With this, Fiction Friday comes to a close for now. I may well add more to it in time, whenever I write more stuff that I can't publish regularly.
Tags: [Futa/F] [Rape] [Combat] [Magic]
The same repeated itself the next day, and the day after that. Vesper was subdued, raped into utter submission with the redhead held back, forced to watch. For the first time since the initiate’s arrival, Julia struggled against the guards again. She fought, bit and scratched until she was held against the floor with a blade against her neck, held down and turned to watch the matriarch violating the mute initiate. For every day that passed with the same pattern, it became harder and harder for Julia to make Vesper eat anything. Suddenly, the daily visits stopped. Days passed in solitude, with the two interred in the cell, Julia remaining at Vesper’s side, always with a safe, strong arm around the girl, but to no avail. She was slipping away, hiding in the confines of her own mind. Every day, the warrior’s worry and frustration grew.
Battles, she could deal with. The tension grew to a breaking point and was released. This was different. She was powerless, stricken with guilt and unable to aid the struggling girl as she retreated further and further into herself.
It got no better when it appeared that the novice had been added to the end of Syrith’s regular fuck-marathon, which apparently meant that any remaining lust, and semen, that the abbess had, was to be taken out on her newest acquisition. Julia herself was only occasionally dragged from the cell. The second night that Vesper was taken, leaving her behind, alone, she found herself wanting to be up there, despite what connotations that prospect bore with it, just to be able to see what Vesper was put through. It was better to be abused alongside the marred girl than to wander aimlessly in the cell, panic tearing at what little sanity was left in her mind.
All that was apparent now was that every time Vesper returned, stained with cum and marks left behind by the abbess’ greedy hands, she grew increasingly isolated, ever harder to get into any kind of contact with. With the initiate’s descent, Julia was losing the last bastion she had had to hold herself up with. A momentary weakness, letting someone else in, was what was slowly eating away at the steely resolve that had kept her sane throughout her time with the cult. Now, she paced the cell in solitude every time she was left alone, waiting for the frail girl to be returned, and every time she was thrown back into the cell, Julia’s desperation grew.
Finally, Julia was taken up to the hall with Vesper. The twisted relief she felt was short-lived, however, as she was not taken up to be beaten or raped, or even fight, but instead to watch Vesper’s hours-long rape upon the dais.
The girl’s food intake had dwindled to almost nothing, but what little fat left on her shook in springy jiggles every time she was penetrated. Each thrust reverberated into Julia, feeling like a red-hot knife being jammed further and further into her chest. Vesper simply laid there on her back, her eyes corpse-like and unfocused. At some point, Julia had tried to wrestle herself free from the grip of the two guards keeping her down, but all that had happened was her ending up on the floor, head pulled back by her dull red hair to force her to watch the abbess pump load after load into the initiate.
Perhaps it was the fact that Syrith was enjoying what seemed to be her newest conquest, or perhaps it was merely because the hour-long session was nearing its climax. Whatever the reason was, the spasming abbess remained momentarily unaware of something Julia’s battle-trained senses did not miss. The clamor of combat from the entrance of the room. Serious, massed combat, not just the depraved rituals and fancies of the common cultists.
The mass of bodies in the room shifted, the constant churning of sweat-stained sin disturbed. The feeling of unease spread like wildfire amongst the cultists, soon followed by shouted words. “The city guard! They’re attacking!”
Matriarch Syrith froze mid-thrust, cold eyes wavering for the briefest of moments as she sought out the source of the commotion. A crossbow bolt whistled by to her right, settling in, almost entirely tearing through the abdomen of one of the guards holding Julia in place. The boiling mass of beasts and humans began wavering, brewing into a turbulent storm as more and more humans tried to flee the hall. Slaves and cultists alike were trampled in the beginning panic of the mass as they fought to get past beastmen, mutants and the more deeply corrupted devotees of the cult, all of which seemed more than eager to throw themselves towards the sounds of steel against steel and barked orders.
In the middle of it all, now some ten feet from the podium that Vesper remained on top of, stood the tall, black-haired abbess, surrounded by a palpable, darkened aura of air. Bolts whistled past her, and a few even seemed to pass directly through her without harm. Julia saw no more of her as she lunged forward, grabbing onto Vesper’s inanimate form to drag her into safety from the veritable hailstorm of bolts. The warrior huddled against the altar, surrounding the initiate’s body with her own as she waited, and waited.
It quickly became obvious that the city guard had gained a foothold in the room, but no more. Julia’s resurfacing mind left her capable of a brief scoff as she listened to the noise of the fight. These men were so obviously not soldiers, but rather keepers of the peace, policemen, trained to fight but largely unused to anything more than a scuffle with a burglar or a few thugs.
The battle continued on, wavering away from the main entrance of the room and onto the floor proper, where it was possible for Julia to observe some of the fights that went on. Uniformed, frightened-looking guards lashed out as individuals at frothing beasts, mutants and utterly mad cultists. More than a few from either side fell with a blade buried in their back, as the battle spread into smaller clumps of fighters. The ground soon ran red with blood, and cluttered with the bodies of dead and dying.
Gradually, it became clear that despite their rage and insanity, the cultists were losing ground. The surprise assault had just barely allowed the guards to gain the upper hand, and now, the groups of tired-looking guards that had finished off their opponents joined their companions. Perhaps another ten minutes passed, as the battle raged on. No human, beast or mutant was going to give up. Those still left in the fight had nothing left if they lost this. The beasts would be executed, the mutants and humans burned.
