Winny, the monster dominator

"Hmmph," you say as you plummet towards Monster Island, long bands of your crimson hair blowing into your face.

You see some other parachutes, but you don't care what happens to the other girls. This is your Monster Thesis and you intend to bag the biggest monster Paisley Academy has ever seen. There's no way that American twat Heather Finch will best you this time.

Recalling your training in parachuting class from last semester you manage to guide the crude emergency parachute after the diving, burning aircraft. If the pilot can put it down...

BOOM! A fireball rises from the plane's impact in a dense forest, the fire illuminating the walls of a valley, surrounding mountains and a creepy gothic castle overlooking the valley. You're too low to change course, you swoop in through the smoke cloud and crash painfully through the trees. Skintight vinyl is surprisingly durable. Other than a few twigs caught up in your corseted cleavage and a bit of a bruised bum you survive the landing just fine. You check your survival satchel, but it has torn open and is empty.

You can smell the burning wreck so you make your way towards the crashed plane. You had a fortune worth of kit stashed in your luggage. If any of it survived it will sure help. You recall the layout of Monster Island. Artificial 24 hour daylight desert to the north. The fantastic green wonderland and ivory castle to the west. The compound is smack dab in the middle and the primeval jungle to the south. That must mean you're in the Valley of the Dead and that creepy castle must be Castle Vlad. You've faced down your share of ghouls in training exercises. You're not worried.

You reach the plane and find it has left a path of wreckage ending in a burning heap. Nothing to be salvaged from inside the plane, but you do find one of your bags and a shotgun with a few specialty fireball shells. Great against werewolves and vampires. Just the sort of thing you might need. You also find a huge black rubber practice dong shaped like a minotaur's cock. Not much use now, but it might serve as a bludgeon.

As you are searching for any other bits of kit you hear a high-pitched giggling. You whip around and spot red eyes for a moment in a nearby tree. Then the giggling is even closer, but behind you again. You recognize the sound: a chaun, as in Lepre-chaun. Not quite the pot of gold sort of creature. These chauns are blood-hungry midgets. Little leeches. Low level monsters. Not big enough to drain a person, but still dangerous for their ability to dazzle with hypnotic lights. If they are hunting in a pack--

HEE HEE HEE!

You turn and see the chaun has snuck to within a few meters of you. It is only only a meter tall. It has skiny arms and legs ending in clawed fingers it has a pot belly and pale, wirey flesh. A surprisingly long, uncircumsized prick dangles between its legs. Its face is almost human but it has a fuzzy head of red hair and a thick beard. It smiles and giggles again, revealing its rows of sharp teeth.

You could easily blast this thing with a shotgun, but you might need the ammo. Dominating it would be easy if it can get you off. You only have a moment to consider as the chaun is preparing to pounce.