Orcs vs Elves
Copyright© 2026 by Dragon Cobolt
Chapter 15
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 15 - In a world of magic and mysticism, elves have reigned in the north lands for uncounted aeons - immortal and changeless. But now, tales from the south, carried by refugee humans fleeing the devastation of their lands, speak of a teeming swarm of orcs rampaging across their lands. Now, elven steel and draconic might must be rallied...but is all as it seems?
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged Hypnosis Mind Control NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Romantic Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual TransGender Fiction High Fantasy War Paranormal Furry Zombies Demons Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Light Bond Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Pregnancy Squirting
“Psst!”
Firak Skulltaker groaned softly, his throbbing head returning him to unwilling life inch by inch. He felt the cool, gentle pressure of Meph’s body against his back – but it was the hissing, piercing, feminine voice in his ear that was wrenching him from oblivion.
“Wake up, you idiot orc!”
Firak’s eyes opened. He saw a complexly designed mosaic floor – tilings of geometric patterns and shapes, lightning bolts and angled lines that might have been dragons or warnings about the dangers of forward motion. He lifted his head and saw the wall of the same room, lit by an eldrich blue light that shifted, slowly, from dark and somber blue to brilliant gold, to purple, back to blue again. He blinked slowly and heard that voice.
“Over here!”
He turned his head.
There, in the center of the rectangular stone room were four ancient statues of armored figures, with hooves rather than feet, holding aloft weapons of equally ornate design – a warhammer, a spear, a sword, and a bow. Their helmeted faces were unreadable, but their shape and formation struck him as being totally alien to anything he had ever seen before. Over his shoulder, he could see Mephileph Icewild, her head lolled forward, her eyes closed, a thin trickle of silvery blood leaking from a bump on the side of her head.
Then he looked down and saw that upon his shoulder was a tied and bound ... fairie.
She was small and slight, with short brown hair, piercing purple eyes, and an expression Firak recognized from many a day in Bloodrock – a furious warrior, trapped in an undignified position.
“Finally, you lunk,” she hissed.
“Who are you?” Firak mumbled.
“Estoc, call sign Estoc,” she whispered. “I’m an Armorite. But we have bigger fish to fucking fry than your rapacious ass.”
“Mmnhot...” Meph mumbled, her voice woozy.
Both Firak and Estoc craned their heads.
“Hes ... nice...” Meph’s head sagged to the side.
“ ... right, she’s fucking concussed,” Estoc said, then shook her head. “We need to get free. I know you don’t know shit, but this situation is fucking serious.” She jerked her head. “Your goblin friend here is about to royally fuck up everything.”
Firak turned his head.
There was Nija, standing beneath the source of the light – a glowing orb of shimmering, magical energies. Her palms were spread and her fingers arched as she held aloft a pair of carefully carved crystaline shapes, which seemed to be catching, shaping, directing the light. She twisted her hands left and right, her expression intent.
“What is she doing?” Firak whispered.
“Fucking with Precursor shit,” Estoc hissed.
Firak frowned. He started to wriggled his wrists, feeling the sharp bite of the cords against his skin. It was no use. He frowned even more, thinking about the mechanics of this situation – while his lips mumbled out: “What is a Precursor.”
“I hoped orcs were slightly less parochial than elves but fuck me in the ass,” Estoc grumbled. “Okay. Uh. Long story short? Precursors are what came before. Our planet is ancient. It’s old. Only the dragons know how much, and they’re not fucking telling. Before there were elves, and the worldtree, and orcs, and humans, and anything else, there were the Precursors. Their magic, what they left behind, is more
powerful than anything you’ve ever seen.”
“And how would you know that?” Firak asked.
“Yeah!” Meph’s voice sounded more focused this time. She was lifting her head, and Firak hoped her eyes were focused – but he worried that she might look half drunk.
Estoc was silent for a long moment as the orb shifted in hue to purple again.
Then, quietly.
