Pyrrhic Victory

A Side Quest written by J-Cal.

The cacophony of the starting battle had quickly overpowered the dull tolling of the distant bell with its deafening brutality.  The elven defenders had no time to form any organized or indeed significant defence as they were taken completely unprepared by the Kazdruk attack, striking deep into elven territory and far away from the frontlines as they were drawn on the map.

Due west of the Lake of Brothers, some distance south of the glittering coastline in AzurLyyn, the temple guard had only set a prudent watch over the grounds of the sheltered shrine to the goddess Eletha, mostly to oversee travellers coming and going, as well as sentries minding the proverbial fence for more everyday trouble such as looters or deserters.

That the arch nemesis would invade from the coast was considered so unheard of that spending resources defending against it was, indeed, unheard of.

The Kazdruk strike force was not large, but it was large enough to be more than a match for the local garrison, each of them handpicked by the expedition’s leader for their ruthlessness and fortitude; the former needed for swift and vicious fighting, the latter for the journey by sea and the subsequent trek south through the foothills and dense forests.

Attacking in the dead of night, the soothing moonlight conveniently shrouded from the defenders by clouds by the leader’s talents, the hooting Kazdruk assailants, their cloven hoofs clopping on the flagstone streets cutting through the immaculate orchards surrounding the shrine, held aloft their double-bladed axes, flanged maces and long spears as they ripped into the worshippers and defenders with wild abandon.

Within the first minute, half of the temple guard had been hacked to pieces, left to fertilize the torched apple trees and orchards as cries of desperation and utter glee had long since shattered the calm of the night.

Only the female elven acolytes were spared, rounded up and restrained for the attackers to enjoy later once the shrine had been sacked.

Her high heels clicking on the flagstones as she leisurely strolled down the causeway leading towards the shrine’s main entrance, the strike force’s leader, the sorceress Eylen, held her staff gingerly by her side. Grinning, beholding the fluted arches and tall, white marble walls rising up into winding spires from which hung assorted elven banners and flags, Eylen inwardly rejoiced that her quarry was nearly in her hands.

She detested travelling by sea, and the cramped quarters and close proximity to the brutes she had brought along to do most of the brutalizing had started to affect her mood. The smell of three dozen sweaty, unwashed Kazdruk warriors had driven her to gag more than once. For their usefulness, they were about as refined as a mangy dog playing in mud. Eylen had many a time throughout their journey wished to be far away from her gatecrashers, preferably between the silk sheets of her bed while her harem of slaves tongued her to bliss and back.

Still, her will had never deterred. Yuldasha had entrusted this task to her, and she had no intention of letting the Arch Ruler down because she couldn’t stomach a few weeks suffering the hungry leers of a few stinking warriors.

Not that she didn’t understand quite well why they were staring, for Eylen’s body was as immaculate as her talents for demonic, dark magic. The hourglass shape of her form was topped not only by pillowing, soft breasts that were as large as her head, but with her affinity for martial training as well as arcane, she had a large yet perfectly sculpted ass, thick, shapely thighs and a flat belly that showed just a hint of the abdominal muscles underneath.

Her red skin was as smooth as her silken covers, and her long, flowing black hair brushed against her lower back as she sashayed towards the steps that would take her to the entrance on which her raptor, golden gaze was resting.

Her giant breasts bounced gently as she walked, held tightly together by a shiny, black top, the straps hanging from the little ring in front of her decorative gold and silver collar around her slender neck. A matching black loincloth, attached on both sides by entwined gold and silver metal bands over her wide hips, slid without chafing between her thick thighs when she walked – very femininely, one foot crossing in front of the other. The high heels of her black, thigh-high leather boots gave her an additional three inches of height, the boots themselves ending at her knees, yet more winding black leather snaked around her thighs nearly all the way up to her hips.

A simple but elegant golden stud decorated her navel, and she had to bite her purple painted lips in sheer lust at seeing the barbells through her nipples poke against the very thin, very tight fabric of her top.

Her staff, itself an important artefact in her magical talents, looked simple enough. It was a long, polished wooden handle ending in what looked like four gnarled wooden fingers clutching a blood red ruby laced with black; it was a volcanic gemstone, and unique, as Eylen had in her adolescence formed the gem through arduous magical spells and incantations from the still running lava of an erupting volcano, standing perilously close to the river of flame for hours as she harnessed the natural fury of molten earth to create a magical relic which itself contained the rage of the volcano.

