The Feud Ch. 03

"You couldn't evade us forever!" one of the guards taunted. They approached her coolly, but Victor's focus remained upon the veil of shimmering twilight-blue light that now surrounded the huntress. The elves were not ones to get their hands as dirty as goblin bruisers of Stranglethorn and Tanaris, but their methods were no less potent. They circled their captive, examining her features.

The other guard said something in Thalassian, but spoke with confidence. She raised her hands to the veil of light and began to channel a spell, a bright blue glow emanating from inside her hands, but her partner halted the incantation with a hand on her shoulder.

"Hold it," he said in plain common. Had they not wanted her to hear? Victor searched his pockets for another healthstone as he continued to bleed, but focused his ears upon their conversation. The male guard spoke in broken common; likely sufficient to perform his duties, but only just-so. "This is arena Anadia Springfire. Report to Sunreaver..." Their tones grew too hushed to make out the remainder of the conversation. Victor failed to produce the means to mend himself, but looked on as the Sunreaver guard resumed her spell, and "Anadia" was no more—transported to the Violet Citadel.

They began to walk away just as he pulled himself up from the ground. Dizziness overtook him and gravity pulled him off-balance and led him shoulder-first into the wall, leaving a gory stain. Something light tumbled from his pocket, and he caught it—if only his reflexes had been so quick earlier. He opened his hand to reveal an old health potion he had picked up, and did not hesitate to uncork and drink it. Looking up at the glass vial as it drained into his mouth, he could barely escape thoughts of the delicate crystal bauble that had been lost—likely destroyed, thanks to some Sin'dorei slut with a kink for wounding her men before bedding them. But the nerve of these guards, not even sparing him a glance to see if he was hurt or in need of aid! Blood had ceased pouring from his wound, but it boiled beneath his fresh layer of skin.

Thelise was lost to him for good thanks to a blood elf. He would likely collapse upon the pavement like a vagrant tonight thanks to blood elves. And if he survived a night, tomorrow he would surely die at the hands of a blood elf. Without them, he would have never met Thelise, would have never felt this frustration, would not be bleeding-out onto the street of Dalaran, would not have to fight in this ridiculous match tomorrow. His life would be better had they never existed, never drawn breath—Azeroth itself would be a better place. He clutched the vial tight and threw it at the guards, a cry for attention and retribution. The vial shattered at their feet, and he caught the gaze of their toxic green eyes at last. Firm authority was written upon their faces, but Victor did not answer to the Sin'dorei.

By the time he began channeling his first spell, he, too, felt the awful lock of magical binding affix to his body. His hands, feet, and limbs were frozen in place in what felt akin to being encased in an ice sculpture, but all that he saw, all that gripped him was blue light. He could not blink, he could not breathe. All that he heard were the footsteps of the approaching guards, and all that he saw was bright blue light. Bright. Brighter. Blinding.

A rush of air swept over Victor's body, and then all became darkness.

Anadia groaned in pointless agony as the addiction called to her again, this time in the confinement of a prison cell within the Violet Hold. Surely some wielder of magic must have lain upon the same concrete bench that she now curled upon. Anadia lifted her head from the so-called bed, but as she strained to open her eyes, she found herself awfully weak, and returned to her defeated pose, curled up alone without cover or cushion. Pushing her body up, even to feed from whatever elusive wisps of energy the dank, urine-hinted air held, would take so much more from her knowing how ridiculous she was behaving. Anadia instead returned to her thoughts, the comforting darkness behind her eyelids, and slept until she felt the implacable sensation of another's gaze piercing her form.

"Anadia," she called.

She thought the voice to be her own, echoing in her mind, but it was not.

"Anadia," she heard again. She opened her eyes to see Staci in what appeared to be a top hat and tuxedo jacket, black briefs reminiscent of those from the ever-popular mageweave leggings, but her legs were wrapped in fishnet. Staci looked down upon her from a stage, standing in front of a bright red, velvet curtain.

"Staci?" she called out, far away.

"The show's about to begin," she replied. "Have you taken your place?"

Anadia looked around, but saw only brick walls, darkness, and crates. Nearby she could hear water dripping against the floor. It was not like any theater she had ever been to.

"Good."

