And chaos.
Soldiers lay broken and bloodied on the ground. The gates were torn open, hanging on hinges like broken wings. A dark tide poured through. Monsters of every sort raced to be the first, their howls and cries deafening, the taste of their final triumph hot on their tongues. Their eyes maddened with frenzy for the spoils awaiting them.
The dove felt its mistress’s shudder. “Away,” she whispered.
The dove obeyed, fluttering off and down another of the maze of side streets and spiralling avenues that made Moskov. It was searching for someone. A woman. An image that flickered in the bird’s mind like a zoetrope. Around its neck dangled a silver pendant holding a teardrop sapphire. The stone tugged like a dowsing rod, pulling the dove on through the streets, following the vague pull of its mistress’s will. Searching. Searching.
The one who looked through the eyes of the dove shuddered at the scenes that played out in the streets below. Men screamed as they were cut down by wulfen, minotaur and orc. Women cried out as the monsters seized them in brutish hands, tearing away clothes, unveiling soft, pliant flesh. Cries of fear that turned to moans of pleasure as the beasts claimed them. Bred them. Turned them to their thralls, the symbol of the eye burned upon their mons, marking them forevermore the slaves of their breeder’s.
Across the empire the same had taken place. A realm fallen to depravity and barbarism. The walls of the last bastion of civilization now crumbled under the onslaught of the monster horde. They spilled in like a dam breached, flooding the streets from every side. Thronging towards the tall hill on which the palace rose like a crown.
There wasn’t much time.
She fluttered by a convent, the doors broken down, the women within with habits torn and shredded by the lusty hands of gertlings as they mated the once chaste ladies. Beyond, a tavern was set aflame, the barkeep laying in a pool of his own blood while the barmaid moaned and begged for the cock of the ogre who was fucking her against the wall. Around a bend a wulfen had a former knight on her hands and knees, her armour torn apart, her ass raised as he plunged his canine cock deep into her, the knight whimpering in delight as his knot stuffed her cunt to keep his seed within her.
Away.
Away.
At last the dove found what it sought. A carriage overturned, the broken wheels still spinning uselessly. Little remained of the guards but scattered armour and bones still being consumed by sickening green slimes. The dove found a perch, looking down, and anguish stabbed through the will that moved the bird as they saw what had become of the one they sought.
Her gown had been burned away, but her flesh was still whole. She lay back, trapped against the slime’s main body, her pert breasts engulfed in oozing tentacles that sucked on her budding nipples. Her back arched in mindless pleasure as two other tentacles slurped in and out of her slickened cunt and ass. Her stomach was fairly distended as if she was pregnant with the amount of oozing slime that was fucking her, her eyes vacant, lost amid the mindless pleasure she was experiencing, her skin pinked with a flush of delight. Her gasps and cries of pleasure were muffled by a third tentacle in her mouth, her lips eagerly sucking on that oily limb.
“Mmm. Mmnnn. Mmmmm!”
She cried out, arching, pushing out her hips and quivering with delight as she came once again, the slime eagerly absorbing her juices, never stopping its assault. No brand appeared on her mons, for the slime could not impregnate her like the curse of the Duke required. But it was clear her mind was lost. Broken by the endless pleasure inflicted on her. She was nothing but a plaything for the mindless slime. A thing to be used and pleasured, her womb used to multiply the sickening creature’s brood.
A shudder wracked the dove as the one who willed it quailed at the sight. And yet, the dove was not ordered to turn away. It continued to watch the depraved scene, the will behind the bird never averting their attention. A different shiver coursed through the bird as the woman in the grasp of the slime keened again, bucking with orgasm, her stomach swelling further still as the slime stuffed her with another load of itself.
The arrow flashed, stabbed the dove. The bird convulsed, then fell from its perch, the connection severed like a knife through a string.
Back in the Palace of Moskov Catherine Lias gasped and started as the spell was broken by the bird’s death. She sat before her mirror of her vanity, panting, staring at her flushed face. “Oh Gisele,” she moaned in despair for her friend’s fate.
