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Crown of Torments

Chapter 21 Zhorun's Unsought Victory

Chapter 21 - Zhorun's Unsought Victory


Lyral screamed again as she dragged herself on the floor. Her crushed fingers

and toes had been encased in vises fastened to heavy lead weights, so her

wriggling on the floor had been turned into an odyssey, purposefully prolonged

by dropping her at the opposite end of the unlit chamber from her friend.


Locating Kayleen was not a problem, however, because the once proud warrior

kept sobbing bitterly and often burst in short, harsh screams of exhausted

agony. Lyral still remembered how they had tightened her new restraints and

then hung her, her full weight on her torn thigh and shoulder joints and her

mauled body bent at the waist, in the grip of the wicked iron waistband.


She had been spared the twisting of her arms behind her back, probably because

they feared her arms would not hold the strain for long, but her front had been

lowered amidst wooden stumps wrapped in stinging nettles. To avoid their sting

on blistered and wounded flesh, even temporarily, she still managed to pull

herself up, although this wracked her joints into further torment.


Lyral had been badly injured herself, but the memory of her friend's lapse

into bottomless despair haunted her and spurred her to reserve all her healing

power for Kayleen. Resting after another pull, which had gained her two feet

at the price of unbearable agonies in her toes, she told herself that it did

not matter how long it took her to reach Kayleen as long as she managed to

heal her before dawn, because the healing would have more or less the same

effectiveness no matter how long her friend kept suffering.


A garbled scream from Kayleen resounded in her ears as if to answer, and she

started in disbelief at her own callousness. She moved on with a harsh gasp,

spurred by guilt, and finally managed to get close enough to touch the wooden

base of the platform over which her friend hung in torment.


"Kayleen, I'm here. Don't cry, it's almost over."


It took her a few attempts before she managed to sit by the platform and reach

her friend's right side with her lips, letting the healing flow into the

pain-wracked body. She felt the goose bumps, and remembered how her friend had

been drenched in freezing cold salt water again. Her left arm brushed against

the nettles, severing contact as she cried briefly, but she resumed almost

immediately because she feared for her friend's life. The tortures inflicted

on Kayleen had been horrendous, and she had bled a lot in spite of the summary

staunching of her wounds by her tormentors. Her power mended her worst wounds,

the oozing burns, the wicked gashes cut in her softest flesh, but after that

Lyral realized that the worst had not been addressed yet.


The muscle and ligaments in Kayleen's joints had been torn and shredded, and

gangrene would set in soon unless constantly fought. Her power could repair

them, and this would eventually lead the dislocated bones to be reduced back

into their sockets, but not under traction. Trembling, Lyral realized that the

only way was to wriggle herself into supporting her friend's weight.


She balked at the thought of the burning agony of the nettles, an agony she

would have to inflict on her front if she wanted to use her hands to make the

most of her remaining healing power. It took her a long time to muster the

resolve for that, but the horror and pain she had glimpsed during the healing

gnawed at her conscience until she managed to.


"Kayleen, I am going to heal your joints now. You should pull yourself up, so

that I can wriggle under you and support your weight while healing them,"


"No, Lyral, don't. The nettles ...," croaked Kayleen.


"If you die, the nettles will be a pleasant refresher before the torments I

would be subjected to," spat Lyral, surprised at her own bluntness.


Kayleen did not answer, but cried under her breath in the effort of pulling

herself up again, and Lyral tried to follow through on her words. The platform

was not an obstacle, but the pain from her fingers was, and almost immediately

the burning caress of the nettles flared on her front, wrenching a scream from

her mouth not unlike those uttered during the torture sessions. Her friend

leaned on her left shoulder with a strangled cry and her left breast was

pushed into the leaves, causing her to scream and buckle and her friend's

joints to teeter as a consequence, rekindling her agonies into a bitter howl.


In spite of the agony from the nettles, in spite of the awkwardness of her

position, as she had managed to nudge her torso under her trembling friend but

not her legs, because of the weights on her crushed toes, Lyral's hands,

cuffed behind her back, sought her friend's to deliver their healing power.


Kayleen writhed and sobbed as her wounds were mended, her joints molded back

into shape, and her shredded feminine charms returned to wholeness. She had

longed for the fullness of Lyral's healing since she had been denied it, but

although it was as effective as always, her mind was heavy with dread at the

thought of facing another day of torture, although not enough to admit it.


"Lyral, your healing is a blessing. I am back into shape, you can spare

yourself now," she said, exaggerating her actual condition and managing only

partially to make her voice sound strong and confident as it used to be.


Lyral intensely wished she could believe her friend, as the sting of the

nettles was as fierce as ever, but she stubbornly kept up the restoration of

her friend until she sensed it was actually done, before rolling away with a

rasping sigh. The vises would not allow her to heal her fingers and toes, but

she could spare herself the sting of the nettles and she did.


It took her some time to realize that Kayleen, unlike before, was not pursuing

further conversation. Unsure of what this entailed, Lyral mused, "Unless I'm

mistaken, Zhorun was not there today."


"I did not notice," answered Kayleen, her voice but a whisper.


"He wasn't, but they dropped no clue about the reason. I guess it was no

surprise for them, however. I think Zhorun ordered those new restraints you

are wearing just for the occasion, so that he could carry with him the thought

of you suffering in his absence," whispered Lyral.


"Why ?" whispered Kayleen, keeping the dread off her voice as mentioning the

restraints had brought to her attention how much they hurt already, making her

almost sob at the thought of spending unknown amounts of time in their grip.


"He was not like that, in life. He was a tyrant, but had no actual interest in

cruelty, only in power. Whatever cruelty was necessary, he trusted to Grod,"

continued Lyral, deeply worried at her friend's sulkiness.


Both girls started as the familiar noise of the door being opened echoed in

the unlit room, surprised at how dawn had crept up without them noticing. A

low moan of fear and despair rumbled in Kayleen's throat.


Grod mercilessly grabbed the chains fastened to the vises crushing Lyral's

toes, dragging her away while she screamed in pain, and the Easterner set

about some preparations which Kayleen followed with dread until the Southerner

reached between her legs with his toothed blade and slowly cut first her labia

and then the rim of her vagina, lingering with the blade whenever she cried.


"Just keeping you interested, Whore Queen, while our friend from the East gets

ready. It seems that this old man will have to do the work of three men,"


While her voice still echoed in pain from the last cut, he grabbed her hips

and penetrated her vagina from behind, tearing the bleeding cuts and savoring

the bitter screams of her despair. He protracted her violation, even pulling

out occasionally, allowing the Easterner to complete his preparations.


