Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Kerillian luckily managed to find her way back to the keep without running into any Skaven, though she did stumble across several fresh corpses. Part of her wondered if it was simply the city guard squad that she’d been accompanying, cleaning up stragglers on their way home, or if Vyril had cleared her path for her.

What good would knowing the answer even do, though? Needle her pride even further, take the tattered scraps still remaining and trample them beneath ratty feet?

Her clothes were beyond saving, too. She used the rags to cleanse herself of both ink and other stains with the help of some well water, then discarded them in an alleyway, trudging home in nothing but her boots. She almost didn’t care if she was seen. She was just tired, though even that bone-deep exhaustion from the day’s exertions only just barely dulled the furious gnawing ache in her belly. It was like an itch, like withdrawal from an addiction. 

When she finally made it back to the keep, she only paused to be pitifully grateful that at least she wasn’t being hunted by Vyril this time. Instead of going in through the front door, she forced her tired and battered body to scale the courtyard walls, avoiding another bout of embarrassing and dangerous rumors as she quickly dashed into her tent.

Getting dressed again helped her feel slightly more secure, and she tried to focus on normal things. Tonight’s dinner, the expanding safe zones, what she might need to do to prepare for the next mission, that sort of thing.

It didn’t last. Those thoughts were like mist, evaporating in the heat that boiled inside of her womb. No matter how often she tried to redirect her attention, another pang or clench would hit and she’d briefly be overcome. It took her entire focus to avoid crying out in a needy, slutty little voice. 

She needed water. Cool, refreshing water. Diving into the crisp spring in the center of her glade would have been perfect, but he had tainted that place already. If she went there, even if he left her alone, she’d just be too consumed with the thoughts of their chase through those woods to actually calm down.

Kerillian tried and failed to ignore how damp her underclothes were getting as she stumbled out of her tent and trudged down the path towards the keep’s forge. The small waterfall that fed the keep’s cistern cascaded down right next to that walkway, and when Kerillian reached it she wasted no time in leaning forwards to let the rushing water pour over her red face.

“Hey there, Kerillian. Worked up a thirst today, eh?” The sound of Kruber’s voice startled her, making the elf whirl around and raise her hands defensively before she could fully halt the motion.

Kruber raised his own hands placatingly, the stout soldier frowning at her as he saw how flushed she was. “You alright? Seem a bit jumpy.”

“I’m fine.” She curtly replied. Despite herself, her eyes flickered across his form. Hairy, muscular, male. Maybe - maybe the key to satiating her new craving was to simply accept the comparatively minor indignity of laying with her friend? She’d never looked at him in this way, but while he wasn’t exactly what her Warpstone-touched body was craving… he would be a close second.

No. I can’t. She realized. Even with the pigment washed off, she still had a pair of damned Warpstone rings stuck through her nipples! There was no way he wouldn’t notice, and then the whole sordid affair would come to light! Damn it all!

“Are you sure?” Kruber pressed. “You’ve been acting strange for a bit. Do you think you might be coming down with something? Those ratty bastards sure are filthy enough, after all.”

Not this one. “I said, I’m fine.” Kerillian bit out. “If I need your help or pity, I’ll ask for it, mayfly!” She whirled and stormed off, indignation and frustration rapidly giving way to guilt. She could use his help, honestly. If only it wouldn’t require revealing what had happened. Even now, after everything, she would still rather fling herself from the battlements than unveil this entire pathetic affair to the lumberfoots she’d grown so close to. They’d surely turn their backs on her in shame and disgust. Saltzpyre would probably say a prayer for her ‘wretched elven soul’ and try to put her out of her misery, and she didn’t know if the others would have the will to stop him!

Maybe it wouldn’t be like that, maybe their bond was strong enough to survive such a revelation, but it would still turn her into a pitious little victim in their eyes. She had no doubt about that! Better for her gnawed bones to be forgotten on the floor of some Skaven’s den than to suffer that fate.

She had to exorcize some of this frustration, Kerillian realized. She couldn’t think with her body screaming at her like this! 

Retreating back to her tent, Kerillian closed the flaps and lay down on her bedroll. The water on her face was quickly heating to match the temperature of her blazing red cheeks, and the meager relief it had offered faded with each passing second. As she undressed herself again, Kerillian could have sworn that her overstimulated body was steaming in the cool mountain air.

