Whenever Greg had a day like the one he had had today, he liked to pick up a new video game. Old, new, any genre, any console (for he owned them all) - none of that mattered. Just that he had some new story, some new world, to immerse himself in, to enable him to substitute this disappointing reality for a new iteration, where the goals were clear and defined, and all effort was duly rewarded. A neat, hand-crafted universe, all contained on a disc, cartridge, or as compressed digital memory on a hard drive.
But this was how he had coped with life's myriad stressors ever since he was a child. The stressor in that case had been his parent's divorce, initiated by the loss of his father's job. No, his mother didn't leave him immediately after he was laid off. It was much more cruel than that. She had at first, eagerly accepted his offer to become a stay-at-home dad. His mother made enough money on her own to support them, and think of the benefits: no more consternation over carpooling, no more having to worry about who could attend Greg's soccer games. No, there was only upside to the arrangement, not least the fact that Greg's mother could look forward to coming home to a clean, tidy house every day after surviving whatever gambit the corporate world had decided to throw at her.
And, for a while, it worked. They were happier and healthier, and even the frequency of their sex had increased (from never to always at least once).
But then the rot started. In retrospect, it wasn't clear to his mother when it had begun to set in, but the result was as obvious as a thermonuclear mushroom cloud: she was no longer attracted to her husband, after fifteen years of marriage.
One sunny Sunday afternoon, she looked at him (while he was doing God knows what, she couldn't remember now) and the absence in her heart hit her like a train colliding with a car stuck on the tracks. Where once was a feeling of fullness now was a black hole, as deep and dark as any of the real ones millions of miles overhead at that very moment, sucking up whole galaxies with abandon.
It was uncouth, regressive, and taboo, but that didn't make it any less true. It wouldn't matter how many times he did the laundry, or cleaned the bathroom: she would never feel that tickle, that heat again unless he re-entered the workforce. Even a job flipping burgers might have bumped the sex schedule back up to at least biweekly.
So he tried. What choice did he have? To never have sex with his wife again? How long would their marriage last if that were the status quo? But after so much time spent as a stay-at-home Dad, he found it more difficult than he had imagined it trying to get back onto his previous career path (which was in IT, which, by the nature of the rapid development of the field, in uniquely hard to break back into after an extended absence).
Not being able to get a job sucks. But being forced to endure the humiliation conga that it is, all the while knowing it isn't even really necessary? Just because your wife can't get her pussy wet for you unless you're bringing in a vestigial stream of income? Oh, that's another matter entirely. The resentment that engenders is potent enough to split a mountain in half, if not the atom itself.
That's when the cheating started. The single moms in the school pick-up line didn't give a shit that he was a house husband (though that was perhaps only because he wasn't their House Husband). All they saw was a handsome, middle-aged man, with bigger-than-average arms and a flatter-than-average stomach (at least compared to most men his age, and thanks to the gym time he was able to put in while Greg was at school). A poor, handsome, smart middle-aged man, that was being tortured by his ungrateful shrew of a wife, who somehow couldn't recognize how good she had it.
To this day, Greg's mother couldn't tell you how many of those PTA floozies her husband had run through, but she guessed it had been more than a few, to put it mildly. This mistake he had made - the rookie - was striking up an affair with a particular blonde gym rat who was in the process of getting divorced, but still technically married. Diane was her name, and she hadn't thought to really conceal her relationship with Greg's father, assuming her soon-to-be ex-husband wouldn't care.
Well, wouldn't you know it, he did care, and ratted on him to Greg's mother, even showing up to their house while she was home sick from work for dramatic effect (while Greg's father was out running errands, the oblivious bastard).
She called a divorce attorney that day to come in for a consultation, illness or no illness. She walked out a few hours later with (pretty pricey) legal representation.
What followed was a lot of screaming and arguing, as one might imagine. And while they carried on, neither of them really right or really wrong, Greg shut them out as best he could with his video games. Hey, at least he didn't torture small animals or bully the smaller kids in his neighborhood. There are worse ways to deal with trauma. Much worse.
What was funny, though, was, that try as he might, Greg could never quite remember the name of that game that had gotten him through the breakup of his family, or the system he had played it on.
It was definitely a turn-based RPG, but he couldn't say whether it was Western or Japanese. All he could remember was the 8-bit art style, and that it had some sort of generic, Tolkien-descended fantasy setting. That only narrowed it down to a couple hundred possibilities or so, and he could have sworn he had explored them all, especially on those slow days stuck in the office. Still, none of them had struck him as actually being that childhood favorite, the elusive "aha!" moment always so frustratingly out of reach.
But that had just been the game that saw him through that specific period of time. Sonic had been his escape hatch in 5th grade, Mario in 6th, Crash Bandicoot in 7th, and Link in 8th (those weren't the only games he played during those years, of course, but just the ones that stood out to him the most).
Master Chief had guided him through most of High School, and those kinky PC dating sims had provided some much-needed companionship on lonely college nights in the dorms. That had been the pattern of his life thus far - hardship entwined with digital escapism, each feeding into the other.
His parents had turned out okay, though, for what it was worth. His father had remarried, and made a second family, and his mother's boyfriend (as absurd as a label as that felt for a man of his age) would tell anyone who listened (and even those who didn't) that he never intended to retire, ever. Good for them, right?
Greg, meanwhile, still unmarried, only had his video games to aid him in his hours of need, and that is why he found himself once again at the Retro retailer that just so happened to be on his way home. The place was run by a man that Greg was pretty sure was older than the very concept of video games, but his selection of used stock was the best in town. Greg had found some truly hidden gems there before, obscure games he doubted few others worldwide had ever played, and he was counting on striking gold again today.
