Witchfall

"Nooo..." she whimpered, her legs losing all support, her arms feeling like wet reeds as her hands slowly slipped from behind Morgana. The witch's fine featured face widened with a gloating smile. The Black Knight ripped Morgana away from her limp grip. Braya slumped backward and hit the ground with a thud, her lush hips jerking up to the air as the tenebril settled in for its final desecration.

Tears ran from her eyes while Morgana was pulled more and more away from her, into the safety of her dark guardian. So close.

"It appears I am in need of a new knight!" screamed Morgana. "Dull Knight is more like it! I keep you to kill, not watch unwashed savages hug me to death!" She stopped when she realized the Black Knight had yet to set her down back on the ground, holding her up around his arm. "Set me down." He turned his head to the side, silent, only the burning eyes behind his visor evidences of life. "Have you completely taken leave of your wits!? BLACK KNIGHT! Set. Me. Down!"

"That's... not my name... anymore." he rasped. Fear plunged like a cold dagger deep into Morgana's heart. For the first time in centuries, she prepared a spell for death than seduction. Old master Voroven's teachings bubbled from the depths of her mind as fresh as the day she learned them. "I am... Elric.. von Krieger!"

"Lies! You're my slave!"

"No more..." His fingers closed around her throat. "I am your reckoning, for all the lands you've despoiled, all the peoples you've enslaved, all the souls you've ruined... tonight you will be judged!" The witch's lips curled in disbelief, and her incensed violet eyes burned darkly, like twin coals.

"I am beyond judgment..." she whispered and then leapt upon his chest, clawing her glowing hands down his armor, instantly turning the knight into a walking furnace. "And I am beyond you!" she screamed, the Black Knight's armor an inflamed reddish-orange like a freshly forged sword. "If you want to be a hero, then DIE LKE ONE!"

"You first, witch!" He wrapped his molten gauntlet around her glossy hair, igniting her raven locks. He grabbed his jagged black sword with the other, the first gift the Witch Queen ever gave him, and plunged it through her wicked heart. Morgana screamed in anguish and split his head in half like a molten can with her enchanted nails, making the knight lose his balance as he tumbled over the edge of the sanctum's central pit.

Braya lied on the ground as a drooling, orgasmic mess, the floor between her thighs drenched in a pool of her arousal. Morgana's screams haunted her ears as the witch plunged further and further down her uncommonly deep pit, falling into silence after a loud and wet slam.

And then her torment evaporated. At the cusp of orgasm and so much more, the fiendish slithering weight in her womb was no more. She watched in amazement as magic vapors rose out her glistening stomach and then dissipated in the air.

For once she was thankful of the witch's conjurations. A real tenebril would not have been deterred by its master's death.

Her bountiful golden brown breasts rolled together as she rose from the ground. Silence filled the room and tears of joy ran down her cheeks. "It's over..." She stood up to her full height, her voluminous tits bouncing to the movement. She peered over the edge of the pit where the Black Knight had taken the witch over.

The pit was so deep that the knight's burning corpse was but an orange pin prick of light in the darkness. "May you find peace, Elric..." she said under her breath. She spun around to the sound of a knock on the sanctum's entrance.

Silvered doors wrought with snarling demon heads and trimmed with writhing voluptuous harlots swung open. Braya's eyes widened as the three silhouettes, backlit by harsh white light, came into view. "Ambassador?" she whispered.

Varneth was held up by his two companions and the she-warrior feared the worst when she saw his bloody lipped grimace. "Rovino and Guillaume are alive..." he croaked. Her eyes flitted over to the rake and the assassin and a new gladness dawned in her heart over seeing the heroic lowlifes. She was about to speak up when Varneth slumped away from his comrade's shoulders and smacked into the ground.

She stared at the hardy Elf's corpse in disbelief, which turned to outrage when she saw Rovino and Gil do nothing. Gil's face was covered in shadow but Rovino did not bother to hide his admiration for her bare and giant breasts, pendulous and ripe they sat on her chest almost as high as Morgana's own.

She closed her bearskin cloak in from the sides and stomped over to them. "By the gods what is wrong with you two!? Save him!"

