Chapter 48: Fighting Blind

Note: Thanks to WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Zanyia

“Got hot pussy right here?” I moaned, plunging my fingers into my pussy as Gor went for Kora. “It’s real and juicy.”

Kora threw herself to the ground, the ogre’s grasping hand sweeping over her. She screeched, her twin braids bouncing on her naked back. She quivered there again. I had to do something. I had to draw his attention.

Good thing my pussy dripped from the exhilaration. I felt so alive. So horny.

“You’re going for another illusion again,” I shouted, pulling out my digits from my cunt, coated in my juices. I flicked my fingers at him, splashing his back in juices. “Smell that, big boy. That’s prime, lamia cunt-cream.”

His brutish head snapped around towards me. I grinned at him, my ears twitching. Kora rolled away from him. An illusion of her appeared standing up before the ogre. He thrust his hand at the movement, blurring through the illusion.

“TRICK!” he snarled.

“But this isn’t,” I purred, flicking more pussy juices at him. “I’m real.”

He rose over me, smashing through the ceiling. The entire boarding house creaked and shook. How much more destruction could the building take? I hoped it would survive. I turned and scrambled away, the ogre lunging after me. I leaped for the door out of the room. His fist smashed into the floor. Wood protested.

I landed on the ground, my claws scratching, digging in, giving me leverage. I leaped again, flying out into the hallway. His lust-filled bellow echoed as he charged after me. The wall exploded, his hulk bursting through it.

I grinned as I led him away from Mistress Kora.

Kora Falk

I let the illusion of myself dissolve away as the ogre smashed through the wall and tore off after Zanyia. I pushed myself to my feet. Ava’s feyhound proxy followed, leaping through the rubble. I chased after, bare feet slapping on the ground. Splintered wood and torn plaster slowed me down. My arms thrust out to my side, balancing myself across shifting debris.

“Come get me,” Zanyia shouted. “My pussy’s waiting!”

My fingers painted.

“Yes, yes, my pussy’s waiting,” illusion-Zanyia yowled as she sprang out of a door right before the ogre. I gave my art a toothy grin. “Mmm, it’s just so juicy.” I swished her tail and twitched her ears just like the real Zanyia. “See.”

I spun the illusion around and made her part her furred muff, showing off that pussy.

“No, no, it’s right here,” the real Zanyia purred, sounding just the same. She adopted the same pose, bent over, hand shoved down her body and between her legs, digits parting those pink depths. She was wet; battle always excited her.

She reveled in this. I hated it. The terror. My heart screaming. Blood pounding through my veins. Where was Sven? Why hadn’t he returned? And what happened to Ealaín? But I could only concentrate on my illusion.

The ogre’s head whipped back and forth. He stood immobile for a moment, one hand stroking that brutal cock, thick and long, more a battering ram than an organ that could give pleasure to a woman. Ogres didn’t care about giving pleasure. Only in rutting. In satiating their lusts.

“Got some hot, juicy cunt right here,” illusion-Zanyia howled, my lips moving with it while my pussy-soaked fingers wiggled. I shoved my left hand between my thighs, finding more of my cream.

I was wet, too. What did that say about me? Beneath the terror, I was excited.

Ava attacked the ogre’s leg. Her wooden teeth sunk into his hamstring. He bellowed, boulder-sized fists swinging at the end of long, pendulous arms. Ava ducked, her feyhound form nimble. Wicker creaked as she bit again, leaving oozing wounds on the ogre’s leg.

Was that even hurting him?

Sven Falk

I flicked my sword towards the sound. Metal rang on metal. My blade shivered. I clenched my hands tight, the sound resounding. The naga hissed, her scales rasping together as she moved her body. I heard the slap of her breasts, picturing those pillowy mounds bouncing off each other.

I thrust my sword at that sound.

She hissed in frustration. Scales slithered back across cobblestone. Her scimitar slapped down on my sword, knocking my thrust off target. I didn’t care. I moved, bare feet crossing the stones. I heard Nathalie gasp, pictured her frightened face watching in awe.

She didn’t say a word. She knew better.

The air whistled to my right.

My sword snapped up.

Metal clashed.

Silky hair caressed shoulders and face. Scales slithered together, that dry caress. My sword slashed out, forcing her to retreat. I sprang at her, thrusting at her flesh, her scimitar sweeping before her to block. Hard swings. Too much energy. Too much flourish.

She wasn’t used to having opponents that truly fought back. I could imagine none of her servants ever trying to beat her when she sparred for practice. They didn’t put their all into the fight. They didn’t hone her to be a deadly fighter. She lacked the skill to face someone trained by the Fencing College of Az.

If I wasn’t blind...

Metal rang. She hissed as I drove her back. She circled me, slithering. I tracked her, ears pricked for every movement. My feet shifted along the cobblestones of the street. I listened for the swish of her sword, the sway of her breasts, the hissing frustration of her mouth. All of it gave me clues.

I parried. I slashed. I thrust.

“How!” she snarled.

“You’re just that pathetic of a fighter,” I said, putting mocking derision into my voice. “I don’t even need to see to kill you.”

I felt something cold swirling around me. Not wind, but that same ethereal touch. Her sword slashed in from the left. But it didn’t sound quite right. It had a ... hollow quality. A heartbeat later, I heard a fainter hiss from my right.

I parried right. Her blade smacked into my sword, but it wasn’t swung at her full strength. She tried to bring in stealthily, to give me a minor wound instead of slicing me open from belly to sternum.

“How!” she snarled.

“Shadowy tricks don’t work if I can’t see them!” I said and then snapped my blade at her chest.

She snarled, her blade flashing. A cocky grin grew as I pressed my attack. I felt her frustration as she slithered down the street. I pressed her back faster and faster, sensing I had the advantage, the momentum of the fight had shifted in my favor.

My attacks grew swifter. Confidence swelled in me, energizing my forms. I had to find her flesh. I had to kill this bitch and end the blindness. The ogre bellowed in the building. I had to finish her off and help my sister, my princess, and my slave. I had to help Ealaín. All of them.

Her scimitar swept before her, hardly holding me off. Her breathing increased. She slithered back faster, forcing me to almost jog to keep up with her. I slashed, my blade not cutting into the naga’s flesh. Her scales rasped across the ground. She fled from me, slithering away.

I had her running scared and—

Nathalie screamed.

“No!” gasped Greta. They were so close to the rustling scales. Greta yelped. Bare feet slapped on the paving stones.

What was happening!

“Master!” screeched Nathalie, terror in her voice.

The naga hissed in satisfaction, her scales rasping on flesh.

Princess Ava

I savaged the ogre’s thighs as I felt something distant wrapped about my real body. Thick and coiled. I ignored it. Sven was protecting me. I needed to keep fighting here. I needed to help my Kora and Zanyia fight the ogre.