Jeff and the Artist (a DBD love story)

I watched as Meg arrived back at the hub. She casually brushed herself off, stretching her back. As usual, the teenage former athlete seemed invigorated as if she had just run a marathon. “Well, that was an interesting match.”

“What?” I asked, from where I sat comfortably by the eternal fire.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Jeff,” she said in her usual standoffish tone. She paused for a moment, allowing a smile to form across her mean-girl face. “On second thought, I think you’re going to like the new killer. She kind of reminds me of you.”

“She?” I nervously scratched the side of my neck, just under my thick facial hair. “Not very often we get a new female monster added to the roster.”

“How interesting,” said a familiar voice. Claudette sat next to me with her sky-blue glasses and hair pulled back in braids, she gave off an aura of kindness, and empathy. She rested her head on my shoulder. And then, perhaps sensing my impending panic attack, she held my hand. The dark skin of her small gentle hands was a stark contrast to mine. I was a bearded sasquatch with no combat skills, while she was a healer, a friend.

A third human player took a seat. Feng, the Hong Kong born gamer girl with her neon punk fashion style. “I heard the new killer has a tragic background.”

Claudette sighed. “Actually, all the female monsters seem to have tragic backgrounds.” Her voice, her French-Canadian accent was like a ray of light in the darkness. “

“Except for Susie,” Meg muttered under her breath. She was speaking in a mocking, sing-song manner.

Claudette shook her head. “Really, we’re going to go there?” Susie was a former classmate of mine; an innocent goth girl with an affinity for knives.

“What? It’s true. The creepy Japanese ghost, the southern zombie, the biblical plague goddess; they all came to be because they were victims, Susie not so much.” Meg paused for a moment, placing her finger to her lips, as if in deep thought. “I guess there’s Amanda, she kind of came here of her own free will.”

The Amanda monster, also known as ‘the Pig’ was like a leveled-up version of Susie; someone who was essentially nothing more than a human in a costume running around with a melee weapon. Except unlike Susie, Amanda was not a former high school classmate who took personal pleasure in tormenting me. That was so much more terrifying; people who chose to become monsters just for the thrill of it. There was so much evil in this world without people treating murder like an extreme sports competition.

Claudette raised her hand, politely changing the conversation. “Back to the new girl; I heard she was a freedom fighter from some South American country who got executed for her beliefs.”

“And don’t forget, she controls an army of demonic ghost crows,” Feng added. “To see them conjured into existence, right in the area, it’s one hell of an experience.”

“Demonic crows?” I needed to know more. “Did she arrive with a new human player?”

“Yeah, I think he’s some kind of secret agent from her home country,” Feng said casually. This was what our lives had come to; nothing was special, or even remotely remarkable. “He’s been talking to Jane and the other Spanish-speaking players.”

“Spanish speaking?” My heart sank. There was no easy way for me to learn more without attempting to communicate via a translator.

Meg stuck out her tongue, pulling down her lower eye lid as if mocking tears. “Oh? The giant white Canadian doesn’t speak Spanish? What a surprise.”

I could have responded; I was twice her age, having lived all over the country. I went to art school and worked in what would be considered a dream job. Just because she was young, and strong, that didn’t make her better than me. (Or maybe it did.) My set of skills didn’t mean a whole lot in this hellish survival game.

I was going to have to wait for the inevitable; the chance to meet this new monster face to face. The moon glowed and darkness fell. ‘What arena would it be this time?’

I awoke standing in the cold, shallow snow. ‘Ormond, Alberta.’ Of course, it was. This was the arena inspired by my own demons. In the distance, I saw a figure. She was a tall female, with long black hair, pale skin, wearing only a torn floor-length red dress.

I watched as she went after a human player. David, the British-born former professional fighter, easily outmaneuvered her. He was stronger, faster, and even with the monster’s abnormally long arms, flailing like melee weapons, she was no match for his athleticism.

She stopped, lifting her hand into a fist. this caused a ghostly image of a giant crow’s head to appear. the creature was the size of a horse head, making for a stunning, impactful visual. She did this maneuver three more times before motioning for the crow heads to launch.

David ran away, (like any sane person would.) Moving in sharp turns, he managed to make his way to a shelter, forcing the crow to give up chase. I could have done the same; but I found myself walking towards the strange creatures.

The crows were not even looking at me. This false sense of safety left me with a strange level of inner peace. It was a feeling I had not known since I arrived in Hell. I reached out my hand attempting to touch the apparition. I expected it to feel cold, but instead the creature burned with an unseen fire. This caused me to flinch. but instead of attacking, the crow looked at me, tilting its head in confusion before vanishing in a puff of smoke. In its place stood the mystery woman. She was nearly as tall as I was, with long black bird-like arms. No, that was incorrect.