Only then did she realize that her dress had been hiked up. That her hand had been between her thighs, her panties dampened by her finger stroking along the gusset of her cunny. Even at such a distance, the lusty madness of the invaders had infected her mind. She flushed in shame, quickly glancing about her room before yanking back down her skirt.
She practically jumped out of her skin as the door flew open, rebounding off the wall with a bang. She twisted to her feet, facing the intruder. At first she didn’t recognize Arman, his greying hair dishevelled about his face, his armour hanging loose, still bearing the sun of Heimsvak’s Knights of the Dawn, though he had long been exiled from that order. It had been her family that took in the knight, and Catherine had known him well in the years of her life.
“Arman! What’s wrong? What are you doing?”
“What’s wrong? Catherine! Haven’t you looked out the window? The walls have fallen. The city has been breached!”
Catherine felt again that wave of hot shame at what she had been doing moments before. “I have. But…”
He crossed the room in two steps. Grabbed her hands in his leather gauntlets and squeezed them. “Catherine. We have to get out of here.”
“Get out of here? Arman, we’d only walk into the arms of the monsters.”
“Not so. There’s a passage. A secret one. It leads outside the city. We’ll have a chance to flee. The monsters will be too busy storming the palace and inner city to pay any attention. This is our best chance to escape!”
Escape. Catherine stared at him, unbelieving. She had thought she’d consigned herself to her fate at the monster’s hands. But escape? Hope, forgotten, smothered by despair, surged in her ample breast. “You mean it?” she gasped, pressing forward.
“Of course. We’ll leave through the passage and make our way towards Cleavegrad and into Heimsvak. We’ll be safe there.”
“I… but, what about my parents?”
“They’re with the emperor,” Arman quickly replied. “Don’t worry. They know of the passage too. They can follow us as soon as their meeting ends. Now hurry! We have to go now!”
Catherine’s head was spinning, but she didn’t resist as Arman tugged her out the door and into the corridor. Soon she found her stumbling feet, and was shortly racing down the eerily quiet corridor, down into the inner depths of the palace. Escape. She hadn’t dared to dream…
Invader
Vilti picked up the dove he’d shot and grinned widely. Finally! Something to eat. The gertling looked about the burning buildings as he bit the head of the dead bird, the bones crunching between his jagged teeth. Human cities were so big! It always amazed him that they could build such things. He wondered if, after the war was done, he could get to live in one of these? Not these ones in particular, of course. The Duke of Ashes had made it explicitly clear he intended to burn down Moskov to the stones. But Vilti had heard of another gertling who’d become a king with an army of willing breeding brides. Boy. That’d be swell.
Speaking of which, he’d better hurry and find himself his own slut. The monsters were rampaging across the city and there likely wouldn’t be any left! Some of the orcs and wulfen had taken three or more human sluts to breed. Which struck Vilti as patently unfair, but seeing as he came up to the other monster’s knees, he was also reluctant to actually mention it to their faces.
Stuffing the rest of the dove into his face, Vilti raced down the street and towards the yet unburned districts of Moskov. The sounds of battle grew ahead, which gave the gertling hope. If the other
monsters were still fighting, that must mean they hadn’t taken the district. And therefore, hadn’t bred the women.
A large tavern presented itself to his right and Vilti grinned. Everyone knew that taverns had wenches in them. Even he did. He hurriedly grabbed the door and wrenched it open.
Moans greeted him. A busty, curvy barmaid was sprawled atop a table, her dress torn to unveil her full breasts, her skirt thrown up and legs parted to accept the thick cock of the orc currently fucking her raw.
The brutish male snarled, his muscled green hide tensing with every thrust of his thick cock into the moaning woman, his hands gripping her plush breasts, her mons already marked with the eye of the curse while cum spurted from her quim with every thrust of the orc’s fat cock into her.
“Yes! Yes! Oh gods! Take me! Breed me again! Breed me master! Fuck me haaaaaard!”
The orc snarled, his hips slapping off her plush bottom, her voice rising in a keening moan as she came again, shuddering with her orgasm.
Vilti bit his lip, his warty cock tenting his loincloth at the lurid sight. Oooh, he should really go. He had to find a woman. But, on the other hand, his other hand was already pushing aside his loincloth, his fingers wrapping around his diminutive cock and beginning to stroke it.
