Sylviel's Sacrifice

The war between elves and orcs had been raging for as long as Sylviel could remember. While there had been peace, or at least a ceasefire, between the two races before, such times never lasted. Eventually, the Council’s patience had finally worn thin enough that they had called for the extermination of the species. Orcs could not live peacefully with other races, their blood ran too hot for them to become complacent. The Elven Council was not proud of this decision, but it had to be done.

And so, the elves pushed the horde further and further back, not sparing a single soul, not even women or children in their pursuit of ethnic cleansing. It never occurred to Sylviel that this may be an evil act because her parents had been brutally murdered by orcs in an unprovoked attack. In her mind, the only good orc was a dead one.

Now finally, was the penultimate fight. They had pushed the orcs all the way back to their final stronghold, Orcneas, a massive spiked tower of blackstone and obsidian glass that stood as the greatest monument to the orcs’ brutish nature, built atop a raised island that was surrounded by a moat of molten magma, kept flowing by elder fire and earth elementals magically bound to area.

Because of the rich volcanic soil and orcish druids kept within the walls of the fortress, a drawn-out siege was not an option. The leaders of the Elvish army had been debating in the tents for weeks as to the best ways to infiltrate and eliminate the last living orcs before they had time to regroup their strength and bolster their numbers. After all, even rabbits had nothing on how fast orcs could breed.

Just as Sylviel was thinking that the leaders should really cast a meteor spell and be done with it, something unexpected happened. All magic in the area immediately surrounding the fortress stopped working. It was as though a seamstress had plucked a part of the magic weave and neatly cut it off with a pair of shears. The effects were instantly noticeable. Torches of everlasting fire sputtered out, heroes’ feasts vanished without a trace, and decanters of endless water stopped flowing. Sylviel’s armor and sword became heavier and elves that had been scouting in the night sky began falling to the earth, screaming as their trinkets of feather falling failed to activate. They landed on the ground with a sickening crunch, one after the other.

Sylviel blinked profusely, willing her eyes to adjust to her night blindness. Those fucking animals! They waited until the night of a new moon to pull this stunt! Elves and orcs could both easily see better during the night than humans could, but that didn’t mean that they could see perfectly in the dark. She clumsily drew her sword, not used to the weight of an unenchanted sword. She hadn’t used one since she was a cadet. She was already breathing heavily from the increased weight of her armor. This wasn’t good. She had to get out of this freshly created null magic zone.

The ground rumbled, and Sylviel’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. The elementals. With their magical binds broken, they were free to roam and after countless ages being spent serving the orcs, they must have been stir-crazy.

All of this happened within the span of a second, Sylviel spun to give the order to retreat, and all hell broke loose. The horizon was lit aflame as the fire elementals danced in celebration of their freedom, and columns of earth and crystal burst forth from the ground in haphazard fashion, impaling any unlucky enough to be in the wake of their destruction.

Sylviel shut off her emotions as she ran for the border of whatever spell the orcs had cast. She could grieve for her fallen comrades later, right now all that mattered was that she survived. So long as she was a live, she could fight. Over the chaotic din, Sylviel heard the war drums of the orcs. They chanted to the beat in their guttural tongue. Sylviel grimaced, the chants weren’t coming from behind, but from ahead. The elvish army had been caught in a pincer manuever.

Her grip tightened as she charged forward. The least she could do was carve a path through the orcs for her comrades. If they could get past them and into a zone where magic still functioned as it should, then they might have a chance.

An hour into making hard contact with the enemy, Sylviel was no further through the wall of bodies than when she had begun. Despite the literal mountain of corpses left behind in her wake, she had failed to make any significant headway through the orc army, and she was losing allies, fast. She and a small squad of elven spellswords were all that was left of her men. She thought of pulling back, but the orcs had formed a ring around them. This was likely to be their last stand.

A command issued forth from the orcs’ ranks, and they drew back slightly. From behind them approached a mountain of an orc, head and shoulders taller than them and almost twice as broad, all cut muscle. His coarse beard had been put into a single braid that hung to his navel, and above it he sported a victorious smile. Syviel glowered at him, she knew who he was: Grum, one of the hordes’ many captains.

“Your people have been routed and your army crushed,” He said in his baritone voice, “I will now accept your unconditional surrender.”

“I would rather die than give myself over to an orc!” Sylviel spat, her lip curled in disgust.

Grum guffawed cruelly, echoed by his men, “Shouldn’t a captain care more about the state of her men?”

Sylviel cast the spellswords behind her a glance. They were gasping, weary from the fight and the weight of their armor and weapons. They’d never had to fight in unenchanted armor for so long before. Whatever fire had been in their eyes before was now replaced with dread and the acceptance of ****.

