by Reed James
She gave a wicked laugh as our weapons clashed.
~ * ~
Kora Falk
Ava's feyhound form bounded through the rubble and leaped on the ogre's back as it chased Zanyia into the other room. As she attacked, inspiration struck me. Zanyia had revealed the ogre's weakness. The ogre was another being birthed out of the God of Lust's masturbation. Another race controlled by their lusts. Like Zanyia.
An idea formed in my mind, the perfect illusion to cast.
“Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint new beauty in the world,” I chanted, my pussy-stained fingers painting the air before me, creating living art.
Color swirled behind the ogre. The hulk thrashed, head smashing through the ceiling as it sought to throw off Ava's feyhound. Zanyia darted before him, distracting him with her pink pussy, her fingers parting her folds.
A beautiful woman appeared, naked like us, but standing with voluptuous invitation. Bright-red hair—that exotic, Tuathan coloring—and bountiful breasts. The illusion cupped her tits, jiggling them as she stood in the door out to the balcony.
“Mmm, yes, I could use some ogre cock right now,” I projected through the illusion, putting all that wanton need into the apparition I created. Her legs parted, her pussy a tight, shaved slit glistening with her juices.
The ogre's snarling head whipped around. His shoulders rolled, throwing Ava off of him. Her wicker body crashed into the wall. She bounced off and landed on the floor as the ogre barreled at my illusion. The floor shook, wood groaning, floor joists protesting the brute's weight.
“PUSSY!” he growled, cock hard. He dropped his club and swept out a meaty hand at my illusion.
His hand passed through nothing. The illusion disrupted, blurring into a rainbow of colors before reforming into the image. The ogre snorted. His heavy brow furrowed. He let out a snort and then snarled and thrust his hand forward again.
He slammed his open palm right through her and into the door. It exploded in splinters, ripping out the frame around it, his thick arm fuzzing her breasts into scintillating colors. His arm swept back and forth, wrist battering the wreckage of the door, buckling the wall.
“PUSSY!” he growled, fist crashing into the floor as Ava rallied and lunged in for another attack.
~ * ~
Princess Ava
I leaped at the ogre's back. I had to hurt him. I should be able to. I had teeth. Claws. I had a nimble, athletic body. I felt so free as I soared through the air. In this body, I didn't have a heart, but I could almost feel it thudding in the depths of my wicker body.
I landed on the ogre's warty back. My claws scratched at his thick hide. Snarling, almost feeling like a hound, I snapped my jaws about the meat of his neck. I couldn't open my jaws wide enough to wrap around his entire throat, but I caught a good chunk of it. My teeth bit. Flesh sliced beneath them. Foul blood flowed over my neck.
But not that gush I wanted. Not that arterial spray that would kill him as he lost more and more blood. I savaged him, ripping with my neck muscles, trying to tear his flesh. But his skin was so tough, his neck muscles so strong. The ogre snarled, twisting. My body flew, my neck straining, my teeth holding me to his body.
He straightened, bellowing, abandoning Kora's illusion. His head slammed into the ceiling. Wood crashed around me. My body slammed into one of the support joists holding up the floor above. Wicker snapped across my body, breaking part of me.
My jaws relaxed.
I tumbled off his back. I landed by his feet, struggling to get back on my feet. More rubble fell around as his head battered through more of the ceiling, letting him stand to his full height for a moment. His foot lashed out behind him.
I gasped, flung across the room. I twisted. Zanyia yowled, ducking as I flew over her head. I snarled and then crashed into the wall. I bounced off and fell back onto the ground. Wood creaked, putting stress on the wicker. The woody vines that formed my body felt on the verge of breaking in many places where they hadn't wholly snapped.
How much of this could I take?
All of it. I had to endure. I had to keep fighting until Sven returned from protecting my real body. I shook my head, looking up, the ogre rushing at Kora. Fear fluttered through me as he rushed at the naked priestess, cock bouncing hard before him, hands outstretched.
“No!” I snarled.
“TRICK!” ogre rumbled, his voice rattling the room.