Losing himself in the stacks of secondhand games near the rear of the store, he found his thoughts drifting to the incident at work that had brought him here. How embarrassing: he had been reported to HR. The offense? Asking the new Sales Rep out, twice (first for coffee, and then to lunch a few months later). The sentence? Being dressed down by their head of Human Resources for half an hour. Didn't he remember the online sexual harassment class they all had to take? Apparently not, because, if he had, he would have known that asking a coworker out more than once was considered to be a big no-no in their modern age (and even trying at all was increasingly frowned upon more and more).
He signed a form declaring he wouldn't do it again, and was released back into the harshly-lit bullpen. Where he would go from here, how he could stand to stay at this company after such humiliation, he could not imagine right now. Best to just distract himself with a new game until his head was clear enough to make a decision. It had worked so many times before.
That's when he saw it: resting atop one of the towers of CD-ROM and DVD cases was a cartridge for the Super Nintendo. The image across its face was faded, but the title, printed under an illustration of an ornate sword, was the still-legible title: The Final Fantasy. No, not Final Fantasy - this was The Final Fantasy. But this was it: somehow, he knew this was The Game, the one he had spent hours sifting through obscure Internet forums and countless subreddits to find.
Yes, The Final Fantasy, that sounded just right. It all clicked into place in his head. He didn't even bother to check the hand-drawn price tag on the back of the plastic casing. He picked it up and brought it to the counter. It could have been three hundred dollars - he would spend whatever he had to to have it. He might even have drained his bank account entirely, if that's what it had come to (for the record, the Old Man only ended up asking ten dollars for it).
Back home, at his sparsely-furnished two-bedroom apartment, he quickly changed out of his work clothes and devoured his dinner - a takeout ham and cheese sandwich he had picked up after leaving the game store - at his kitchen counter with record speed, eager to stick the cartridge into his mint-condition Super Nintendo, and anything that would retard that process little more than an annoying obstacle to get over as quickly as possible (even if he ended up paying for it later with a hurried trip to the bathroom).
While he ate, he tried to find more information about The Final Fantasy on his smartphone. It was no use: all his Googling gave him was page after page of hits for its much more famous counterpart. The fact that he couldn't find a name for the developer, even on the cartridge itself, didn't make it any easier either. After a few minutes of fruitless scrolling, he called off the search, and turned his phone screen off in annoyance.
Left to stew without distraction, he thought of the young waitress who had brought his take-out order to his car, parked in the designated spot. She had reminded him of the titular coworker that had gotten him into so much shit at work: blonde, with narrow hips and tits as big as watermelons. He could guess that whoever the hiring manager was at the restaurant, he had a similar taste in women to the head of Sales at his company. But then again, he supposed their preferences were his own.
By the time he entered his dedicated Game Room, he had built the whole thing up so much in his head that his hands actually trembled as he worked The Final Fantasy into the slot atop the ancient console. He almost hesitated to press the power button after, too. What if the game sucked? That was a real possibility. When he had first played it, over two decades ago now, he had done so without the wisdom, and cynicism, that the years since had bestowed upon him, mostly against his will. Would he now be thoroughly unimpressed, immune to whatever charms it had worked upon when he was still a child?
Maybe he was playing with fire, and would be best served leaving the memory as just that: a memory. Part of him almost hoped that it wouldn't work, that he'd be greeted by nothing but a black screen, the inner circuitry hopelessly eroded after so many years of, no doubt, having been left in the corner of some musty attic or basement, until it was re-discovered by some family member looking to finally clear up some space (and maybe make a buck or two at the same time, though he doubted the Old Man who ran the shop paid very much for it).
But, half-disappointingly, the game was working, having outlasted the squalid conditions it had suffered, and he was greeted with a simple prompt in the center of the screen, in bold, pixelated white letters, surrounded on all sides by the deep, absolute black he had fiddled with the television settings for countless hours to achieve.
START?
He was being stupid. Even if the game didn't meet his impossibly lofty expectations, he could still have fun with it. It wouldn't soil the memory, after all: this would be a new experience, distinct from the one before in nearly every way. Having settled the matter to his satisfaction, he pressed the "A" button, the customary "Enter" input for the classic Japanese system.
The flatscreen flashed blindingly bright. When it dissipated, the controller, having been hovering in mid-air with no one there to support it, fell to the carpeted floor. The various action figures, characters of myth from various games, films, and TV shows, resting on shelving around the room, looked on dispassionately, unwilling and unable to tell us where their owner had gone.
The screen was completely black, but the red power button on the top of it still glowed, indicating the TV was powered on.
Outside, the crickets chirped. An owl hooted, and swooped down to catch a small white mouse that had unfortunately caught its eye. A family of raccoons rummaged through the complex's shared dumpster.
Life carried on.
There once was a game Greg played that struck him as particularly strange. He had acquired it as part of a larger lot he had bought off eBay, of 25 titles for various consoles. It was an old side-scroller shooter that had a rather bizarre opening. In it, an assuming "salaryman" was shown walking down the street, when, suddenly and inexplicably, a giant, angry, disembodied male Head descended from the heavens.
It spoke to the man, but, whatever he said, he said in Japanese, which Greg cannot write or speak. Had the man wronged the Head in some way? Possibly, for a lightning bolt then shot out of the Head's mouth, striking the cowering salaryman below.
It did not kill him, though. It transformed him, and when the white energy bubble that had enveloped him dissipated it revealed that he had become a very curvy, pink-haired, four-winged Magical Girl.
