100 years after the fall of Soleila…
The years had started to drag for Nimor, although the mission was not yet done. There were still elves in the world and he’d taken it upon himself to lead the raiding parties onto the surface to track them down and snuff them out. Life in Menzoberranzan had became a paradise for men, a hell for women. But even paradise could grow stale. Even the Avariel handmaiden had lost all semblance of spirit in the time since she’d submitted to the drow in the face of her thoroughly defiled goddess. The elven slaves were settled fully into their lives of torture and sexual molestation. The drow women were even more broken. Many of the men in Menzoberranzan were quite content with the state of things, but Nimor had always been a hunter of some degree or another. The slaves bored him. Even spending long days torturing them with methodical slowness, striving to see just how much he could cut away from them while keeping them alive, had grown stale.
The hunt on the surface had not. A bit frustrating, perhaps, due to the scarcity of prey available to him, but any free elf that remained still possessed a will to live, a desire to avoid the clutches of the drow. Even that was gradually diminishing, as more and more of them were killed, the knowledge that their race was right on the cusp of nonexistence somehow permeating every elf he found over the last year. He’d not found any men to kill in nearly a decade. That alone was enough to ensure that – even if they were left alone – the elf women still alive could not breed new elves. Not pure bloods, at least. But a dissolution of their bloodline was not enough. Only total eradication would satisfy Nimor and his god.
Much had changed since the drow had launched their unexpected assault from the dark. They’d not only managed to strike a crippling blow to the heart of one of the mightiest, longest lived kingdoms in all of history, but they’d subsequently succeeded in adjusting the way the world at large viewed elves. It had not been a simple task, but it had been quite amusing to Nimor. As he led his band of assassins, tracking a hint of a rumor of a suspicion of an inkling, he thought back on how much the world had changed, in large part due to acts he’d personally committed, or – at the very least – had ordered. He wasn’t prone to reflection much, outside of lonely nights when he found himself without a bitch to attend to his needs and he needed a mental frolicking to judge the pace of his stroking hand. But now, at what he was more and more believing was the very end of his long quest, he allowed himself to fill the time with memories of the most delightful atrocities he’d taken part in over the last century.
So many years had passed since Shenarah Adyarus had slipped through drow clutches and escaped her home city that the memories of Soleila and a prosperous elven race were faded in her mind. She only wished that the memories of the stench of blood, waste, and decay would leave her. She’d been barely more than a child the day the drow had come. In the chaos sweeping through Soleila, panicked inspiration had worked in her favor. After a brief, rough rape, she’d had a blade shoved into her gut before being discarded. The wound was nothing fatal, something she’d not known at the time, but the pain and fear had spurred her to squeeze her way into a pile of already dead elves. She’d hidden there, breathing in the stench of their deaths in short, shallow gasps as she listened to the city around her screaming out in agony. She stayed there, muscles cramped, for days. When she’d needed to relieve herself, she did, quickly learning to ignore the shame of it. When the hunger in her gut grew so painful that it inspired delirium, she’d chewed away a few mouthfuls of putrid elf meat. And when the forbidden meal revolted in her stomach, she’d puked as quietly as possible. Eventually, after the screaming had stopped, she realized the drow were gone and – somehow – she’d survived.
Flashes of being crammed between cold, bloated, lifeless flesh still haunted her every night, but she’d managed to escape Soleila, managed to avoid the undead hordes of reanimated elves, and had gotten as far from elven territory and any entrances to the underdark she could. The small village she’d chosen to stop in had originally just been a waypoint for her. Somewhere to have a decent meal, as much alcohol as her limited funds could afford, and a warm bed to rest her aching muscles. But the humans had been surprisingly generous upon her arrival. News of what had befallen the elves had reached them before Shenarah had. They offered her refuge. Exhausted from the nomadic life she’d taken up and less than thrilled about the prospect of returning to it, she’d accepted their offer. Their kindness and her own stillness finally afforded her the opportunity to grieve for the first time in the many years since the invasion of Soleila. She’d wept for days, first for all her fellow elves who’d suffered and died, then for those that had lived but were maybe even now still captives of the wicked drow, and then – finally – she’d wept for herself, and all the things she’d had to do to keep herself alive over the years.
Shenarah had escaped with only a small scar just above her belly button. She’d maintained her elven beauty beyond that. Being on the move constantly and with no skills in combat or weapons, she’d only had one true means of earning money to keep herself from starving. With elves an endangered and rare species, an elven whore was quite the exotic commodity, not that it ever earned Shenarah much. She took whatever customer she could find, accepting whatever currency they offered in exchange for open access to her body. She’d been ripped off numerous times, outright raped even more, but aside from that, she managed to make enough coin to keep her belly reasonably full most of the time and keep her on the road. After witnessing what the drow had done to the rest of the elvish women and the many years of selling herself, Shenarah had accepted her role in the world, until she’d found her refuge.
Many decades after the fall of her kingdom, the elf was terrified to find something she’d long given up hope for. Love.
Lyndon Dewore had not even been born when Soleila had fallen. She was at least three decades his senior, although there was no way to tell by looking at them. Even the many years on the road whoring herself out had not diminished her natural elven beauty much. By human standards, she still appeared to be in her early twenties, compared to Lyndon’s near-thirty age. He’d only just become an apprentice to the village’s butcher, seeing her in the local tavern the night she’d arrived in the village. He’d offered her fresh meat. Nothing high quality, but still better than Shenarah had had in years. He’d even cooked it for her – with spices even. It was not a case of a guilty conscience tossing a few scraps to a vagrant. It was a meal.
Then Lyndon had done the thing that had cemented Shenarah’s love for the man. She’d offered herself to him, as payment for the food, and he’d refused. But not in a way that made it feel like he was disgusted by the sight of her bare elven tits. In a way that left her with the knowledge that he knew she was better than that. As far as Shenarah was concerned, their relationship had begun that night, although there’d been a few weeks of her getting adjusting to stationary living again, as well as the long days of sobbing – most of which he was there for, comforting her as best he could. She’d spent that time trailing him through the village, becoming his shadow. Her romantic feelings were secured, but she was uncertain if he felt similarly in the slightest and did not want to push away the only real friend she’d had since the fall of Soleila. Then one night, after more than a little alcohol consumed between them, he’d finally kissed her and their relationship officially began.
Life among the humans was vastly different from what she still recalled of elven life. They did things so much faster, a byproduct of their significantly reduced lifespans. It was more than a little dizzying for Shenarah at first, but she adjusted to it, found she enjoyed the – to her – fast-paced form of existence. It crowded her days – and her mind – with things to do constantly, keeping her from dwelling on the horrors she’d witnessed and experienced over the last decades. As her relationship with Lyndon grew more serious, with feverish conversations about marriage and children becoming more frequent, Shenarah allowed herself to forget – at least as much as she could – about the wicked drow who’d taken everything from her and her race.
Unfortunately for Shenarah, the drow had not forgotten about their mission to hunt down and eradicate the surface dwelling elves from existence.
Shenarah awoke to an unsettling silence the day she died. She’d lived a life of peace and love long enough that she pushed aside the irrational unease in her gut. Even Lyndon’s absence was not enough to make her acknowledge the foul feelings tugging at the back of her mind. He was being groomed to take over as the village’s butcher and that task resulted in many early morning jobs. Instead, she dressed slowly and combated the unease with thoughts of the previous night, the way Lyndon’s cock had felt inside her, the way his warm seed had felt as it had fired into the depths of her womanhood. She was certain, despite their genetic differences, that this time his cum would take hold within her, grow into a new life. She recalled the old ways, how her pure-blood race looked down upon half-breeds and allowed herself an amused smile. She did not care that her child would not be a pure elf. She would love it all the more strongly because it would mean that the elf race could survive, in some capacity, through her. More than that, she would love it because it would come from Lyndon. She found herself incapable of not loving anything related to him.
Slipping into the dress Lyndon had purchased for her from a traveling caravan the previous summer, Shenarah readied herself to head out into the village to pick up a few supplies the house she shared with her lover required. The dress was a little fancier, certainly a good deal more flashy, than the rest of her casual attire, but she loved the way she looked in it, the way it left the upper portions of her breasts on display and kept her long, smooth legs visible to any casual observer. Along with the errands, she had every intent on visiting Lyndon at the butchery, provide him a pleasant eyeful of what was waiting for him when he got home, leaving him in the mood to fuck another load of jizz into her to further bolster the possibility of potential offspring. Perhaps, if he’s not too busy, I can even tempt him into a quick joining someplace reasonably private, she thought with a smile, the dread in her belly all but forgotten as she stepped out of the house and strolled into the heart of the village.
Fresh unease struck Shenarah as she stepped onto the main thoroughfare of the village. The town was far from heavily populated, but considering the time of day, she’d grown to expect some degree of activity in the heart of the village. Instead, she saw no one on the street. Assuring herself that the terror creeping up her spine was simply the byproduct of irrational fears left burrowed deep in the back of her brain from the trauma she’d endured such a long time ago, Shenarah did not obey the instinctive reaction to start running. The cost of her self-assured safety proved to be everything she had when the drow pooled in from around buildings to surround her. Animalistic panic overtook the elf the moment she saw the first obsidian-skinned assassin. She made an attempt to turn and flee, only to run into the waiting grip of another drow who was quick to wrestle her into submission, ignoring the pathetic sobs already pouring out of her.
Nimor grinned down at Shenarah. “Nice home you’ve found for yourself, whore,” he growled, twisting her around and pulling her close against his chest. He pressed his crotch against her struggling posterior, grinding the growing stiffness in his pants against her finely sculpted buttocks. “I bet you even thought these humans had accepted you as one of their own, didn’t you? Why don’t we see how true that is?” With the elf secured in his tight grip, Nimor let out a sharp whistle.
