End of Elves 8 – The Refugees

This is an especially brutal story, filled with torture, rape, and snuff. Be sure this is a thing you want to read before continuing.

Soleila was no doubt the heart of the elven kingdom, but it did not make up the entirety of the race. There were other towns of varying sizes to be invaded and obliterated, not to mention the numerous elves who’d managed to flee the capital city in a fleet-footed panic. There was still much work to be done, and it was such gloriously satisfying work. Extermination was the primary goal, but Irae wasn’t satisfied to simply kill and rape the elf scum. She wanted them utterly broken along the way, devastated beyond the point of return. Her goddess demanded such levels of revenge for what the elves had done to her kind so many years ago. Irae’s twisted mind didn’t have to ponder for long to come up with an appropriate means of hunting and dealing with the remaining patches of elven life out in the world. She had the raw resources she required and the raw power to make good use of them.

But in order to do what she planned, Irae needed to conduct a proper ritual. She was glad to procure Axilya Trahana, the virgin priestess who’d been spared due to the value of her purity. The girl had assumed that purity would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and that had been one possibility, but Irae had an even more important use for her unsullied twat. With a small regiment of soldiers following along, Irae forced the young priestess back into the devastated temple. The place had been even further defiled since she’d been dragged away. A few of the dead priestess’s bodies had been removed, dragged off for who knew what sort of wicked acts, but there were still plenty of corpses draped around, including Axilya’s sister – Ulesse – still draped over the holy fountain with her bare ass propped into the air.

Irae directed the soldiers sent to guard her to take Axilya and chain her by her wrists and ankles, stretched taut before the defiled and destroyed statue of her goddess – the charred and headless corpse of Ahrendue still draped there. While the soldiers got to work stringing up the sobbing virgin, Irae stepped in front of the burnt carcass. The woman was long dead, flies buzzing and crawling across her roasted meat, but she still had her uses. Procuring a small dagger from the sheath on her hip, Irae carefully sliced a line up Ahrendue’s belly. Her organs were withered and blackened, both from the intense heat that had cooked her as well as the unholy defilement her body had undergone during the process. Irae scooped out the inky slop and chucked it on the floor, stretching an arm into the cavernous space left behind, up under the High Priestess’s ribcage. A few hard tugs and Irae pulled her prize free. The tainted and blackened heart of a pious woman. She admired the trophy proudly, resisting the urge to lean in and give it a lick. The dark magic potential contained within the tainted organ was strong enough that it could tear her apart if she wasn’t careful.

Irae turned to see that Axilya had been stretched into an X-pose before the statue, chains digging firmly into her soft flesh. The soldiers were pacing in front of her, leering at her and reaching out to paw at her flesh. Irae snapped at them, ordering them back. “This morsel is not meant for fucking,” she growled. “She’s much more important than that.” She stepped in front of the sobbing young thing, giving her a wicked grin. “Doesn’t that just tickle your elven ego? To know that, among all of your priestess sisters, you are the only one of them that truly matters? Because without you, all of the dead out there in the city, would stay dead. Rot away into a piles of pus and bones. But thanks to you, they’re going to get to come back. Some of them, at least.” She chuckled darkly. “Of course, they’ll be coming back nothing like who they were when they died. They’ll be coming back angry and bitter and oh so aroused, desperate to seek out those they’ll believe are responsible for their deaths. The drow will be spared from their cruel intents. We were merely the instrument of their destruction, after all. But their fellow elves, those are the ones that truly doomed them. They’re the ones who so urgently need to be punished.” She let her words sink into Axilya for a few moments, basking in the horror she saw in the young woman’s eyes. “And to think, none of this would have been possible if you’d simply chosen to not be a priestess, or if you’d decided to shirk your duties even once and spread those stunning legs of yours for some lover.” She rolled her eyes. “And they say virgins are too innocent to ever have something truly terrible happen to them…”

Axilya shook her head as Irae crept closer to her. She squeezed her tear-leaking eyes tightly and blubbered out prayers to her goddess, desperate for any help she could get. But there was no help to be had. Irae grabbed hold of her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open and guiding Ahrendue’s blackened heart to her lips. The taste of charred muscle tissue flowed across her tongue, along with something that started her shivering, mind collapsing into a pit of angry depression. The feelings worsened as the heart was stuffed into her mouth. Irae clamped a hand over her lips and pinched her nose shot, stealing away her ability to spit the unwanted object out. Axilya’s survival instincts worked alongside Irae’s evil intentions, forcing her to swallow down the lump of corrupted organ. Her throat bulged as Ahrendue’s heart made its way down into her gut. It hit her stomach like a molten wad of lead. As Irae removed her hands from the young elf’s face, Axilya let out a horrendous howl of agony.

The virgin priestess shuddered in her restraints as the corruption of Ahrendue’s heart attacked her innate purity. Her slender belly undulated, swelling, smoking, and blistering where her stomach was. Crimson tears dribbled from her eyes, running down the sides of her nose, as her bulging eyes filled with blood. She let out a fresh scream – mostly pain but with a tinge of horrified release – as the swelling, fist-sized lump protruding from her gut exploded, flinging blood and a few chunks of charred stomach over the floor. Ahrendue’s heart swelled and pulsed as it pushed free from Axilya’s belly, already double the size it had been when it had entered the girl. Purple veins slithered from the edges of the tear in her gut, creeping across her pale flesh, creating a root system for the dark heart-flower blooming from the virgin’s body.

The vein-roots curled over Axilya’s trembling buttocks and around her thighs, creeping over the folds of her untouched sex. They slithered their way up to cradle her perky tits and circle her throbbing nipples. They tickled along her armpits and followed the curve of her throat up around the edges of her jaw. Axilya’s head rolled back, mouth gaping open, emitting an unending scream as her blood-red eyes fixed on the ceiling above. The orifices of her head became bubbling fountains of hot blood that washed over her restrained form, feeding the heart-flower with her pure essence so it could corrupt that purity and grow larger, more powerful. Irae let out a gasp of delight as the heart-flower blossomed before her after swelling to the size of pumpkin. She arched her back and tilted her face towards the gruesomely beautiful creation, absorbing the radiance of necrotic energy it permeated the surrounding air with.

Axilya would go on living until Irae decided to severe her connection with the heart-flower, an ever replenishing fountain of dark power to be drawn from. Irae drank a little too deeply of the power, its flavor easily the most addictive thing she’d ever sampled. Groaning, she stumbled back, hands clutching at herself as the heat of pent up energy threatened to consume her. She turned to the small party of soldiers who’d accompanied her to the temple. They’d been hopeful to get to defile the priestess, disappointed that it had not been allowed. Supercharged with energy, Irae didn’t think twice about rewarding them for their obedience with her own flesh. She tugged her skimpy clothing away and pulled the nearest soldier to the floor, mounting his already firm cock in moments. She beckoned the others closer, gripping their shafts and twisting her head from side to side to suck them off. Her eyes rolled back with delight as one of the soldiers dared to wedge his prick up her ass. Her spirited gyrations and the energy sapping experience of numerous orgasms allowed Irae to burn off the excess of dark essence she’d taken into herself. When she was half-certain her skeleton wasn’t about to rip itself free from her skinsuit and go off frolicking on its own, she slowed her movements. The cocks sheathed in her cunt, ass, and throat still felt nice, and she did not mind giving the soldiers something to talk about with their fellow men later. But she returned her mind to the business she’d brought Axilya to the temple to conduct.

With her necromantic abilities multiplied by the heart-flower, Irae had no trouble extending her reanimating energies out into the sacked city. She touched upon every corpse littering the streets, getting a sense of each and every one of them. Not just the state of their bodies, but who they’d been in life. For her purposes, the bodies needed to be relatively intact, but beyond that, she sought out corpses that provided a slice of irony to their reanimation and new purpose. She focused primarily on the men, especially any relatives of elven women who’d managed to escape the onslaught. Each specimen she deemed worthy of a new, corrupted life, she brought back, leaving them with only resentment that they’d had to die while other elves had lived, amplifying and corrupting whatever lust they felt. Their minds mostly varied from dullard to psychotically deranged, but she stumbled upon a few specimens who’d been far from nice before their untimely demises. Those she brought back with mostly intact psyches so that they could lead the undead horde stirring into unholy life throughout the city.