Lyral had been tied upside down on the ladder and was now screaming her lungs

out as Grod trickled scalding water on her writhing body whenever her friend's

violation was suspended. Since the ladder had been moved to allow her a clear

view of her friend's upcoming ordeal, however, she managed to realize that

their approach had not changed in the slightest.


A large amount of coals had been lit and strewn in a blazing bed between two

platforms, about three feet high and sloping into the coals on both sides. The

Easterner reached Kayleen, still hanging in chains and sobbing harshly from

her bloody rape, let her drink from the jug, then tightened the iron collar

before letting her down and dragging her near the platform on the left.


A cylindrical metal cage lay on the platform, an assembly of circular steel

bands connected by rods as tall as her, as she found out when he pulled her

inside by her arms and secured her wrist cuffs to the last band with four

short chains, connecting them together with a fifth. Meanwhile, the Southerner

did the same with her ankle cuffs, and together they suspended her in mid air

inside the cage by short chains linking her restraints to the bands.


Although the chains were taut, she was by no means immobilized, although this

did not hinder them once they started smearing grease all over her luscious

body. She sobbed harshly, crying at the prospect of enduring fire as her

tormentor's preparations suggested, wishing her friend's healing had given her

new resolve and feeling dread clutch her stomach at the sight of the coals.


Her eyes widened when they stopped smearing her with grease and pushed the

cage down the slope, causing her to spin at sickening speed maybe once of

twice before reaching the blazing heat of the coals which seared her whole

body, hands to feet, wrenching from her a dreadful scream, whose sound was

distorted as she rolled past, but whose anguish was unmistakable.


A second scream, which included a strangled "Nooo", surged from her mouth once

her momentum waned and the cage stopped climbing the slope on the other side

and started rolling back, exposing her to the searing breath of the coals

again while she still twitched from the agony of the first pass.


The deviousness of the torment became immediately clear to her as she rolled

back and forth a few times, twitching crazily in the effort to distance

herself from the heat and screaming as the grease turned hotter on each pass,

protracting the torment by bubbling on singed skin without shielding it much

from the brunt of the heat. Her breasts and especially her nipples, which were

closer to the coals in spite of her efforts to twist them as far away as

possible, already showed the deep crimson of severe burns. At least the grease

prevented her hair from catching on fire.


Lyral, whenever Grod suspended the hellish trickle of scalding water on her

breasts, could not help but watch in horror as her friend was slowly burned

alive over the coals. Her friend's face was but a blur as she rolled back and

forth, but her screams betrayed unbounded depths of agony, dread and fear. By

targeting repeatedly what her friend feared most, they were crushing her.


Kayleen's screams increased in pitch and anguish as her speed decreased,

causing her exposure to the coals to last slightly longer on each pass, and

the grease to bubble hotter all over her body, even her face, when she failed

to jerk it away from the fiery breath of the coals. It took her several fits

of howling agony before she realized that by buckling and twisting she could

preserve some semblance of motion and spread the heat.


Her incredible endurance became her own undoing, as her muscles kept the cage

rolling back and forth, but could not bring her to rest on either platform and

she always rolled back over the coals. Slowly, as her tormentors pushed the

cage repeatedly, her singed skin started peeling here and there, forming

blisters which burst under the heat. Waves of inhuman agony wracked her body,

to the point of bending the steel rods connecting the bands together, while

her voice cracked as howls from the depths of hell tore through her throat.


Her burn-streaked face was a mask of woe, which deformed when her body

convulsed from the unrelenting torment of the bubbling grease or buckled from

the flash of utter agony of a bursting blister, pulling the chains taut before

snapping back with a demented scream. Her blonde mane shook endlessly, soaked

in sweat enough to prevent it from catching fire, while her supple body arched

and twitched, pulling at her restraints and being pulled back as the crimson

of raw flesh showed where the skin had peeled under the still fierce heat.


As exhaustion crept over her, she was still herself enough to summon the

strength to roll on her back, preserving her exposed breasts from the heat

before stopping on the coals, but the Southerner kicked the cage enough to

bring them back over the coals as a wailing scream wracked her exhausted body.

The game was repeated over and over, however, kicking her into suffering the

brunt of the heat on her nipples, until her exhaustion made it moot.


They rolled her off the coals and poured the contents of the jug in her mouth,

causing her to renew her screams as her mind cleared. But when the Easterner

pushed a small copper hook in the scorched flesh of her thigh, her screams

rose much louder, and they rose even louder when he used pliers to twist and

ply the soft metal so that the hook could not be easily dislodged.


Lyral watched in disbelief as more hooks were driven one after the other

through the raw, scorched flesh, twisted and bent with pliers and then

fastened with thin copper chains to the steel bands of the cage in spite of

her friend's pitiful cries and desperate twitches.


It took the Easterner a harrowing long time to stop pushing hooks into

Kayleen's twitching body, a protracted descent into a screaming hell whose

purpose was revealed once he deemed the hooks sufficient to hold her weight

and unfastened some of the chains from her waist, knee and elbow restraints. A

new howl of unbridled despair surged from her mouth as the hook chains tensed

under her weight and raked the hooks through her scorched flesh, although with

only a fraction of the force that would tear them off.


But the full measure of her torment was revealed when, after smearing more

grease over her and letting her sip from the jug again, the cage was pushed

down the slope while her scream of unbridled terror turned into a howl of

unparalleled pain as the shifting pull of the hooks ripped bloody gashes

through her scorched flesh while she spun in the cage.


Lyral shook frantically in her restraints, unable to withstand the onslaught

of her friend's demented howls and the sight of the wildly buckling body

ripping the hooks through the scorched flesh in a paroxysm of pain which knew

neither bounds nor respite. As she sank into hopeless anguish, unable to stop

herself from crying bitterly, her tormentors lifted the ladder and brought it

closer, undoubtedly to let her witness the full measure of her friend's pain.


But she also realized that, in their zeal, they had brought her close enough

to allow her hands a chance to touch her friend's, if she got her timing

right, as her left hand was near the point where Kayleen's cage stopped before

reversing its merciless rolling. It took her over a dozen attempts, but she

finally managed to grab her friend's fingers enough to deliver some healing.


