She touched everything then.
Time seemed to slow.
Like before, the cave, the land, the air, the storm, everything was hers to know. She splashed into a pool of tranquility and bathed in it. Within this well of wonderment she saw light; soft, perpetual light surrounded her. The last dregs of what she had once been fell away.
She was no longer a Nixy.
She was no longer a creature forged by a Prēost.
She was no longer a being of Storm.
The changed was complete. Her transformation reached culmination.
Herself, damn it!
She was Inghëldir!
“You are more than that, Puta, but the choice is yours to make…”
What? Who? she begin to ask when, but was immediately distracted.
From the comforting cell in her mind, she felt the tip of the boy’s penis touch her skin. She was only half aware of the throbbing head as it began to push aside the folds of her labia’s. He would enter her vagina with the tiniest hump forward.
She did not take notice.
In a flash, her body broke and snapped. Bones shattered, skin bent, muscle tore, sinew sundered and cartilage ripped.
*****
Above her, the boy froze aware something was happening to the creature he was about to infuse with his voracious sperm. At a loss for a moment, he did not know what to do.
He looked down into Inghëldir’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat. His entire body went stiff with shock.
The blue eyes that had stared up at him moments before were gone! Larger, fiercer orbs of the sharpest, purest white he had ever seen replaced them. Her irises swirled in an endless current of blood.
Beneath him was no Nixy.
This was dread made real.
*****
It was all she needed - a moment of indecision on his part, even at the moment of his ultimate conquest. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
She struck.
I AM INGHĖLDIR!!! she raged.
Long blade-like bones ripped forth along the outer edges of her arms. She felt them emerge and in an instant knew what she must do.
She swung outward, cutting through the boy’s flexible ribs as though they were butter. She bucked the lower part of her body at the same time. She sent the cherub up and over her head.
He screamed at the top of his lungs in agony as he flew over her. He hit the ground above her head, blood and gore falling from him and splashing about the cave.
The Nixy-that-was-not-a-Nixy flipped onto her stomach. Then she jumped to her feet before the cherub had stopped moving.
She came for him.
He twisted and writhed upon the ground, heedless of her approach.
She smiled through long, pointy teeth, towering over him, six and a half feet tall. She grabbed the remnants of her dress and ripped it away, standing above him stark naked and in all her glory. She was fright and beauty interwoven, something so terrible it was difficult to look away.
Her head was no longer fig shaped. It suited a creature of her height and build. It rounded now behind the ears, ending in a sculpted, pointed chin, giving the impression of beauty, but danger as well. Her neck had enlarged, thickened, to accommodate the larger skull it now supported. She was even taller than she had been only minutes before. Her hands and feet were even bigger. They ended with long, thin fingers and toes with barbed, razor-sharp nails upon each. Her hair was no longer pale blond. It had whitened in some places and darkened in others, but it was not just white and various shades of gray. Red streaked through it as well, matching the colors swirling within her eyes exactly. She was crimson within white, surrounded by the pale, white-grey of her skin. She had matured into womanhood. Her breasts were full and high upon her chest, her hips wide supporting long, lean thighs and would sway when she walked. Downy, pink hair grew under her arms and at the triangle of her pubis, but nowhere else. She had stretched and angled, becoming sharp as she lengthened. She was cold mixed with heat, voluptuous, but somehow looked new. She had been reborn in full. No longer was she a Nixy.
She was something called Inghëldir now.
“Look at me, boy,” she demanded through gritted teeth, her fury contained by a fraction of an inch.
Through a web of unexpected pain, he peered up at her, his eyes hooded, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wheezed through the agony. His manhood thickened anew as if it had a will of its own.
She sneered at it. She knew she was desirable. She could feel it on the inside. “You will never have this,” she said, gesturing down the length of her long, lean body. “I am Inghëldir. I alone decide. No one has dominion over me. Do you hear me, boy?”
He shook his head without realizing he had done so.
She waited, gazing down at him with disdain, stretching the silence, making sure she had his upmost attention.
She crouched; her long spindle-like limbs seemed to fold as she bent down, her eyes never leaving those of the cherub. A slight smile etched one side of her face.
His eyes widened as she cupped his scrotum with one her hands, her long nails had now developed sharper edges along the sides. He looked up at her rank with fear, cringing and twitching with little control.
“It is I that will have dominion over you, my little sweet,” she purred. She cut her quivering tongue across her razor sharp teeth. She let the blood fall to the floor, distracting the boy for a split second.
In a flash, she twisted and sliced his over-large testicles clean from his body. The razors that were her nails had more than up for the task.
He wailed and flopped upon the ground and appeared to diminish before her as if some unseen life force had drained from him.