The residents of the village emerged from the shops and homes they’d been hiding in. Their expressions ranged from dead-eyed to worried to ashamed, but none of them looked willing to come to her aid. And, sure enough, as they grew into a small crowd, none of them even dared to speak up on Shenarah’s behalf. She tried to pull away from Nimor as her eyes fell upon Lyndon, calling out to him, begging him to do something. Her heart shattered as he simply stared back at her, terror in his eyes, and did nothing.
Nimor chuckled, openly groping Shenarah’s breasts as he ground his stiff member against her buttocks. “Allow me to ask you all a question,” he called to the humans. “You’ve no doubt heard the stories of what we’ve done to this bitch’s people. Did you truly think we were finished? Did you think you could keep this one hidden from us forever? Or that there would not be consequences for harboring an enemy of the drow? It’s clear that none of you could care much for her, seeing as you so willingly cowered before us when we arrived this morning. So why even bother taking the risk? You should have sent her on her way the moment she arrived. Or, even better, if you really felt any form of pity for her, you’d have killed her quickly, saved her from what we’re going to do to her now.” He grinned. “Or maybe that’s the real reason you allowed her to stay. Maybe you just wanted front row seats to the show. Well, you’ve got them now. And I very much recommend you stay seated in them, unless you wish to see your whole worthless village burned to ash.”
Although none of the humans looked particularly happy with allowing the drow to do whatever terrible things they liked to Shenarah, none of them possessed the courage to try to stop Nimor and his pack of assassins. Nimor hooked his fingers into the top of the elf’s low-cut dress, ripping the fabric open and freeing her breasts. A number of the gathered villagers looked away from the elf’s sudden exposure, but Nimor noticed a handful of the men continued to look, saw flickers of shameful lust spark in their eyes. He let out a low laugh as he cupped Shenarah’s tits, rolling his thumbs over her nipples. He gave her chest a thorough groping before ripping her dress further open down the middle. When no inch of her front half was left concealed, he gave her a hard shove, pulling the ruined garment away from her and sending her tumbling onto the ground. With the snap of his fingers and a quick finger motion in her direction, his fellow assassins were quick to move in, already brandishing their stiff flesh.
Shenarah shrieked as she was roughly taken from behind, until those shrieks became urgent gagging around the hard prick that plugged her mouth. Her tits swayed beneath her as she was hammered roughly at each end, body driven back and forth between her drow rapists. The violent assault was enough to kill the sparks of lust he’d seen in the handful of humans. It seemed their deviant tastes weren’t quite strong enough to enjoy the display of a woman they’d grown to know and care for being so brutally attacked. Or perhaps they were simply trying to hide whatever deviance lay in their hearts. Nimor didn’t much care. He let the humans shift uneasily as Shenarah endured her vigorous fuckings, moving forward after some time to feed his own erection up her cum-greased asshole.
As Shenarah coughed and spat a mouthful of jizz across the ground, she whined as Nimor gripped a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at Lyndon. “You called out to that one earlier,” he remarked. “Did you actually manage to form a romantic bond with one of these humans?” He laughed, pumping steadily into the elf’s gripping rear. “I recall a time, and it feels like it was not very long ago, that only the most depraved of your kind would stoop low enough to lie with someone who was not your own race. Although, come to think of it, I’ve not had the pleasure of disemboweling an elf male in a couple of decades now. I’m starting to think we’ve finally managed to kill them all. I suppose it was only a matter of time before your natural desires overwhelmed whatever racial prejudices you had. But the way you called out to him, it sounded like you truly cared for him. And that… that is truly hilarious. Because if her felt for you even a fraction of what you seem to feel for him, wouldn’t he have done something? It would have been a sacrifice made in vain, but wouldn’t he have made it anyway if he truly loved you? Instead, he stands there and watches with the others as we defile you, knowing that you will be dead by the time we finish.”
Shenarah sobbed and shook her head, whimpering out denials of Nimor’s words, even as her conflicted mind tussled with the desire to see Lyndon live beyond her and the desire to see him back a bold play that would allow them to die at least within the same day. Nimor only laughed again at her. “Clearly, you need more evidence to convince you that he only ever thought of you as a pretty piece of fuck-meat that was easy for him to play with.” He grunted and came into Shenarah’s bowels, withdrawing and leaving her slumped on the ground. Aiming a finger at Lyndon, he singled the human out. “You,” he growled. “Come over and show me how you like to fuck this elf whore.” Seeing only fearful resistance on his face, Nimor scowled. “Do it, or I’ll make sure the only options you have for bedroom companions after we leave are the severed heads of your neighbors.”
Looking far from pleased, Lyndon moved forward. Shenarah still found herself rationalizing his choice, longing to forgive him for it, but she couldn’t escape the flashes of bitterness swelling within her. She understood that he’d lived with the others in town all his life, but he didn’t love any of them the way he’d claimed to love her. Shouldn’t that have made a difference? Hadn’t he even once claimed, while having his stiffness buried deep inside her, that he would do anything to keep her safe? Die for her, even? Now the only evidence she had to think he wasn’t just enjoying her ordeal was that his cock was only half-erect as he struggled to slide it into her greasy snatch. Not that the flesh remained semi-hard for long once he was inside her. Even with the threat of his own death and the deaths of his neighbors weighing so heavily on him, Shenarah found it difficult to cultivate her sympathy for Lyndon as he sped his thrusts, pumping steadily into her from behind, fucking her like all the drow had, like she was nothing more than an animal.
Nimor watched the young human hump away at the miserable elf for a little bit, amused but not fully satisfied. “Clearly, you misunderstood me,” he hissed. “I didn’t tell you to simply fuck her. I told you to show me how you fuck her. Or is this it? Could you never stomach looking down at her face while you were inside her? These elf cunts are getting desperate as their time winds down, but I doubt she’d have believed you were capable of sacrificing yourself and your village if you hadn’t made some kind of emotional connection with her. And I doubt you did that by rutting her like some common bar wench in a back alley. Do it properly or I start taking heads.”
Shenarah groaned as Lyndon’s prick slid out of her, falling into sobs as he forced her over onto her back. He dropped over her, sliding his body against her, teasing the head of his dick against her folds before easing back into her. He stared down at her, blinking seldomly, face filled with terror and sweat. She thought she detected flashes of self-hatred occasionally, but even that was not enough to soften her swelling hatred for the man. If he’d truly cared so much, he’d have given his life to try to save her by now and avoided the whole situation. Now they were being forced to relive their most intimate moments to an audience half made of terrified villagers and half made of snickering sadists. Perhaps it was the overuse of her sex by that point, but when Lyndon finally unloaded his cum into her, it burned. The feel of his spunk squirting and dribbling into her depths left her feeling sickened in a way that none of her drow rapists had been able to achieve.
“Very good,” Nimor laughed, clapping a hand against Lyndon’s back as the huffing young man pulled free of Shenarah. “No wonder this stupid cunt thought you would be her hero.” He helped Lyndon to his feet, treating him like a long-lost comrade in subterfuge. “What is it you do around here? What’s your profession? I’d wager you might be the sort to live off the generosity of whatever thankful whore you lured into your bed, but this thing on the ground wouldn’t have had much in the way of riches to support you.”
Lyndon muttered his response, barely visible, face red with shame.
“What’s that, friend?” Nimor growled, leaning closer. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Assistant to the butcher,” he spat out.
Nimor’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, so you’re a man who knows how to work with meat. I know an orc who goes by the title Butcher, but – between you and me – he’s really nothing more than a savage, looking for anything to hack to pieces. Still, it’s marvelous watching him work. You’re lucky he didn’t come wandering through here instead, let me tell you. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with just chopping the elf bitch up. He’d have done the whole lot of you. Better my group found you. We’re a reasonable sort.” He motioned to Shenarah. “Tell me, if she were a sow brought in for slaughter, how would you do it?”
A fresh jolt of horrified revulsion passed through Lyndon’s face. He stared pleadingly at Nimor. “Don’t make me say it.”
“But if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” Nimor shot back. “And since I wouldn’t want to screw it up with the elf, I’d have to use some volunteers. Who knows how many tries it would take me before I stumbled onto the right method?”
Lyndon closed his eyes, squeezed some tears from them, took a breath, and gave the drow what he wanted. “I’d kill her quick. Either a sudden, hard blow to the back of her head or – if she were already suspended by her feet – take the head off completely to get the blood draining.”
Nimor frowned. “Obviously. Any idiot knows that. But let’s say you’ve been given special orders for this sow. That you had to butcher her while she was still alive. What then?”
Lyndon took a few more moments before responding. “Suspend her by her ankles and then slit her throat.”
Nimor smacked the human across the back of his head. “Stop trying to weasel your way into giving this bitch a relatively painless end. You know that’s not what I’m after.”
“You’re asking my professional opinion,” Lyndon fired back, managing to find some ounce of courage. “If she dies slow, in pain, her meat will be ruined. In fact, what you’ve done to her already is enough. She’s terrified, in pain, expecting to die. If you really want the meat to taste good, the best course of action at this point would be to let her go, let her live until she’s forgotten all this and then try again when she least suspects it. Without all the… tenderizing.”
Nimor rolled his eyes. “You know, you’d be one hell of a comedian if I wasn’t so annoyed with you right now.” He snapped a finger up, singling out a woman at random in the crowd. “Bring me that one’s head. Let’s see how our man Lyndon likes resting his balls on a pair of dead lips.”
“Wait,” Lyndon cried out before the assassin could reach the terrified woman. “You’d hang her, like I said, by her feet. You’d take a sharp…” He faltered, already seeing the displeasure in Nimor’s eyes. “I mean a dull knife. Maybe even a bit of rock with an edge to it. You’d cut open her belly so you could pull out what’s inside. The guts, the stomach, reproductive organs. Then you’d – “
“Y’know, friend,” Nimor said, passing his dagger into Lyndon’s hand. “I’m really more of a visual learner. Should I have the boys string the elf bitch up or would you rather pick someone from the crowd?”