Staci made a hand gesture, and the curtains pulled open to reveal a crowd of men and women staring at her from rows of seats. The eyes of the men were trained on her, but the women—elves, all of them—were downcast, shut, rolled back, blank, soulless. Everyone in the crowd—the audience—was in various stages of undress and in an even wider array of sexual positions. Anadia was alone, clothed, and could feel the revulsion on her face, but all the men, differing from human to orc and nearly every race between, were fixated on her none-the-less, as if waiting for something. What? Why?

Her limbs felt like blocks of wood, heavy and encumbering. Anadia had always heard about picturing the audience naked as a cure for stage-fright, but there she stood in still terror, her nerves tight with anxiety. Why were they doing this to her? Anadia looked to the women to find some small comfort in that they were distracted from her, with long legs spread over their partner's lap, or bent over the row in-front of them with arms pulled behind them as they received the men from behind. One was on her knees, a troll's hands gripping at their tousled red hair as it plunged into her mouth, its member leaving a large bulge in her cheek with each thrust. Their holes were being pounded so loudly that it sounded like a bizarre applause. Fighting off her feelings of sickness and dissatisfaction, she happened to notice a similarity—all of them were red-haired. All of them had the same-size breasts, all of them were cut, scarred , damaged. All of them were Anadia, and she was them.

It was in that moment that Anadia realized that they were not doing this to her, but she was doing it to them. These were men she had used and allowed to use her, but she could not stop it.

"What do you want from me!?" She shouted, and then again, louder.

"Cut the strings, Anadia." Came a voice from nowhere, "Cut the strings!"

It was Errog's voice, her arena partner, her friend. The familiarity in this strange place was welcome, but her confusion remained. "Wha—what are you talking about? I can't—!" Anadia broke away from the audience's basilisk gaze and tried to move, but noticed that her arms were not entirely free, but tied to the ceiling by cords. Her attention turned fully to the bindings in her flesh, and screamed. The sound was present, but muffled. Distant.

Something thick and sappy hit her shoulder. Anadia looked up to see that the cords lead into a darkness unlike any she'd seen before; true nothingness, a colossal maw, an open expanse lined with teeth. Red-painted lips pulled tightly against the fangs of a demon, whose skin may have been discolored, but otherwise she recognized all too well. It was Staci—and with a mechanical sound, her cords drew tight, and Anadia's feet were lifted from the ground.

There was no time for questions. Just feet above her, a tongue slathered out like a barbed tentacle, and more saliva dripped upon her body, soaking her clothes. The wires drew her further upward, pulling Anadia into the mouth of her demon twin. Frantically she pulled, jerked, and clawed at the strings where she could. With a twist of her body, she entwined them and began chewing at the cords with her teeth - but it was too late. Anadia felt the disgustingly hot tongue wrap around her waist and pull her the remainder of the distance. When darkness had surrounded her, Anadia opened her eyes and gasped, reborn into reality.

Anadia awoke to fill her lungs with the scent of food in her cell. Though she had none of the comforts of home or even an inn, the violent rumbling in her stomach transformed the bowl of lukewarm and pasty oatmeal into a delicious feast the moment she took the first bite. It looked no more appealing than the murks of Dustwallow Marsh, but Anadia spooned for another bite, and another, not realizing how long it had been since anything of real substance had filled her stomach. Life and energy returned to her limbs, her hands and feet began to warm as blood rushed through them. It was simultaneously both tasteless and the most satisfying the meal she had ever eaten. She tipped the large bowl into her mouth, and immediately discovered why.

A sizeable green crystal shored up over the food, glowing exuberantly with fel energy. Anadia knew it to be Staci's doing. No one else would have the power or influence to have something so volatile smuggled into a prison, let alone the Violet Citadel. With trembling hands she reached into the bowl. Delicately plucking up the crystal, the elf gulped out of nervousness, but her mouth was almost completely dried from the food, making it achingly difficult. It forced her to remember the dream, and the mysterious words in her ears as the demon—as Staci devoured her: "Cut the strings."

"Is this what I want?" Anadia thought to herself. Even the voice in her head seemed distant as she peered into the endless smog within the emerald crystal. "Is this really what I want?"

She wiped the dense, rod-like object clean of food with her hands. Its glow was intense and beautiful. As she set her fingers against the smooth sides, she felt the faint prickling of static electricity against her flesh—pressing tighter, there was even distant hum, like a tiny heartbeat from somewhere inside. It called to her like a lost child for its mother, but Anadia was a wolf, and she wanted to devour the energy until the very stone shattered against her.

