“I know,” she agreed softly, hating herself as much as he hated her, and hating him barely any less. “I doomed them all… by being weak.”
“Do you regret it?” he asked her. “Do you regret killing them? Do you regret sparing me?”
“Yes…” Syllia growled. “The only kill I regret is the one I failed. I should have left you to rot with your family.”
He stared at her, and he felt his throat tighten, constricted like he was now the one being choked at the hatred in her voice. “Whore,” he growled. “I will have my vengeance on you. My family’s vengeance. You and all your followers will pay for your crimes.”
Syllia glared back up at him. “Just as one day, humanity with pay for theirs!”
Andrew was silent for several minutes, kneeling over her. The screams were stopped one by one, and he heard his comrades shouting out directions to one another as they tracked down the last few rebellious slaves.
These elves’ owners were all dead, and they had proved themselves dangerous. Few would be willing to take them in without some greater insurance. Those who had fought would lose their hands. Those who had bred would lose their children. The males would be castrated as punishment or butchered and flung to the hounds. The elves were already slowly dying out, and their extinction would be much hastened by the retributions to come. Many would not be satisfied with simply returning the rebels to slavery. Many would demand blood for blood, life for life.
Syllia had gambled on the fate of her race, and she had lost. He was not sorry for them. The elves had made it clear they would show no mercy if they triumphed. But there was still something somehow sad about it…
He shook his head. “I have nothing to pay for.”
The last screams stopped. Andrew muttered the Oathword he had wrenched from Syllia, ending the torment now that the last of the escaped slaves had been plainly subdued. There was a sudden stillness outside the tent, and a great sigh seemed to go up over the camp.
It was over. Finally, decisively, it was over.
Syllia blinked away her own tears, breathing shakily, trembling beneath the man who had beaten her.
Rising, Andrew grabbed onto Syllia’s hair and dragged the elf out of the tent, out into the middle of Inquisitorial army as they finished subduing the writhing elves. There had been no grand battle, no triumph, no carnage. The Inquisition’s soldiers had not needed to lift a weapon to defeat every single elf in the army… Syllia had done it all for them with a broken word.
The head of the Inquisition, the dark haired Elira, sat on a chair in the clearing like a queen holding court. The wooden edifice served as a makeshift throne as the defeated remnants of the army were brought before her, including all of Syllia’s surviving priests and her guards and generals. With their oathwords released they were only subdued by ropes and gags now, and the hundreds of weapons ready to slaughter them.
“A hundred and twenty thousand men, women, and children,” declared Elira as her elf captives were gathered before her. “Best that my Inquisition can tell, your pitiful rebellion has killed that many humans in the years since it began. Innocent families, slaughtered in your insane crusade to free their slaves. Women and children dead in their beds, all so your filthy race could pretend to play soldier.” She looked at all the bound soldiers… and then over at Syllia. You,” she said, approaching the still naked dark elf dripping Andrew’s cum with a rune collar that would suppress her magic. Beaten and so helpless, Syllia couldn’t conjure so much as a cantrip. “Your punishment shall be worst of all. The only reason I didn’t butcher them all as they lay there is that you wouldn’t have gotten to see it. You will have to watch as I wipe your wretched race from the face of the world.”
With a nod of her head, the remaining elven soldiers were thrown to the ground, dozens of humans grabbing and pawing at them as the girls screamed while being stripped down to their skin. Every elf found in armor, every elf with a weapon was fair game for the soldiers… those pregnant with elves or unarmed with the men were left bound to become slaves once again. The rest… their lives were forfeit.