You then spent the entire game playing as the Magical Girl, fighting off aliens, dinosaurs, demons, and other various monstrosities. The only other bit of story came at the end, when, after defeating the final boss, a huge fat humanoid elephant with red eyes and four tusks, that could shoot fireballs out of its mouth, a quick cinematic played of the Magical Girl walking towards a cage. In it was a naked,
muscular male figure, slumped in despair on the ground, head hung low. The Magical Girl shot one of her trademark pink energy blasts at the cage, causing it to shatter. The forlorn man inside then rose up, revealing that, like her, he too had four wings. He then strode forward, and embraced the Magical Girl. A close-up shot then showed them kissing, the Magical Girl's right hand resting on his broad chest. In the upper right-hand corner of the screen, the Head faded in, now crying hysterical tears of joy.
The image began to fade, and what looked to be a poem of some sort - again in Japanese, so Greg was just guessing based on the formatting - appeared transposed over the lovers. Then, the credits started.
Like The Final Fantasy, he could find no information about the game online (not being able to translate the title didn't help either). He just carefully placed it on one of the crowded shelves that nearly took up every inch of space in his apartment, even his bedroom, and never touched it again. He did still about it from time to time, though, if only for how uniquely weird of a game it had been (which was saying a lot for him). Why, he still wondered, had the hapless salaryman been metamorphosed into the beautiful but lethal Magical Girl? Did he remember being a guy? Had his sexuality changed as well, or had he always been attracted to men? He knew he would never have the answers, but the questions still came to him, especially in the shower, for whatever reason….
What does it look like to see the world through 4 sets of eyes? Only an insect would have known, at least until Greg was sucked into the world of the Final Fantasy. He was in a forest, an 8-bit pixelated forest, and he was seeing it with 8 eyes. The combined effect, of the unreal landscape and the unnatural amount of sensory information, caused him to reel, to fall to the ground. Well, in some cases: somehow he was standing upright, staggering, and sprawled on the ground, all at the same time.
Fortunately, the wood he found himself in didn't stay low-res for very long. In a few seconds, it began to cohere, going from 8-bit to 16-bit, to a kind of primitive 3D, to HD, to 4K HD, and, finally to photorealistic. Now, it looked as real as any forest he had ever found himself in (not that that was very many, Greg having never been a big fan of the outdoors).
It was just a small mercy, however, as Greg was still reeling from the sensory overload he was now being assaulted with. That was because there were now four of him. Four Gregs, all experiencing the same smells, sounds, and sights, but their behavior was already out of sync.
For the sake of clarity, let's call them Greg A-D. Greg A was on the leaf-strewn ground, rocking back and forth, in the fetal position (he had also soiled his sweatpants thoroughly). Greg B was a few feet away, leaning against an auburn tree trunk, trying desperately to stop himself from having a panic attack. Greg C was standing stock still, like a deer in headlights, his arms planted firmly at his sides. He was staring straight ahead without blinking, not really looking at anything in particular. Greg D had found a boulder nearby and was sitting atop it, staring into his hands.
Then the changes began, simultaneously, to each of them. Some happened to all four.
For example, the lengthening of the hair. Greg's A-D all experienced it, though Gregs A and B saw theirs grow the longest, almost to their asses. Lips plumped up as well for the entire quartet, though again A and B saw the most extreme enhancement. The last of the commonalities: hips widening (Greg B's were the most expansive), and breasts forming (Greg D had the biggest, pushing his ratty old t-shirt out so far his flabby stomach was exposed).
Now on to the differences.
Greg B, when all was said and done, had undergone the least severe metamorphosis of the foursome, in that he was still human at its terminus. A human woman, yes, but that was little change at all compared to the rest of his copies.
When the transformation started, he had fallen to the ground, joining Greg A, left unable to stand by the unspeakable, intertwined sensations of pleasure and pain that wracked his body. Both had quickly subsided, leaving him of clear enough mind to inspect his new form. His hair had turned silky and blonde, and the new, massive breasts that hung off his chest felt heavy and strange. But as much as he wanted to fondle them, compelled by the fascination his vestigial male desires still manifested, his dainty hands kept returning to his big, pale thighs, so irresistibly soft were they. Between their size and the width of his hips, he couldn't imagine how colossal his butt had become. But could feel the thong that was riding up between his ass cheeks, because, like his body, his clothes had been altered as well. His sweatpants had become a short white skirt, and his faded graphic t-shirt had turned into a tight porcelain corset. Where the thigh-high boots he was now wearing had come from he couldn't guess though, as he had been barefooted before. Nor did he think that the 5-foot-tall staff, lying next to him had had its counterpart in the real world (unless it had previously been his phone, though he couldn't recall whether he had had it on him back in the Game Room).
If he wasn't panicked, it was only because his mind had been affected as well. He still remembered being Greg - the thirty-nine-year-old man - but those memories now coexisted, in total contradiction, with another set entirely. In this alternate version of his life, he was Celeste, a 22-year-old princess, who had been training to be a mage since she was a child.
It wasn't until she was 16, though, that her parents, the King and Queen of Arcadia, had sent her away to the vaunted Citadel to complete her training. It wasn't her choice - she was more than happy to spend her days lounging around the castle, hanging with her handmaidens, drinking and partying - but that privilege was only reserved for her older sister, who would one day inherit the throne for herself. That made her the "spare," and, as such, it was thought by her parents and their advisors that they should make of her an investment. Every great House on the continent had at least one spoiled heir (most of whom were hopelessly addicted to Materia), but how many could boast that they had a sorceress within their ranks? Imagine what they could do for their power (which was saying a lot, coming from actual royalty)!