“ ... because a single fucking piece of Precursor magic was used to build the entire Armorite Order.” Estoc was silent for a moment more. “I ... that’s how serious this is. We found one working Precursor artifact – a device whose magic was so powerful and well compacted, s ... so so fucking elegant that it turned the Armorites from a footnote to one of the best warrior orders on the whole planet.”
Firak nodded, slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve faced your Armorites. I’ve seen what they can do to my friend. Now.” He started to joggle his shoulders.
“Hey, what are-” Estoc hissed.
She rolled off his shoulder and Firak shifted, squirmed – Meph doing likewise, catching the fairie and skidding her down their backs. Firak managed to spread his palm and she landed right there. Estoc let out a muffled grunt – but she figured it out. Firak heard the quiet grunting noise, and felt the wiggling of his bindings. Her teeth were small, but the damn fairie had a jaw that was a stubborn as her armor was well crafted. Firak glanced over at the center of the room to see that the glowing orb had settled into place. It no longer rippled and quivered, but instead glowed a single, solid blue color.
Nija, it seemed, had been waiting for that. She lowered the crystals she held, then spoke a word that he didn’t recognize. The orb rippled once, and then the glowering face of Ner’gal appeared within the orb.
“Report,” the old Blood Shaman grumbled.
“The temple here has been brought into alignment, master,” Nija said. “And the ... potentially dangerous assets have been diverted.”
“Good.” Ner’gal nodded. “Keep the Blademaster alive – he may be required once the second step of the plan begins.”
“Can ... can I explain it to him?” Nija asked.
“Yes,” Ner’gal said. “At this point, he is either with us or he’s against us. The fool has made his move in the high queen’s court. He has no idea that his petty elf dramas are of no matter to the true prize.” Ner’gal nodded once and the orb shimmered back to blue. Nija sighed, then laughed.
“Okay!” she said, then turned to face Meph, Firak and Estoc. Firak remained very still, feeling Estoc’s teeth still work work working against his bindings. Nija walked forward, her hands clasped together as she smiled down at Firak and then frowned at Meph. “All right. I know this looks bad, Fir-”
“Bad? Bad!?” Firak didn’t need to act to distract Nija from Estoc – his fury was boiling over, like a cattlebeast overstuffed with ragewine. “You drugged me to get me to rape my captives – you helped me besmirch my honor, and the honor of the whole Hoard! And for what? For an old lunatic who creates monsters?”
“He created me,” Nija snapped. Then, sighing. “And no. The Master has a glorious plan for all of us.” She gestured her hands around herself. “Did you ever wonder at the mad old dreams of our first Elder? The dreams that got the Hoard to conquer half the world?” She shook her head. “They were delusions. An excuse for the Elder and the war-chiefs to conquer the world and take all the women. Ner’gal, though, has always had his eyes on what matters. The blood, Firak. The blood coursing through your veins and mine. Orcs are the strongest not because they were born strong, but because they made themselves strong – by using blood magic to shape body to match will.” Her ears perked up and she grinned, fiercely. “That’s what Ner’gal is after. The perfect blood.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Firak said, his voice soft. “There’s no such thing as perfect blood. An orc is stronger, but they can’t fly. A dracorc can. But a dracorc can’t do figures and numbers like a goblin. And none of them are as tough as a trolloc! And ... and that’s not even getting into the fact that each goblin is, themselves, an individual. This is against everything the Hoard has ever taught!”
Nija shook her head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just some ruin. It’s a temple. A temple built by the Golden Order. The people, the beings that once walked this world – who crafted the elves and the dragons, whose magic is what we use today. That’s what the Shamans will never tell you!”
She stepped backwards, spreading her hands.
“We didn’t invent Blood Magic. We found it.”
Firak felt his wrist binding going looser.
“And now we are going to call the true creators of it back to this world,” Nija said. Then she paused, her brow furrowing slightly – as if she had just noticed something was subtly off. Firak felt his heart leap in his chest. He tensed, muscles bunching, readying to try and do what he could, but-
“How?” Meph’s voice broke into the conversation.
Nija’s gaze snapped to the pale snow elf.
“What?” she asked.
