Los Gorak

Susan's heart pounded with a **** that threatened to shatter her ribs, a runaway drum within her pale chest as the hot, humid air of this strange, wild land seeped between her parted lips, filling her mouth with a metallic taste. Fear was a living thing, creeping beneath her skin, making her nipples harden against the torn fabric, not only from the sudden chill of panic, but from the raw awareness of her own vulnerability: a woman alone, half-naked, in a world that reeked of predation.

Instinctively, she summoned her power. The same power that had saved her a thousand times. She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating, commanding her body to vanish. She felt the familiar tingling on her skin, the subtle tug of molecules that became transparent, as if the air itself were embracing her and dissolving her. For a glorious second, her outline blurred: her hands and arms became almost ethereal, light passing through them like smoked glass.

But then, something went wrong.

A strange resistance, as if the air of this world were denser, more possessive, rejecting her gift. The effect receded abruptly, her skin rematerializing with a painful flicker, as if someone had yanked her forcefully back into visibility. The effort made her dizzy; a hot vertigo rose from her stomach to her head, making the ground ripple beneath her bare feet.

Stuttering, she reached out for support and found a rusty, half-leaning lamppost covered in thick, green lichen. Her fingers closed around the cold metal, her nails scraping the peeling paint as her body leaned dangerously forward. The post creaked under her weight, but held. She gasped, feeling the sweat pool between her breasts and trickle slowly down her belly, disappearing beneath the torn fabric that barely covered her pubis. She was weak. Weaker than she had ever been after a battle. The portal, the fall, the loss… everything had drained her reserves. And now her power, her most trusted shield, was betraying her.

She couldn't stay there, exposed in the center of the clearing like an offering. The sounds were drawing closer: heavy hooves, guttural roars, deep voices that resonated with an excitement that made the back of her neck prickle. She ran.

Her bare feet hit the damp grass, then rotten leaves that sank beneath her weight with a wet, obscene sound. The ripped garment flapped around her thighs, brushing against her sensitive inner skin with every stride, constantly catching her partial nakedness. The hot air hit her face, sticking strands of platinum blonde hair to her cheeks and lips.

She ran aimlessly, just away from the noise, her heart pounding in her throat, in her ears, between her legs. The jungle welcomed her with green arms: hanging vines brushed against her bare shoulders like curious fingers, giant leaves parted in her path, leaving a trail of crushed, sweet, and fermented scent.

She found refuge behind a crumbling wall covered by a thick curtain of climbing ivy. The leaves were broad, fleshy, with prominent veins that pulsed slightly to the touch, as if they were alive. She slid behind them, pressing her back against the cold, mossy stone of the forgotten building. The wall oozed moisture; the lichen beneath her shoulder blades was soft, almost viscous, clinging to her skin like a second layer. She crouched down, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to make her body as small as possible. The torn garment opened wider with the movement, fully exposing one of her breasts to the air; the pink nipple hardened instantly from the contrast between the ambient warmth and the cold of the stone. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, each inhalation bringing the intense scent of vegetation, of fertile earth, of something else… something musky and masculine that floated on the breeze.

The seconds ticked by.

Slowly.

The seconds ticked by. Slowly. Eternally.

Then she saw them.

First, they were tall shadows moving among the tree trunks, silhouettes that the light of the setting sun etched with brutal clarity. Then they emerged into the clearing: two imposing figures, taller than any man Susan had ever known. Dark green skin, glistening with sweat, muscles defined beneath a layer of primal fat that spoke of animal strength more than gym training. The first was easily eight feet ten inches tall, shoulders as broad as doors, his torso bare except for crossed leather straps that held an obsidian spear. His arms were thick, veined with sinew, and his large hands ended in strong fingers that seemed capable of breaking bones with ease. His face was almost human, but marked by savage differences: pointed ears that twitched, catching sounds; a broad nose that throbbed, sniffing the air; and a mouth armed with prominent fangs that bared even when he spoke. His long, black hair fell in braids adorned with small bones. He wore only a leather loincloth that barely contained the heavy bulge between his thighs.

The second man was slightly shorter, perhaps six foot five, but more agile, with feline movements. His green skin had a lighter tone, almost emerald where the light touched it. His tongue—oh God, his tongue—extended for an instant to taste the air, long, forked, pink against the green of his face, before retracting with a wet sound. Both exuded heat, scent: intense masculine sweat, tanned leather, something metallic and fertile that made Susan's stomach clench involuntarily.