“Yes. Yes! Fuck me! Fuck my slutty cunt! Oh master. Masterrrr!”
The orc grabbed her hips, tilting her so he could drive his cock in deeper to her clutching cunt, her breasts soon enjoyed by his hungry lips as he captured a nipple and sucked hungrily at her teat.
“Yesssss! Master! Tame me! Breed me! Fuck me full!”
Vilti’s hand was moving faster on his warty cock, his breath coming in short gasps as he watched the sultry slut being claimed once again by the mighty orc.
“Raaaaa!” the orc bellowed, hilting within the barmaid, his head thrown back as he came again, stuffing her cunt so much with his thick cum that it spurted from her clutching cunt.
“Oooooh!” she moaned, head thrown back, lashes fluttering as she shuddered with pleasure.
“Nnnnn!” Vilti moaned as he too came, spurting his oily cum onto the floor of the inn.
Panting, the orc withdrew his cock from the barmaid, straightening, his broad shoulders creaking. He glanced away, spotting Vilti.
For a moment the two stood there, staring at each other. Then the orc’s face twisted in anger. “You!” he snarled.
“Eep!” Vilti squeaked. As the orc lunged for him, Vilti beat a hasty retreat, plunging out of the doors of the inn and back into the smoke-stained street. A moment later the orc burst after him, the door breaking off its hinges at the force of the orc’s exit. Warty cock flopping in the open, Vilti ran down the smoky avenue, the orc barreling after him.
Vilti skidded to a hilt before an alleyway and plunged down the dark street, the orc in hot pursuit. The creaking Moskovian buildings didn’t have much in the way of alleys, narrowing with every step. Vilti glanced back in time to see the orc barrel after him, broad shoulders scraping the walls of the alley until, quite abruptly, the orc jerked to a halt.
“Hrrrr!” the brute snarled, straining to pursue the gertling, and failing utterly. He was stuck, his broad, muscled frame trapping him between the two tight buildings.
Vilti panted from the other end of the alley. Then, grinning, stuck his tongue out at the orc and wiggled his hands in mocking. “Nee nee! You stuck!”
“Hrrr!” the orc snarled.
“Stupid orc! You stuck, and now me going to tavern and fuck wench. Me breed her again and again until she carry gertling pups! Then me take and keep like good brood slut for me!”
“Raaaaaaa!” The orc roared, vein pulsing with fury as he strained to follow the gertling, only managing to get himself further stuck in the narrow alley. Cackling, Vilti strutted around the building and to an adjoining alleyway, making his way back to the street he’d been chased down, and to the waiting tavern, and its now waiting human slut. Grinning, he threw open the door.
“Oooooh!” the girl moaned as the minotaur plowed her fertile cunt, the orc’s seed already squeezing from her pussy as the bullman sawed into her willing cunt, her breasts bouncing on her chest. “Yes! Yes! Gods yes! Fuck me, master! Breed me! Fill me with your cum! I need it so bad. So bad! Gods yes. Yes! Mnnnnnn!”
The minotaur was only too eager to accommodate his newly claimed slut. His arms reached around her, capturing her full breasts, his hands so big they utterly engulfed her shapely teats in his cruel grasp. She screamed in delight as her budding nipples were pressed into those leathery palms, her plump bottom pushing back against the minotaur’s massive cock, her pussy stretched so far she could feel every vein in his flared, bestial breeding stick.
“Yesssss!” she screamed, cumming yet again, her juices spurting around the thickness of his shaft. “Gods yes! Master! Oh master, please! Your cum! Give me your cum! Ah. Ahn! I n-need it! I need you! Break me! Tame be! B-breeeeed meeeeee!”
Her soulful wail struck Vilti, the gertling biting his lip as he again felt his treacherous little cock rise at the demented sight. At the virile minotaur claiming his new slave with all the gusto of the dominating male. Of the beast. Of the primordial male laying truest claim to woman.
“Mooooooo!” the beastman howled as he hilted in her, cumming, stuffing her with so much of his bestial seed that her stomach seemed to distend slightly. She screamed with him, arching, pushing herself as far down his cock as she could, his tightened balls swinging against her thighs. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth open in a scream of pleasure her throat couldn’t find the voice to fully express. Her whole body shuddered in the ecstasy of her breeding.
