It was never going to happen.
As Morrigan lay beneath the former templar, he former colleague now mad beyond reason, the witch cringed at each sharp stab of pain Alistair caused her… and yet, despite the blond man’s best efforts she was growing more stubborn with every second, not less. Awash in a sea of pain like the survivor of a shipwreck clinging to the driftwood, Morrigan had been fighting so long to keep her head above water. It was only now, pressed to the very edge of oblivion and drowning, that the witch realized something.
She had been pushed a far as she was prepared to go.
It was never going to happen.
Flemeth was a monster from beyond time, no more human than the Archdemon was, and the thralls had no will of their own but had been crushed by her psychic might until they did precisely what she wanted of them… no more and no less. Ashtara was an immortal demon, feeding off the desires of men and woman, like since before the mythical Andraste had ever been born. Morrigan couldn’t forgive them for their abuses, but in some strange way, she could understand them. She was not an equal to them, but something far less, like an ant that could be stomped on — less of a living being that she was livestock, a means of prolonging their existence.
But Alistair was a man. She had spoken to him, bled beside him, argued and bickers and joked and fought and laughed with him. He was just a man — a mortal fool, just like her — and somehow that made his abuses worse, sharper. Flemeth must have known it would be this way… that was why she had brought the man who hated her the most here, to continue her abuse. What her mother could not have known, though, was that even more than humiliation, Alistair’s savage rape of her provoked suicidal levels of outrage.
Alistair crushed her bruised flesh beneath him, crippling the raven haired witch with agony while he slid his hard cock between her sore tits, the friction burning at the abused orbs. “You…” he grunted, “are going to do what… I tell you to… you slut!”
No, she wasn’t. Anything he put into her mouth, be it a finger or a cock, he was going to lose. He could do whatever he wanted to her… but she was going to do absolutely nothing for this animal.
“N-” she gasped, her voice crushed between tiny gasps of air that she managed to breath in past the smothering weight of the templar on her chest. “N- nev- -er…”
Alistair slapped her twice, savage blows that put his entire shoulder’s weight behind them and smashed her face flat against the crude bed, its frame creaking beneath the weight of the templar’s motions. “You’ll do as I fucking say or I’ll kill you, do you understand!” He stopped fucking her tits long enough to wrap one huge hand around her slender throat, squeezing it hard enough to cut off what pitiful remnants of air she was getting. “Do you understand me whore?”
She understood fine… but to her surprise and horror the witch found that she simply did not care. Morrigan, the consummate survivor who was always practical, always efficient, and never put anything ahead of her own best interests and her own life, was already planning to die. She had spent the last months in the Warden’s company, ruthlessly mocking anyone who displayed foolish sentiment to something more than their own and their survival, laughing at people’s impracticality and illogical actions. Even Cousland himself she had teased mercilessly, finding great amusement in the way he was always so willing to put his life on the line for a point of principle.
And now she was doing the same thing, deciding a point of principle was worth more than her life.
Even as the life was being choked out of her, Morrigan couldn’t help but smile. She had always told the warden that love was a weakness, that it would get them killed someday… and now the sentimentality she had always mocked in him was hers and it was going to get her killed… and pressed this far against the precipice of annihilation she could finally see its worth and thank him for sharing it with her.
Some things really were more important than her life. She wished she had gotten an opportunity to tell him that.
Alistair was looking down at her in confusion now, glaring at the smiling witch he was choking. “Are you ready to get smart, you arrogant cow?” he asked, bending down towards her. “Are you going to suck my cock like a good cunt?”
Still smiling, Morrigan spat in his face.
With a roar Alistair slapped her again and again, splitting her lip beneath the assault even as he rose off of her and grabbed her hair. Shouting in wordless fury he rammed her head against the head of the bed, dazing the dark maned witch even as he crawled behind her, desperate to hurt and humiliate the condescending, disobedient little bitch, the backstabbing little whore!
Without preamble, without giving Morrigan a single second to prepare, he pressed his cock again her dry asshole and, lubricated only by his own spit from her tits, pressed in as hard as he could. The witch could feel Alistair’s hard shaft pushing between the spread valley of her ass cheeks, feeling like a third leg so long and thick was it compared to her newly healed asshole. Flemeth had, perhaps, healed her too well… she might be even tighter than she had been when first Cormac had taken her, and she was as dry as it was possible for a woman to be. She screamed in agony as the pressure against her rosebud, twisting in a vain attempt to escape being impaled.
