Author's Note: This next chapter pushes closer to the M-Rating than the last, mostly for violence and rape. Consider yourself warned!
Blood... It was everywhere... It was all she could see, all she could smell, all she could taste...
I can't move...
Her body was weak. No, it was beyond weak; it was numb, broken, paralyzed by agony and fear. She had never felt mercilessly defeated before, and, despite her best efforts, couldn't convince herself that she would live to know if she ever would feel this way again.
A loud grunt, a light shudder, and a rush of heat between Anastaisya's legs let her know that he had finished with her for the... Seventh? Eighth time? I can't remember... Her hopelessness and anguish was embodied in a silent whimper, and she clenched her eyes shut at the thought of his body- as well as many other things- inside of her. Then he began moving again.
"Eheheheh... You enjoyin' yerself yet, Girlie? I know I am. You feel so damned good...inside and out...and taste even bettah..."
Anastaisya cringed not only at his now freely-exploring tongue, but at the way that his natural, Zandali-rooted accent turned up the end of every word. It was a sound she once felt intriguing, but now? It was repulsive; sinister. Just his voice alone was enough to somatify another breach of fright in her, curling her toes and forcing a rodent-like squeal from her lungs.
"Oh, what 'ave we 'ere? Did you like dat as much as I did?" the Troll piqued, obviously misinterpreting her reaction. Another chuckle, then his monstrous tusks were dragging themselves along her lavender skin, softly etching rosy lines into her. A deep, guttural moan resonated from somewhere in his chest as the man found an angle in Anastaisya that reeled him with pleasure. Likewise did she feel the disgust.
"Please..." she gasped, consciously making a noise for the first time in a half-hour. "Please don't...don't..."
The hulking beast above her merely rumbled in laughter and, if at all possible, ground into her with even more energy, trying his damnedest to elicit a moan or sigh from the woman beneath him. Each time he pressed in, his person flaring with heat that echoed throughout her body, he pushed just that much closer to doing so.
Finally, as he neared climax for what was the eighth time (Anastaisya was surprisingly accurate with her assumption), just such a sound peeked through her silky lips. It was soft, almost insignificant enough to be missed, but he caught it barely, and it drove him into a state of bloodlust. Now that he had broken her into submission, he was going to destroy her entirely.
With the speed of a gryphon, he turned her around on him and slammed her against the wall in front of them. Her face and breasts were smashed heavily into the firm wood, and she cried out sharply as at least ten-too-many splinters burrowed themselves into her flesh, each tapping a light stream of blood from her veins. Her tail, which had long since forsaken its endeavor to resist his entry, was folded harshly upwards against her back. However, this pain was minuscule in comparison to that which seared between her legs.
Blood... And, this time, it wasn't only the result of cuts, gashes, scrapes, and that of the like. Her entire body was laced with masterfully carved patterns and shapes, some from the small knife the Troll had buried into her on more than one occasion, and some from the dreadful protrusions that peered from behind the blue-skinned creature's upper lip.
"Y'know, dese be de markin's of de Zandali voodoo 'ealahs and priests." he mused from behind her, still plunging his way into her now blood-and-semen-filled center. The sheer size of the Troll was enough to cause her pain, but the force and lust that intoxicated his actions caused his movements to hit her in all the wrong ways, pushing and pulling and breaking skin. The intense friction burned her as well, and each time his body would rush against the blisters inside of her, she would wail in agony, bleeding more profusely than before.
Anastaisya writhed beneath him, her tears mixing with other fluids from both bodies, and, upon losing her balance, she collapsed into the vile concoction. Another amused cackle erupted from the atrocity behind her, and he picked up speed. He was nearing another of his countless orgasms, and as his mass increased from the rush of blood, he glided across her interior lacerations once more. A screech that would startle Death itself tore through her throat, and she felt the enormous body above her buck and give in, slamming down onto her. With a loud snap and gush of violet from her dry lips, Anastaisya, at last, found solace in unconsciousness.
Blood... But what Anastaisya initially failed to realize was that there was now a deep crimson-brown mixed in with the usual lilac that coursed through her. Her only wish was to get away from the putrid liquids that surrounded her, and she attempted to raise herself from the floor of the stables. Expectedly, she had no strength, and, with a slight twitch, she forfeited and merely lay there, defeated.
"Don't move a muscle. The damage is far too severe for mistakes to be a possibility."
Too weak to even attempt to move again, she grunted a mangled consent, then a whimper of terror as the presence of the voice sank in. She pushed with all of her resolve to try to rise from the ground, but invisible hands held her still.
"Fear not, Draenei. I mean you no harm," the speaker, a male, assured. A sense of protection and security eased through her body, and she noticed the feeling of smooth fabric enveloping her. He had covered her with a blanket, making her feel more comfortable, now that she was no longer nude. She couldn't keep the tears from flooding her eyes, though, and gentle sobs rocked her person, but were soon silenced as a gentle warmth mingled into her chest.