Kayleen had been drowning in rolling waves of harrowing agony and unbridled

terror as her skin had been scorched and peeled over the coals, until fear and

fire had engulfed her mind into a neverending hell of uninterrupted torment,

whose only lapse resulted first in further agonies from the hooks and now in

unspeakable torment as they ripped back and forth through her flesh. The touch

of her friend's fingers would have been a beacon in the night of utter agony

she waded through even in ordinary circumstances, but as the soothing effect

of her healing power suffused her suffering body and caused the wounds ripped

open by the hooks and bubbling with hot grease to recede somewhat, it became

the object of a craving so desperate that only the unspeakable agonies she was

being subjected to surpassed its intensity.


Reaching her friend's fingers became the focus of the last tatters of her

resolve. When she managed to, the pain of the hooks tearing her blistered

flesh and exposing the raw, crimson muscle to the bubbling grease receded for

too brief an instant, allowing her mind to glimpse at something other than

uninterrupted, unparalleled, all-encompassing agony ... but when she failed,

the price of her strenuous efforts made itself felt horrendously as inch long

gashes lacerated her scorched flesh and the hot copper burned mercilessly the

places which could not be singed by the bubbling grease.


As her momentum diminished, it became harder and harder for her to reach her

friend's fingers, and she frantically increased her efforts to do so in spite

of the harrowing torment thus slowly wrought on her body. The copper hooks, by

now red hot, added their relentless agony to her writhing, causing her to

buckle and twitch uncontrollably in the cage, arching and screaming over the

merciless coals as she slowly rolled over them a body where most of the skin

which had not been blistered had been ripped through by the hooks.


It took Lyral a long time to progress from the elation of finally being able

to lessen her friend's suffering first hand to the realization of having again

played in their tormentor's hands, protracting beyond belief a torment which

otherwise would have had to be suspended if the victim was to remain alive.

But she could not bring herself to deny her healing as her friend's fingers

stretched strenuously to reach hers, her face contorted in a scream as hook

pairs stretched the oozing crimson flesh of her breasts over the fiery heat,

ripping a further fraction of an inch through their bloody seats.


In spite of the occasional healing, Kayleen's conditions worsened slowly as

her burns became so extensive that even the profusely bleeding gashes torn by

the hooks became secondary, as confirmed by the healing no longer addressing

them. Some hooks had actually dislodged, ripping horrid wounds through muscle

and leaving tatters of flesh which had been scorched raw by the heat, but the

atrocious burns now caused her to enjoy little respite from Lyral's power.


When the Easterner finally brought the cage to rest on the platform, a wailing

sigh of pitiful agony escaped Kayleen's lips, as the thought of having endured

even this torture allowed a glimpse of hope into her mind beyond the

neverending nightmare of burning agonies. But this hope was shattered in a

scream of unbounded despair by another copper hook being driven into her left

nipple, the first of a dozen hooks fastened to spiked weights being affixed to

the soft spots of her femininity. as if they had been spared thus far.


"Heavy hooks, great pain," announced the Easterner, his usually impenetrable

countenance revealing a kind of exhaustion while he twisted the copper hook

inside the scorched tissue of her clitoris, "Talk now. He away now".


Lyral jumped in her restraints, not believing her own ears in finding this

least likely of all allies, but soon cried in dismay as the Easterner pushed

Kayleen's cage down the slope, her tormentor still human enough to feel pity

and yet not human enough to act accordingly.


The weighted hooks raked new gashes through Kayleen's severely burnt flesh,

ripping through her nipples, her labia and her clitoris with feral cruelty

and tearing through the rim of her vagina as she spun over the coals, dragging

the weights through the ashes, rekindling the heat and sending fiery sparks

into the oozing burns and bleeding wounds covering her spinning body.


Ordinarily the hooks would have ripped free of the flesh after a few turns,

but the fine chains had been loosely wound around her limbs so that most of

the pull was actually sideways, rather than straight away, allowing the hooks

to protract the torment of her flesh long enough to become red hot, while her

voice found new depths of howling woe to recount under the echoing vaults.


Lyral managed again to impart some healing to her friend, but her efforts only

caused the most severe burns to recede before her friend rolled back over the

coals to have them renewed. Lyral realized in shuddering horror that she was

covered in blood droplets sprayed from her spinning friend's wounds, which her

healing would address only when they would worsen enough.

Kayleen's terrified mind was running in circles in the vain attempt to stem

the waves of pain which rolled over her, twitching madly to keep her nipples

away from the heat since they were now pierced by four hooks tugging in

opposite directions, which distended them increasing their exposure, or

convulsing spasmodically as the weighted hook ripping through her clitoris

became red hot and its chain scraped her scorched thighs.


It took a long time before her blood loss became worse than her burns, while

Lyral spent her power in desperation as tears streaked a path clear of blood

over her face and Kayleen's howls slowly lost any semblance of sanity. The

wounds receded then, barely enough to salvage some tatters of her friend's

nipples and clitoris, and the fact that the torturers failed to react to the

event proved to Lyral that they had counted on her healing.


The Easterner caught Kayleen's cage with his hands, holding it while Lyral

rushed to heal her friend again, eying him as if to dare him stop her. The

finally solid contact allowed her to realize the seriousness of her friend's

condition, and she let her power restore the blood losses and dress the worst

wounds and burns amidst the wheezing screams wracking her friend's body.


"Enough," cried the Southerner, dragging the ladder Lyral was fastened to

away from her friend, a smile forming on his lips as this caused a low moan

of utter despair to surge from Kayleen's panting chest. He set about removing

the hooks from her twitching body, intent on limiting the damage inflicted and

yet occasionally lapsing when losing control, such as when he started slowly

ripping off the hooks piercing her clitoris while she buckled in mad agony.


He dragged his sobbing victim to a post, lifted her by chains fastened to the

iron rings constricting the base of her breasts and cuffed her elbows and

wrists together behind her while she cried bitterly, the corners of her mouth

torn by the spider gag and her face streaked by angry burns which had been

healed only partially because worse injures had taken precedence. He fetched

a steel rod, which she recognized once he curled her pubic hair around its

barbed middle, and lifted her legs off the floor, bending them to cuff her

ankles to rings at its end and leaving her dangling by her breasts in agony.


He fastened her wrists to a ring in the floor, pulling on her arms and causing

her hips to lift as her shoulders were dragged down, then pushed a needle in

the rim of her vagina, pausing while she screamed before continuing to thread

a wire around the opening of her love channel. Once done, he lifted her by the

strands of her pubic hair spared from the coals and drove his hard member into

her vagina, savoring her scream of harrowing torment as the cuts reopened.