Alistair grunted with pleasure at he at last pressed the head of his cock into the raven haired girl, feeling the incredible tightness and warmth of her spasming ring around the tip of his rape tool as he took the apostate’s ass. The templar began to slide his cock back and forth, fucking his captive sex toy and enjoying every sensation as he ripped and tore Morrigan’s asshole apart with his vicious rod. The incredible friction of her hole, so tight and unwilling, squeezed him like, heat flowing into his and he pounded in and out of the bitch he hated with all of soul.
Morrigan, her head still ringing from the impact with the wall, was experiencing some of the most horrible pain she had ever felt. It wasn’t that her ass was impossible tight, or that Alistair was large… although both were true, she had taken far larger woman killers of a cock from Flemeth before now. No, it was the intense agony of it being the blonde templar who used her such. To the thought that the man she had slept in came with so many times was capable of this evil, shoving his massive prick up her and and splitting her open. Morrigan screamed and screamed as shooting pains surged up from her ass and through her helpless body. She sword she could feel things tearing inside of her ass under the assault, and she whispered words in between screams like a mantra.
“I hate you… I… hate you, so much… I hate… you. I hate you. I h-hate… you… you piece… of shit… I… hate y-you…”
Alistair, for his part, was enrage by the continuing show of defiance by the malifcar whore. “SHUT UP!” he screamed, any remaining shadow of self control evaporating beneath his indignation, his fury. “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” He pressed her face down into the pillow, smothering her as his cock plowed her ass with every single ounch of strength he could muster, desperate to cause the bitch who had ruined his life to pay. “HOW DARE YOU JUDGE ME, YOU WORTHLESS BITCH! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’VE SACRIFICED?”
Struggling with breath, choking on the linens of the cheap bed, Morrigan understood perfectly. Alistair had never had to make a choice in his life… Duncan had made all of the choices for him, and Earl Eamon before him. After Duncan’s death, Cousland had taken over the burden of decisions. While the entitled bastard noble had become a gray warden and fought the Blight alongside the others, he had never needed to bear the weight of those decisions… but he still felt entitled to the pity his “sacrifices” owed him.
And if she could get the air to scream it, she would tell him, she realized.
And to the Maker with the consequences… if he existed at all.
“FUCK YOU, APOSTATE WHORE!” Alistair roared, loving the feeling of this writhing, screaming pale Chasind girl impaled on his rod, relishing the way her flesh spasming in intense agony with every motion of his cock. He slammed her hard and fast, completely burying himself into her again. The templar’s pendulous balls slapped against her ass as his whole shaft buried itself deep into her violated rectum. Morrigan shrieked fainting into the pillow was that cutting off her air while she writhed in agony, hating the blonde warrior’s grunts of perverse pleasure. She wished she could make this miserable for him somehow, even if it killed her.
At last, unable to sustain his punishment of her tight hole any longer, Alistair pushed deep again and spurted his second load of seed deep into Morrigan’s brutalized ass, the witch’s slender young body with boiling slime. The witch could finally breath as he let up the hold on her hair, gasping for air while the hot cum flooded her raped rear. She lay twitching, unable to put up significant struggle as her body flexed, pushing the templar’s weakening cock from her along with as much of his cum as she could, the white fluid seeping onto the sheets.
And it was to that sight that Flemeth entered.
Her furious appearance nearly took the door from its hinges, so quickly did it open. The seemingly frail white haired sorceress stomped into the room, the warped board creaking beneath her footsteps as she grabbed Alistair by the arm and all but threw him across the room. The blonde templar staggered as he tried to get his feet beneath him, barely regaining control before he ran into the far wall. “Get out,” Flemeth hissed, her tone brooking no disobedience… but apparently Alistair was not listening closely enough, or his hatred of Morrigan was enough to completely overrule common sense.
“I wasn’t finished with the bitch…” he said.
Flemeth turned her head, eyes literally glowing with inner flames as she glared at the man. “Leave or be a thrall forever… if I was not in such a hurry, I would not give you even this chance.”
