Path of Their Own Ch. 01

Focusing on the males balls-deep in her other holes, Petra started bouncing her hips up and down in time with their thrusts. She heard a telling, pleasured growl from the one in her ass and gave a hiss as he suddenly let his claws out. His predator's tools sunk into her thighs as the Willher thrust as deep as he could and held still, starting to spurt.

It took most of Petra's will to keep herself silent as that virgin cum flooded her back passage. Like the first Apayena in her mouth, this cock flared wide as well to drive the rows of wonderful Nekonian protrusions tighter against her inner walls and, in doing so, pulled her closer to a third climax. He thrust one more time, the pointed glans giving her one more shot of seed deep inside her gut to make that masochistic desire inside her shriek in delight.

Her claws came out on the Willher's chest below her. Muscles in her pussy clamped around the cock still thrusting deep. The assassin squealed aloud and the action had the last one writhing as the Neko in her ass pulled out. Her hips bucked and her eyes glimmered with lust as she felt that cream drip from her pleasured star.

The first one she'd taken and the last one she'd release stared up at her with tawny, wide eyes, on the edge of his final moment at last. "I'm... coming!"

Swift as she could, Petra hopped off the male's shaft and replaced her cunt with her mouth as he unleashed his first spurt. The Willher shook as her hands started stroking him, to milk him for all his worth. His body writhed under her efforts and a second load of cum coated her tongue in ample quantity, the flare of his cock coming full and the pussy-coated spines rubbing themselves along the insides of her cheeks. She kept sucking with a lascivious chuckle.

When the last was finally spent, Petra sat up and tilted her head back to let those final white dribbles slip down her throat. Standing up on shaky legs over the three exhausted males, Petra grinned at her handy work and ran a hand over her satisfied sex. They stared at her every movement, seemingly struck dumb.

...

Galen watched Celia suck sensuously her finger, tasting his cum as if it were ambrosia to her. It almost embarrassed him; on anyone else, it would look like she was one of those "easy girls" just performing what some guys said they liked.

On her it just looked natural. And honest.

He still felt wiped from one of the best orgasms of his life but he tried to think about what she'd just said. A "gift" he could do again? Instead of someone like Tanza holding him back until it was time to get off, he could do it himself? And Celia didn't seem worried at all. Did that mean it was like his sight or his healing magic like Necela?

If that was true, for what purpose would a Dragon give him something like that...?

Galen's groggy-minded question was derailed as he finally thought to check on Felyn and Petra. He looked to the bed where the two women shared their pleasures to find the Drow passed out on the bed, still naked and with her legs splayed open in lovely exposure.

The Neko, however, had left the shack at some point.

"Something wrong?" Celia asked.

"Petra's gone," he observed.

Following his gaze to the bed, an obviously curious expression passed over Celia's face, as if ideas flourished for her simply at the sight of Felyn's inviting, obsidian body. It was almost enough to awaken his cock again. Almost.

"If only Petra hadn't done so well as to make her pass out," the Tree Elf said wistfully.

"Think she stomped off because of that?" he asked.

"Very quiet for stomping," Celia observed, making Galen smile despite himself. "Or Petra could be just outside, giving us some privacy."

That could be it. He wanted to be sure.

Giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, Galen dazedly began to sit up and make his way to his feet. "I'm just going to check real quick."

..................

"That was incredible, young Willhers," the Assassin said sucking in her lower lip and idly stroking her dripping labia. "Feel honored that a Shadow Stalker graced your cocks and claimed your innocence, for I can count on one hand how many others, still alive, that could say the same."

Petra waited for those first nods of acknowledgement before she left them to collect themselves, strolling merrily off into the woods toward the cabin. Letting her hips roll and her tail wave as a parting good-bye to the initiated males.

With near-perfect timing, Galen opened the door to the shack as she approached and looked out into the night. She hid in a bush out of sight before his eyes could adjust to the darkness. From there, the Shadow Stalker admired the shape of her human's nude form silhouetted by the firelight wearing only his small clothes and sweat from his rutting. Even from her hiding spot, she could tell from his body language that Celia had fully sated him like the good Elf she was.

