A blinding beam of silver flames shot toward Emilim. The blast was so fast, she barely registered what had happened—her body had already moved, instinctively, before her mind could catch up.
She found herself in the arms of a demon.
Her scream tore through the air as she thrashed, trying to escape his grip.
Malrik chuckled darkly. He let her slip free—just enough. Then, with a swift tug of her hair, he yanked her back into place as the barrier around them dissolved.
His eyes glinted with cruel amusement.
He positioned her, body trembling, directly in the path of the incoming breath attack—bathed in that blinding silver-white light.
"No! Hero-sama, save me!!" she screamed, panic rising in her voice.
The beam drew closer—and then, just before it struck her, the blast was split apart midair.
──────
Name: Fuyumi Iryssil
Race: Silver Dragon
Class: None
Level: 218,571
EXP: 47,056 → 47,057 → 47,058 / 83,200
Alignment: Neutral Good
Affiliation: Aiki / Veyrunth Kingdom
Title(s):
Fuyumi Iryssil
Mooncrest Warden
Frozen Light Incarnate
Celestial Kin of the High Skies
The Mooncrest
──────
HP: 5,420,571 / 5,420,571
MP: 1,326,071 / 1,355,142
Stamina: 1,626,000 / 1,626,000
Strength: 94,862
Dexterity: 81,311
Vitality: 94,862
Intelligence: 406,560
Charisma: 81,311
──────
ABILITIES
Draconic Ancestry: Silver Lineage
Her dragon blood grants high resistance to frost, spirit magic, and celestial-based attacks. Her breath carries traces of moonlight magic.
Breath of the Pale Star
Unleashes a beam of radiant silver flame mixed with frozen starlight. Highly effective against dark-aligned, undead, or demonic enemies. Can be controlled to avoid allies if the user's willpower is strong enough.
Wings of Glacial Serenity
Her wings can create an aura of freezing wind, slowing nearby enemies and weakening fire-based spells. Grants passive flight and unmatched aerial agility.
Moonlit Ward
A shield of pale scales and silver mana that automatically activates upon taking fatal damage. Negates one lethal hit every 12 hours.
Cryostasis Field
Freezes a section of the battlefield in silver frost, locking movement, draining stamina, and suppressing low-tier fire and shadow magic.
Lunar Intuition
Dragons of her bloodline can sense alignment and emotional intent in living beings. This allows for prediction of betrayal or hostile actions moments before they happen.
Voice of Sovereignty
Her roar imposes awe and paralysis in weaker beings. Can suppress illusions and dispel lesser enchantments within hearing range.
Silverlight Core
The magical organ at her heart, this amplifies MP regeneration and allows instant spell weaving, bypassing traditional chant delays.
Celestial Regeneration
Slowly restores HP and MP when under the night sky or within divine domains. Tripled during full moons.
──────
A low growl rumbled deep in the young silver dragon's throat as she unleashed a second blast—one of equal force—that tore through the air and collided with the first, cancelling it out in a shockwave of silver sparks. Her eyes, once calm, now darkened with wrath as they locked onto the demon who dared to clutch the witch like a prize.
Her wings spread wide, silver radiance shimmering along their span. Without hesitation, Fuyumi Iryssil exhaled a stream of concentrated frost, cold enough to crack stone and freeze blood mid-pulse, directly into her wings. Unlike her earlier attack, this one was measured—shaped with precision. The freezing gale curved around Emilim, brushing past her harmlessly while sweeping through the roots, the tendrils, and finally engulfing Malrik.
The demon's smirk faltered.
Fuyumi wasn't done.
A hum began to resonate from her core—deep, otherworldly, a vibration that made the air itself tremble. She gathered light, flames, and fury into her jaws. A sphere of shimmering white-silver built up, flickering with arcs of argent lightning, growing brighter than the sun—until it collapsed into a single, focused point.
And then she fired.
