The Feud Ch. 03

The chamber clicked in muted futility.

Now Anadia was rigid with fear. The mood in the room altered so rapidly that she felt dizzy from the adrenaline rush. Struggling against her attackers was one matter, but attempting to kill one was a bluff she could not risk being called on. She was not a fan of guns, but the advantage of intimidation without ammunition made it worth carrying. It was unfortunate that the blood elf lacked the cognition to remember that she had never loaded it. Now she would have to improvise.

The goblin slapped the gun out of his face, but Anadia spun with it, meeting his cheekbone with a butt from the stock of her rifle. She tossed her things into the air and released a kick, launching her hefty bag at another green-skinned devil blocking the doorway. As the goblin tumbled out, she praised the Light for how lucky the maneuver was, but luck did nothing to deter the rest.

The remaining three charged at her legs, the easiest targets for their height. Though Anadia was able to kick away one, she could not defend herself from the other. They held her feet to the ground, unable to pierce her mail. She decided in that moment that she would not be a victim to these things—worry and fear were not luxuries she could afford. Anadia gripped her rifle hard and battered the horrible creatures harder. Even as blood trickled from their heads, they did not release their clutches.

The huntress recognized a losing fight for what it was and forced herself to breathe and remain calm. She was in Dalaran for a reason— with a purpose— and it was not to be slaughtered by sewer scum. She was not a street fighter, she was a gladiator, a champion. She lived, breathed, bled combat. Victory could not have a price too high.

"Get her top!" cried the goblin from her left leg.

"Jus' kill her!" called the other.

A flash of steel in one direction, and then another. Options were quickly depleting, Anadia unclasped her leggings and disrobed to free herself. Removing one leg from one goblin's grasp, she kneed the other before making a tumbling dive for her bag.

Anadia snatched her belongings and reached inside, retrieving a disclike metallic object. She flicked her wrist and sent it armed and flying back into the room. The moment the explosive trap touched ground, there was a deafening noise, the wood panels beneath her shuddered, and the room disappeared into a wall of fire. The sight of goblins being torn apart, flung in all directions, and washed in flames was terrible to behold, and she pitied them, but as the light and heat seared her face, a sensation of clarity overtook her. Anadia no longer felt the pull of her addiction. She breathed hard, and scurried backward upon the ground, resting only when she had reached a safe distance away from the burning room. A familiar feeling enveloped her. It was adrenaline—the excitement of real combat, the very risk of death itself. All were more fulfilling than any substance she had milked from a cock in recent days.

The blood elf felt something hot and firm beneath her hand. Looking down, the intact steel half-mask, blackened on one side, cooled beneath her touch. She rose to her full height, watching as others rushed to haul buckets of water to the inn. Immersing herself in the panic, she disappeared easily amongst the crowd and set out to leave the sewers behind her. The match was in two days' time, and Anadia knew exactly how she would sate her appetite.

Victor had rehearsed his words a dozen times at least. His nerves showed him no reprieve; the dinner he had forced himself to order went cold, though he doubted whether he could keep it down at all. The fork and knife he gripped pitter-pattered against the plate as his anxiety reached his hands. He rested them by reaching into the pouch at his belt and withdrawing a glassy bauble, crystalline, soft, but perfectly clear. Victor held it carefully, allowing prisms of light to echo through it from the warm glow of the Hero's Welcome, and thought of how it was here that Thelise had once sought him out. Now he sat alone, pleading for her attention in the form of letters. The sun had set over Dalaran and still he had not received even an indignant word in response. But she needn't be upset, he thought. From a series of connections, he had procured a draenic item that would draw the corruption from her body. The draenei, once inhabitants of the world asunder known now as Outland, were well-versed in defenses against demonic magic, and crystals—like the one Victor held in his fingers—were hardly unobtainable.

But time was of the essence. The match was tomorrow afternoon, and both tourism and crime had risen in anticipation of the bloody brawl. Training was far from his mind now, but if they had managed a victory in the arena, it would be for nothing if Thelise's corruption were discovered, and Victor would have no grounds to argue his innocence. He placed the small crystal back into the pouch and wrapped his cloak tightly around him before departing into the Northrend night.