He cruelly tugged on the ends of the thread, tightening it whenever his member

pulled back in order to further shred her tormented love channel, and kept up

her violation, each thrust causing the bar to rip her pubic hair and rake her

burnt skin while his member tore the cuts in her vagina wider and wider.


Once sated, he kept tugging on the thread while she cried in rage and pain,

waiting until her teary gaze was focused enough to see him consume more of the

powder which rekindled male erections. In spite of the mind numbing pain she

just faced, terror gripped her at the prospect of facing another string of

rapes at the hands of a perpetrator who delighted in turning the violation of

her femininity into tortures on par with the worst devised by the other two.


Lyral burst in bitter tears as she saw that, finding herself unable to further

help her friend and knowing what lay ahead. Her mind returned to her own

predicament when the Easterner brought a thin blade to her chest and cut near

the inside of her soft, white breast, the tip scraping onto her sternum in a

flash of pain unlike any she had ever been subjected to before.


Kayleen was lowered on the floor, resting on her shoulders with her arms still

painfully stretched by the ring, and the Southerner pulled her legs wide above

her head before cuffing her ankles to rings on the floor and pushing his

flaccid member down her throat, smiling as she choked in fear and humiliation.


He then fetched a wedge fashioned from a bundle of thorn branches, used it to

scoop embers from a brazier and then pushed it down her exposed ass hole,

while her restrained form buckled and arched in unbridled agony and her

demented howls burst around his manhood. Smiling, he pulled the wedge and then

pushed it down at a slightly different angle, savoring her muffled screams and

repeatedly scraping her innards, adding more embers now and then to feel her

tongue twitch around his member in howls of wretched anguish.


After prolonging this torment, he did the same with her vagina, tugging at the

thread still lodged in her singed flesh to increase the pain when he pulled

the wedge out and the thorns raked the shreds of flesh pulled tight by the

thread. Her muffled screams rose in pitch as the embers repeatedly burned her

womb while the thorns scraped the scorched walls of her love channel raw.


As he felt his manhood harden again under the combined effect of her screams

and of the drugs, he undid her restraints, cuffed her knees and ankles

together and pulled her up by chains at her breast rings and ankles, raising

her until his member nudged her sphincter. He then pierced her nipples and

clitoris with tiny hooks and pulling on them penetrated her ass hole, causing

her to arch in agony as he had encased his member in a barbed leather harness

which renewed the scratches dug by the thorns in her scorched innards.


Lyral alternated between watching in horror the protracted violation of her

friend and enduring brief flashes of absolute agony as the Easterner cut into

her flesh, reaching for the bone while she writhed in unspeakable torment on

the ladder. In spite of what her friend was going through, she could not help

but heal herself a bit after the bites of the blade, although she tried to

save her power for the night.


Sated after violating Kayleen's ass over and over, the Southerner pulled out

his blood-stained member, laughing at the tormented sigh escaping her mouth.

The thought of being killed by too many rapes crossed her mind, and somehow

she wished that her tormentor stopped penetrating her vagina, because anal and

even oral rape, which she initially loathed, were still less harrowing than

the agonies his sick inventiveness conjured when violating her womb. Her fears

found immediate proof when he lowered her onto an upturned hacked cone,

guiding it up her scraped love channel and distending the cuts around her

vagina, drowning her howl by driving his flaccid manhood into her throat.


He reached her ankles, cuffed behind her back, and started ripping off her toe

nails with pliers, pliers he subsequently used to crush the bleeding nail beds

while her mouth screamed her unbridled agony around his member and her body

shuddered in inhuman pain. Each convulsed jerk scratched her scorched love

channel, and her eyes filled with tears each time the splinters gouged a

blister open, causing her body to be wracked by pain which burst in a muffled

howl around her tormentor's bulging manhood.


After her toes, he started ripping off her fingernails, twisting her arms

further up behind her shoulders, almost near dislocation, and panting in

ecstatic frenzy at her gurgling howls of raw agony while he pulled and twisted

her bloody fingers. Her thighs twitched spasmodically while her blood stained

the wooden wedge mercilessly ripping her vagina.


Her howls resounded unrestrained when he pulled his hardening member out of

her mouth, lifted her by her arms and cuffed her ankles to the ends of a wedge

shaped steel bar bent behind the small of her back. He wound a rope around her

neck and repeatedly adjusted its length and the chains fastened to the hooks

on her nipples and clitoris before lifting her, causing her to choke as her

air supply was cut, and sliding under her, his manhood unbelievably erect.


He released her slowly with one hand, pulling her love channel around his

member by grabbing her pubic hair with the other, smiling as she writhed down

his manhood with a scream of unbridled woe as the studded harness scraped her

innards and the hooks in her nipples and clitoris were pulled taut. When he

pulled the rope up again, her vaginal muscles clutched his member deliciously

while she gasped for the air which escaped her lungs as she howled in demented

agony, twitching from the pain of the studs raking scorched flesh.


Lyral watched her friend impaled by her own weight on his upturned member

repeatedly, unable to understand how her friend seemed to partake in the act

before she realized that the Southerner alternated between pulling her down by

her labia and pubic hair and pulling her up by the rope around her neck,

cutting off her air and causing her clutching vagina to grip the instrument of

her debasement and inflict on her innards the scraping torment of the studs.


In spite of Kayleen's bleeding, the Southerner repeatedly pulled her up and

down his erect manhood, savoring her spasmodic convulsions as pain burst from

her raked womb and ripped through her clitoris while her chest heaved in

desperate need of air after screaming her lungs out and droplets of blood

squirted from her nipples whenever she tried to breathe.


Spent, he lowered her on the floor again and dragged her, in spite of her

pitiful cries, to a bed of nettles, laying her front on the stinging leaves

and twisting her arms above her head to grind her breasts on the bed of agony

while screams poured uninterruptedly from her mouth. He bent her legs above

her back, spread wide, and then inserted a large studded hook in her ass,

pulling it to bend her back and lewdly expose her bleeding sex.


Lost amidst pain, searching for the tatters of her former pride and courage,

she found herself wishing he would go away, just go away and let her alone,

but instead his flaccid member slid into her vagina again just as his weight

renewed the agony of the nettles on her raw scorched flesh, causing her to

twitch and scream, unable to prevent herself from providing the stimulation

her tormentor needed to rekindle his arousal.


