The Contract of the Skin

Chapter 1: The Sacred Realm Stained with Dust

The twilight, blood-red, soaked into the stained glass windows of Saint Laurent Cathedral. The last rays of the setting sun pierced through the gaps in the statue of the Virgin Mary, landing precisely on the lowered eyelashes of Saint Cecilia, kneeling before the altar, casting a hazy golden hue upon her pale cheeks. She wore a pure white monastic robe trimmed with gold, but beneath the hem, a pair of jade-like legs tightly encased in delicate black stockings were faintly visible. The stockings, made of an extremely thin material, allowed the soft glow of her skin to shine through, extending from her gracefully sculpted calves to the depths of the robe. The delicate lace trim at the top of the stockings occasionally glimpsed with each movement, like a hidden allure. On her feet were a pair of soft white leather slippers, which now nervously rubbed against the floor.

"May the goddess protect me, ensuring the success of this pilgrimage and purifying all the filth of the world..." Cecilia's voice was ethereal yet trembling, less a prayer and more an attempt to dispel a nameless unease deep within her heart. Her cascading platinum-gold hair was held up with a simple silver hairpin, a few strands falling beside her neck, emphasizing its slender fragility, as if a gentle touch would leave a red mark. Her loose robes could not conceal the fullness of her chest, which rose and fell slightly with her breath, the fabric outlining its full and soft contours.

Beside her, the elven princess Arya impatiently strummed the bowstring of her longbow. She wore a form-fitting dark green hunting outfit, a short leather upper garment that revealed her firm, flat stomach and slender waist. Below, a matching miniskirt revealed a pair of long, beautiful legs clad in thick, opaque, dark green stockings. The stockings clung tightly to every inch of her skin, outlining the smooth, powerful lines of her legs, from her rounded thighs to her tapering knees and slender ankles, all embodying the agility and elegance unique to the elves. Her feet were clad in knee-high, dark brown deerskin boots, the boot shafts fitting snugly against the edges of her stockings. Arya's long, pointed ears twitched slightly, sensing any unusual movement in the wind, her emerald eyes filled with vigilance and a hint of barely perceptible arrogance.

“Cecilia, your prayers are almost putting me to sleep.” The mage Flora leaned lazily against a huge bookshelf, toying with a crystal ball that shimmered with arcane light. She wore a deep purple, high-slit mage robe made of an unknown, smooth silk that shimmered with a dark luster in the dim light. The robe’s slit was extremely high, almost reaching her upper thigh, completely exposing her legs, which were clad in nearly transparent, ultra-thin black pantyhose. The pantyhose, as thin as cicada wings, clung tightly to her skin, perfectly showcasing the fair and delicate texture and shapely lines of Flora’s legs; even the slight indentation behind her knees and the pale blue veins on the insteps were faintly visible. On her feet were a pair of purple suede high heels, the slender heels lightly touching the ground. Flora's figure was more mature and voluptuous than the saintess's. The V-neck design of her mage's robe revealed a deep cleavage, and her full breasts swayed gently with her casual breathing, like ripe fruit. Her chestnut hair was curled and draped over her shoulders, and her eyes held a hint of playfulness and a worldly-wise languor.

The three women—a saintess from the Church of Light, a princess from the Forest Royal Court, and a mage from the Arcane Tower—have gathered here because of the unusual dark energy that suddenly appeared on the border, and they plan to go together to investigate the matter the next day.

However, they were unaware that darkness had already infiltrated this sacred temple.

"Bang--!"

The heavy oak door was violently flung open, splinters flying everywhere. A group of tall, muscular, green-skinned creatures surged in, their faces ferocious, fangs bared, and reeking of a pungent mixture of stench and blood. The leader, in particular, was exceptionally massive, almost twice the width of an average human, and nearly two and a half meters tall. His rough, green skin was covered in a crisscrossing network of scars, and he wore only a filthy animal hide around his waist. He was the leader of the goblin tribe in this area, Giant Hammer Grush.

"Hehehe...Found them! Three delicate little wench!" Grush's voice was like sandpaper, filled with undisguised greed and ****. His murky yellow eyes instantly locked onto the three figures in front of the altar, especially scanning their legs encased in various colored stockings and their high breasts. His thick tongue licked his fangs, leaving behind disgusting saliva.