When it came to searching out leaders for the undead ranks, Irae sought out someone in particular, a wickedly tasty treat Nimor had told her about. Keya Nerilamin, the long suffering underling who’d leapt at the chance to rape, torture, and murder her wicked employer, was the sort of twisted nymph Irae could have seen herself getting along with quite well, if they’d not been born into different races. She did not besmirch Nimor for executing the young woman. Whether or not she respected Keya’s desire for revenge or not, Irae would have done the deed herself if she’d been in the assassin’s place. But bringing her back to continue to seek some form of twisted revenge for the beleaguered station she’d been forced into within her kingdom was too perfect a prospect to ignore.

Irae’s second choice of undead general was Raibyn Wysageiros – a man who’d been far from wicked in life. On the contrary, he’d been a proud, noble, and quite protective husband and father. When the drow had come calling, he’d bravely sacrificed himself, buying his wife and two daughters the time needed to escape the city before things had gotten much worse. His body had surprisingly not been sliced up too terribly. Irae restored him to life, washing away the love and selflessness he’d possessed and replacing it with hatred for his family. His murky eyes blinked slowly before filling with wicked purpose, determined to hunt down the women he’d given his life for and punish them for the sacrifice they’d forced him to make.

The third and final undead general was an easy choice. King Tarron had done everything he could for his people, given the circumstances and swiftness of his kingdom’s invasion. Beyond that, Irae was furious that they’d still not managed to locate Elincia. It was clear at this point that the young princess had found some means of escaping the castle. If anyone could track her down, it was likely her father. The removal of Tarron’s head from his body was a mild frustration. She’d had his severed head bound to his chest, creating a macabre sight out of the corpse, even the more disturbing when the body jerked and returned to life. Irae grinned as she imagined the reaction he would get from whatever unlucky elf he managed to hunt down, their noble king reduced to a twisted, undead monstrosity intent on raping and slaughtering the very people he’d sworn to defend.

By the time she finished her mass resurrection, the soldiers were thoroughly spent, half of them lying in unconscious heaps around her. She rolled her eyes as she pried her cum-gooey cunt off of the soft prick nestled inside her. “Men…” she muttered, strutting her way towards the temple’s entrance, soaking up a little more of the dark energy pulsing from Axilya’s corrupted form to wash away the fatigue she felt. Already, the undead horde was working its way out of the city, tracking those that had fled and converging on the towns that had not yet been touched by the drow invasion.

The town of Yesahil

Tanelia Wysageiros had fled Soleila with her daughters, Rophalin and Keenor. In the rushed panic, she’d had little time to mourn her husband’s death, knowing that without his noble sacrifice, they’d certainly all be dead. They’d made it to the town of Yesahil knowing full well that it was not nearly far enough from the capital city to ensure their safety, especially if the rumors of the city’s fall were true. But Tanelia had not known where else to go. Yesahil was a small town, perhaps small enough to go unnoticed for a little while. It certainly offered no strategic value and it did not have much in the way of victims to slaughter. The one thing that it did have, the sole reason she’d rushed her terrified children to the border of the town, was her husband’s brother, Erlareo.

She’d not seen the man in years. It had been no secret that Erlareo had lusted after her and it had caused a divide between him and his brother. But now, with Raibyn dead and the drow forces seemingly intent on slaughtering every elven life they came across, it made little sense to hold on to old grudges and awkwardness. The news had shocked Erlareo and he’d welcomed Tanelia and her daughters into his home, already putting together plans to escape further from Soleila. But those plans, even hastily constructed, took time too precious to be spared. And while the town of Yesahil offered little of apparent value, it became a primary target for the advancing wave of undead elves spreading out from Soleila for the very reason that Tanelia had chosen it.

The thudding against the front door of Erlareo’s home caused its occupants to jump. Erlareo strode across the room, hopeful that it was the delivery of the much needed supplies they required to head out and further their escape. Instead, as the door opened, he found himself standing face-to-face with his dead brother. Raibyn’s murky eyes were filled with hatred as he brought the sword he wielded up, slamming the blade through the soft meat under Erlareo’s chin. The living brother’s eyes bulged as sharp steel skewered his brain and crunched through the roof of his skull. From further in the house, Tanelia let loose with a horrified scream as she witnessed both the murder and the murderer. She rushed to gather her daughters and flee from the back of the house only to find both young women being herded back towards her by the pack of dead elves who’d broken in through the back of the house.

The stench of decay and corruption filled the small home as the three elven women were corralled and contained. Raibyn drew his sword free from his brother’s head and shoved the body aside, stepping into the house and moving towards the family he’d given his life for. In the moment he’d charged into the oncoming drow forces, he’d thought only of protecting them. Now, he saw that sacrifice in a new, twisted light. Hadn’t Tanelia manipulated him into giving his life for them? Why else would she have run straight to his brother? The pair had likely been fucking behind his back for who knew how long. Were his daughters even his daughters? And did it truly matter now? They were, each of them, spoiled cunts. But they are at least attractive spoiled cunts. Looking Rophalin and Keenor over with undead eyes, he saw them in a way he’d never been capable of. Rophalin looked more like him, with her dark hair and golden eyes, only with a distinctively feminine form. Her breasts were large and plump, hips wide with a stunningly smackable rump and full lips crafted by the gods for sucking cock. Keenor was almost the spitting image of her mother, light brown hair, mossy green eyes, same slender physique and small breasts. She was petite in frame, with a pixie-like appearance that made her seem even younger than she was.

With the voluptuous figure of his eldest daughter before him, Raibyn had no desire to resist the urges flowing through his reanimated flesh. He pulled Rophalin into his arms, ignoring the frightened screams of his children and the desperate pleading of his wife. He threw Rophalin to the floor and dropped onto her, tearing open her top to allow her huge tits to jiggle into view. His mouth fell over her chest, slurping at her nipples as he tore away at her remaining clothing. His fingers tangled into her panties before tearing the garment away, reaching back to free his aching erection. The tearful pleas pouring from Rophalin’s full lips, begging her daddy to stop, only made his prick swell harder. He lined himself up with her dry, helpless hole and rammed inwards, skewering her soft cunt on his rigid meat.

Raibyn had no interest in sharing either of his daughters. Not while they still drew breath, at least. His wife was a different case. In his corrupted mind, she’d sent him off to his death in order to fuck another man. He’d come with plenty of willing men under his command. He signaled for them to have whatever fun they liked with Tanelia, as long as she was left alive by the time he wished to have his turn with her. He watched with glee as several of the undead elves tore through her clothing and pulled her struggling form into her clutches. They stuffed Tanelia’s holes with their pricks, making sure she had a clear view of what was being done to her eldest daughter the whole time. The elf matron fought against her abusers, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to beat them back, sobbing as her cunt and ass were vigorously raped, gagging around the occasional cock that sheathed its way down her throat.

Raibyn dragged his bloated tongue across Rophalin’s cheeks, lapping up the salty tears she was leaking. He forced a kiss onto her, deeper than any he’d have dared give her if he still possessed a pulse. His hands groped at her pliant breasts as his hips humped steadily between her kicking legs. His balls swelled with dead cum, incapable of impregnating anything but still more than capable of debasing and disgracing whatever victim he chose to play with. With the stamina of the undead backing him, Raibyn plunged his thick shaft into his daughter’s clenching snatch and painted the walls of her pussy with his creamy load. He watched a good portion of her soul shatter as she was forced to endure her father emptying himself into her. Pulling free from her gaping cunt, Raibyn returned to his feet, watching his spunk dribble out of her and onto the floor. Chuckling and stiff again already, he leaned down and gripped a fistful of Rophalin’s dark hair, tugging her up onto her knees before him.

When Rophalin refused to part those perfect cocksucking lips for him, Raibyn gave her a swift backhand across the face that left her cheek bruised and her brain dazed. Forcing her mouth open, he pushed his way into the damp passage. She gagged on him before he even reached the back of her mouth. As he prodded against the entrance to her throat, she retched hard, bringing up a soupy deposit over his cock and balls. Snarling with annoyance, Raibyn grabbed his daughter by the back of her head and forced her face into his soiled crotch. She gagged violently around his shaft as it curved down her throat. Her eyes bulged, arching up to stare up at her father’s cruel face, silently begging some part of him to realize how wrong his actions were. Raibyn knew exactly how evil face-fucking his daughter was. It made the experience all the more enjoyable. He offered her no mercy, keeping her face pulled against him, trapping her there as she flailed and twisted before him.

