A low bellow erupted when the priestess raised her blessings to include him, and the bubble of her protection was quickly withdrawn. Immediately, his skin began to tingle as the profane emperor attempted to wrap its aura around the group, the first real discomfort he had experienced in years. He felt an urge, not of his own, to wrap his bulky hand around the priestess's throat, to grip and grip until flesh tore beneath his fingers and the girl was sure to breathe no more. But if only the demon could have seen beneath the woman's silver collar, there were already marks of such a thing, and worse as well that she would have proudly bore.
As four charged at it, the monster diffused into four twisted doppelgangers, to extend the decency of matching its opponents in number. The three mistresses broke step - one king of chaos had wrought enough havoc and slain many knights of renown, and four were an unfathomable challenge. The champion merely grunted in disgust - if those bitches were too cowardly to stand astride him, then he would fight the four forms himself. And make sure at least one of the ladies didn't make it back on their journey back, as a lesson of what weakness and frailty earned in his presence. He did not have the pleasure of disadvantaged combat, however, as three forms swept past him to harry the companions, leaving just the one still slouched upon the obsidian throne.
The sorceress's green flames and conjured phantoms lent her the first strike against her opponent, and the shield-maiden's spear-thrusts kept the second foe a short length away, but both wand and weapon slipped from grip when the horrors of the demon crept into their minds. The priestess had been struck all too easily, and the barrier she was providing had been withdrawn in a frantic attempt to redirect a body-breaking blow. Visions filled them of being slaughtered, or being stockaded and fucked, or worst of all, being abandoned by their hero, being told that no women had even been a match for his cock, and he was moving on to a tougher gender, leaving them behind as worthless. The magician was quickly lit aflame and robes burned away by a blast of the demon's own hellfire, and the warrior's ancestral armor was shredded by razor-bladed fingers. The witch's skin began to sear, and a lengthy fatal wound on her companion was being opened from stomach to tit.
The barbarian had barely raised his axe in anticipation of a death-blow, before the true chaos king gripped him with a giant burning hand stretching from the ground beneath, lifted straight from hell, a rotten smell emanating as his beard and unkempt hair burned away, yet managed to do little more than further tan his sun-soaked skin. A roar dispelled the magic, and he clutched the bare axe-blade, its handle little more than ash after the last assault. Upon his next step, the ground tore itself apart as a jet of magma was unleashed against him, in mere moments leaving his skin a rotten black mess and melting the unwieldy remains of his weapon, yet he continued to press forth.
The demon had split itself into four a moment ago, and now the champion split the beast before him into three as well - grasping an arm and a leg of the vile monster, and with every fiber of his pectorals burning he pulled the thing apart until sinew stretched beyond the limits of its flesh, and the two limbs were removed from its torso as joints sickeningly cracked apart. The fist that followed shattered the hellspawn's jaw and teeth cascaded from its mouth, the blow sending it skidding across the floor. Only a shriek from the agonied pains of his companions diverted his attention for a moment, and by the time his head turned back, the fiend lay lifeless, ichor dripping down onto its chest, having cut apart its own throat, rather than suffer any more of the mortal's unyielding rage. A boot was placed upon the skull, and with a furious stomp it was broken. The shield-maiden would have to settle for scavenging a single unbroken fang as her trophy.
* * * * *
The three who leeched on his greatness licked their wounds, and begged to lick the magnificent victor as well, their prior bloodlust replaced with a more sensual kind. It was in vain, losers did not receive rewards from him, and there was only one true victor, tonight. The cleric especially urged him to pause so that his injuries could be tended, but he gritted forwards, not stopping until their true goal was done. The dungeon was not far beyond, and inside were both tormented wretches whose souls had been sold, and more worthy captives held for ransom. The demon's pestilence was already fading, but his own powerful presence treated most of them no better. Indeed, being warped from extreme to extreme, most of the jailed withered away. Tucked away in what was little more than a hole, a bulging bicep reached in, and plucked by the shoulder the broken prince. Lashes and wounds crossed every inch of the nobleman's naked body, eyes had been gouged out, and the rest of his body was still. There was no warmth in the prisoner, but the body was not dead, either, and that much would do for the bastard's bargain.
