Monster Breeder

“I want to see some Hybrids!”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Honey.”

But, where to begin? Well, according to the survey of the volunteers, the monsters here are more than willing to Hybridize themselves with anything if it’ll give them an edge. The status boost from becoming a Pseudo-Third Tier monster is worth the inconveniences and risks to them. Instead of asking if I can, the question on my mind is if I should.

As cool as it would be to see a Harpy-Doggin-Lizardman combo, or to witness the weirdness of an Orc-Mouse-Pitcher, I’ve got to set a few rules. Rule One: No interracial Hybrids. Rule Two: No combination of sexes unless all three participants are 100% happy with the arrangement.

How would I feel if I found out that a Harpy-Bunny combo couldn’t sleep because their instincts contradicted whether to burrow or roost at night, or that I’d engineered a severe case of dysphoria when a male head gets skeeved-out that his female body got pregnant? It might sound humorous at first, but nobody would be laughing if the issue resulted in su*cide or a lifetime sentence of weekly therapy sessions. I don’t want anything like that on my conscience.

So, ideally, I’m looking for same-sex trios of basic monster types with compatible personalities.

They’re going to be stuck together permanently so, if you can’t stand each other as roommates, imagine having to share a body! They’ll have to sleep and even poop together, not to mention using and feeling pleasure from the same set of genitals. Honestly, it’d probably help if everyone in the trio is at least a little Bi to avoid that flavor of awkwardness.

Looking it over, Janine’s list has an extensive amount of information, but she’s not omniscient. I’ll have to employ my intuition when deciding the cut-off point.

“Alright, everyone, here’s how this is going to work. I’m the one who gets the final say on the Hybrid Ritual selection. We’ll do a small number of trial runs tonight and see how things go before anything else. No complaining if you’re not picked! I’m not drafting anyone for the war tomorrow; it’s volunteers only. Everyone else will be protected by Third Tiers alongside the humans and children until the battle is over.”

My short speech actually does a lot to quell the demand. Apparently, some of the monster residents of Field Town assumed they’d be forced to fight tomorrow, as that’s pretty standard for turf wars between rival tribes. I suspect part of why they were so desperate had to do with improving their chances of surviving on the field of combat.

“Lastly,” I continue, “You can still back out at any time until we begin the Ritual. With all that said, my first picks will be… you, you, and you.” It’s the three primary-colored Harpy boys, Red the cardinal, Blue the bluejay, and Yellow the warbler (my nicknames for them, not their real names) that I choose first.

““Yes!!!”” the three of them whoop and flap their wings in celebration. Green, the parrot Harpy, slumps on the sidelines, sad at being left out. Sorry, dude, but a foursome doesn’t work for this, and you were the least compatible—not that I’d say it to his face. I’m bound to disappoint as many as I please doing this; that’s just the nature of the situation.

Red, Blue, and Yellow make to swoop onto the Ritual circle when Spindle stops them, “Take care not to touch the lines, as any misalignment could have catastrophic results.” That causes the Harpy boys to take serious care as they approach. “Please stand in these three interior circles,” Spindle says, indicating several rings in the center of the design, “Facing north, your placement will correspond with your permanent arrangement in your new body.” Their eyes go wide as saucers. “Left wing, leg, and head from the first circle, middle head, torso, and abdomen from the second, and right wing, leg, and head from the third.”

Thus starts a fierce argument between the boys over who has the greater wingspan, the best ass, shapelier thighs, etc. (Blue indisputably has the largest cock, so that point isn’t in question). Their quarrel even extends into color design, as to whether blue is a good central color or to go from darker to lighter in either direction.

“This is ridiculous,” Gabby objects, impatient to see some damn Hybrids, “There has to be a better way.” She marches over, dragging Bonny into the circle with her while brandishing her eldritch wand.

“Of course,” the Webling Weaver agrees, “But Spindle had limited time to modify the Ritual, and she prioritized eliminating errors over all else.”

Gabby casts her gaze about the circle, Bonny cowering at her side—afraid of touching anything—and agrees, “I’ll admit, I don’t sense a single mistake. That in itself could be considered impressive.”