The nightmare went on for over an hour, and Syllia had to watch the whole thing and know that if she was stronger she could have stopped it. A young, black-skinned archer had her throat and stomach cut open, cocks forced into her belly and neck and eyeballs. One mage used a spell to saw holes in elven skulls, allowing four humans to plunge their cocks into their brains at once, an assembly line of gore and death as elf after elf found themselves skullfucked. A makeshift gallows was erected that allowed a dozen girls to hang at once as humans violated both their lower holes while they swung, stay alive exactly as long as they continued to be enticing enough to fuck. One by one, over a hundred elves were flung brutally onto a tree stump, raped in her mouth and arse as she watched the ones who had come before them having their corpses violated as rape sleeves, thrusting viciously into their beautiful severed heads and bloody windpipes before they themselves had their heads thumped off by the axe and were sent to the join them.
Syllia’s priestesses and generals remained unharmed but restrained, their heads held upwards, forced to witness as the last free elves in the world were brutally raped, tortured, and their cum-soaked bodies cast aside. Syllia herself was bound on Elira’s lap as the Inquisitor bounced her on her conjured cock while she alternated between urging her troops onto greater and great acts of violence and brutality and whispering into the dark-elf’s ear. “Look at them, knife-ear. Look at the last of your people as they are slaughtered. This is for my mother. This is for Joseph. Do you even remember them?” She hissed, pointing. “Do you see that one? The one with two of my inquisitors rape her ears like they were cunts cumming in her worthless skull? That may yet be your fate, you little rape whore; I have not yet decided which punishment awaits you. See your people used as meat and thrown aside, their filthy holes filled with superior human cum… I can’t wait to feel your hot guts around my cock as I rape your traitorous little body to death…”
Syllia watched, tears in her eyes and horror in her heart as her personal guards were raped, begging for mercy as they had holes cut into their limbs and skulls and breasts for cocks to be shoved into until they expired, choking on human semen or bleeding out into the grass. She remembered Elira… remembered the kind girl that had once refused to hurt her. No more. Elira, her organ magically enhanced, came deep inside Syllia multiple times, switching from hole to hole after each ejaculation, holding the elf’s body close to her as she made her endure the annihilation of her people.
And the worst part wasn’t even all the death and carnage… it was how Andrew stood there, watching it all with tears in his eyes… as if he hadn’t just gotten his heart’s desire.
A pack of sorceresses summoned shadow hounds to rape and eat a group of elves, taking it upon themselves to brutalize what remained of the corpses once the beasts had ripped them to shreds. One of the other high ranking Inquisitors had taken twelve girls for him, impaling them on stakes and raping each of them in both eyeballs without cumming – a few strokes in each hole as she left them brain dead before moving onto the next untouched hole. Finally, he cut the head from the last girl and fucked her neck stump until his cock protruded grotesquely from between her lips, cum spilling down into her nose and eyes as she died.
Finally the screams died down, the final elf bodies thrown onto bonfires or reduced to sobbing, begging, cum-covered messes before a sword struck them in their skulls, and Syllia was finally allowed to close her eyes. Her fault. All her fault.
The parade into the human capital had been more soul-crushing than Syllia had anticipated.
Watching thousands of humans gather in the streets where no elf had walked in generation save for as a slave, jeering, throwing flowers at the victorious Elira and praising her as a worthy empress – while behind them, the Inquisitors paraded hundreds of elven corpses, mutilated and dismembered – Syllia could not bear to look at it now, but she had been forced to watch while they prepared it. A parade display of hundreds of her comrade’s heads on spikes surrounding a forest of crosses as they crucified the bodies of the dead – as well as one or two live ones they had saved for this occasion.
Her Sacred Sisters had been bound in chains and made to walk behind the displays of corpses, where they were beaten in the streets with sticks and boots and whatever else the angry crowd wanted. The Inquisitorial guards interfered exactly enough to keep them alive and not a ounce more, letting them be dragged to the palace steps. Syllia herself had the place of honor in front of the crowd; chained spread eagle to an X, a rune collar around her neck binding her magic with a chain leading to Elira’s hand as she was magically levitated in front of the Inquisitor’s horse at the head of the grim parade. She could barely feel the objects thrown at her, barely hear the crowd as she wept, unable to stop her soul from feeling the utter humiliation and destruction that had been forced upon their people. Her people. She had failed them so completely…
“Answer me, whelp,” snapped Elira as her whip cracked Syllia across her face. It was hours later – days later – years later. She had no idea. All she knew was that she had been strung upside down in the Inquistor’s personal torture chamber. The two of them weren’t alone. As always the whole time they had been down here, two tiny elven girls, twins, knelt before the Inquisitor and serviced her while the dark haired woman interrogated Syllia. “How did you learn magic?”