~ * ~
Sven Falk
The boarding house shook. I fought through the flood of escaping people, bleating in fear as they fled the trembling building. Nathalie and Greta pressed behind me, their naked forms trembling as I battled through the flow of panicked residents. I kept a tight grip on Ava. I wouldn't let her go.
Rubble crashed onto the floor ahead. I looked up at the ceiling. My women were fighting the brute. I had to get up there and fight, but I also had to get Ava to safety. I growled. I had to protect all my women. I brought them into this dangerous life. Into this fight. I set out on a quest of vengeance, and it led me here.
I had to take responsibility for them.
I burst out into the night, the patrons of the boarding house screaming as they ran down the street. People watched the house, staring at it. I glanced around. This had to be safe enough. I darted down the road and stopped by a closed merchant stall. I set Ava down on the ground in its shadow.
“Watch her!” I growled to Greta and Nathalie.
“We'll keep her safe, Master!” Nathalie said, her petite body trembling, her face so pale, white as milk.
“We will,” Greta said, her eyes red, tears staining her cheeks. She fell to her knees, lifted Ava's sleeping head, and settled it on her lap.
I could see it in their eyes; they both loved Ava. They didn't have the strength to fight, but they still would help. It swelled my heart, joy beating through it for a moment. I took pride in my harem, in the women in it. They were strong and powerful in their own ways. But I needed to do my part. I had to get back into the fight.
The ogre bellowed, “TRICK!”
I turned around and...
The naga slinked out of the shadows, the body of a dusky-skinned woman thrusting from the sinuous form of a vibrant, purple-scaled serpent with diamonds of bronze running down her flesh. She slithered forward, large, pillowy breasts swaying before her. She had fat, brown-pink nipples hard with her excitement. Purple hair, the same hue as her lower half, fell about a cruel and hungry face. She clutched a scimitar in her left hand. Shadows played around her right.
“Running away?” she hissed. “Leaving your women to fight alone?”
My hand tightened, anger boiling through me. I advanced on her. “The moment I saw the garbage heap in the shadows,” I lied, “I knew you were around slithering in the filth. Night soil is an improvement to your stench.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Such impertinence, human. I shall enjoy draping your hide over my throne and sitting upon it.”
“How flattering,” I said. “I bet your scales would make a great pair of boots.”
Her tongue flicked out before her. A rasping hiss came not from her mouth but from her coiled body rubbing scales against scales. Her breasts swayed before her as she undulated. I fell into a fighting stance, short sword gripped in my right hand. I didn't care I was naked. I could defeat this bitch, take her head, and end one threat to my family.
“Come, try, human,” she hissed. “Test the mettle of your sword against my shadows.”
The darkness rustling around her hand surged at me. My body tensed. I knew shadowmancing couldn't hurt. It could only confuse and bewilder. Unless she had the same power as that assassin. Did she also combine shadowmancing with witchcraft?
The darkness splashed across my face. I felt the cool, ethereal touch as the umbral washed over my vision. I blinked, the world swallowed by black. I sucked in a breath, waiting to see what her shadows would...
I couldn't see.
The shadows settled over my face.
&
nbsp; A moment of blind panic shot through me. An animalistic, whining instinct to bolt, to run, to whimper in dread gripped me. It held me rigid. I ground my teeth, fighting the cold fear pumping through my veins.
I. Would. Not. Panic.
I focused on my other senses. I'd practiced this. This had happened to me before. When fighting Warleader Gorth'in in the forest before meeting Aingeal. I was prepared for this. I knew I'd fight more shadowmancers. I anticipated this technique.
I could hear the slither of the naga's scales as she advanced on me. The hiss of her exhale, the flick of her tongue. I smelled something dry and serpentine mixed with the oil used to hone her scimitar. My fear withdrew. I still could act. I could still fight. I could still sense my environment.
I had only one disadvantage. It wasn't the end of the world.
Air swished.
The scimitar slashed at me.
Chapter Forty-Eight: Fighting Blind
Zanyia
“Got hot pussy right here,” I moaned, plunging my fingers into my pussy as Gor went for Kora. “It's real and juicy.”