On closer inspection, I could see that someone had cut off her hands and replaced them with black vine-like tree branches, and these branches were now part of her. They could move, shifting in shape and size. The young woman was staring at me with her dark eyes, tears the color of ink dripping down her cheeks.

“I’m not going to run,” I said as clearly as possible, while miming the hand motions of ‘no’ and ‘run,’ like I was speaking to a small child.

The woman stood there, looking at me curiously. I could tell she was questioning the motivation of my words. She lifted her creepy branch limbs, stroking a single talon-like finger to my face.

“My name is Jeff,” my voice cracked in a way that made me sound like a certain internet meme.

She smiled. Taking one step and then another, she walked around me, examining my hair, face and clothing. It was like she had never seen a tall white guy with a beard. More likely; she was testing me, just waiting for me to run off in terror.

I wanted to ask who did this to her; who robbed her of her hands, causing her to become an undead monster. Thankfully I kept my mouth shut. The answer held no meaning in our current place; we were both damned and nothing could change that.  “Do you understand my words? I mean, do you speak English?” That sounded so much worse; I was now a big white guy who was also a racist.

She nodded. The woman returned to looking at me, face to face. The idea of her knowing English was believable. I mean. if she’d gone to school in a major city, she likely learned the language (maybe even more) to prepare for a promising future in arts and politics.

“You must be cold.” Without a second thought, I took off my jacket, putting it around her slender, shivering body. It was an old beat-up leather coat that kept me warm on the road for God knows how many years. I loved that jacket; it was like an extension of my own body, but even still, I placed it over her shoulders, like a teenager on a date.

She looked at me, parting her lips just enough to allow me to see her lack of a tongue. I assumed this was yet another torture she endured before her execution. She bit her lip, looking at me with innocent, doll-like eyes. The ball was in my court; she expected me to scream in terror, like all the others, but I stayed.

“Can you tell me your name, miss?”

She raised her arm, thinking for a moment. Her branch-like fingers gently touched my face, just below my eye. She drew a series of letters on my cheek. ‘C, a, r.’

It didn’t hurt; the sensation was akin to walking through a dense forest on a cool fall day. “Your name is Carmen?”

She shook her head and smiled a very sweet, human smile before continuing. ‘m, i, n, a.’

“Your name is Carmina?”

She nodded. Her eyes were still pools of darkness, dripping down her cheeks, but there was something more. There was a unique beauty, residing just under the monstrous shell.

“That’s a really beautiful name.” I had never known anyone with that name, just thinking about it made my cheeks flush like a schoolboy.

My new friend looked at me, pursing her lips as if attempting not to laugh.

“Let’s go inside,” I said, walking her to the door of the decrepit abandoned ski lodge.

Carmina seemed intrigued. I was certain she had been here before; chasing human players, in the pursuit of kill points. I was the one to open the door, but it was her who took the lead, to find us a place to sit. With a wide smile, she flirtatiously guided me to a comfortable seating option. First trying a simple chair which broke upon her touch. And then a sturdy wooden bench, all while teasing me with soft gentle kisses.


As we fell to the ground, I made sure to pull her on top of me, to protect her from the brunt of the landing (and any dirt and debris). I glanced in the direction of the large red armchair; it was the place where Susie had first appeared to me as bait, but Carmina didn’t even notice.

Seated comfortably on the dust-covered floor, I held her in my arms, letting her recline into my embrace. I could hear the other human players repairing the generators, working towards the goal of opening the main exit. Carmina didn’t seem to care. All she wanted was to be held, worshiped, loved.

I touched her between her legs, caressing the unique fabric of her gown. I was careful to be respectful, but somehow my thick fingers ended up grazing her labia through a hole in her dress. Thankfully, she leaned into my touch. Her body was craving more. Carmina moved my free hand to her breasts. I wanted more than anything to liberate her body from the tattered dress.

“You are so beautiful.” My cock was painfully hard, but I needed to know if she wanted it as bad as I did. I wasn’t expecting sex, in fact, I’d settle for masturbating while she watched.

Carmina reached for a hole near her hip, using it as a starting point to tear off her clothes. Her body was the color of milk; pure white, porcelain skin just begging to be touched. She first removed her skirt, revealing her long legs.

I slipped my hands under the remains of her top, sampling the unearthly beauty of her perfect breasts. I rubbed her firm, sensitive nipples, as she leaned back, reaching her arms over her head. The way she parted her lips looked like something out of a movie.

I pressed my lips to her ear. “Do you like that?”

Carmina nodded. Using her branch-limbs she tore off the rest of her clothing, presenting her nude body like a Christmas gift. From her throat came a guttural growl.