Following her close behind, slightly annoyed at being away from the main assault though they had a spectacular view of the sorceress’ bare back and ass, the back part of the loincloth small enough to partially vanish between the perfect cheeks, the duo of Kazdruk warriors longed to do violence. Hearing the fighting elsewhere in the large compounds surrounding the main shrine made their hairs stand on edge, axes held with white knuckles as their dark eyes surveyed the square facing the main entrance, scanning around every pillar and decorative bush for threats to their leader.

Soon enough, as the three of them approached the landing before the grand white staircase leading up two floors to the wide, doorless arch leading into the shrine’s sanctum, a quad of temple guards stormed out, fanning out into a loose semi-circle at the top landing, meaning to use the high ground and spears to keep the attackers away.

Eylen could do short work of the elven warriors and their sheet-thin armour without having to exert herself, but she figured she’d best give her bodyguards something to do lest their inferior, warrior-caste minds prompt them to do something stupid. Not that Eylen cared how many warriors died on this mission; she only cared enough lived to dispatch the elven garrison. Formidable though she was, the sorceress couldn’t be everywhere at once.

Besides, the elves were bound to have casters of their own present at the shrine, and knowing their pompous, self-important kind, they would all be inside, guarding what Eylen had come to claim for Yuldasha.

“Go,” she said without looking back at them, her silken voice betraying nothing of the violence she was capable of.

With grunts of approval, the two horned Kazdruk warriors – all muscle and veins – stormed past their mistress, bounding on their hoofs up the stairs with their axes held low to their sides, unheeding of the sharp spikes of the enemy spears pointing down at them.

Roaring and snarling, the fearsome Kazdruk warriors, half a meter taller than the elves, rushed up the stairs, cutting at the closest spears, effortlessly slicing through the wooden poles that sent the pointy ends tumbling through the air. Anticipating such an act from the brutish attackers, the other two elves with their weapons intact jabbed at them, aiming at the vulnerable spots between the armour places along their sides. One elf hit his mark, ramming the spear deep enough to puncture the Kazdruk’s liver. The air drained from its lungs as it failed to draw breath, letting out a soundless shriek of unimaginable agony. On the elf’s flank, the one who’d lost his spearhead to the stricken Kazdruk drew his shortsword and finished the job, opening the warrior’s gullet and spraying the both of them in warm blood and gore.

The other duo of elves fared far worse against the other Kazdruk. The one with the still functioning spear missed as the lumbering attacker shifted its stance, the pointy end sliding harmlessly off its chestplate. The second elf with the ruined spear had no time to draw his sword before the Kazdruk’s axehead came back down, slashing him from shoulder to hip in one terrible swipe. The two parts of the elf dropped to the white stone floor with a sickening, wet sound, blood spilling quickly under them.

Laughing with triumph, at home in the carnage, the Kazdruk kicked the other elf square in the chest with his cloven hoofs, sending him flying, the chestplate caved in deep enough to shatter his ribcage, which in turn punctured his heart. He hit the ground on his back and skidded several meters, the grinding sound of the metal sliding on the stone catching the attention of the two elves who had successfully dispatched the other Kazdruk warrior.

Horrified by what they saw but keeping their warrior’s resolve, the elves rounded on the remaining warrior, splitting up to come at him from both sides. Dark eyes looking at them both in turn, bloodied axe held down at his side with fingers drumming anticipatingly on the iron handle, the muscle-bulging Kazdruk waited for the elves to strike first.

The one at his left came with his spear, feinting a high jab to catch his attention, before the actual strike came aimed at the Kazdruk’s exposed shin. Anticipating such an obvious move, having seen it countless times fighting other elves of the Coalition, the Kazdruk simply sidestepped, causing the spear to hit nothing and the wielder to lose balance for a fatal half second. The elf’s head spun away, striking the second to top step of the stairs, bouncing all the way down, leaving a trail of spattered blood where it went.

The other elf with the sword was quick to respond, scoring a deep gash over the Kazdruk’s face. Blinded by his own blood getting into his eyes, the warrior roared with anger and swung wildly with his axe, catching only air as the elf nimbly dodged and circled around to the Kazdruk’s back, from where the sword found the nape of the enemy’s neck. The Kazdruk fell to his knees, forcing the elf to plant his foot between his massive shoulder blades to wrench his blade back out.