Once his member hardened again, he removed the hook and penetrated her ass,

letting the studs on the harness he wore follow up on the torment delivered by

those on the hook while she kept screaming from the grinding of her breasts on

the bed of nettles. He protracted the torment by pulling out frequently and

pushing a wedge in her love channel, so that subsequent thrusts pushed on it

compounding her torment into a nightmare of frenzied pain.


He released her at last, but by forcing the contents of the jug down her

throat made clear that more was to come. He fastened her wrists to a ring in

the floor and her knees to a chain dangling from the ceiling, by which he

pulled them up, leaving her suspended in mid air and forced to twist her waist

to reduce the pull on her shoulders. He then fastened two barbed cords to the

iron band around her waist and pulled them through her crotch before winding

them around her right shoulder and back to her ankles, forcing her to arch and

twist in mid air in an effort to reduce the pain from the barbs.


Lyral watched without understanding, sobbing at the sight of her friend's body

which she had almost managed to restore, glistening under the light of the

torches from the many burns which had not been healed fully, bleeding in the

softest feminine flesh which her tormentor had targeted mercilessly, scraped

and constricted by the harsh restraints she wore and trembling from the never

ceasing violation he enjoyed to the point of taking drugs to perpetrate them.


Tears of loathing filled Kayleen's eyes when the Southerner pushed his manhood

down her throat again, only to be soon followed by gurgling screams of torment

as he started caning her exposed soles with a barbed steel rod, obviously bent

on forcing her to grind her slit onto the barbed cords and scream her torment

around his member, the game he used to speed up the effect of the drugs.


She twitched and gurgled incessantly as the cane rained ever increasing pain

on the only part of her body which had been somewhat spared and the barbed

cords raked through the part which had been most targeted, choking on his

member whenever a scream erupted from her lungs, ever on the verge of retching

as her tongue sought a way around the loathsome intruder in her mouth.

Such became the agony inflicted on her soles, cut to bleeding ribbons by so

many slashes that she did not even want to count them, that the thought of

sucking his manhood to get him to stop flashed through her mind in a wave of

despair, although she rejected it somewhat at the thought of the triumph in

his face such a debasement of her last shreds of dignity would cause.


When at last his arousal was rekindled, he pulled out, forced her thighs open

and pulling on her labia forced his manhood in her vagina again, forcing her

to scream under the debasement she had been repeatedly subjected to and hated

most, quickly turning it to torture as her scorched love channel was scraped

again while the barbed cords raked the stretched labia.


As her profuse bleeding lubricated his penetration, he pulled out and smeared

a white powder all over his member and inside her orifice, smiling when her

cries rose bitter and desperate once he resumed her penetration and the dried

walls were flayed raw and gouged mercilessly by the iron studs.


He lowered her on the floor, then fastened her ankle cuffs to the iron bands

on her thighs and then stuffed his manhood into her mouth again, using both

hands to overcome her feeble attempts to oppose him, and enjoying immensely

how her teary eyes changed from wide eyed disbelief at his beastly lust,

through disheartened despair, to blank pools of demented agony as he hammered

a studded hook in her vagina and used it to lift her loins from the floor

while the screams from her convulsing body gurgled around his manhood.


He wound the thread still running through the shredded rim of her vagina

around a stick and used it as a tourniquet to tighten it, causing her screams

to increase as more of her weight was borne by the hook. Once her body hung

before him, he fetched a pair of pliers and started pulling savagely her

nipples and clitoris, distending them and rubbing them with the tip of the rod

used to cane her soles, now red hot and wrenching long harsh screams from her

heaving chest which licked his manhood filling her mouth deliciously.


Lyral burst in a harrowing scream of her own as the Easterner cut through her

breast flesh again, scraping on the rib near the base of her right breast

while her eyes were glued to the red hot tip rubbing her friend's love bud in

short stabs of howling torment.


"Talk now. Spare your friend more. Worse when he returns", whispered the quiet

man to the East, so softly that Lyral wondered if it was her own mind giving

way under the harrowing pain. The Easterner's eyes were maybe less cold than

they usually were, and yet he had just cut through the soft flesh of a young

innocent without hesitation. Somehow, Lyral guessed that he just wanted to put

an end to a matter which had grown weary of.


Once the Southerner felt his member harden, he pulled out and circled Kayleen

in order to penetrate her ass hole, grabbing the remains of her pubic hair to

lift her up in a vicious frenzy which let her screams flow from her now free

mouth one after the other, ignoring the bleeding caused by the cuts on her

tongue and gums left by the studs. He viciously pushed over and over, with the

precise intent of distending her sphincter to tear the cuts open some more

while she howled and twitched in demented torment.


The pain of the harrowing violation was so all consuming that it took her a

while to realize he was no longer ramming her sphincter, but harsh sobs shook

her chest once she felt the taste of syrup in her mouth. Her cuffed wrists

were brought up and fastened behind her, between her ankles, and a ringed

wedge was forced down her vagina in place of the hook, the girth of each ring

tearing it open in repeated waves of agony until he tightened the thread

around the last before lifting her off the floor, screaming madly from the

unbearable pain as the scorched shreds of her vagina bore her full weight.


The pain lasted mere moments because he let her down and started clamping the

cuts with the iron clips used to staunch bleeding wounds, tightening them with

pliers and fastening them with thin chains of different length to the wedge.

He then pierced her nipples with three fine hooks each, whose chains he left

dangling as he moved near Lyral's ladder.


The blade scraped Lyral's ribs again, as if the Easterner had wanted to try

one more time, and then the Southerner reached her, watching her with a cruel

smile which made her tremble and sob almost like the prospect of tasting the

blade of the Easterner again. But the swarthy old man only pulled on the

ladder, bringing Lyral back to where Kayleen was crying in bitter pain.


The Southerner lifted Kayleen off the ground by the chain pulling on the wedge

while her voice rose in a howl of unparalleled torment as its rings slipped

under her weight, rasping her torn innards and the rim of her vagina while the

clips pulled on the bleeding cuts as the fine chains went taut. In spite of

her convulsing jerks, however, he managed to pull on the hooks in her nipples

until he fastened them to those in Lyral's own, putting a clamp on each to

prevent the hooks from ripping through the distended flesh.


He then circled the two to grab Kayleen's hair, yank her head back and force

his member into her screaming throat, letting her down somewhat before pulling

on the chain fastened to her wedge to lift her body into another fit of agony

as the wedge tore again through her sex and the hooks tugged her bleeding

nipples while her screams burst around his spent manhood.


