Manticore Slayer by Roy Revell

Manticore Slayer by Roy Revell

Author:Roy Revell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: happy ending, wings, fantasy erotica, tail, monster girl, medieval fantasy, manticore, cave sex, monstergirl, kemonomimi


Townsfolk bustled about the square, coming and going into the surrounding establishments. Peddlers hawked their wares, and a bard fingered his lute under the eaves of the tavern. The guardsman leaned against the wall and watched them with a keen eye. Unlike during night duty, he couldn't sneak in a nap, but this was a more enjoyable assignment nevertheless.

A shadow slid over the square, and one by one, the townsfolk tilted their heads toward the sky. A red-winged manticore descended toward them, her tail swinging behind her and her hair billowing. Alarmed cries rang out, but they were few; the locals were used to her already.

The guard pushed off the wall. “Settle down, good people, settle down!” he said loudly. “That's just the messenger, come bearing mail.”

Indeed, a satchel hung from the manticore's shoulder, and she wore a leather jacket and breeches favored by horsemen, with slits for her wings and tail. These were unladylike clothes, but no one in their right mind would have called her unfeminine. She landed lightly in the square, adjusted her satchel, and traipsed into the post office, heedless of the stares and whispers in her wake.

A man in a dusty cloak whistled. “I'll be. I've traveled all over the kingdom's west yet I never saw a tame manticore before.”

“It is quite a sight, isn't it?” The guardsman puffed up self-importantly as several outsiders who hadn't heard the tale turned toward him. “Her husband hails from this very town. The king has him negotiating an accord with her tribe, as they did with mermaids half a century ago. Manticore Slayer, they call him.”

The traveler scratched his beard. “Not doing much slaying, then, is he?”

“It's a metaphor, like,” the guard said wisely. “I met the man myself, you know, on the night he left to face her when she was still feral. Told me he had a sword in his pants. Crude ramblings of a drunk, I thought, and chased him away—but he returned the next day with Mistress Erytheia there on his arm, meek as a kitten.”

“Hung like a horse, this Manticore Slayer must be,” the traveler said, awed.

“And with the stamina of one, to be sure,” the guard said. “How else could he have tamed her?”

The doors of the post office creaked open, and Erytheia stepped out, her satchel brimming with fresh parcels. The gawkers surged toward her, making her stiffen and bare her fangs. The guard, feeling a smidgen guilty for gossiping, waded into their midst and elbowed them with his couters.

“Back away, back away now,” he bellowed. “Give the good messenger space to take off. She has an important duty.”

The manticore nodded to the guard, who straightened up unconsciously and raised a hand to his helmet. Spreading her crimson wings, she took off in a gust of wind. The gawkers blinked the dust from their eyes and watched her soar into the sky.

From Erytheia's lofty height, the humans looked like ants scurrying about their little anthill. She got her bearings and winged northeast, enjoying the cool wind against her face.



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