"Protect the saintess!" Arya reacted the fastest, instantly drawing her bow and nocking an arrow. A bright green magic arrow shot towards Grush's face with a whooshing sound.

Flora immediately raised the crystal ball and chanted an obscure incantation, causing sparks of arcane energy to condense in the air.

But Grush merely grinned maliciously, neither dodging nor avoiding, and with a casual wave of his large, fan-like hand, he directly swatted the magic arrow away. The arrow struck the wall and exploded into a cloud of green light fragments. "Magic? Flashy nonsense!" he roared, his massive body charging forward at a speed disproportionate to its size, causing the ground to tremble.

Before Arya's second arrow could even leave the bowstring, Grush had already rushed forward and seized her longbow. The elven princess was shocked to find that her pride and joy were like a child's compared to his strength. Grush yanked hard, the longbow slipping from her grasp, while his other hand roughly grabbed Arya's thigh, clad in dark green stockings. His rough fingers dug deep into the elastic fabric of the stockings and the flesh beneath. Arya cried out in pain, her long legs kicking wildly, her ankles, encased in thick stockings, attempting to strike, but Grush easily subdued them.

"Release her!" Cecilia stood up, a faint holy light gathering in her hand, but the light appeared so dim under the suppression of Grush's violent dark aura.

Flora's arcane missile whistled through the air, striking Grush and the elite goblin warriors behind him, but only leaving shallow scorch marks, failing to cause any real damage. "Damn magic resistance!" Flora's expression changed, realizing the situation was dire.

Grush ignored the attack; his attention was completely drawn to the struggling elf in his hands. He lowered his head, bringing his nose close to Arya's neck, and took a deep breath, letting out a raucous gurgle from his fanged mouth. "The scent of an elf...it's so invigorating!" His other free hand roughly pressed down on Arya's hunting-clad upper body, kneading her firm, perky breasts—not as voluptuous as human women's—the bulges beneath the fabric deforming under his palm.

"Bastard! Get your filthy hands off me!" Arya writhed in humiliation, her legs encased in green stockings kicking wildly, her knees slamming into Grush's hard abs, but it was like hitting a rock.

Meanwhile, the other burly goblins swarmed forward. Flora attempted to cast a teleportation spell, but the spell was interrupted by a strange bone rune thrown by a goblin. The arcane energy backlash caused her to groan and stagger backward. Two goblins immediately grabbed her arms and slammed her against a bookshelf. The bookshelf shook violently, and books rained down.

"Oh? A female mage, no less?" A goblin grinned, its long, barbed tongue licking Flora's cheek, leaving a wet trail. Its other hand, calloused, ruthlessly slipped inside the high slit of her mage's robe, covering her thighs clad in sheer black stockings. Rough fingers rubbed the delicate skin through the thin fabric, even attempting to probe deeper. Flora trembled, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes, but she bit her lower lip, remaining silent.

Cecilia attempted to unleash her holy light upon the approaching goblins, but her strength was far too weak against absolute ****. One goblin easily seized her slender wrist, while his other hand roughly ripped open the front of her monastic robe. With a tearing sound, the white fabric was ripped apart, revealing a similarly white bodice embroidered with gold patterns, a large expanse of snow-white skin, and a deep cleavage. The goblin's greedy gaze was almost tangible; his fingers traced the curve of her waist downwards, reaching beneath her skirt, feeling through the delicate black stockings the slight spasms in her leg muscles caused by fear.

"No...no...Goddess..." Cecilia's prayer turned into a **** sob, her platinum blonde hair disheveled, a few strands clinging to her tear-stained cheeks.

"Roar—! Behave yourselves!" Grush roared, his voice shaking the entire area. He was clearly not satisfied with mere humiliation; his mind, filled with primal desires and cruel wisdom, harbored a far more sinister plan. He hoisted the struggling Arya onto his shoulder, the elven princess's feet in deerskin boots and her legs encased in green stockings kicking weakly behind him.

"Take these three women to the ritual chamber!" Grush commanded, his yellow eyes gleaming with an eerie light. "What I want isn't a moment of pleasure, but... to completely become like them!"