He checked the mailbox again - something had arrived! He tore open the plain correspondence and digested its contents. Though her words were joyless, elation filled him.

"Tonight in the Purple Parlor when the clock strikes nine. When you fail, we will say our goodbyes."

Thelise would see him— reluctantly, but that didn't matter. Victor need only wait a few hours more. Tomorrow, he would walk away from this dreadful predicament a free man. They might even find time to prepare for the fight, to further assure his victory. A smile lit up his face and the warmth in his cheeks shielded him from the evening chill. He ventured away from the Hero's Welcome, away from his anxiety, and took to a leisurely stroll across town.

The evening greeted him with twinkling lanterns from wall-to-starry-sky, the Violet Citadel penetrating the astral display as a looming shadow; a firm reminder of the colossal weight set upon him. There did not seem to be single nook or cranny in Dalaran where Victor could escape its sight, but so uplifted was he that he decided he would not even spare it a thought... at least, he would try not to.

Hanging right into a tunneled alley, Victor found himself striding in the direction of the Violet Hold, Dalaran's prison and what might have been his future home. The large stone structure was imbued with magical defenses he had never spared time to study, but atop that, a large moat severed in half by a stone bridge. The only thing preventing the moat from doing anything other than seeping listlessly into sewer drains were great walls that separated visitors (or escapees) from plummeting from the floating city to their death below. The sound of water usually relaxed the warlock, but here it provided only odd, implacable unease. Standing at the stone lip at water's edge, looking into the littered and fish-sparse pool to ponder why his nerves were still at unrest. And then he felt it.

The sound of ripping wind filled his ear. The ground rushed to meet his face as something heavy wrapped around his legs. He held out his hands in futility and his head smacked against brick. Stunned, Victor looked down to see a bola twisted around his shins, entangling him with its iron weights.

A cloaked green figure oozed from a nearby wall and puddled onto the ground like slime, bounding forward and drawing a crossbow. Victor could not discern an identity for his assailant, and reacted as if it were a meager cutpurse attempting to catch him in a vulnerable moment. He reached for his spellblade and pointed it at his bindings, burning them away. Arrows zipped at him, one catching him directly in the shoulder, and another grazing his neck, but as badly as the wounds stung, he was no stranger to injuries.

Victor rose his palm to the sky and a shadowy force crashed into the ground where his attacker stood, stunning it so that he might flee. Lifting himself up and away from the prison, he sought to drag the fight out into the open where guards might aid him or the attacker might disengage. Arrows followed him into the streets of Dalaran, lodging themselves in the stone walls. It was in the grassy central courtyard where the warlock found cover, escaping their line of sight. When the whistling of missiles finally ceased, he hesitantly looked around.

At the center of the clearing was a large golden centerpiece had been planted upon commemoration of the Lich King's defeat, depicting soldiers of both races and, around that, several tall hedges stood at different corners between path and grass like attendants to guide visitors to around the statues. Though it was possible Victor's stalker had been stopped by now, he took no chances and a held out his hand to summon a demon.

An ink blot of darkness rose from the ground and took the form of his voidwalker. Forcing calm, he presented an authoritative command.

"Jhomnar, look around that corner for a man with a bow."

With a loud, gaseous hiss, the voidwalker acknowledged the order and moved silently away from the hedge and out of sight. His bulbous, shadowy form seemed to be consuming the light around him, revealing only the white of its pupil-less eyes and the golden shackles around its wrists. With a moment's time, the minion returned.

"There issss... nnnooo onnnee... coward!"

Unfazed, Victor cautiously left his hiding place, expecting to see some hustle or bustle, or perhaps some guards with a masked stranger in custody. What greeted him instead was an arrow in the gut. He stumbled backward and looked down in shock, and his voidwalker stepped ahead of him to take several more, each projectile sinking and disappearing into its dark mass like stones into a lake. Steeling himself, he took cover once more and ripped the arrow out of his stomach before giving himself the chance to think through it. Demonic fortitude had granted him the toughness to endure more damage than traditionally taught through other schools of magic, and as blood gushed from his wound, Victor did not waste a second in conjuring a healthstone to close it. Crushing the smoldering green meteorite-like object in his palm, he rubbed it over the piercing like a salve, and it closed with unsettling ease.