Kora threw herself to the ground, the ogre's grasping hand sweeping over her. She screeched, her twin braids bouncing on her naked back. She quivered there again. I had to do something. I had to draw his attention.
Good thing my pussy dripped from the exhilaration. I felt so alive. So horny.
“You're going for another illusion again,” I shouted, pulling out my digits from my cunt, coated in my juices. I flicked my fingers at him, splashing his back in juices. “Smell that, big boy. That's prime, lamia cunt-cream.”
His brutish head snapped around towards me. I grinned at him, my ears twitching. Kora rolled away from him. An illusion of her appeared standing up before the ogre. He thrust his hand at the movement, blurring through the illusion.
“TRICK!” he snarled.
“But this isn't,” I purred, flicking more pussy juices at him. “I'm real.”
He rose over me, smashing through the ceiling. The entire boarding house creaked and shook. How much more destruction could the building take? I hoped it would survive. I turned and scrambled away, the ogre lunging after me. I leaped for the door out of the room. His fist smashed into the floor. Wood protested.
I landed on the ground, my claws scratching, digging in, giving me leverage. I leaped again, flying out into the hallway. His lust-filled bellow echoed as he charged after me. The wall exploded, his bulk bursting through it.
I grinned as I led him away from Mistress Kora.
~ * ~
Kora Falk
I let the illusion of myself dissolve away as the ogre smashed through the wall and tore off after Zanyia. I pushed myself to my feet. Ava's feyhound proxy followed, leaping through the rubble. I chased after, bare feet slapping on the ground. Splintered wood and torn plaster slowed me down. My arms thrust out to my side, balancing myself across shifting debris.
“Come get me,” Zanyia shouted. “My pussy's waiting!”
My fingers painted.
“Yes, yes, my pussy's waiting,” illusion-Zanyia yowled as she sprang out of a door right before the ogre. I gave my art a toothy grin. “Mmm, it's just so juicy.” I swished her tail and twitched her ears just like the real Zanyia. “See.”
I spun the illusion around and made her part her furred muff, showing off that pussy.
“No, no, it's right here,” the real Zanyia purred, sounding just the same. She adopted the same pose, bent over, hand shoved down her body and between her legs, digits parting those pink depths. She was wet; battle always excited her.
She reveled in this. I hated it. The terror. My heart screaming. Blood pounding through my veins. Where was Sven? Why hadn't he returned? And what happened to Ealaín? But I could only concentrate on my illusion.
The ogre's head whipped back and forth. He stood immobile for a moment, one hand stroking that brutal cock, thick and long, more a battering ram than an organ that could give pleasure to a woman. Ogres didn't care about giving pleasure. Only in rutting. In satiating their lusts.
“Got some hot, juicy cunt right here,” illusion-Zanyia howled, my lips moving with it while my pussy-soaked fingers wiggled. I shoved my left hand between my thighs, finding more of my cream.
I was wet, too. What did that say about me? Beneath the terror, I was excited.
Ava attacked the ogre's leg. Her wooden teeth sunk into his hamstring. He bellowed, boulder-sized fists swinging at the end of long, pendulous arms. Ava ducked, her feyhound form nimble. Wicker creaked as she bit again, leaving oozing wounds on the ogre's leg.
Was that even hurting him?
~ * ~
Sven Falk
I flicked my sword towards the sound. Metal rang on metal. My blade shivered. I clenched my hands tight, the sound resounding. The naga hissed, her scales rasping together as she moved her body. I heard the slap of her breasts, picturing those pillowy mounds bouncing off each other.
I thrust my sword at that sound.
She hissed in frustration. Scales slithered back across cobblestone. Her scimitar slapped down on my sword, knocking my thrust off target. I didn't care. I moved, bare feet crossing the stones. I heard Nathalie gasp, pictured her frightened face watching in awe.
She didn't say a word. She knew better.
The air whistled to my right.
My sword snapped up.
Metal clashed.