And yes, it was hard: between classes, homework, and studying, every day felt like an endless, exhausting (mentally and physically) gauntlet. But the nights were another matter entirely. After the lights went out, the all-female dorms became the site of a mass nocturnal orgy. What better way to work out the stress of their studies, really?
She quickly realized that was the point, the purpose behind why this tradition had been passed down by generations of apprentice female mages before them. Never had she felt her muscles relax quite as much as they did after her best friend (who she had met in her very first class on her first day at the Citadel), whose face had been buried deep into her sex for over an hour, brought her to orgasm, all while two of her other classmates (usually "The Twins", as they were known, redheaded sisters of minor nobility) sucked on her tits. It had been a veritable (and maybe even literal) lifesaver those four long years!
And it wasn't always a total dyke fest - they were usually able to sneak in a favored guy every once in a while over from the other side of the campus, for a very much welcome change of pace. Well, it was a pleasant break for as long as the man in question lasted, which, when there were three beautiful women attending to his genitals with their mouths all at once, usually wasn't very long at all.
Then they'd have to deign to play with each other until he was "replenished", at which point he might be able to hold back his climax for a few seconds longer than the first time (though hopefully, he would have managed to actually insert himself into one of them the second go around).
Ugh, men! No self-control! No ability to hold back, to let the pleasure build and build, and thereby make the release all the more intense! She almost pitied them!
Now, school was nearly over, and her final assignment before graduation was to embark on a proper quest. That wasn't difficult to set up - there was always a foul Ogre to slay or a town to save, in this place - and the Citadel quickly found a party for her in need of a designated Healer, consisting of herself and three mercenaries: a Dark Elf witch, a Light Elf thief, and a She-Orc, their requisite heavy/barbarian.
Their goal was essentially a reconnaissance mission. Settlements on the Fringes were "going dark," and their task was to find out why.
"Two crows with one stone," her Father had exclaimed cheerfully over a dinner of roasted pork, mashed potatoes, and green beans, when she told him what her final project was to be. "I asked my advisors to look into it just yesterday, but I never imagined my own daughter would end up part of the investigation! But there's nobody I'd trust more to be my eyes and ears!
All of the apprentices were allowed to return home before their respective adventures began, a kind of "reset" to get them in the right mindset before embarking on their first true test of everything they'd learned at the Citadel. The "break" or the "recess" or the "calm before the storm," depending on how nervous you were.
"Two crows with one stone…" She could relate: she had spent this interim period showing all of her handmaidens what she had learned at the Citadel - outside of class! They had been novices when she'd arrived a week ago, but, in the time since, she had taught them well. Now each of them could make her climax in less than half an hour, their new techniques a far cry from the clumsy, blind, idiot maneuverings she'd had to work with at first. Oh, how'd she miss them all over again while she was away, her childhood friends now turned lovers! At least they'd have each other to keep themselves satisfied, but where did that leave her? She understood that her new companions were female as well, but she wasn't sure how these sorts of relations were viewed within their respective cultures. And even if they were open to it, would she be starting from square one all over again? The thought of it was exhausting, when she now had an eager harem of her own at her immediate disposal!
She shook her head to herself of the fantasies (and memories) of her handmaidens attending to her herself and one another (not an easy task, when their last session, in her private quarters, had been less than an hour ago). But rid herself she must, for her upcoming quest was indeed a serious one.
To put it simply, to the South lay the Fringes, the area between the main part of the Kingdom and the Wilderness. Now, there was a difference between wilderness and The Wilderness. The former was all around them, filled with animals both mundane (deer, wolves, foxes, etc.) and more fantastical (owlbears, vineboars, etc.). The Wilderness was another matter entirely. Nobody knew for sure what lay there, but the rumors abounded: the last living dragons, monstrous bats, giant spiders with sixteen legs…according to the rumor mill among royalty and peasantry alike, every creature of nightmare dwelled there.
But the Kingdom had two (related) problems, that of overpopulation as well as a food shortage. So, "Two crows with one stone," the King offered a financial incentive to get farmers to settle in the untapped, arable land of the Fringes.
Many took up the offer, especially younger families that felt stifled by the aforementioned density issue, and for a time, things were good. Space was freed up, and a steady flow of crops was coming from the Fringes, collected every week at the furthest outpost the Crown's representatives were willing to tolerate.
But then, as time went on, fewer and fewer farmers, or their proxies, were appearing on Sunday to deposit their share of the week's harvest. Eventually, nothing was being delivered at all.
Naturally, the cowardly Collectors refused to investigate themselves, even though all the Fringe settlers had ever reported seeing were a few errant badgers here and there.
Well, that's where Celeste and her compatriots came in. They would visit farm after farm, until they could reasonably determine what the cause was behind their failure to give their sovereign his share of their toil. Disease? Famine? Raiders? All were distinct possibilities, and she'd have to have her wits about her. To that end, the night before her departure, she planned to have the blowout orgy of all origies with her handmaidens, swearing to not let any of them rest until her fine sheets were positively, completely soaked with her fluids. For early the next morning, she'd meet her party at the gates, and off they'd go to the Fringes, and whatever they might find there.