The beam tore through Malrik's head like it was parchment. His skull caved inward, then shattered, the blast erupting out the back of his cranium—in a geyser of vaporized bone and demonic essence. For a moment, the world froze in the wake of the blast's brilliance. The beam didn't stop with Malrik—it continued, carving a tunnel of pure devastation through the twisted grove behind him, reducing the elves vines and cursed plants alike into molten dust and mist.
When the light finally faded, silence followed.
Then—his body collapsed.
The once-proud demon fell to his knees, black ichor pouring from the gaping ruin where his head had been. His fingers twitched, as if trying to remember life, before slumping lifelessly into the snow-laced ground. Steam hissed from the ragged wound that had replaced his neck, his spine a cracked black pillar smoldering from within.
Emilim stared wide-eyed, her mouth parted in disbelief. She was still alive. Her hands trembled, the lingering cold from the silver dragon's frost brushing against her skin. Slowly, she turned toward her savior.
Fuyumi stood like a storm-bound statue. Her silver scales glinted with fading power, her breath steady and slow, though the glow in her chest had not fully dimmed. She didn't move—watching, waiting.
And then—
A blade pierced through her chest.
It was a longsword—elegant, precise, and radiant. The blade gleamed like cut crystal, forged from a translucent material that shimmered in hues of blue and violet, as though it held the first light of dawn within its edge. Smooth and symmetrical, the blade's facets caught the light and fractured it into dancing colors that flickered across the ground. A narrow spine of deeper sapphire ran down its center, like a vein of frozen lightning locked beneath its flawless surface.
The crossguard swept outward in a graceful arc, shaped like stylized golden wings. Filigree lined its surface in delicate lattice patterns, studded with tiny sapphires that pulsed faintly—as if breathing. The guard curved down like talons securing a seal, protective and unforgiving. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather over azure-dyed cord, its grip firm and refined, decorated with diamond-shaped accents that caught the light when turned. The pommel flared into a crown-like peak, subtle yet unmistakable—a final mark of authority.
It was not a sword swung in anger, nor wielded in desperation. It was a judgment passed—a thing of beauty, mercy, and finality.
"Who knew a dragon could be so weak," came a voice from behind—dark, condescending, raw.
The blade twisted cruelly, driving through Fuyumi's heart. The young dragon let out a breathless gasp—or something close to it—as the world around her shifted.
Emilim's expression twisted.
A demonic smirk stretched across her face as the illusion broke. One by one, the pieces of the scene unraveled—Emilim's form flickered, then vanished. Malrik's corpse faded like dust. The landscape itself warped as a jagged tear painted itself across reality, revealing the truth beneath: a writhing nest of vibrant tendrils coiled around an invisible, thrashing figure.
Fuyumi's eyes widened, her breath hitching.
Mana—tainted and foreign—rushed into her scales, bones, and veins like a drug. She stared, frozen, as a figure slowly emerged from the depths of a dissolving concealment spell.
Long, peach-toned legs hung upside down, golden hair trailing toward the ground, and a pair of green eyes, wide and full of dying haze, locked onto her. The tendril wrapped tight around the girl's neck constricted further, while others wormed through her stomach and opening the fresh wound in her abdomen as the maw there gaped wider.
The girl twitched—fighting, thrashing to stay alive—blood pouring out faster now, her lungs starved of air.
"But you've brought me two new interesting gifts to work with," Malrik said, his voice a low, amused purr. "So—arigato, Fuyumi-chan. I promise I'll put them both to good use."
He pulled in Emilim closer, her limp body pressing against his.
Her ashy white hair shimmered, rippling like moonlight over still water. The strands grew fuller, sleeker, lifting as if caught in a windless current. Bit by bit, the dull grey gave way to a pristine, snowy luster—pure, immaculate. But as the transformation reached her shoulders, the purity split. Deep color bled into the lower strands, not like ink, but like starlight twisted with nightshade—glowing whitish-silvers darkening into richer tones that shimmered and pulsed with golden life.