**###**

Beneath the church lies a sinister space, a stark contrast to the sacred atmosphere above. What might have been a tomb or storage room has been transformed into a goblin lair and ritual site. Torches burning with eerie green flames adorn the walls, and the air is thick with the pungent stench of herbs, blood, and a cloyingly sweet, putrid smell. A massive, intricately structured magic circle is etched into the floor, its lines composed of a dark red substance resembling dried blood, with a rough stone platform at its center.

Cecilia, Flora, and Aria were roughly stripped of most of their outer clothing, leaving them only in their stockings, underwear, and shoes. They were then tied to three stone pillars standing at the edge of the magic circle. Their mouths were gagged with dirty rags, allowing them to only utter muffled whimpers.

Cecilia's white nun's robe was torn to shreds, leaving only a few strips hanging from her body, her exposed skin appearing unusually white in the eerie green firelight. Her jade-like legs, encased in delicate black stockings, were completely bare, from thigh to toe. The texture of the stockings shimmered subtly in the firelight, the lace at the top outlining an absolute territory that stirred the heart. Her white bra was also torn askew, barely concealing her full, snow-white breasts, which heaved violently with her rapid breathing. One of her white indoor shoes was still barely on, while the other was nowhere to be found, revealing her slender ankle encased in black stockings and the faint curve of her arch.

Flora's deep purple mage robe was also torn open, the high slit now serving as an accomplice to exposure, completely revealing her legs clad in ultra-thin, sheer black stockings. The stockings were so thin that the texture of her skin and the subtle blush caused by temperature changes were clearly visible, especially on her inner thighs, where the stockings even had slight snags where she had been roughly touched. Her purple high heels were still on her feet, the slender heels pressing weakly against the ground. Her upper body was clad in even bolder black lace, accentuating her full breasts, the deep cleavage alluring, yet now filled with a sense of helplessness.

Arya's dark green hunting outfit and short skirt were stripped away, leaving her only in thick, opaque, dark green stockings and a close-fitting leather breastplate. The thick stockings clung tightly to her legs, emphasizing their long, slender lines and the muscular, athletic build characteristic of elves. Her deerskin boots remained intact, the boot shafts fitting perfectly into the stockings. Her green eyes burned with anger and humiliation; her struggles were far more intense than the other two, and even tightly bound, her stockinged legs continued to kick.

Grush stood in the center of the magic circle, with several foul-smelling earthenware pots and some ores shimmering with an ominous light beside him. He greedily scanned the three sacrifices, especially their legs encased in various colored stockings, and made low gurgling sounds in his throat.

"Begin the ritual!" he growled, picking up an earthenware jar and pouring a viscous, pungent green liquid onto specific lines of the magic circle. The liquid sizzled and emitted thick green smoke the moment it touched the lines drawn with blood. The other goblins then began to dance a strange, wild dance around the circle, chanting ancient and obscene incantations.

As the incantation continued, the light from the magic circle grew brighter, and green smoke began to billow out, wrapping around the three women bound to the stone pillar. The smoke, upon contact with their skin, immediately brought a burning pain and an indescribable numbness.

"Waaah!" Cecilia writhed violently, tears streaming down her face, her once-pure features contorted with pain and fear. The smoke seemed to come alive, clinging tightly to her black-stockinged legs, the fibers of the stockings appearing to dissolve in the smoke, or perhaps to bond even more tightly to her skin.

Flora bit down hard on the gag, her body trembling slightly. Her arcane instincts allowed her to perceive the true nature of the smoke—an extremely malevolent alchemical product designed to strip away the "form" and "substance" of a living being, transforming it into another form. The smoke swirled around her sheer black silk stockings, the gossamer-thin stockings serving as the perfect conduit for its penetration, bringing waves of eerie, soul-stirring tremors.

Arya struggled the most fiercely, even attempting to bang her head against the stone pillar. Green smoke swirled around her shapely legs, clad in thick stockings. Although the stockings offered negligible protection, the bone-deep feeling of being stripped away was still palpable. She felt her strength draining away with each swirling wisp of smoke.