"He's dead, Braya." said Gil, his voice like an icy wind from under his hood.

"Yeah..." Rovino yawned and strutted over to the edge of the sanctum's pit, glancing at the broken stained glass window on the other side of the place and the ruined corpses that dotted the steps just below. "He only held on as long as he did to put an end to the foul strumpet -- where is she anyway?"

"At the bottom of the pit. With the Black Knight."

Gil's cloaked head turned to her in silence while Rovino laughed incredulously. "How did you pull that off, mi'lady? If memory serves he found even the assassin's steel wanting..."

Her eyes rested on Varneth's cooling, pin cushioned corpse while her voice grew wistful."It was not my steel he found wanting in the end... but the Witch Queen."

***

Her story at an end, Braya sat back down, letting out a loud exhale as she slumped her shoulders. Across the hut stood a burly, muscled man, his hairy, rippling pecs scored with claw marks and sword scars.

"Hark! You killed the Queen! Sort of! Which led to a breakdown of civil order, broken roads, rotten crops, starving people and a brand new power play between her surviving sons, throwing the country into a devastating civil war, the scale of destruction exceeding that of which when she took power centuries ago. How are you heroes?"

Rovino stumbled for words, unused to the rare mixing of an erudite barbarian. Likely the spawn of some slavering brute who sneaked in through the bedroom window of a witch. He brought his hand up, ushering for the stirring audience to calm down. "True, very true noble savage. What you speak of is terrible, but such is the price and obligation of upholding all that is good and noble!"

"What a load of shit!" cried one woman.

"Yeah, that's not what heroes do at all!"

"Quiet you carping masses and listen!" Rovino was pleased his shout had worked, not noticing what cowed the audience had been Gil and Braya's drawn weapons rather than his voice. "As barbarians, long have you borne the evil witch's brutal attacks and culling of your people. At last you can do what barbarians are meant to do...pillage and raid!"

He walked over to an axe wielding youth. "What do you do young lad?"

"I'm a farmer..." he said glumly, looking down.

"It's tough farming with just an axe isn't it?"

"Yes."

He laid his hand on his muscled shoulder. "I rest my case. Barbarians do not farm! For too long has the witch tempted your kind with the sugared comforts of civilization, weakening you from the inside until you are naught but sheep for the slaughter! You are manly men, you do not reap corn, you reap skulls!"

"Yeah!" bellowed a score of warriors, bashing their shields in celebration.

Rovino spun around, doing a flourish with his hands as he kissed a wench's bulging cleavage. "And with the land caught in a civil war, who better than you to take advantage of their plight!?"

Another cheer resounded through the hut, some groups of men beginning to stand up as adrenaline coursed through their veins, while Rovino pointed a triumphant finger at the critical thinking barbarian. "So yes my friend, the rebuilding process will be horrific, but so it was in ages past when unjust overlords were overthrown in their time, only the storytellers of the day did not have to contend with such... MALCONTENTS!"

"Shut your mouth Torkuk, he's right!"

"He's always goin' off like that..."

The inquisitive barbarian was quickly shunned to the back of the crowd as others drew their swords and mugs while Rovino gestured towards the exit of the hut. "Go and claim what is rightfully yours, fresh women, fresh land, CAMELOT!"

With one final cheer, the rugged horde, hankering for a little bit of stabbing and pillaging, stormed out of their dragon hide hut and into the blistering wind and off to greener pastures. Rovino reclined back on a plush cushion as nubile war maidens wiped the sweat from his brow, the bard grateful that he survived yet another storytelling.

Gil and Braya stood in a dimly lit corner with the jarl, Erik. The old man sat at an old, gnarled desk, its red wood splintered and stained with ink and candle wax alike. "So it is done..." his voice was as dry the parchment he was about to write on, but still had enough of a hearty rumble from his youth. "The witch is dead."

"Indeed." said Gil, his voice low and as cold as a crypt.

"It is true, the land is saved. From her. Now it is back to the old ways..." Braya was wistful, looking at the buxom women that Rovino had his face buried in, to the playing children and the boastful men outside the tent.

