Avalon in Flames

In the shadows, Levina's burnished eyes burned with admiration for her new creation.

***

"Do tell... how did she get away?" Braya sharpened her sword upon a whetstone, fixing Lady Sybilla with a dark eye. "Given your... gifts... that would seem the least likely thing to occur."

"Her magic was strong, mistress."

The king is gone and still she calls me that. The old Spider Queen would not have made such a lapse.

Braya sheathed her blade and looked upon her lieutenants; only those of the Black Moon remained.

The barbarian troop Braya came with exhausted themselves upon the greenskin horde, in both arms and discipline. The survivors had rallied to their own chieftains, weary of being commanded by a woman. And now your own clan has abandoned you. Braya sighed. It's for the best. They were never going to fight for either of my sons, much less you, for long.

"Don't tell me what's for the best, witch..." uttered Braya, under her breath.

"What was that, mistress?" said Sybilla, this time wearing the armor from the time when she was a hero, her chestplate now ill-fitting for a pair of tits that had grown even more full.

"Nothing!" Braya's face hardened and her eyes burned violet once more. She turned to her men. "With Prince Melehan gone... it falls to me." She sauntered before her son's lords, clad in chainmail that barely held back her round and bulbous cleavage, nor concealed the taut swells of her ivory bottom.

Carnarent, one of her son's most faithful, stepped forward. His face was weary, his armor dented and awash in the life blood of greenskins and men both. "My... queen?" Take note, Sybilla. "I would follow you and these men to the end... but this is a battle we cannot win. We barely have a thousand men left and the traitor lord Morvith has reinforcements streaming in by the hour-"

Braya raised her hand and eyed the knight. "I don't need the city, Carnarent. I need something very special inside it." She took a deep breath and her enormous valley of cleavage heaved in turn. She eyed the darkening sky outside the tent. "Recall all men to the edge of the battlefield. Burn the city to the ground. I will retrieve my... glory... and my son, alone."

Carnarent cleared his throat, his eyes wide. "My queen! That's suicide! The field and city are crawling with the enemy!"

Braya smiled. "All the better to sneak through." She looked over her shoulder. "Tonight the Black Moon rises again!"

***

Braya rode upon her giant tenebril from rooftop to rooftop of the moonlit city, wrapping and twisting off spires, crushing chimneys and kicking up shingles as she eyed Avalon's red tower. "You know where we're going?" Of course! I can sense the souls of both my sons at the bottom. Though a presence around Morvith... has fled the city. No matter!

She pressed forward, making her way through the slaughters in the streets and fog choked roofs, until she found herself at the base of the Red Tower, its outer guards already lying in their own blood. The barbarian stepped off her mount, beckoning the transformed king to slink off into the shadows.

She stepped over the corpses, minding not to slip on the red. "I don't remember your followers being so sensible. Carnarent-" Was too sensible, no doubt an addition by Melehan. I prefer them mindless and frothing at the mouth. Alas, my sons lack the power for such devotion. "Oh."

The warrior delved into the tower's depths, going below the city streets, Morgana's sorcery lending her sight through the dark. Curious... my son's do not change their position. "Good. A trap. The great Morgana, finally meets her end... in a tower dungeon." That would mean you too, my pet. As I recall, a certain thirst for glory is how you came to be my slave. "That thirst is gone, like everything else you've taken from me." Braya reached the end of the tower stairs, the dungeon sprawled out before her in hues of gray but for the torches that cast their golden light. "There is only the end."

Ten steps forward. Braya's eyes picked out the rectangular object centered in the middle of the room, raised from the stony floor like a dais. That is King Arthur's tomb... and within it... Excalibur! Braya grabbed a torch off the wall and brought it close, illuminating the deep swells of her breasts in round shadows.

At once the room exploded with vivid golden red light, flames burst from the stone all around the four corners, trapping the barbarian. Braya's eyes narrowed as three shadows emerged from the flames. One she recognized as Melehan.

The prince was thrown to the ground, his eyes glassy, lips parched and his skin gray, papery thin. Morvith stood triumphant over his brother, radiant and chiseled, his eyes bright with sorcery. The third silhouette seemed familiar... yet different. Queen Emora!

The demon queen strode forward, giant red tits bouncing to her step. "Greetings, Morgana! And welcome... to the end of your life!" Pink light gathered in her palm and a strong scent of roses flowed in the air.

Sex magic.

Braya unsheathed her sword. "So long as my soul still kindles, you will call me Braya, bitch!"

Morvith cackled and walked atop King Arthur's tomb. He kicked off the lid and then sent the thing tumbling down to Braya's feet. "You came all this way... for a dusty corpse." Arthur's maroon silks, gold and turquoise pendants were resplendent upon his skeletal form, a form that held many treasures... but not Excalibur.

Only a ceremonial blade gleamed in its stead.

Braya's eyes flamed violet. "WHAT!?"

