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Kingdom Come

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A great banner fluttered in the smoky battlefield, a black crescent moon with a rich violet backdrop marking its heraldry. Accompanying the sound of billowing cloth, was also the crackle of fire and the cries of the dying. War had come to Camelot.

Morgana strut among the dead, back to her command tent as her warriors went about burning the dead and dying. The very image of feminine perfection, the lush, pale slopes of her breasts jiggled within her sorceress regalia, two ebony skulls barely holding back her bulging cleavage. She moved gracefully among the battlefield, like liquid death, her creamy thighs bared for all to see while her silken cloth could not conceal her bouncing bottom, quivering and flexing with each step.

She paused, to peer through the smoke and regard the corroding countryside. Beautiful trees had become mangled and twisted, gaping tortured faces showing through their wooden trunks, as meadows boiled with infectious, black tar. Most delightful to her of all, was watching her fallen maidens ransack the neighboring farms. Once pure, now tainted with her evil, they took the women and devoured the men, proudly wearing dirtied and torn gowns as a reflection of their souls.

She watched with pride as she saw three of her maiden's hold down a buxom farmer's wife. The stout woman wriggled and screamed helplessly, as her voluptuous violators ripped away her clothes, letting her abundant, jiggling breasts sway free. The maidens then went about corrupting her, one pulling her panties down, letting her ripe, glistening pussy rub and latch onto the wife's sex, while another grabbed the wife's face, crushing her lips against her as her dark essence poured down her victim's throat.

The maiden's throat undulated, making gulping motions as foul black veins rippled along her neck. She moaned as she pumped pleasure and pure evil into the twitching wife, while the maiden grinding her pussy against the wife did much the same, her voluptuous ass cheeks clenching together as she streamed her corrupting nectar into the poor woman's womb.

The wife jerked and bucked in ecstasy until her convulsions ceased and her body went slack, surrendering to the maiden's attentions as her body was overcome with lust and desire. Her screams of defiance had transformed into moans of intimate need, her greedy hands grasping her ample bosom and those of her assailants, who moaned in turn, relishing the euphoria of converting another to their cause.

Vile horns sprouted out of the woman's forehead as black fluids bubbled out of her mouth, her body having completely succumbed to the invading evil, as all semblances of homeliness were burnt away, her body reforming itself for seduction and primal temptation.

Morgana turned away from the sinful sight, pleased with yet another added to her ranks. She was not here to win hearts and minds, she was here to tear them out. Her demonic soldiers had swept away all resistance in a storm of fire and blades, her maidens having hollowed the souls of all they conquered. None could resist her rule.

A blast of jasmine and other incense wafted over her as she stepped into her black tent, her command center filled with crimson cushions and ornate carpeting, the nubile shadows of her handmaidens silhouetted in purple smoke. At her table awaited her greatest servants, Ingrid the Deceiver and the Black Knight.

"M'lady..." they said in unison, bowing their heads.

"The battle is won, the day is yours..." continued the Black Knight. Morgana tensed, there was something at the edge of his words, hinting at something he did not want to say.

"And?"

His finger gestured toward the map, tracing around supply lines and provincial borders."I can storm the capital by week's end. It will cost us thousands of heads but it can be done. Losses on both sides will be maximum."

Morgana sighed, and caressed the mighty warrior's shoulders with her delicate hands. She loved brute force as much as the next overlord but even those predictions made her wince. "My love...there are other ways to lay the crown on my head than through the sword. The world will not pause for my greatness, the kingdom must be seized, and suddenly." She motioned Ingrid over to her side, her voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. "This is what we shall do..."

***

The Royal Palace, City of Camlann

King Karnor took another swig of wine from his jewel encrusted goblet, letting the ruddy liquid dribble onto his graying beard in a rather unkingly manner. He didn't give a damn about nobility, for he was not born high, but low, out of the frigid barbarian wastes. His crowning ceremony was the very opposite of serene, involving much bloodshed and fornication, the previous king's head used as a ball for many of their beer games.

"Bah! The gallivanting whore thinks herself a general!?" his guttural laughter resounded through the chamber, his advisor putting on a forced smile. "That simpering runt had half her men slaughtered by Florian van Vinkle, and if that white-livered boy fondler gave her trouble, I'll be damned if I roll over for a pair of tits with pipe dreams!"