Firak’s wrist binding came free. He moved, very very carefully, to shift his hands around and hook a finger between the fairie that he held in his palm and the bindings around her. He started to worry his finger back and forth – while softly, he felt her spitting out bits of rope against his palm, and making soft disgusted noises. He could not blame her.
“How are you going to call the Precursors back? They’ve been gone so long that ... that only scholars and madmen like Ner’gal know about them,” Meph said. “A war ... even this war, it seems beyond their notice.”
The tiny bindings that Firak felt around Estoc came free. She buzzed from his fingers and he tried to look as restrained as ever, even as he felt her fingers pressing to the small of his back, her feet braced against his shoulder. She shuffled left, using him as if he were a huge climbing platform that she could scramble about on, using his green bulk to hide her small body from Nija. Nija shook her head slowly and laughed. “Ner’gal has been planning this for decades. He’s laid his plans carefully – but the solution came when he first made a hobgoblin. A fusion of elf and orc. He realized that we’re magically resonant – and so, if he made a whole lot of us very rapidly, he could form a net that would reach out to the stars themselves.”
“And he started a war,” Meph whispered. “To...”
She paused.
Then she looked down. Firak was almost shocked into immobility as he heard Nija’s laugh.
“Oh yes, you’re definitely with child,” she said, her hands on her hips. “You know, I’d feel worse about it if you elves weren’t all such stuck up arrogant conceited-”
“Now!”
Estoc burst into motion as Firak flung himself to his feet. Meph, who had been unbound by the daring faire, sprang to her feet as well and each rushed away from one another – leaving Nija in the heart of the room and with three possible directions to go. The rangy hobgoblin reacted quickly, drawing a flamepowder weapon and a bone dagger, her face set and grim. “Damn it!” she hissed – while Estoc buzzed about the ceiling and Firak dove behind a stone pillar. The flamepowder weapon was, worst of luck, one of the expertly crafted gobguns that could hold multiple shots in a revolving magazine that sat in the belly of the gun like a dragon brooding over its eggs. Firak heard the click boom of the flamepowder going off, and a bullet exploded the stone near his head.
“It doesn’t have to be this way!” Nija shouted. “With the blood of the Precursors, Ner’gal will make us immortal! He will make us into gods!”
“I don’t want to be a god!” Firak shouted back. He peeked from cover. Another shot, this one nearly taking off his nose, was the response. But Nija, clearly, knew that her position was dangerous. She rushed into the shadowed corners of the temple chamber, and found a pillar to hide herself behind. Her voice seemed to echo across every wall as she responded.
“Don’t you? Then why do you fight for the Hoard?”
“I fight for freedom! And honor!” Firak shouted. He risked a sprint from pillar to pillar, the blue light of the orb casting terrifying shadows across the walls. He looked around for either Estoc or for Meph, but he saw neither. “Not for a twisted old man’s dreams of godhood!”
“You’re a fool, Firak!” Nija shouted. “We could have- Nnnh!”
The sound of a struggle rang out. Firak sprang out of cover and saw that Meph and Nija were both struggling, one and another, with the flamepowder weapon. The nearly naked ice elf and the powerfully built hobgoblin grabbed and struggled, pushing back, and forth. Firak sprinted forward.
There was another shot!
He froze.
Nija froze.
Meph froze.
Then...
Slowly...
Nija fell to the side, her eyes closing, blood pouring from the hole in her chest, while more pumped from her back in a crimson tide. As she sprawled upon the ground, smoke rising from her chest and from the barrel of the flamepowder pistol at once, the blood flowed and dribbled into the cracks and patterns of the floor, beading into the empty spaces and forming strange new patterns. Firak dropped to his knee beside her, while Meph tossed the flamepowder weapon away, an expression of shock and horror on her face – more for the weapon than its effect, Firak guessed. His hand went to the hole on Nija’s chest, trying to stem the tide of blood as she smirked up at him, bloody toothed and wild eyed.