Her traitorous son smiled, the same smug look that Morgana herself had sported countless times. "I said much the same. The witches who bore his corpse thought it a good idea to keep the blade separate from the king... take it back to some..." he twirled his wrist, wracking his memory.

"Lady in the Lake." finished Emora, her eyes full of the same arrogance as before, but with a new tinge of lust in the mix.

"Right! So while my sorceress... succubus... whatever she calls herself today... goes for the Lady - I thought it best to put an end to our little dispute." Morvith unsheathed his blade. "And now you're here... well, I don't really need him anymore, do I?"

Braya convulsed with Morgana's anger. "You... you have a succubus? One does not own a succubus..." She stepped forward, her momentous breasts jangling her chainmail bra. "What do you think will happen when that bitch gets her hand on Excalibur? That she'll just hand it over to you!?"

Morvith lowered his blade for a moment. "Oh..."

Emora grabbed Morvith by the chin, giving him a deep kiss. "Enough with this! Let's put this one behind us!"

Braya surged forward, throwing a beam of white light from her hand to Melehan's body. At once her muscles weakened, breath left her and she almost dropped her sword. "What did you do!?" she coughed, narrowly dodging a band of flaming pink light from Emora's hand. Life requires life, little girl! I don't mean to take on both at once!

Emora dashed along the stones, taking Braya to the ground, trapping her face between her supple crimson thighs. "The legendary Morgana of the Black Moon..." sneered Emora, steam rising from her glistening lips. "You don't look like much."

Across from the duo, Melehan burst with new light and life, his muscles rippled with new mass. His chest broadened to its former size and his characteristic black armor wrapped back around him in bands of mist. A triumphant bellow erupted from his lips, while the clouds cleared from his eyes.

Morvith spun and then smiled at his renewed brother. "All that... and no sword... pity." He raised his blade high. "Not really."

Melehan leapt up to his feet, dodging his brother's swing, laughing all the while. "As if I needed a sword for you, brother..." He swooped in, grabbing Morvith's blade by the hilt with one hand, socking him in the face with the other.

As the two grappled, the other duo writhed.

"Let each flavor of the Nine Hells run across your tongue, Morgana..." moaned Emora, holding Braya's face to her soppy slit, her love juices steaming across the barbarian's lips.

Braya spat the sweet stuff out and moaned, fighting the carnal fires that bloomed within her loins. Emora ran her hot fingers down the she-barbarian's toned back, tingling nerves and blasting each one with pleasure. Braya gasped but Morgana's will held her together.

If you wish to live, couple with the queen.

Braya obeyed without hesitation, knowing her fate was as much as that of the sorceress's herself. The barbarian head butted the succubus's stomach, bowling her over onto the ground. She pinned Emora's arms above her head and slid tight against the infernal woman. Deep within her flesh she felt a hunger stir, a hunger to take and devour... the same she felt when she took the souls of her own son and husband.

Morgana's sorceries were taking hold once more.

The lush lips of her womanhood kissed upon the searing petal's of the demon queen's sex. There was no build-up of desire, for at that most intimate of touches, Braya was taken to the brink of release. She almost lost her grip right then, trembling as sheer pleasure and heat rushed up between her legs.

Hold on. Her flame is not yet quenched.

Emora squealed in rapture and shuddered beneath Braya. Her wide hips jerked up, her frothy arousal streaming down crimson thighs. Braya quivered and slumped down on Emora, their immense tits widening out against each other. The fire of Emora's soul funneled up into Braya in a scorching storm of ecstasy.

The barbarian's thick and sculpted ass cheeks tensed over and over, twin ivory domes that glittered under sweat and firelight. Infernal sorceries pushed through her flesh, making her burn ever more with desire and fire. Perspiration dripped from her strong brow, ran in rivulets down her jutting globes, streamed along every curve and line of her taut belly.

She moaned low and like an animal, her body and soul consumed with carnal passion. Every movement was instinct. She gripped Emora's mammoth red tits, hot voluptuous flesh poured through her fingers, their weighty softness igniting more spikes of arousal. The warrior lunged down and gave Emora a lascivious kiss, tangling tongues, both huffing and mewling in between kisses. Morgana's will pulled them apart, narrowly avoiding mutual explosions.

Braya drooled, her eyes glazing over to the immense carnal power flowing through her. Emora thrashed, screaming hoarsely as a constant stream of orgasms ravaged her body. All the while, through the numbing joy and rising fire in her flesh, Braya sensed the succubus grow less scalding, her hot skin turning from feverish to the warmth that touched all living things.

"I want to come... let go..." muttered Braya, her words mushy and slurred.

I won't let you.

Across from the writhing women, clashed the blades of brothers. Morvith whirled his blade in an overhead stance, crashing down without end on his kin. Melehan, having plundered Arthur's burial sword, deflected the wicked blows with deft parries, moving like raven lightning among the flames and fallen stone, his shining sword swiping to and fro.

Morvith laughed. "And they said you were the more martial brother... a lie! Like your entire life!"