Self-pleasure wasn’t something she had too much experience with in recent years. Not since she was a young maiden, at least. Since then, if such an urge came over her - well, she would have the company of her fellow elves to satiate such desires. And since leaving Athel Loren, it simply hadn’t been an issue.

Until now, at least. The thought refused to be ignored. Now, you’re about to bury two fingers in yourself while imagining a Skaven’s cock, aren’t you? 

She knew that she wouldn’t be thinking of anything else. There was no point in trying.

Laying back on her bedroll, she did exactly that. With the heat rushing through her body, it was easy. Her folds were soaked when she pressed her fingers into them, and she was able to plunge her index and middle finger into herself down to the knuckle with no preparation at all.

It felt… disappointing. Watered down. A ghost of the pleasure she knew her body was capable of experiencing. Kerillian found herself speeding up, slamming her fingers roughly into her slit, adding a third and then a fourth like she might be able to get some measure of satisfaction by just trying harder.

Minutes of this went by, until her wrist started to ache. In desperation, she reached up to palm her chest with her free hand, feeling the piercings through the fabric of her tunic. Acting on impulse, she pulled the cloth up and grabbed the warpstone jewelry, giving it a sharp tug.

Pleasure lanced through her, sharp and intense enough that she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from alerting the entire keep with her moans. 

She found a new rhythm, plunging four fingers into herself and just as she got as deep as she could manage, practically yanking on the warpstone piercing and tugging sharply on her nipple. 

Just like he did. 

She couldn’t help but imagine that it was him doing it. In her mind’s eye, she was transported back to that cellar, laying back as he toyed with her body. Grabbing her piercing and tugging, fingers toying and plunging into her pussy to prepare her. 

Yes… prepare her. He wouldn’t stop with this. Once again, he would spread her legs and press his cock against her folds. Every time she encountered him, he escalated his depravity. She would be left in the throes of ecstasy by every thrust, her womb pulsing and clenching as he thrust through her cervix and battered her core with the thick crown of his Skaven cock. Her own orgasm was building to an incredible crescendo, and it would tip her into an ocean of bliss the moment he filled her with his seed…!

But of course, that moment wouldn’t arrive here in her tent. Here, the only company she had was her fingers. No matter how roughly she slammed them into her weeping slit, or used them to yank on her aching nipples, she couldn’t give her body what it yearned for. And her body, spitefully it seemed, refused to be satisfied with anything else.

Kerillian teetered frustratingly on the edge of a climax, whimpering in desperate desire as she felt relief from her affliction dangled so tantalizingly close, just out of reach…

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, desperately working herself over. By the time her arms were too sore to continue, her nipples were aching and bruised and her folds were only saved from chafing by the constant drooling stream of arousal she’d poured onto her bedroll.

With a groan of misery, Kerillian let her head thud back against the ground. At the realization that all her efforts had only made her heat worse, she nearly sobbed.

She spent the rest of the day in a fevered daze, avoiding the other residents of the keep and emerging from her tent only to retrieve water and a bit of food. And that night, sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned, only able to catch shallow moments of rest here and there, and those were filled with a jumble of indistinct memories of her time in the cellar.

The next day was worse. She stumbled around in a haze, lust and sleep deprivation fogging her thoughts. To hide her new piercings, she had to bundle herself up in her thickest tunic and cloak, but that only made the throbbing heat coursing through her veins even worse. Everything she did seemed to only make it worse. Sitting still filled her with restless energy, moving made her clothes rub across her skin like they were made of sandpaper. She was thirsty, but every time she drank something her altered throat sent insidious tendrils of pleasure curling down her spine.

Eating was out of the question. She had one swallow of porridge and nearly choked on it as the warm, thick goop sliding down her throat filled her with the urge to moan. Her friends were all worried about her, Bardin and Kruber exchanging looks and mutters. Sienna asked her if she was feeling ill, which she denied of course. Saltzpyre didn’t even give her that much courtesy. He declared that she was ‘obviously’ feverish with some foul illness and should therefore be in her bedroll resting. For the curmudgeonly Witch Hunter, that might as well have been him offering to fluff her pillows and spoon soup into her mouth, it was the closest thing to nurturing that she’d ever seen from the man. Kerillian just didn’t have the brains left to appreciate it right now.