Then the elf’s head exploded into a million tiny fragments of bloody bone, the body slumping over with a dull thud.

Eylen was not impressed with neither the elves nor her so-called bodyguards for getting themselves so readily killed. This was the problem with most Kazdruk warriors, for their bloodlust and anger made them act irrationally. This trait was better suited for large-scale battles where several enemies could be intimidated into routing en masse by the display, but when facing warriors in smaller engagements that were above the common soldiery in terms of fighting prowess and motivation, such bold charges resulted in as many casualties as kills.

Finishing the ascent, gingerly avoiding placing her pretty boots in any of the spillage, Eylen held her staff in front of her as she passed through the stone entrance into the shrine, the staff’s powers aiding her in detecting any magical snares or shields, the Kazdruk sorceress crossed the threshold.

The sounds of the fighting faded as she penetrated the elven temple.

Torches lined the corridor, most of the white marble walls covered behind decorative draperies and paintings, all pointless reminders of elven vanity and their celebration of trivialities. Everywhere Eylen went in the domains that were still elven before they were claimed for Yuldasha there were these moronic exhibitions of “art” and “splendour” that the elves somehow could find endless enjoyment in fawning over or discussing at length. While the sorceress knew there were some high-ranking Kazdruk who were also in some way or other interested in statues and paintings and other trinkets, Eylen had never understood the fascination. The elves were positively insufferable in their devotion to this garbage.

Coming to the end of the corridor, all of the “art” having suddenly caught fire, Eylen rounded the corner and found herself in a grand hall of more white marble. Along the far wall, six columns built halfway into it, rose all the way to the ceiling high above. Between the carved columns were round-topped windows three stories tall, each flanked by thick drapes of dark purple and held aside by braided gold bands. During the day, the windows would look out over the sprawling forest to the west of the shrine, but now all there was to see was the illumination of countless fires eating away at the elven orchards beneath.

The wall on the right was covered in three huge paintings, easily five by five meters each, in intricately carved oak frames made to imitate entwining leaves – the elves and their leaves. The painting on the left was that of a grand coastal city, all silver spires and hanging gardens. The middle painting was of a mighty waterfall filling a pond in a lush, thick forest, the canopy above parting to invite the sunlight to the viewer. The painting on the right was of a pair of elven lovers cavorting half-naked in a meadow, laughing and enjoying each other under a golden sun, with a backdrop of towering, sharp mountains rising skyward giving the painting much needed depth and colour.

The left wall had another open doorway in the middle of it, bookshelves lining the wall on both sides, each shelf filled with neatly stacked elvish tomes and volumes.

The middle of the marble room, on the floor made by small white triangles of stone, was dominated by a red and gold rug with elven words sewn into it along the sides. The starburst patterns and general look of it made the sorceress’ nose wrinkle; this whole chamber smelt of devotion and piousness.

Eylen knew where to fan her magical flames next.

“Always you Kazdruk come to destroy the beauty of this world,” a feminine voice rang in the chamber, audible yet not loud in any way. “I do not intend to let you succeed to take what you have come for.”

Three elves stepped through the doorway on the left, coming to stand in the middle of the room, facing the Kazdruk sorceress.

Two were more of the temple guard – a dying breed, facing the surprising Kazdruk assault – standing protectively in front of the third with their long spears pointing at the intruder. The third one, Eylen realized, was a young one she wanted to take alive, if possible.

For all their vanity and self-righteousness, there was a reason why elven women were so highly valued among the Kazdruk, and that was their beauty and bodies. Their meek natures were just a bonus for the self-respecting Kazdruk who wanted slaves to rape to his or her heart’s content.

She wore a white sleeveless top with a very deep cleavage – presenting quite a lot of her very large breasts, on par with even the lager-of-stature Kazdruk’s own mammaries – which cut down and in on her belly to end in a tip hanging just above her navel on her flat, toned belly. A matching skirt, flowing down to her bare ankles, was cut on both sides from the waist all the way down, giving it the appearance of being two parts held together by the black belt with a square, golden buckle over her wide, sensual hips. A white hood rested over her head, but was not pulled far enough to obscure her features.

Sparkling green eyes regarded Eylen with loathing, and from within the hood, two thick blond braids hung down her shoulders nearly as far down as her knees, the ends of the braids held together with silver ribbons.