“Especially since Spindle doesn’t have an innate ability assisting her,” I cough, referring to Gabby’s Goblin Witch Ritual Intuition, not to mention Quick Study and Fast Learner. That must be why she’s so confident in striding directly into such a complex diagram.

Spindle shrugs with a self-assured smirk, “One makes do with what one has.”

“…Indeed,” Gabby says with a nod, more concerned with the task at hand than competing with her rival in spellcraft this time. “To your places!” she addresses the Harpy boys, and they scramble to obey the scary Gobliness—Blue in the middle with Red and Yellow on his left and right. “Now, there’s no reason we can’t allow for some customization.”

A glowing mote of dusky purple appears at the tip of Gabby’s needle wand, which the Witch uses to power the Ritual circle. Ethereal wires spring into the air from the lines on the floor, taking intricate shapes in the air. It’s all far too complex for me, I mean, for any normal person to parse what the heck is going on. Gabby, on the other hand, jabs her wand into a knot of filaments and rearranges them with a flick of her wrist.

Repeating that a few times yields a floating display of a three-headed Harpy monster rendered in purple-glowing lines like a constellation for the boys’ perusal. They ooh and ahh over it at first but then start pointing out the things they don’t like as they recognize themselves in the design.

“Let’s make the user interface slightly more intuitive, yes?” Spindle proposes as she weaves a complex string of symbols in her cat’s cradle of Dark Magic threads that soar over to modify the circle as she speaks.

After Spindle’s modification joins the Ritual diagram, a set of controls and sliders manifests in front of the Harpy boys below their Hybridization display. Red, Blue, and Yellow immediately begin fiddling with the nobs to try and get as much of themselves into the final design. Thankfully, their ‘compatibility’ also includes a similar enough desired aesthetic, and they’re eventually able to agree on who has the ‘objectively’ cutest butt (Yellow), etc., in a reasonable amount of time.

“If that’s finally decided, would you care to do the honors, Alex?” Gabby says while dragging Bonny out of the Ritual circle (miraculously not touching any of the floating lines), “Just supply the Ritual with Dark Magic and press here to start.”

“Oh, wow, there’s a button.” I feel a little dumb after saying that, but it’s kind of shocking to see such a mundane switch operating this ancient, mysterious Ritual.

“Spindle added the button,” the Webling admits with a teasing grin.

Without further ado, I summon my Dark Magic to hand and hit the button. Power courses through me and into the circle as complex magical machinery whirs to life… including what look like sooty purple glowing saw blades? Oh, dear.

“Spindle also added a privacy curtain,” she adds as a gossamer wave of rippling purple haze rises from the rim of the Ritual to conceal the interior by blurring the images coming from inside. It’s just in the nick of time, as the dominant color inside the circle becomes a concerning shade of red accompanied by the screams of three Harpy boys in over their heads.

“Well, nobody claimed the Ritual was going to be painless,” Gabby says in rare form, playing the part of the apologist.

Before I can think to ask how to stop the Ritual, it’s over. The screams cease, and the blurred-out gore disappears as the curtain falls to reveal the ultimate result.

Hovering above the audience is a six-winged, three-headed, naked male Harpy in all his glory. Everyone gasps as they behold his beautiful tri-color feathers, marvel at his cute, fuckable butt, admire his sculpted physique, salivate over his supple thighs, and ogle a cock that’s larger than any of the original boys’. He’s clearly enjoying the spotlight while riding a perpetual breeze that holds him aloft. If the Ritual’s violence cooled the crowd’s enthusiasm, this casual display of his power and grace reignites their fervor.

“We did it!” Yellow crows.

“I feel so strong!” Red exclaims.

“And shockingly horny,” Blue adds.

““Totally worth it,”” the three of them agree in unison.

“As Field Town’s first successful Hybrid monster, I offer you congratulations,” I tell him, fulfilling my Mayoral duties. “So, um, what should we call you?”

The three Harpy heads all tilt to the side together in thought, then turn inward to discuss in hushed whispers before proudly straightening to announce, “You may call us Prime Ryb, the first of Fieldton’s Hybrid Harpies!”