Chapter 47: Teasing Lies

Note: Thanks to WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Ealaín

My ax hurtled down at the ogre handler’s dark form.

“Naga’s scales!” she snarled as she leaped back to avoid my attack, her bright-red hair flying behind her. She landed in a crouch in the hallway. “You’re a quick one.”

I didn’t answer her as I shifted my fighting stance. The onyx-skinned woman gripped a long, narrow sword in her hand, bright-red hair spilling about her face. It contrasted with just how dark her skin was, a duller hue than my midnight-black. She cocked her head, eyes flicking up and down me as I advanced, war ax gripped in both my hands. Her dark leathers creaked as she faced me.

I examined her back. “You’re Antrevia,” I said, remembering Zanyia talking about the Zizthithana and her followers. After Keythivak and his poison, I’d gleaned every bit of information about the cruel naga. What I’d learned about Antrevia sickened me. “You’re a monstrous bitch!”

The woman smiled, her head cocking to the side. “And you have skin just like me. How interesting.”

Her sword flicked out. I parried with my war ax, deflecting her thrust from hitting me. I flicked the deadly, curving blade of my weapon at her face, growling. She was the ogre’s handler. She controlled him. She brought him women to suffer his brutal lusts, to be raped to death by his massive cock.

Our weapons clashed again. Her narrow blade moved in a silvery blur, flicking, trying to find my naked flesh. I didn’t have my armor. I didn’t have my second weapon. I grit my teeth, flowing through the forms with my ax, my feet moving over the rubble strewn floor. I snarled, swinging the weapon before me, driving her back and giving Sven the room to get the vulnerable women clear of the fight.

A wall exploded. The hallway shook. The handler stumbled, her red hair swaying about her cruel face. I swung my ax hard at her. She leaped back, landing in a lithe crouch. My ax slammed into the polished wood of the floor. The blade buried deep into the floor. Splinters flew from the impact.

She grinned, flashing white teeth, then thrust her sword at me, the needle-like point lancing right for my guts. I wrenched my ax free, smacking her blade, knocking it to thrust up and past my face, disturbing my white hair.

“I have never met anyone with black skin like me,” purred the woman. “Are you the same as me?”

“No!” I snarled, feeling disgusted just being around her. “I could never be so cruel as you!”

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 as 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 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 froward 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.