The she-elf wore no jewellery at all, but her tan skin bore several markings a few shades darker than her natural skin-tone – skin which Eylen noted looked smooth and silky – adorning her forehead, upper arms and chest, some of the winding, presumably divine decorations vanishing within her top, making Eylen wonder if the elf’s naked tits were likewise decorated.

She decided she was going to find out.

“And what is that, I wonder?” the sorceress mocked. “What possible value is there to anything elven?”

The female elf’s expression remained neutral, but her eyes still radiated the same hate. “Do not play coy, nor stupid, Kazdruk, for you are neither, nor are you a good actor. You have come for the Eilie’eni.”

Eylen shuddered with delight when she heard the name spoken. Yuldasha coveted the ancient elven artefact, which was why she had dispatched her loyal servant Eylen to retrieve it. According to the Arch Ruler, the shape the Eilie’eni took was unknown, but from what she had learned from tortured elven acolytes and slaves, it was a relic held in high regard by all elven cults for the power it had to restore destruction – particularly destruction to nature – to its original glory. But such artefacts never worked only one way; Aeltha had theorized, with the proper Kazdruk expertise, the Eilie’eni could be made to undo all it had restored, which would cause the Coalition untold disasters and blights, when their restored forests and cities suddenly crumbled back to nothingness.

For this reason and the obvious benefit to the Kazdruk war-effort, Yuldasha wanted the Eilie’eni, and for this reason, Eylen was not going to let a stupid elven acolyte keep her from taking it.

Eylen flashed the she-elf a grin, but there was only distaste in her eyes. “Very well, then why don’t you simply hand it over, and I promise you and your kin won’t suffer, much.”

With a flash of brilliance, a winding white staff appeared in the priestess’ hand, six bright white, twisting branches weaved together to form her magical catalyst which was as tall as she was. The gesture made her spoken response redundant. “You will not have it.”

The sorceress let out an annoyed puffing sound, not because she had to forcefully pry the Eilie’eni from the acolyte’s bloodslicked hands, but because elven arrogance never ceased to annoy her.

“Stay back, Priestess Amenia,” one of the warriors said with vigour. “Let us deal with the intruder.”

“You do not stand a chance against her,” Amenia said, brushing her impressively long braids over her shoulders to let them drape down her back. “The two of you would be more of use fighting outside.”

“Too bad they’ll never get the chance,” Eylen said with finality as she drew a circle in the air in front of her with the volcanic gem embedded in her staff.

Infused with the Kazdruk’s dark powers, a black line trailed from the gem, leaving a void-black circle the width of two fingers suspended in the air before the caster. As though the curving line had a mind of its own – which in a sense, guided by Eylen’s directions, it did – it split into three equal fragments and shot towards the elves.

The farther the three thirds of the circle went from the Kazdruk sorceress towards Amenia and the two temple guardsmen, the lines compacted more and more until they took the shapes of black spheres which contracted and bulged, as though they were made of crude oil being manipulated by outside forces.

Priestess Amenia recognized the threat of the circle as soon as the Kazdruk had drawn it, and beseeched her talents for channelling the divine powers of the elven pantheon to bless them with protection from the coming attack.

The spell ignited, and from Amenia’s bosom a white shield bloomed, growing in size as it expanded, meaning to encase the caster and the two warriors within its sheltering core where the demonic spell could not harm them.

Alas, Amenia was a split second too late in her casting, and as the semi-translucent white shell was still growing from her, the Kazdruk’s spell struck the two temple guardsmen and the still blooming shield.

The warriors, caught square in the chest, screamed in unspeakable agony as the demonic spell quite literally burnt them up from the inside, the magical powers radiating from the impact craters in their chests where the ribcage had already shattered. Spreading through their bodies, licks of silver fire sprouted out from their eyes, out of their ears, through the miniscule crevices of their nails, out of the nostrils and out of their mouths, their tongues already blackened as they howled. Before long, the fast-acting flames had reduced the warriors to nothing – not even ashes remained to mark their horrible passing.

The last churning sphere impacted Amenia’s shield, and while the shield did its job, in its adolescent form, the expanding bubble shattered, knocking the priestess across the room. Flying through the air a good four meters, still clutching her staff, she hit the ground on her back, skidding under the force of the brutal detonation of her shield.

Dazed, momentarily wrecked by her own powers backlashing from the unfinished spell, Amenia’s eyes failed to focus as the ornate worship-chamber spun around, making her nauseous and disoriented. Her hood fell off when her head lolled lazily to one side.