Back in the present, Celeste looked around the clearing at each of her companions, who, on some rapidly receding level, she knew had also been herself. Or, more accurately, had been Greg. The memories of that life were feeling more and more like a dream - a bad, sad dream, compared to this new reality. A few nights ago, he had jerked off to a camgirl living half a world away (a concept that had no bearing here), while she was being pleasured by her handmaidens (the goodbye orgy had gone off without a hitch). The former had been preceded by a TV dinner, the latter by yet another lavish feast. Why dwell on a past that was now not only irrelevant, but utterly lacking? It wasn't just about his (her) personal life, either. It was everything: noisy cars instead of beautiful steeds, hormone-infused food instead of fresh meat and vegetables, and polluted, dirty lakes and rivers instead of their pristine oases where virgin naiads were known to frolic, such was their purity. And these were just a few examples! That whole world, and its drained, defeated, demoralized people - who needed it?!?
Their shared origin had another effect. Faintly, she could hear their thoughts, even somewhat feel the physical sensations they felt, like a background hum. Like herself, they were reconciling their dual pasts, while inspecting their new, yet old, bodies.
The Dark Elf, named Syvana (Syv for short, Elf names were always such a mouthful), who had once been Greg A, was closet in proximity to Celeste. Her back to the tree she had used for support during her transformation, she was too busy admiring the deep purple of her skin to pay attention to her secondary sexual characteristics (which were considerable). But still - her skin! It was like a summer twilight night sky., complete with sparkling stars glittering across its firmament. Between it and the growth in her stature and ears, she had had a feeling she was a Night Elf, a kind of dark counterpart to the Light Elf (and there was one of those just a few feet away from her). That was before her new history "loaded" into her mind, and confirmed it absolutely.
Along with a few other details, to put it lightly.
Like Celeste, Syv was a magic user, but her practice was of an entirely different kind. To put it more exactly, Celeste was a user of White Magic, meaning she could heal, bestow buffs, etc. Syv, on the other hand, could cast curses, raise the dead, and other assorted acts of cruelty and general unnaturalness. But it wasn't like either had ever had the choice to study the other's discipline: Light Magic was forbidden, by their law, to Dark Elves, and Black Magic was forbidden for humans (and Light Elves as well, for that matter).
Also like Celeste, she had started her training as a young adult, except for her, and all elves, both Light and Dark, young adulthood starts at around 150 and ends on your 300th birthday. But what a time it had been! Dark Elf witches had a very hands-on approach to learning. They would spend most of the year studying and practicing, and then, for a month, descend into the Pit, located in the center of the twisted, vast stretch of woods they called home. Their only goal: survive the 30 days, by any means necessary.
This was no easy feat in the Pit. Bottomless, and 40 miles across in width, it was home to thousands of species of hostile lifeforms, most of which remained unclassified (because, even if they were encountered, the Dark Elf in question never made it back to add it to the annals, likely because of the very uncategorized creature they encountered). Hence why the Pit was encircled by a 300-foot wall, manned at all hours by a contingent of guards, for fear of what may crawl out of it. Legend even said that the Pit wasn't a geological formation at all, but the vast maw of a creature, and that if one descended far enough they would eventually find giant organs, still functioning and keeping the unfathomable thing alive.
The only ones allowed in, through the fortified wall that surrounded it, were the odd Dark Elf explorer or scientist, and for one month a year, the Dark Mages in training (of every age, which might seem unfair, but nobody ever said the Black Arts where about fairness)! If you made it through a century of visits to the Pit, you were officially a witch - because who would dare to say otherwise?
The first few times had been hard, but after 30 visits, Syv started to look forward to her stays in the Pit, as fucked up as that sounds. She just always felt so alive down there, which could be a hard emotion for an Elf to capture, what with their extended lifespans and all. But something about the Pit…who knew the pitch black could be so vivid! Some of her best memories were in that Godforsaken place, which is something she never thought she'd ever say when she first climbed down into it.
If she had to say when it first "clicked," it was probably her 28th time. She had been down there a week, and she was thriving. She could now find subterranean bugs with ease, fatten them up in an instant with the spells she had learned since last time, and then eat them on the go like apples. Sleeping too, was a trivial endeavor now, as she could transform any collection of rocks into a powerful Earth Golem to watch over her while she rested. Indeed, every morning (or what passed as a morning in the Pit) she would find a collection of bodies surrounding her tireless sentry. Mostly it was just creatures large enough to be labeled as a threat by her temporary sentinel - giant lizards, bugs, and other creepy crawlies - but it wasn't rare to find the remains of her fellow trainees as well. In the Pit, even your friends could turn foe, if eating you was the difference between starvation and living to see another day (no one dared try to leave ahead of time - the elder Dark Witches manned the wall when the apprentices were in the Pit, and the penalty for abandonment was immediate execution).
Not only was she having the easiest time of it she ever had, but she also achieved a personal triumph, when she was ambushed by her chief rival, Drazira. The two had been enemies since their 50's, when Drazira had stolen Syv's boyfriend. They broke up just a few short years later anyway (relationships could be so temporary at that age), but the hatred and resentment between them had persisted ever since (although the ex-boyfriend in question never even made it out of the Pit the first year they were required to go - not that Syv knew anything about that, nope not at all).
They had gone back and forth over the years - Syv gave Draz uncontrollable flatulence one summer, and Draz killed Syv's familiar (her beloved lizardrat) and left it hanging from her tree home's door by its entrails, but neither had had the balls to actually try to off one another, even in the Pit.
This time around, something had changed, and Syv could guess based on her emaciated appearance that Draz had, for whatever reason, been having a hard time getting food in herself. Was she planning on trying to eat Syv? Sure, why not - cannibalism was an accepted means of sustenance in the Pit. Syv had partaken in it herself, from time to time. But if that is what Draz intended, Syv could guess that it wasn't purely practical. No, if Draz was going to consume her, it would also serve as the ultimate triumph over her enemy, to make her part of herself permanently.