Grush watched all this, his eyes filled with fervor and anticipation. He walked to the stone platform and picked up a strangely shaped, gleaming skinning knife. The ceremony had entered its most crucial moment.

**###**

The green smoke grew thicker and thicker, almost filling the entire underground space and engulfing the figures of the three women bound to the stone pillars. Only their choked, **** sobs and the faint sounds of their stockings rubbing against the stone pillars and their heels hitting the ground could be heard as they struggled.

Grush stood in the center of the thick fog, before the stone platform. His massive body appeared and disappeared amidst the flickering green flames and swirling mist, like a demon rising from the abyss. In his hand, a strangely shaped, curved skinning knife gleamed with an ominous cold light, as if yearning for the touch of blood and flesh.

“The time has come…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice a mixture of barely suppressed excitement and cruelty. He first approached the elven princess, Arya, who was struggling the most fiercely.

Arya's emerald eyes practically spit fire, and even with her mouth gagged, she still managed to let out a threatening growl from deep within her throat. Her long, moonlit silver hair was soaked with sweat, clinging to her forehead and cheeks. Thick, dark green stockings clung tightly to her legs, and from the continuous kicking, the stockings were even slightly frayed at the top of her thighs, outlining the taut muscles of her legs. The soles of her deerskin boots scraped against the ground, making a grating sound.

“Little wildcat, you won’t be able to be all slutty in a minute.” Grush grinned maliciously, extending his rough, scarred, and calloused green hand to grab Arya’s stockinged leg. The elf’s skin, warm and surprisingly elastic through the stockings, only fueled Grush’s destructive urges. His fingers, like iron clamps, dug deep into the stockings and the flesh beneath, causing Arya to arch her body in pain, her whimper turning into a muffled groan of agony.

Grush raised the skinning knife in his other hand. Without hesitation, he pressed the tip precisely against the edge of Arya's left stocking, close to the delicate skin at the base of her thigh. Arya trembled violently, and for the first time, her eyes revealed pure fear, beyond anger.

The blade moved slowly and cruelly downwards along the top of the stocking. It wasn't to cut the stockings, but to slice through the skin beneath! The sharp blade easily severed the fibers of the stockings and the resilient skin of the elf, and a thin line of blood immediately seeped out, flowing down the dark green stockings, forming a glaring red mark. The excruciating pain made Arya's eyes widen instantly, her body convulsing uncontrollably, her bound wrists and ankles scraped raw from the struggle.

Grush was oblivious to the elf's agony; his movements carried an eerie, practiced ease. The blade continued downwards, slicing across the back of the knee, down the calf, to the ankle, then the instep, finally stopping at the toes. He then repeated the precise, brutal cuts on the inside and outside of the leg in the same manner. The entire process was slow and ritualistic, as if he were sketching the initial outline of a work of art.

Arya's sobs gradually weakened as the intense pain and blood loss began to blur her consciousness. Her powerful, shapely legs, encased in dark green stockings, were now covered with crisscrossing, thin bloodstains. The torn sections of the stockings rolled up, revealing the pale skin and bright red flesh beneath.

But this was just the beginning. Grush tossed aside the knife and placed his large hands, stained with blood and green slime, on the edge of the fresh cut on Arya's thigh. His fingers dug into the layers of flesh and stockings, and then, with a sudden, forceful rip, he tore it down!

"Sizzle—!"

A tooth-grinding, leather-tearing sound rang out, mixed with the sticky sound of muscle fibers being forcibly separated. A large patch of intact elven skin, still attached to dark green stockings, was forcibly peeled off Arya's thigh! The inside of the skin still had fresh blood and tissue fluid, while the outside still retained the texture and color of the stockings, and you could even see a few fine silver elven hairs clinging to it.

"Ughhhhhh—!" Arya let out a heart-wrenching scream, suppressed by the cloth. Her body jerked violently like a fish out of water before collapsing completely, with only her chest rising and falling weakly. Her thigh, where the skin had been peeled off, revealed bright red muscle tissue and white fascia, a gruesome sight.

Grush, however, seemed encouraged. He sniffed the warm human skin still attached to the stocking in his hand, a look of ecstasy on his face. "Elf skin, indeed tough enough!" he roared, continuing his cruel "work."