The remnants of her old dress peeled away as if shedding an unwanted skin. In its place, black silk wrapped around her body with almost sentient intent. It clung tightly to her curves, forming a bodice that shone like lacquered onyx, cinched by gold-threaded lacework and sapphire clasps. Intricate embroidery traced spell-runes across her midriff, their meaning nothing more then to form a harder shield around her. A star-shaped gem gleamed just above her chest, nestled between the sculpted edge of her corset, and its soft glow pulsed with each beat of her newly quickened heart.
A cloak of sheer moonlight formed over her shoulders—no longer cloth, but woven from luminescent mist that draped like a mantle of starlight. Her gloves extended past her elbows, laced at the wrist with the same gold-threaded pattern, and her thighs bore silk stockings fastened with sapphire-pinned garters. Her wide-brimmed witch's hat curled with playful arrogance, its rim edged in twinkling blue light, and atop it spun an ornament like a constellation caught in glass, ever-moving.
His lips pressed onto hers, and she kissed back—softly, at first, but then with mounting need. Her hands clutched at him, dragging him closer. Her breath hitched as her tongue brushed his, her heart now racing with unnatural life. Her body melted against his with instinctive heat, her new form almost glowing beneath his touch.
This wasn't love, affection, or anything pure.
This was manipulative and unnatural, her mind screamed but her lips only parted. Her tongue intertwined with his in a slowly rhythm. Her hands curling and clanching his biceps. His tail rubbing up her thighs as he held her up standing by his side.
O mother goddess forgive me~ Emilim thought, indulging in the warmth of humankind's sworn enemy as her delicate fingers wrapped firmly around his shaft. Her palms sweated, reducing friction as she stroked him with hard, intent-driven determination.
Malrik grunted her hands bringing him to his satisfaction.
Pure cold flowed through him, down his blade and into Fuyumi as he licked his lips and watched his mana stretch the elfs body; her joints popped, masucles pulled and tore soon after, her pained grunt stuck in her throat and blood stopped spewing out of her.
Using Emilim like a vessel to cast healing magic, he delayed the elf's death.
"And I'll put you to good use," he murmured as silver flames began to consume what remained of the elf's little garden.
Emilim's hands guided his cock downward.
His will carried out through magic.
The stimulation spell placed on her led her body to feel pleasure and obey his wishes.
Wouldn't want to waste a new warm meal now, would I~ he thought lustfully. His cock throbbed with excitement and released a white load onto Fuyumi's wings and back.
"That's enough for now, my dear~" Malrik purred, halting her with a thought. His mana puppeteered her fingers off his shaft, bending them away with surgical precision. He leaned in and placed a mockingly gentle kiss on her cheek.
The silver flames surrounding them died down.
He turned his focus back to the dragon, and without hesitation, drove the newly formed sword—a construct of his mana, shaped under the same principles as the tendrils, designed to attach, alter, or channel his simulation spells—deeper into Fuyumi's flesh.
She whimpered.
His foot came down on her shoulder, pressing her into the frozen ground. She tried to rise, but her limbs refused her call. Across her silver scales, pinkish runes began to pulse—distinct from the ones engraved on Emilim. These were visible even to the naked eye, foreign and unstable.
But Malrik didn't notice the difference. His vision pierced veils and illusions across layered dimensions, yet he remained fixated elsewhere.
"I've got a special guest to entertain~" he mused, his hand moved off Emilim's waist and onto her white head of hair. Ruffling it almost apologingly, I'll play with you a bit later.
He also let go of the sword. Its blade—an extension of his mana—melted into her scales, vanishing beneath the surface. Her stimulation-patterns began to dim, fading as he withdrew his power from Emilim. Every active spell tethered through her—the solid illusions, the tendrils burst out off every surface—collapsed in a chain reaction.
But it didn't matter anymore.
