SERIOUSLY ACTUALLY FUCKING READ THIS WARNING PLEASE DEAR GOD!
So first off, THIS IS A DARK FIC! SERIOUSLY! There will be GRAPHIC RAPE, TORTURE, and SLAVERY as well as plenty of other horrible things. Now almost all of these atrocities will be committed by the hero of our story because he is one sick mother fucker. No seriously this dude is like actually kinda fucking evil, I'm not even sure why I'm publishing this because my other stories presently are no where near this dark though I do have a fun story about a hedonistic khajiit that may or may not actually be published, rape might be in that one too, not sure. Not scared off yet? How about the fact there will also be underage sex (both rape and "consensual"), bestality (falmer, atronachs, sprigians, other deadra, monsters, and probably others like actual animals like a sabertooth or something (idk man)), and necrophila (both of the vampiric and corpse kind with and without necormancy). Holy shit you're still here!? Dope, now before we get onto the story….. Feel free to drop ideas, I might implement them, also if you complain in the comments about this being too violent or something I'm going to laugh at you! Enjoy ^^
He stood there mockingly, he looked young (perhaps of fourteen winters) but was almost forty if you took his word. They didn't. The second he walked into their mead hall they knew what this abomination was. One of Molag Bal's children, a putrid creature of rot and undeath, too despicable to ever die honorable or righteously. His nature combined with his behavior allowed him to quickly goad the brothers into a brawl in the back courtyard of Jorrvaskr, it wasn't terribly uncommon for the warriors and guards of Whiterun to attempt to take on the Companions but this situation was clearly far from ordinary.
Farkas and Vilkas stood ready, both of them postured aggressively, clearly ready to attempt to tear him apart, perhaps even literally. In a graceful flourish purple tendrils seeped from his hands, growing and writhing before slowly shaping two identical cruel looking blades. Rather than having a pommel or proper crossguards two jagged spikes grew out on either end of the handle, from that came a wicked curved blade, barely similar to a scimitar that came to an odd end where the tip bent facing back creating a "v" reminiscent to a chinese hooked sword if the hook double edged hook wasn't facing the wrong way. In what appeared to be an instant he moved into an odd stance, from the waist down it seemed almost normal, one foot in front of the other though they were too far apart to actually give him any real balance, and from the waist is where the normality ended. In his right hand he held the sword loosely in front of him while in his left arm his blade was held in front of him horizontally just below shoulder level. A teasing grin settled on seductive pink lips as his foremost blade swayed in a come hither motion.
They rushed as one, Farkas swinging overhead in a downward diagonal sweep that would have easily cleaved an average man's torso in two, and Vilkas bracing with his shield on his left as his sword made a sharp jab at his kidney, both blows were obviously intended to be fatal as well as make sure that if you dodged one you wouldn't be able to avoid the other. Against the average person in anycase, Valemyre Faelyn was no average mer nor average vampire.
The horizontally poised blade in his left hand came up while twirling deftly, and in a seamless motion the back hook of his sword came and locked Farkas's greatsword against itself causing Farkas's grip to loosen minutely as despite his immense strength he couldn't prevent his the handle from rotating before in a sharp jerk toward Valemyre sent the blade out of his hands and into the air where it span before coming down in a loud clatter. While this occurred the vampire in question practically danced forward partially twisting, said motion aided his disarming of the werewolf, and slamming his shoulder into the shield, denting it against the combined strength of the supernatural beings, while spinning his blade into a reverse grip that moved into such a position that it clashed slightly left of the tip of the blade causing it to slide along until he met the crossguard of the sword. This caused his own ethereal blade to bend back against his forearm, which only helped his blocking of the blade thrust, as said daedric weapon refused to bite back into the skin of it's master.
"Mmmm…. Two big strong men against little ol' me?" He titled his head to the side in a decidedly adorable mannar when coupled with his overly widened eyes, from this motion a single lock of white hair slid down to his face.
"I don't know if I'll be able to take you both," He teased as he wiggled his rear side to side. "But I'm willing to try."
He finished those words with a predatory leer before leaping up and wrapping around the broad neck of the larger of the two brothers with his legs before squeezing tightly, cutting off Farkas's ability to breathe and bringing him to his knees as he attempted to fruitlessly pry himself free. While doing this he lurched forward and completely bypassed Vikas's shield as he pressed his sword's hook against the jugular of the more intellectually inclined of the two werewolves.
"Hey if you don't want to split that's fine too. What do you say boys? Which one of y'all want to be the big bad wolf to my little red riding hood?" If Vilkas was of the right mindset he would have had several questions, like where did the term "y'all" come from even if it was obviously just "you all" shortened, and what were that big bad wolf and little red riding hood references to as he never heard of such things. However, Vilkas was not of such mindsets, no, all he knew is that this thing was taunting him and he wouldn't have it.