“I told you!” Syllia replied, more to keep from screaming than anything else. “I taught myself, over years.”
“Liar.” Elira nodded to the only other man in the room, and his whip ripped Syllia’s lips open, pouring blood unto the floor. “Your answer is preposterous. No idiot elf could learn in such a way. You expect me to really believe no one helped you? Tell me who, elf whore!”
It was pointless… she wasn’t going to believe the truth. To distract herself, Syllia turned her gaze to the whip-holding Andrew… the boy she had let live. She remembered the tiny thing, crouching over his mother, watching as his family died at her hand. How she wished she could go back now… go back and kill him. Go back before then and not rebel, just die alone in that mansion. Go back further and never learn magic. Go back further still and never awaken from her slumber of submission. But it was too late. You could never go back. Her mistake. Andrew’s next whip stroke landed on Syllia’s cunt and she screamed in agony. Her mistake. She should have slaughtered the boy. She should have never forgotten her place. Her entire race was doomed because of her. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
“Harder, brother,” Elira moaned as she grabbed one of the twins she was face-fucking and began to thrust harder between the girl’s lips, even as she forced her twin sister to stick her tongue further up her asshole. “There is no delight like hearing elves scream…”
As the Inquisitor painted her slutslave’s tonsils with her cum, Andrew unleashed a flurry of strikes onto Syllia’s body. The dark elf had been enchanted to immediately and constantly repair any damage they did to her, so when the queen, panting from her orgasm, commanded that she be impaled for her insolence and “lies,” the dozens of spikes shoved through her torso did nothing more than make her scream for mercy before they were removed and her organs and bones and skin and blood magically repaired themselves.
Thus Syllia was tortured. There was no answer she could possibly give that would satisfy the woman, and she knew it, so it just… continued. Her suffering went on for longer than she could count. She tried, oh how she tried, to count. The number of times they stabbed her, shot her, burned her, raped her. Elira’s magical cock thrusting into her cunt or her intestines or her brain. Her owner’s dick inside her as well. It was never enough. Elira always pushing Andrew harder, to hurt her more, to make her suffer more… but instead of growing satisfied as she watched Syllia suffer she just seemed to grow angrier and angrier. She got to experience some of the humans new weapons up close as Elira sought answers to questions she wouldn’t ever want to know the real answers to – an evil rotating weapon that fired dozens of flesh-tearing barbs, a long cylinder that exploded and launched a metal ball that tore Syllia’s body in half, a crystalline sphere of pure magic that elira slid down Syllia’s throat that made her burn for an hour, slowly cooking all of her from the inside as it traveled through her system before Elira resuscitated her with a wave of her hand.
Dimly, Syllia was aware that Elira was butchering the two girls she had brought into the dungeon with her – gutting them with a small silver knife, slicing parts of them off for her to chew and eat while she watched Andrew work on Syllia, bathing in their blood. She wasn’t sure if she remembered it or had imagined it, but she thought one of the twin girls had been tearfully coerced into driving the knife through her screaming sister’s throat and working the blade around before presenting her sister’s head for the queen to fuck, thrusting her gargantuan cock through the girl’s lips via her neck while the surviving sister took the queen’s angry red organ into her mouth. the queen came once down her throat before grabbing the girl’s beautiful blond hair and maneuvering her head lower to plunge her shaft into the girl’s eyeball, making her squeal with agony and struggle fruitlessly against her dead sister’s lips while the murderous Inquisitor worked her unnaturally long and hard cock into the living twin’s brain until she no longer was.