It took Lyral many rounds of ripping through her nipples before she realized

that most of the blood on her body was her friend's, her gaze watching in

horror as rivulets flowed down the crotch which had been horribly shredded by

the repeated tearing of the wedge. The pitiful gurgled howls surging from her

friend's mouth started hammering at the depth of her soul, where she found the

resolve to stretch her neck and reach her friend's left breast, just as her

tormentor lowered the trembling body for a moment, and impart some healing.


Lyral knew that she was playing in their tormentor's hands, but the glimpses

of her friend's crotch spurting blood as she was pulled up and down and the

rim of her vagina was savagely ripped and distended burned in her mind almost

as much as the red hot tip of the rod which he repeatedly used to burn her

friend's poor clitoris, because, she realized, she had a better view of it.


As the incredible arousal caused by the drugs managed to harden his member

again, the Southerner removed the studded leather harness and replaced it with

a leather covering, rubbed in sand, then pulled out the wedge and bent

Kayleens's loins back in order to thrust his manhood into her vagina, drooling

with lust in anticipation of the harrowing howl of agony which followed.


The sand flayed mercilessly the wounded, dry walls of her vagina, rubbing the

scorched flesh raw and seeping into the many blisters and gouges to wreak

unspeakable woe inside her womb while waves of harrowing agony wracked her

chest and burst from her torn mouth in howls of unparalleled torment.


Lyral had never witnessed so closely the rape of her friend, and managed to

deliver some healing once or twice while the Southerner protracted the

violation of her friend's womb, but her mind shrunk before the harrowing

agonies the fleeting contacts revealed. Despair, humiliation and rage coursed

through her friend's pain wracked body, washed over by waves of white hot pain

and then bubbling back to prominence as the torment waned and waxed without

interruption or mercy, not even that normally provided by exhaustion as the

drugs and the excitement of triumph lent Kayleen's violator the endurance to

protract her agony over and over beyond all boundaries of cruelty.


Hoarse from the uninterrupted screaming, Kayleen choked between bitter sobs as

the Southerner released her, letting her collapse in a heap onto her trembling

friend, her mind a single white hot nugget of pain trembling in awareness that

it was not over yet, that more was to come.


As the Southerner composed his disheveled robes, Lyral doubled her efforts to

heal her friend, fighting tears caused partly by the harsh cries of her friend

and partly by the vivid impression of her violation carried over through the

healing process. She felt ... dirty, crushed, annihilated, and well aware that

it was all a pale reflection of what her friend felt like.


Grod lowered Kayleen on the floor and removed most of the implements of agony

favored by the Southerner, but nary one of her restraints, tightening instead

her iron collar before dragging her near a device she recognized with a

strangled cry, the cross rack. He fastened her ankle cuffs and the iron bands

at the knee and hip to the lower arms of the rack, paying close attention to

the positioning of her hip joints, then cuffed her wrists and elbows together

behind her back and the wrists to a chain from the ceiling by which he pulled

her wrists up behind her back until she cried from the pain in her twisted

shoulder joints. He then cranked her thighs, wider and wider, in a split which

soon caused her harsh cries of pain.


After leaving her stretched near dislocation for a while, he procured a small

jug of milky liquid and used a small ladle to scoop some and dribble it on her

bent back. After a few seconds of dread, her face contorted in a scream of

inhuman pain as the quicklime burned her skin, causing her to convulse in

desperate jerks as the caustic trickled down her back.


She kept screaming uninterruptedly as the liquid peeled the singed skin,

flowing around the blisters left by the protracted exposure to the heat of the

coals without lingering too long. Her tormentor knew that, if allowed to form

a pool, the caustic could eat through flesh causing lethal wounds, and had

made sure that it would cause only surface burns, albeit horrid to behold and

even worse to suffer as his victim's desperate howls of torment testified.


He bid his time, adding more quicklime very sparingly whenever her screams

subsided, and inspecting her back where swaths of scorched skin had peeled,

revealing the pulsating raw flesh in the wounds while she convulsed in mad

agony, pulling desperately at her shoulder and hip joints and wracking them

into and out of dislocation in long fits of howling torment.


When her jerks subsided between wheezing screams after the protracted torture,

he brought the jug to her lips in spite of her feeble attempts to resist, a

gesture which they both knew meant worse was to come. She shuddered when he

grabbed her left breast between the jaws of a pair of pliers, distending it

until she cried in pain before dribbling the milky liquid on the tip of the

distended cone, causing her whole body to stiffen and then jerk in a spasmodic

howl of utter agony as the caustic flayed her scorched flesh.


One of her hip joints dislocated with a low thud as the strength of her jerks

grew beyond bounds alongside the pain in her breast, and the resulting anguish

compounded the latter on her distorted face, set in a raucous scream which

apparently lasted without end as new droplets of caustic dropped over her

peeled nipple, raising wisps of acrid smoke and howls of unspeakable pain.


When he switched to the other breast, her convulsions surged to new peaks of

mad agony and culminated in dislocation of her left shoulder, causing her to

shift in her restraints as her body buckled spasmodically in the attempt to

twist her breast away from the jaws which held it under the trickle of milky

liquid which simmered over the distended cone of feminine flesh.


Only after repeatedly tormenting her breasts, to the point of eating most of

the scorched skin away, did he bring the jug to her lips again, pouring the

contents down her throat while she sputtered and coughed, wracked by agonies

which flared whenever her attempts to take a deep breath pulled on the

seething flesh of her once proud mounds.


Obviously bent on dislocating her other limbs, her tormentor cranked the rack

some more and then dribbled quicklime along her distended legs, taking care to

let the droplets flow along the curve while she stiffened in a scream of utter

anguish before rattling the rack with spasmodic convulsions of hopeless pain.

Skin and flesh bubbled and simmered while her voice waxed and waned in howls

of desperate torment, her mind lost in mazes of unceasing woe and clinging to

the last strands of sanity as her only hope surged in tatters from her mouth

among screams of unspeakable agony.


"Lyral ... please! Lyral ...


In spite of his efforts in prolonging her agony, however, he failed to

dislocate her other limbs. He tried dribbling quicklime on her arms, on her

bleeding nail beds, he tried with letting if flow from the small of her back

down firm buttocks until they literally broiled and smoked while her

convulsions shook the rack's frame, but her exhausted screams started waning,

and he still had not managed to achieve his intent, so he poured some

quicklime in a bowl which he suspended just under her crotch.