He jerked his back before lurching forward and literally biting down on the blade before then jerking his head to the side, like a dog thrashing his prey, pulling him to the side and causing both the vampire and his brother to lose their balance and fall. Valemyre quickly released Farkas as he twisted gracefully through the air before landing on the back of the head of one Farkas who was currently face down in the dirt of the arena before launching off his head and bringing both of his swords down in a what would be a fairly typical and obvious attack if it his blades weren't a mere blur to even the enhanced eyesight of a lycanthrope and the force beyond his swing didn't hit like a falling tree. Vilkas barely brought up his shield in time, having no time to register the attack and having only saved himself due to honed instincts. That didn't stop him from partially bending his knee in order to cope with the blow.
Vilkas felt a jolt of lightning run down his body as he suddenly realized the full danger of this situation, and that was his last thought as Valemyre lashed out with his foot and viscously exploited the weakness he saw. The strategist of the companions felt his balance get destroyed by a swift strike to the knee before a sharp pain in his nose was known as the same foot that toppled him just broke his nose and rushed him into the waiting arm's of Vaermina.
Valemyre suddenly ducked with surprising grace and balance despite having only one leg planted on the ground before that same leg launched him back in an elegant flip, where he landed as gracefully as a dancer, which saved him from becoming mince meat via Farkas's blurring flurry of swings of his now twin skysteel greatswords (he had grabbed his spare blade which he carried anytime he was in armor incase of the unlikely event that he lost his sword) which he wielded with a surprising amount of control, poise, and speed. Said action caused all members not of the Inner Circle to gasp and pale in awe at the display as the realization set in how far they had to go in order to make it to such a prestigious position. Especially a certain dark elf who was known for bragging about how a dagger was the best of close ranged weapons due to its speed and utility.
With each cleaving sweep of Farkas's massive blades Valemyre danced back one step at a time, each movement causing him to narrowingly avoid being bisected. This continued until Valemyre was only a couple of paces from the stone walls of Jorrvaskr, from there on Farkas's next swing Valemyre elegantly backflipped so that his feet were firmly planted on said walls. Valemyre then made a telegraph strike towards Farkas who in the heat of battle, adrenaline, and furious snarls of his inner wolf fell for the obvious faint and crossed his swords in an "x" shaped block. Then in a rush of motion Valemyre halted his swing, heedless of the momentum that should've made such a thing impossible, and wrapped the hooks around each side of the intersection of Farkas's blades before a quick rotation of each of his wrists trapped all four blades together.
In most scenarios in a contest of strength between the supernatural entities of werewolves and vampires the werewolf would almost always come out on top as the second one becomes such a creature they gain a massive boost in strength, endurance, and speed, this is only multiplied by those who have proper training such as the entirety of the Inner Circle. A lycan could, with great difficulty, rip a small tree (though not completely uproot and such a feat would have to be done in their beast form where their already massive strength is multiplied) out of the ground, a task made significantly easier with adrenaline coursing through the wolfblood in their veins.
That being said vampires start out with much smaller strength increases merely three or four times what their strength once was. However unlike those with beast blood that doesn't last. As a vampire ages their strength, speed, magicka pool, and even (to a small extent) their flexibility increases almost logarithmically and given time (a millennium give or take) one could match the same strength that full fledged werewolves possess. However, the vampire in question is much older than that and as such in this particular contest of strength, the vampire wins and leaves Farkas unable to pry free his swords and with that a vicious headbutt causes the werewolf to collapse heavily disoriented before a swift kick causes him to join in brother.
"Awwww… Guess they didn't want to play…" Valemyre whined childishly, a mocking glint in his eyes as his blade dissipated into thin air. However then his tone turned sultry, "Such a shame, I was getting really worked up too, don't they know it's rude to leave someone so hot and bothered all high and dry?"
Silently however he was thoroughly impressed, both of the brothers had in less than four decades of life had reached a skill with their blades that took him centuries.
[The Ancient]
Pale blue light flooded out from a shadowy figure and seeped into the walls as it prowled it's way over into the sleeping form of one Aela the Huntress. Purple mist wafted off her sleeping form sending her into deeper sleep as Valemyre approached her. In a single swift movement she was uncovered and a couple more movements her clothes were tossed carelessly to the ground. A wicked gleam flickered in his eyes as a smile marred his face revealing long, sharp fangs. Small breasts (perhaps b cups?) layed perky on her chest as her pale areola which were topped with small pink nipples that pebbled in response to the sudden contact to cooler air.
