The Merciless Alpha(erotica)

“Will it eventually grow a new scale there?” I asked, remembering stories about dragons losing a scale and having a chink in its armor for centuries.

“Yes, but that particular dragon is likely to lay low for the six months to a year that it will take for that to happen.” Zanantha mused.

“I will have to see what kinds of arrowheads I can make with these…” Risavis marveled, turning the shards over in her hands, being careful around the edges.

My adrenaline began to fade.

“Well, that’s more then enough excitement for tonight, I think. You said the dragon won’t come back, but I’d rather not risk it. Can we find a new campsite for tonight?” I asked.

Tavorwen nodded her agreement, “There is very little that will willingly engage with a foe from whom a dragon flees, but you are right. I could see the dragon attempting to return more stealthily than it initially approached and attempting to kill us with its acid breath while we slept. Sisters, I know you are tired, but we should put at least half an hour between us and this clearing before we retire.”

There were a few mild groans, especially from the fighters who had just been dodging dragon claws, but the knowledge of the importance of relocating reduced them to just that, groans.

We took a moment then started walking again toward the southeast edge of the forest.

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Fear was a new experience for Ak’vix’tur’aveen. His name meant roughly ‘Eternal winged death lord’, and having chosen it himself he was fond of it. ‘Cowardly winged death lord’ just didn’t have the same ring, but here he was running in fear of his life.

No, he would not let this stand. He’d seen the mortal male with the metal flash-tube that had spat the tiny darts at him with such force. The first dart he hasn’t seen, only felt as it bruised his shoulder, preventing him from realizing his goal of eating one of the she-elves. The second he had seen. The flash of light, followed by a strange dart, moving with incredible speed, unlike the pepper balls they had used to burn the inside of his nose, those he should have dodged. The impact of that second strange dart Ak’vix’tur’aveen would feel in the nightmares that would become a regular addition to his dreams.

He finally arrived at the lake that hid the entrance to his sanctuary. He took a great breath and dove into the lake, his wings pulled tight against his body, forming a spectacular arrow that pierced the water before he reversed course and swam to the obscured cave that was the main entrance to his lair. He snaked his way through the twists until he reached the air pocket that was his entryway.

He slunk deep into his lair to survey the damage.

One of his invincible scales had been shattered. The idea was mind boggling, but the evidence was there. It hadn’t even taken a clunky elven ballista to do it.

Ak’vix’tur’aveen shivered at the thought.

If a mortal male could carry such a weapon and use it with such utter disregard for the natural order in which the species had existed for eons beyond counting… it would change everything. And Ak’vix’tur’aveen didn’t like this change one bit.

The mortal with the flash tube had to die.

Ak’vix’tur’aveen licked his now exposed flesh, drawing the root of his scale out with the ridges on his tongue. That would stimulate his flesh to create a replacement scale much quicker. He didn’t like that should another dragon, or even a simple troop of elves face him now, he had a hole in his armor just over one of his lungs and one of his two hearts.

Ak’vix’tur’aveen growled. He was far too intelligent to risk facing that cursed mortal again right now, but he surely wished he could just end the threat now. The new threat wasn’t elvish. Everything about him was wrong for him being an elf, from his eye shape, facial structure, to his ears and his build. Also, the elves hadn’t carried the flash tubes, though this new threat carried two. No, the elves couldn’t use the flash tubes, or they would have. That meant all Ak’vix’tur’aveen had to do was kill this strange mortal and things would go back to normal.

Ak’vix’tur’aveen was a dragon, and that meant patience was not something he lacked. He needed time for his scale to regrow, his bruised shoulder to recover and the sting to his hind leg’s main tendon to heal. It was hardly enough to slow him, and once fear had taken hold of him, the minor pain of his tendon faded to nothing as he had run for his life. Ak’vix’tur’aveen wanted to be in top form when he faced that strange mortal again, and that meant far longer in convalescence than he liked.

Ak’vix’tur’aveen curled up, his arm and tail guarding his new weak spot. He growled his displeasure, and closed his eyes to sleep.

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It didn’t take long after we found a new safe campsite for the elves to roll out their bedrolls. I rolled mine out, as well.

While the day hadn’t been particularly hard as far as a cross country march goes, I still found myself tired.

Flendreir wrapped herself up, but remained seated and alert.

“Keeping watch?” I surmised.