Well, Syv wasn't going to let that fucking happen. She'd throw herself into one of the lava pits if that's what it took to deny this profane assimilation.
So they duked it out, and what a pity there had been no one else there to witness it, because it had been quite the fight. The girls threw everything they had at each other, every spell and curse they could even half-remember from their research. It was a veritable fireworks display of purple and green beams of vapor and light and smoke. Syv may have had the physical advantage, as she was not starving, but Draz had always been the better conjurer, so they stayed locked in a tug-of-war that seemed to last for hours.
Finally, they stood across from one another, perched on a precarious rock ledge, too exhausted to even lift their gnarled wands at each other, unable to even speak the ancient words that would activate them if they could. Their chests rose and fell as they struggled to catch their breaths, but Draz recovered just a bit faster, and was about to utter some feeble incantation - feeble, but Syv nevertheless too weak to hope to protect against it - when Draz was suddenly enveloped by a pack of giant, translucent white-green tentacles from behind.
It was a giant Glowwyrm, and it had been drawn there by the sounds of their clash.
Lurking around one of the cavernous exits to its network of rock-hewn tunnels, it had waited patiently until one of its prospective victims was too weak to offer any resistance. Realistically, at that point, they were both equal candidates to be the monster's meal, but, unfortunately for Draz, she had been the one closest to its hiding spot at that very moment, so she was the one chosen.
Draz screamed unintelligibly and struggled uselessly as the Glowwyrm receded back into its tunnel, already using its strong tendrils to push the Dark Elf down into its slimy mouth. And this was just the beginning of the horror: it was known that Glowwyrms took years to digest their meals, keeping their food alive long enough to suck every possible nutrient out of them. And Draz would be conscious the whole time, left wishing for a death that would only come on its own time, i.e. when there was nothing more for the Glowwyrm to take from her).
Finally able to rest, Syv fell onto her aching, sore ass, and gave thanks to their God that the horrible thing had chosen to take Draz instead of her. And while she was at it, she made an additional request- that the Glowwyrm take even more time breaking down Draz than it would normally. Syv could think of no better fate for Draz after all of the shit she had put her through.
Each of her jaunts to the Pit after that were like picnics in comparison (not that Dark Elves often picnic, but you get the idea) and before long, the Elders decided to just cut to the chase and make her an official Witch ahead of schedule. One multi-day initiation ritual later, the exact details of which even Syv herself only half-remembered (at best), and she was now counted among their esteemed (and greatly feared) ranks, free to use her powers however she saw fit.
That, in effect, was what she was doing right now on this quest. She had explored every inch of the Shadow Woods over the centuries, and now was endeavoring to see the rest of the world (or die trying). The money she would earn was really just an afterthought, something to use to spend on food and other necessities along the way. So, finding out why human settlements were disappearing in the Fringes - sure, why not, she had always wanted to go! And unlike Celeste or the Light Elf, Thalindra (she couldn't speak for the Orcess), she was hoping they would find that some goblin or ghoul had been responsible. That would at least give her something to use some of her new tricks on (the ones she had gotten out of that old spell book she had bought the night before they picked up the Princess, at that funky little store in the village outside the castle. It had piqued her interest immediately when she spotted it among the stacks of old times, as it was bound in leather made from dry human skin. How did she what material it was made of? Well, the stretched human face on its cover was a dead giveaway)!
And speaking of Thalindra, with her big, muscular legs…Syv had had many lovers over the years, male and female, and of many different races - from nymphs to demons, and everything in between. But she'd never had a Light Elf before, despite the genetic closeness of their two species (the tale of their ancestral split was best left for another time), and would see it as a great failure on her part if this journey came to an end without them laying together. She didn't have to worry about Celeste, by contrast - that slut wanted it so bad she could almost taste it. She had no doubt she could have her blond head between her big purple thighs with but a single word! But how good could a young human like her really be when compared to some of her prior lovers, some of whom had millennia of sexual experience under their belts? No, she would save Celeste for when she desperately needed a release and had no other recourse, save for some self-service. In the meantime, she'd get to work busily breaking down Thal's defenses, until the wonderful day came that both of them knew what each other's assholes tasted like….
"My head…I need to fuck!" suddenly exclaimed the Orc in her deep, bassy voice (the shock of it brought an abrupt and premature end to Syv's perverted fantasies, as well, much to her annoyance).
But then the Orc, whose name was Brakka, did something none of them had expected - she undid the ties holding the crotch of her leather armor bottom together, and revealed a gargantuan, throbbing, uncircumcised cock, and a set of testicles big enough to match it hanging underneath (that is to say, they were roughly the size of a pair of ripe apples).
"What the fuck?!?!" Celeste gasped, but Syv instantly understood - Brakka was a Futa, a mutation that occurred in about every 1 out of 1000 Orc births. The result was this - instead of having the signature, fat Orc pussy, the Futa had the signature, fat Orc cock, albeit with an otherwise totally female body (Brakka was a good example of this - her tits and ass were elephantine in size).
Syv had seen her fair share of male Orc dick in her day, but Brakka's would have put them all to shame, it was that fucking big. It even turned purple at the Glans, which was something Syv didn't even know was possible. She liked it, though, as it reminded her of her own skin, albeit of a much lighter shade.