His advisor, Marlowe Dreville, was a royal holdover, his duties comprised of matters of state, war, party planning and anything else the King could think of, none of his bloodthirsty warlords clamoring for a position of menial administration. "Yes of course my lord...but uh..."

"Spit it out boy!"

"Well King Florian is dead, his men scattered to the wind. Empress Valera of the Amazons has passed on from plague and Lord Faenarion of the Elves seems..." he took a closer look at the parchment in his hands, "Seems to have suffered some misfortune involving horses and honey."

The King's eyebrows arched incredulously, wondering if the last bit came out right. "What!?"

Marlowe's hands shook nervously, barely able to stifle a stammer. "I-I'm sorry sir but it isn't more specific other than that he bled out sometime in the night." He looked back to the King, relieved that he was still calm, before steeling himself and continuing. "Our rivals and allies both, are torn asunder, and while the sorceress has suffered much, she is implacable and still has her eyes set on your crown." He trembled, his breath at an end, hoping and praying his King did not decapitate him right then and there.

The King stroked his beard, his face caught in a rare moment of internal contemplation. "Hah! She can admire it for all time when I stick her insolent head on my pike!" He poured himself another goblet. "The Tickler dead, the Empress of Nothing dust in a jar and that pointy eared maggot one with his limp wristed tree people..." He took a deep gulp of wine, his face crinkling into a smile. "I fail to see the bad news! The realm is ours for the taking, 'bout time too, the lads were getting testy with nothing to kill or fuck!"

Marlowe sighed, his ears awash in his King's laughter. "Yes my lord."

"Bring me my Queen, this talk of war has got my blood boiling!"

"Of course sir."

King Karnor sank back into his lion pelt laden throne, his bulging muscles and savage hair looking comical in his royal environs. He wondered...did King Arthur ever have these problems? While he put on a good show for his aide, in truth, he was troubled. Not by Morgana, but by the responsibility of ruling. He longed for the simpler times, when it was just his sword, horse and a random tavern whore. Those were the good days. He looked up when he heard the creaking of his chamber doors, and smiled when he saw his pride and joy, his wife, his Queen.

Queen Adrasteia, or Adras for those with practical inclinations, was the stuff barbarian dreams were made of. She was the fairest of all the previous king's concubines, her elegant face and bronzed skin betraying her exotic lineage, but what won the King's heart (or rather his lusts), was her outstanding, voluptuous body that could set a whole kingdom aflame, for whom thousands of lives would be shed just for a chance to spend one moment in her arms. Her shimmering blue dress clung tight to her curves, teal lace tracing around the large, firm peaks of her breasts as she sauntered in, her wide hips rolling sensually, as she pulled her King to her chest.

King Karnor sighed as he gripped her abundant ass, her beauty never failing to enthrall him. Her eyes stood out like gems, outlined in violet kohl, entrancing him the longer he gazed in. He moved down, kissing her neck, his roaming hands feeling up her tight belly, until they came upon her succulent breasts, cupping and squeezing her mounds to her elated moans.

"My love...you will be so proud, I let in a caravan of King Florian's refugees and warriors, eager to swear fealty and serve loyally...they will do us proud in our war against the witch."

Karnor tore himself away from her juicy cleavage. "You what!?"

"I had to...it was my royal duty."

The King looked at her as if he was questioning reality itself, as if she really did just say what he thought she said. It was his royal duty to slap her, a blow to remedy her stupidity, he thought. A glottal, choking sound burst from his throat as he was overcome with warring emotions. "GRAH! Goddammit woman you will be the end of me! They could just be sneaking in, I know, because I did it myself when I sacked Bretanreich!"

She flinched at his outburst, and then gave him a look as only a woman could give, one that soothed his raging heart, made him feel guilty, and absolved her of all accountability. Her misty eyes compelled him to comfort her. "Well...if they cause any trouble...we outnumber them so it should be no problem..." His grumbles tapered off as he looked into her brightening face, her smile instantly raising his spirits.

Her expression made him feel young again, so kind, he could not stay mad at her for long and felt the urge to kiss her, their lips melding together as if they were made for each other. She moaned into his mouth, stroking his cock as his invading tongue swapped more saliva with hers, his pleasure filled grunts now a mirror to her mewlings, as his rough hands grabbed and groped every part of her luscious form. Until he tasted something on her lips, something that should not have been, but was. It was sorcery. No barbarian reached adulthood without some lustful sorceress trying to suck his soul away, and he was well acquainted with the taste of dark magic.