And it was what Staci wanted, as well.

She dropped the crystal back against her serving tray and kicked it away. With clenched fists, she withdrew to the far corner of her cell and looked away—then back again. It remained in place, glowing calmly. "What do I have to gain from fighting it?" she asked herself. Staci would not help her sister unless it served her as well; selfless generosity was not in her nature. Anadia pondered if, perhaps, Staci worried for her as a sibling, but there were a hundred other situations where she had been in both immediate danger or faced impending peril, and her twin had not thought to do so much as knock upon her door or write a letter. And who was to say accepting this help now would not come at a cost?

Anadia shut her eyes and squeezed tears onto her lashes, feeling the blows of every time she was so desperate for the care and caress of her twin sister, but instead received none. Staci only arrived if she had sought to obtain something in return; but would it be so terrible to give in just one more time? She looked at the crystal again, the soothing green light emanating without sound. She knew well that to use it would be to continue the cycle, to remain Staci's puppet, to remain beneath her. "Would that be so bad..?"

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Without thinking, Anadia crawled to the tray and took the crystal to her breast, feeling the unnatural humming sensation through her mail shirt. She didn't even know what she would do with freedom. What if Staci shunned her, never spoke to her again? What if she went her life without ever seeing her twin? Even here and now, she longed for her, but she did not truly know why. Staci was cold, calculating, cruel. But pleasing her, making her happy, remaining in her place was so much easier than the alternatives, because all she had to do was listen to her, to follow instruction, to trust in her, and right now, Staci was guiding her to use the crystal.

Acting automatically, Anadia removed it from her chest, the glassy gem tugging gently at her skin like a weak magnet. She thought herself to be imagining the warmth that emanated from the stone, but as she touched it to her exposed stomach, it appeared to be rising in temperature, shuddering, beckoning for its true destination. To resist any more was pointless. She had already danced too long with temptation to stop now.

Scooting up against the wall, she propped her back against cement and settled the crystal in her lap. Soothing heat emanated from the rigid object, providing small comfort, even through her chainmail leggings. She closed her eyes to the world, ignoring the cold cell around her and thinking only of her sister—her hated sister. In a way, the fel crystal shared its heat with her, a fire igniting within Anadia's chest as she gripped it. She was furious at Staci, but it didn't keep the memory of her from playing within her mind.

She recalled the first time her older sister touched her. Her curiosity peaked the moment Staci's hand found her maidenhood, but still her then-young sister pressed forward, unsatisfied with her own assets—requiring Anadia's as well. The huntress squeezed her eyes, feeling her childlike reluctance all over again, but still the crystal remained against her crotch, pulsing excitedly over her leggings. Gripping it tighter within her fingers, she could only see her own hands wrapped around Staci's wrist, beckoning her to stop.

Staci did not.

She rubbed her sister with increasing firmness, dampening her panties with every small oval drawn over her cunt. The delectable feeling melted away the scenery around her—their childhood home, their mother's knick-knacks and flowers, their father's work desk where he would repair their broken toys—all gone the moment she shut her eyes and sighed out ecstasy. Anadia clutched her sister's wrist, but Staci only leaned in and took her neck with her lips, nipping at her in mock-lust. Tender biting along her nape caused Anadia's eyes to flutter. Her fear did not leave her, but the descent to hell was a delightful ride.

As quickly as Anadia had unlatched and removed her leggings outside of the fantasy, so too did Staci remove her sister's panties to touch her. A persistent attack upon her body transformed into a caring stroke, two fingertips gliding from bottom-to-top of her delicate pussy. Things were moving fast, but Staci worked faster, straddling her inexperienced sister and lifting her face to meet hers. The soft, wet feeling of lips pressing against her own was a welcome comfort, and she took to it with unabashed enthusiasm. They had kissed before, but this was much, much more.