Lyndon said nothing, trembling as he held the blade, focusing only on the fact that it at least wasn’t a bit of rock. His lack of response was enough to give Nimor his answer. The well at the center of town had a wooden hatch over it to keep out rain and leaves. It was tall enough and sturdy enough to work. After her hands were bound at the small of her back, ropes were tied to Shenarah’s ankles, her sobbing figure dragged over to the well before being hoisted up and left to dangle. Nimor pushed Lyndon along, ready in case the young fool tried anything stupid with the weapon he’d been given. But Lyndon’s concern for himself and his fellow humans was still too great to take the risk. Even the temptation to lash out at Shenarah and kill her quickly was squashed. It was obvious the drow assassin knew more about the art of butchery than he claimed to. Lyndon suspected that even if he were to do something as subtle as nicking a vital inner working to lessen Shenarah’s suffering, it would be noticed. If he wanted even a remote chance of saving himself and the other villagers, he had to play along. Which meant hurting his lover as much as possible before she expired.
Hating himself more with each passing moment and uncertain how he could possibly live with the actions he was about to perform, Lyndon lifted the dagger and pressed the tip of the blade against the bottom of Shenarah’s belly, just above her pubic bone. He pushed in slowly, piercing her skin and watching as the vibrant red fluid leaked out of her, running in swift lines across her abdomen and curling over the undersides of her dangling breasts. The flow of blood strengthened as he opened up a deep gash across her belly. From there, he cut downwards, allowing her cut flesh to peel open, tangles of her steaming innards already surging towards him. He turned away after only a moment of looking into the depths of his lover’s body, fighting back the urge to puke. He was thankful for the handful of moments Nimor gave him to get himself under control, forcing his mind to perceive Shenarah as nothing more than a squealing pig strung up for butchering. A mindless animal destined to become someone’s dinner. Nothing more. Certainly not the woman he’d fallen in love with and had wished to build a family with. That woman had never existed. If she had, he’d never do such a terrible thing to her, no matter what the cost.
Opening his eyes, Lyndon returned his now stony gaze to the guts half-hanging from Shenarah’s opened abdomen. He buried his free hand elbow-deep into her, pulling her innards further out of her so he could carefully cut them loose. Sloppy strings of severed intestine dropped to the ground. Typically, he’d have cut the guts in as large of portions as he could to offer a wider range of sausage casing lengths, but he knew what his drow master wanted. He diced the elf’s guts into small pieces, knowing each cut sent jolts of agony rushing through her. It helped his mind to distance itself from what he was truly doing that her endless screams were sounding less and less like a sentient being and more like a wild animal’s. He cut out her kidneys and let them drop, one of them slipping loose from his sticky fingers and bouncing off the edge of the well before dropping into the water down below. Lyndon hardly noticed, already slicing away long chunks of Shenarah’s liver. The loss of such precious organs guaranteed that she would not live, but she could go on suffering for a good while without them. When he finally had little more than a bloody, hollow cavity to stare into, he guided the dagger inside her, carefully cutting the blade through more of her tissue. He came away with the ruined remains of her womanhood, uterus bloated with the jizz of so many men – including his own.
Nimor took the prize from Lyndon before the apprentice butcher could let the organs drop to the ground. He crouched in front of Shenarah, showing her the messy remnants of her sex. Her fallopian tubes dangled uselessly over his wrist as he secured a firm grip around her uterus, giving it a hard squeeze. Cum spurted in gooey clumps down the length of her vaginal canal and leaked from the neatly severed flesh at the end. He aimed the flesh hose towards the elf, giving her a gruesome facial from the combined seed. Then he gagged her horrid shrieking with the crushed uterus before returning his attention to Lyndon. “What’s next?”
“I could go deeper. Cut out the more vital organs.”
“And why would you ever do that if she’s still got life in her?” Nimor sneered.
Lyndon sighed. “In that case, I’d break the body down into more manageable pieces. Split her down the middle from crotch to head.”
Nimor grinned. “You couldn’t possibly do that with such a little knife.” A spark of delight flashed in the assassin’s eyes. “Could you?”
“I could,” Lyndon freely admitted. “But it would damage the blade. Its not meant to cut through bone.”
Nimor gave the dagger a long look before taking it back from the man. “It does have some sentimental value,” he admitted. “A gift from the previous owner after I used it to see how much of her skin I could cut off before she died.”
“There’s a saw in the butcher’s shop,” Lyndon offered, his voice as dead as his face, fully settled into a state of perpetual trauma. He waited numbly as Nimor sent one of his men into the shop to procure the tool, unsurprised to find that the drow chose the older, worn out saw over the new one the butcher had purchased just last week. The blade was rusted, thoroughly stained with blood, several of the teeth bent. Still capable of performing its task, just with a good deal more effort. And, for Shenarah, a good deal more suffering.
Lyndon stepped in front of the gutted elf, guiding the worn-out blade of the saw between her spread thighs. The lips of her cunt and asshole were already smeared with blood that had leaked from the loose orifices during her disembowelment. He stared at his doomed lover’s sex and forced himself to see it as only meat. Then he got back to work.
Shenarah’s screams vibrated against her mangled uterus, fallopian tubes framing her horrified face as the saw blade slashed through the sensitive flesh of her pussy lips and asshole. Hot blood gushed over her flexed thighs and poured down her back. The crack of her ass became a widening wound, peeling apart as Lyndon worked his way lower. The saw met its first real obstacle when he reached her pelvic bone. Tightening his grip, he bored down on the bones, chipping his way through them until they were too weak to hold out any longer. The resistance he met became lopsided once he was through her pelvis. The hollowed-out gut – already slashed open – cut with relative ease, while the length of her spine became a constant struggle. He cracked through Shenarah’s vertebrae one after the next, sliding the blood-soaked sawblade back and forth through her in long, stuttering strokes. He cut through the ropes binding her wrists – and lopped off one of her thumbs – freeing the elf’s arms to paw helplessly at the bloody, gore-covered ground beneath her.
Reaching the bottom of the elf’s ribcage, Lyndon knew the rest of his job would be difficult with so much dense bone to get through. He loosened his grip, took a few moments to regain his breath and stretch his fingers, and then got back to it. The only solace he took as he worked the blade further through Shenarah’s chest was that – while she was still alive – she’d slipped so close to death that she no longer had the strength to scream. An explosive spray of blood suddenly shot forth from her partially cleaved chest when he reached her heart, showering his sweaty face in a layer of crimson. The elf’s body offered a few weak shudders before falling limp before him. Swallowing down the horror and self-hatred he felt at what he’d done to the woman he loved, he kept on sawing, wanting to be done with the whole gruesome task. He averted his eyes when he finally reached Shenarah’s head, not wanting to watch her beautiful face permanently destroyed as it was carved in half. With a strained groan, Lyndon finally managed to finish carving through the top of Shenarah’s skull. The two halves of the elf’s butchered carcass pulled away from one another, dangling side by side in front of the well.
Nimor admired the apprentice butcher’s work with a satisfied nod. “I think I understand the process now,” he said. “Thank you. But just to be sure…”
Dropping his dagger low, Nimor pulled Lyndon close, driving the blade up between his legs. The young men released a high-pitched shriek, eyes bulging as the assassin slashed open his testicles with one stroke and sliced off the majority of his cock with the next. “Sorry, kid, but not amount of scrubbing would’ve gotten the stink of that elf’s cunt off your unit.” He pulled the dagger back and jabbed it forward again, this time into Lyndon’s gut. He carved a jagged line up to his sternum, letting his innards spill out of him before he shoved his dying form away. Lyndon stumbled, clutching at his intestines and mangled crotch before he knocked into the side of the well. With another scream, he fell into the pit, his agonized howl ending in a splashing thud.
Even as Lyndon’s scream came to an end, the screams of the townsfolk were rushing to join him. Nimor turned to watch as his assassins carved through the humans. It had been fun playing with the peasants, forcing them to give up the refugee they’d been harboring, but they’d never had a hope of getting to live beyond the encounter. He barked orders at the men who weren’t busy killing – or entertaining themselves with the human women – to start gathering firewood. The humans were all dead within the hour, their village in flames shortly afterwards. The only thing left untouched by the fire would be Shenarah’s butchered corpse, making the message the drow sent loud and clear. Dozens of similar scenes would play out over the next few months, finally spreading the message far enough to make it clear that anyone found harboring an elf would doom their entire town. And suddenly, hunting down the lingering stragglers of elf kind became that much easier for Nimor and his group of assassins.
It wasn’t long before some of the humans decided simply turning elf refugees away from their towns and cities wasn’t enough. Hunting parties were formed, made up of men who felt it was the best way to keep the drow menace from delivering death upon themselves and men who needed little reason to embrace their most wicked tendencies, especially when their victims were looked upon as pariahs to any society they came across. Nimor looked upon the human hunters favorably. On the one hand, their efforts cut down on his opportunities to have fun with the dwindling elf populace but considering the end result sped along the elven extinction his people had set in motion, it was all for the best.
Nimor saw the parties infrequently along his travels, usually when they had trophies to show off to him. He barely acknowledged the majority of them, simply confirming their kills and sending them on their way. But one of the human hunters had risen above the rest, enough so that Nimor had bothered to learn his name.
Over the years, Caldwell had brought him the most presents. Some of them he’d even kept alive, after he’d learned how much Nimor liked engaging in the torture and execution personally. As he tracked his latest prey – likely the last wild elves he’d ever have the chance to hunt – Nimor thought back to his initial introduction to Caldwell, as well as the tale the man had shared with him about the five dead elves he’d shown up with.
Gweyir Chaemaris had gone to great lengths to keep her charge of elven women safe. She’d found a barn – looked to have been abandoned for many years – and had been using it as a safehouse for several weeks, sneaking out in the night to forage for food and supplies and bring them back to her fellow elves. They avoided people at any cost, staying tucked away in their secret hovel, clinging together for warmth, and hoping that they could find some means of escaping the living nightmare their existence had become.