“Of course.” Flendreir noted. “While the magic of the bedrolls might keep us safe from most foes, we just encountered a dragon and dragons can definitely push through the Domination magic that protects us in the bedrolls. I’ll switch out with Nauveir and Ulamir throughout the night so we aren’t weakened tomorrow. Tomorrow night, Anbethir, Risavis and Zanantha will take watch.”Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“I could take a shift.” I offered.

I noticed several disapproving looks.

“That would be beneath you.” Flendreir stated bluntly. “While the offer is kind, having a summon, who is a master as well, taking the menial role of a watchman would be insulting to you and therefore to us by association. Having a battle matron take such a role would also be demeaning and reflect poorly on us as well.”

I didn’t like that. I’d always tried to remain grounded with my squad, never elevating myself, even if my position offered such privileges. But having been unaware, I couldn’t just throw elven societal norms to the winds and expect no blowback.

“Let them play their ego games.” Narusil whispered, cuddling up next to me in her bedroll.

Tavorwen shimmied up to my other side and between two of my matrons, I slipped into the sweet embrace of sleep.

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“I don’t understand your sense of urgency, Gla’dri.” Kathra scoffed. “The summon is dead. I will allow my forces to prepare and we will annihilate the forest wenches.”

Gla’dri frowned. He had to admit the odds of anyone surviving the Final Strike spell that Kathra had detonated within arms reach of the summon were low. But underestimating the enemy was one of the most dangerous things that any commander could do. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were celebrating their victory too soon.

Kathra’s eyes narrowed, “You doubt my forces’ power? You think the forest bitches will be able to repulse the combined might of the High Houses?”

“No, no….” Gla’dri assured her. He was walking a dangerous line. If he angered Kathra now, he was sure to end up dead. But if he failed to advise her now, and his fears were realized he’d just be delaying his inevitable demise. He had to concede today. Kathra was feeling powerful and would likely completely disregard anything he said regardless. “Your wisdom is beyond reproach.”

Kathra smirked arrogantly, “As I thought.”

Kathra leaned back, her hand absently rubbing the womb wherein her new child was growing. Without realizing it, this drew her eyes to the shadow elf on her knees at the side of her throne.

Kathra’s lip curled in disgust.

How could such a worthless sack of flesh be the result of her first birthing. No magical talent in dark magic, domination, conjuration, or even interjection. Her devotions to Ya’av had been unanswered as well. Her poor performance with the primary weapons of shadow elf nobility had been the final straw. She lacked the two handed coordination to wield the dual blades of a shadow blade, her aim with the poison delivering hand crossbows was abysmal, and she couldn’t ride and wield polearms worth dung. After such embarrassments, Kathra had disowned her and in punishment subjected the worthless wench to the slave sigil.

Slave sigils were completely irreversible. It was the ultimate punishment for any shadow elf. Devaluing the superior shadow elf to the level of any of the inferior races. It was a punishment for one of the three great sins in shadow elf society: Blaspheming against Ya’av, being useless, or not being born a shadow elf. All non-shadow elves were deserving of nothing but slavery to the superior race. Those who would challenge the word of Ya’av had no place among the one true people. And perhaps worst of all, any shadow elf that ate food, took up space, but didn’t bring the shadow elves closer to the racial domination that they deserved was worse than filth.

Amura, now Clee’Amura, Kathra’s first daughter, had committed the sin of being worthless. She ate the food of house Inganvith but brought no glory to the house.

Kathra chaffed that even now, as a slave of house Inganvith, Clee’Amura still consumed a measure of the rations of house Inganvith. That was her one misstep, she should have just secretly had her murdered and blamed one of her rival houses. No one would have believed it. The houses all mocked her that her only current offspring was worthless drivel, and killing Clee’Amura would only remove a hindrance to her ambitions, but that had never stopped her before.

Kathra shook her head. The wealth of food on the surface was disgusting. For centuries, Ya’av had led the shadow elves deep in the recesses of the earth, where the shadow elves had fought over edible mosses and fungi as well as the few creatures that dwelt deep in the earth. Contact with the other races had been rare, and Ya’av had always pushed her people to cull or enslave these lesser beings. Finally, almost two hundred years ago, Ya’av had given word that the time to prepare to return and conquer the surface world had come. They had sent saboteurs up to rile the pathetic nations of the surface elves who claimed sisterhood with the shadow elves against the revolting ‘high elves’ who were anything but.

If only the shadow elves had the magic of the lesser races that could create seemingly endless supplies of food!