Her flower laid exposed to him, it was decently hairy but not unbearably so, normally he preferred shaven or well groomed women but he wasn't exactly going to complain. In blurred movements he joined her in nakedness. Without clothes he was a masterpiece. His femine figure complimented his face, an almost childish body that was framed lightly with lithe muscle. From his blemishless form came an erection that stood five inches and some change tall and lightly curved upwards (He was quite proud of it considering he was clearly on the path to be well endowed before his sudden halt of aging). His pale sex organs free of any hair.
In a flash he was right next to her, licking his lips in blatant desire. His depraved grin only widened before he pressed his mouth against hers and began to ravage her oral cavity before pulling away leaving her panting as her sleeping body tried to take back the breath that was stolen from it. He moved downward as he traced a single vein on her throat with a fang, scaping down her neck until blood began steadily dripping out. The tell tale sign of Restoration magic bloomed on his unnaturally long tongue as he trailed said organ up the gash and greedly lapped up the fresh blood as the wound to stitch itself up. She would replenish the lost blood by the morning.
On the same pattern he found himself at her breasts where he greedly licked, suckled, and bit. During this he slid his hand down to between her legs where he gently caressed her folds. Purple and pink wisps emerged from his fingertips and sunk into her body, almost instantly a blush bloomed on her cheeks as her flower dampened. He then pressed his fingers in her now sopping hole momentarily before bringing them up to his mouth where his unnaturally long tong spilled out and encircled the digits where he cleaned off most of her juices in a single fluid movement before he shoving them into Aela's mouth where he wiped the remnants of unwanted arousal on her tongue before grabbing his shaft lining himself up and began pressing forward into her petals.
A sigh of relief slid from his lips as her warmth met his natural cool, each inch was bliss and while she wasn't the tightest he's ever had (willing or otherwise) he was also riding the high that he was inside AELA THE HUNTRESS, her wild nature and risque outfit had capture the interest of many players but now here she was laid out before him and his and his alone (at least until he would unfortunately have to leave). Eventually he was hilted and a perverse grin graced his features, he'd seen the hateful looks she gave him and now he was ravaging her sleeping body. It was a rush unlike anything, she'd never know that he had taken advantage and made her his bitch.
A sudden, unheard chuckle bubbled from this throat at the unintentional pun as he almost completely withdrew from her before lurching forward so his hips met hers in a loud clapping sound. He then repeated the motion, then again, his grin became crazed and impossibly even wider as he used her sleeping form as a cock sleeve. Each thrust causing her perky breasts to jiggle the motion drew him back in and he resumed his impossible attempts to coax milk from her teats. Eventually, however, all good things eventually come to an end and he soon felt the familiar building of pressure.
He didn't even attempt to stave off the oncoming orgasm, he had no one to impress nor pleasure so despite his capacity to delay himself for literally hours he pulled out in a rush and jumped forward so he could paint her face and breasts with his semen. A content sigh escaped him as he began the task of cleaning up after himself and very soon all evidence of his coming were gone. A small square wooden board with a wolf carved into its surface caught his eye.
He deftly grabbed it and twirled it in his fingers revealing a reflective surface. It was a hand mirror. He glanced at himself before blinking and peering closer. Molten eyes stared back at him through strands of snow white hair. Frost crawled along his cheek and lower lip as he slightly loosened the tight bondage he held on his massive magicka pool (if he'd had let his magicka run wild while he was having his way with the werewolf she'd wake up with a severe case of frostbite everywhere, or maybe not at all). He was beautiful, gorgeous even. Sometimes he forgot he was. Sometimes he remembered who he was. A short, fat useless nerd who spent all of his time when he wasn't working or sleeping playing video games, then suddenly one day he went to sleep and never woke up (he wasn't even 30 but he had to have died right?), at least not in his body.
Rather when he opened his eyes he was being cradled in the arms of an old elf as pale as him with those kind, gentle molten eyes. He wondered what he would have thought of himself, he liked to have things he would have been in awe of. He had power unrivaled, he had the ability to have whatever woman (or man) he wanted, he had EVERYTHING, and while he had regrets. You couldn't live as long as he had with them, but in the end he was at the top, more powerful than any mortal and most immortals. A sick grin wormed its way on his face. Now, time to find the dragonborn.
So, as you can see if you follow me I have spent a bit of time reworking my writing style (it still needs some serious help) if you've read Knight in Shining Exoskeleton's latest chapter you can see a bit of a transition, anyways I hope you enjoyed you sick depraved fucks, I love all of you (No Hetero). But seriously (like real talk) thanks for reading! Also feel free to tell me what you think of my first attempt at a lemon, I'm not sure how I did so some feedback would be welcome.