She felt like she was going mad. Taking the excuse to return to her tent and isolate herself, Kerillian quickly realized that she couldn’t take it anymore. She needed some kind of relief, before she lost her mind completely.

The only thing she could think of was her glade. It wasn’t safe anymore, of course, but at its center was that pool of blessedly chilled mountain springwater. Letting the small waterfall in the keep run over her face hadn’t been enough to help, but surely flinging herself into the spring would do something. Her body was running so hot now, she imagined a cloud of steam would erupt as she jumped in, like quenching a blade at the forge.

And then, just like that blade, she’d be refreshed and renewed, all heat and weakness stolen by the fortifying effects of the blessedly cool water.

The idea of it grew in her mind incredibly quickly. She fantasized about it like one stranded in the desert might fantasize about an oasis. 

Only a few minutes later, she slipped from her tent again and clambered back over the walls, darting down the mountain trails towards her compromised sanctuary. She didn’t even care that it wasn’t safe. As far as she was concerned, her only options were to do this, compromise herself to her allies, or let herself spiral into madness.

When she reached her glade, she could sense a stillness in the trees. There was no birdsong, no animals scurrying in the undergrowth. Immediately, she knew what that meant, but she was drawn onward all the same.

Trembling with a maelstrom of emotions, frustration and anger and shame and humiliation and lust and hate and fear all whirling in her head as her footsteps became faster and faster, until she finally broke through the trees and reached the spring.

And there he was, of course. Vyril, the Skaven bastard grinning at her, casually lounging against a tree as though he owned this place. “Sleep well last night, elf-thing?” He snickered.

Something snapped like glass in Kerillian’s chest.

Like all elves, she had a connection to the winds of magic. Unlike all elves, her gift in particular had been a strong one. If she had so chosen, she could have gone down the path of a spellsinger or spellweaver instead of becoming a waystalker. Perhaps she would have even been one of the ones chosen to become a Sister Of The Thorn, touched by the woods and fey essence to become something not entirely mortal.

There was no telling what might have been, of course. But that potential was still within her, buried through long discipline. Reaching out to the winds of magic without the proper connection to the spirit of Athel Loren was dangerous, and forging such a connection required practice and meditation. It had been nearly a century since she’d last communed with the winds, and those lessons had been all but forgotten as she devoted herself to the martial path she’d chosen instead.

But now, with her discipline shattered, she reached out to the winds of magic by pure instinct, and the forest leapt to life around her.

For the very first time since she’d met him, Vyril’s eyes widened in shock as the situation turned on him. Roots exploded out of the ground at his feet as fey lights gleamed around Kerillian’s body. He leapt into the air, severing the questing tendrils with his blade, but a dozen more erupted for each one that he cut. They lashed around his wrists and ankles, dragging him down to the ground and pinning him in place.

Kerillian staggered forward, purer green light than the poisonous shade of warpstone swirling from her body. She drew her dagger in one trembling hand then dropped to her knees astride Vyril’s midriff.

She had him. At long last, she had him. One stab, and her blade would find his unprotected throat, the gap in his armor easy to target with him bound like this. He was strong, already beginning to tear and snap the roots binding him down, but he wasn’t fast enough and they both knew it.

One thrust, and it would be finished. She would be free. He would never trouble her again. Never touch her again. Never expose her to his smell, never run his claws over her skin, never tug on her aching chest, never thrust his tongue down her gasping throat…

She shuddered, trembling harder. The dagger felt like it was made of lead, so heavy it nearly slipped from her fingers.

Just do it! She screamed in her own mind. You’ve won! It’s over! Finish it! It’s everything you wanted!

Life magic flowed through her body, suffusing her with vitality. It didn’t purify her, though. If anything, filling her heated flesh with the energies of life only made it worse. What was more natural than the urge to reproduce, after all?

Kill him! Kill him before it’s too late!

Kerillian plunged her dagger down.

Vyril’s eyes, stunned, slid downwards. Towards his throat…untouched. And the blade buried in the dirt over his shoulder, half an inch from his neck.