Her hands were relentless. Staci took Anadia's hand and placed it high on the inside of her thigh, lifting Staci's loose linen skirt in the process. Touching her skin was like sliding into a luxurious bed; she thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of caressing another woman. The other began tracing fingers from the outside to the inside of her nethers, coating her tips in moisture. The gentle teasing was drawing to a close, and Anadia opened her eyes to greet the pink translucence of a magic-sealed prison cell. The realization pulled her out of her mind. "Why am I even fighting this stupid match?" she said, frustrated. It was so much easier to simply feed the addiction she had been fighting for so long, to return to her place as a common blood elf, as a number on the battlefield. "Why?" she asked, staring blankly ahead. Her eyes shut out that world and her legs opened to the next, allowing the memory of Staci clear passage to her young cunt as she pressed the fel crystal firmly against her.

The steady pulsing rippled over her flesh and delivered a pleasurable 'itch' that she would not yet sate. As Staci had done with her fingers, Anadia took the fel crystal's tip and trailed up and down her lips, up and down, lower and higher. Rounding her clitoral hood, she bit her lip to quiet herself, and rounded back down around the entrance to her body before repeating again. The pulsing grew stronger with every slow crossing over her maidenhead, forcing her breath to become heavier. If she was not careful, she would be heard—but there was nothing to stifle her moans with except chainmail. Covering her mouth with her palm, she let the crystal linger over her clit, remembering Staci looking up at her from between her legs, bright green eyes ablaze with deviance. It was a wonder she ever became a priest.

Her tongue practically lashed from her mouth and rolled around Anadia's soft clit. Anadia's heels rose from the ground and her knees jolted together, but Staci kept them spread. Slower this time, gentler, Staci lapped in the opposite direction, causing new tide of pleasure to wash over and consume her, feeling the tips of her yet-unmolested breasts harden with rapid excitement. She reached down to lift Staci's head away from her slit, and she obliged—only to penetrate with her fingers instead.

Anadia had pushed the crystal well inside of her now, the warmth comforting her as the powerful thrumming shuddered the walls of her womanhood, forcing her to cry out quite loudly, even with her hand muffling it. It would not go ignored, but she was too far along now to be stopped. She took the crystal with both hands and pushed it in deep, lifting her hips and squeezing it with her inner-muscles. Curled toes pushed her further up off the ground as the elf desperately tried to drive the wonderful object to the zenith of her ecstasy. All the while, Anadia did her best to shut out the sounds of prisoners stirring around her cell now, pushing the murmurs that pervade her ears into the horizons of her mind as she focused on thoughts of Staci instead.

The two elves had developed apart, but even after Anadia had become a woman, she continued to admire Staci for the curves the priestess so carefully hid from the world. Although they were identical, Anadia insisted her sister's breasts were fuller, perkier, that her butt was tighter, even if Anadia was the more physically active of the two. At last she had an open invitation to explore them all, to really touch her sister, to feel her body. There was no longer reason to be shy—Anadia shifted and drew forward, catching Staci by surprise with firm kiss.

Anadia reached up to take her breasts into her hands. Upon seeing that she did not withdraw, she felt silly for considering, even so briefly, that Staci might reject her at all. Jubilantly she squeezed them, drawing her thumb and forefinger together against her flesh until they pinched at her nipple. Staci responded with a breathy squeal- one that Anadia echoed outside of the fantasy. She quickly worked to block out the catcalls and the likely leering of prisoners opposite the vast prison. She wondered if the guards would come, if she'd be stopped, but the risk only made her hurry. Anadia quickly rediscovered her center and proceeded to fuck herself even faster with the fel crystal in her grip.

The elf's thoughts repeated in a cycle, the process of coy seduction Staci used against her lost to memory, leaving nothing with a delightful blur of locked doors, escalating dares and harmless questions, panting and peeled away clothes, until the two were topless before one-another. Skipping back and forth through her stream of consciousness, images flashed before her: Staci groping her body, Anadia's mouth latching her sister's nipple, Staci's tonguing her slit, the rapid succession only driving her harder toward an inevitable climax. They kissed, entangled themselves, and writhed together over the floor, finding themselves in a sixty-nine position in their natural pursuit of pleasure. Anadia cautiously approached her sister's vulva, taking in the scent that she shared—it was not something she associated with any treat, sweet, or meat she had known, but in that moment of hesitation, she once again felt the cool but lively thrashing against her tender nethers. Anadia dwelled on that thought. Staci clearly did not know what she was doing, but in Anadia's memory she did it well anyway because of she did it with feverish enthusiasm. She moaned and clutched at the rug beneath, catching Staci's gaze between breaths, seeing her sister's eyes burn madness.