---

Story Codes: Fantasy, Magic, Violence

For a list of all The Rogue’s Harem, other World of Erasthay stories, maps, and glossaryclick here

Comments are very welcome. I would like all criticism, positive and negative, so long as it’s
constructive, and feedback is very appreciated.

---

---

Click here for Chapter 46.

---

---

Note: Thanks to WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Ealaín

My ax hurtled down at the ogre handler’s dark form.

“Naga’s scales!” she snarled as she leaped back to avoid my attack, her bright-red hair flying behind her. She landed in a crouch in the hallway. “You’re a quick one.”

I didn’t answer her as I shifted my fighting stance. The onyx-skinned woman gripped a long, narrow sword in her hand, bright-red hair spilling about her face. It contrasted with just how dark her skin was, a duller hue than my midnight-black. She cocked her head, eyes flicking up and down me as I advanced, war ax gripped in both my hands. Her dark leathers creaked as she faced me.

I examined her back. “You’re Antrevia,” I said, remembering Zanyia talking about the Zizthithana and her followers. After Keythivak and his poison, I’d gleaned every bit of information about the cruel naga. What I’d learned about Antrevia sickened me. “You’re a monstrous bitch!”

The woman smiled, her head cocking to the side. “And you have skin just like me. How interesting.”

Her sword flicked out. I parried with my war ax, deflecting her thrust from hitting me. I flicked the deadly, curving blade of my weapon at her face, growling. She was the ogre’s handler. She controlled him. She brought him women to suffer his brutal lusts, to be raped to death by his massive cock.

Our weapons clashed again. Her narrow blade moved in a silvery blur, flicking, trying to find my naked flesh. I didn’t have my armor. I didn’t have my second weapon. I grit my teeth, flowing through the forms with my ax, my feet moving over the rubble strewn floor. I snarled, swinging the weapon before me, driving her back and giving Sven the room to get the vulnerable women clear of the fight.

A wall exploded. The hallway shook. The handler stumbled, her red hair swaying about her cruel face. I swung my ax hard at her. She leaped back, landing in a lithe crouch. My ax slammed into the polished wood of the floor. The blade buried deep into the floor. Splinters flew from the impact.

She grinned, flashing white teeth, then thrust her sword at me, the needle-like point lancing right for my guts. I wrenched my ax free, smacking her blade, knocking it to thrust up and past my face, disturbing my white hair.

“I have never met anyone with black skin like me,” purred the woman. “Are you the same as me?”

“No!” I snarled, feeling disgusted just being around her. “I could never be so cruel as you!”

She gave a wicked laugh as our weapons clashed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kora Falk

Ava’s feyhound form bounded through the rubble and leaped on the ogre’s back as it chased Zanyia into the other room. As she attacked, inspiration struck me. Zanyia had revealed the ogre’s weakness. The ogre as another being birthed out of the God of Lust’s masturbation. Another race controlled by their lusts. Like Zanyia.

An idea formed in my mind, the perfect illusion to cast.

“Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint new beauty in the world,” I chanted, my pussy-stained fingers painting the air before me, creating living art.

Color swirled behind the ogre. The hulk thrashed, head smashing through the ceiling as it sought to throw off Ava’s feyhound. Zanyia darted before him, distracting him with her pink pussy, her fingers parting her folds.

A beautiful woman appeared, naked like us, but standing with voluptuous invitation. Bright-red hair—that exotic, Tuathan coloring—and bountiful breasts. The illusion cupped her tits, jiggling them as she stood in the door out to the balcony.

“Mmm, yes, I could use some ogre cock right now,” I projected through the illusion, putting all that wanton need into the apparition I created. Her legs parted, her pussy a tight, shaved slit glistening with her juices.

The ogre’s, snarling, head whipped around. His shoulders rolled, throwing Ava off of him. Her wicker body crashed into the wall. She bounced off and landed on the floor as the ogre barreled at my illusion. The floor shook, wood groaning, floor joists protesting the brute’s weight.

“PUSSY!” he growled, cock hard. He dropped his club and swept out a meaty hand at my illusion.

His hand passed through nothing. The illusion disrupted, blurring into rainbow of colors before reforming into the image. The ogre snorted. His heavy brow furrowed. He let out a snort and then snarled and thrust his hand froward again.

He slammed his open palm right through her and into the door. It exploded in splinters, ripping out the frame around it, his thick arm fuzzing her breasts into scintillating colors. His arm swept back and forth, wrist battering the wreckage of the door, buckling the wall.

“PUSSY!” he growled, fist crashing into the floor as Ava rallied and lunged in for another attack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess Ava

I leaped at the ogre’s back. I had to hurt him. I should be able to. I had teeth. Claws. I had a nimble, athletic body. I felt so free as I soared through the air. In this body, I didn’t have a heart, but I could almost feel it thudding in the depths of my wicker body.

I landed on the ogre’s warty back. My claws scratched at his thick hide. Snarling, almost feeling like a hound, I snapped my jaws about the meat of his neck. I couldn’t open my jaws wide enough to wrap around his entire throat, but I caught a good chunk of it. My teeth bit. Flesh sliced beneath them. Foul blood flowed over my neck.