His survival instinct finally overruling his lust, he turned to the door.
Morrigan, her eyes glittering, spoke in a whisper just loud enough to carry to his ears, just loud enough to make him not sure if he had been supposed to hear it. “Good riddance, you worthless bastard. The king should have kept his cock in his pants.”
Alistar whirled, his eyes narrow as arrow lits in a castle wall… just in time for Cormac to lay an enormous hand on him from behind and physically pick him up by the head and carry him from the hut. Despite herself, Morrigan smiled.
Flemeth, however, was not amused. “I don’t have time for this you stupid slut!” she hissed, and five streams of scarlet blood flashed from beneath her fingertips and sailed towards the dark haired witch faster then her amber eyes could track… and suddenly her body was rising from the bed without her telling it to do so. The movements were not done carefully, and the fresh pain that radiated from her fucked ass was crippling… but her body moved without apparently complaint, marching for the door outside.
“The Archdemon is marching on Denerim as we speak…” Flemeth said, her tone slightly distracted as she walked behind her enslaved daughter. “…and as much as I would love to keep you around longer, I am out of time.”
Morrigan quickly found her mouth was the only part of her still under her own control. “W- uh- What are you doing?”
Flemeth laugh, cold and cruel, echoed in her head. “I’m saving your precious warden’s life, you stupid whore.”
Morrigan needed only a second’s thought before she realized what Flemeth meant. “ Mother…you wish me to carry his…child?” By now, she would almost gladly do it if it meant that she could get out of this nightmare.
The noirette yelped as Flemeth slapped her ass, chuckling. “ No, my daughter…I am going to carry his child…a human child with the soul of a dead god. And since I doubt he would lay with any woman who is not you and I wanted to take over your body anyway…I’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
Morrigan’s heart froze within her chest. She could feel her heartbeat actually stopping for a second before accelerating into a thunderous rhythm. “ So…this is it?” she asked, trying her best not to sound like a frightened little girl. She failed miserably, as Flemeth’s cold laughter showed.
“ Indeed. Today I am going to shed this old shell and be reborn within your young, nubile body. I looking forward to…playing with it. Firm tits, tight holes…and all without actually maintaining it through magic.” She took a step forward to catch up to her daughter, who was still walking forward without volition.
“ And I am certain your Warden will appreciate the…tricks I have picked up over the years. I can drive any man mad with desire.” She leaned over and lapped at the tears that started running down Morrigan’s cheek.
Swallowing down a pitiful sob, Morrigan said, “ Mother…is there nothing I could do…to change your mind? I could bear the child myself….be your slave…whatever you wish for…”, she pleaded, every word feeling like knives thrust into her throat. She hated falling back into the role of the helpless, pleading victim again, but the threat of losing her body, of becoming a ghost, tumbling through the Fade like a falling leaf…it held a horror only mages could ever understand.
But Flemeth shook her head. “ I am growing tired of this body, my dear. It has served me well for the last two hundred years but now…I wish for new flesh.” The last word she rolled around in her mouth, drawing it out, making it sound so obscene Morrigan felt her stomach lurch. Then, suddenly, in an almost chipper tone, Flemeth continued, “ Ah, there we are!”
‘There’ proved to be a larger clearing surrounded by trees that looked like they’d been saplings when Flemeth had been born. Gnarled and twisted, their bark was almost black, but they oozed a shadowy, sinister vitality that not even time could touch. Morrigan could not remember ever being here…and why would she? The place would have scared off any child, no matter how unruly and curious.
With a pang of dismay, Morrigan noticed that Ashtara was there, still wearing the skin of the girl named Bethany. The slaves were absent, but Flemeth’s thralls were all there, waiting, standing around in a loose circle. Morrigan saw that every single man among the group had an erection and from past experiences, she knew that would not mean anything good. Still, she gathered enough of her wits to ask, “Another gangrape, mother? You are getting uncreative…”
“Oh, please, my dear… nothing as simple as that.” Flemeth made Morrigan walk into the ring of people, stepping onto a small stone platform that bore runes so ancient they were unreadable to her. “ For the rite to work, it needs something so rare it is almost unattainable these days. Dragon sperm.”