I rubbed her swollen clit, faster and harder, dipping into her wet pussy. She turned her head, burying her face in my neck. I could hear her moan. Her pussy clenched, as her hips were grinding on me like a porn star.

Her vine-like hands reached backward, taking hold of the waist of my jeans. With a soft, delicate touch, she opened my zipper, freeing my throbbing erection. I wanted to ask if she had sensation in her limbs; could she feel me the way I was feeling her? She wrapped her tentacles around my shaft giving it a tender squeeze. She was smiling, biting her lip in anticipation. Positioning my cock in a very specific way, she rode in reverse cowgirl. Her raw, otherworldly, energy rippled through her body, shaking the walls.

I was hitting her sweet spot over and over. Whenever it looked like she was done, she would shift her hips, riding me harder, her body quivering in an everlasting state of orgasm. When she went limp in my arms, my hand started to slow, moving away from her throbbing clit. This prompted her vine-like hands to secure me in place. She wanted me to cum inside her.

Her body felt so real; the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she fucked just like a real girl. She was a sex-starved woman taken down in her prime of life.

Carmina pressed her lips to my ear. Her breathing was erratic, but the sounds coming from her throat were something other than moans of pleasure. “I want.” The words were a distorted whisper, almost like a choking sound. She dragged out the last syllable before needing to take a breath.

“You want what?”

“I want you.” Her newfound voice was an animalistic roar, something that any sane person would find terrifying. “I want your babies inside of me.” She leaned back, letting her juices drip down my shaft. She reached between her legs, stroking her inhuman fingers down to my balls.

The way she touched me was like nothing I’d ever experienced. It was a mixture of fear, passion, curiosity, with just a hint of pain. Before I knew it, I blew my load so hard I could barely breathe. I could feel my heart in my chest; the blood in my veins, all just as real as the beautiful woman in my arms.

She tightened her stomach, gasping for breath. I could feel her legs quiver as my cum mixed with her juices, coating her inner thighs. Her body tensed with orgasm. The room seemed to shake as if the whole world was climaxing. Suddenly a murder of crows came crashing through the window. The creatures came in a massive never-ending wave, casting the world into darkness.

“I died a good girl, a virgin, never knowing a man’s touch.” The fact that I could hear her over the roar of the wind, gave the impression she was communicating telepathically. Her voice, this true voice sounded youthful, passionate. She spoke English with a thick accent, something akin to a pageant contestant, competing on an international stage. She turned her lips to mine, gasping for breath. “Jeff?”

“Yeah?” I could feel my heart pounding. Carmina’s life had so much wasted potential. Was there a way to save her? Could I bring her back to the hub?

“I want you to show me the beauty of your world, I want to watch the sunrise in this exquisite place; what did you call it?”

“Canada?” Had she never heard of Canada?

“I’ve heard of Canada. Many friends of mine made the trip up north, to plead for refugee status.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Canada was never my cup of tea. I would have loved to try for America, maybe live in California or New York. I could have gone to school, maybe worked to help others like myself.” Her voice drifted off and with it the crows. “I tell myself the immigration laws were too strict; I could never afford a lawyer so I’d probably be one of the many who get turned away at the border.” She turned her body, wrapping her legs around my hips. “Anyway, where is this place? What do you call this snow-covered wonderland?”

“Ormond, Alberta.” I closed my eyes, focusing on her mouth; I wanted to kiss her, to taste her.

“Is Ormond, Alberta your home?” Carmina turned her lips to mine, kissing me softly.

“It was at one time.” There was really no one place that I considered home. I loved my work in California; San Francisco was a place where my creative soul truly bloomed, the music, the inspiring people, the craft beer.

“I want to see this place you call home.”

Was she reading my thoughts? “Someday.”

“I want to make something beautiful with you.” She reached up and touched my face. “Close your eyes my love.” The sharp vines that served as her fingers touched my eyelids with a gentle loving caress. “We will meet again.”

My eyes shot open. I’d awoken in the hub. It was warmer, but my heart felt heavy. Crossing my arms over my chest, I could see I wasn’t naked, but my clothes were in the same state Carmina had left them in. My cock rested limp against my stomach. I could feel the cold air and then I heard someone clear their throat.

“You look like you had fun.” Claudette was standing over me, arms crossed with a sweet, seductive smile.

“Yeah.” I sat up, grateful that it was a friend (as opposed to one of the other human players) who found me in such a state. “You could say that.”

 “Did you meet the new girl?” Instead of offering her hand, she lowered herself on to my lap. “How was she?”

I put my arms around Claudette, cupping her breasts. Her body fit with mine like a puzzle piece. “Next time I think we should meet her together.”

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