His tail flicked lazily behind him as he stepped forward. The symbols etched underneath his form unraveled, his false colors fading. Strike, he thought, just as Fuyumi let out a defiant roar, surging to her feet and lunging for him—her jaws wide, teeth bared, desperate to maim.
A sharp mental lash hit her.
She staggered.
Then another—faster, deeper. Her mind convulsed under the assault. Her claws scraped the tower floor as her vision blurred, spinning out of control. She heard two distinct thuds; one from behind her and the other from in front of her.
Whip. Crack. Lash. Her body trembled as the final strike landed.
Her legs folded beneath her, and she fell with a heavy thud.
Darkness took her.
She lay motionless, unconscious, as the demon who had soiled her scales walked onward—his illusion body dissolving into nothing, and then reassembling anew.
His hand closed around the elf's throat.
──────
Name: Eleryn Sýltharis
Race: High Elf
Class: Forest Witch
Level: 3,000
EXP: 47,056 → 47,057 → 47,058 / 83,200
Alignment: Neutral
Affiliation: Elarithien, Kingdom of the Letharien High Elves
Title(s):
Eleryn of Silvergrove
Highborn of House Sýltharis
Warden of the White Branch
──────
HP: 136,000 / 136,000
MP: 30,200 / 30,200
Stamina: 37,500 / 37,500
Strength: 2,100
Dexterity: 1,860
Vitality: 2,100
Intelligence: 1,780
Charisma: 1,950
[ESS: White II] (White)
──────
ABILITIES
Manaweave
Can manipulate ambient mana to form temporary constructs, barriers, or tools. Weaving efficiency scales with Intelligence and level.
Sylvan Reflexes
Innate agility allows enhanced reaction speed and precision. Grants minor evasion bonuses and improves archery/melee finesse.
Naturekin
Can sense nearby lifeforms, identify plant and animal types, and communicate with low-intelligence forest creatures.
Grace of the Elder Line
Reduces fall damage, enhances balance, and allows walking on unstable terrain (branches, ice, rubble) without penalty.
Elven Longevity
Resistant to disease, poison, and sleep magic. Lifespan greatly extended; wounds heal faster in natural environments.
Mental Discipline
High resistance to charm, fear, and confusion-type effects. Cannot be mentally dominated by enemies under Tier 12.
Spell Resonance
Nearby natural or elemental magic (fire, wind, water, light) becomes easier to cast. Reduced cost and increased harmony.
──────
Malrik leaned over her trembling body, his hand clenching tightly as she grasped at the hole burrowed through her abdomen. His fingers wrapped around the back of her neck—catching her as she tried to crawl away.
"I'll give you two choices. One, spread your legs," he said in a cheerful tone, the words rolling off his tongue as if they were neither wrong nor foreign. "Or two, I'll find every last elf in this army and kill them one by one for my own amusement," he continued, speaking as if he knew for a fact a few more elves were nearby. And truly, the probability wasn't low—he doubted she was alone.
She let out a choked sob as she felt his grip tighten around her throat, panic rising within her chest. Her hands trembled against the gaping wound in her stomach, blood seeping between her fingers. The metallic scent filled the air around them.
Eleryn's eyes widened at his words, tears welling up and threatening to spill down her cheeks. "P-please... don't hurt anyone else!" She pleaded desperately, her voice hoarse from pain and fear.
"It can't end like this, she thought frantically. I need to protect my people! With great effort, Eleryn managed to shift herself slightly towards him despite the agony coursing through every nerve ending.
"J-just... just do whatever you want with me instead. I won't fight back anymore, she whispered brokenly, resigned resignation heavy in each word spoken aloud even though it pained both mind & soul alike.
What a disappointment, Malrik thought. He hadn't known what he was expecting, but this strangely wasn't it. "Fine," he said as he let go of her throat, magic circles forming at his back. A throne made of vibrant colors of mana formed behind him.
At least show me your determination.