With a commanding growl, Raibyn ensured that Tanelia and Keenor got a clear view of what he was doing to Rophalin. Tanelia pled with him urgently as she watched her eldest daughter’s face turning a deep shade of red, thick bubbles of drool leaking from her stretched lips as her frantic struggles shifted into uncoordinated flopping. The sight of the twisted monstrosity that had once been such a loving husband and father turned into a perverted, murderous beast devastated both mother and daughter. Rophalin was beyond dwelling on the horror of what her father had become. Her oxygen-starved brain only had enough strength to strain to go on living, a fight it was rapidly losing. The young elf’s arms slumped at her sides, violent jerks rolling through her, bouncing her plump tits against the fronts of her father’s legs, as her eyes rolled back fully. Raibyn grunted and came down his daughter’s throat as the delightful tingles of her death rattle rolled across his throbbing shaft. He worked her locked up throat back down the length of his prick, popping free and letting her loose head roll back. Her mouth hung open awkwardly, leaking drool and jizz over her chin. With a laugh, he let Rophalin’s body go, watching as she fell backwards, thudding to the floor with her legs bent under her and her pissing crotch tilted into the air.

Raibyn set a pack of rabid undead elven men loose on his eldest daughter’s corpse, no longer interested in her now that he’d snuffed the life out of her. He turned to Keenor, his baby girl. She still looked so youthful despite being old enough – just barely – to be regarded as an adult in elven society. He ordered the elves holding her to force her to stand. Her legs were shaking so badly they had to maintain a firm grip on her to keep her upright. “Strip,” he growled at her. She only sobbed harder. Snarling with annoyance, he made his underlings do it for her, stroking his erection as her subtle curves and tight form was exposed to him. Tanelia was back to screaming and begging. With a snap of his fingers, an undead cock gagged her. He stepped up to his naked, trembling daughter, dragging the tip of his prick across her slender belly as he reached down and hooked a pair of fingers into her pussy. He leaned in and forced a deep kiss onto her slender lips, tongue slithering into her mouth as he pumped his digits into her hole, forcing her body to respond and lubricate the passage against her will.

Raibyn prodded his youngest daughter’s hymen, eyeing the winces that flinched over her face each time he did. Adjusting the angle of his fingers, he rammed deeper into Keenor’s cunt, piercing her virginity. After giving his digits a couple more wiggles inside her sex, he pried them free and forced her to taste the blend of her blood and cunt honey. She sobbed and gagged around his fingers. Before he forced the girl to puke, he pulled the fingers free and wiped them off on her hair. Gripping the back of her neck, Raibyn forced Keenor down onto her knees before bending her over. He moved in behind her, keeping her on her hands and knees as he knelt and pried her perky buttocks apart. Spitting into the crack, he smeared his saliva across her sphincter before jabbing his thumb into the impossibly tight orifice. He slickened his daughter’s asshole with more of his spit before lathering his cock in more of it, dragging out the process of her anal rape to further torment her. When he finally felt they were both ready, he guided the head of his erection to the slickened hole and pressed into her.

Keenor’s high-pitched shriek as her asshole was broken open by her father’s thick cock filled the house and stirred Tanelia into fresh sobs. The mother was also kneeling, only a few feet away, with an equally large cock pumping into her jizz-greased snatch from behind. She reached out for her youngest daughter, straining to pull her away from her psychotic, undead father. She no longer recognized the twisted abomination as the man she’d loved so much, cursing the horrid drow monsters for turning him into such a thing. Raibyn stared openly at her, drinking in her hatred and horror and using it to fuel his thrusts into Keenor’s clenched ass. Knowing that she was watching her daughter’s ass-fucking, he grabbed hold of Keenor by the hair and made sure she was looking right back at her mother. Then he slid his arm lower, hooking his forearm around her throat and pulling back. Keenor’s mouth gaped open, eyes widening as her throat was crushed closed. She buked wildly, driving her petite ass against her father’s prick. Grinning, Raibyn enjoyed the spirited movements of his daughter’s body against him as he choked her with unrelenting cruelty.

Tugging back harder on Keenor’s throat, Raibyn lifted his daughter’s upper body upwards. Her hands flailed about blindly for a few moments before coming up to try and pull her father’s forearm away. Her nails dug into his cold, dead flesh, causing only the most minimal amount of pain in his withered nerve endings. He humped harder into her aching rear, putting enough force into his thrusts to make even her minimal tits jump and jiggle. Tanelia sobbed pitifully as she watched her remaining daughter being slowly choked to death. She begged for Raibyn to take her instead, calling out in hopes that some small sliver of the man she’d known still existed and could be reached. Raibyn took pleasure from her pathetic efforts, but did not relent in the slightest. When Keenor’s struggles faded away, he kept his hold on her firm for another minute or so. Then he adjusted his hold on her and snapped her neck with cold efficiency, letting her faceplant back to the floor in a dead heap. Her warm piss blasted across his balls as he fired off a few sticky wads of cum into her bowels before pulling free to squirt the remainder of his load down her backside.

Raibyn ordered his undead underlings to release his wife. He watched as she scrambled first to Keenor’s corpse and then Rophalin’s, sobbing and shaking at them, urging them to come back to life, resisting the notion that her children were truly gone for good. Raibyn let her fall deeper and deeper into hysterics as he prepared the means of her execution. When the noose was ready, he pulled Tanelia up onto her feet. She turned into him, clinging to him, begging him to come to his senses even as he slipped the noose over her head and cinched it tight against her throat. A pair of undead elves were ready on the other end of the rope to hoist the hysterical mother into the air. Her legs kicked about wildly, hands coming up to tug at the noose, but her fate was already thoroughly sealed. Raibyn moved in behind his flailing wife’s body and worked his way up her jizz-lubed asshole, gripping her hips and fucking her roughly as she hung before him. He ordered the bodies of his daughters to be brought over and piled beneath Tanelia, giving her a clear view of the corpses as her hanging progressed.

With his wife’s brain degraded from oxygen deprivation, Raibyn curled an arm around her and began to stimulate her clit. He fucked her ass swiftly as he forced pleasure through her loins, her bulging, tear-glazed eyes fixed on the lifeless husks of her two daughters. The undead husband felt glee in his unbeating heart as he felt Tanelia shuddered through a powerful climax, her cunt honey drizzling down her legs and sprinkling across Rophalin and Keenor. He laughed, mocking her for getting off over the bodies of her children. Peeking around, he could see Tanelia still had enough consciousness left to be horrified and humiliated by the action she’d been forced to perform. Raibyn savored the sight of it, continuing to pump into his wife’s bowels as her struggles faltered, her urgent gurgling turning into wet clicks as the noose crushed her windpipe shut completely. When she finally hung limply, spraying her hot urine over the corpses beneath her, he blasted her loosened asshole with one last spurt of jizz before pulling free.

With his personal quest of twisted revenge concluded, Raibyn ordered the house and the bodies within to be set ablaze while he left to ensure the rest of the little town’s occupants were having an equally bad final night of their lives.

The town of Nythnebelle

The town was less a town and more a small ring of buildings surrounding a sacred forest. The elves had maintained a lengthy friendship with the dryads that lived within the forest, building up around the woodlands to offer them a layer of protection as well as a line of communication with the outside world. Velatha Valfir had hoped to find some reserve of military forces there. Not a group large enough to fight off the drow, but at least one capable of keeping her and the handful of other refugees she’d met outside Soleila safe as they escaped further from the city. Instead, she’d found the handful of soldiers responsible for guarding the forest thoroughly sloshed on dryad wine, laughing off the warnings she and the others arrived with as some kind of joke.

Velatha hadn’t survived the attack on the city by wasting time. One look at the so-called soldiers was all she needed to know that they would be no help. The other refugees – terrified beyond their limits – continued to plead with the inebriated men and women, urging them to take the threat seriously. While they wasted their time with that endeavor, Velatha slipped out of the crowded pub and started off on her own. She figured it might even be for the best. It would be much easier keeping a low profile and sneaking away from any potential danger on her own. She wished the others good luck and hurried out into the night on her own, only the vaguest sense of where she was heading.