Her high heels walking triumphantly atop the elven rug, laughing wickedly, Eylen was genuinely amused by what she had just witnessed. She had never seen an elven acolyte cock such a simple – if effective – protective spell before, making her assume Amenia was not as experienced as her haughty elven demeanour might have suggested.

“That was quite the effort!” she giggled with unrestrained glee. “Either you are just clueless or you are younger than you look.”

The sorceress stopped a few paces before the supine elf, her golden eyes regarding the stunned girl’s sublime body with growing lust. Eylen was a full head taller than Amenia, positively looming in front of her, and the Kazdruk felt the familiar tingle in her nether regions as ideas formed in her head.

She was definitely going to keep this gorgeous thing, and she failed to stifle a giggle thinking about how little rest the elf was going to get in the weeks it would take to travel back to the Spire with the Eilie’eni.

Which, sadly, had to take priority at the moment. Without the Eilie’eni, Eylen might as well never return to the Arch Ruler.

Good thing Eylen had the perfect tool for extracting information. It might take time, but time was not an issue. The hush that had descended over the shrine indicated the fighting was dying down outside, and the sorceress had no reason to think that her Kazdruk cadre were not the victors. Knowing them and their brutish desires, they’d pounce on the prisoners long before anyone thought to come report to their leader.

No matter, that would let Eylen get properly acquainted with the elf that was soon to be her new plaything.

New naked plaything.

“I hope you beg with as much vigour as you oppose your betters, girl,” Eylen said with sensual menace, tapping the bottom of her staff four times against the rug as she sent a trickle of beckoning power through it.

“And you can only hope I am in a pardoning mood once you start.”

A square of glowing green and blue lines in intricate shapes and arches formed on the floor, the open spaces between the dual-coloured lines turning blacker than a starless night. When the spell-form completed, the lines seemed to get pulled through the floor, leaving nothing but a square of darkness, from which countless appendages began crawling out.

“After all,” she took a step closer to the magical pit leading to another world entirely. “My pet here has no pity for anyone.”

Anyone but Eylen’s staff, that was. With it, she could manipulate the creature at will.

Still fighting to regain her composure, her body still unwilling to cooperate, the priestess’ green eyes widened in fear when they managed to focus on what was crawling out of the pit, and stories she’d heard about other elves that had suffered similar fates at the hands of the Kazdruk-race’s choice of “pet” pushed her to the brink of panic as she desperately tried to make her body obey her commands.

More than a dozen dark red, cock-headed and slime-slick tentacles rose from the hole in the floor that was both there and not there, the bulbous heads rising on thick shafts  aimed right at her, the pre-cum oozing slits like eyes beholding the meal to come.

When two of the warm, slick tentacles made contact with her legs, the Kazdruk caster kneading her breasts with her free hand and biting her lip with sick pleasure at what she knew was coming, Amenia shrieked in fright to her assailant’s growing glee.

“That’s it, little girl, taste your helplessness and just imagine what is going to happen to you. At some point you will tell me where your stupid ilk have hidden the Eilie’eni within the shrine, but sadly for you, I won’t be in a mood to listen until dawn, which is at least five hours away.”

Trying not to pay attention to the Kazdruk’s taunts or her increasing laugh, Amenia squirmed as more tentacles made contact with her, coiling up her legs and thighs and starting to loop around her arms. The tentacles moved slowly, deliberately, guided by the sorceress, taking their time to hammer home more despair, giving the elf’s horror more time to grow.

Yet more tentacles came for her, one of them pressing its slimy head into her cleavage and, with a slow tug, shredded her top, making her grand breasts plop free. Pinching one of her own nipples, Eylen saw that the markings on the elf’s chest indeed spread to her gorgeously massive tits, covering the outer slopes of both mammaries.

Next her skirt was ripped away, exposing her smooth elven nether regions to her attacker and her tool of interrogation, and as more and more tentacles seized her, dripping dickheads lining up with her three orifices, Amenia acted in pure desperation.

Still managing to hold on to her staff, holding it weakly but holding it nonetheless, she summoned up whatever powers she could muster, beseeching for aid, and unleashed whatever she had.