He then climbed on the rack and used his feet to push onto her loins, until

her feminine flesh contacted the caustic and she jerked in agony, with such

strength that he almost fell down. But he held on, pushing her onto the liquid

which foamed around her femininity and splashed the inside of her thighs while

she howled in absolute agony and arched spasmodically, twisting her thighs and

legs and wracking them repeatedly until she dislocated her other hip with a

low popping sound, the ordinarily devastating pain barely registering before

the agonies consuming her tender femininity in waves of horrid torment.


The removal of the bowl brought her some respite, although she kept screaming

in wheezing fits of hopeless anguish interspersed by sputtering as he brought

the jug to her lips again, but the respite ended when he brought the bowl near

her left breast. The corners of her mouth almost tore as the scream which rose

from her chest surged through, as if her mouth could not stretch wide enough,

and her muscles stiffened in agony before snapping in spasmodic jerks as she

tried desperately to pull her broiling flesh from the caustic liquid.


He kept chasing her heaving chest and splashing her breast with the quicklime,

sometimes finding some on his heavy leather gloves, keeping her nipple bathed

in the caustic and simmering relentlessly in a bloody foam until her jerks

managed to pull her shoulder out of its seat with a sickly thud, leaving her

hanging from her dislocated arms and wracked by waves of bitter pain as her

flesh broiled and simmered in unspeakable agonies which burst from her mouth in

screeching howls of pain and despair, interspersed by almost inaudible calls


"Lyral ... help ... me!"


She sobbed bitterly even once he started unfastening her restraints, because

the simple touch of his hands was agony on her consumed flesh, and her hopes

were shattered once he made her drink from the jug and fastened her ankle

cuffs to the iron bands at her hips. A scream of raw despair surged from her

as he fastened her wrists between her ankles, behind her back, forcing her to

arch painfully, and then tightened iron clips on her burned labia and around

the scorched rim of her vagina which he then used to pull her off the ground.


Lost in a maze of harrowing pain, her head flailing as unrelenting agonies

radiated from her feminine flesh, the screams surging from her mouth stopped

once she saw between tears a pale face under hers, a face she took a while to

recognize as her friend's.


"Lyral, oh thanks! Help me, please, I'm burning ..."


It took a while for Kayleen to register the look of horror on Lyral's face as

it jerked away under hers, for a reason which became immediately apparent as

the burning bite of quicklime landed on the soft undersides of her breasts,

flowing around her mounds in simmering rivulets and broiling over her nipples,

trickling droplets of foaming caustic mixed with blood where her friend's face

had been, mere moments before a wave of unspeakable agony erased everything

from her mind but the all encompassing agony of her peeling flesh.


As she jerked in howling pain, rattling mercilessly her dislocated joints, her

tormentor kept dribbling droplets of quicklime on her raw flesh, exercising

some restraint only in what flowed down to her face which he did not want to

burn too much. Bleeding tears started ripping her labia and the rim of her

love channel as her weight and her spasmodic jerks wracked them repeatedly.


It took Lyral a long time to muster the courage to face the droplets of

caustic, but the harrowing screams of her friend's agonies gnawed at her until

she put caution aside and arched, stretching herself until her lips reached

her friend's forehead to deliver a sorely needed round of healing.


Satisfied that the torment could be protracted, Grod kept dribbling caustic

all over Kayleen's jerking form, pausing to wait for the full effect when he

let it flow down her long and once shapely legs, watching it broil the flesh

and form bloody rivulets of foam which dripped onto her chest whenever her

jerks brought her head almost at waist height. It was at those times that he

let some trickle around her sphincter, so that she arched back in reaction and

swung almost full circle, distending herself in mad agony and allowing her

friend a chance to heal her a bit.


As her torment was mercilessly prolonged, variants of pain she had never

thought of wracked her hanging body into new depths of this hell she had been

thrown into. White hot agonies surged from her chest and limbs whenever her

flesh was distended by her jerks, as the foaming residues of caustic found new

unmarred flesh to consume. Searing agony washed over her face when it was

crossed by rivulets of the milky liquid. The sensitive skin under her soles

simmered and curled while her legs twitched in agony, wracking her hip joints

in waves of harrowing torment. Her nipples burned in relentless pain, turned

into simmering stubs of broiled flesh which oozed bloody foam under the

application of more caustic whenever Lyral's healing partly restored them.


A brief pause was allowed when she was offered the jug again, from which she

drank in long gulps, almost out of her mind in pain and calling repeatedly her

friend between coughs. But her voice exploded in a howl which had seen few

equals when he dribbled some quicklime on her crotch, catching her clitoris

with a well aimed drop just after she stiffened in unspeakable agony and an

instant before she burst in a fit of convulsed jerks which made it extremely

difficult for Lyral to reach her flailing head.


A fire worse than the hot irons burned her feminine flesh, simmering all over

the distended skin and broiling it slowly and mercilessly while her own weight

and the jerks induced by the all consuming pain ripped bleeding gashes in the

flapping tatters of her labia and the shredded entrance of her womb.


Once, maybe twice, the soothing touch of Lyral's healing clamped the blazing

fires of her agony, but soon the caustic was brought onto her nipples again,

and as she descended the pits of hell in howling despair she realized that her

tormentor was observing what parts of her martyred flesh showed signs of

healing to target them with further drops of the hellish liquid, watching them

smolder and broil while she jerked her limbs and orifices into further agonies.


Just as her convulsed jerks waned into spasmodic twitches, just as she started

thinking that she had defied them once more, the screech of a hateful voice

from beyond the grave resonated in the room.


"Continue her interrogation, Grod. Until she realizes how foolish it is to

oppose me, she'll have to bear the consequences of her folly, just as your

ilk," he whispered, turning to Lyral, "faced those of theirs this morning,

and are now being brought here for questioning,"


The defining limit of Kayleen's agony became thus Lyral's ability to heal the

repeated abuse being wrought on her tender feminine flesh, but her tormentor

started interspersing it with occasional dribbling over her twitching muscles,

meant to wrack her dislocated joints into frenzies of trembling agony while

her nipples and clitoris returned to some semblance of their former selves

after being almost broiled away by the merciless application of quicklime

while she kept asking for her friend's help between wheezing screams.


"Lyral ... heaven's sake ..."


