The reception went on.

In the Sun-tower of Old Hell’s New Capital, beneath the suspended mass damper, near on to five score souls had convened around long tables and benches for a grand feast. It was sweltering hot. The air overhead seemed itself to sweat, blue with tobacco smoke and aswirl from cries of “Ho!” and raucous laughter. On the tables, plucked at by hands unconcerned much for hygiene but very much the dibs, greasy roast, vats of mushroom soup, pickled lizard eggs, sheaves of unleavened bread and dried algae were liberally served on wooden and ophite trays. In the gathering hall’s murky heart, over the incandescent firepit, a whole, skinned carcass of a cave bear revolved on an iron spit, looking argumentative about the whole “apex predator” thing.

The feast’s invitees were meat of a different cut. The outcast Oni, if they sobered, filed down their cranial curlicues and generally gave themselves to reformation might – just might – aspire to be somebody’s footstools in New Hell. And, in New Hell, footstools sat around the middle of the food chain. The earth spiders in their droves, the hobgoblins and otherwise assorted, minor youkai playing their horned neighbours’ second fiddle were as good as butt-cushions themselves. The only rational excuse they were here was that the Oni were ill disposed to bear, and somebody else had been brought along to eat it. Here and there, shifty, slitted eyes flitted between it and the untouched algae.

And, there was alcohol everywhere. This comprised pitchers, boxes, decanters, cups, gargling mouths and the floor.

The Kishin chief, Suiki, prime of prime, the daemon of Chikata, lash of New Hell and the hallowed Yama, issued a growl almost of begrudgement at his solitary table. He wasn’t good on small talk or statesmanship or even spearpoint diplomacy. Surreptition, though; now, surreptition was a Kishin’s knife. No hunter of immortals held long onto their head without a dash of eighth circle chicanery. Suiki knew where he was even – and in fact best – when others didn’t.

This was presently of some advantage since, where Suiki was stationed, something rather unthoug

Exhibitionism, emotionless chikan, and quite a lot of sex, perpetrated by a mysteriously innocuous and rather muscular, clockmaking man. Main characters: Shinmyoumaru and Seija, and manipulated somewhat by Matara Okina, but our protagonist is most interested in Eiki-sama. And, really, whichever girls he happens to come across.

Thread 1 >>40336

Current vote:


And so we reach a pier, and step off (Satori awkwardly, as she is still very flustered and has yet to pull back up her panties).

“Man, you guys got intense back there!” Onozuka-san says with a laugh while minding her vessel from the pier. “You gonna have sex?” she asks.

“Would you like to join us?” I ask.

“Hmm...?” Komachi hums, looking me up and down, judging to herself. “You look nice. Sure, I’ll hit your dick.”

Quasi-sequel to: >>41058

Thread 1: >>38360
Thread 2: >>39475

[x] Find a restraint to ambush Shizuha with.

You twist around and look through a nearby crate, finding… belts. A huge pile of belts mixed with thin, wooden blocks and small widgets. You find some of the belts long, some short, some with, wait a second. Some are very short. Far too small for her waist. Too small even for a fairy’s waist.

What on earth…

Shizuha takes her first step up the ladder. Forget the belts, you need-

Those smaller ones might just fit around her wrists. If that’s so…

No time to think. You reach in, scoop out a large handful, and leap toward the ladder. Shizuha flinches as you dump them beside that ladder.

Komano Aunn contended not to moan. Once that fell through, she applied herself to, in the worst event, not be heard by Miss Reimu.

The day was very fine, to Aunn’s good fortune, for such undertakings, as the shrine maiden had taken it to spend around her husband in the Human Village. The wind-chime was tinkling above the shrine’s porch, which eased the matters some; and, omitted though she had to mention when precisely she’d planned her return, Aunn had heeled long enough at Miss Reimu’s side to scent it when the shrine maiden needed most a moment of respite from her duties. The fact of her husband, an able carpenter of some renown, living by necessity among his kin in town, married to Miss Reimu by must manning the faraway Hakurei shrine, presented just so apt an opportunity. The shrine then, by way of course, falling under Aunn’s dogged vigil.

Some gossiped, contingent on whether the fierce Hakurei shrine maiden was nearby or not, that either she or her husband showcased in this fashion the troubledness of their marriage. Aunn knew of nothing farther from the truth. Miss Reimu’s was a pliant soul; distance was its least foe.

“We’ll at least not grow bored of each other soon, yes?” she’d said once when pressed, in that come-what-may attitude she had.

Aunn leaned harder on the ever-empty offertory box, knees wobbling beneath the weight of her own, stuck-out butt. A whine fled her clamped throat, of a like which would’ve made Miss Reimu’s cheeks burn pink and her husband’s knuckles to go white.

Yet she did love the stolid carpenter, did the eremite shrine maiden. She’d loved him enough to have given him a single, precious child; and now, a sea’s worth of water under the bridge, she loved him still enough that she sought his solitary affection on especially fraught weeks.

Which left the remaining two dearest mainstays of Miss Reimu’s life in Aunn’s custody.