As it turned out, she didn’t have much. A crude blast of divine energy shot from the tip of her staff. As it went, hopelessly wide of both the Kazdruk and the tentacles, Amenia’s eyes started to tear up as she lost the grip on her staff, and realized for real that she was in big trouble.

However, with unlikely luck, the priestess’ blast struck the gem on Eylen’s staff. The volcanic stone shattered from contact with the antithetical divine power into a thousand tiny fragments, the staff burning up from the brutal removal of the core of its power.

“No!” Eylen screamed, looking impotently as her staff disintegrated before her eyes, the fine powder drizzling at her feet.

Looking up with dawning realization, the sorceress understood that, through her hopeless, aimless gesture, the elf had succeeded in ruining everything.

Half of the tentacles now looked to Eylen. Without the staff, there was nothing that could restrain them.

And they felt no favour towards Eylen over Amenia.

In fact, it now realized it had two playthings instead of one.

The warm, slick and thick tentacles quickly wrapped around all of Eylen’s limbs, spreading them wide as the sinister creature wrestled her to the ground with ease, letting its sensitive heads rub all over her as it savoured the coming feast. With deft moves, seeing with sightless eyes, the creature used other tentacles to go about preparing its second victim. One tentacle, like it had done to the elf, wedged itself in the tight, warm valley of the sorceress’ cleavage, and, with a mighty tug, the appendage tore Eylen’s top, leaving only the collar to which it was secured, enabling the Kazdruk’s huge, shapely tits to free themselves of their moorings. Simultaneously, another tentacle assailed her loincloth, pressing itself between the fabric and Eylen’s lower abdomen. With another yank, the loincloth came away to bare Eylen’s smooth, puffy pussy. It did not bother doing anything about her boots.

On the opposite side of the circular void in the rug, Amenia was screaming in terror. The dizziness from the Kazdruk’s spell had dissipated, leaving that much more room for the dawning realization of what was happening. Naked and helpless, her limbs spread wide where she hung suspended in mid-air, supported by all the tentacles groping her, the elven priestess struggled in vain to free herself, but no matter which way she tried to move resulted in the exact same thing; nothing at all. The pre-cum coated tip of one of the tentacles were rubbing her pussy up and down, forcing unwanted pleasure on her nether regions as the sensitive flesh was stroked and massaged, and knowing from rumour and texts how these creatures operated, she was dreading the inevitable, her fear reinforced by her inability to do anything at all about it.

Sobbing and begging whoever might listen, the elf tried not to think about what was going to happen to her. Sadly it was all she managed to think about.

With deliberate synchronized movements, the monster slid its first tentacles into its victims.

Screaming as the thick, warm, rubbery appendages entered them, both the elf and the Kazdruk panicked at the violent intrusion – the slime and pre-cum easing the tentacles in did nothing to lessen the forcefulness of the beginning rape – feeling their insides fill up with the wiggling limbs.

The tentacle monster wasn’t content with just dipping a toe into the water, as it were, and slid its first tentacles deep inside the tight, cavernous holes of its prey, probing the bulging heads farther and farther in, delighting at the wet feel of the walls inside rub and pleasure it.

Amenia shrieked the loudest as she lost her virginity to the aberration, the thick snake inside her going painfully deep, rubbing and rotating within her to steal pleasure from her. All of her young life she had saved herself for her betrothed – a handsome young warrior the same age as herself, but who was posted in a different corner of the realm – and in an instant the chance to have that first, special and intimate night she had always envisioned was cruelly taken away forever.

Eylen screamed as well. She wasn’t unused to the feeling of a thick tentacle or two inside her. In fact she’d copulated with this very monster on several occasions. However, this was the first time she was not in control of it, and without control, the monster treated her like any other captive; like a fucktoy with no other prospects in life other than to give it pleasure. As such, its initial tentacle felt a lot rougher than the Kazdruk sorceress remembered. Nevertheless, even as she felt the entrance to her womb being tickled by the end of the tentacle getting comfortable inside her, she knew it was just the beginning.

As though on que, the next tentacle started pressing against Eylen’s asshole, rubbing against the puckering opening just long enough to let her start to sweat at the feeling it would make entering her, before it started squeezing its way inside. Gritting her teeth, the pained expression on her face telling the priestess all she needed to know about what was going to happen to her as well, the tentacle invaded Eylen’s tight ass, sliding the tentacle so deep inside its head could feel the head of the other tentacle inside Eylen’s other canal.