But paired with the awe she felt was a kind of pity. Orc Futas notoriously had a hard time of it, the full-fledged Males of their tribes usually resenting how much bigger they were than themselves (the women - meaning the ones with vaginas - seemed to prefer them as well, which didn't help their case either). So they often were exiled after they came of age, cruelly cast out of their families to fend for themselves on their own. But those were the lucky ones, really, because it wasn't uncommon for Futas to just be left in the woods as infants. Was Brakka the former or the latter, Syv wondered? Even Orc babies were tough enough to make it on their own, if the conditions were favorable (like, say, if they were adopted by a pack of wolves, which, believe it or not, was known to happen occasionally). Either way, it explained why an Orcess of prime breeding age such as herself was slumming it with them, when she should have been with her clan, watching with smug satisfaction from a seat made of bones as the men fought one another to the death to earn her hand.
Syv greedily eyed the bit of clear precum that was already dripping out of that lavender opening, realizing that as much as she had wanted Thal, it was nothing compared to the desire she now felt for Brakka. This was a rare, beautiful specimen, a creature of unique quality, something that most would never come across even once in their lives, even an extended one like Syv's. Forget Thal - she would step over that little Elf to even get in even one little lick in on that big green fucking thing. And she just said she needed to fuck right? Well, hopefully, Brakka would choose her to empty those big swollen balls into her, right here and now. And not only did she not care if Thal and Celeste watched (along with anyone else that might happen by), but it would only increase her pleasure to have an audience! It always had before! And, who knew, maybe Celeste and Thal would be so overcome with lust that they would join in! She could bag them all in one go!
Syv's ancient heart leaped as Brakka got up, her dick hard enough to break a bone (literally). It then sank just as low as the Orc started to walk, with single-minded purpose,
a few feet over to where Thal stood, and not across the clearing to where Syv lay.
"What are you doing?" Thal asked, looking up at the hard, horny, almost angry face of the Orc. But the psychic connection they all shared was still in place, so Syv knew that Thal knew exactly what Brakka was doing, and was beyond happy that she had chosen to do it with her. Her sex started to moisten in anticipation.
Syv's stomach dropped as she watched Brakka easily pick Thal up, pin her to the nearest tree, move her thong to the side, and easily insert her monstrous dick into the Elf's impeccably trimmed pussy. Brakka began thrusting, hard enough that the leaves on the tree started to fall (along with a few branches). Licking her thick lips, Brakka removed her right hand from Thal's shoulder and began to play with her big puffy right nipple through her corset.
Thal screamed as she came about 30 seconds later, unable to hold back against Brakka's relentless pounding. Brakka, coincidentally or not, climaxed at the same time, her primal roar mixing with Thal's feminine cry to create a cacophony that sent deer running through the underbrush, and birds to take flight from their nests.
No longer of any use to her, Brakka dropped Thal, grunted, and went back to her boulder, where she rested her head against it and immediately fell asleep. The snoring started almost as fast, and she hadn't bothered to put her flaccid dick away before passing out, so it lay on the ground next to her like a slimy emerald snake, still dripping out little droplets of cum onto the grass around it.
Thal, for her part, sat resting with her back against the tree she had just been pinned against, Brakka's secretions dripping out of her as well. Syv and Celeste were picking up on her dissonant thoughts, and knew that she had just had the most powerful orgasm of her (very long) life. But so had Brakka, for, though she now dreamed the violent dreams of the Orc, her mental link with Thal meant their rapture had been intertwined, one enhancing the other. Even Syv and Celeste had felt it, though on a much lower, less intense level.
Syv and Celeste looked at one another, and Syv, without a word, pounced on Celeste like a sabertooth cat. It turned out she needed the human's services much sooner than she had originally expected, the residual psychic orgasm spurring her to immediate action.
Thal lazily turned her head to watch them, but she only registered the act faintly, such was her current mental annihilation. Then she too passed out, her head lightly hitting the tree as it lolled backward.
Brakka, meanwhile, and without waking, reached one strong hand over her back and scratched her huge ass cheeks with her long, dirty nails. Satisfied, she smiled, baring her large, formidable teeth.
Brakka dreamt of the day that everything had changed for her. Since the very second her balls had dropped with an almost audible thud, she had fucked every of-age female in her clan (besides her own relations), even the old aunties and grandmas (who were still pretty sexy, the Orc aging process being much slower than for humans). This was her revenge for the years of torment she had endured as a dreaded Futa, since nearly the day she was born. The taunts, the jeers, the beatings - she had taken the memory of all of it and channeled it into the intense, violent (still normal for Orc sex, mind you) drillings she had given them all, from the wives of the lowly grunts to the Chieftess herself.
It wasn't easy finding the time to be with them all, but since she was purposefully excluded from most tasks beyond the most remedial of berry picking, she still managed to notch them all onto her (literal, not proverbial) belt. Yes, she actually made little marks on her leather belt as she went along, etched with the tooth of a Steppenwolf she had hunted when she was still a toddler.
But Brakka was no fool. She knew this would all come crashing down on her before long. Eventually, the men would discover what she had done, and come for her. And yes, she would die, but at least she would die on her feet, after humiliating her tormentors in a profound way they could never, ever hope to undo.
Evidently, that time had now come.
They found her at night, naked in her tent, already armed with her Warhammer. They don't say anything - Orcs weren't big on talking even at the best of times - instead simply throwing her own belt at her feet. She had evidently forgotten it in someone's tent; but she couldn't, for the life of her, remember which one. Obviously, though, they understood what the thirty scratch marks along its length signified.
They charged her all at once, knowing that to try to take her one at a time was total folly. This was typical Orc strategy, to doglike their opponent, overwhelm them with sheer numbers. It wasn't a sophisticated tactic by any means, but it worked, and Orcs were nothing if not practical.