Caldwell and his men caught a glimpse of Gweyir sneaking through the dense forest under cover of darkness. They kept themselves hidden, tracking her back to the barn, marveling at how efficiently the elf kept herself concealed even as their minds filled with all of the terrible things they intended to do to the woman once they caught up with her. Watching her slip into the barn, Caldwell held his men back, directing them to surround the dilapidated building, not wanting to give Gweyir any chance to slip away. When they were ready, Caldwell shouted the order and the men swarmed into either end of the barn, amazed to find the treasure trove of prey waiting for them within. Five frightened, dirty elf women cowered before them, scampering about in a desperate search for a way out of the barn that wasn’t blocked off. Caldwell and his men corralled them together and subdued them, ripping away the filthy rags they used for clothing.
Gweyir did her best to defend her fellow women, staring defiantly at Caldwell. “We’re not bothering anyone,” she barked. “We don’t want anything from you. The drow don’t have to know we’re here. For all that’s decent, just leave us and forget you ever saw us. I beg you.”
Caldwell eyed the elf, chuckling. She had a strained courage about her. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly more than any of the other elves had. They were all too busy sobbing and whining to even try to stand up for themselves or each other. Caldwell had little interest in turning the elves over to the drow alive. After hearing word that the dark-skinned elves were paying out bounties for elves – dead or alive – he’d said his goodbyes to his wife and son, gathered up a few like-minded men from his town, and had set out, less in search of earning a little coin or preventing other human towns from being leveled for daring to shelter any of the refugees, but because it had been far too long since he’d gotten to truly allow the dark beast within him to stretch its claws and rip something apart. It was all the more appealing that the something about to be ripped apart in this case was a worn but still quite fetching elf.
Gweyir was the strongest of the group. Clearly the leader that had kept them all safe for so long. She would make the perfect first victim. He yanked the woman to her feet, dragged her away from her cowering companions. “How about we make a deal then?” he growled, drawing his hunting knife. He guided the blade against the underside of her left breasts, letting her feel the sharpness of it against her soft flesh. “I’m gonna cut your tits off,” he told her, making it clear there was no way for her to avoid the fate. “If you can eat them all up, I’ll let one of these other bitches go. Then I’ll cut something else off of you. The more you can stuff down your gullet, the more of them you’ll save. That sounds fair, right?”
Caldwell didn’t give the elf any chance to respond. The moment he finished laying out the offer, he started carving. Gweyir shrieked, tried to pull away from him, but he was quick to hook an arm around her back and hold her in place as he sliced his way upwards through her left breast. The plentiful mound came free, sliding down her chest before plopping to the dirty ground at her feet. Blood gushed from the open wound, leaking down her belly and beading up in her wiry pubic hair. Caldwell shifted the position of his knife and went to work on her right tit, cutting it off with just as efficiently. He released his hold on Gweyir, shoving her onto her knees before kicking one of her severed breasts closer to her. “Eat up.”
Gweyir stared wide-eyed at her breasts lying before her, a stinging burn radiating through her chest paired with the very odd sensation of no longer feeling the weight of her tits. Her vision was blurred from tears, heart pounding in her chest as she panicked. Managing to get control of the pain and sorrow of her mutilation, the elf grabbed a fistful of soft skin and chunky fat and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed, gagging on the taste of her own raw meat, and managed to swallow down the first chunk even as she lifted another handful of bloody meat to her lips. In her panicked haste to gulp down her own severed tits, Gweyir’s throat became clogged with sticky clumps of fat. She strained, trying to swallow but found the task horrifyingly impossible. Letting the twin handfuls of breast meat slide through her fingers, she clutched at her throat, gagging and wheezing as she stared up at Caldwell with pleading horror.
Caldwell simply watched and laughed as the elf choked on her own tits. She fell onto her side and rolled onto her back, kicking at the dirt floor with the heels of her feet as she dug her fingers into her mouth to try to scoop out the obstruction clogging her windpipe. Her face grew red, glistening with thick sweat. When the scraps of skin and clumps of fat proved too slippery to get a good hold on, she went back to clutching at her throat, pressing against it, trying to work the lump down her gullet. As her bloodshot eyes bulged obscenely from their sockets, that effort was cut short. She flopped about on the ground before Caldwell, one hand slapping against the pile of sloppy, partially eaten tit-flesh beside her while the other dragged deep gouges into her neck. “Guess you didn’t manage to get any of them free. Pity,” he mocked. Her struggles grew unsteady, her gurgling wheezes weakening as the asphyxiation entered its final stages. Her breastless chest lifted and sank as her spine arched, jerking wildly for another minute before the tension in her muscles drifted away, leaving her as a wide-eyed corpse.
Much as he suspected, witnessing their leader’s gruesome demise broke the remaining elf women. They clung to each other, sobbing and screaming. Caldwell looked them over before picking out another to continue his games with.
One of Caldwell’s men – Ashbrook – pulled Sariandi Valfiel to her feet and pulled her in front of his boss. He kept his hands tight around her arms to keep her from collapsing as she screamed and spewed pleading gibberish at the man. She managed to hold herself as still as she could, trembling badly, as Caldwell directed the tip of his bloody knife to her chest. He dragged the weapon over the modest mounds Sariandi possessed. “Well, those don’t look like they’d make a very filling meal,” he remarked, flicking the knife away from her chest, intentionally nicking one of her nipples in the process. “Guess I’ll have to carve something else out of you. Same deal as before. If you can eat it all up, I’ll let one of your friends go.”
Caldwell didn’t make Sariandi wait long to learn what piece of herself she’d have to consume. He dropped to one knee in front of the cowering young woman and guided his knife between her trembling thighs. Stabbing through the outer edge of her labial folds, the man was rewarded with an ears-splitting scream and a gush of blood and piss from her wounded snatch. He ignored the mess, his hands already well-covered in elf blood, and carefully carved Sariandi’s cunt out of her body. As he returned to his feet, he nodded to Ashbrook to release the girl, letting her collapse to her knees and clutch at the gory pit where her womanhood had been mere moments ago. She stared at the gruesome remains of her sex in Caldwell’s hand. “Go ahead, bitch. You wouldn’t want it get cold, would you?”
A spark of frenzied madness flashed in Sariandi’s eyes as she pulled her bloody hands up from her destroyed crotch and snatched her cunt from Caldwell. She stuffed it into her mouth, chewing at the tough tissue. For a few moments, the hunter thought she would go the same way as Gweyir as she did her best to hastily swallow the raw flesh down. But where Gweyir’s throat had betrayed her, Sariandi’s came through. Swallowing hard, she drew the lump of her pussy meat down into her stomach, gasping and sobbing as she stared hopefully up at Caldwell. The man frowned, both impressed and irritated that the unfair truth of his game would be revealed so soon. Then Sariandi’s body aided him in prolonging his deceit as she doubled over and puked up the gory feast she’d consumed. He shook his head, grinning. “Sorry, but if you can’t do one, simple thing for me, why should I risk my neck for you?”
Sariandi made a grab for her regurgitated cunt, now soaked with bile, but Ashbrook pulled her back up onto her knees. He grabbed hold of the elf’s chin and gave her head a hard twist, snapping her neck. As a few spirited death twitches rolled through Sariandi, he shoved her to the ground, face splatting against her gooey, carved out snatch.
Aelrie Binelis was the next elf to be pulled before Caldwell. “You know the deal by now,” was all he offered her before he went to work carving off her breasts. The woman screamed and twisted violently within Ashbrook’s grip. When her chest had been cleared of the plaint mounds of flesh she’d always loved squeezing and flashing at young men she fancied, she stared at the bloody remains being presented to her and scrunched up her face, twisting her head away and keeping her lips sealed firmly. “Not hungry, huh?” Caldwell growled. “We’ll see about that.” He jammed the blade of his knife into the side of her neck, carving along it. Blood gushed from her severed neck, pouring over the ragged scraps of meat still clinging to her chest. Ashbrook tugged Aelrie’s head back, exposing the blood-spurting hole of the elf’s severed esophagus. Caldwell chuckled as he stuffed chunks of skin and fat down the hole, force feeding Aelrie until she finally expired.
Caldwell knew as soon as Ochilysse Luneiros was brought before him that she would fail his game. The elf had stopped screaming, stopped pleading, stopped even crying. She could only stared with wide, uncomprehending eyes at the three butchered elf carcass around her, traumatized brain locked down completely. Caldwell didn’t bother asking her if she understood the game, he just got to work. He got her screaming again when he cut off her tits, but it wasn’t enough to snap her out of her daze. She only stared blankly at the handfuls of breast meat presented to her. With a sigh, Caldwell tossed the wounds aside and cut out her cunt. More screams and a flicker of horrified revelation shot through Ochilysse’s face, but it was gone by the time he tore her sex out of her and offered it to her. Annoyed, Caldwell jammed his knife into one blank eye, and then the next, popping the ocular orbs and scooping out their deflated remains.
Pulling his erection free, Caldwell cradled the back of Ochilysse’s head and stuffed his member through one of her bloody sockets. He rammed his way into her head with hard strokes, wincing as he bashed through the thin layer of bone at the back and sank into the soft wrinkles of her brain. The damage to her frontal lobe finally inspired some degree of entertainment value out of the traumatized elf. Her arms flopped and jerked at her sides, reaching out to clutch at Caldwell’s thighs momentarily before her twitching fingers slipped away. Heavy gushes of drool sputtered from her smacking lips. She was still alive when he finally came into her skull, squirting his spunk along the bored out hole he’d made in her brain. Withdrawing his messy prick, he passed her along to Ashrbook, who was quick to plug her unfucked socket and create a new hole in her mind. Ochilysse’s convulsions grew more spastic as Ashbrook thrust into her head, dying down to intermittent twitches when he pulled free to spray his spunk across her slack, drooling face. Then he passed the nearly brain-dead elf along to the next man, Durisey. By the time Durisey was finished with her, she was clearly nothing more than a corpse, but that didn’t stop the rest of Caldwell’s men from taking a turn with her cum-leaking eye sockets.