"Petra? You out here?" he called in a loud whisper.

"Yes, Galen," she answered from the shadows, her voice warm enough to reassure her master all was well. "Practicing my hunting skills. I'll be back soon."

His head turned in her direction, cocking to the side questioningly before finally nodding. "Alright, see you soon."

He shut the door as the assassin stepped out of her bush and stood up. As much as she loved the smell of sex clinging to her fur, she didn't think Galen would share the sentiment unless it was from him. She needed a bath, and she needed a drink. Fortunately, she knew of a place nearby: a spring that the tribe used for their own bathing needs instead of making the long journey to the river.

Maybe there would be one more male there, bathing under the moonlight, whom she could claim tonight.

..................

He inspected the table full of swords in front of him, focused on the craftsmanship and the quality of the metal. He lifted the odd blade he found of interest into his bony hand and gave it a test swing before he grunted in approval and set it down again. All these he could see would work with a little modification and so he only needed to negotiate with the miscreants. What magic they wanted within these pieces of steel and how much they could afford to pay.

Dropping a short sword back into the pile, the man in the brown robes looked to the various races of the band of men before him. The scarred and gaunt, the fierce and muscular, the shady and devious. There was even an Orc among them in all his muscular wonder. A total of nineteen men stood before him in the dark entrance hall of his home with enough bounties on their heads combined to turn a commoner into a noble.

But that was none of his business.

"What enchantments do you desire?" he asked in a raspy voice.

One of the more handsome Humans stepped forward, crossing his arms over the steel breastplate protecting his torso. He was of average height, with his black hair swept back away from his groomed eyebrows and dull, yellow eyes. Short stubble sprouted from his cheeks though a respectable beard grew from his chin and jaw to partially cover a tattoo on his neck.

A kite shield hung on his back and only his sword arm had any metal covering to it, his shield arm protected by mere padded leather. Covering his legs were chainmail leggings strapped loosely around the limbs, with knee-high leather boots covered in plating to protect his feet. Every piece was clear evidence to this man's preference for battle, yet his face was that of a man of words. When he spoke, it became clear he had the eloquent voice to match.

"Fire enchantments for the daggers, lightning on swords, frost on bows, light magic and your so-called 'dreadnaught swing' for the morning-star."

The Enchanter looked to the weapons, his head slowly nodding as he already formulated his plans to craft these abilities into the metal. "I can do this. Twenty gold per dagger, thirty per sword, thirty five per bow, fifty for the star. Argue the price and you are better off picking up your weapons and trying your luck at finding another willing to do what I do."

There were some grumblings among the bandits, but the leader raised his gloved hand to silence them. "Fair enough. What about shield enhancements? Rumor has it there is a demon that broke out from the Death-Iron Gate and made its way to Atzla Forest. Spits metal pellets so fast they pierce armor. Do you have enchantments that would stop such a thing?"

A deep sigh escaped from under that hood as the Enchanter rubbed his chin. His head tilted back so he could get a better look at the men within the entry hall of his home and what they wore. None of them were in robes or carried staffs or wands, nothing about them that he could see or sense indicated that any had a spark of magic talent between them.

"I could produce such enchantments, but they would not be permanent, and they would not come cheap."

A scowl drew over the leader as he leaned down on the table with their weapons strewn across it, "How much are we talking?"

"Eighty, per item," the Enchanter answered, not even bothering to look at any of the shields in question. "Where normal enchantments recover on their own with time, protective enchantments of that caliber require a magic individual to feed them. You have none among you, and so you would only get one use for a single zetran."

"There is no magic metal that could do the job?" the bandit leader asked hopefully, only to be shot down by a shake of a hooded head.

"No, unless you raid the Drow city hidden below the south-eastern corner of the Rocklands. They discovered a material there that would 'do the job.'"

Holding his hands behind his back as the scoundrels hung off of his bait, the Enchanter only had to wait. The bandits were looking to one-another with questioning looks of both the curious and concerned nature. Their leader stepped back from the table and turned to his men to gauge their reactions. Several nodded at him, others shrugged, only two shook their heads. Turning back to face the Enchanter, he asked, "What does it look like?"