Aunn dared a peek over her shoulder. The strapping youth at her back perked up and gave her a perfunctory smile, which was more preoccupied than those seen as a rule on those his age. His head was full of hair: blackish-brown like his mother’s and, while short-ch

The past few months have been... eventful. And that’s before getting spirited away to a magical valley in Japan that I’d describe as charming if it weren’t for the large number of residents with terrifying amounts of power.

But I’d rather not dwell on the past. Arriving in Gensokyo, even unexpectedly, was probably the best thing that’s happened to me since... well, maybe my entire life. I understand that this isn’t the case for most other humans who stumble here, but I had something of a head start.

I had always known that the supernatural was real. I had always been able to see what nobody else could. Before, all it got me was confusion, scorn, and pity, endless appointments with doctors and psychiatrists, and everyone telling me that spirits weren’t real.

Now, here in Gensokyo? They asked me to marry two of them. I said yes, of course.

Eventful doesn’t even begin to describe things.

---

It’s just past dawn on this muted early winter day when I stir awake. Somehow, this small thing still amazes me about my new life. It’s not just waking up early, though that would be unimaginable before. It’s having things I look forward to waking up for.

Two things, in fact, and they’re both still asleep on either side of me. Minoriko and Shizuha Aki: sisters, kami, and my wives.

Sequel to: >>40945

The Grassroots Network codex was simple. There was but one law. No breaches of faith. For transgressing this, the junior member, Sekibanki, was presently being punished.

Kagerou Imaizumi, chairperson, lashed the birch across the offending redhead’s ass. A whimpered yip stirred the lakeside mists. The new welt on Sekibanki’s ample tush couldn’t redden to full ahead her survivor pride had throttled the sound. The same pride had no notice for Sekibanki’s disrobed skirt or the sexy, black panties dangling from one of her ankles. Kagerou brought the sapling lash back up. At a nod from the human restraining Sekibanki from the front, she brought it down.

Crack. Whimper. Moan. And then, wet squelching from where the human administered his half of the penalty. The freshest inductee (temporary) to the Grassroots spared the redhead no dignity. Sekibanki twisted and wormed in his arms. As the rest of him, they were implacable.

Suddenly. That was how the betrayal of trust had come. The senior Grassroots – Kagerou and Wakasagihime – had too late heard it fording the reeds concealing their lakeside hangout. The rice moonshine of Kagerou’s yesteryear stock may have chipped something in as well. They very near spat out their spirits when the reeds ejected into the clearing a live, human male of rather a shoulder-laden persuasion. Who won out that impromptu contest of courage was an easy tell. Sekibanki did. The redhead rokurokubi waved in their guest… or at least she did the bamboo coffer strapped to his back… explaining, in that offhand way she had, it’d been an order of delicacies from the Human Village.

“—with the Hieda, ‘S what we do,” confirmed the deliverer, just as Kagerou blinked away the shock. With Sekibanki’s go-ahead, he shrugged out of the luggage and approached to disburse the goods onto the Grassroots’ laps.

And even if there would be treats in there to treasure – Kagerou espied for one a flask of what must be a very well-aged plum wine – none may beguile the coolest head in their bunch. Or maybe, having no lap, Wakasagihime hadn’t been enough convinced by the gifts being arrayed before her on the sh

Rumia was definitely being raped.

The night was calm – a moon like a plump, toothsome dango aloft in the blackness. Scents of spring grew thick in the forest, a night breeze making the trees wave their branches, excited to waken again. And if you thought trees couldn’t wave, you hadn’t flown around the things on a windy night. On that forest’s floor, on the soft, mossy ground where small game made its home and bigger game licked its chops, a human lay relaxed, straddled by the petite youkai of darkness.

A rod of terrible girth was gripped in a fist, readied for a strike should Rumia but make a fist herself. And even with its top thrown wide open and the trousers skinned down to the man’s ankles, Rumia recognised the star-adorned robes of religious power. The man, possessed of some years and such grit as she could tell, was just that, too. An onmyouji: a fixer of all things strange, youkai chief among them. A man of either prodigious skill or long, long expertise.

Rumia didn’t need her current position or the tingly fullness inside her belly to tell; the solid trouncing she had received in the previous half-hour spoke loudly enough. Last night must have been bad. Not that she knew how or why.

Humans acted truly perplexing in the best of times and seemed to spend their entire lives that way. A gaggle of hollering men and crying women had looked such easy prey. Turned out they hadn’t been, all scattering at the mere hint of the skulking darkness. Moreover, they turned out to not be of a mind to let sleeping fears lie.

Not a sundown later, the exorcist’s long silhouette stretched into view; to snare the little youkai’s home turf must have been mere minutes. Out she had crept to prowl the night’s purple shadows and he was already on her.

The duel must have been vicious. Rumia couldn’t vouch it had been, on account she had been blinded throughout every bit but the final one. And once she had lain, beaten, staring down the rod’s pointed end, now recognising it as a purifying tree

Thought I should spread the word that this gem is being translated on 8ch. I'd recommend scrolling to the bottom of the thread to find the most recent translation