She did not waste the opportunity. With all the power of her completely remade mind, she delved into his. She bashed through all the mental barriers and walls and constructs built to protect him from psionic control. She seized him, every last shred of his psyche and bound it to her will.
He had no chance against her and did not have the stregnth to resist, even if could. He scrambled to his knees, his lap full with blood and supplicated himself before her. His forehead he placed upon the rocky floor of the cave.
For a long while, he wept.
She came to her full height, glancing about until her eyes came to rest upon the carcass of her dead friend. She let the Pixy’s ruined gonads fall to the floor with a sickening slop!
“Now, tend to your wounds, Enricht.” She emphasized his name, telling him not so subtly that she now knew everything there was to know about him.
Because of his weakened state, she sent him a tendril of her newfound power through their mental connection. She explained how he was to heal himself or as much as he was capable in his lessen condition.
He was hopeful at first.
But she told him in silence he was gelded. He would never more have the ability to impregnate another living being. He wilted, but followed her instructions. He healed himself, though thick, banded scars marred all his body. His useless manhood shrunk to that of a miserable potato-like lump between his legs.
Enricht, you are my precious Geldling from now on, she told him in his mind, watching as his shoulders slumped in defeat. She gazed at him for a time, letting the reality of his newfound existence sink in.
Then: Now, since you are responsible for the death of my Jätung, you will help me skin my beloved Isighünd. He will know that I will forever honor him by wearing his hide. No more will I wear anything but him.
You took from me, my only true friend…
He nodded, brisk.
Together they made their way to the hulking corpse and got about the gristly task she had put before them.
*****
Two hours later, she stepped into her new garb and was a dismaying sight to behold. What had once been Jätung’s skull and upper jaw now fit onto her head. His vicious fangs covered all her face, shielding her blood red eyes. It was a fearsome helm still attached
to the skin that had once been the hide of his neck, back and sides. Now, it served as a thick robe, covering her tall, thin form. About her person, she and Enricht had fashioned a form-fitting tunic. It belted at the waist, draped over her body, stopping at the middle of her thighs. Her pale knees and calves were bare. Her full-formed figure was discernible underneath. Her curves were beyond concealment for evermore.
She wore nothing else, nothing upon her feet or her bladed arms. From now until her death she would wear no other garment than that of Jätung.
Go and keep watch at the mouth of the cave, she ordered.
Enricht was quick to comply. She settled down away from the gruesome mess they had left in the wake of skinning her Petling. She let her mind roam, reaching out once more to touch the landscape about her.
Everywhere, the blizzard blasted the Melded World. The wind howled and the snow blanketed the never-ending forest.
There was no sense in attempting to leave the cave.
I will wait. I will watch.
I am Inghëldir.
I will make them all pay for what they did to me… and to Jätung.
*****
Something horrendous was now loosed upon the Melded World – in what context exactly was still unknown.
*****
“…the choice is yours to make…”
~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~
HERE ENDS
WINTER’S FURY
VOLUME TWO
OF
THE SAGA OF
THE TWELVES
The Story of the Twelve Continues
In
VOLUME THREE
STORM’S REVENGE
~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~
~ Epilogue ~
A Revealing Truth
Monday, November 29th, 8:15 am…
The moment they heard the massive chain rasp against the heavy iron door, they were awake at once. They came to their feet, side-stepping as a group a few yards from the portal.
Alicia hugged the smaller Marissa about the waist. She hid her face behind the other’s shoulder, while Miller stood at her side, body stiff, twitching with jitters he could not control.
Vanessa and J.J. held hands.
Out of instinct rather than conscious thought, the boys – Miles, Chum-Lee and Jeremy – stood between the door and the girls. Their arms they spread wide, shielding, protecting.
When she walked through the doorway, a collective gasp ran through them like an errant mountain wind, sudden and strong.
Jeremy’s was the loudest, more like a humming issuing from deep in his throat.
She was tall. Her body was athletic, as hard looking as Jeremy’s. She had long hair, reaching to her waist. It was jet-black and as straight as an arrow. She wore it parted in the middle, divided about black eyes and a broad face with a wide nose and pursed, bright pink lips. They were most illuminant Jeremy ever seen, yet what covered her teeth wasn’t the most striking feature about her. It was the color of her skin. It was a sort he had seen only on TV, on the Discovery Channel. They were documentaries about Africa.
His eyes widened before he could help himself. It was the color of night, sculpted out of flawless obsidian, then painted to perfection.
She’s gorgeous, he concluded, unable to keep his eyes under his own authority. They danced over the one-piece leotard she wore, clinging to her body like a second skin. He could not help but stir at the sight of the tight nylon caressing her ample breasts and budding nipples. The leotard folded around the crests and valleys of her vagina like a fervent lover.
She’s not wearing anything underneath. No bra. No panties.