“My invitation extends to you, as well,” Grum told them, “Throw down your weapons, and we’ll spare your lives.”

“Don’t trust them,” Sylviel hissed, “Surrender, and they’ll do things that’ll make you wish that you were dead.”

Her men exchanged looks that Sylviel couldn’t read. “I don’t care,” one of them said as she tossed down her weapons, “At least I’ll be alive. If we’re alive, then we can fight another day.”

One by one, Sylviel watched in horror as her soldiers tossed down their weapons and began approaching Grum. Sylviel gritted her teeth, she had to do something! Her body shook, she knew what had to be done now, and it would take all of her strength and courage to do it.

“Wait!” Sylviel yelled, casting aside her sword and shield and running ahead of her soldiers. Throwing her arms open as if to intercept a blow on their behalf, “Wait! I will surrender, on one condition!”

“I told you ‘unconditional’ surrender, but I’m feeling generous,” Grum smirked, “Speak.”

“Do what you will with me,” Sylviel tried to not let her voice shake, “But please, don’t let any misfortune fall upon my men. Let them go, or imprison them, but don’t harm them. Please.”

Grum petted the length of his braid, as though thinking it over, “You would be denying my men their right to pillage. Do you think you could satisfy a whole horde on your own?” The orcs laughed and leered at her.

“I will do whatever it takes for my men to be spared,” Sylviel said, determined.

“Very well,” Grum approached her, “I accept your terms. Disarm her men and lock them up. If this little prize fails to live up to our expectations, then this agreement is null and void.”

Sylviel swallowed as she looked up at the giant of an orc, her head barely came up to his chest. Suddenly Grum reached down and grasped Sylviel’s breastplate with a single hand and tore it from her body. Sylviel gasped from the sudden exposure of her pert breasts, nipples hardening from the night air, cool despite the fires raging around them. Or perhaps it was from the sweat?

Sylviel raised her arms to cover her chest, more out of the habitual need to preserve her modesty than anything else. Grum used that action as an opportunity to similarly rip off her battle skirt, the leather belt only giving slight resistance before snapping under the brute’s ****. He then ripped open the top of her trousers, leaving Sylviel in her only her gauntlets and grieves, like a reverse one-piece bathing suit.

“That’s a good look for you,” Grum said, the other orcs jeering in agreement. Sylviel **** her arms to her sides. What was the point? By the time this night was over, her whole body would be on display for the pleasure of these animals. She glared defiantly at the orc captain.

He snorted in amusement before jerking the waistband of his trousers down. His massive cock sprang loose and its corkscrew tip hit Sylviel in the face, smearing her rosy cheek in precum. It smelled like he hadn’t washed it in months. He then picked her up like a doll, and lined her pussy up with his member.

Sylviel’s chest heaved as she mentally prepared herself to receive a dick the size of a horse’s, trying to ignore the part of her brain that was actually getting aroused by the situation. She was so small and weak compared to him, there was nothing that she could do to stop him from ****…

Just as she had that thought, Grum plunged his length into her, and her mind went completely blank. Someone screamed, possibly in terror. No, was that pleasure? It took her a minute to realize that the person screaming was her. Her head had rolled back, her view was now of the world turned upside-down.

“Normally, I let my men stretch the women out so they could take me,” Grum laughed humorlessly, “But you’re special. I want you to feel the fury of all my brothers that you’ve slain.” He pulled out, and grunted in surprise, “A virgin? I’m honored. I’ll be sure to offer your spent body to the druids as thanks to the gods.”

He then grabbed a hold of her waist with a single hand and pumped her on his dick like Sylviel were the rag he was using to jerk himself off with. With each thrust, Sylviel was finding it harder and harder to think until she finally couldn’t think at all and her vision was simply a sea of white. When Grum finally finished in her, she hardly even realized it. He threw her onto the blood-soaked mud, and the cold sensation shocked her back to reality long enough to feel the orc’s hot cum oozing out of her cunny. Gods, why was she so horny? She didn’t want to get off to filthy orc dick!

“Men,” Grum grunted, “Have your way with her, but don’t kill her. She’ll make a fine ****.”

Green hands and cocks descended upon Sylviel, and soon there wasn’t a hole or limb of hers that wasn’t being used. Her mouth, her hands, her pussy, her ass, and even her feet. There wasn’t a single stretch of her skin that wasn’t defiled by orc cock, and by the time they were done Sylviel the orc captive had came several times and couldn’t remember anything beyond the taste and smell of pig man semen. If her past self could see her now, she’d be horrified.

“More, give me more,” she begged, as another orc emptied his load into her. She kept begging, but no more orcs came. They weren’t interested in broken toys.