She’d barely made it out of the pub when she spotted an awkward silhouette of a figure approaching from out of the shadows. A scream caught in her throat as details of the figure came into focus. The man had no head, but it didn’t seem to keep him from walking. Her wide eyes shifted to the man’s chest, where his severed head had been strapped down. Velatha’s face went pale with shock as she recognized the features glaring up at her. “K-king Tarron?” she gasped. “Dear goddess, what have they done to – “

The reanimated king lashed out with his sword, catching Velatha across the side of her right cheek and slicing cleanly through her head. The young elf’s lithe limbs locked up, tears glistening in her eyes as the life flickered from them. The upper half of her head rolled back as her lower jaw hung slack, tongue flopping about through the geyser of blood squirting free from the gruesome stump left behind. Her body stumbled awkwardly from side to side before dropping back, landing on the severed portion of her head as her legs kicked about at the air and dug into the dirt. King Tarron grinned at the dead elf, freeing his erection as he lowered his headless body down over Velatha’s twitching corpse. He bared her damp cunt and plunged into her still warm folds, ushering the undead elven forces following along behind him to head into the pub and secure the location, making sure to point out that he wanted the elves within kept alive until he could decide their fates for himself.

With the corruption to his mind pushing out every ounce of goodness he’d ever possessed, Tarron found his new role in un-life to be incredible, especially as he plunged roughly into the tight cunt of the woman he’d just murdered so casually. As he savored the convulsions of Velatha’s pussy around his shaft, he found it remarkable to think that he’d fucked only a single woman for such a large portion of his life. With undeath keeping his body firm and his mind slanted into the most perverse of thoughts, he had every intention of making up for lost time. The unique placement of his severed head afforded him an easy means of kissing and sucking at the dead elf’s still tits as he hammered into her snatch, groaning against her drool-coated nipple as he pumped a cold load of cum into her now motionless form.

Pulling free from the half-headless young woman, King Tarron got to his feet and stomped over Velatha’s corpse, no longer paying her any mind. The elf’s fleet-footedness had saved her from a terrible fate back in Soleila and delivered her just as swiftly into an equally terrible fate in Nythnebelle. If she’d been capable of any afterthought in her post-mortem state, she’d have regarded herself as lucky compared to those caught unawares in the pub, where only the men were gifted with deaths as quick as hers had been.

Penelo Leomys had been having a pretty good night up until the group of hysterical women had shown up. The dryad wine had her tingling in all the right places and she’d already succeeded in out drinking the only other female soldier in the regiment, giving her the freedom of choosing which of the men she wanted to drag back to her bunk for the night. The raving lunatics had mellowed everyone out, although no one took them seriously. A drow invasion large enough to cause the fall of Soleila made no sense. If it wasn’t a practical joke, it was clear that the women had gotten into some kind of drug and were sharing a mass hallucination or something. Penelo did her best to ignore them and tried to focus on flirting her way into her commanding officer’s pants. She wasn’t above putting in a bit of work between the sheets to secure herself the best assignments or even a promotion. It didn’t hurt that he was pretty easy on the eyes.

When the persistent interlopers fell into panicked screaming Penelo could ignore them no longer. Turning her attention to the trio of women, she suddenly found herself wishing she’d paid more attention to them when they’d first barged into the pub. The pack of clearly dead elven men pushing their way into the building made it obvious that the warning the newcomers had shown up with had not been the manifestation of any hallucinogen. Her muscles dulled with alcohol and her mind frozen with shock, Penelo sat frozen as the undead elves carved their way through the men in the pub. She flinched as her commander’s hot blood splattered over her face, staring at the once attractive face now bisected by the blade of a sword that had been brought down over the top of his skull. By the time she regained enough of her senses to reach for her own weapon, she was already being pulled up from the table and roughly stripped, corralled together with the three screaming refugees. Arryn Wynvaris was so thoroughly drunk that even all the noise hadn’t been enough to stir her to consciousness. Her slumped over body went unnoticed by the undead elves for the time being.

Penelo wasn’t given long to wonder why they weren’t being slaughtered like all the others. The door to the pub banged open and the undead troop’s commander stepped through the threshold. The drunken soldier’s reaction to what had become of the elven king wasn’t much different from Velatha’s. As she stared slack-jawed at his decapitated yet still-living form, she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift down to fix on Tarron’s royal prick. It’s so big. The thought just popped into her head and refused to leave, embarrassing her, especially given the direness of the situation she and the others were in. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the thick, throbbing length of flesh protruding from the king’s crotch, mesmerized by the sight of it. It wasn’t until she realized Tarron was standing right in front of her that she managed to snap out of her staring. She tried to pull free from the grip of the dead elves holding her as they dragged her over to a nearby table at the king’s instruction, but her alcohol-soaked muscles weren’t nearly strong enough to earn her even a temporary freedom.

The dead men pulled Penelo over the table, pinning her onto her back, as Tarron followed them over. The young soldier with her spiky red hair and lithe muscles reminded his twisted mind of his wife in some ways, his eldest daughter in others. Snagging hold of her ankles, he hefted Penelo’s legs up into the air and pulled them apart. He moved closer to her, guiding her bare crotch towards his face. His cock’s hunger for female flesh that was not his wife’s was strong, but his tongue yearned for the flavor of fresh pussy. He buried his face between Penelo’s thighs, lapping eagerly across her folds and finding her already damp for him. He chuckled against her wiry pubic hair and dove his tongue deeper into her slit, teasing a steady flow of honey. He slurped at the hard nub of her clitoris, drawing strained whines from her lips as she writhed across the table, horrified and mesmerized by the pleasure wafting up through her loins.

When Penelo curled her legs around Tarron’s back and pulled her sloppy snatch closer against his attentive mouth, the king knew he’d broken the young woman. Pulling back, he licked his lips clean of her fluids and looked to the undead elves holding her down. “This poor thing’s lost her head,” he chuckled, voice raspy from his severed windpipe. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Penelo blinked the tears and sweat from her eyes, panting heavily as she slowly recovered from the onslaught of oral attention. Her eyes shot wide as she saw the sword being lifted over her head. She managed the start of a scream that cut off sharply as the blade cleaved through her throat and lopped her head away from her body. Her limbs shot outwards, spine arching and curling on the table. The king buried his face back into the soldier’s crotch to drink down her death-squirt, the fluids draining from his torn esophagus and leaking over his erection. When he finally pushed her legs away and rose from her jerking corpse, he smiled into the slack, dead face presented to him, giving Penelo’s still lips a deep kiss before turning to admire the rest of the helpless women captured in the pub.

Tarron’s eyes proved to be keener than those of his underlings. Not surprising given that they were little more than brainless lumps of animated flesh eager to fuck and kill and obey his commands. He aimed a finger at the passed out soldier curled onto a bench at the back of the pub. “Dereliction of duty,” he growled. “Prepare her for me.”

Arryn Wynvaris groaned as she was tugged onto her unsteady feet. The elves dragged her over to a table, ignoring her slurred, half-conscious grumblings about being up for whatever fun the handsy gentleman were interested in. Laid face down over the table, Arryn groaned and drifted back into her inebriated slumber quickly. She remained unresponsive, doing nothing more than drooling over the table, as the undead elves worked her pants down to her ankles, leaving her fit ass on display for their corrupted king. Tarron moved up behind Arryn, stroking his member with excitement before he reached her and pried her buttocks apart. From the positioning of his severed head, he had a clear view of her tight anus, making it easy for him to guide his cock to the hole. The way Arryn’s asshole responded to his forceful prodding told Tarron that she was no stranger to taking lovers up her rear. The orifice was well practiced but still retained a pleasant tightness as he sank his stiff inches into her rectum.

As his thrusts quickened, Arryn’s asshole loosened further around him, responding to his penetration positively. She stirred listlessly over the table, a sloppy smile flowing into her face as she lightly pushed back to meet the vigorous pumps of the cock hammering away at her ass. The soldier’s reputation for being an anal whore had made her quite popular amongst the men in her regiment, one of the reasons Penelo had been so thankful that she’d drunken herself into a stupor so early in the night. Arryn did not mind being taken advantage of in her vulnerable state. She rather preferred it. The men got to have their fun with her, she got to enjoy the little slices she was aware for, and there was no expectation for her to do any of the work. As her mind faded in and out of consciousness, she strained to pry her eyes open and look back over her shoulder, wanting to know who was responsible for the thoroughly satisfying anal plundering she was receiving. Her groggy head and blurred vision refused to piece together the monstrosity fucking her for several long moments. As the pieces came into focus, her confusion grew. “My liege?” she groaned, certain that the headless man buggering her could not actually be the king. She let out a slurred laugh. “Time to lay off the wine, Arryn,” she chided herself before starting to settle back into slumber.

Tarron’s face scrunched up with fury. “How dare you ignore your king, you worthless welp,” he snapped loudly. “To think that someone as pathetic as you was given a roll in my kingdom’s army is a disgrace. Now wake up! And truly appreciate the gift of my royal cock up your unworthy ass!”