A smile full of straight, yellow teeth beamed at him. "It's said to be a glowing, blue ore. I do not know what they call it, nor have I seen it myself, but it is favored by their Sun-Kissed for some purpose."

Chin lifting to allow him to scratch at the tattoo on his neck—a Giran crest from what the Enchanter could see—the head bandit questioned further. "And what do the Sun-kissed look like?"

"Like any other Drow, only they like to wear yellow plate armor, or black leather with yellow trimmings on the edges. If you find this material of theirs, bring it to me. Get me a bucket's worth, and all these enchantments of yours will be done for free. I will return the gold you pay me upon delivery, plus extra for your deeds."

There were several approving grunts and comments from the bandits as they nodded to one another. Their leader didn't even need to look for their opinions before he said, "Done. How fast can you get the enchantments in the weapons?"

"One night," the hooded man stated. "You are welcome to stay in my home until the work is complete, my servants will tend to your needs."

That got some of the men riled. Excited cheers erupted while some of the men tapped their fists together at the prospect of a real bed or even just a solid meal. Their outburst quickly settled back down however as their leader once again raised a gloved hand to silence them. After all, he had to ask the same question that was on all of their minds.

"Any of your 'servants' of the female persuasion?"

There were a few hopeful murmurs from the men as the Enchanter bowed his head and sighed with a hint of disappointment. "I do have a compliment of female staff, but I do not run a brothel. Should they refuse your advances, then do not push them. Harm them and I will know, and the perpetrator will not make it out of here in one piece."

The dark tone in the man's voice offered no atmosphere for a joke. Only when he was certain that the message sunk in did he continue saying, "Be gracious of my hospitality, and I can see if any of them can be persuaded to tend your baser needs."

Worried looks passed between the men before a door behind their host opened. A Human man and woman in simple black robes stood waiting for them on the other side, motioning for them to follow. The bandits peered into the yawning hallway with a bit of reluctance up until their leader spoke again.

"We thank you for your offer, and we will abide by your rules. After all," he looked back to his men. "If you are a future employer of ours, I would hate to insult your house."

They took the cue and started filing into the home around the table covered in weapons, all of them saying their thanks and respects to the Enchanter as they passed him. After the last man went in, the bandit leader nodded with his respects and followed his men. The servants led them off to a dining room while others went to prepare the meals.

Left alone in the entry hall, the Enchanter waved his hand at the weapons before him. Taken up by his magic, the bows and blades lifted into the air over the table and formed a long, floating line in the air. Turning on his heel, he marched off into the main hallway of his house, heading straight for the stairwell at the end. Descending the steps he came into a dark cellar lit only by a glowing orb in the center of the ceiling.

Waving his hands forward, the bandits' weapons filed past him onto the waiting tables. Gems and rune stones engraved with ancient writings and glowing text came forth from the darkness to greet him. As the enchanted instruments of his craft settled at his work bench, more orbs and arcane foci came trailing in behind along with the basic hand-tools he would need for his work. When it was all prepared, he let out a breath and reached up toward the orb on the ceiling above him.

A trail of white essence poured down into his fingers as faint screams rang inside his ears from the power that filled his body. His lungs swelled with renewed vigor as a magic through his arms and lit the palms of his hands in a red glow. Then the daggers that the bandits wished to be enchanted lifted from his tables along with a red orb and its matching runes.

You wish for these weapons to burn along their edge, I shall make it so. But each kill you make will feed me, and with each feeding, you will grow more vulnerable to me.

Until I am ready to start again.

..................

Sitting at the table in the Elder's hall, sipping warm coffee and eating roasted bird with fresh bread, Flak and Galen waited for the rest of their party to return from a morning bath. The two soldiers each kept silent while enjoying their breakfast, their minds preoccupied on separate subjects that they dared not voice aloud. But where Galen was wondering what effect the Dragon had had on his intimate organs, Flak was trying to figure out how he managed to have a solid night's sleep.

His first in a great many months.