Morrigan could not help but laugh. “So what now? Invite the Archdemon so you could blow him off? I’d like to see that, really…”
To her surprise, no one moved to punish her for her insolence. It was as if Flemeth felt so triumphant she could bear the barbs… or did she no longer care? The latter thought scared the noirette and she shushed it away. “ My dear, dear daughter. You have no idea…you have no idea who I truly am. What I truly am…”
Stepping back, Flemeth threw her head back and screamed to the heavens. Her arms raised to the side, she inhaled and screamed again…and this time, her voice sounded like a roar…
A dark thought dawned upon Morrigan, so dark she tried to banish it…but Flemeth’s presence proved it right moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Scales pushed through skin while the witch’s body grew, her hands and legs turning into fearsome talons. Her face elongated, the carefully sculpted horns of white hair turning into the black horn-crown of an adult dragon. And still she grew and grew…teeth fell from her mouth as new, sharp fangs pushed through the gums. Heat radiated from her form, making Morrigan’s skin prickle. Gigantic wings sprouted from her back, flapping aimlessly for a moment before folding against Flemeth’s back.
And with a final, triumphant roar that sounded like it could split mountains in twain, she stood, her true essence and form finally revealed. A dragon of immense size, with burning yellow eyes, massive wings… and, dangling from between her hind legs, the largest cock Morrigan had ever seen. And the witch felt herself faint…
Morrigan came to in unbelievable agony, sharp claws digging into the soft flesh of her breasts and twisting. She screamed, but was afraid to move lest she tear her own flesh. Ashtara was kneeling on of her, her nails as slender as needles, pressing against the witch’s tits just hard enough to sink in a tiny amount, just enough to let her know the level of agony that the demoness could cause her with no effort. “Wake up little girl…” she hissed, like a threatening cat screaming defiance into her ear. “I let you nap, but it’s time for you to pay attention now…”
Frantically the noirette threw herself back from the demoness, removing her claws from within her and allowing tiny dots of scarlet to bead the surface of her breasts. Bethany’s body had changed somewhat in the few days since Morrigan had last seen her. More tiny, purple scales covered her flesh now like tiny pebbles, radiating outward from beneath her breasts and her shoulders. They cupped the former noblewoman’s large tits and covered her neck, and her mane was beginning to change color to a reddish hue like fire was seeping up the strands of hair. The horrifying blaze of blue fire that had marked her eyes was gone now, replaced with a tranquil lake of gold blue ice… but after looking into the pale orbs for even a second Morrigan needed to look away, certain that something horrible lurked just below that frozen surface.
She still looked only enough like Bethany to remind the raven haired witch that the girl was dead, and in her place stood a monster.
When Morrigan turned her gaze from the demon, desperately to spare her mind the torment of those fel eyes, she realized that her situation was even worse than Ashtara’s presence implied. Half the thralls were now dead, their body hollow husks squeezed dry. Their lifeblood coated the tiny island rising out of the dark swamp in elegant rings, the vitae literally glowing a vibrant crimson and covered the witch’s pale skin with the sanguine light. The remaining male slaves all were within the outermost of the rings… and so, to Morrigan’s horror, was the dragonic bulk of her mother.
She had been desperately hoping that her abuse had finally driven her insane, or that she had been having a nightmare, but Flemeth stood before her now… slitted eyes glowing with the same pale golden glow that she had become accustomed to over 20 years of life. The young witch could feel the monster’s massive heartbeat, so powerful it shook the air and the black scales covering its massive form pulsed in time to the flow of molten blood. The winter air was hot, like being in the way of a smithy’s bellows… and to her horror she realized that was essentially exactly where she was. Flemeth breathed slowly in and out, and when she breathed in cold air it left her lungs scalding hot, as though her gullet were a forge.
The panted breaths washed over the chasind woman in waves, whipping her lose black hair like a breeze as the dragon looked down as her adoptive daughter. Morrigan could read nothing in that alien face, nothing in the beasts eyes but malice. She was sweating in the crushing heat, and still she shivered uncontrollably.
“I’ll never survive this…” she whispered, the tiniest hint of a plea in her voice.