"My shield maidens will handle your due reward." Erik stroked his gray beard, his wrinkled face illuminated like a rockside by the candlelight. "I think I shall write a chronicle, from the beginning, now that we have an ending. It shall start simply..." He put his quill to paper, his face furrowed in concentration as he read aloud. "Morgana of the Black Moon. Harbinger of Hell, Ransacker of the Righteous, Violator of Virgins. Her titles number as many as her sins, her infamous cruelty only matched by her unsurpassed beauty..."

Gil and Braya stepped away from the old man, heading for the flapping entrance of the windy hut. The assassin extended his gloved hand. "This is where we part ways, Braya of the East. May fortune favor you forever."

The barbarian extended her hand, impressed by his courteous manner, and the fact that his dark eyes never once moved down to ogle the smooth and round tops of cleavage trapped tight in her chainmail bra. "Likewise. It was an honor to fight by your side. Where shall I find you if I ever need your help?"

Gil's body was rigid like an oak, even as gusts of winter wind from outside lashed across his chest. "Where I go you cannot follow. It may be my death... or this world's salvation. Perhaps both."

Braya understood. The man wanted to atone for the demon child he made with Levina. A rambunctious laugh by Rovino in the back followed by girlish giggles by his companions distracted her for a moment. When she turned back to him, he was gone.

She opened the flap outside and could only find barbarians in every direction. She looked back to Rovino, well ensconced in breasts as he was in jewels, and then back to the setting sun. At last she was alone once more, her homeland saved, the safety of her family ensured.

The beautiful warrior took her reward and then her first steps into the blinding snow, beginning her long journey back home.

***

After she was out of the village and cleaning her blades in the running stream of a brook, something powerful stirred in her chest, forcing her on her knees as a familiar voice hissed through her thoughts.

"Well done darling! A stirring narration... our story was told with much aplomb, with nothing too excessive to indict it of affectation! You put my court jesters to shame!"

Tears began to fall from her eyes as pain and arousal stirred in her nerves. She had made a grievous mistake, an unforgivable lapse that came at the price of her soul. A memory that was blocked from being shown in the hut slowly came to prominence in her mind...

***

Braya was on her knees, having waved off Gil and Rovino as they carried away the arrow punctured corpse of Ambassador Varneth. The full impact of her victory hit her at last. She sobbed in joy, and marveled at her good luck.

Alone in the circular chamber, she was surrounded by the corpses of Morgana's underlings and overturned braziers, their burning coals scorching the dark marble while the great gargoyles near the balconies began to crack and crumble.

As the witch died, so too did her works.

While Braya was grateful the Black Knight saved her life, she wished he could have decapitated the vile woman before he took her over the edge. She was a barbarian, trophies to commemorate victories being almost as important as the victory itself. Her eyes drifted along the floor, and she smiled when she found Morgana's demonic pendant.

It was made of polished silver, its deep set eyes hollow while its high, famished cheekbones complemented the long fangs that descended from its maw. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it, she knew her vainglory had cost her.

Her hand seized up, unwilling to let go of the pendant as a numb, prickling feeling rose through her arm. The sensation spread through her chest, raising her nipples to hard points while dangerous arousal flushed through her pussy. A series of breathy gasps were ripped from her throat as she fell backwards onto the marble floor, staring upwards into the ornate murals of the cracked ceiling.

She tried not to notice how the depictions on the ceiling seemed to be move, how Morgana in particular gave her a mocking smile, her painted eyes flashing like purple fire. She moaned when pleasure replaced numbness. Her entire body throbbed as the magic pendant flooded her with building arousal.

Her huge and darkly bronzed breasts jumped to her pleasurable spasms. She heard the deceased Witch Queen's long moans of ecstasy within her head as her wicked spirit pried its way into her body. Braya was ashamed to take such raucous pleasure in her defeat, her defilement of the soul, but the sweet agony could not be denied.

And neither could Morgana's ultimate victory. The she-warrior fought valiantly, gritting her teeth, clenching her lush thighs together, resisting the intrusive pleasure. But her long years of combat had only toned her body and sharpened her mind, never her soul.