He thought as he got up and sat down on the throne. His bare form on full display, "Lick it," Malrik said as the room once again was covered in magic circles and his tendrils were reactivated through him now highjacking Eleryn's mana pathways to interact with the world as he had knocked Emilim unconscious along with the wizard and Fuyumi—his tendrils only locked into the body as he didn't want to have Eleryn having stupid ideas at the massive influx of mana that'll flow through her if he began to drain them.
Eleryn's breath caught in her throat as she watched him sit upon the throne of swirling mana, his naked form fully exposed before her. She could feel a surge of power flowing through her veins—Malrik's magic hijacking her own pathways.
Her mind raced, torn between revulsion and desperation. She knew she had no choice, but her dignity screamed at her. "L-lick... lick what exactly?" she asked hesitantly.
"The object in between me, naturally," Malrik spoke, bringing his hand to the side of his face. A cruel smile painting his lips, "Unless you're having second thoughts, then I might as well just start hunting your kin. What do you say?"
A shudder ran through Eleryn's body at the sight of Malrik sitting on that strange throne, his nakedness an unwelcome reminder of her vulnerable state. She felt his magic coursing through her veins, hijacking her own pathways—it was both terrifying and exhilarating.
I-I can't believe this is happening, she thought, nausea rising in her throat as she processed his request. But I have no choice... I need to protect my people.
With trembling hands pressed against her wound to stem the bleeding as best she could given the circumstances, Eleryn dragged herself towards Malrik on her knees, painfully inching ever closer to him, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through abused body parts, but she refused to allow fear to conquer determination.
"Y-you want me to l-lick your...your manhood?" She stammered out, voice barely above a whisper, tearing her gaze away, unable to meet those piercing crimson orbs of his any longer lest she see something unspeakable there and break completely.
Malrik hummed contentedly as Eleryn dragged herself towards him, painfully inching ever closer, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through abused body parts. He watched intently, waiting until she stopped right in front of him before he spoke again, his voice low and husky yet clear enough for her to understand.
"Good girl," he praised before tilting his head. "You said 'manhood, which is good; however, let's call it 'dick, okay?" Malrik chuckled darkly, enjoying seeing Eleryn squirm. "I'll give you two more options, just for a bit more fun," he said as tendrils extended from the magic circles, wrapping themselves around her arms and pulling them away from the wound, exposing a gaping hole oozing blood onto the floor below.
"One, lick my dick until I'm satisfied." Malrik spoke before trailing off, letting Eleryn absorb his words: "Two, lick my balls till they're nice, wet, and clean, then proceed with licking the shaft." He paused again, watching her reaction closely, waiting to know which option would upset the highborn elf most.
Eleryn felt tears prick at her eyes as Malrik praised her like some sort of obedient pet while his tendrils wrapped around her arms, forcing them away from where they had been pressed against her wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding that continued pouring onto the floor below, each droplet echoing loudly through the chamber filled with magic circles.
Pain flared anew with every movement, sending fresh waves of agony coursing through nerve endings and raw, exposed flesh stinging against the cool air surrounding her abused body, but she still refused to allow herself to break completely, knowing the only way to survive and protect people rely upon inner strength and resolve, no matter the degrading tasks she is forced to endure.
"I-I can't choose between those options!" Eleryn cried out desperately, trying to reason, even though she knew her pleas would fall on the deaf ears of her cruel captor.
Malrik let out a dark chuckle, enjoying seeing Eleryn squirm under pressure, his game giving him immense satisfaction watching the once proud elf reduced trembling wreck begging mercy nonexistent foe nowld in his hands the power of life and death.
"Then both sound good?" he asked innocently, tilting his head sideways, studying her expression carefully, waiting to gauge the impact of the choice he had given.
Eleryn's breath hitched in her throat as Malrik's suggestion hung heavy in the air between them. Tears streamed down her face unchecked now—humiliation and pain overwhelming all reason left within her broken shell of a once proud elf warrior now reduced to a helpless wreck begging for mercy and receiving none from her demonic foe, who held her life and death within his hands.