The king’s booming rasp was enough to pull Arryn out of her drunken stupor. She lifted her head, twisting it back, truly seeing the nightmare pounding into her. Her face went pale, bile rising up her throat. The unease in her stomach grew as she looked around the pub, seeing the bodies of the soldiers she’d been drinking with such a short time before, the reanimated men towering over her, the sobbing refugees being held firmly. The horror of it all had her choking on her puke as she tried to scream through her sick. Her body jerked and twisted, straining to pull free from the undead king’s iron-like grip, desperately wanting his pulsing prick out of her body. Tarron chuckled at her dismay, slamming his hips forward to pin her waist to the table as he released his grip on her arms. Arryn reached out, pulling at the edges of the table, trying to pull herself over and away from the king. Tarron drew his sword – still stained with Velatha’s blood – and pulled it over his head, sharp tip aimed downwards. He let the drunken mess of a soldier go on shrieking and howling for a few moments longer, enjoying the way her ass clamped down around his girth each time she let loose with another scream. Then, he slammed the sword downwards. The tip pierced her temple, sheathing neatly into her skull and skewering her brain before erupting from the opposite side, pinning her head to the table.

Tarron left his sword embedded in Arryn’s head as he grabbed hold of her bucking hips, driving into her with renewed vigor as he rode out her death spasms. When she’d settled into death, his movements slowed before he pulled his aching shaft free of her gaping asshole. He dragged his member through the soft cleft of her buttocks a few times before erupting his seed over the small of Arryn’s back. Gripping the base of his shaft firmly, he milked his cum onto her smooth skin, smacking the head of his dick against her ass cheeks. Blood bubbled from Arryn’s nostrils and drooled from her mouth, dead eyes crossed and tongue flopped onto the tabletop. Occasional twitches crept through her muscles as the king amused himself with her cooling flesh for a little while longer before turning his attention to the remaining living elves in the pub.

Like Velatha, Lazziar Oritris, Mhoryga Liaxalim, and Tinesi Leoxisys had all witnessed terrible atrocities and narrowly escaped being victims themselves during their panicked flight from Soleila. To be snared in the undead hands of elven men who’d fought and died to keep them safe was a soul-crushing betrayal, but even that did not compare to witnessing the risen form of their own murdered king gleefully raping and slaughtering his own people. They cowered and sobbed and begged as Tarron’s murky eyes looked them over like pieces of meat, judging them, deciding how best to have them served. He settled on Mhoryga first, stepping in front of her and giving her plump tits a rough groping. He pushed his face into her cleavage, purring as the soft flesh rubbed his cheeks.

With the scent of her sweat and fear in his nostrils, Tarron tugged Mhoryga along. He lowered himself to the floor and pulled her over him. “Ride me, commoner trash,” he growled. “Please your king and perhaps I’ll reward you with a painless end.”

The panicked elf woman had no choice in the matter. The king’s tight grip pulled her downwards, forcing her to straddle him. She shuddered and whined as her cunt sank over his stiff cock. A quick look at the butchered carcasses surrounding her was the only motivation she needed to start rolling her hips and bouncing atop Tarron’s form. From its disturbing mount against his chest, the king grinned up at her, lifting his hands to go back to grab at her tits. Mhoryga flexed her ass and clenched her pussy around him, continuing to look at all the corpses, using them as effective motivation to give the king what he wanted. Dying was not something she wished for, but it would at least be a release from the nightmare her world had become. If she could reach that point as swiftly and painlessly as possible, it was worth degrading herself for.

Not that anything Mhoryga did would save her from the fate the king had devised for the refugee before even catching up with her. The cruel execution method was not designed with her in mind, simply any refugee. She’d just been the first of the bunch they’d caught up to who’d aroused him enough to earn the brutal end. Tarron let her work herself up into a steady rhythm, enjoying the way her plump tits bounced and jiggled above his face. He gripped her wrists, holding her arms down at her sides, making sure she had nowhere to go and no means of fighting back. No matter how terrified and weak she was, he knew she’d try to put up a fight once she realized what was really happening to her. The stage was set and the victim was ripe. Tarron looked to a pair of his undead minions and gave his command.

The thick wooden box was stained with the blood of previous victims. With a hole in the bottom and a hinge that allowed it to be opened, it easily dropped over Mhoryga’s head. She let out a surprised yell as the darkness pushed in on her, screams intensifying as the box was locked shut, the rim of the hole pressing snuggling around her neck. She got a glimpse of light again as the lid on top of the box was lifted up. She tilted her face back, eyes bulging with horror as the undead elf tipped the bulging, thrashing burlap sac towards her, allowing three bony rats to drop into the box with her. The hatch was snapped shut and locked, trapping the starving rats inside with only the sobbing elf’s head to keep them company. Driven beyond the point of madness with hunger, the rodents wasted on time dining on the hot meal they’d fallen onto.

Tarron grinned as the elf bitch’s cunt clamped down hard around him, from the terror and the pain. He ground his hips upward into the tight orifice, enjoying the unintentional massage her pussy walls provided him. Within the box, Mhoryga’s existence become a bloody hell. One rat remained perched on top of her head, gnashing teeth tearing away clumps of her hair and ripping up ragged lengths of her scalp. The second had slipped down onto the back of her neck and was curled around her, chewing vigorously at one of her pointed ears. The third was right in front of her. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she had no trouble feeling its sharp teeth tearing away at her cheeks and lips. She howled as the rat on top of her head slid low enough over her forehead to rip through one of her eyes, stuffing its head into the bleeding socket. Mhoryga’s scream choked off as the rat in front of her face dove for the open hole, squeezing its emaciated form down her throat, chewing off chunks of tongue along the way.

Mhoryga hacked blood across the front of the box as the starving rat burrowed its way down her gullet and into her stomach. She retched as the uneasy lump of matter in her belly shifted wildly, splashing through her stomach juices and chewing at the lining of the organ. Her remaining eye bulged as the last remnants of her tattered ear were torn free, pounding streaks rushing through her skull as the rat on her head strained to force its way through her hollowed-out eye socket. When that didn’t work, it pulled its gore-soaked head free and started to chew on her nose. As he drove into her trembling snatch, the king eyed the tortured elf’s midsection, grinning at the bulge of the rat thrashing about inside her. By the look of it, the hungry rodent had already chewed its way free from Mhoryga’s stomach and was making quite the feast of her hot, twisted intestines.

Hammering his prick deep into the refugee a few more times, Tarron blasted her twitching pussy with his seed before promptly shoving her off of him. He had no interest in offering up his cock to the starving rat burrowing its way steadily through the woman. Rising to his feet, he loomed over Mhoryga and watched with amusement as she kicked and writhed before him. The rat inside her gut wasn’t nearly as scrawny by the time it squeezed its bloody body through the torn-up lips of the elf’s cunt. She expired shortly after the adventurous rat was scooped up and returned to the sack. The box was removed from her head, allowing Tarron and the others to look upon what remained of Mhoryga’s face. She’d managed to keep her one eye, but the rest of her flesh had been reduced to gory tatters, ears gone, nose bored down to a hollow stump, lips chewed away to reveal only an eerie crimson grin. Only a few scraps of hair clung to her shredded scalp. The two satisfied rats were caught and returned to the sack.

The remaining refugees were nearly comatose with trauma, vacant eyes fixed on Mhoryga’s chewed up remains. Tarron looked them over before choosing Lazziar as his next plaything. She snapped out of her daze quickly when the king trudged towards her. He felt up her body, clutching at her tits, ramming a couple fingers up her cunt, reaching around to grope her firm buttocks, jamming his digits into her mouth. With a growled order to his undead troops, he had the squirming elf dragged to a nearby wall, arms pulled out to her sides. A collection of rusted metal spikes were handed to the king, alongside a hammer. He took great pleasure pounding each one of the spikes through Lazziar’s flesh, one for each of her wrists to pin her arms to the wall, and then – after prying her legs apart – another pair through her knees. Effectively pinned like a worthless insect to the wall, the elf was a helpless ornament open for business.

Tarron took her first, as was his right, sheathing his member into her tight snatch and listening to her sobs as he plundered her hole for everything it was worth. Leaving his seed draining from her vigorously fucked pussy, he moved aside to allow some of his underlings to have some fun with her, turning his attention to the final refugee. He dragged Tinesi down onto her knees before him, dragging his stiff cock across her soft lips before ramming his way down her throat. He fucked her face, listening to her urgent gagging and Lazziar’s desperate sobs. Painting Tinesi’s face with his cum, he shoved her into the eager clutches of another pack of his mindless minions.