Drip by drip, gasp after reluctant gasp, the Witch Queen's soul essence suffused itself into Braya's nubile flesh. The voluptuous barbarian woman slowed her convulsions as her limbs stretched out across the floor, tension leaving her muscles as her body came to accept its fate.

When she tried to rise she fell to her side, when she grabbed for her weapon her fingers refused to curl. For a moment she thought she might have a chance to end Morgana once and for all... if only she could roll off into the pit.

That dream was shattered at the exact moment of release. Braya knew she was doomed as she arched her back in orgiastic joy, her weighty and juicy breasts held aloft as the witch's violet essence wrapped around her heart. Morgana's cackling rang out in her head, and she knew in her heart of hearts, it was no last laugh, but the first of many.

The she-warrior flopped on the marble, the bulbous swells of her muscular ass cheeks clenching together as her hot juices spurted onto the floor. Her gasps were weak and dazed, like a spent lover's sigh, and it was then when evil claimed her.

Fresh strength pulsed through her body, strength that was not her own. Her eyes grew more shadowed, her hair more lustrous. Dark desires never before pondered flashed through her mind, fantasies of sucking a man's soul dry as he spent himself inside her, images of provoking the lusts of men with the teardrop peaks of her bosom and watching them kill each other for her embrace.

Braya was not destroyed, but nor was she the same.

You are mine bitch! Braya came again at her voice, squeezing her round, pillowy melons once more as another shockwave of sensation rattled through her core. I was on the receiving end of this once, and I must say, it so much more satisfying this way!

Braya was confused, she could still think for herself, while still hearing Morgana. Everywhere else she had encountered her servants, none of them seemed to exhibit independent thought. I really must count my blessings that I didn't totally eradicate you magically illiterate pissants. But first... we're going to forget this even happened. Can't have shamans prying around for what really happened now can we?

Braya spasmed once more, her generous breasts jiggling to her movement before a white flash burned before her eyes, blacking out memory as much as consciousness.

When she came to, the barbarian woman looked around the empty chamber and wondered why she was on the ground. After putting her armor back on, she took a deep breath and caught up with her companions, filled with the spirit of triumph and dreams of gold and glory.

All the while a new evil nurtured itself within her soul, waiting and watching...

***

Braya came back to reality, panting as runnels of sweat streamed down her toned arms and vast swells of cleavage. She went for her sword, knowing what she must do. She could not endure this fate.

At the sound of steel unsheathing, she stopped, unable to pull the blade out any further. Tsk, tsk my savage little pet... there are consequences for taking a sorceress's phylactery! She sheathed the blade and then tried pulling it out again, the blade coming out less each time as she cried out in desperation.

"What do you want with me?!"

Your life.

Her blood ran cold, and not since her early days, training as a warrior, had she experienced such terror. "What are you going to do?" she asked timidly, wishing she hadn't asked.

Take from you what you took from me. My home, my family, my power. You will suffer as I have suffered. It won't be much at first, indeed my power is a shadow of a shadow... but over time, I will grow, a second passenger to your life, until I take this body for my own, ruining all you hold dear until I find a more worthy shell...

Braya sighed, thinking on the witch's words. She remained still and Morgana remained silent. She pondered the rocks in the stream, wondering how many steps she could take before momentum would shatter her head. What cliffs along the main road she might be able to throw herself off of. She had options... she just had to be faster than thought, her instinct faster than the witch's grip on her flesh.

A cool sensation stirred along her heart while a fresh warmth spread through her loins. Come come, it will be a long journey, I'm sure we'll have all sorts of things to talk about...

Braya stepped forward, steeling herself for the trek ahead, likely to be filled with all manner of creatures and villains, eager to bring her a good death, if she did not do it herself. She couldn't wait. "I will kill you before ever we meet my clan."

It is early yet my pet, we shall see if your words are as strong as your steel.

With one last look at the paved trail, the ash blonde warrior set off into the snow, a wanderer with a wickedness none could fathom, suffering a destiny that was no longer her own.

In the white, frozen tundra of the east, the shadow of darkness endured.