Ashtara’s hands came towards her again, but this time they caressed her chin. Morrigan was beyond flinching at this point, as cruel and terrifying as she found the desire demon’s touch. “That is rather the point dear, is it not?” The demon’s face seemed to crack slightly as she smiled, tiny piece of the formerly human body flaking away above the flexing muscles and… whatever lay beneath. “I’m here to see you off…”
Morrigan should be fighting. She should be yelling and cursing and screaming and scratching, doing anything and everything to evade her fate… but she couldn’t bring herself to do any more than to begin silently weeping. What was the point? Without her magic, she could not prevail against even one of the many foes standing against her inside this circle… together, there could be no imaginable victory. Her mother was going to destroy her utterly, and she was going to need to suffer through it like the little whore she had been turned into… until there was nothing left of her to take.
The witch prayed, even as the chasind barbarians began to close around her, that it would be soon.
Her resistance was only token as the seven thralls surrounded her, pinning her limbs to the ground and forcing her body around them. One after the other they rutted into her sobbing form, and all the while she lay there like a puppet with cut strings. Ashtara knelt by her face, by her legs, between them… her hands always somewhere on her body. She held her tits closed around Cormac’s cock as he fucked them, and afterward held her hair, dragging her up and down on a choking cock. She held her legs open and lifted her ass, positioning her like a girl playing with her dolls.
And the entire time Flemeth watched, staring raptly down as the scene of abuse. She breathed heavily as her daughter was prepared for her, like a sacrifice upon an alter.
At last the abuse was over, and Morrigan lay motionless on the ground. Only the tiny rise and fall of her chest betrayed her life… besides that, she was as still and defeated as a body laying dead in the earth.
“You have done well…” a voice said, a basso rumble that would split the earth with the depth of its harmonics. Flemeth.
“You have served me faithfully, if unwillingly, for many decades. You may return to the caves and to the other slaves. I no longer have any use for them.” A quick series of sound that seemed like hacking coughs, and Morrigan smelled smoke. Her mother was laughing. “Do as you like with them. I will not be returning.”
Something was wrapping around the witch’s chest now… a hard cage of scaldingly hot, hard ceramics. The dragon’s scaled fingers were wrapping around her waist and her torso, lifting her from the ground as effortlessly as Morrigan would brush away a cobweb. She at last opened her eyes, staring into the horrifying reptilian visage of her mother as the thrall all left the ring. The dragon was resting on its haunches now, one of its massive forelimbs drawing a pattern on the ground while the other held the witch suspended. Below her, that massive, murderous cock jutted obscenely from the beast’s crotch, and Ashtara was there beside it, stroking the enormous thing by wrapping both limbs around it and gathering the scaled thing into a hug, crushing it against her stolen breasts.
The entire thing stank of ritual to Morrigan, much like paying tribute to an idol of some kind of lost god… and in a way, that may be what her mother was. One of the last remaining dragons in the world, the former rulers of existence as the gods of the Tevinter Imperium. Her sheer presence had evoked this uncharacteristic despair in the raven maned witch. Even with her full power at her disposal, she could never have stood against this… deity before her.
She could only find it in herself to be happy that she had not convinced Cousland to come after the ancient sorceress. She would have been sending the warden to his certain death… and she could not bear the thought.
Slowly, moving with almost tender deliberation, Flemeth lowered her daughter until the massive head of the dragon’s cock was resting between her legs. It would not fit into her… to even suggest such a thing was a joke. It was as thick as Morrigan’s thighs and nearly as long as the entirety of her leg. To be fucked by such a length would be to give birth over and over again, a hundred times, a thousand times, until at last the beast was satisfied or had split her in half. Even a woman’s body, no matter how malleable, no matter how designed to shift and move and bear children, could never withstand the assault this member was capable of…
And with Ashtara gleefully holding the cock steady, Flemeth slammed her daughter down onto it.
The pain was unbelievable. It surpassed every single agony she had felt in her life a hundred times over… every rape, every torture, every wound and agony and misery inflicted on her by her mother and all of her thralls in a single instant that blasted Morrigan’s mind into shock. The second second was even worse as the grip on her tightened and Flemeth dragged morrigan’s tight cunt off of the huge pole, the ridged edges of scaled scratching painfully at the raw, desperate walls of her strained hole… and then pushed her back down with even more force, going even deeper.