Even his undead vitality was not limitless. King Tarron dropped onto a bench in front of the table where Penelo’s corpse lay. He casually flicked at the dead soldier’s nipples as he watched his underlings have their fun. Tinesi did not last long. The appetites of the undead elves she’d been tossed to were equal to the starving rats. The young elf was ripped to pieces, those pieces fought over as the men fucked her in every way imaginable. Lazziar lasted longer, her cunt a gooey mess by the time interest in her seemed to fade. The king lifted himself to his feet and trudged back over to her, procuring one last spike. He lined the tip of it up with her forehead, listened to her pathetic sobs for a few moments longer, and then hammered it through her skull. As Lazziar was reduced to a shuddering corpse, a relative silence descended upon the corpse-strewn pub.

The dryads in Nythnebelle had sensed something foul looming, but they’d not been capable of sorting out what it was or how to handle it until King Tarron had led his undead forces into their forest. By then, they were caught too off guard to put up any means of defense against the corrupted elven forces eagerly rampaging through the sacred wilderness. The dryad women were caught, raped, and slaughtered no differently than the elven women had. The green-skinned beauties were quite the delicacy, the kind that would have certainly been savored for years if the undead men weren’t so consumed with ravenous appetites. The dryads’ suffering was brutal, but reasonably short-lived, a scrumptious snack before King Tarron led his forces further out into the world to continue his hunt for those of his kind still burdened with natural life.

Meniphis had been near the outskirts of the forest when Tarron’s forces arrived. She’d always been curious and the sound of distant screams had lured her to the very border of her domain. That curiosity cost her dearly, making her the first dryad to be snared. She possessed a petite physique with short brown hair. Certainly not a fighter, but she made for an excellent victim. Meniphis became the centerpiece of a wild gangrape, cunt, mouth, and ass stretched by elven pricks. Even with his dead mind, Tarron possessed knowledge of the dryads, knowing of their split existences between their fleshy forms and their personal tree. His murky eyes allowed him to see the invisible threads connecting Meniphis to her tree and he was pleased to find it not far from where they’d captured the girl.

Carried along among the pack of horny undead elves, Meniphis’s suffering only grew worse when they reached her tree. Tarron made the first cut across the trunk of her tree, drawing an agonize howl from the dryad’s lips as the gouge he left in the wood was mirrored along the side of her left thigh. He set a few of his underlings loose on the tree with specific instructions to de-bark the tree. Meniphis expelled an impressive amount of energy, writhing and jerking, bucking and grinding, as chunks of bark were pried away from her tree and – in turn – scrapes of her skin were sheered from her body. Meniphis’s lingering torture served as a blatant announcement to the rest of the dryads that their end had arrived. A few of the bolder women spied on what was happening from deeper in the forest, shedding silent tears for their captured sister. The majority of Meniphis’s tree was scrapped raw by the time her mostly fleshless body gave out. They chucked the used up, bloody carcass of the dryad against the bottom of her tree and stalked further into the woods, spreading out to hunt down every one of the women.

Abruptly, Tarron swatted at the air as is brushing away an annoying insect. It was only when he opened his hand part of the way that the others could see what he had grabbed. A beautiful woman… only about six inches tall, with delicate-looking dragonfly wings.

Calae, like most pixies, was nearly invisible while in motion… used to being unnoticed, flitting around and playing pranks, living in the forest like free fae. The invaders, to Calae, had just been one more set of intruders in the forest to prank and play with. She couldn’t have known that the cursed vision granted to Tarron by Irae’s resurrection made her plain to the reanimated revenant.

As Tarron brought her up to where his head was pinned to his chest, his mouth curved in a smile of amusement as his cock grew harder. Gripping the pixie girl in one fist, he brought her down to his cock and began to push. Calae screamed, a sharp, tinny wail of anguish as she was bludgeoned by a cock almost as wide around as her entire body, and longer to boot. No sensible person could have believed that it would fit, and no one with a conscience would have tried… but in his undead state, the former king didn’t hesitate.

With a ripping, he felt something in the pixie break… and he sank into her more than half of her body length. Her scream abruptly cut off as his cock crushed her lungs flat inside of her. No elf would could have survived a trauma like that… but unfortunately for Calae, a pixie’s tiny body was far more resilient. Instead of ripping, her skin stretched obscenely around the cock pushing into her, turning her lower body and belly into a cock-shaped flesh condom for the dead king. Gripping onto her tightly, Tarron pulled back, and then rammed her further down onto his length. The tiny girl’s eyes rolled back in her head and she spit up blood, but her arms and legs still thrashed… she still lived.

As Tarron began to walk deeper into the grove in hunting for the dryads, he roughly masturbated with the distended body of the poor pixie, idly pulling off her wings one at a time as he fucked her entire body with jerking strokes. She was alive through the whole thing… she was still alive, barely, when he started raping another of the dryads, cramming the squirming pixie up her asshole while she was still wrapped around his dick like a sheath. He left the still body inside the dryad when he finished.

Some of the dryads died quickly, but most died slow, after long sessions of hard torture and harder rapes. As their numbers dwindled and more and more of the sacred trees were reduced to kindling, the suffering intensified. The final living dryads in the forest were herded to the center of the forest, captured, fucked thoroughly, and then prepared for the king’s devious intentions. The green-skinned women screamed into the night sky as the limbs of their trees were carved through, the sensation of their limbs being severed ripping through their bodies. Sweat poured out of them as the severed tree branches were gathered and used to make numerous low-burning fire pits. They felt themselves both penetrated and penetrating as they were driven onto low-hanging branches of their trees, spitted from bloody asshole to gaping mouth. Positioned over the flickering flames, the dryads suffered through a slow roasting. The scent of cooked meat and scorched lumber permeated the forest, driving the dryads into a painful insanity as they cooked.

When they finished cooking, several of the dryads were butchered and devoured completely, leaving behind only gruesome scraps, but most of them were only partially harvested. A tasty tit sliced away from one’s chest, a thick slab of ass roast carved from the rump of another. The meat of the dryads only helped to satiate the undead elves’ desire for pain and perversion, their resurrected stomachs no longer needing sustenance. By the time only a handful of the dryads remained alive to sustain the symphony of suffering within the woods, King Tarron called to have his troops move on to the next town, making sure to set the surviving trees ablaze as they departed. The spitted dryads found a new level of agony as their roasted carcasses felt a new kind of heat as the wood of their beloved trees ignited. The burning they felt was far more intense than the roasting flames, all consuming, covering every inch of their flesh and filling their insides. King Tarron made it his mission to catch the remaining pixies flitting through the forest as well, their mercurial natures leaving them innocent to the danger they were in until it was far too late. By the time he led his troops in a march away from the once beautiful forest that had now become a raging inferno, each and every soldier under his command had their own pixie condom as they left the fires behind, creeping ever inward to finally finish frying the remainder of the dryads.

The town of Selrensera

Keya Nerilamin had returned to life feeling nothing but satisfaction for the revenge she’d claimed from Lixiss. The temptation to spend the first minutes of her unlife further tormenting the bitch’s corpse was diminished thanks to the purpose and guidance Irae had resurrected her with. Collecting her horde of undead elven men, she set out from Soleila eager to further her sadistic instincts. The town of Selrensera was a decent ways from the capital city and reasonably sizable in its own right. Her horde found numerous straggling refugees along the way and Keya was happy to let her minions have their fun. The haggard men and women meant nothing to her. Although none of them caught her eye, she still enjoyed the sight of them being slaughtered or – in the case of the women – raped and then slaughtered. It was easy for her to imagine Lixiss’s face in place of the horrified visages of the refugees. It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of Selrensera that Keya’s interest perked up.

In order to spread further and hunt down the escapees with ease, Keya’s regiment of undead elves had been afforded the use of some of the drows’ spider-lizard mounts. The beasts were vicious and weren’t particularly fond of being ridden by masters who were not drow. Several of Keya’s underlings had been ripped apart by the creatures, but they’d been quite valuable, well worth the nuisance of a few shredded corpses. Spotting the stable yard just outside the town, the wicked elf woman determined it would make an excellent place to let the disgruntled mounts work out some of their aggression. She ordered her troops to move in, already hearing the nervous whiney of horses sensing the approaching threat. The weary-eyed stable hands weren’t nearly as alert, still trying to shake the sleep from their minds in the early morning as they moved about the barn to tend to the steeds.