Finally, there was a pause in the agony as Elira grew tired. The two slave twins, their dismembered bodies now displayed from the walls, stared at Syllia with hollow eye sockets as the queen stood up, stretching, chewing and swallowing. “Hold,” she said to Andrew, who had been tirelessly torturing Syllia for days on end. Her owner stood back, the brand still white-hot in her hands.
“Can you still hear me, elf?” Elira asked, grabbing Syllia’s hair as she swung upside down. “I give you one final chance… submit. Swear fealty to me before all my subjects, and I will spare what few elves remain. Will you swallow your pride and save your pitiful life? Will you kneel before your rightful masters?”
Syllia was tempted. she was so, so, so tempted. The past few days had nearly broken her. she couldn’t even keep it together long enough to count her breaths, count how many fingers she had left… everything was a swirling miasma of grief and death and pain. Only one thing kept coming back to her mind; that this was her fault.
She hated the humans… but she hated herself more.
Syllia shook her head. “Never,” she rasped. “I will never be a slave again.” At least she could die with some tiny dignity.
Elira’s eyes narrowed, fury showing on her face. She was… frustrated. Syllia could see that. She still, even after all of this, hadn’t gotten what she wanted. “So be it then,” she hissed, nodding to Andrew.
The three of them emerged out into the square in front of the Inquisitorial palace. Elira wore silks in royal colors, proclaiming herself Empress and daring anyone, especially the feeble and ineffective Emperor, to gainsay her right. Syllia, for her part, collapsed onto the wooden platform. It was a stage, she saw… dozens of her Sacred Sisters waited here for her along with her generals that had been spared until now. Illiyre, her chief strategist, was currently being crucified, her screams echoing under the jeers of the crowd as cum dripped down her legs and breasts; to her left, Loia and Parness were already dead, the former’s corpse being devoured by dogs while the latter lay in pieces, having been pulled into quarters by magic before being sliced to ribbons.
“Please forgive me,” Syllia wept as she felt Andrew slide a noose around her neck. “All of you, please forgive me…” She begged and cried, but none of them could hear as the humans shouted and swore and whooped as they watched the hated elf rebels die.
“Do you repent?!” screamed one of the executrixes, a woman wearing a half-hood with her breasts exposed to the audience as she threw oil into Kysandra’s face.
“Never!” the hot-headed elf, Syllia’s warmaster, screamed. “Burn me! I welcome your ire!” she spat. “I’ll be waiting for you all in hell!”
“Do it,” said Elira, making her way down to the audience. With a shock, Syllia realized that all the humans sitting in the front paddock were wearing the finest silks, gilded armor… past the Emperor in purple, and the minister of war who had once promised in a fiery speech to crush her rebellion – as she roved her eyes down the line she realized that all the kings, queens, viziers, viceroyals, ministresses, and heads of state of every human nation in the entire Empire was gathered here to watch their rebellion be destroyed. Many of them were being sexually serviced by young human courtesans, or – Syllia watched, tears in her eyes, a few elven slave girls, slaves being raped and tortured as they were forced to watch their sistren be murdered before their dies, watch the final death of hope for their race…
The executrix smiled as she threw the torch onto the oiled Kysandra, her furious shouts turning into screams of unbearable intensity as her entire body lit on fire. The wood at her feet caught and soon Syllia had to turn her head from the blaze as Kysandra begged them to kill her. It took her five minutes to die… and it took Syllia half that long to realize that Elira’s healing magic was keeping her alive as she roasted like a pig, letting her survive until her body fell apart in the flames until finally she was a charred skeleton; several of the human leaders orgasmed at the same time, fucking their chosen receptacles as they grunted like beasts.
“Lord Andrew!” Elira shouted as she sat on an elf’s face, almost snapping the poor thing’s neck against her throne as she ground her ass down onto her nose. “Let the show begin! Avenge our house, and let none ever again question the fate the awaits rebels slaves!”