Taking another sip from his cup full of the military's life-blood, his brow drew down further into an intimidating, focused scowl aimed at the table. Nothing had changed since he slept the night prior, aside from the Dragon's gaze scrambling his mind and Felyn setting it right. That whole incident may have messed with his head, but not in a way that he would think to stave off the night terrors. After all, they had come to him anyway when he tried to sleep the first time last night.

But then there was that glow...

He had been wrapped up in a blanket in the back seat of the Jeep, staring up at that blue moon after his nightmare scared him awake. Loathing the fact that he needed to shut his eyes and endure his past battles once again, he hardly noticed that blue-glow when it came fluttering to him through the woods.

The light turned out to be a butterfly as big as his hand that landed on the spade grips of the M2 looming over him on the pintle. He looked at it, it looked at him, and then it sprinkled silver dust over his body before flying off. His eyelids got heavy, his body felt comfortable, and then everything went dark.

The next thing he knew, the sun was rising, he was yawning, and his mind felt rested. Refreshed even.

"Whatcha thinkin' Flak?"

The Staff-Sergeant looked up from the table, losing his scowl as he faced Galen. He couldn't help but wonder if that bug was special in anyway or if it was just his imagination. Given who was sitting in front of him, he figured he had a chance to find out.

"I was wondering about a critter I encountered last night," he muttered. "Had some issues getting to sleep, but then this glowing butterfly fluttered over to me. Blue thing that sprinkled some glittery dust and knocked me out. I don't know if it was a dream or not, but I did have one of my best sleeps in a while."

Downing the last of his caffeinated drink, Galen nodded like he recognized it and said, "That butterfly is called a Nightwatcher, though normal ones are supposed t'be colored green. They're holy bugs of this world's Goddess of Life an' the Night, Necela. If you needed help to sleep, must have been for somethin' serious for one of them to come to you. What was keepin' you up, Sergeant?"

Tightening his grip up on his coffee, Flak took a sip saying, "Nothing you should worry about, Private."

Frowning while he rubbed his chin, Galen could speculate enough about the Marine between his typical anger and sudden defensiveness to have a pretty good idea of what denied him a solid rest. He grew up listening to the same issue from his father and to a very limited extent, endured them himself.

A scary movie in the theatre or trying to sleep during a thunderstorm had given him nightmares in his youth, but the worst was during the nights leading up to his first mission. Dreams of what fate might befall him or the men he had trained with. The kind of nightmares he figured Flak to be dealing with was likely of a greater caliber than the nightmare Galen had that first night he spent on Raska.

His heart picked up in his chest as he thought about that dream of being left alone in a foxhole to nearly drown in blood and get torn apart by undead Ra'zorlichs. He hadn't even realized that his left hand had started trembling until he snapped from the memory a second later.

Blinking his eyes and rubbing his quaking hand, Galen swallowed as he said, "I had one too, you know."

Brow arching down, Flak's face tightened up into a scowl. "One what?"

"Night terror," he answered.

The Sergeant opened his mouth as he slammed his cup down. Galen held his hands up palms out.

"Don't get mad, Flak, I know the signs. My dad had 'em too and there's nothin' wrong about havin' 'em. Ma said it means you're one of those brave enough to risk it all, strong enough to keep it together, and lucky enough to survive."

A contemplative look supplanted that harsh glare on the Marine's face. His eye lowered and fixed onto his cup as he repeated the words he just heard and gritted his teeth. His grip still firm on his coffee, he skeptically asked, "Only one?"

Galen nodded. "My first night here after I got my first kills. The nightmare I had made me too scared to go back to sleep." He let out a sigh and nervously rubbed the side of his face with a shaky hand. "It was a mix between a dream I had before my first mission, of bein' alone 'gainst a Vietnamese horde comin' to kill me, and a new terror 'bout some Nekos I killed comin' back to life to get me. But I only had that dream once."

"A bug sprinkle dust on you, too?" Flak questioned, his tone growling.

Thinking back to that second night he spent on this world, Galen thought of his experience with Necela. The Goddess coming to him to send him on a mission to stop Pretayus. She hadn't sprinkled him with dust but he remembered an aura around her. One that proved calming and soothing to his mind just by her sitting in front of him. That would certainly explain why the dream hadn't come again.