"I have absolutely no objection to being used for stabbing," Enserric confirms.

"Onwards, then."

Onwards.

It's not very long before they encounter an imp. It looks similar to Zetaz, though its tail-tuft is redder and its horns curl differently.

It's stroking its oversized cock languidly with its back against a tree, until it notices Sadde, at which point it bares its fangs in a lascivious grin. "Yes! Finally, something to fuck!"

"Are you perchance going to politely ask for consent?" he asks, a hand resting on the pommel of the sword.

It blinks owlishly at him.

"No," it says, "I was thinking I'd beat the hell out of you and fuck you. Do you want to consent? Makes it easier, I guess..."

"So before we inevitably get into a fight here to determine who gets to fuck or not fuck whom," he says, making a face when he uses the word 'fuck', "can you explain the mentality to me? It's, you know, kind of bewildering, the chance that you get beat up to hell and back by someone with a sharp magic sword versus the chance you get to fuck someone who might well have actually agreed to it if you'd been a bit more reasonable."

"I'm not scared of your sword," the imp says. "And I don't feel like talking philosophy."

It launches itself at Sadde, claws extended, and leaves a deep gash down his arm.

(The wound barely has time to bleed before it closes over, but Sadde feels drained by it - like he's been running laps, or something.)

He's never gonna get used to this, he's pretty sure.

Still, it should be scared of Sadde's sword. For one, it's magic. For two, he's some kind of chosen one. Anyway, he can stab, probably. Stab stab stab.