The hedge behind him rattled violently as more arrows struck it, reminding him of the icy sweat prickling upon his neck and the lack of combat gear protecting it. Even with bright, sulfurous fire in his hands, they remained cold as well. More projectiles hit the plant, breaking away wooden limbs— a much preferred substitute for his own. The attacks halted. It was now or never.

He leapt out the opposite side of the hedge and faced his attacker once again. His voidwalker had disarmed the stranger of their bow, but was trapped in a block of ice in the process— clearly he was dealing with a hunter. Victor smirked. Disarmed, they were nearly worthless as opponents. The green cloak flew open, revealing a female figure and a pair of daggers in both hands. His confidence was quickly devoured by her wild determination— she advanced rapidly upon him.

He turned to hop over a park bench and run down an adjacent tunnel. As he reached the halfway point down the path, a loud, metallic cling rang against the walls and a steel disk bounced into view. He had only just started to recognize the explosive trap when it exploded before him in a fountain of flame. Victor stepped back, trapped between a killer and a wall of fire. Flight was no longer an option. He span around again to greet a fist with his face and a knee with his abdomen. The assassin had hand-to-hand combat skills far surpassing his own, and with an arm wrapped around his neck, the warlock was easily flung to the ground.

Victor saw stars as he smacked his head on the pavement a second time. He opened his eyes briefly to feel something tumble from his belt.

Clink, cli-cli-clink, thud.

His eyes fixed on the crystal bauble, which bounced, rolled, and dropped into a sewer drain. "NO!" he cried, before the woman dropped down onto his stomach, knocking the wind out of Victor's lungs. He coughed and gasped for air, still reaching out for the crystal, but seeing only fire. "Thelise...!" His last hope of mending their bond was now lost, barred from him by the explosive trap's wake.

Looking up at his attacker with new fury, he saw the glowing green pupils beneath the mask. "Of course," he thought, "a blood elf!" His will to survive grew into unbridled rage. He raised a hand to let her taste of flames of his own, but he could hardly breathe to cast a spell. Straddling him, the blood elf raised her daggers high. Victor winced and tried to steel himself— it would take more than these little fangs to kill him, but they would still hurt. Afterward, he would hurt her more.

The blood elf brought down them down at once and ripped through his belt.

"A thief? A common thief?" he thought. He lifted a hand to strike at the side of her head, knocking the ill-fitted mask from her face. The blood elf shook away her dizziness, her hood falling away to reveal long ears and a wild nest of ruby hair tied poorly behind her head. Her thin, elegant nose and tight lips were eclipsed by her eyes, which were burning with tireless lust. Distant and unfocused, the lines and circles around them betrayed her madness. Victor hadn't any idea what was in store, and that alone frightened him.

She pulled away his belt and tossed it aside . Money was not what she was after, but whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Thelise was gone—perhaps he could search for the dealer again and buy another bauble—but if he did, this blood elf would be the one to pay. Victor raised another hand to cast a spell, and was immediately stabbed in the shoulder.

Saying something in Orcish, she ripped open his trousers, breaking button, zipper and all. "No!" he coughed out, not in pain, but in reluctance, "Fucking.. psychopath!" He thought to lift himself up, but the dagger lodged in his body convinced him against it. Still, he shouted "Get off!"

She could understand him no better than he her. Lessons on Common and Orcish were reserved for political figures and select special forces, codices of knowledge held only in the minds of those left alive from a time before factional ties were severed. He hadn't so much as learned a word of Thalassian in his life— he wasn't permitted the opportunity, and now he was left without reason as to why this was happening.

This was it— all that he had to look forward to, tonight. The sick freak of a blood elf would have her way with Victor in the tunnel toward the Sunreaver's Sanctuary as he bled out onto the street. His eyes fixed to his shattered hopes behind him as she reached into his undergarments and pulled free his half-mast cock and stroked it vigorously. He shut his eyes and tried to disappear, but he did not, and neither did she.

