Page 13 of Devil's Doom

Curiosity gives me a second wind, so I don’t sway nearly as much when I enter the building. I stop dead in the threshold, taking it in with shock.

Breasts. Naked breasts everywhere. Women with flat noses and deeply set dark eyes, some fat, some slender, yet all with enormous tits, sit at tables, looking around with bored expressions. One leans against a wall, her head lolling back, eyes closed like she’s dozing.

Each of them has two people suckling her breasts. Adult people, or at least I think so. Some of them are similar to mortals, but others aren’t. A big, hulking beast covered in thick white fur sits on the floor by a big-breasted woman, lapping at milk that steadily trickles down her tit and stomach. His muzzle likely prevents him from suckling properly.

A scaly, small being sits on the table, suckling her other breast. She looks old, her hair silver, dark eyes gazing unseeingly into a big fireplace that takes up most of one wall.

“Don’t stand in the entrance, dear,” a rough but not unkind voice says, coming from somewhere around my elbow.

I look down and startle, seeing a short woman looking up with a smile. She has a hump, her body weighed down by her enormous bare breasts, her nose flat, nostrils wide. Her face is creased, but her complexion seems rosy, gold hair graying at the temples. I can’t tell whether she’s young or old.

Milk trickles down the curve of her round tit. The sweet scent coils in my throat, and I swallow a few times, willing myself to speak despite my shock.

“What is this place?” I ask her, shuffling aside to stand by an unoccupied table.

The woman laughs pleasantly, patting my elbow. “Oh, I love a first-timer! This, my dear, is the most famous mamuna bar in all of Slawa. It’s the best place to forget all your worries and leave behind all hardships. For merely three eggs a night, you get all you can drink. We also let rooms for those who never wish to leave.”

She winks, as if it’s a clever joke, but it flies right over my head. I nod in thanks for her explanation, my wide eyes roaming. A mortal-looking woman with whorls of blue tattoos curling up her arms suckles a fat mamuna’s nipple with abandon, moaning and caressing the large, veiny breast. By the next table, the white, furry beast changes position, and I gulp when I see he has an erection, red and shaped like a dog’s. His short tail thumps the floor.

The hypnotic music mixes with sighs of pleasure, and in my exhaustion, the scene gains a dreamy quality. The warm light of the orbs makes everything look hazy and comfortable. My mouth waters. I haven’t eaten since morning, and I only drank rainwater that gathered in my pot on my way through the city.

“It’s a sight, isn’t it?” my companion asks pleasantly, not bothered by my silence. “If you don’t care for mamuna milk, we have poppy powder to smoke. It’s more intense and the effects don’t linger like the milk, but some prefer it.”

So that’s what I saw outside. I look around, trying to gather my wits and remember what I know about mamunas. They steal ancestral souls and sometimes kidnap babies, and… Yes, they seduce mortal men in the wild and get them drunk on their milk. Mamunas make milk constantly, and their breasts hurt if they aren’t suckled often enough.

But their milk is a drug that makes mortals stupid and lazy. The tales I heard were always told as warnings. People who go with mamunas, the tales cautioned, are never the same after. They always yearn for that warmth of their addictive milk and the magical tits to press their face to. With time, they grow apathetic, their unhappiness driving them to madness or even death.

I swallow thickly, honing in on the blissful expression on the tattooed woman. She looks utterly relaxed and happy.

Then again, she most likely isn’t mortal, I remind myself. None of these people are. Maybe mamuna milk affects them differently. Like a strong drink or hot wine. Regardless, I shouldn’t have any. I can’t afford even a moment of relaxation right now.

“Do you have rooms to let? And food—food that’s not milk?” I ask, still staring at the tattooed woman. I am fascinated by her absolute abandon and the unabashed pleasure she takes from suckling on a breast. She’s almost like a happy baby, and yet so decidedly not.

“Oh, of course, dear. The cleanest rooms in all of Slawa, right here. It’s three eggs for a night, and we’ll throw in a supper and breakfast, plus a tub of hot water. You can stay with us however long you need, as long as you pay each night. Come to the bar.”

I follow her hunching form in a daze, walking between tables occupied by mamunas and their suckling clients. No one pays me attention, the mamunas lethargic, the patrons completely lost in the frenzy of feeding.

My guide walks behind the bar, which is so tall, she disappears from sight. A moment later, there is a grunt of effort, and she emerges. As she rummages in a drawer, clinging metallically, I glance over the bar top. She’s standing on a wide stool.

“The emerald room is free, dear,” she says, putting a big, simple key tied with a green ribbon on the counter. “It matches your eye. Now, here are the eggs. Hardboiled, please. I can tell if the yolks are runny.”

She gives me a stern look, and I stare at the three chicken eggs resting in a small, black basket in front of me. The shells are greenish and dappled with brown spots.

Right. Trading magic.

“I’m new,” I confess, looking at her steadily. “Could you please explain what I’m supposed to do?”

She doesn’t miss a beat, her face growing more wrinkles as she gives me a sleek smile.

“Of course. You hold an egg in both palms, like so,” she begins, cradling an egg in her cupped hands, “and focus on putting your magic inside. Then simply let it flow. Easy. See, the magic is like heat, and it will boil the egg. That’s how we’ll know it worked.”

“Thank you.”

I put my knife and pot on the bar and take an egg, eyeing it dubiously. I don’t know how much magic boiling one egg will take, not to mention three. But I desperately need to eat and sleep, so I have to try. I take a deep breath and look at the egg in my hands without blinking.

Flow,I order my magic. My palms grow hot, and suddenly, the egg cracks in my hands, so hot, I nearly drop it.

“Now, that’s a spirited girl!” the mamuna says, giving me a toothy smile as she snatches the egg from my hand. “Two more, dear.”

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