Her heart, which was, at one point, fluttering in panic, now calmed itself, and, after a slight crunch, was no longer being suffocated by her ribs. The pain in her tail and horns, which she had barely been able to acknowledge, was subdued and the awkward curvature of the former was repositioned to its normal, sweeping angles. The sculpted scars, which mazed around her body like vines, lost their sting and reabsorbed the precious, heliotrope life-water that had been spilled across her surface. Her insides, once chapped and raw, now were restored to their usual moistness. Anastaisya couldn't help but blush at the feeling of this last stage of mending.
"Damn the Horde," the enigmatic savior spouted.
The Horde... Enemy of the Alliance, and a mosh of forgotten races that, merely out of necessity, had banded together to stand against their pursuers. It consists of Orcs, Trolls, Goblins, Tauren, giant minotaur-like creatures, Forsaken, which were an abhorrent resurrection of those who deserved to rest, and Blood Elves.
Feeling proud of her returning memory, Anastaisya turned her face gently to see her rescuer, expecting a Night Elf or Human, due to the dialect, a rather calm and even usage of Common, the shared language of the Alliance. What her gaze met, though, astounded her.
Looking down into her pale, silvery-blue eyes were a pair of vermillion, shimmering emeralds that danced against the softly tanned skin of the face they adorned, the features of which were strikingly beautiful and gentle, but promised years of experience in battle and murder. A slight, goldenrod tuft of a goatee perched below the defined, peach lips, and were the identical shade of the slender eyebrows- which delicately protruded several inches off of the side of the face- and hair, a bronze-gold mane with streaks and tips the color of coppery rust. The long, angelic strands were drawn back into a high ponytail that flared out slightly as they fell and swayed behind the man's head and between his fine, long, upward-pointed ears.
Dumbfounded by his stunning appearance, Anastaisya barely found herself capable of speech, but forced the sounds out of her now-dry mouth "Blood Elf..." A soft, single nod signified his understanding of her fear. "Blood...Elf..." she repeated, more reluctantly this time. Another nod, then a moment of seemingly-endless gazes. Seemingly.
"I apologize for the rush, but you are in no state to fight, let alone talk. Also, as we sit here, a rather large and menacing Troll's spirit is trekking its way back to a severely, but not hopelessly, mangled body."
Upon hearing this, Anastaisya turned a little further, ignoring the Blood Elf's plea for her not to move too much, to see a massive, teal carcass splayed out in the middle of the stable. The form, drenched in a strange mixture of colors, shuddered gently, pulsing more blood from the massive cleaving in its chest. Recalling the fact of the unnatural regenerative abilities of Trolls, she knew that, even in his current state, this one would only be in pain for about an hour.
Too distracted from dread, Anastaisya did not question what had happened, but, rather, shivered in fear. The Blood Elf noted this, and pulled a robe from his pack, helping her to dress in it swiftly. In an instant, he had masterfully craned her into his arms without disturbing the trunk of her body in the least.
Just as swiftly, and very lithely, he sprang onto a very majestic hawkstrider, its feathers a wondrous display of purples and greens. The creature seemed to dislike the presence of the Alliance woman, and crowed its disdain, to which the Blood Elf leaned forward and whispered a rather poetic-sounding sentence in Thalassian, the Blood Elven language. The bird cooed in response, and, after acknowledging its master's secure position on its back, was sprinting down the dirt roads of Arathi.
Still disoriented, Anastaisya bobbed lightly on the back of the beautiful animal, mesmerized by its presence. The man holding her smiled amusedly. "Quite the specimen, isn't she?" The Draenei nodded, and fell into a drowsy stupor from the repetitive, massaging gait of the hawkstrider. She had just begun to doze off when the movement stopped, and she released a displeased grunt. The elf laughed, and, still holding her horizontally level in his arms, dismounted the very curious animal, which turned to the couple and nuzzled the strange, colored woman before her.
As soon as his passenger was settled into him, the Blood Elf was in motion, springing through a small patch of underbrush as he kept himself and Anastaisya out of sight from any other living things. He sensed a slight disturbance in the woman's position, and looked down to see her cautiously studying his face. With a slight and very attractive grin, he spoke.
"I promised you no harm, and we Blood Elves are too proud as a race to break a promise." He chuckled softly at the self-downing observation, but his grin soon fell. "You were weak, on the verge of death, and, at the rate that Troll was going, you would have been revived repeatedly to the same excruciating scene. I was passing by, en route to the mines from the lumber mill, and was appalled by what I saw, and, well, here we are now."
Anastaisya merely gawked at him more, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest, drained of willpower and energy. Sighing, she succumbed to the sweet lure of slumber, vowing silently to worry again when she woke.
Not a minute later, the elf halted his running, but was careful to make sure his partner was still asleep. After assuring himself twice that she was, he proceeded, this time at a simple stroll. He turned to his pet, dismissing her, and watched as she sprinted ahead to where she would wait for his arrival. The Blood Elf smiled to himself as a wave of security pooled through him.