Kenia Keletor and Llorva Genlamin were utterly unprepared for the vicious eight-legged lizard mounts as they were unleashed on the stable. The shrieking elves were chased from one end of the building to the next as the lizards gnashed their teeth and flicked their tails. The horses – tied off in their individual stalls – were easy pickings, bucking and kicking as they were ripped into, becoming satisfying meals for the carnivorous reptiles. Cornered in the back of the stable, Llorva made a scrambling leap for the rafters, legs kicking wildly as she strained to pull herself up into the relative safety of the hay storage area. She screamed as her hands slipped, dropping her hard onto her back among the spider-lizards. They darted in, snapping their jaws closed around her flailing form with ravenous delight. Llorva’s screams intensified, the sounds of her flesh being ripped to shreds underscoring her howling until one of the drow mounts finally crunched through her face.

Kenia made it out of the stable, but it only led her into the clutches of the undead elves lurking just outside. Keya had the girl stripped and staked to the ground, allowing the unleashed mounts to finish slaughtering and eating everything in the stable before sending some of her troops in to wrangle the beasts. The things were somewhat more manageable now that they’d been well fed, only ripping apart two undead elves before allowing themselves to be controlled again. With their hunger largely sated, the spider-lizards took a different kind of interest in the stripped elf pinned to the ground they found outside the barn. Kenia sobbed, squirming, shifting her head from side to side to look over her shoulder at the advancing monsters as they moved in to flick their long tongues across her upraised buttocks.

After a little bit of examination, the time came for the mounts to do some mounting of their own. The beasts were handled firmly to keep them from turning on each other in their efforts to violate Kenia. They were allowed to take turns climbing onto the staked elf, humping into her ass with animalistic brutality. The largely mindless minions Keya had at her disposal enjoyed the show, but it was clear they wanted their own victims to fuck and kill. Luckily for them, it didn’t take long for the spider-lizards to work up a fresh appetite. Staked to the ground, Kenia could only howl out her misery as the creatures ripped her apart in a spectacularly bloody fashion, reducing her to hot chunks of shredded meat to be eagerly devoured. With the stable hands dead and the mounts appeased, Keya directed her forces further into Selrensera, excited to see what other atrocities she could design along the way.

Shalendra Qinran stifled a yawn as she stoked her forge, stirring it towards a workable level of heat. Not even fully morning yet and already the blacksmith’s workshop was stifling. Sweat dripped down the elf’s face as she worked, the warmth doing its best to lull her back to sleep. She normally didn’t get started quite so early, but she’d received word that the nobleman who’d commissioned her to make a sword was planning on collecting the weapon the following day, instead of a week later as originally planned. An early start was the only chance she had of finishing the thing on time. Thankfully, the sword was meant to be more of a display trophy than an actual weapon. It offended her as a professional weaponsmith, but the money was good, and the demand for real weapons was at an all-time low.

“What we really need is another war,” Shalendra grumbled.

Moments later, the genocidal invasion she’d been blissfully unaware of came barging into her workshop. The imagery of a mischievous dead girl leading a pack of aroused dead men was shocking enough that for a few precious moments, Shalendra thought she might have dozed off. Then they were on her, and the reality of her unnatural situation was confirmed. As the men got the blacksmith’s clothes off and had an initial bit of fun with her, Keya looked around the workshop, marveling at all the possibilities for torture and death. There were the weapons – finished and half-finished – but those were too simple. The tools to create weaponry seemed far more devious to her. And Shalendra had already gone through the trouble of preparing most of them for easy use. Keya slid a branding iron into the furnace, letting it heat to a glowing red.

With Shalendra bent over already, it was reasonably easy for Keya to ram the branding iron into her right ass cheek. The blacksmith shrieked as the brand burned into her flesh, melting her skin against the metal before Keya tore the brand free, leaving behind a bloody, swollen welt in the shape of the local farmer she branded cattle for on the regular. Flung onto her back, Shalendra was given a few moments longer to scream before one of the undead men dropped onto her chest and plugged her mouth with his erection. Keya returned the branding iron to the forge and looked for something else to hurt the woman with. It didn’t take her long.

The steel ingots Shalendra had fed into the forge to start work on her commissioned sword had melted down into a liquid metal, perfect for pouring and molding. Scooping some of it up into a smithing ladle, Keya carried it carefully over to where the woman lay. She tilted the ladle over Shalendra’s left ankle, pouring the molten metal over her. The metal burned her flesh as it rolled over it, singing into the floor. Keya adjusted the aim of the ladle, dumping the remainder of the liquid metal over the blacksmith’s other ankle. Grabbing a bucket and dipping it into the nearby quenching barrel, Keya poured water over the superheated metal, cooling it down rapidly and returning it to a solid state. The manacles now holding Shelandra’s legs against the floor were quite crude looking, but doubly effective since the metal had burned its way into her flesh, making it impossible for the woman to even wiggle without sending agonizing pain up her legs.

There was still plenty of melted steel left to use. The thought of continuing to pour it over the blacksmith until she was fused with the floor completely was tempting, but Keya’s twisted undead mind sparked on something even more devious. She made a quick pass amongst the group of dead men at her disposal, grabbing the one with the biggest cock she could find. The sounds of Shelandra sobbing and begging made for pleasant music as Keya pushed the dead man against a wall and clattered about the workspace looking for the tools she needed to make her devious design a reality. The undead elf soldier was an obedient one. He didn’t even cause much trouble when Keya poured the liquid steel into the mold she’d made around his erection, layering it in steel and letting it set into the mold before quenching it. The end result was a terrible new means of sexual execution. An ever-erect member with a cruel, six-inch blade sprouting from the head.

The cock-bladed zombie was more than ready to put his new tool to use. Keya led him over to the blacksmith, ordering the others away from her. Shelandra stared up at the monstrosity looming over her, wide eyes fixed on the crudely fashioned blade, and screamed openly. She tugged hard on her legs, tearing her skin where the metal clung to it, but Cock-Blade dropped onto her and pinned her to the floor before she could rip herself free. Tears gushed from Shelandra’s eyes as the blade nicked across her clit on its way to lining up with her pussy. With a hard forward push, Cock-Blade sheathed his weaponized member into the flailing elf, slashing her vaginal walls apart before skewering his way through her cervix and uterus. Blood gushed from between the blacksmith’s thighs as the undead elf humped into her with vigorous strokes. The irritation of being unable to feel the warm clenching of her hole inspired him to fuck her harder, slashing her guts into tatters. Shelandra’s screams choked off as blood found its way to the back of her throat. Her struggles weakened as the internal damage within her became too much for her to handle. Finally, her head rolled to the side, eyes staring vacantly as her tits continued to jump and jiggle from the heavy fuck-thrusts of Cock-Blade.

It had been only a couple weeks since the drow had come to Merethyl Zumcyne’s little border town. Her world had continued to be a waking nightmare since then, as the drow seemed to be hunting her specifically, tracking her to Soleila and, now, the resurrected minions of the fiends had found her in Selrensera. But it wasn’t over yet. Like back in her hometown, the wicked invaders seemed to have some kind of fixed interest in her. She’d not been killed outright, and although she’d been roughly raped by several of the undead elves, she’d been brought to the zombie in charge. The undead elf girl didn’t look much older than she was and had an almost innocent appearance, if not for the sadistic actions she so clearly enjoyed committing. Merethyl did not want to be a slave. But the undead didn’t seem particularly clever. Just the fact that they’d decided to keep her alive a little longer than the others in the town gave her the hope that she could once again find a way to escape. She’d done it successfully twice before, after all.

Merethyl had no way of knowing that she’d been allowed to escape the first time and she chose to ignore the fact that her fear had inspired her to leave Soleila before the drow had even arrived.

With the town of Selrensera fully invaded and its living population reduced to a single young woman, Keya decided she’d more than earned herself some time off to have her own brand of private fun. And while her resurrected mind did not possess any knowledge of Merethyl’s past or how she’d been used by the drow, one look at the girl was enough to tell her that something about her was special. She was beautiful, but it was clear she’d been through a lot over a short period of time. Still, there was a flicker of something. Not fight. She was too weak to even consider fighting. But still, she seemed hopeful, like perhaps she’d not have to suffer like all of the others. Keya doubted Merethyl knew anything that she did not. Most likely, it was a splinter of insanity creeping through her youthful mind after watching her people slaughtered. But even so, it was still very real, and it would make for something quite fun to exploit and manipulate.