But not that gush I wanted. Not that arterial spray that would kill him as he lost more and more blood. I savaged him, ripping with my neck muscles, trying to tear his flesh. But his skin was so tough, his neck muscles so strong. The ogre snarled, twisting. My body flew, my neck straining, my teeth holding me to his body.

He straightened, bellowing, abandoning Kora’s illusion. His head slammed into the ceiling. Wood crashed around me. My body slammed into one of the support joists holding up the floor above. Wicker snapped across my body, breaking part of me.

My jaws relaxed.

I tumbled off his back. I landed by his feet, struggling to get back on my feet. More rubble fell around as his head battered through more of the ceiling, letting him stand to his full height for a moment. His foot lashed out behind him.

I gasped, flung across the room. I twisted. Zanyia yowled, ducking as I flew over her head. I snarled and then crashed into the wall. I bounced off and fell back onto the ground. Wood creaked, putting stress on the wicker. The woody vines that formed my body felt on the verge of breaking in many places where they hadn’t wholly snapped.

How much of this could I take?

All of it. I had to endure. I had to keep fighting until Sven returned from protecting my real body. I shook my head, looking up, the ogre rushing at Kora. Fear fluttered through me as he rushed at the naked priestess, cock bouncing hard before him, hands outstretched.

“No!” I snarled.

“TRICK!” ogre rumbled, his voice rattling the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sven Falk

The boarding house shook. I fought through the flood of escaping people, bleating in fear as they fled the trembling building. Nathalie and Greta pressed behind me, their naked forms trembling as I battled through the flow of panicked residents. I kept a tight grip on Ava. I wouldn’t let her go.

Rubble crashed into the floor ahead. I looked up at the ceiling. My women were fighting the brute. I had to get up there and fight, but I also had to get Ava to safety. I growled. I had to protect all my women. I brought them into this dangerous life. Into this fight. I set out on a quest of vengeance, and it led me here.

I had to take responsibility for them.

I burst out into the night, the patrons of the boarding house screaming as they ran down the street. People watched the house, staring at it. I glanced around. This had to be safe enough. I darted down the road and stopped by a closed merchant stall. I set Ava down on the ground in its shadow.

“Watch her!” I growled to Greta and Nathalie.

“We’ll keep her safe, Master!” Nathalie said, her petite body trembling, her face so pale, white as milk.

“We will,” Greta said, her eyes red, tears staining her cheeks. She fell to her knees, lifted Ava’s sleeping head, and settled it on her lap.

I could see it in their eyes; they both loved Ava. They didn’t have the strength to fight, but they still would help. It swelled my heart, joy beating through it for a moment. I took pride in my harem, in the women in it. They were strong and powerful in their own ways. But I needed to do my part. I had to get back into the fight.

The ogre bellowed, “TRICK!”

I turned around and…

The naga slinked out of the shadows, the body of a dusky-skinned woman thrusting from the sinuous form of a vibrant, purple-scaled serpent with diamonds of bronze running down her flesh. She slithered forward, large, pillowy breasts swaying before her. She had fat, brown-pink nipples hard with her excitement. Purple hair, the same hue as her lower half, fell about a cruel and hungry face. She clutched a scimitar in her left hand. Shadows played around her right.

“Running away?” she hissed. “Leaving your women to fight alone?”

My hand tightened, anger boiling through me. I advanced on her. “The moment I saw the garbage heap in the shadows,” I lied, “I knew you were around slithering in the filth. Nightsoil is an improvement to your stench.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Such impertinence, human. I shall enjoy draping your hide over my throne and sitting upon it.”

“How flattering,” I said. “I bet your scales would make a great pair of boots.”

Her tongue flicked out before her. A rasping hiss came not from her mouth but from her coiled body rubbing scales against scales. Her breasts swayed before her as she undulated. I fell into a fighting stance, short sword gripped in my right hand. I didn’t care I was naked. I could defeat this bitch, take her head, and end one threat to my family.

“Come, try, human,” she hissed. “Test the mettle of your sword against my shadows.”

The darkness rustling around her hand surged at me. My body tensed. I knew shadowmancing couldn’t hurt. It could only confuse and bewilder. Unless she had the same power as that assassin. Did she also combine shadowmancing with witchcraft?

The darkness splashed across my face. I felt the cool, ethereal touch as the umbral washed over my vision. I blinked, the world swallowed by black. I sucked in a breath, waiting to see what her shadows would…

I couldn’t see.

The shadows settled over my face.

A moment of blind panic shot through me. An animalistic, whining instinct to bolt, to run, to whimper in dread gripped me. It held me rigid. I ground my teeth, fighting the cold fear pumping through my veins.

I. Would. Not. Panic.

I focused on my other senses. I’d practiced this. This had happened to me before. When fighting Warleader Gorth’in in the forest before meeting Aingeal. I was prepared for this. I knew I’d fight more shadowmancers. I anticipated this technique.

I could hear the slither of the naga’s scales as she advanced on me. The hiss of her exhale, the flick of her tongue. I smelled something dry and serpentine mixed with the oil used to hone her scimitar. My fear withdrew. I still could act. I could still fight. I could still sense my environment.

I had only one disadvantage. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Air swished.

The scimitar slashed at me.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 48.

Support me on Patreon!

I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!