The next moment, it was gone. As he neared their destination, which was a small clearing above the pool between the mine and farm, he noticed a small party of Horde warriors on the road heading down to the mine. Two Orc men, a Forsaken man, and a Blood Elf woman. He knew he could easily evade the three males, but the woman was a fellow Blood Elf, and would sense the Fel Magics in him instantly. "Hmm," he muttered, pondering his chances, and then turned to set his Draenei down behind a tree. She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. "Stay here," he warned. "There are some scouts on the road and we can't get around them." "I…can help…" she stammered, only to be silenced by him shaking his head. "You're still far too weak, and they won't expect me to attack them."
Anastaisya shook her head this time, and proceeded to stand herself weakly with the aid of the tree. Her knees shook, and the elf made to hold her up, but she held out her hand, signaling to let her try. "No…I vill help…de female, she is…Blood Elf, no?" The man nodded. "Den she…vill sense me too, and vill try…to get around you. I can fight…even if I can barely stand."
At this, three large streams of water drifted from the surface of the nearby pool, and twisted their way towards the shaman, braiding and weaving around her as if dancing with the Draenei. They fed smaller streams of hydration into the woman's body, the moisture disappearing into her skin. Almost instantaneously, her stance strengthened, and her face regained its full color. "Now, go," she ordered, and the orbs around her condensed into little planets with cores of solid ice.
Seeing the determination in the woman's face, the elf turned and drew a sword from his hip. "We don't aim to kill. Only to weaken." With a nod from the shaman, he was off, nimbly leaping from boulder to boulder as he semi-circled the group, planning on drawing them away from her. Upon finding the perfect place to attack from, which happened to be just behind a shrub on the opposite side of the road from his companion, he pulled on a face mask and raised his shield from his back. Raising his sword slightly, a glint of creamy white grew from the hilt, coursing its way down the blade.
"A paladin?" Anastaisya thought to herself. But, before she could stand there and talk to herself any longer, he was moving down the small hill before him, throwing light in the stunned faces of the soldiers. As she watched, both Orcs were knocked unconscious in a matter of seconds. The Forsaken, however, was prepared by this time and lunged for the elf, daggers in both rotting hands. Seeing that the elf had his back turned, Anastaisya hurled one of her orbs, which she had fully hardened into ice, at the undead man. It flew quickly and accurately, hitting the rogue in his decaying skull with enough force to break his jaw entirely off, sending it flying meters away. This only irritated the rogue, though, who turned his attention to the Draenei, then pointed to her and gargled something in Orcish, then charged. The Blood Elf woman turned to face the shaman, a Fireball spell already on her lips.
"Oh, no you don't," the paladin shouted, and threw a summoned spear of light straight into the back of the Forsaken, paralyzing him. He then turned his attention to the mage woman, but knew he wouldn't be able to stop her spell in time. Nonetheless, he ran for her, sword drawn, and stopped just before a rock hurled itself between him and the mage. He looked to Anastaisya, and saw by the look on her face that the Blood Elf woman was responsibility.
Just then, a huge sphere of flame erupted from the superheated air between the mage's hands, and, with a thrust of arcane energy, the fire was hurled at the cliff-side Draenei. In the first half of a second, however, she had already thrown one of her ice crystals, which made direct contact with the enemy spell. With a loud snap and a multi-colored explosion, both spells were diffused into the air. The elf, expecting the Draenei to have been destroyed, turned her attention to the paladin, another spell at her hands. In the second half of that same second, Anastaisya had launched her last frozen shard, which ripped through the thinning, iridescent magic cloud, and pummeled its way into the side of the mage. The green-eyed sorceress was sent soaring into the opposing cliff, inevitably striking her head on a large stone. She was rendered unconscious immediately.
"Run!" the paladin called, but there was no lateral movement from the Draenei. Instead, she collapsed, rolling down the hillside and splashing into the pool behind her. The Blood Elf moved like lightning, reaching Anastaisya in seconds, pulling her from the water. The shaman's two long ponytails had both come loose, and her soaked hair and clothes clung to her body, making her heavy. This didn't bother the elf, though. He hoisted her onto his shoulder and whistled loudly. Soon after, a loud caw signaled the arrival of his hawkstrider. What he wasn't expecting, though, was the loud roar that followed.
Upon jumping down from the rocky ledge, Anastaisya on his back, the paladin was met by his bird, who took the Draenei on her back, then the Blood Elf. She began to move for the source of the roar, but her master held her back. Defiantly, she trudged on, ignoring the orders thrown her way.
Rounding a massive stone, she finally stopped, leaning her tail sharply to the side and forcing her rider off, but held her back level enough to keep the Draenei steady. The angered Blood Elf turned to yell at the hawkstrider, but a firm beak spun him in the other direction. As he turned, the elf's attitude hastily changed from fury to panic as he came face-to-face with an oversized tiger.
Before he could move, someone jumped down from the back of the beast, and ordered the large cat out of his way. The tiger did as it was told, and sidestepped, revealing a tall Night Elf man with long, white hair and a similar beard. The identity of the stranger eluded him for a moment, but the realization hit him like a ball of ice.
"Ariden…"