They spoke. A guttural, hissing language, full of harsh consonants and deep vowels that resonated in the clearing like drums.

And, to her horror, she understood them.

She didn't know how. Perhaps some lingering effect of the portal, or perhaps this world translated in some perverse way. But the words came to her mind clear, raw, laden with meaning:

"This is where the fall landed. The scent is fresh… fertile female, soft skin, sweet fear," the taller one said, inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring. "The sentinels said the portal closed right above this sector."

The other chuckled softly, a sound that resonated in Susan's chest even though she was meters away.

"Whoever touches her first will have exclusive rights to day and night. Imagine… that white flesh opened just for one. Filling her until she can't take any more."

A chorus of approving roars erupted from more figures as they appeared: five, seven, ten Gorak warriors scattering across the clearing, noses throbbing, ears twitching, golden eyes gleaming with hunger. The group's leader, the seven-foot-seven giant, raised a hand.

“Search! Whoever finds her claims her first. Her body will be theirs before the ritual. And may the gods make their womb strong!”

They all roared in unison, a primal sound that made the leaves tremble, that made Susan’s body shrink even further against the wall. Panic washed over her like a hot wave: pure, visceral fear, mixed with a horrible awareness of her own exposed flesh, of the treacherous dampness that was beginning to gather between her thighs from sheer adrenaline terror. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood, her blue eyes wide behind the curtain of ivy, watching as those green, powerful bodies, armed with spears and nets, fanned out, sniffing, listening, drawing closer.

The tallest one passed within three meters of her hiding place. Susan held her breath, feeling sweat trickle down her spine, pooling at the base before trickling between her buttocks. The Gorak stopped. He tilted his head. His nostrils twitched. His tongue extended slowly, tasting the air inches from the ivy that concealed it.

The world seemed to stop.

Susan's breath came in short, ragged gasps, as if each inhalation were fighting against the oppressive weight of the hot air surrounding her, a dense vapor heavy with wild scents that clung to her lungs and left a sweet, rotten aftertaste on her tongue. Her heart pounded with brutal ****, a primal drum echoing in her ears, in her throat, between her thighs, making her blood rush hot and fast through veins that seemed too narrow to contain such urgency. Sweat beaded on her pale skin in thick drops that trickled slowly down the curve of her neck, disappearing into the valley of her breasts barely covered by the blue shreds of her torn suit, and continuing down her flat stomach until they soaked the ripped fabric that hung from her hips like a flag of premature surrender.

She didn't know where she was. She didn't know how she had gotten there. But a cold, sharp certainty pierced her mind harder than any spear: those tall, muscular, green men, with bodies that seemed sculpted by a cruel and lustful hand, wanted to **** her.

She had heard it in their deep voices, in the guttural laughter that accompanied obscene words about her body, about what they would do to her when they caught her. And though a treacherous, tiny part of her mind—a part she hated to admit—had registered that they were attractive (in a brutal, animalistic way, as if someone had fused the ferocity of a legendary orc with the symmetrical perfection of a bodybuilder and the dangerous beauty of a dark-cover model), that involuntary attraction only heightened the horror. Because they weren't men. They were predators. And she was the prey.

She had fallen into a world inhabited by savage rapists!

The thought struck her like a whip, causing a stifled sob to escape her lips. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle it, feeling her own fingers quiver against the damp skin.

She had to get out of there.

The thought struck her like a whip, causing a stifled sob to escape her lips. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth to stifle it, feeling her own fingers quiver against the damp skin. I had to get out of there. I had to move.

Then she heard the nearby crack of thick branches snapping under considerable weight, a sharp, deliberate sound that made her blood run cold. She slowly raised her gaze, her wide blue eyes beneath blond strands plastered to her forehead with sweat, and saw him: one of those green men, the tallest she had ever seen, crouching a few feet away. Beside him, a creature resembling a dog but larger, more muscular, with dark green, scaly fur and six short legs ending in curved claws. The animal sniffed the grass eagerly, its wet muzzle moving in ever-tightening circles, while its master led it with a braided leather leash.

Panic surged through her like a hot, black tide, rising from her belly to her throat. The thought was a silent scream in her mind. She couldn't stay there, paralyzed behind the curtain of ivy, waiting for that beast's nose to find her.

She has to do something!