathedral of culinary violence. It was vast, echoing, and relentlessly gothic. The ceiling was lost in soot-stained shadows high above. Massive black-iron fire pits lined the walls, large enough to roast a bull whole. Rows of rotisseries, bristling with spikes, hung silent and cold. Tables made of butcher-block thick enough to stop a cannonball stretched down the center of the room.
It was also completely empty.
Zac wandered in, his footsteps echoing on the stone. "Where is everyone? Where's the food? Where are the cooks? Don't you guys feed an army?"
Bune walked in, his claws clicking on the floor. He laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "We do not take care of the lesser demons or the fodder here. The barracks have their own mess halls. This," he gestured to the cavernous space, "is the Captain's personal kitchen."
Zac looked at the industrial-scale equipment. "This place is a party house! Did he throw killer ragers back in the day? Why else would one person need the capacity to cook the whole farm at once? Was he a frat wolf?"
"Party? Captain Marchosias?" Bune snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils. "You are quite the funny one, little virgin. If the wolf heard you starting rumors about him attending parties, he would be most upset. He considers 'fun' to be a tactical error."
"Don't call me that," Zac snapped. "You're the real virgin here, hoarding me like a mint-condition comic book you're afraid to open." He spun around, facing the dragon. "Why don't you want to fuck me, too? I'm totally scale-positive! Losing my V-card to a dragon would be so fucking awesome! Think of the bragging rights!"
Bune froze. He looked around the empty kitchen nervously, his four hands pulling together and wringing anxiously. His cheeks flushed a deep violet.
"I… I… you…" the Right Head stammered.
"It is not a matter of want," the Left Head whispered, eyes wide. "It is a matter of… preservation."
With a wet, tearing sound, the Third Head erupted from Bune's shoulder, scattering scraps of the butler's shirt.
"YES!" the Middle Head roared, its red eyes locking onto Zac with manic intensity. "LET US CONSUME THE VIRGIN! GET INSIDE OF ME, YOU PERFECT LITTLE HARLOT!"
"No!" the left head shouted, head-butting the Middle Head. "The Hoard! He must be kept pristine!"
"If you eat him, when will we find another?!" the righ head cried. "They don't make them like this anymore!"
The Middle Head shook off the blow, its ripped ears flicking back. "BUT HE SMELLS LIKE HE WANTS IT! LOOK AT HIM! HE'S PRACTICALLY MARINATED IN NEED!"
"I do want it!" Zac shouted, throwing his arms wide. "Soft vore can be hot if done tastefully! I'm open to experimentation!"
"It is exciting, yes," the Left Head admitted breathlessly. "The lust for the virgin is intoxicating… much better than the gleaming of gold…"
"IT WOULDN'T BE SOFT VORE!" the Middle Head licked his chops, drool sizzling on the stone floor. "HARD VORE! CRUNCHY! YOU'RE GETTING SWALLOWED WHOLE AND SCREAMING!"
Zac frowned, his enthusiasm dampening slightly. "Okay, wow... surprisingly hardcore. Maybe we meet in the middle at 'firm vore'?"
"The Captain would be upset with us!" the Right Head wailed, practically in tears. "Not only would the virgin be no more, but the wolf might force us to leave! He'll banish us!"
The Middle Head growled, a deep, frustrated rumble that shook Bune's entire frame. "FINE!" it bellowed. With a final, resentful snarl, it retracted back into Bune's body.
The Right Head looked down at his ruined clothes and sighed. "This is my third shirt in two days. The budget for uniforms is going to be ruinous."
The Left Head looked at Zac, his golden eyes filled with a mix of hunger and fear. "Please do not tempt me, Zac. You are indeed a stunning and alluring specimen. But I have some impulse control issues that the Captian has been helping me with for a long time."
Zac sighed, slumping against the butcher block. "So medium vore is off the table then? That's disappointing. I was willing to negotiate on the chewing."
Bune turned away, frantically trying to pin the tatters of his shirt together with his claws. "Yes, it is off the table! Now, please, focus. What do you want to eat? A light snack? Something less rich than Bicorn brain? Perhaps a nice soul-salad?"
Zac looked around the empty kitchen. "Where's the freezer? You've got to be keeping those waffles somewhere. You promised me blueberry."
"There are no waffles in Hell," Bune said solemnly. "We do have crepes, though. The Succubus Guild makes them."
"FUCK CREPES!" Zac wailed, tossing himself dramatically onto the pristine butcher block table. "Crepes are just weak-ass pancakes with an identity crisis! Anyone who says they are healthier is just lying to themselves! Of course eating one slice of cake is healthier than eating the whole thing! Hell blows so much! No sex, no waffles, just thin, French disappointment!"