Only Phaerille Adthyra remained. Her mind had also snapped while she’d watched her fellow elves being butchered, but in a far more entertaining way. She screamed and sobbed as Caldwell cut off her breasts, but when presented with them, she eagerly eat them, as if all the bloodshed she’d witnessed had left her ravenous. She didn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact that there was no way for Caldwell to make good on his offer to set one of them free, seeing as she was the only victim left alive. When she finished swallowing down the last of her tits, Caldwell decided to see just how far the broken elf would go. He cut out her pussy and her screams were no less intense, but he barely had the chance to offer it to her before she snatched it out of his hands and started chewing off large chunks of her sex. By the time she finished her second meal, she was pale and trembling from shock and blood loss, but still eagerly perched on her knees, waiting for her next command.
Caldwell offered Phaerille his cock and the elf had enough of her senses left to know that it wasn’t the sort of meal she was meant to chew. She sucked him with stunning enthusiasm and skill, draining his seed from his balls before turning to the next man waiting to violate her mouth. Caldwell watched her go, sucking off one man after the next, even going so far as to jam her fingers into the bloody hole where her pussy had been. When she finished providing her oral pleasures, she was pushed onto her hands and knees, where she happily reached back to pry her buttocks apart. The men – working themselves back to stiffened states – proceeded to take turns buggering the pale, mind-shattered elf, leaving her bowels clogged with their cum.
Amazed at the level of depravity Phaerille had so willingly embraced, and the fact that despite her gruesome wounds, she was still clinging to consciousness, Caldwell decided to see just how far she would go. He handed her his knife. “You still look a little hungry, my dear,” he told her with a grin. “Why don’t you see how much of yourself you can eat?”
Phaerille let out a tired, psychotic giggle and turned the knife towards herself, grunting as she plunged the blood through her belly. She carved open a wide gash and let the weapon slip away from her shaking fingers so she could dig her hands into the tangles of guts pushed free from her. She yanked them up to her mouth, chewing away pieces of intestine. Caldwell and his men watched in stunned awe as Phaerille disemboweled herself, squirting the creamy loads they’d fucked up her ass over her bloodless face and ripping open her own stomach so she could once again taste the remains of her breasts and cunt, now thoroughly soaked in stomach juices and cum. Her self-feasting slowed as the damage she’d sustained finally caught up to her. Her eyes rolled back as she dropped onto her back, dead before she hit the ground.
“And then we had a bit of fun with the leftovers,” Caldwell explained to Nimor as he showed off the cart full of butchered, thoroughly fucked elves he’d come baring.
Nimor nodded his approval and passed Caldwell a sack heavy with gold coins. He would have made a good drow… too bad he had been born merely a human. One step better than a slave… but a useful one. “Very good work. Keep it up. I’ll be very interested in hearing from you again, my ‘friend.’”
And the assassin had. It hadn’t taken long for Caldwell to become an even better elf hunter than many of his own assassins. The man had a flare for the sadistic that Nimor very much appreciated. The other men in his party came and went, but Caldwell had taken to the cause of exterminating as many elves as possible with the same zeal Nimor had. Caldwell delivered many elves to Nimor, many already dead, but when he learned off Nimor’s interests in taking a more hands-on approach to the killings, the human hunter had began to bring him elf women still breathing. More than a little raped and abused along the way, but still with more than enough life left in them for them both to enjoy themselves.
As he drew ever closer to his prey, Nimor recalled on particularly amusing prize Caldwell had brought him.
Caldwell caught up to Nimor with two companions in tow. The first was another human – Bevau. Nimor had only ever seen the man that once. The second was a scrawny young elf with a burlap sack pulled over her head. Caldwell grinned wildly at Nimor. “Oh, you’re going to love this, boss,” he said, forcing the elf onto her knees before the drow assassin. He yanked the sack off the elf’s head and Nimor took in what lay beneath. His eyes narrowed, head tilting with bafflement for a few moments, before finally erupting into heavy laughter.
Vasati Wasris glared up at Nimor, apparently more irritated at being laughed at than she was scared of what was going to happen to her. Her dirty blonde hair was cropped short and left in disheveled spikes from wearing the sack. Her dark eyes were filled with an indignant fury that had become quite uncommon in elves of late. That alone would have been enough to amuse Nimor, but it was the sloppy self-mutilation she’d performed that made the sight of her truly hilarious. In a foolish effort to blend in as a human, Vasati had taken a knife to her pointed ears, doing her best to round them out, but the lumpy scar tissue made it obvious that she was no human.
“It’s certainly the most creative act of cowardice I’ve seen yet,” Nimor admitted.
“I’m not a coward,” Vasati spat back at him, firming her jaw. “I’m a human. My mother neglected me when I was a baby. Rats got into my crib and chewed up my ears. I’m not an elf. I’ve never even seen an elf. And you’ll all be in big trouble once word spreads that you’ve started kidnapping human women to satisfy your sick bloodlust.”
Vasati’s bold claims only drew heavier laughter from Nimor and Caldwell. Bevau merely snickered, clearly nothing more than a hired hand. It was no wonder that Nimor hadn’t seen him afterwards.
Getting his laughter under control, Nimor pulled a handheld crossbow into his hand. “Thank you, Caldwell,” he said. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good laugh.” He lifted the crossbow, leaving the tip of the arrow loaded into the weapon less than an inch from Vasati’s forehead. “As for you, elf,” he growled. “It’s not a bad story, but you know what would have worked even better? Growing your hair out a bit to cover that butchery you did to your ears. Now…” He pointed a finger to the tip of the arrow. “Watch closely. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.”
Vasati said nothing. She looked past the crossbow, continuing to glare at Nimor. He waited patiently, until her eyes finally flicked to the arrow. He saw a flash of horror fill her face, struggling against her firm-jawed defiance. The flash was all he needed. He squeezed the trigger on the crossbow. With a sharp twang, the arrow launched the short distance to Vasati’s face, punching through her forehead. Her kneeling body snapped back, eyes wide with shock as she landed hard on her shoulders, aiming her crotch towards Nimor as she drained urine into her ragged pants.
Leaning over Vasati’s corpse, Nimor grabbed hold of the arrow’s shaft, pulling her back towards him. Blood flowed over her face. The childish fury she’d displayed had become a slack daze. Using the arrow as a guiding rod, he drew the dead elf’s soft lips to his erection, working her head back and forth along his member. Caldwell didn’t hesitate to move in and pull the young elf’s legs out from under her, tugging away her pants so he could climb onto her and wedge his prick up her rear. Bevau simply watched, making a point to fiddle with his semi-erect dick to try and show the other men that he shared their perverse desires. Not that Nimor or Caldwell paid any attention to him, too busy enjoying the pleasures of a fresh kill and continuing to laugh about the dumb elf’s attempt to blend in. Nimor fingered Vasati’s deformed ears as he pumped his cock deeper down her throat, forcing her to take his cum while Caldwell pulled out of her gaping asshole and painted her perky ass cheeks with his creamy spunk.
The small house lay before Nimor. If the rumors were true, the last elves on the surface world waited within. After a century, the hunt was finally coming to an end. The last he’d heard from the underdark, there weren’t many captive elves left, either. Not pure bloods anyway. The original breeders had long ago been cycled out and butchered, replaced by their half-breed daughters. The ones in the brothels hadn’t lasted much longer, used as freely and as roughly as possible. Even the more treasured privately owned elves had mostly outlived their value. The ones who hadn’t been snuffed out by their masters inevitably wound up in the brothels where they were quickly used up and disposed of. Supposedly, even Princess Elasha’s time was nearing its end. Nimor wasn’t surprised. He’d seen first hand the growing depths of her owner’s depravity towards her. The last time he’d laid eyes on the royal daughter, she’d been missing her arms and legs, forced to remain perched on a thick post jammed up her snatch when she wasn’t being passed around as a party favor for guests to enjoy.
Nimor recalled being balls deep in the princess’s ass that night, listening to Jegdrym describe in great detail the recipe he had in mind for Elasha. If he’d not already missed the grand feast the princess had been doomed to become, he suspected the invitations to the event had already been sent out. It was a shame. The recipe had sounded delicious. But he still had a task to complete. And he always felt more alive out in the world, hunting prey, than he did rubbing shoulders with elite snobs. In the last fifty years or so, he had had plenty of opportunity to learn that his hatred of the drow Matriarchs hadn’t been entirely because of how they had kept him and the rest of the males as all but slaves… because he hated most of the new drow rulers with only slightly less simmering passion.
Everyone but Irae…
Part szarkai woman partly amused him… so similar and yet so different from the rest of her sex. The other part of her terrified him. Nimor knew that he was cruel, but his cruelty had built over centuries of being beaten, deprived, hated, all while knowing that there was no chance of him every achieving any status in drow society. Irae’s cruelty seemed to come from a quiet, simmering madness that seemed impossible to satisfy, impossible to quench. Already she was talking about launching another campaign of extermination. In his heart, Nimor knew she might never be satisfied while another being lived, breathing air that was meant for her lungs.
He put the thoughts from his mind. The house was tucked away, nearly enveloped by the surrounding forest. If he’d not heard the rumors of its existence, he’d never have found it. It was clearly a place of hidden sanctuary. It reminded him of a similar domicile he’d come across several years earlier. Its discovery had been as much of a surprise to him as his unexpected presence had been to its solitary occupant.
It had been the scent of cooking stew that had lured Nimor to the home. The place looked to have been there for a long time, nestled only a few hundred yards from a dense mushroom patch. He’d approached the house with only relative caution, mouth watering at the smell of the stew. He’d been trekking through the wilderness for weeks at that point and while his food supplies were not depleted, the thought of a warm meal was a temptation he could not pass up. He froze, surprise spreading across his face, as the house’s occupant stepped out and laid eyes on him. She was an elf. Her presence was less of a surprise. Those elves that still lived on the surface had spread as thin as they could, driving ever deeper into uncharted territory to keep themselves safe. The surprise came in the total lack of fear or malice the matronly woman offered him. On the contrary, she gave Nimor a friendly smile.