Still, a few of them broke off, but were picked off by a cadre of crossbowmen in position near the main entrance. It seemed that the ranged combatants had given up on trying to pick off the matriarch after losing the first twenty bolts that should have impaled the woman, but instead passed through her as if she was made of nothing but wispy smoke. Now that the main body of the cultists was defeated, though, a few of the crossbowmen took a shot at the abbess. As tired, bloodied guards advanced slowly towards the stationary, disdainful black-clad woman, Julia withdrew, putting the altar between her and Vesper, and the fight that was bound to take place.
A few more bolts whistled through the air. Rough, unknown voices rang out. A scream tore through the hall briefly, but was cut short. Much too short. Julia dared to look over the podium, seeing Syrith standing over the corpse of a guard cut in half in what looked like a single swing. The woman carried no weapons save for the strange, shadowy tendrils that once more snaked around her arms, looking as if they were caught in a storm that only they felt.
The guards withdrew, forming a half-circle around the imposing, black-clad woman. A few more bolts whistled past, but it was clear that no one wanted to go near the imposing woman. Finally, the ranks of the guard parted, allowing a man looking to be in his forties to step forward. He was clad in eclectic, flowing white clothes and carried a myriad of pouches and bags, as well as a glowing staff. The man was obviously a wizard of the college of light, a Hierophant.
It was against this man that the abbess now turned her attention. She appeared to mumble a few words, and then a dark, purple cloud veered off from the aura surrounding her, briefly enveloping the white-clad man. He remained calm, chanting his own mystical spell. There was a blinding flash of white light and a raging, gurgling scream from the abbess, as well as surprised gasps from the guards. Julia retreated back behind the altar, clutching Vesper’s lightly shaking body. Her eyes darted over the floor in front of her, seeing the dagger of one of the guards that had been restraining her earlier. Carefully, the redhead freed herself from Vesper, making sure that the girl was nestled up against the altar in relative safety, and then she crawled over the floor, grasping the hand of the dagger in a shaking hand.
Flashes of light replaced darkening nights in a violent dance behind her, the matriarch’s enraged screams rising and falling, entwining with the measured and restrained grunts that Julia assumed were from the hierophant. She had seen mages battle once before. The fight had been over in less than a minute, and had ended with the loser in a flash-cooked heap of flesh after lightning had struck him from a clear sky.
This battle, however, wore on. Crackling, blitzing tendrils of light and dark arched through the air, clinging briefly to the floor and the ceiling, even just at the air. The two mages were locked in mid-cast, their will and power pitted against the other’s in a dazzling, electrical display of raw magic. Streaks of lightning of so stark, so pure white light that Julia had to look away immediately danced around the hierophants skull, his milky-white eyes alight with fiery white flame. In contrast, the aura of darkness around Syrith pulsed like an unholy heart, drawing nebulous tendrils of shadow seemingly from the very air around her, feeding into the crackling tendril of darkness that collided with the Light Mage’s power.
The guards seemed in awe, or perhaps they were truly paralyzed. Julia had a hard time making them out in the jerking, flashing light provided by the display of power between the two sorcerers. The only person seemingly still in full control of herself in the emptied orgy hall was Julia. She cast a glance down at the dagger she held close, looked to the shivering, mute girl at the altar, and then took a decision.
Syrith’s eyes signaled a silent cackle. This place was an unholy site, the winds of magic favored her here. Yet this mage, powerful as he may be, assumed himself capable of besting one of Slaanesh’s chosen in her very home? The cackle was replaced by a sneer, and a redoubling of her efforts. It was an insult to her power.
Out of the corner of her eye, towards where the podium was, the matriarch caught a flash of movement. Her eyes widened, her concentration fizzling for one fatal moment. She remembered. The redheaded whore who stubbornly refused to break, she was still there, clutching the senseless, deluded girl. She had been.
Bare feet smacked against the stone floor once, twice, thrice. The abbess knew she was too late. She could feel her failing concentration breaking down the raw lightning she was streaming at the Hierophant. Her right arm swung around, but she moved in slow motion, caught up in the warping, extreme outpour of magic. Her body refused to channel the winds of magic at such a rate and function physically at the same time. The naked form of the redheaded slave crashed into the black-clad woman, toppling both of them. The Light Wizard immediately withdrew his hand, the disappearance of the supreme, powerful exchange between the two leaving a deathly silent hollow.
Only two sounds were heard in the abandoned hall. Gasping breaths, and repeated, violent thumping. Julia sat on top of Syrith’s chest, the abbess’ arms locked to her sides. The warrior’s left arm clutched around the woman’s neck, and the right arm hammered up and down, mechanically jamming a bloody, thin dagger-blade into every opening in the matriarch’s face. Julia released the woman’s neck and instead grasped around the dagger with both hands, hammering it into one bloody eye socket. She lifted one hand, slamming it back down against the handle of the dagger repeatedly. Soon, a sickly crunch was heard as the dagger tore through the back of Syrith’s skull. Pressure gave way, spraying fluids and blood over the naked warrior.
As Julia was about to free the dagger and repeat the exercise with the matriarch’s other eye socket, a soft hand was placed on her shoulder. Something in the touch compelled her to stop, to let go of the rage that coursed through her. She simply sat over the bloody corpse of the cult’s former mistress, breathing heavily.
“Stand up, my child. Leave her be. She has sullied enough souls in her life, don’t let her taint yours in death,” said the man.
Julia nodded. She could see white garb through the corner of her eye. The wizard was right. She knew it. It was over. They were- “Vesper!” The shout surprised the stunned guards, freeing them from their trance. Several of them looked away as the naked, bloodied warrior stormed back to the altar to find the shivering, frail girl still lying there. Julia sat down on her heels, wrapping her arms around the initiate’s shaking body. She sat there, holding Vesper close, too overwhelmed to speak for a long, long minute. Finally, as adrenaline was replaced by deep, complete exhaustion, the toned warrior was able to let out a quiet whisper.
“She’s dead… She’s dead, Vesper, she’s gone…”