Andrew turned to Syllia, currently suspended a half inch from the platform, just enough for her feet to keep her weight on the wood. Their eyes met, Andrew’s grey eyes cold as ice as he spoke her Oathword for the last time.
The crowd screamed their approval as Syllia danced and screamed for their pleasure, her neck digging hard into the noose as her body writhed, wracked with pain, her breath ragged as the rope stole her air… she was going to die. she was going to die…
Andrew raised his leather-bound arms to the crowd who roared with delight at the entertainment they were being delivered. “People of the north!” he cried. “I give to you the leader of the Elven Rebellion!”
Screams and jeers as Syllia strangled, feeling the burn of the oathword’s magic in every part of her body. “This whore,” he snarled, drawing out the word to the laughter of the crowd, “Slaughtered my family… the niece of the Empress and the High Price of the Mage Council, in their own beds. She put down every member of my household staff, everyone who ever cared for me or loved me, like insects beneath her magic.”
Horrible booing filled the air. Syllia wished they would get on with it… wished that the Oathmark would blot out the hate-filled words. “You know the rest! Years of terror! Living in fear that at any moment an elven death squad would enter your home! Slaughter your servants and rape your children! Whispers of an army gathering strength! Well no more!” Andrew screamed, his fist raised in victory as the entire crowd made the same motion. Syllia saw in the sea of people elven slaves, chains around their necks, their fists still resolutely at their sides as they stared at her with tears in their eyes. ‘My people… no…’
“We have crushed their rebellion into dust!” Andrew screamed to rapturous cheering and applause. “Their leaders lay dead before you! And by your majesty’s leave…” he bowed to Elira, “I now take my revenge upon those responsible for this. I will end this… today!” With the final word, Andrew drove his steel-clad fist into Syllia’s cunt, sending her a foot into the air with the force of the blow, before she dropped and nearly broke her neck on the rope. The dark elf gasped for air while Andrew raised his sword.
Syllia sobbed as Andrew drove the sword into her belly, impaling her on the steel. Elira’s healing magic no longer held onto her… she was going to die like this. She felt Andrew step onto a box behind her, making his already tall frame loom over Syllia as he hoisted her hips upward…
“Now I take my revenge!” he screamed, as he undid the crotch of his armor and shoved his prick into Syllia’s cunt. The rape was honestly the most pleasant of the things Syllia had experienced in the last few days – at the very least she could close her eyes and pretend that she was just a slave again.
The rape was brief, more a show for the masses than anything truly horrible. As Andrew howled his orgasm, Syllia could feel his seed splash inside her – but… wait… no… there was something…
It wasn’t cum.
The liquid that filled Syllia’s body tingled like sunlight, burned like coals. it was almost painful inside her, but slowly the sensation spread out, a strong, warming feeling – magic. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he was filling her with raw magical energy… energy so intense it burned her skin where it touched her. Any stronger and her skin would tear itself inside out, but there was just enough here that even as she burned from the inside out, Syllia feel more alive than she had anytime since Elira had gotten her hands on her…
She felt the magic swirl, looking desperately for a release, but the rune collar at her neck was still on, warming so hot against her throat that she could hear and smell her flesh sizzling…
As Andrew bent down to slide close the noose, she felt the human’s mouth brush her ear as he whispered something into her ear… possibly the last thing she had ever expected to hear.
“You give my life purpose…”
The words of her Priestess’ in Andrew’s mouth was the last thing that Syllia ever heard. Andrew pulled the downward end of the rope with both hands, holding Syllia aloft while she kicked and struggled, choking, unable to breathe. the humans, now worked into a frenzy, did not notice the blinding brightness of the fluid dripping down her thighs, how Syllia’s eyes were glowing like stars.
“At last!” Andrew screamed, the crowd echoing the cry like a wall of pure sound. “Justice!” Andrew twisted his hand and yanked hard on the rope… and where he had wound it below the runecollar it pulled and twisted… and snapped.