“Hello, dark one,” she called. “I’ve not seen one of your kind in so very long. What brings you to the surface?”
Nimor’s mind worked fast. She was a sage of some sort, driven to becoming a hermit for some mystical reason or another. He suspected a trap only briefly before casting the notion aside. Even at a distance, he’d never had any trouble detecting falsehood in others. This woman was genuine. Her home was isolated enough that if she’d lived her for long, it was entirely possible news of her races ongoing extermination hadn’t reached her. Nimor quickly came up with an answer to her question. “Cast out,” he told her. “My own people no longer wish to have anything to do with me. And I’ve seen only further discrimination since I’ve left.”
“Well, fear not,” the sage told him. “I’m the only one out here and I’ve not been a part of elven society for more than two hundred years. I swear not to judge you if you come in peace.”
“Peace is all I have to offer,” Nimor declared, keeping the amusement he felt buried deep. It seemed this woman wasn’t nearly as skilled at detecting falsehood in others as he was. “Is that stew I smell?”
The woman nodded. “It is.” She extended a hand towards her open door. “I’d be delighted to share my supper with you. My name is Tanila Daeyra.”
Nimor approached the house, doing his best to look more like a castaway than an assassin. His mind stuttered at an introduction. The elf was clearly out of the loop, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t heard of him. He took a moment, embracing the appearance of awkward fumbling before responding to Tanila. “I shed my drow name when they drove me out of their lands,” he explained. “I go by the name Caldwell now.”
“Well met, Caldwell,” Tanila said, clearly amused by her own choice of words as she stepped aside to allow the drow into her home. “Your timing is impeccable. The stew is nearly finished. Come along and I’ll let you have a taste.”
Nimor followed Tanila into the small kitchen area, eyes scanning the interior, confirming that the woman lived alone. The place was littered with a wide assortment of herbs and tonics, stacks of ancient leather tomes with strange glyphs etched onto them. The elf lived in total isolation, no doubt whittling away her time crafting potions and communing with nature. The loose fitting slip she wore was practically transparent and she displayed no discomfort with him having a clear view of practically every inch of her most intimate regions through the fabric. He imagined her prancing about out in the woods, nude flesh glowing in the moonlight. Perhaps it was the sincerity of her spirit that allowed him to imagine the image without any form of torture or bloodshed. His mind was littered with dozens of methods to snuff the life out of the sage’s body, dozens more of all of the terrible carnal things he would gladly do with her before, during, and after her death. But for some reason, he found it difficult to shift his thoughts away from that image of her dancing, happy and oh so very naked, in the darkness. Nimor shifted the pace of his steps to conceal the sudden throbbing hardness in his pants and brutally chastised his own dull mind for even fantasizing for an instant about a potential life of solitude and joy with the wretched woman. She must have laced the air in here with some kind of aggression suppressing pollen or something, he decided, not daring to consider the fleeting fantasy could have been a genuine feeling.
“Here,” Tanila said, dipping a long wooden spoon into the bubbling pot and scooping out a portion of the stew. She pursed her lips and blew across the hot substance before directing it towards Nimor, one hand cradled beneath it to catch any drips. The drow found it all too easy to play along, amazed by the sense of calm the sage inspired in him. He leaned in and took a gentle slurp of the stew. The taste was exquisite with an earthy flavor, primarily mushroom based. It was exactly the sort of hot meal he’d been yearning for. Still, he managed to push the warm, fuzzy haze from his mind to remind himself what she was, and what he intended to do to her.
He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s very good, but I think it’s missing something.”
Tanila took a sample for herself, swished it around in her mouth before swallowing. “You’re right. A little more basil, I’d wager.” She gave her killer a smile. “You have quite the stunning palate.”
Nimor returned the smile. It came easy enough. “I don’t like to brag.”
As the sage turned to add some further spices to the stew and stirred the concoction, Nimor took the time to clear his head of the pure thoughts tugging at him. It helped to focus on Tanila’s flesh, so clearly displayed through the pale crimson shawl. It helped more to focus on how hilarious it was that she was so oblivious to his threat. Preparing to strike, Nimor couldn’t resist toying with her a little longer. “You know, I never expected an elf to show a drow such kindness.”
“I live by my own rules out here,” she explained, taking another taste test and then reaching for another jar of spice. “Personally, I see no reason to hold onto grudges spawned by the actions of ancestors long dead.”
“Still,” he pressed, cock straining against the crotch of his pants in anticipation of the evil deed he intended on committing in mere moments. It was all the more thrilling to him because she was such an obliviously innocent creature. “Even after what happened at Soleila.”
The mention of her race’s capital city did manage to draw some concern from her. “What happened at Soleila?”
“We swept through it like a plague, killing or fucking every elf we came across,” he told her, watching the panic rising through her as she realized her house guest had lied about his peaceful intentions. “You should’ve seen what we did to the queen. That bitch died about as hard as a bitch could die.” He chuckled, sliding in close behind Tanila, holding her firmly in his arms even though it was clear she was too consumed with sudden terror to try to flee. And even with her doom freely slipping a hand under her shawl to squeeze one of her breasts, it was not in her nature to fight. “That stew of yours really is delicious, by the way,” he told her, grinding the bulge of his cock against her rear. “But it really is still missing something.”
“What’s that?” she gasped, turning her head to stare up into his cruel face, tears glimmering in her eyes.
“A flavor only the chef herself can provide,” he replied.
She sniffled miserably. “Please,” she muttered, but there was no force behind the words. The offer was as plain as her offer to feed him. No pretense, no bargaining, just a pure request for mercy.
Nimor bent Tanila violently over her stove and shoved her face into the pot of bubbling stew. She found the will to fight against him then, but it was nothing more than a natural reaction to the pain. The bubbling along the surface of the stew intensified as she screamed into the thick slop. He kept her face pushed into the pot for a few moments longer before yanking her head back. Tanila gasped and wailed, her flawless skin ravaged with blisters where it wasn’t peeling away, chunks of diced mushrooms and carrots stuck to her. He gave her only a moment of reprieve before dunking her head again. He kept her pinned there a while longer before drawing her back up. Her matronly beauty had become a half-melted horror, eyes burned a pale white as she groaned pathetically, barely clinging to consciousness. Nimor leaned in to lick the layer of stew from her cheek, grinning wickedly at her. “Mmm,” he purred. “Just right.”
Tanila’s face splashed into the stew a third and final time. He kept her submerged, holding onto her and riding out her violent death spasms with her. When her lungs were full of stew and her twitching had subsided, Nimor pulled her head back again. He dragged her dead weight away from the little stove and dropped her across the nearby table, sending the bowl she’d set out skidding onto the floor and smashing to pieces. He tore the shawl from her body in a wild frenzy, tugging his pants open to release the tension there. Grabbing hold of Tanila’s meaty thigh, he hefted her leg up beside him and drove into her yielding cunt. He averted her eyes from the gruesome sight of her face and instead leaned in to wrap his lips around one of her nipples, plunging into her with the passion he’d caught only a hint of in the fleeting fantasy that had invaded his brain.
Nimor didn’t last long. He came hard into Tanila’s corpse, keeping his cock stuffed fully into her until the last of his seed had drained from his balls. Panting heavily, he let her leg drop and slid out of her. He took a few moments to catch his breath and bask in the exhilaration of his own evil. Then he left Tanila’s body where it lay and returned to the kitchen, finding another bowl to serve himself a portion of the sage’s delicious stew.
Of the many lives he’d taken over his long life, Nimor still thought of the gullible sage often. He’d committed more than his fair share of atrocities, but he’d never had a victim pave the way to her own demise so openly. Not without a fair amount of manipulation on his part ahead of time. He’d killed plenty of elves since then in a wide range of creative and devious ways. Some of them had been far more attractive than the sage. But her death was the one that his mind continued to wander back to. Standing before the door of the little hidden house, knowing what waited for him inside, Nimor was reasonably certain he would finally have the opportunity to overshadow Tanila’s murder with something even more wicked. He found himself hoping that Princess Elasha’s owner had already cooked and served her. Because, if he had, then Nimor was about to be responsible for finally eradicating all pure blooded elf life on the planet.
Taking a moment to focus himself and prepare for what was about to happen, Nimor lifted a leg and slammed his boot into the door, knocking it open with a heavy bang. He surged into the dwelling, eyes immediately fixing on the startled occupants. His lips curled upwards, teeth gleaming in the candlelight and cock shooting to rock hard attention. “Hello again, your highness.”
Princess Elincia sprang to her feet, pushing the younger elf woman behind her. She snatched up a nearby sword and took a desperate stab at the assassin. Nimor dodged the blade and flicked his own sword out to knock Elincia’s weapon away. “I expected you to have learned how to defend yourself a little better than that in all this time.”
Fear and fury played across Elincia’s face. She pushed at the younger elf. “Go, Lira,” she gasped. “Run. Don’t look back.”
Lira took a half step away from her mother, conflict stalling her movements as she looked from Elincia to Nimor and back again.
Nimor turned his attention to the princess’s daughter. “If you run,” he warned. “You’ll do so hearing the shrieks of your mother as I tear her apart. You might get enough of a head start to escape me for the next week, maybe two. But every time you close your eyes, you’ll hear your mother’s screams and you’ll have to wonder, right up until the moment I find you again and take my sweet time violating every inch of you, if there maybe was another way this could have gone. If perhaps you could have done something to prevent it all. Think about that.”
“Don’t listen to him, Lira,” Elincia snapped. “He’ll kill us both. Just, please, run!”
Lira was too torn to make a move, deciding to keep her feet planted as tears rolled down her cheeks. Elincia made a dash across the room, going for another sword leaning against the far wall. Nimor beat her to it, kicking the blade away and slashing out at her, opening a deep gouge across the back of her hand. He lifted his sword and put the tip against the princess’s chin, forcing her to remain still. He glanced to Lira and saw the girl was still frozen in place. “Sit,” he commanded, aiming a finger at a nearby chair. The girl scurried over and sat, staring at him desperately.