Her face burned by droplets of quicklime and streaked with tears, Lyral fought

the torments wracking her friend with a desperate strength fueled by the

awareness of being both an instrument of her agonies and the only remaining

anchor of her assaulted resolve. Foregoing any care of herself, she found

reserves of healing power she had not known existed, but slowly consumed them

one by one until only despair remained, until her kiss to her friend delivered

her desperate sorrow but no respite.


Always alert, Grod suspended the dribbling of quicklime on his screaming

victim shortly thereafter. For a moment, it looked like the silent corpse

was considering ordering him otherwise, but the words which followed were a

surprise for everybody.


"Grod and Chang, take the Priestess to the prison pits, and make an example of

her before interrogating her sisters - I want answers from them by tomorrow

morning.  Meanwhile, I'll question her friend myself. Make sure she is

unmarred and ready to resume tomorrow morning, however," whispered Zhorun.


Kayleen's screech of bitter despair echoed under the vaults of the chamber and

flared through Lyral's soul, spurring her to distend in a last desperate kiss

so bent on delivering any measure of healing that both girls snapped like rag

dolls while Kayleen's horrid burns visibly receded and Lyral passed out after

expending her last ounces of energy. When the two tormentors overcame their

surprise, she did not react as they dragged her away.


When the Southerner lowered her just enough to let her shoulders rest on the

floor, Kayleen tried to stop herself from crying bitterly as the friend who

had just spent her remaining energies to restore some of her health was being

dragged away, leaving her in the hands of the most sadistic of her tormentors

and of the rotting corpse of the tyrant she had deposed, bent on exacting the

most horrible revenge on her, or worse, if Lyral's hunches were correct.


There would be no respite tonight, no soothing caress or embrace in spite of

cruel restraints they always managed to circumvent. A scream of harrowing pain

surged from her mouth when the Southerner penetrated her ass with his hard

member sheathed in the same studded leather harness meant to scrape her

innards raw which he had been using in the morning, while Zhorun watched

intently every contortion of her visage, the twitching of her shoulders in her

swollen joints and the bleeding gashes ripped the hooks in her labia as she

jerked under her tormentor's frenzied thrusts.


"Harder! Make her scream!" screeched the corpse, causing the Southerner to

redouble his efforts with a smile, as if her pitiful, wheezing screams could

not be heard over and again under the vaults of the torture chamber.


But Zhorun craved for more, after being unable to relish in her agonies for

hours, and his voice rose menacingly


"If you cannot punish her adequately, I'll do it myself! Get out of my way!"


The Southerner, still panting and thrusting, jumped off mere moments before

blue streaks of lightning surged from Zhorun's gnarled hands, crackling over

Kayleen's restrained body. Stuttering screams of unabashed torment surged from

her mouth as her muscles contracted spasmodically and pain blasted from her

dislocated joints, while droplets of blood sprayed from the bleeding gashes in

her crotch as her jerks rattled the chains she hung from.


After carrying Lyral's chained body for a some time, Grod and Chang dropped

her on the floor of a poorly lit hall. As she had not really passed out, but

was just utterly exhausted by her last ditch effort to heal her friend, Lyral

had been forced to listen to the screams resounding in the torture chamber

until they had waned in the maze of corridors. The sounds of agony which ruled

this underground kingdom of pain soon reached her ears again, however, as

three sides of this hall consisted of cells occupied by disheveled and chained

Priestesses, their white robes in tatters, moaning and weeping.


The hall was small and not equipped for interrogation, a fact which caused

Grod to shake his head and leave. Two guards stood there, and their eyes ogled

Lyral's full breasts and creamy thighs with unmistakable lust. She lay there,

too exhausted to do anything but breathe, unable to answer the whispers from

those of her sisters who had not yet succumbed to despair. When Grod returned,

silence descended on the hall at the sight of the implements he carried, but

she could not even open her eyes yet.


A sudden agony burst in her shoulders once Grod started pulling her up by her

arms, twisting them in their sockets until she hung from a chain wound around

a pulley fastened to a beam in the ceiling, and almost immediately her scream

echoed in the small hall and on the scared visage of the onlooking prisoners.


With a desperate scream, Kayleen twitched spasmodically as the Southerner

poured salt water on her hanging form. Coils of barbed cord had been wound

around her limbs and chest, tightly enough to let them scrape the scorched and

broiled skin if she moved. And the subsequent onslaught of crackling blue

lightning from Zhorun's fingers caused her to arch and buckle, cutting long

bleeding gashes in the scorched skin and wrenching long howls of bitter

torment from her sore throat as her jerks wracked her dislocated joints.


The salt water mixed with her tears while he lowered her shoulders on the

floor to reduce the tear on her labia, because he kept close watch on the

hooks ripping through them and wanted to protract the torment of her

femininity. Some needles had been driven through the soft flesh around her

sphincter and the entrance of her love channel, to keep the shreds of her

flesh from being ripped away too quickly but also to carry the lightning where

it could cause the worst pain, especially once doused in salt water.


When Zhorun's lightning paused, the Southerner pulled her up again, watching

her face contort in agony as blood flowed from the gashes in her tender flesh

and salt seeped in the open wounds. He wished he had Grod's experience with

quicklime, but in its wake he would make do with a rasp, and after a glance at

the silent corpse, scraped it against her clitoris to see her dance in

unbridled agony while more lightning magic crackled around her nipples.


Lyral's own tears streaked her face as she hung from her twisted arms, moaning

and crying while Grod pulled her ankles up behind her to expose the soles. His

intent became obvious when he picked up a mean, braided whip and after testing

it a few times brought it down on her soles, causing her to arch in raw agony

as a bitter scream surged from her mouth. A wave of horror swept the faces

glued behind the bars, wide eyed before the agony of a sister many of them had

recognized and trembling at the prospect of facing the same soon.


Suddenly, after half a dozen strikes, a blinding flash of orange light burst

from one of the cells, engulfing the two armored guards in a shroud of fire

which also set some furniture ablaze. Some unknown force crushed the bars of a

cell outwards before a young Priestess, with lush red hair and flaring green

eyes. She rushed towards Lyral's hanging form, hurling arrows of orange fire

towards the two torturers. Chang narrowly escaped her fury by hiding behind a

pillar, but Grod was flung backwards by the impact of the orange flames.


With superhuman speed, the red haired Priestess reached Lyral's hanging form

and embraced her, softly whispering the words of a spell, a transportation

spell which caused both to fade away just as Lyral recognized her.


"Shandra", she whispered with a smile.




Review This Story || Author: Synon55
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