But just a few moments later, to Brakka's astonishment, they all lay dead at her feet, their blood and bits of bones and organs staining red nearly every bit of her body. She was always planning to go down fighting, but she had never expected to actually win.She emerged from the tent, her exposed penis now hard with the thrill of the fight and her victory, to find the women of the clan assembled to confront her.
"You killed our husbands!"
"You are an abomination!"
"We don't want you anymore!"
"Leave, and never return!"
"Freak!"
"Bastard!"
"Mutant!"
"Creature!"
The only ones who didn't participate were her mother and sisters, who instead just watched gravely from outside their hut (her own father had fallen in battle years ago, during a raid from a rival Orc tribe, and so had been spared her retribution now). They had never stuck up for her before, so why would things be any different now?
Well, it's not like Brakka thought they'd be happy that she'd killed their husbands, brothers, and sons, but she was still shocked when the Chieftess, who she had just fucked up the ass as recently as two days ago, making her cum so hard she squirted all over Brakka, came running through the crowd at her, roaring madly and holding her sword above her head. Her huge breasts swung wildly up and down.
In retrospect, Brakka realized the Chieftess had to at least try to kill her. If she didn't - if she just let Brakka leave without a fight - she could have expected to be deposed herself within the week (if not stabbed through the throat while she slept). At the time, however, it enraged Brakka to see her lover come at her like this, so she didn't hesitate to swing her Warhammer one last time. It connected, caving the right side of her skull in, and the Chieftess fell to the rocky ground, dead. The blood trickled out of her ruined head and created a small crimson pool near its deformed surface. Above them, Giant BloodVultures circled, summoned from miles away by the smell of fresh death.
Brakka looked at the huddled faces of the females before her, daring them silently to try her as their former leaders had just done. Wisely, on their part, none did, and she left what remained of the tribe and went into the Badlands, naked and alone. But not afraid.
She would never be afraid again.
In the days that followed, she wondered how the clan would fare without any men. Despite her ostracization, she still wished for the group's survival, if only out of concern for her own immediate family's continued well-being. But she assured herself that word of the men's demise would soon spread, and new Orc braves would turn up before long to claim the widows for themselves. In other words, they'd have protection (once the requisite "taming" rituals were complete, during which you could expect a few of the females and at least one of the males to perish).
This thought offered some comfort to her in the following days, as she made her way through the Badlands. Overall it wasn't so bad - she always found enough food and water - and she had received a pleasant windfall when she was set upon by a band of opportunistic human rogues. They had thought her easy prey, likely on account of her nakedness, though what valuables they thought she'd be able to give them she couldn't even begin to guess, and had only discovered their mistake when it was far too late for them.
In the week following their poorly planned ambush, she skinned them, stretched out their hides, and let them dry out in the harsh Badlands sun (and of course ate what she could of them. Cannibalism wasn't even a taboo among Orcs, so she had no compunctions about consuming the humans, or at least their edible parts). When their skins were good and dry and tough, she fashioned them into bikini armor for herself - a top big enough to hold her colossal breasts, and a bottom whose thong went right up her ass, accenting her huge green cheeks even more (along with providing her plenty of room in the crotch, of course).
After that, she had an extra spring in her step, and began to form for herself a plan. She would make her way to the human kingdoms, and take up mercenary work. Eventually, when she had saved up enough, she would buy a farm, and find herself some nice fat human wives to fill it with. She was done with Orc society and culture, and all she wanted now was to live out her days in peace and quiet, her belly always full and her balls always empty. She might even let herself grow stout, let her belly expand until it rested pleasantly on top of her huge purple-green cock. Yeah, you know, that didn't sound bad at all…
So she had bounced around the fertile, green human lands, picking up odd jobs here and there. Protect this town from greedy knights, bump off that cheating husband, you know, shit like that. It was fun, really, and she had already accumulated a fair amount of coin, which the Golden Bank gladly took from her to store for safekeeping (they didn't care what race you were, as long as you had money to give them).
The whores, too, didn't discriminate, and in fact loved her unique physiology (though they never failed to take her wages, but girls gotta eat, Brakka supposed). It should be noted, however, that Brakka didn't always pay for pussy. She had seduced plenty of human peasant women as well, especially in the taverns. Orcs held some kind of fetishistic appeal to many humans, and you could only imagine their delight when she dropped her leather armor bottom to reveal the thing hiding inside of it.
There was in particular that she hadn't forgotten. She was a young farmer's daughter, and had spent the night matching Brakka mead for mead before Brakka carried her upstairs to her rented room and fucked her brains out. They had spent the next morning together talking (before rutting again) and then said their goodbyes as the human girl had to hurry back to her family's farm to attend to her many duties. But it was more than just sex: Brakka had really liked her, and was wondering more and more if she wouldn't go back to that village one day and claim her as her first (of at least three) wife/wives. But it wasn't just the personal connection that Brakka couldn't shake: it was also how good Brakka thought the girl would look with another hundred pounds on her.
But that made this, what, her fifteenth gig or so? But Brakka saw this as a real opportunity, not only for financial gain, but to begin to plan her retirement. The Fringes were full of fertile farmland, and now that all of the humans had gone from them, who's to say the authorities wouldn't mind an Orc taking over a few of the homesteads? Whatever got the food supply going again, would be her logic, at least?
But first, she supposed they'd have to figure out what had been going on in the Fringes that had cleared them out, to begin with, and hope that, whatever it was, they'd be able to put a permanent end to it. But what foe, be it man or beast, could ever hope to stand against a bit, strong, proud, virile Orc Futa like herself? If such a being existed, she hadn't met it yet, and, increasingly, had begun to doubt it existed at all.