“Please, just don’t hurt my mother,” she whimpered.
Nimor ignored her for the moment, glaring at Elincia. “And you, wayward princess, better behave unless you want to see just how many pieces I can cut your child into.” Keeping the sword at her chin, he directed her into another chair. “Now that we’re finished with the theatrics, perhaps we can have a civilized conversation?”
“What do you know about being civilized, monster?” Elincia growled back at him.
“Monster?” Nimor repeated, frowning. “Yes, I suppose I have been that, haven’t I? Do you know how many elves I’ve killed? How many I’ve raped?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Because I don’t. I lost track of it years ago.” He dragged over a third chair for himself and sat down, keeping his sword at the ready in case either of the elves tried anything. “And if I’m being perfectly honest… I’m sick of it.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? Here I am, right at the end of it, and I honestly can’t even stomach the thought of killing you. It’s all become just so… repetitive.”
Elincia sneered unsympathetically at him. “I’m so sorry killing us has made you weary.”
“I don’t blame you for holding a grudge about it,” Nimor said. “It’s perfectly understandable. But don’t you see? It’s over. You’re the last two left. There’s no more elven men left in the world. We’ve already succeeded in eradicating your kind. I could just leave you here to live out your lives and it would be the same as if I killed you now. The only real difference is that I’d get to have a bit of fun with you before you died. And I’m sitting here telling you I’ve had enough of it. Are you so ensnared by your hatred of me to see the opportunity that presents us?”
Nimor saw the flicker of hope spark in Elincia’s eyes. Oh, you stupid cunt, he thought. “What… what do you propose? It’s not as if we can pay you to spare us.”
“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Nimor told her. “You may not have riches, but you do possess something that I’ve never had the fortune of experiencing.”
The foulness crept back into Elincia’s face. “I don’t think I can give you a conscience.”
Nimor laughed. “No. But you could prove to me that, were I to let you live, you’d keep doing what you’ve been doing. Living out here, all alone, not bothering anyone, not planning some futile revenge scheme. You need to prove to me that you can let your hatred for me – for my kind – go. I return to the underdark and tell them I’ve killed you. You get to live out whatever years you have left and at least give the elven race a dignified ending. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
“Just tell me what you want,” the princess groaned.
“Nothing much,” he shrugged. “All I ask is that you crawl to me. And suck my cock.”
“I thought you said you’d lost your taste for raping and killing our kind?”
“I have. I have no intention of forcing you to do this. I want you to willingly do this for me. If you can supplicate yourself before me and perform this one little act, I’ll know you can contain your hatred for the drow. And then I can leave you here, satisfied that – one way or another – my job is done.”
Elincia sat in silence, glaring over at Nimor. But he could tell she was considering his offer. He held back the grin, the laughter, the delight that this most wicked of tricks looked to actually be working. It was Lira who finally broke the tension.
“Mother, please,” she begged. “If you won’t do it, let me.”
“No,” Elincia snapped, shifting her glare to her daughter, her mind made up. She looked back to Nimor and nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Nimor let a version of the grin hiding within him spill free. He leaned back in his seat and loosened his pants, withdrawing his erection for her to see. “Then crawl over here and let’s make a deal.”
Elincia slid off the seat and onto the floor, humiliation washing over her as she crawled to Nimor. She didn’t trust him, didn’t believe he would hold up his side of the bargain, but she had to try. It had been so long since the fall of Soleila. And there was some truth to what he’d said, at least in regards to it not mattering when or how they died. She could only desperately hoped that he was being genuine. Not for her own sake, but for Lira. She hated that her daughter would have to watch her doing something so vile, but she knew Nimor wouldn’t allow her to send the girl even into another room. The short distance to where the man sat seemed to take forever and yet not nearly long enough. Her stomach fluttered with unease as she fixed her eyes on the firm, obsidian flesh of his dick. She stared at it, trying to imagine all of the women he’d forced it into over the years. All of the elves who had died for its pleasure. To take such a man into her mouth willingly filled her with a burning hatred, but for her daughter, she managed to swallow the hate down. Lifting herself up onto her knees, she leaned over Nimor’s crotch and parted her lips over the throbbing head of his erection.
She tasted his sweat as she moved her lips down his length, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. Her jaw strained as she took him deeper, struggling against her gag reflex as his cockhead pushed down the back of her throat. Her instinct was to bite down, chew off the assassin’s dick even if it meant a painful death for herself and her daughter. At least then she could die knowing that he would never be able to use his cock on another elf ever again. But she couldn’t even see the point in that, anymore. The only two elves left were in the room. And she owed it to Lira to at least try and win their lives. But just because she wasn’t biting down didn’t mean she had any intention of making the blowjob anything special. She kept her tongue in check and bobbed her head into his lap with a steady, listless rhythm.
Nimor let the princess go on with her lackluster blowjob, enjoying the sight of her lips willingly wrapped around his shaft as well as Lira’s embarrassed staring. When it became clear that Elincia needed some further encouragement, he gave a tug on her hair and frowned down at her upturned face. “If this is the best you can do, I’m afraid you’re not going to convince me,” he told her. Chuckling as her eyes filled with anger, he released his hold and enjoyed the more vigorous bobbing of her head, the tightening of her lips around his shaft as she began to properly suck him off. “That’s a good girl.”
Nimor let the disgraced princess continue to humiliate herself for a little while longer before he could no longer resist the temptation to spring his trap on the woman. His hands dropped over the back of Elincia’s head and pushed down hard, shoving her face into his crotch and burying the full length of his shaft down her throat. She gagged hard around him, hot drool gushing from her stretched lips. Her hands shot up, pawing and punching at Nimor’s chest as he held her in place, clearly panicking as she struggled to breathe around his girth. Lira jumped up from her seat, tears already gushing down her cheeks.
“You promised!” she whined.
Nimor chuckled cruelly and maintained his hold on Elincia’s head. “I did. And if she can survive long enough for me to finish, I’ll keep my word. But unless you want me to rescind my offer now, you’ll sit back down.” Lira stared urgently at her mother, but obeyed. Nimor smirked. “Very good. And why don’t you take off your top, as well? The sight of your pretty young breasts will no doubt help me achieve my release much quicker.” Sniffling, Lira obeyed, even as Elincia waved her arms back at her daughter, desperately signaling her to ignore the assassin’s command, doing whatever she could to urge her daughter to flee. Her fears had been well-founded, and she was certain, whether he came in ten minutes or ten seconds, he would not let either of them live.
Lira didn’t have much hope for a happy ending, but she was eager to do anything she could to save her mother. She removed her top, as instructed, and even reached up to cup her modest breasts, jiggling them in her hands for the assassin’s amusement. He nodded his approval, but did not relax his hold on Elincia’s head. Lira’s sobs grew in strength as she listened to her mother’s gagging intensify. “Please, don’t kill her,” she blubbered. “She’s all I have.”
Not for long, Nimor thought, openly staring at Lira’s naked flesh. She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. He could see the familial resemblance to Elincia, but there were other things about her that stood out. Her skin wasn’t quite as pale, a certain jagged harshness in her nose, a kind of arch to her eyebrows. Her hair, platinum blonde, was just a little too pale. He pondered on the likenesses she’d no doubt inherited from her father. It was tough to properly gauge an elf’s age just by looking at them, but he was reasonably certain he knew exactly how old she was. It was enough to get him to pull Elincia’s head off of his drool-soaked cock so he could look into her eyes.
“She doesn’t know does she?” he whispered to her, low enough that Lira – too busy sobbing – didn’t even catch the words.
The spark of fresh horror in the princess’s eyes was the only answer he needed. “P-please,” she groaned. “Don’t tell – “
Nimor shoved Elincia’s face back down, sheathing down her throat once more. Being the bearer of a vicious secret tickled him, almost as much as the urgent clenching of the princess’s throat around his dick. She’d not had long to regain her breath and already it was growing stale in her starved lungs. “I don’t think she can last much longer,” he called to Lira. “You’d better finish taking off your clothes and start playing with yourself. I’ve never been able to last long when I’m staring into the dripping wet sex of a beautiful woman.”
With her mother’s struggles becoming sloppy and disjointed, Lira hastily cast off the remainder of her clothing. She spread her legs wide, bending her knees so she could rest the soles of her feet against the edge of the chair. She moved her hand down to her sex, curling through the silky pubic hair that was really more white than blonde. She shoved her fingers into her folds, masturbating awkwardly to the site of her mother choking to death on a drow cock. Nimor nodded his approval and even allowed his breath to quicken, as if he was drawing close to release. But the truth was, after a century of practice at precisely this type of task, the assassin had a masterful control over his own body. He would cum when he wanted to and not a moment sooner. He watched the unwanted pleasure working its way through Lira’s miserable face as he felt Elincia’s struggles fading.
Lira’s fingers slid free from her wet sex when she saw her mother’s arms drop to her sides and the tension drained from her muscles. “Please! Let her up! She’s dying!”
Nimor ignored the girl, enjoying the soft pulse of Elincia’s clenching throat around him as her bloodshot eyes grew vacant, staring at his belly. “Don’t be a fool,” he grunted, finally unleashing the heavy spurts of his jizz down the princess’s gullet. The climax was massive and exquisite, made all the more intense because it marked the passing of the last true elf in the world. He jerked his hips up, fucking the last of his cum into Elincia before he finally pried her locked throat off of his spent member. He twisted her head around for Lira to see her mother’s slack, jizz-drooling face. “She’s not dying. She’s dead.”
Nimor shoved Elincia’s corpse to the floor, rising to his feet as Lira unleashed a distraught wail, surging off of her chair and rushing to her mother’s side. She shook Elincia, begging her to come back, as the assassin paced around her, admiring her grief from every angle he could. When he’d admired her long enough that his cock had regained its stiffness, he pulled the grieving young woman away. “Can’t you see your mother’s dead tired?” he growled, tugging the girl deeper into the house. “You should really let her rest. But don’t worry, while she’s getting her beauty sleep, you can keep me company.” He found what he assumed as Lira’s bedroom and pulled her inside, throwing her onto the bed.