Melehan ceased his brother's arrogant guffaws with a backhand blow to his face, breaking his nose to a spray of blood. "Opinions differ." he said coldly, and then continued his assault, bashing down on Morvith's guard with brutal downward strikes.

Braya undulated on top of Emora, her body drenched in sweat, glistening as if each curve and sweep of her body was wrought from shining marble. Her mind had long gone blank from ecstasy, her body driven more by base instinct than anything thoughtful.

As she took in more of Emora's soul, visions of jungles sped past her vision. Glimpses of tall and voluptuous goddesses, garbed in wondrous white and cerulean silks, glittering armors and ornate leathers, their skin as golden as the sun, their spirits as high and proud as their bosoms.

Braya threw her head back, eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open to a soundless scream. Visions of Levina seared across her vision, her dark eyes, swooping hips and her low cut robes full of dusky cleavage, and the sheer evil power that brimmed within that malicious soul...

The barbarian felt weightless, held aloft upon a cresting wave of pleasure, her balance precarious as more sights swarmed past her mind. Her heavy and pale breasts swayed with the rest of her body, subject to some melody only heard on the most primal level. She saw great knights, in armored plate as white as the moon, high and tall among the curvy goddesses of before, sentinels in a city of vine choked spires and crumbled ziggurats, majestic even in desolation.

Her breath caught itself in her chest, a lance of white pleasure almost erupted between her legs, caught by Morgana's will, but nonetheless sent Braya reeling into orgasmic jitters. She gasped, the weighty slopes of her soft bosom heaved, and the visions sped past as if she were falling off a cliff.

Past the greenery and looming grandeur, past the stoic knights and vistas of feminine splendor, gleamed a Lake like no other and through it rose a hilt like no other...

Braya's next breath hit her like a hurricane and the only thing she saw next was the Avalon dungeon itself.

Back in reality, Braya realized Emora was no longer warm. Her body had gone as cold as winter, her flesh trembling only here and there, upon the threshold of death. The fires in her eyes burned dimly, her voice weak and hollow, like smoke.

"But my reign had only just begun..." she whispered.

Braya was too blasted to say anything. She could only sigh and rolled off the demon queen's cooling body. But then the pent-up heat, fire, lust and malice from Emora exploded throughout her body. Braya convulsed as unimaginable pleasure wracked her body, her large and luscious tits careening together to infernal ecstasy.

Her chest thundered, as if her heart was about to burst out of her bosom. Agony and rapture both swirled through her head, made her breathy, her moans trembling and wanton. Runnels of sweat slicked her thick and healthy ass cheeks into shining globes, torrents of her arousal sprayed across her lush inner thighs, spread along the stone below.

She slammed a fist down into the ground, cracking the granite. Her back arched and her bountiful tits rose high, silhouetted in the flaming cavern like two plump teardrops. The pitch of her moans shot higher and higher, her bright eyes wide with mania. Heat waves rose off her gleaming curves and veins of orange hellfire ran beneath her skin.

Her moans resounded through the stones, fires built up in her eyes.

At... last!

Morgana's voice echoed through her head with weariness. At once Braya dropped back down to the ground. The fire faded from her eyes and violet luminescence bloomed in its stead. Steam rose from her curvaceous form, while high pitched tones faded to silence in her ears.

Across the way, she heard a groan and the clatter of armor. Her tired eyes fell upon Melehan. He withdrew Arthur's sword from Morvith's chest, the foppish prince's face bloodied and bruised, his eyes caught in deathly repose.

Braya looked over to Emora. Her flesh was red, but had a glistening, opaque quality, like an ice sculpture. Her back was arched, her enormous crimson breasts twinkling, her backside hard and chiseled, an image of hellish beauty, weeping to the heat, not to last more than another day.

Morgana's essence swept through the she-barbarian, a balm upon her tired muscles and spent will. For once, she was glad another had taken the burden of being her. She rose up to her feet with a smoothness at odds with her exhaustion. She looked to Morvith's ruined chest and dead eyes, and smiled.

"At last, the traitor is dead... all the instruments of my downfall have been accounted for." She wiped off a sheen of sweat from her thigh, and Braya trembled inside, rather wishing herself dead than to be 'accounted' for the way she had been. "And to think, I once liked him the most because he was the most like me..."

Melehan smirked, grateful to have his mother's favor. "Where next..." he said, panting as he kicked Morvith's corpse into a wall of flame, incinerating his vile form immediately.

Braya swiped soot from the jiggling slopes of her tits. "Emora knew little but saw much... she saw where we must go." She looked to Melehan. "Amazonia."

The prince scoffed, shaking his head. "And what of Excalibur?"

Braya smiled. "It's yours. The good queen left me an image... a greater source of power, one more fitting for what I must become..."

Melehan sighed with relief. Yes, my son... you get to be king. I care not. He eyed her cautiously. "But what could be greater than a queen? An empress?"

Braya turned and smirked at Morgana's son.

"A goddess."