Praying to her various deities for mercy, her skin breaking out with nervous perspiration, Amenia tried averting her gaze from the sorceress, too taken with her own predicament to care about what was happening to her assailant who had summoned this terrible beast in the first place, but when the Kazdruk’s screams were suddenly cut off, the priestess could not help herself from looking. A third tentacle was wriggling its way inside the invader, stretching the jaw as wide as it could go whilst filling her mouth with the thick head. The tentacle stuck so deep into her mouth Amenia could see her eyes rolling back in her head as tears poked out of them, and with renewed panic she saw the Kazdruk’s throat bulge, realizing the tentacle was not stopping for anything.

Whimpering and straining uselessly, another series of sobs escaped the young elf as she felt the next tentacle line up with her asshole, and the third one come perilously close to her mouth. Without time for another beseeching of her elven gods and goddesses, the remaining holes were promptly filled.

Wet noises reverberated through the once holy chamber, now defiled along with its priestess in the most vile manner. The masterfully wrought carpet was stained beyond salvation by excess lubrication and pools of sticky, white goo, and even the paintings on the wall had not escaped violation by arching ropes of warm tentacle-sperm.

Pyrrhic Victory

The first rays of dawn were starting to clear the distant horizon, spearing through the windows to illuminate the unholy scene within.

The tentacle monster was thriving. Even after so many hours of constant activity, it felt nowhere near fatigued, despite having ejaculated gallons and gallons of cum from every tentacle inside and on its two fantastic toys.

The girls, on the other hand, were feeling quite spent. Despite the nonstop, intense and hard fucking, the constant rubbing, massaging and stroking inside their womanhoods made them orgasm again and again, adding insult to injury where they hung helplessly in the air, suspended by tentacles as yet more tentacles came to fuck their pussies, pound their asses and fill their throats. More tentacles still used their tits to spew more loads of thick and sticky cum on their faces and chests, spurred on by the core that controlled them all, simply rubbed themselves all over their naked skin to produce yet more orgasm fluids.

Thrust into all holes repeatedly, half a dozen tentacles ready to take every single tentacles place in any one of them, the sorceress and the priestess were on the verge of collapse, about to lose consciousness as well as their sanity as they were raped to orgasm and back.

Feeling their colons stretch and leak thick spooge, their pussies fucked sore despite the tentacles’ natural lubrication, and their jaws hurting from being forced open constantly, it was hard for either girl to focus on anything at all. Neither of them possessed the will to mount any kind of struggle in order to resist the creature anymore, so instead they only hung limp in the limbs that restrained them, glassy eyes barely registering each other as they were mercilessly fucked without relent.

Deep within them, however, Eylen despaired at the turn of events that had sicked her own pet on her, and Amenia could find no satisfaction in taking the Kazdruk down with her.

Cumming from all six tentacles inserted inside the two women at once, filling up their stomachs once more, litres upon litres of sticky cum overflowing from every hole, the monster sensed someone approaching its playground.

It was not ready to let go of its victims just yet. In fact, it had no desire to ever let them go. Their holes – and cleavages – were simply too sweet to give up. It never wanted to stop plumbing them, never wanted to not fill them up where there was room with its orgasmic goo.

Thinking with its crude brain, considering what the interruption might mean, fearing it would lose its two sources of pleasure-nourishment, the creature decided there was only one thing to do.

It never stopped fucking them for a second, spewing yet more cum which ran out of their pussies and mouths like water expelled from an overfilled barrel, as it pulled them through the hole in the floor to its world between worlds, where the incredible powers of the nether would keep the elf and Kazdruk young and conscious forever.

A quad of burly Kazdruk warriors in heavy leathers and chainmail entered the chamber, the leader holding the elven artefact – the Eilie’eni – they had found in one of the vaults under the shrine when they had ransacked it after the fighting. When they could find the time to take a break from their eighteen captive female elven acolytes, that was.

Looking for their leader, knowing she had entered the shrine sometime in the night in search of her charge, the warriors were hopeful for words of praise and perhaps choice of which captives they could keep for their personal slaves as rewards for discovering the strange artefact that looked little less than a leaf-covered tangerine encrusted with gold and lined with silver. It seemed the elves could never get enough of their leaves.

But the sorceress was nowhere to be seen anywhere in the shrine. The only thing they found was part of her clothing next to a pool of a sticky white liquid, looking thick as a keeat’s slobber.

The End