The teenage girls had noticed as well, their faces shifting between disgust and fear with every blink of an eye.
Over the form-fitting garment, she wore a long overcoat made of kidskin. It was something that Doc Holiday would have worn at the O.K. Corral. Or maybe a cow-wrangler on a cold winter morning, but this one was black, a color not seen much in the Wild West. Upon her feet were a pair of boots, black as well, soles made of some sort of suede.
She made no sound as she took a few steps into the bomb shelter, a mischievous smile pulling at one corner of her mouth.
Jeremy realized he was standing there looking like complete moron. He picked up his chin from his chest, closing his mouth.
“Who are you?” asked Marissa. Her voice sounded small, but there was a hint of command hidden within.
The voluptuous, black woman’s smirk became a full-blown smile. “Why, I am the one keeping you here.” There was a glint in her eyes, not cheerful, but made of steel – hard, lifeless.
“Oh,” mumbled the girl.
As she spoke, three of the towering Loki entered the shelter, fanning out behind her. They were all the same height. They wore the same clothing – long coats, black, button down shirts, black jeans and heavy, steel-shod boots. One of them was carrying a long length of rope.
Jeremy was staring at it with growing trepidation. What the hell?
Behind him, the girls cowered, coming closer together, stark fear running through the lot. They had seen it as well.
Chum-Lee too an involuntary step backward.
The tall woman sighed. “Very well, I am called, Rasputna. I am here on behalf of my Lord, Ahriman, who has requested your presence before him upon the Throne of Jüle. To that end, we are gathering you and a few others in the fulfillment of that request.” She gestured about them. “Unfortunately, as we knew it would, the gathering of the Legacy Guardians has taken some time. This is why we chose this place, this why you are here.” She attempted a warm smile, but it only served to make her look all the more demonic. “But now, you are leaving.”
“Huh?” asked Miller, his voice was teensy in everyone’s ears.
“Really? We can go?” asked Miles, eager, having bristled the most at his captivity.
Rasputna chuckled, crossing her arms below her breasts as they bounced in tune with her laughter. “Of course not, you dullard. You are all leaving the World of Man. In a few moments, I might add.”
“You’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?” asked Marissa, coming between the boys, her expression caught between outrage and curiosity.
Alicia hung back, each hand clasping a forearm of the older girls to either side of her, her orbs as big as tea cups.
“You are leaving. It’s as simple as that, little Kring-Häl. Unless, of course, you are as ignorant as the fat boy standing next to you, and are as easily confused.” She was tapping her foot, gazing at the fingernails of her left hand.
Miles stiffened, making fists at either side. He would have said something, but Marissa put a few placating fingers on his arm. He settled like a roan stallion under his master’s soothing touch.
“Now,” began the black woman, loud, startling a few of them, “what remains unknown is whether we have to use the rope.”
“I don’t want you to tie me up,” murmured J.J., her voice rattling.
Vanessa maneuvered so she was between her best friend, the boy with the Shag haircut and the plump girl. She placed her arms in front of them all.
“If you promise not to shout or try and run from us, I promise we will not use the rope.” Her face darkened. “But, if any of you tries anything other than walking with your head down, I will have my Loki tie you up like so many hogs for slaughter. Do you understand?”
Behind her the Loki with rope was wagging it through the air.
“Please, don't tie me up,” squeaked J.J., being immobilized at the hands of another terrified her.
“It’s ok, girl. Calm down,” mollified Vanessa.
“We won’t be a problem for you,” announced Marissa, her eyes unwavering upon Rasputna. “Right, guys?”
There were a few slight nods among them.
“Good,” was all the ebony beauty would say. As agile as a cat, she spun on her heel and walked through her Loki. “Follow!”
Jeremy glanced around, his eyes settling on Miles, who shrug
ged, then on Chum-Lee, who stared back, eyes huge.
“Move!” threatened one of the things with an ever-liquefying visage.
“We have no choice,” urged Marissa. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Jeremy shared another look with his friend. “I’ll take the lead, you come last. I don’t want any of those things too close to the girls.” He said it loud; making sure the other heard him.
Nearer the door, the three Loki chortled.
“Stupid boy,” one said to another.
“Indeed.”
Jeremy ignored them as he made his way through their giant forms. He was holding Marissa’s hand, who gestured at her two friends to follow as well.
“Grab the lantern,” said Marissa, turning to look back Vanessa.
The teen nodded, stooping to get the only light source they had, her companions following.
Miles brought up the rear.
Two of the Loki took up position behind him, while the third lingered back, relocking the bomb shelter. He took none of the food they had left for them. Their trash was just about everywhere. It would have been easy for someone to stumble across the room and figure out someone had inhabited for the past few days. Locking it would prevent such a thing.
Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves Page 58