Of course, that did not mean Keya wasn’t also interested in thoroughly exploring and violating Merethyl in a sexual nature. Her brutes had worked the girl over pretty thoroughly. Jizz leaked from her holes and clung to her flesh. That was of little concern to Keya. The house she’d taken to be her private fuck hovel for the day had a tub and fresh water. Forcing Merethyl to clean herself made for an entertaining appetizer. Keya stood in the doorway, watching her scrub the filth from her skin and rubbing a hand between her thighs. Merethyl kept her eyes averted from the undead woman leering at her. Whatever relief she took from getting to wash the cum and sweat off of her was lost under Keya’s piercing gaze, leaving her feeling dirtier than when she’d gotten into the bath.

With her toy properly cleansed, Keya led Merethyl to the bed, laying the girl out across the sheets still sticky with the blood of the couple who’d been killed there only a couple hours earlier. It didn’t do much to preserve Merethyl’s cleanliness, but it did give her skin a tasty crimson sheen. Keya took over the bathing process with her tongue, focusing on the most sensitive, juiciest areas of the woman’s body. Lowering her pussy over her plaything’s face, Keya ground back and forth across Merethyl’s lips while forcing her hands to her chest. As her lust swelled within her and she gushed her fluids over Merethyl’s gasping face, Keya dropped forward and tried to stuff as much of her tongue up the young elf’s slit. The session had no shortage of passion, even if it was entirely one-sided. Keya manipulated Merethyl’s body, forcing her to bestow the pleasure she desired while reciprocating it, much to Merethyl’s dismay.

Merethyl did not attempt to fight off Keya’s attention. She’d seen what happened to those that tried to fight back. Her only chance would come from patience and endurance. Keya’s undead resolve and intense perversion stretched both to their limits. The sun had set by the time Keya’s boundless energy was finally spent, drawing her into a coma-like slumber beside her sweaty, traumatized victim. Merethyl remained frozen, half-entangled with her abuser, waiting for what felt like an eternity before she worked up the courage to try to slide free. Keya did not respond as she wiggled her way out from under the undead elf’s arm. She rolled and dropped off the side of the bed into a crouch, heart pounding in her chest. She stared hard at Keya, seeing not even a flicker of life from her. Her plan had worked. She was going to escape the horrors of the drow monsters for a third time.

Reaching the front door, Merethyl eased the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked. She glanced back towards the bedroom, took a few breaths. When Keya didn’t come rushing out to chase her down, she pulled the door further open and stepped outside into the darkness. A storm had come in at some point, a heavy downpour washing the blood from the streets and stirring the dirt into sloshy mud pits. The thunder and cascade of heavy water concealed her sounds as she darted out into the shadows, hissing as the chilly rain soaked her naked flesh in moments. She darted her head from side to side, trying to see any of the undead elves lying in wait for her, but could see nothing. She could only hope that the risen nightmares had fucked themselves into inert states just like Keya had.

Merethyl had not been in Selrensera long enough to know the layout of the town. In the darkness and the downpour, it made navigation even more difficult, her feet threatening to slip out from under her with each stride as she sloshed through the mud. She picked what looked like a direct route away from the majority of the town’s buildings and ran with as much speed as her tired legs could provide, simultaneously terrified and elated that she was once again going to regain her freedom.

With her capability of surveying things around her limited due to the rain, Merethyl didn’t see the subtle patch of soggy leave-strewn road in front of her. The moment her foot came down on the leaves, the ground gave out beneath her. She shrieked as she fell into the waiting pit, tumbling end over end before landing in a soggy splat at the bottom. Lifting herself up, the young elf’s stomach turned as she eyed the pile of butchered corpses she’d landed amongst, all that remained of the residents of Selrensera. “No, no, no,” she whined, getting to her feet and rushing for the nearest side of the pit. She tried to jump up and grab onto the ledge, but the depth of the pit was far more than she was capable of getting out of. It didn’t help that each time she jumped, her feet sank deeper into the watery mud beneath her. Catching movement overhead, she tilted her head back and looked up to see Keya leering down at her. The undead elf’s pale nudity practically glowed in the darkness, her eyes lit up with amused arousal as she moaned softly and moved her hands over the petite curves of her body.

“You wanted to keep me, right?” Merethyl gasped. “I’m sorry I ran, okay? Just pull me up and I can go back to being your slave. Please!” Even in the rain, the stench of the dead was stifling. She could feel a cold, lifeless husk pressing against the side of her leg, but she desperately fought against the urge to look down at it. She jumped for the ledge again, fingers digging into the muddy wall before her and leaving behind deep tracks through it as she slid back. Keya offered her no response beyond a wider grin and a motion of her hand, pointing to just behind Merethyl. The trapped elf turned her head slow, eyes growing wider with horror as she spotted the small group of undead men who’d been left to languish and rot away in the corpse pit.

Keya slid a hand down between her thighs, rubbing two fingers through the cleft of her tingling cunt. Her lust spiked as she watched the four horny dead men pull Merethyl into their clutches. The girl had been a fun means of celebrating, but she’d never been anything more than that. She would be leading her horde further out into the world soon. It was time to finish exterminating the life within the town. She plugged her fingers up her slippery hole as Merethyl was pulled onto a rigid shaft. The young elf screamed loudly, arms flailing about wildly as her pussy was stuffed and viciously pounded. A second dead man gripped her by the hair and fed his member into her open mouth, plugging off her screams as he fucked her face. Merethyl’s body shifted roughly back and forth between the two undead as they violated her, working out the pent-up lust they’d developed since becoming trapped in the corpse pit.

Cold spunk blasted into Merethyl at both ends. It bubbled from her stretched lips and leaked from her snatch. She was yanked up, groaning and sobbing, and tossed backwards. She landed across the corpse of a woman who’d had her throat slit and her gut split open. The pile of guts squished beneath her, giving her a gruesome reminder that the only thing left alive in the pit was her, and it was looking like she wouldn’t remain that way for long. Tears blurred her vision as heavier sobs crept through her, chest hitching from the hysterics consuming her. Her mind revolted against reality. I’m supposed to get away, she thought as another of the dead men dropped over her, finding his way into her cunt. Everyone around me dies, but I escape. That’s how it works!

Merethyl’s twisted perception of the wicked world was realigned as the dead men took turns hammering into her aching snatch, pumping load after load into her sex. Up above, she could see Keya continuing to watch her, masturbating vigorously to the sight of her abuse. When her cunt became a gooey, loose sheath, the undead elves pulled Merethyl up and flung her forward onto her tits. Her face splashed into the mud. She tried to scramble away, not knowing where she could go, just operating on pure terrified instinct. The dead men caught up to her with ease even as they knocked into one another, racing to be the first to resume Merethyl’s string of rapes. The victor dropped down behind her, hefting her hips up and aiming his prick for her asshole. The young elf shrieked as her sphincter was stretched around the girth of the undead soldier. Snarling with annoyance, the dead man reached up and shoved Merethyl’s face back down into the mud, silencing her irritating screams.

With the downpour showing no signs of stopping, the bottom of the corpse pit was a soggy soup of mud and blood. Merethyl’s mind was on the verge of coming apart at the seams. The rough ramming of her ass paired with her terror was enough to keep her screaming, right into the mud. Thick bubbles popped along the sides of her head as she expelled the limited contents of her lungs. Her hands slapped at the mud, stretching out to either side of her. One hand found a corpse, pawing along it until her fingers closed around a flaccid cock. She squeezed the cold flesh tightly, awkwardly jerking along its length as she breathed thick slop into her lungs. She jerked back to meet the thrusts of the dead man ass-fucking her, the spastic convulsions of her muscles providing him an extra bit of delight.

Keya’s eyes rolled back, thumb mashing hard against her stiff clitoris as cunt honey drained down her quivering thighs. As the avalanche of bliss washed through her, she struggled to focus her vision on the fading shudders of the last living elf in Selrensera. Ramming three fingers up her slit, she fucked herself harder than the dead man in the pit was fucking Merethyl’s upraised ass. With a sharp cry, she yanked her sticky fingers free and unleashed a geyser of girl-cum into the pit, adding her fluids to the rainfall soaking the blend of lively and not-so-lively corpses below. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, Keya slurped at her juices, giving Merethyl’s limp form one final lingering look before turning away to gather her horde and lead them on to fresh victims.

Chapter 9

3 thoughts on “End of Elves 8 – The Refugees

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