Victor thought of how disappointed Thelise would be to see him now, and as little as she cared for him, the chase that she had provided was enough to tell him that this was an uncommon woman. Victor was good-looking, usually charming, but mostly famous, but Thelise neither saw nor cared for any of this. She was strong without him, she was sufficient without him, she was truly pure... until he had laid with her.

Even ridden with guilt, vague thoughts caused him to swell and fill the blood elf's hand. Her strokes slowed to accommodate his awakened member, and her face disappeared behind her disheveled mane. Victor felt the cool, wet cavern of her mouth envelope him. The soft crackling of dying flames was all he heard; not a word of warning or foreplay was shared between the two. As the explosive trap began to die off, so too did any chance of arriving at Thelise's residence with anything more than a head injury for her to mend. He breathed deep as his member reached her throat, filling his nostrils with the sour combination of spent fuel and cum-stained sewer slut.

If he was to be molested, here, on the pavement, he would force himself to enjoy it no matter the circumstance— "This woman doesn't seem to be the type interested in half-measures." Victor did not have to give her his enthusiasm, but as far as blowjobs went, this was one of the most ferocious he had ever experienced. The blood elf took his cock as deep as it would go, twisted her head, and removed her mouth from him— tasting him, licking him, cleaning him with every dip. Even her teeth were put to delicate use against the head of his prick, holding it still while her tongue flicked over its savory geyser.

The sensation was otherworldly, but Victor had enough presence of mind to push her off—gently—with his hands at her shoulders. She obliged, smacking her lips needlessly as she relinquished his cock from her mouth. Victor did not want to attract public attention to this stunt: it was bad enough that he would not see Thelise this evening, but to have her hear it second-hand elsewhere would eviscerate what little respect she still had for him. He kept his face directed at her, lest he be recognized, but the blood elf grinned up at Victor, her pale, sunken features alight with satisfaction.

She knelt before him and unclasped her mail leggings, allowing them to fall loosely to her knees before she pivoted to the side, allowing him a pin-up view of her butt. It was a charming, heart-shaped ass, but Victor still hadn't any interest in exploring it— until she grabbed at the base of his cock and stroked it firmly. It had been a long time since he had a partner this enthusiastic, and it didn't help matters that her hands had him in a disturbingly precarious position. He gulped and watched as the blood elf rose over him and guided his member into her flush pink cunt.

Victor felt the warm, viscously moist flesh against the tip of his member. With some willpower, he veered himself away from her hole, soaking himself with her fluids and accidentally teasing her with the same motion. His cock passed over her concealed clit and she gripped him higher—tighter—and descended upon him. In spite of her sickly appearance, her womanhood was as snug as any other elf— as Thelise, probably.

He despaired at the thought of the priestess. Reality enclosed upon him like an iron maiden, every feeling of vulnerability and helplessness pierced his body, yet ignored his cock. Victor attempted once more to fight her, but the pain from his wound was now too great to grit his teeth through. Small and defeated, he shut his eyes as the blood elf took him in, feeling the length of his shaft become enveloped in wet warmth. With her ass facing him, he could not see her regardless, so he imagined the high elf in her stead, bouncing up-and-down upon his cock with voracious enthusiasm.

The quick pumping sensation was phenomenal alone, but was enhanced still by his fantasy of Thelise. Even with the wound in his arm, Victor failed to resist his masculine urge to grab the elf by the hips and impale her velvety depths with his cock. He brought her down to the very base of his member doing just that, pushing as far as he could until the woman cried out. Whether it was of pain or pleasure, he found it satisfying all the same, but the sound did not go unnoticed.

"Cease immediately!" called two guards from the end of the tunnel.

He praised Sargeras for their arrival. Instinct and emotion dictated that he fuck this creature until he laced her with his seed, but his head and his heart did not want her— Thelise possessed his thoughts. The blood elf was caught, literally, with her pants down, but rose to combat the guards anyway. Both were adorned in Sunreaver colors of red, gold and green, but despite sharing her faction, they did not hesitate to take up arms against the blood elf. The assassin backpedaled into her leggings and bounded away as she pulled them on. She took off in a sprint in the opposite direction, but before she could leave the tunnel, her body went stiff, and she froze in the position of someone who had just flattened against a wall.