Vilti stared, gaping. Then sighed, shoulders slumping as he turned about and plodded out of the tavern. The slapping sound of the minotaur’s balls against his new slut following him as the beast-man decided his new slave needed further efforts to properly breed. Vilti sighed and looked about the street.
Seemed he’d have to keep looking after all…
The Palace
Viana loved her job.
You had to if you wanted to be a Red Mage. The hours were shit. Your fellow mages were, more often than not, weirdos in a not good way. And there were oodles of boring rituals you had to memorize and participate in. Viana could do without all those things, but the perks more than made up for it.
Like being able to make something explode just by thinking it. Or the fashion. Dear gods the fashion! Where else could you dress up in stylish crimson and fishnet stockings? Where else could you get away with wearing a simple harlequin mask and let your hair hang loose? Where else could you flash this much skin and still have peasants and nobles alike clear out of your path like you were a juggernaut in curves and hips and tits to die for? Not the priesthood, with their belabouring rules and constant bitching about the unfairness of existence. Not the other sorcery schools with their stuffy towers and only occasionally spicing things up by locking princesses in a tower. Why not just curse them so true love’s first kiss would make them explode? Boom! All over prince charming. Viana giggled.
Did she mention she liked things exploding?
But there were odious moments. Boring moments. Strakken employed her for them occasionally, though he knew her strengths. Which was explosions. And beating the shit out of things.
This was one of those times. She leaned against a pillar, bored out of her gourd as the emperor of Istanov, his fatty frame oiled up like a greased pig, rutted with three serving wenches. One was busy servicing his balls, another her face firmly pressed against his ass, while the third was in front of him, moaning with all the acting talent she had as he fucked her.
“Yessss!” Emperor Androse of Istanov roared, his goblet slopping wine into the carpet as he rocked into the cunt of the slut before him. “Serve your emperor! Rejoice! Victory shall soon be ours!”
Drunken cheers resounded from about the floor of the throne room. The austere chamber had been overtaken by pillows and tables loaded with sweetmeats. A haze of hasha
hung thick in the air as the surviving nobility of Istanov drowned their thoughts in liquor, drugs and pleasure, the three great vices of the courts. Well, that and backbiting and murdering each other, which had more or less died down, though occasionally someone would drink something that left them a convulsing, bloated corpse until a servant finally rolled them out of the room to who knew where. Rutting like animals in a sty, the entire scene bored Viana to tears.
She smothered a yawn as a drunk keeled over in front of her. Fuck it. She’d waited long enough. Stepping over the drooling drunk she made her way up towards the emperor, her nose wrinkling. Gods the man stank! When was the last time he’d taken a bath? Anywhere from a week to since he ran back to the capital with his tail between his legs, leaving his army to be butchered by the Duke of Ashes and his horde.
“Yo. Androse,” she said.
The emperor turned her way, fury twisting his face, though it quickly changed to delight when he saw her robes. “My wizards!” he crowed. “How goes our final victory over the Duke?”
“Yeah, that’s going great. Just so you know. The walls have fallen and the monsters have invaded the inner city. They’ll probably be at the palace in a number of minutes.”
The emperor laughed, poured some of his wine into his mouth, spilling far more down his hairy chest, in turn dribbling down the crack of the woman’s ass who he was currently reaming. “Don’t be afraid! The Red Mages have it well in hand. My final triumph is near at hand. Isn’t it!” he roared.
Scattered cheers were returned from the orgiastic fete going on around the room. Viana glanced about the room, grimacing. Ugh.
“Here!” Androse crowed, beckoning her with his goblet. “Join us! Let us revel in the soon to be fruits of our great victory!”
“Yeaaaaaah. I’m gonna pass. Let it never be said I’m not down for an orgy, but Strakken just sent me to report to you, then get back to him.”
Androse thrust his goblet towards her, nearly spilling the dredges of his wine on her robes. “Yes! Tell your master that his emperor commends his work!”
The Pillaging of an Empire Page 85