Aprils' breath came in short, quick gasps, and sweat rolled down from her collar to slide down her sternum, her mind racing as she desperately tries to process the words that had been spoken, but Ann's coy smile accenting the woman's full lips, a small, pink tongue darting out to slide back and forth in a manner that sent shivers down Aprils' spine.

"Come now, April," whispered that sickeningly sweet, teasing voice, like a serpent made of sugar. Sinking its' fangs into her neck and injecting sweet, sweet poison..."you know how much Oliver and Kite are depending on you...just do as I say." Eyes' darting like a hawks, taking in every detail of her discomfort.

Every molecule in the air felt like it was on fire, the very atmosphere forcing her to do as the whispers commanded, and her resolve began to crumble, resistance turning to obedience, as her hands slunk like whipped dogs to her navel, then lower, the humiliation shifting from embarrassment to a wrong, twisted, perverted feeling, the heat turning to an itch, her fingers trembling as her body begged for what her mind forbid her, Ann's smile widening, her final flame of control quenched with a torrent, and her body started moving on its' own despite her protests, her fingers sliding below her waistband, then-

Oh, what? Huh? This isn't #5.5 -HG- Chapter 11? Dammit!

I'm really looking forward to that truth or dare game...

Well, moving on, this is LEL. I'm writing this because I messed up big-time with HG, being the impatient ass I am, and moved things too fast. But, while I un-fuck the timeline, I got thinking about LEL, and found I knew what to do! ...sorta.

So I'll do that! Yip-ee! Which also means I'm not writing HG!

...please don't hurt me....

P.S. Do you like the third-person, or would you prefer I continue to use first?

After the three-headed bear, Cyscon thought perhaps his god had gotten bored of experimenting with evolutionary paths, but apparently divine stamina for innovation far exceeded his expectations. Unfortunately for man, although God was in no way at fault, for through His divine wisdom no wrong could be accepted, God had, in his infinite glory, decided to make lizards that could fly. And breathe fire.

Oh God that art in heaven, why hast thou sickest this beast of uncreation upon thy servant? And why must thy servant contend with this foul creature with naught but his bare hands? Dost thine blessed eyes find joy in the pain of thy most humble servant, or mayst it be that thee must test this wicked man?

Either way, thy servant wishest that thee might show mercy upon thine meek and lowly follower. Or, at least, grant him speed in his dropping and rolling.

It was the final day of the oath that bound him to his convert, and perhaps this was just a test to strengthen the faith of a new worshipper, but a dragon felt like a bit much. Well, 'dragon,' was pushing it. It was only the size of a carriage, not a house, like fully grown ones. To Cyscons' knowledge, this dragon was a mere 6 years old. It would be at least a decade before the creature grew into adulthood, and gained its' full size.

Still, this was a Grey dragon. Unlike the mighty Red that could set whole acres aflame with a single breath, or the Blue that wielded water like a cloak, able to flood entire countries, or White that could fly from one end of the continent to the other within a day, the Grey had no impressive breath, just enough to cook its' food, nor fast wings or elemental mastery.

No, the Grey were cunning.

Endowed with an intelligence that could match wits with the best of mankind, they were able to learn human-devised spells.

Spells! A gigantic body filled with colossal strength, scales the strength of steel, power over magic, and a mind that could think above the instinctual need to eat, sleep, and mate, Grey dragons went beyond being natural disasters like their cousins, and could develop into kingdom-crushing monsters. Once, a dragon-made plague left 49 of 50 dead, in a city of millions. Then, of course, the 1 was shepherded into the lower parts of the city, where the Grey slaughtered them itself. The few that escaped to tell the tale say the slaughter continued for days, until the Grey resembled a Red, at least in the color decorating its' scales.

Why would a dragon go to all this trouble, even going so far as to kill the survivors? Because the king had once said, "Dragons? Ha! My city would never fall to anything less than God himself!"

It should be noted, Grey's have a twisted sense of humor, as a trait of their species. It has been scientifically proven by six different studies.

But, this dragon is just six! It can't be that, twisted, right?

Except, the dragon is currently circling Cyscon and casually setting his clothes alight each time they are extinguished. Like setting ants alight with the sun and pieces of glass, and watching them burn.

What Cyscon truly wondered, was how in Gods' name a tiny gang had gotten ahold of a dragon! Even six years of age, the beast was still a huge risk to people! Magic barrier or not, eventually the creature would be free, and then a being with a naturally twisted mind, high intelligence, and a history of mistreatment and captivity, would be set on the world. How many cities would the map-makers have to erase then?

Think of all the wasted paper!

Cyscon rolled away from yet another gout of flame, sprinting towards the arena wall, hidden behind a transparent barrier and occupied by the scum of mankind, and he cried out in a voice of begging, though it cut at him to speak this way.

"Please, give me something! A sword, a mace, a knife, a dildo, anything!"

They laughed. But, the crowd itself was growing restless. This 'fight' wasn't very entertaining for anyone but the dragon with sadistic tendencies. The boss, being a bit more quick-witted than the others, grudgingly agreed and motioned for a man to throw down a sword. The blade was drawn, and thrown toward Cyscon, who sidestepped and caught it by the hilt. It had been thrown at him, not to him. But it would work.