“Y ... You’ll see ... the master...” She whispered, then coughed once more – and then went limp beneath his fingers. The blood beat between his palms, as if her heart continued to struggle – but then even that too stilled, and Firak drew his hands away from Nija. He shook his head slowly, his voice soft.
“Damn...” His hands tightened, then with a furious bellow, he lifted his hand above his head and shouted. “Nerrrr’gaaaaaaaal!”
As his blood-cry reverberated from the walls, and the oath of vengeance set firmly within his heart, Meph put her hand on his shoulder, her voice soft. “We need to get out of here. Some kind of powerful magic has been awakened here. We-”
“Too late!”
Estoc flew down to land on Firak’s shoulder. Her finger thrust at the wall.
“I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think it is meant to be doing that in Ner’gal’s plans!”
The wall was coming to life. The blue orb was being joined by half a dozen more – shimmering spheres that could have represented anything, Firak didn’t know. Beaded lines of light connected one to another to another, while runes made of graven starlight flashed to life about them, utterly unreadable. Then the spheres were bisected by a rectangular portal that opened full into the room – a white banded, color filled kaleidoscope of sound and color. Firak, Meph and Estoc cried out in equal shock and fear ... and then the colors and lights faded and a face peered from the window.
The face was delicate and beautiful, with dark blue skin, and long dark hair. Her chin was framed by a pair of thick tendrils, banded with golden hoops – clearly decoration – and her eyes were pure, glowing white orbs of light. She had a pair of curved, curling goat horns that thrust from her brow, and had been worked into her elegant hair style with clear signs of filing and adjustment. She wore a golden cuirass and shoulder pauldrons, studded with shimmering crystals that were clearly rich with magic. Her expression was of faint confusion – then determined focus.
The window vanished.
And the room was plunged into darkness.
“What was that?” Firak whispered.
“A Precursor?” Meph asked.
“I don’t-” Estoc started.
A concussive force flung each of the three back against the walls with stunning impacts. Firak groaned as he fell to his side, his head ringing, while a blinding white light filled the chamber – not merely from his head cracking against stone. He shook his head fiercely and managed to get partially upright – and saw that the whole center of the temple room had been scooped out, as if a god had reached down with a hand of molten fury. The stone bubbled and hissed, cherry red and furiously hot, while the ceiling itself had a large hole that let in a pure beam of sunlight. The edges of the space that had been ‘scooped’ formed a perfect sphere.
And hovering in the center of that sphere was the delicate woman from the portal – save she was not delicate in the slightest. She stood nearly six feet tall, in gleaming gold armor, and hovered in the air while grasping a two handed war-hammer that looked sized for a giant. Her hooves clicked onto the floor as she drifted down. Her expression was cool and distant.
Estoc, her wings buzzing, shouted: “Run!”
Meph ran after the fairie, while Firak scrambled to his feet.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
More spheres of reality were rent aside – each hammering Firak’s ears with their overlapping reports. With some distance, it was less like being struck by hammers and more like being caught in a hurricane gale of hot wind. But as the booms settled, he saw that the woman had been joined by half a dozen other – some purple, some blue, some gray, all armored in gold and bearing warhammers. They advanced towards him and Firak stumbled backwards, but they paid him no mind as they formed a circular pattern around the shimmering, smoldering ruin that was the heart of the temple.
Holding aloft their warhammers, the squadron of warrior women created a pentagram of interlocked hammer heads and shafts. Despite the size and girth of those hammers ... they held them as easily as Firak would have lifted a child.
With the pentagram formed, golden lightning crackled along their hammers – and then smashed together into the heart of the room, creating a banded mass of whirling fire, interlocking rings covered in blazing, ruby red eyes. Flames roiled around the bands as it hovered in the air before Firak, a thing of impossible perfection and awe inspiring beauty. He stumbled, falling to a knee before he pushed himself up and took a step back.
Resonanting from the ring-creature came a voice like the clangor of a smith’s workshop meeting a pipe organ.
“BE. NOT. AFRAID.”
Firak turned and fled, all thought of bravery forgotten.
Behind him, the room trembled.
“PURIFICATION. HAS. BEGUN.”