Syllia didn’t think. She just reacted.
The noise of the crowd was instantly deafened as a shockwave of magic blew over them. The quickest to react – the inquisition’s guard-mages, immediately threw bolt after bolt of power at Syllia’s rising form, raising their weapons and firing – arrows, bullets, fireballs, pure lightning – every human noble in the accursed paddock flinging spells at Syllia’s body as she rose like a god, their projectiles bouncing harmlessly off the shell of pure magic that surrounded her, Andrew’s final gift to her.
The smarter ones began to run; some towards Syllia, others away. It didn’t matter. From the moment the collar snapped to when the explosion of magical energy ripped through the crowd was only a handful of breaths. As the ripple of pure power roared through the assembled humans, the city was, for an instant, a cacophony of screams and violence and death. Elira was immediately transformed into a pillar of flame, screaming as she burned – the vizier next to her exploded into a starburst of flowers, her courtesans turning to salt and crystal. Throughout the crowd eyes burst from their skulls, hearts caved in, bodies turned inside out, exploding into pure light, or frozen in ice; disintegrated from within, transformed into sulphur, scales of gold covering their bodies, or reduced to a puddle of mercury.
The wave of destruction spread through the city faster than sound as throughout the city men and women slumped dead in her houses or blew away as smoke. Those at the edge of the effects were simply driven mad, tearing their familes to shreds and raping anything in reach before before throwing themselves down a well or off a roof, laughing all the while.
And then there was nothing but the pitiful wails of the handful of humans who had somehow survived, walking numbly though the silent graveyard of the city, ash and hair blowing in the wind, before either slitting their own throats or falling to their knees in sorrow.
These were the poor souls that Laoyre and her band of Sacred Sisters and soldiers entered the city to find, hours later. The took the ghost town with a force of no more than three dozen elves… There was no resistance as the hundred or so survivors of the greatest city in the world were rounded up in the square where Syllia had died.
Laoyre stepped onto the platform, tears in her eyes as she fell to her knees before her goddess Syllia. The dark elf’s body was a ruined husk, a barely recognizable charred black thing that was only obviously her because it was at the very epicenter of the explosion. Behind her stood Andrew, turned to stone on the spot, his eyes closed, his arms by her side, his expression one of acceptance and peace.
“Thank you,” whispered Laoyre to the statue that was now Andrew. She still didn’t understand. When the camp well, Andrew had found her, freed her and a few dozens elves… sent them fleeing into the woods. She hadn’t know why, then. She still wasn’t sure she did… but he had brought together every leader of humanity, all their royalty and nobility and great houses in one place for Syllia to kill. Laoyre collapsed down before Syllia’s body, wailing as she mourned her savior and goddess.
It was the cries of the humans as some of the outraged elves raised weapons on them that brought her out of her grief… and abruptly, she understood. “NO!” Laoyre screamed at her followers. “No more!” She looked at the few remaining elves, at her audience, what humans remained. “Look around you! Look at what this has done!” she wanted to collapse, sobbing. “Everyone is dead! Hundreds of thousands are dead! How many hundreds of thousands, how many millions more will we kill? When will it be enough!”
Laoyre didn’t know how… but they needed to rebuild. They needed to heal the wounds… build a new society. There was nothing else left. Human and elf, they looked at her with the same eyes as she broke down once more, her fellow elves patting her shoulders as they pulled her away from her Goddess’ body. “Come back!” she howled, cursing the unfairness of the world. “Come back!” Sobbing, she was slowly led away as the humans looked away, unable to bring themselves to witness the anguish of Syllia’s first priestess… but in the days to come, they knelt before her. First, it was in surrender. Then, it was in service… and finally, years later, in something like respect as the last elves and thousands of human refugees came to the city that had been renamed Itharien. Human and elf alike, bewildered, frightened, but determined to erase the hate between their kinds, together they began the hard work of rebuilding the world from the echoes of death and horror.