Three of the heroes made it back to the capital. The holy woman had done her best to rejuvenate her companions, but there was only so much energy one could channel at once, and already each of them would have been killed three times over if they had not been in such perfect condition. The sorceress's final request was to be fucked one last time, and at first she was obliged, but there was no more pleasure that her body, struck by catastrophe, could bring him. Her mouth was melted, her fingers disfigured, and her pussy dry. He stopped partway through, insulted to be reduced to such a pathetic experience. As she was abandoned, it was her stifled heart that made her body give out, before her external injuries could make her succumb to the embrace of death. The priestess snuck a smile. Of course the sorceress could have been repaired, but this way there was no more competition for her lord's attention. For his part, the unforgiving man merely hoped that the gods may send a woman with better curves to him next time.
The king was not amused when presented with this shadow of his son. His daughter had better sense, and tried to reason with the fat old oaf, but his ears heard no better than the deaf and dumb child of his before him. Three times the conqueror insisted upon the reward they had agreed upon, three helmets to be filled overflowing with gems and jewels, and that was two reminders more than any many who ever negotiated against him deserved. That "insolence" drew out the monarch's ire, and it was commanded that the group be taken into the dungeon. Thus the grandest of fools had sealed his own fate.
The throne room burned, along with most of the people in it. Soon much would befall the rest of the kingdom, its collapse already secured. He had noosed the king and hung him from his own tall throne. The kingdom was not left completely devoid of hope, however. Against the priestess's protests, he stripped the princess and soiled her right underneath her asphyxiating father. Her skull knocked against the armrest until the wood shattered, and then she was pounded until her aching swollen head smashed right through the backside of the chair, as every sensibility was stolen from her. The force of that rape would leave her a cripple, but it would also leave her kingdom with hope, a bastard child now swelling deep inside her. With her kingdom collapsing and the princess's lineage ruined, the child would probably grow up a slave, but if it survived sixteen years, and it -would- survive, perhaps the kingdom would have a chance to unshackle itself from its broken fate.
Not having much more of an appetite for fire, this week, he paced out of the room even though he had not taken the reward he deserved from the treasury, his two kittens a step behind. He did not kill for money. He killed because he liked it, and because killing made his companions wet. And with the number of guards that stood in front of them, his companions would be very wet tonight.
* * * * *
- PM me if you want to chat!
As four charged at it, the monster diffused into four twisted doppelgangers, to extend the decency of matching its opponents in number. The three mistresses broke step - one king of chaos had wrought enough havoc and slain many knights of renown, and four were an unfathomable challenge. The champion merely grunted in disgust - if those bitches were too cowardly to stand astride him, then he would fight the four forms himself. And make sure at least one of the ladies didn't make it back on their journey back, as a lesson of what weakness and frailty earned in his presence. He did not have the pleasure of disadvantaged combat, however, as three forms swept past him to harry the companions, leaving just the one still slouched upon the obsidian throne.
The sorceress's green flames and conjured phantoms lent her the first strike against her opponent, and the shield-maiden's spear-thrusts kept the second foe a short length away, but both wand and weapon slipped from grip when the horrors of the demon crept into their minds. The priestess had been struck all too easily, and the barrier she was providing had been withdrawn in a frantic attempt to redirect a body-breaking blow. Visions filled them of being slaughtered, or being stockaded and fucked, or worst of all, being abandoned by their hero, being told that no women had even been a match for his cock, and he was moving on to a tougher gender, leaving them behind as worthless. The magician was quickly lit aflame and robes burned away by a blast of the demon's own hellfire, and the warrior's ancestral armor was shredded by razor-bladed fingers. The witch's skin began to sear, and a lengthy fatal wound on her companion was being opened from stomach to tit.
The barbarian had barely raised his axe in anticipation of a death-blow, before the true chaos king gripped him with a giant burning hand stretching from the ground beneath, lifted straight from hell, a rotten smell emanating as his beard and unkempt hair burned away, yet managed to do little more than further tan his sun-soaked skin. A roar dispelled the magic, and he clutched the bare axe-blade, its handle little more than ash after the last assault. Upon his next step, the ground tore itself apart as a jet of magma was unleashed against him, in mere moments leaving his skin a rotten black mess and melting the unwieldy remains of his weapon, yet he continued to press forth.