Lira had no fight in her. She lay on the bed, clutching at her pillows and sobbing into them as Nimor casually stripped off his clothing. He slid into the bed and pinned the girl down, letting her go on crying as he moved a hand down between her thighs to pick up where she’d left off. “Tell me,” he purred, nibbling on the sharp tip of one of her ears. “Did your mother ever tell you anything about your father?”
Lira was too consumed with her misery to answer. Nimor’s face hardened. He snared the girl’s clitoris between his fingers and gave it a hard pinch, enough to draw a scream from her and cut through her haze of grief and terror. “He did before I was born,” she yelped. “He died fighting your kind at Soleila.”
Nimor chuckled and slid his fingers back into her hot hole, amazed at how tight she was. “Is that what she told you?” He curled his fingers inside her, seeing the pleasure he was forcing into her panted on her face. “Well, your father may have died in Soleila. There were losses. But, I can assure you, he did not die fighting the drow.”
“He was a proud warrior!” she screamed.
Nimor smiled. “I don’t disagree. But he wasn’t defending that doomed town. He was plundering it. Do you know just how many drow cocks were inside your mother that day? How many of them left their seed buried deep inside her? Any one of them could be your father.” He let out a laugh. “Hell, I might be your father. I’m not surprised she lied about it. And I suspect the only other elf you’ve ever seen in your life was your mother. Not enough to really notice all the ways you looked different than she did. The truth is, the last surface elf died with her lips wrapped around my cock. You’re nothing more than her half-breed slut.”
Lira was a sobbing mess, screaming out blind denials at him. Not that he cared. He knew the truth. Elincia had even confirmed it for him, even if she’d not wanted to. Still, even if the girl was nothing special in regards to the purity of her heritage, she was still very special in being the last living elf on the surface. And that demanded Nimor’s fullest attention. Because once she was gone, he would never have another chance to hunt an elf down. Besides, he needed someone to celebrate the extrinction of the elven race with.
Moving over her, Nimor forced Lira’s thighs open. He angled his cock down to her slick pussy, pressing firmly into her. He took her slowly at first, knowing he was her first with as much certainty as he knew she was half-drow. He maintained the slow penetration even as he pierced her hymen, sinking fully into her and leaving his erection buried inside her, giving her time to really bask in the feeling. Then he drew back and gave her a proper thrust, hard and painful. He ravaged her with a kind of animalistic passion he’d not felt since he’d snuffed the sage, decades ago. He reached around to grip her ass, burying his face against her chest to suck and chew on her thick nipples. He held nothing back, making her first fuck as memorable as he could, despite the fact that she would not have much longer to remember it.
Nimor’s lust for Lira only grew stronger. The fact that she marked the end of his long quest, that her death would mean his victory, that he’d managed to trick Elincia into delivering herself to him, even the possibility that it could have possibly been the cum he’d fucked into Elincia so many years ago that had taken hold and grown in her womb becoming the half-breed he was pounding into now. All of it swirled within him, fueling his desire and his sadistic glee. He finally pulled free from Lira’s throbbing sex, rolling the sobbing young woman over so he could start to work his way up her even tighter back door. Her sphincter was clenched tight, resiting him even in her all-consuming despair. But Lira was far from the first reluctant anal lover he’d taken. And while she had youth and misery to strengthen her efforts, Nimor had the vigor of a drow largely responsible for the genocide of an entire race behind him. He pressed against her asshole with firm force, showing the young woman no mercy as he slowly broke the tight ring of muscle around his girth.
Yanking back on Lira’s hair, Nimor leaned around her to bite at her neck as he humped roughly up her ass. The gripping tightness of her rear coaxed him towards another climax. He drove into her as long as he could before he struggled to maintain control over his release. Drawing free from her gaping asshole, he rolled Lira back over. He scrambled up the bed, dropping onto her chest and pulling her head towards his cock. She tried to twist her face away from him, but he was quick to grab her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open and stuffing his filthy dick through her lips. The panicked flopping of her tongue against the bottom of his cockhead was the last stimulation he needed. He came hard into her mouth, watching her cheeks balloon outward as revulsion filled her face. Creamy spunk squirted from her stretched loops, leaking down her chin and streaking back down the length of his pulsing member.
After two satisfying orgasms, Nimor needed some time to recover his stamina. Not that he had any intention of relenting in his torment of Lira. He slid down her body, pulling her legs open and dropping his mouth over her sex. His tongue dove through her folds, exploring every inch of her cunt and wiggling against the small bud of her clit. Lira’s sobbing intensified as she writhed beneath him, her young flesh too inexperienced with pleasure to know how to control or resist it. He made her cum with ease and continued to tease her with his mouth, lapping up her sweet juices and coaxing more from her. The girl became a shuddering, sniffling mess by the time he’d had his fill of her honey. His dick was hard again and eager to re-explore her various orifices, starting with her mouth. Unsurprisingly, Nimor found that her meager oral talents were spawned only from her resistance to him. But even that was enough to satisfy him.
Treating Lira like the one-of-a-kind commodity she’d become, Nimor spent the better part of a day using her again and again. He resisted the urge to start using his dagger on her. Her flesh was too precious to carelessly carve up. More than that, the assassin had every intention of playing one last trick on the girl before she inevitably died. But only after he’d finally had his fill of her, and only after she’d been sufficiently softened into an easily manipulated plaything. The sun was just starting to rise the following morning when Nimor decided the half-breed’s time had come.
Leaving Lira in a half-conscious heap on her badly stained sheets, the assassin moved back into the living area. Elincia’s corpse still lay slumped in the middle of the room, a few flies buzzing and crawling across her cold flesh. He left the dead princess alone, finding himself a length of rope and working it into a noose. Mounting the noose from the ceiling, he dragged one of the chairs under it. Returning to the bedroom, he slapped Lira awake and pulled her to her feet. “I’m afraid I have to be leaving soon,” he told her as he tugged her out of the bedroom. “But before I go, I wanted to give you an opportunity.” He directed her attention to Elincia’s corpse. “Maybe you can succeed where she failed.”
Fresh tears stung Lira’s eyes as she looked at her mother’s lifeless husk. Fearful tremors worked their way through her muscles as Nimor forced her up onto the chair. He pulled the noose over her head and tightened it around her throat. “I’m going to pull this chair out from under you in a minute,” he explained. “Since I don’t have much time, you’ll have to work fast to figure out a way to get me off. If you do, I’ll show you mercy. That sounds like a fun game, right?”
Nimor yanked the chair away, letting Lira drop a short distance before the rope drew tight. Her mouth shot open, eyes bulging, as the noose bit into her throat. There was the immediate panic, of course, and Nimor was careful to stay out of the way of her wild kicking, waiting for her to settle down a little before dropping into the chair and scooting under her. Her dangling feet dragged across his rising erection, showing her the method she would need to employ if she wanted to try to survive. Even after seeing how he’d fooled Elincia, Lira took the opportunity. She cradled his cock with the soles of her feet, curling her toes against him as her legs worked up and down. Occasionally, spikes of pain and panic would stir into spastic jerking that only further stimulated the assassin. He leaned back and watched the young woman’s buttocks clench and release, the sweat pouring out of her, the jiggling of her tits. He listened to her urgent wheezing and wet gurgling as her face shifted from a bright shade of red towards a darker purple.
Lira’s bloated tongue hung obscenely from her mouth, leaking saliva over her jerking breasts. Her feet kept on working him over as best she could. Nimor didn’t bother controlling his lust. He ground upwards, helping the girl to please him. With a satisfied groan, he came over her twitching feet. As his cock drifted towards softness, he slouched in the seat and enjoyed the afterglow of his release and the oncoming end of the final surface elf. She was drifting ever closer to oblivion, but still fighting against it. Her body rotated at the end of the noose, allowing her to fix her bulging eyes on him, begging him to make good on his end of the deal.
“Alright,” he relented, rising from the chair. “You completed your task. I’ll show you some mercy.”
Grabbing a broom from a nearby corner, he stepped up behind Lira, guiding the blunt end of the handle between her rippling ass cheeks. The shaft of the broomstick was thinner than his cock, making it easy for him to wedge the end of it up her rear. “This should finish you off a little faster,” he told her as he pushed the broomstick further into her ass. He tightened his grip on the broom and rammed it upwards hard. Lira managed a half-choked scream, face constricting with fresh agony. Blood leaked from her stretched asshole down the remaining length of the broom. Gritting his teeth, Nimor kept shoving the stick deeper through her body, not stopping until he saw the bloody end of it pushing free from the half-elf’s sputtering lips. Lira twisted and jerked at the end of the rope for a few moments longer before finally succumbing to the combination of asphyxiation and impalement.
Nimor frowned. “I wonder if she thought I actually meant I’d let her live,” he remarked to no one in particular before letting out a laugh and strolling back into the bedroom to get dressed.
On his way out, Nimor kicked Elincia onto her back and carved through her throat. Irae would no doubt wish to perform her necromancy on the long lost princess… one last trophy for the szarkai. He left Lira dangling on the rope. Simply being the last elf to die didn’t make her particularly special. In the grand scheme of things, she was nothing more than a half-breed slut. There were still plenty more just like her back in Menzoberranzan. The bitch could rot alongside her headless mother.
Stepping out of the little house, Nimor started his long journey back to the underdark, basking in the glory of the terrible quest he’d completed and the regret that the experience was – at long last – over. The elves were gone. Before long, even their surviving offspring in the underdark would eventually either be dead or their bloodlines so diluted that they’d be more drow than elf. This last kill marked an ending… but probably also a new beginning… the assassin had little doubt that unleash Menzoberranzan upon someone else soon, paving her way eternally towards total supremacy.
Nimor wasn’t sure if he should be excited or terrified… but he expected he’d find out soon. After all, there were still plenty of other races in the world with fuckable flesh.