He barked out a short laugh. Then, the ratman just started to cackle, practically howling with mirth even as Kerillian’s fingers clutched the hilt of her blade so tightly that her knuckles went white.

“Well done, elf-thing! Did not think-expect to have magic to deal with! Why only now though?” Even with their usual positions reversed, his smug arrogance hadn’t dimmed in the slightest as he leered up at her, his eyes roving across the heaving outline of her breasts without shame. “Elf-thing having trouble controlling herself, yes? Can’t deal with feelings?” 

“You… you haven’t won.” Kerillian hissed. She reached back and fumbled with her drawstring, nearly snapping it as she yanked her trousers down and exposed her slit. The heat had somehow gotten even worse than before, this close to the subject of her woes, and her drooling cunt was practically steaming in the cool mountain air. “This is on my terms, do you understand? I beat you! And n-now, I get to do to you what you’ve done to me!”

Vyril only laughed in her face, even louder. “Oh, yes elf-thing! Of course-course! I tremble with need and fear-nerves at the foul desires you have for my sweet-tender body!”

“Shut up!” Kerillian snapped, her teeth grinding.  She hated him, and hated even more that his mockery wasn’t even slowing her down. She pulled his chainmail aside, and a soft gasp slipped from her against her will as his cock sprang into view. She took a deep breath, the breeding-scent once again bathing her senses, and wondered if she had the time to indulge in a little bit of - no, no, she was scratching an itch! Pleasuring herself, using him as a tool! Nothing more!

She straddled his hips, lifting herself up and positioning her entrance over his thick cockhead. When she lowered herself down, she was moving with so much haste that she nearly missed, his crown sliding along her thigh and nearly slipping away before she managed to readjust. 

Her desperation made her throw caution to the wind. She didn’t take it slow, she dropped down the moment she felt Vyril’s cock find purchase and let gravity drag her down to his lap with the fur-muffled slap of flesh hitting flesh. He’d only been inside of her once before, but what a time it had been. Her body evidently hadn’t recovered yet, maybe wouldn’t ever, as she was able to take him all the way to the root without pause. 

His cock breached into her womb like a battering ram, and before she could lift herself for a second stroke Kerillian was left squealing on top of Vyril’s hips, her back arching as her juices flooded into his lap. She’d been on a hair-trigger for so long, that single thrust was all it took to make her cum. In that instant, any hesitation about this course of action vanished, along with the shame and guilt. Once again, it was all just washed away in a tide of pleasure, and the relief from all of that negativity was nearly as addictive as the pleasure itself.

She could just forget about the whispers of her friends, the glances from the men, the lies she’d been telling, her doubts over her capabilities, the worries over her mutations, all of it. 

She also forgot about the roots. And without her instinctive surge of magic flowing through them, they were nothing but thin strips of wood and fiber.

When Vyril tore his way free of them, Kerillian was slow to react. Too slow by far. Her reactions were dulled by the haze of bliss that had settled over her brain like a fog, and she was helpless to keep the ratman from grabbing her and flipping their positions around.

“Elf-thing was so eager.” He growled. She felt paralyzed as he loomed over her, grabbing her knees and shoving her ankles up to her ears. Kerillian was flexible enough that he had no difficulty with folding her completely in half, until her toes were behind her head. Held like this, she was utterly vulnerable and exposed, her lower lips spread slightly as if to frame the Skaven cock plunging between them.

“You desire this.” Vyril continued, lowering his head until his snout was practically touching her nose. His red eyes stared into her dark ones, and Kerillian couldn’t do anything but whimper. “Is now when you admit it, elf-thing? Admit what you are? What you want-want?”

He punctuated that with a sharp thrust, dragging himself back and then grinding his cock into her body. The new position meant that he was easily able to reach an insanely sensitive place inside of her, a dense bundle of nerves that felt like the root of her clit. At the new angle his thrust punished that spot, hitting it like a mortar against a pestle on his way to slam into her womb again. Kerillian’s eyes rolled back in her head at the sensation, her back trying and failing to arch underneath Vyril’s well-muscled bulk. The only thing she could do was tremble impotently, whining desperately for a reprieve that would never come.