Silky hair caressed shoulders and face. Scales slithered together, that dry caress. My sword slashed out, forcing her to retreat. I sprang at her, thrusting at her flesh, her scimitar sweeping before her to block. Hard swings. Too much energy. Too much flourish.
She wasn't used to having opponents that truly fought back. I could imagine none of her servants ever trying to beat her when she sparred for practice. They didn't put their all into the fight. They didn't hone her to be a deadly fighter. She lacked the skill to face someone trained by the Fencing College of Az.
If I wasn't blind...
Metal rang. She hissed as I drove her back. She circled me, slithering. I tracked her, ears pricked for every movement. My feet shifted along the cobblestones of the street. I listened for the swish of her sword, the sway of her breasts, the hissing frustration of her mouth. All of it gave me clues.
I parried. I slashed. I thrust.
“How!” she snarled.
“You're just that pathetic of a fighter,” I said, putting mocking derision into my voice. “I don't even need to see to kill you.”
I felt something cold swirling around me. Not wind, but that same ethereal touch. Her sword slashed in from the left. But it didn't sound quite right. It had a... hollow quality. A heartbeat later, I heard a fainter hiss from my right.
I parried right. Her blade smacked into my sword, but it wasn't swung at her full strength. She tried to bring it in stealthily, to give me a minor wound instead of slicing me open from belly to sternum.
“How!” she snarled.
“Shadowy tricks don't work if I can't see them!” I said and then snapped my blade at her chest.
She snarled, her blade flashing. A cocky grin grew as I pressed my attack. I felt her frustration as she slithered down the street. I pressed her back faster and faster, sensing I had the advantage, the momentum of the fight having shifted in my favor.
My attacks grew swifter. Confidence swelled in me, energizing my forms. I had to find her flesh. I had to kill this bitch and end the blindness. The ogre bellowed in the building. I had to finish her off and help my step-sister, my princess, and my slave. I had to help Ealaín. All of them.
Her scimitar swept before her, hardly holding me off. Her breathing increased. She slithered back faster, forcing me to almost jog to keep up with her. I slashed, my blade not cutting into the naga's flesh. Her scales rasped across the ground. She fled from me, slithering away.
I had her running scared and—
Nathalie screamed.
“No!” gasped Greta. They were so close to the rustling scales. Gret
a yelped. Bare feet slapped on the paving stones.
What was happening!
“Master!” screeched Nathalie, terror in her voice.
The naga hissed in satisfaction, her scales rasping on flesh.
~ * ~
Princess Ava
I savaged the ogre's thighs as I felt something distant wrapped about my real body. Thick and coiled. I ignored it. Sven was protecting me. I needed to keep fighting here. I needed to help my Kora and Zanyia fight the ogre.
Sven protected me.
I leaped up the ogre's back, dodging his foot kicking back at me. I had to find some place on the brute that would hurt him. Little wounds oozed blood across his yellowish hide, but nothing I did seemed to slow him.
It was so frustrating.
“Pater's cock!” I snarled as my claws tore into his back. I snapped at his neck again, trying to get around the front. To crush his windpipe. I lunged my head over his shoulder, greasy hair brushing the wicker of my flesh.
I closed around his throat. I squeezed, snarling as I choked the life out of him. Zanyia chortled in delight. I put my all into clenching down about the ogre's throat. I could feel his breath rushing down his windpipe. I just had to crush it.
To kill him.
The ogre's brutal hand seized me in a crushing grip. I gasped as he flung me. The hallways streaked past, doors left open from the fleeing guests. I tried to turn my form, using my wicker tail to reposition myself and—
I crashed into the wall.
My body snapped. Wood splintered. I hit the floor and groaned, twitching. I felt broken wicker across my body, weakening my form's strength. Dozens of strands had cracked or ripped in half along my sides, putting strain on those still intact. My left foreleg lay twisted, held on by only a few woody vines.
I shook my head, struggling to stand.
The proxy was still intact enough for me to control it. My soul didn't hurtle back out of my body. I could still fight. The ogre lunged at a Zanyia, reaching for her, ignoring me. I almost had him. I could feel I was choking him.
I hobbled back towards the fight, my left leg dragging behind me.