He turned towards the dully glistening reptile, its' scales polished from rolling in the sand, its' eyes filled with an unsettling intelligence, its' lips pulled into a grin.

And it was grinning. Discomforting, seeing such a decidedly 'human' emotion such as cruelty on the face of an animal.

And below him, a circle began to take form, shining just as Cyscon leaped away. Looking back, hardened spikes of sand slowly retreated back to the ground, and he turned his eyes toward the dragon.

Amusement. Like a cat with a mouse that dodged its' claws.

It was decidedly insulting, being looked at with those eyes. So he lifted the sword.

"Grant me Speed."

He'd found prayers that got straight to the point were much better, especially after getting mauled by a three-headed bear in the middle of one. He guessed God appreciated oratory, but was just as happy with straight-forwardness. Though, shortened prayers were supposed to be strictly for high-priests and up, Cyscon had figured it out with a bit of experimentation.

He hoped it wasn't too sacrilegious of him. That, and the author can't remember the whole prayer, and is too lazy to go back a chapter to copy/paste it.

The world slowed, and Cyscon closed the nine feet separating him from the dragon, and took aim. Time sped up, and the dragons eyes' widened. Perfect.

Shortened prayers may be faster, but in terms of faith efficiency, long prayers were much better. Although the shortened prayer could be said in a fraction of a second, it gave a third of the effect for two-thirds the faith.

The sword slashed through the beasts' eye, cutting the slitted pupil in half, dividing it down the middle. It stumbled back, careening into the barrier, and-

It broke. It seems the barrier hadn't been renewed lately, and had been fragile. And, all of a sudden, the dragon was free, though with one eye sliced like an orange. People began screaming, though the dragon had apparently lost consciousness due to the pain. After the dragon stopped moving, the spectators began to calm down. Until they remembered.

The dragon wasn't the only monster the barrier had been keeping trapped.

"Thank you letting me borrow this-" said Cyscon, yanking the sword out of the man who'd thrown it at him. He turned toward the boss, and smiled pleasantly as he wiped the bloody sword with his fingers. "-I do believe our contract is ended, so I'll just be collecting my severance pay."

The boss stumbled back, knocking over tables holding plates, scattering servants and silverware as he retreated. "P-please! I'll give you anything! Don't k-"

He continued pleading, his lips still moving, even after his lungs were separated from his tongue, by way of decapitation. Like a pig with its' head chopped off, his fat chins continued jiggling even after death. Revolting.

Guards crowded around, drawing weapons, moving forward, until they saw the shaking shoulders of the man that had willingly stepped into a den of lions, and bitten their heads off.

One hand trembled while holding the sword, coaxing the red drops to slide off its' length. The other hand covered his mouth, doing a poor job of stifling the noise escaping from his mouth. He turned to the men approaching him, lower face covered with his fingers, tears running down his face.

Laughter was the last thing 34 people heard that night. 173 escaped with minor wounds, but would have recurring nightmares of that day for the rest of their lives. The other 23 would either babble incoherently when reminded of the topic, shake and puke uncontrollably, or not speak at all for long afterward.

Needless to say, Cyscon solved his economic crisis. After all, money was just lying on the ground!

Though he did have to clean off the blood. Some people just don't take proper care of currency. Tut-tut.

---

A man dressed in rags, recently soaked in bleach, yet still with a faint red hue, whistled as he walked with a sword on his shoulder. He made his way towards the church, and stood in front of the doors. He cast aside the sword on the stairs, and opened the doors wide.

Inside, a single person knelt next to the altar, praying fervently, a very noticeable, and very recognizable sack of coin sitting in the donation bowl, threatening to spill out. Cyscon walked up to the donation bowl, and very carefully counted out 34 silver coins. He then set down his bag by the door, and approach the altar, before kneeling down and clasping his hands.

After exactly 34 minutes of prayer, Cyscon turned to the boy sitting next to him.

"So, my young man, have you recognized the true path towards salvation?"

Ren opened his eyes and looked over, grinning with a single missing tooth, the gums still bleeding, and a recently cleaned dagger sheathed at his waist. "I don't know bout' salvation or such, but I reckon you're a crazy bloke, and life'll be exciting with you around."

Cyscon smiled and ruffled the boys' hair. "Yes, exciting is the right word. This city, it has become clear to me, is infested. I'll need to get to work purifying sin, and bringing in the Lords' lost flock."

Ren nodded, licked at the toothless-gum, and tilted his head. "Still, I'm confused as to why you let the dragon get away."

Cyscon stopped ruffling the boys hair, his smile etched into his face like a line cut in marble.

"...uh, Cys? You aright?"

"..."

"...you didn't forget about it, right?"

"..."

"...Cys? You gonna say anything?"

Carefully choosing his words, Cyscon spoke slowly and clearly.

"Sometimes...people make mistakes...and that is why...God created the church."

"Ah. I see. Next time I meet a murderer, I'll give him my whetstone."

"...Forgive me God..."