“You want to become my breeder.” Vyril purred. “Fester is dead, their breeders sick-broken things. Bloated, mutated, foul. Weak! Disease took all.” He leered down at her body, shredding her clothes away to reveal the warpstone piercings capping off her sensitive breasts. Some of the light from her impromptu display of magic seemed to have been caught in them, and the green crystal gleamed brighter than ever before. “You, elf-thing, are strong. Healthy. And pretty-pretty, yes. Our litters will be few, but strong. And my new clan will have revenge against Pestilent Brotherhood, while you serve me.” He paused, then snickered. “With elf-magic too. Maybe will be first Skaven to live for thousand years!” 

One of his hands reached down and touched her belly - then pressed. Kerillian could barely focus on the things he was saying, her mind filled with fireworks at the sensation of her aching and desperate womb being massaged into an ever-greater yearning. Her head was swimming, it felt like it must be a dream. She should be horrified by the future he outlined, the rest of her millenia-long life spent as a broodmare in service to his (fat, delicious, perfect, gouging into her just right at the proper spot to make her want to scream) cock - but there was a disconnect in her brain. The proper reactions were so distant, so buried. She grasped for horror and rage and barely brushed against them. They escaped her clutches like mist burning away in front of the bonfire her body had become.

And when Vyril started fucking her properly, she couldn’t even place why that was a bad thing.

He didn’t need to hold her ankles up any longer, Kerillian wouldn’t have tried to lower them anyway. Instead, he was able to shed his armor for the first time in any of their trysts, secure in the knowledge that Kerillian’s ability to try and fight back had dwindled to nearly nothing. At long last, Kerillian’s bare skin was pressed to his bare fur as he hammered into her aching cunt, and Kerillian buried her shrieks in his muscular chest as he suffocated her in the bliss she’d been craving.

Last time, she’d felt like she was in freefall. Now, as she clutched Vyril’s fur like his presence was the sole thing anchoring her pleasure-wracked soul to her body, she felt more like she was rapidly approaching the finale of her descent.

As her doubts and fears continued to dwindle, Vyril’s pace only increased. He bottomed out inside of her with each thrust, slick precum flowing from the head of his cock in a scaldingly hot stream. His balls slammed into her ass and thighs over and over again, heavy with the liquid weight of his seed, slapping against her skin hard enough to leave red marks.

Every ounce of Kerillian’s being crystallized into one singular desire. She could feel him throbbing inside of her, she could practically sense how close he was, and she wanted him to finish inside of her already. She needed it. More than she needed food, water, or air, she had to be bred with his spawn in the next few moments or she would simply shatter.

And Vyril was always willing to take advantage of her needs. 

His muzzle pressed against her lips, his tongue forcing its way down her throat in a domineering perversion of a kiss as he slammed himself into her one last time. One of his hands gripped her throat and squeezed, the other grabbed one of her thighs and hauled her ass back against his hips, making sure that he was buried inside of her core as deep as he could possibly go.

For an instant, mortal terror gripped Kerillian’s heart. Not about what was happening, no. The last lingering sparks of her pride and shame were guttering out with each passing moment. Instead, she was afraid that Vyril would deny her yet again. That he would pull back, or stop. That he would continue to toy with her and tease her and leave her to suffer with an empty, desperate womb.

But then she felt heat bloom in her belly, thick ropes of potent seed absolutely flooding into her as Vyril’s balls clenched like bellows, and the fear was wiped away in an instant by soul-searing bliss. 

She raised her head, swallowing more of his tongue so that she could blindly match his perverted kiss with her own lips on his muzzle. With her legs folded as they were, she couldn’t wrap them around his waist, but she still tried. Every ounce of hatred she’d once held for this Skaven, every curse she’d muttered at his name, was simply washed away.

The wild magic she’d unleashed before flowed through her body, curling around her limbs and sinking into her belly as it responded to her desires. 

And she felt it. 

A pulse of bliss, a thunderclap of fulfillment. The sea of virile goo inside of her womb, which bloated her belly like she was pregnant already with just how much of it there was, had found its target. One of the seeds of life sitting in her belly was being swarmed right this moment, infiltrated by Vyril’s Skaven seed, corrupted by his bestial essence. 