Morrigan screamed. The sound escaped with her ever making a decision to voice her agony, without the anguish even consulting her brain. At the same moment Flemeth roared, and the soul-shattered cacophony made the raped witch’s skin seem to writhe across her force with ripples of the sonic force. Again the dragon pushed her down, slipping further into her until it could go no further… and then to the poor girl’s final horror it did anyway, her cervix dilating under the incredible strain and parting to let Flemeth in further. Morrigan could not hope to seperate individual agonies below her waist, and had no desire to try, but was certain her hips must be dislocated by the incredible spread being forced upon them by the enormous, rigid tool that was being pressed into her, ruining her…
She screamed and screamed until she was out of breath as Flemeth pulled her up and down, fucking her body in ways no human was ever meant to endure or even to survive, her hole made tight beyond belief by the simple measure of stuffing it so full that the possibility of not being stretched taut around it was laughable… and then on the next time she was pulled out of the cock it was her ass her mother was putting pressure against. She wept and managed to struggle a tiny amount, her small fists beating at the talons holding her in the air… but she may as well have been striking solid steel. She had no breath left to scream as her asshole was impaled at least as brutally as her cunt had been. She distended brutally around the invading monstrosity, and although the witch hadn’t thought it possible her agony increased further.
She could barely feel Ashtara’s hands on her body now, her lips caressing her breasts and neck, the claws being dragged across her skin by Flemeth’s savage motions. As she was fucked over and over, being rapidly raped to oblivion by her mother’s cruelty, the pain began to at last fade. She was growing numb, and she noticed with detached interest that she was no longer seeing through her own eyes… but rather watching the entire scene from the outside, seeing herself abused like she was hovering over the scene rather than living through it. How huge her belly swelled up with every thrust of the dragon’s rampaging cock into her… it had to be destroying the poor girl…
She had trouble thinking of the girl below as being her. It was just a body, just flesh and blood and bone. Unimportant… and yet, so extremely important for some reason she was struggling to remember.
With a roar that seemed to shatter the sky, rain began to fall even as the dragon went completely rigid. Morrigan could see her body twitch as gallons of boiling semen poured into it, even while steam rose wherever the raindrops struck the dragon’s ashen scales. Dispassionately, detachedly, the witch witnessed the end of most brutal abuse, seeing in detail what she could no longer feel.
More suddenly than she would have believed possible the dragon crumbled. First, the talon holding her body fell away, turning to dust that could no longer support even the body’s slight weight any longer. Next the neck gave away and the massive, predatory head fell freely to the floor and exploded into ash. Piece by piece the body fell away until one of the legs went, and then the remaining bulk collapsed down on top of Morrigan’s body and covered it entirely in black, burned flakes, being soaked and washed away by the rain.
From beneath the mountain of ash a single woman’s form rose… her own.
Except now her eyes, always a pale gold, seemed to glow with power and an ancient evil.
With a whisper of power rising as the rings of blood were slowly washed away, Morrigan watched as her own deformed body was shapeshifted back into perfect form… her bones straightening, her joining closing again, her wounds healing. Gallons of white slime poured from her as the newly formed and tightened body no longer had room for it. Her hair straightened and seemed perfect again despite the rain, even as Flemeth raised one of Morrigan’s own hands up and bound it behind her head… and a smile Morrigan had felt so many times but rarely seen covered her own arrogant face.
Flemeth, in her new body, turned to where the ghostly remains of her daughter lurked, watching… and gave a tiny wave before she walked away.
‘At least,’ Morrigan thought to herself as she felt her essence begin to disappate just like the pile of ash, blown through the storm like dust on the wind, ‘it is over now. Forgive me, warden…’ and then, by Andraste’s mercy, Morrigan’s vision of the ghastly scene finally faded.
When Morrigan woke, she felt as though she was healthy again. No pain, no fear, and no exhaustion… she felt better than she had in years. She was fully dressed, and she felt the familiar sensations of the clothing she had worn for so long that it conformed to her body by sheer habit. She felt happy, and safe.
Until her eyes opened, anyway.