The demon had split itself into four a moment ago, and now the champion split the beast before him into three as well - grasping an arm and a leg of the vile monster, and with every fiber of his pectorals burning he pulled the thing apart until sinew stretched beyond the limits of its flesh, and the two limbs were removed from its torso as joints sickeningly cracked apart. The fist that followed shattered the hellspawn's jaw and teeth cascaded from its mouth, the blow sending it skidding across the floor. Only a shriek from the agonied pains of his companions diverted his attention for a moment, and by the time his head turned back, the fiend lay lifeless, ichor dripping down onto its chest, having cut apart its own throat, rather than suffer any more of the mortal's unyielding rage. A boot was placed upon the skull, and with a furious stomp it was broken. The shield-maiden would have to settle for scavenging a single unbroken fang as her trophy.
* * * * *
The three who leeched on his greatness licked their wounds, and begged to lick the magnificent victor as well, their prior bloodlust replaced with a more sensual kind. It was in vain, losers did not receive rewards from him, and there was only one true victor, tonight. The cleric especially urged him to pause so that his injuries could be tended, but he gritted forwards, not stopping until their true goal was done. The dungeon was not far beyond, and inside were both tormented wretches whose souls had been sold, and more worthy captives held for ransom. The demon's pestilence was already fading, but his own powerful presence treated most of them no better. Indeed, being warped from extreme to extreme, most of the jailed withered away. Tucked away in what was little more than a hole, a bulging bicep reached in, and plucked by the shoulder the broken prince. Lashes and wounds crossed every inch of the nobleman's naked body, eyes had been gouged out, and the rest of his body was still. There was no warmth in the prisoner, but the body was not dead, either, and that much would do for the bastard's bargain.
Three of the heroes made it back to the capital. The holy woman had done her best to rejuvenate her companions, but there was only so much energy one could channel at once, and already each of them would have been killed three times over if they had not been in such perfect condition. The sorceress's final request was to be fucked one last time, and at first she was obliged, but there was no more pleasure that her body, struck by catastrophe, could bring him. Her mouth was melted, her fingers disfigured, and her pussy dry. He stopped partway through, insulted to be reduced to such a pathetic experience. As she was abandoned, it was her stifled heart that made her body give out, before her external injuries could make her succumb to the embrace of death. The priestess snuck a smile. Of course the sorceress could have been repaired, but this way there was no more competition for her lord's attention. For his part, the unforgiving man merely hoped that the gods may send a woman with better curves to him next time.
The king was not amused when presented with this shadow of his son. His daughter had better sense, and tried to reason with the fat old oaf, but his ears heard no better than the deaf and dumb child of his before him. Three times the conqueror insisted upon the reward they had agreed upon, three helmets to be filled overflowing with gems and jewels, and that was two reminders more than any many who ever negotiated against him deserved. That "insolence" drew out the monarch's ire, and it was commanded that the group be taken into the dungeon. Thus the grandest of fools had sealed his own fate.
The throne room burned, along with most of the people in it. Soon much would befall the rest of the kingdom, its collapse already secured. He had noosed the king and hung him from his own tall throne. The kingdom was not left completely devoid of hope, however. Against the priestess's protests, he stripped the princess and soiled her right underneath her asphyxiating father. Her skull knocked against the armrest until the wood shattered, and then she was pounded until her aching swollen head smashed right through the backside of the chair, as every sensibility was stolen from her. The force of that rape would leave her a cripple, but it would also leave her kingdom with hope, a bastard child now swelling deep inside her. With her kingdom collapsing and the princess's lineage ruined, the child would probably grow up a slave, but if it survived sixteen years, and it -would- survive, perhaps the kingdom would have a chance to unshackle itself from its broken fate.
Not having much more of an appetite for fire, this week, he paced out of the room even though he had not taken the reward he deserved from the treasury, his two kittens a step behind. He did not kill for money. He killed because he liked it, and because killing made his companions wet. And with the number of guards that stood in front of them, his companions would be very wet tonight.
* * * * *
- PM me if you want to chat!