And his child began to grow in her belly. It was unholy, profane, a perversion and betrayal of her entire species. 

But Kerillian simply didn’t care. 

As the ecstasy of her first breeding rolled over her like a tidal wave, Kerillian simply relaxed and let it carry her into euphoric unconsciousness.

—--

When she woke up, Kerillian was no longer in her glade. For a moment, she thought she was back in the cellar where her fall had reached its terminal velocity, but no. This place was new, yet vaguely familiar all the same.

She’d been in places like this before. Caves turned into burrows, festooned with stolen supplies and acid-green lights. This one seemed especially small and secluded, though. The only entrance she could see was a thin crack in the wall that vanished into darkness; and the only furnishings were a shelf carved into the rock that held a variety of implements, a few sacks of what seemed to be food, and a pile of furs that looked to serve as a bed. The only other thing of note was a small hole in one wall that trickled a small stream of clear water, which collected in a small pool before the stream flowed out through the chamber’s exit.

And of course, she wasn’t alone.

Vyril crouched next to her. If he’d replaced his armor before dragging her here, he’d removed it again since arriving. Kerillian found her gaze wandering over the full breadth of his muscled form. Her inhibitions had been shattered, her prejudice stomped down into the dimmest corners of her mind. He was… attractive. Rich, dark fur over a strong and well-formed body, and she even found a handsomeness to his extended muzzle, sharp teeth, and red eyes.

Of course, she wasn’t drawn to him because of his looks. And even so recently sated, Kerillian had to gulp as her eyes drifted down between his legs. His cock was flaccid right now, but even then it was a hefty length that was draped down over his similarly sizable balls, swaying weightily with every small movement.

“Gaze your fill, elf-thing.” He murmured. “I expect you to learn-know it well.”

She had already gone past the point of no return. It was no use pulling back now, it would only make her more miserable. Possibly returning her to that horrible, heated fugue if Vyril punished her with denial again.

Kerillian… wanted this. Vyril’s spawn was growing in her belly, her thighs and womb were still stained with his seed, but her head felt clearer than it had in days. Fighting him at all had just been stupid. He’d proven himself a worthy mate, defeating her at almost every turn and then bringing her pleasures that surely skirted the domain of Slaanesh themselves. How had she ever thought this could end in any other way?

The last embers of her pride urged her to make some futile display of rejection and resistance. She snuffed them out for good with just a single breath, inhaling deeply through her nose and luxuriating in the breed-scent Vyril had filled this confined space with. He’d clearly been living here for a while already, his smell was practically baked into the stone.

“What now?” Kerillian croaked. Her throat was sore from how much she’d screamed when he’d bred her. 

“We leave city.” Vyril grunted. “Find new burrow. Grow new-fresh clan. Have found several options, will narrow down to one.” He gave her a lecherous look. “First, though, elf-thing must finish job-work she started. Sleeping after one round? Shameful failure, breeder.” 

His growled reminder of her new status made Kerillian shudder. She felt like her womb flared as the title settled on her like a mantle. It felt like a piece she’d been missing for a long time had just clicked into place. “I’m sorry.” She murmured. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed as she crawled forward on her hands and knees. “I’ll do better.”

She was still sane enough to feel humiliation as she dutifully took the head of his cock in her mouth, suckling on the tip as she slipped her tongue under his foreskin and shivered as the pheromones trapped there soaked into her tastebuds. However, the humiliation was just a spice to the experience, now, her slow fall having intertwined it with pleasure in her mind too thoroughly to ever untangle. Her old elven instincts howled shame throughout her body, but the shame was merely fuel for the fires of her new lusts, and Kerillian felt her sore cunt drooling fresh juices down her thighs as Vyril placed a hand possessively on top of her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kerillian spotted some things on the shelf, things that held a hint for what was coming. Warpstone crystals, with the process of carving them into new piercings nearly finished. That tainted ink he’d used, along with something that she felt certain was a tattoo needle resting alongside the bottles. And in the center of it all… a collar. 

Kerillian’s cunt clenched in anticipation. As she forced more and more of his shaft down her throat, she couldn’t help but wonder which he’d use on her first.