The sky shifted painfully above her head, a shifting sunburst of colored that hurt her eyes even as the light was diffused by the roiling of a thousand clouds. The lurid lighting illuminated her own bonds quite well, showing her the shackles that held her to the stone pillar behind her. In the distance, on the horizon, there was but a single feature visible… the massive silhouette of a dark city, a black stain against the color of the sky.
The dark city. She was in the Fade… the mortal realm of dreams, the source of magic, and the home of…
“Ah, I see you are awake my pet. Just in time…”
Ashtara walked around the column and into sight, but Morrigan could only barely recognize her. Her presence had twisted Bethany’s features to look something like her own, but not enough. Nevertheless, the witch could instantly identify the woman by her eyes — the cold blue fire that burned within seemed all the more terrible in this alien realm, where Morrigan was but a mortal and she was a literal god. Scarlet fabric flowed down her form in an elegant dress that hid everything improper, but somehow made her seem more exposed and erotic than had she been completely naked. A shock of fire red hair, the exact same shade as her bloody dress, stood from her hair and flowed slightly in time to an unfelt wind. Her tail, far longer in this realm, swished impatiently behind her like that of an agitated cat.
Something about her attacked Morrigan very mind, her tenuous remains of sanity. The goddess before her was like something out of legend, a creature that ancient civilizations had offered blood-soaked tribute to in an effort to appease something of such vicious, hungering beauty. She wanted to bow her head and worship at her feet even as she wanted to claw the woman’s flaming eyes from her head.
“I was hoping you’d wake up. I wanted you to see this…” Ashtara lifted her head slightly and an image appeared before the bound witch’s face, that of… her, in Denerim. She watched in mute horror as Flemeth, wearing her skin, crawled into bed with her lover…
“They will fight the Archdemon tomorrow, and he will likely triumph. Both of us will give him all the aid we can. Meanwhile, as I promised, I will ensure your mother’s pregnancy, and link his soul to that of the warden’s so your precious Cousland will survive the battle.” She smiled, her razor talons sliding effortlessly along Morrigan’s bare skin. She couldn’t bear herself to watch her own body, no longer under her control, bare and sliding on top of the warden’s familiar form. She could almost feel it herself… perhaps a remaining connection between her body and her soul, or perhaps the vivid memories of the pleasures they had tasted together. She turned her face away, and saw another girl bound as she was to a stone pillar. It was Bethany, her tortured form sagging in chains from agony… even as her face wore a mask of utter bliss.
There was another pillar across the room, and another… and more woman were bound to them the same way, their body’s the same reflection of anguish and ecstasy. On and on, into the distance where the bound witch could no longer make out details, were countless more pillars… each with the discoloration that betrayed another bound and captive slave. Elven and human woman, some with styles of remaining clothing that told of their lives thousands of years prior in the history of Thedas. Tevinter women, Orlesian women, Quunari women. Women from Ferelden, Revain, the ancient Chasind civilization and it’s modern remnants. Dark skinned slaves from the jungles of Seheron, the savages of Nevarra, and aristocrats from Antiva. There was even a woman who’s markings and clothing must make her one of the original Grey Wardens, from ancient Anderfel.
Thousands of them.
Thousands of us.
“And in exchange, as she promised…” Ashtara whispered, her voice husky as she watched Flemeth insert the warden into her new form, “I get you. Forever.”
Morrigan began to struggle madly then, suddenly desperate beyond belief as the true depths of her peril became apparently. She longed to escape, to strike down the demoness, to even force Ashtara to slay her rather than remain… but the desire demon merely laughed.
“They all start like you, my pet. But soon you’ll realize it’s not so bad here…”
Her hand went between the witch’s legs and her nail slid effortlessly through the leather and into the sensitive nub of Morrigan’s clit, piercing it like a needle. The witch’s world exploded into agony… but even as it did, she also came. Her body writhed, her hips thrusting towards the hand and bringing herself further pain on the slender finglenail as she tried to seek after the intense pleasure even while she was sunk deeper into the depths of torment.
“You will learn to be glad that you are here… isn’t that right?”
In a single voice that shook the room, every one of the captive women answered. “Yes Mistress.”
And Morrigan, her mind still reeling from the agony of the assault the the desire for that it brought to her, realized at last that her suffering was just beginning.