He gripped his sword, pushing her back as he bellowed. "Sorcery most foul! What have you done to my wife, witch!?"

The mellow, earthy qualities of her voice had melted away into the smooth, dulcet tones that could only have come from Morgana, setting Karnor on edge as goosebumps spread down his arms. "Well done, your majesty! None of the royal crowd could have spotted such a..." her dress and appearance shifted into the curvaceous, full chested, gothic beauty Morgana was known for, "Change...but then again, you're not exactly royal, are you?"

Karnor gritted his teeth, pressing his sword closer. "More so than you, vile harridan...speak quickly, where is my wife?"

"Being seduced by my second, Ingrid. But don't worry, she'll be here soon enough, she shall bear witness to her King's fall and then her precious kingdom..." She lunged forward, faster than the King could swing, wrapping her powerful thighs around him, filling his vision with the two leering skulls that held back her massive breasts. He could see her pale cleavage, moist and shining, a demonic pendant plunging down into the cleft between her glistening globes. He tried to push her off, refusing to breath in anymore of her intoxicating perfume as his head swam with desire.

The skulls fell away while Karnor's eyes widened at the gorgeous display. Her huge breasts leapt forward, slapping and pressing into his face, taking all his willpower not to suck them right there. He felt her thighs squeeze around his rib cage, robbing him of precious air. Then he had no choice but to gulp for more.

"Yesss! Touch them, squeeze them...suck them!" she cried, grabbing his head and smothering it further into her jiggling flesh. He felt her suffocating breast push into his mouth, but before any corrupting nectar could leak forth he brought a savage fist down on her chest, pushing her off as he gasped for air.

Morgana fell onto the ground but quickly sprung up, giggling in pleasure from the momentary pain. Even in his old age, the King was a force to be reckoned with, swinging his blade with skills honed over a lifetime of eternal war. Morgana snarled in surprise, her body having forgotten the thrills of mortal danger, dodging his swings and stabs with sorcerous agility, tiring him out with playful ease.

She ducked underneath his guard, laughing as with viper like speed she swept out the barbarian king's legs before summoning magical restraints around his wrists. The cuffs ignited into reddish violet light as they melted up through the bubbling marble, leaving burn marks on his skin.

She fell upon him like a jungle predator, trapping his head in between her luxuriant thighs as her sweet, corrupting juices trailed down onto his face. Karnor muffled panic in her leggy hold, his body jerking and struggling while his head tossed and turned, unable to break free of her smothering flesh. Her hands gripped his head, forcing his face right upon her hot, flowing slit. Karnor panted for breath, a fatal error as one single drop of her nectar dribbled between his lips, his body relaxing instantly as intolerable desire surged to his groin, his manhood stiffening with need.

Morgana arched her back, moaning as she ground her pussy against his lips, the robust king now addicted to her juices as he angled to lap more of her sweet nectar. She thrust her full breasts forward, gripping them as she let her dark sexual aura inundate her victim, gasping in pleasure as she felt her invading evil batter away the defenses of the supine king.

Her preternatural senses let her hear delicate footsteps behind her, and she smiled, groaning as she thrust against her lover's mouth once more. "How nice of you to join us good Queen..." She looked coyly over her shoulder, running her salacious tongue between her teeth as she taunted the dazed Queen, her lieutenant, Ingrid having her restrained by the neck. "Watch me Adras. Watch me as I take your husband. Watch him rut into my beauteous form and lose himself forever!"

***

Tower of the Crimson Dawn, City of Camlann

Vincent manipulated a purple flame, letting it flow in between his fingers and flicker in his palm as his sycophantic imp let out a shrill giggle on his shoulder. Amethyst light reflected on his stern features, catching a glint from the crescent moon pendant that hung from his neck. He was a warlock of the Black Moon, behind him huddled a coterie of witches and warlocks, eager to spill blood and spread their lady's will, only waiting for the signal to cry havoc.

Across his seat he gazed upon his fellow witch and lady love, Zhara. Her raven hair fell in black pools around her bare shoulders, her refined face regarding him with shameless adoration as his eyes fell upon her heaving breasts, twin pale moons dipped in lilac silk. Her attire did nothing to hold them back, indeed it seemed to only emphasize her burgeoning mounds all the more, just on the cusp of spilling out.

Vincent looked forward to ravishing her by night's end, drinking in of her sinfully sweet body and their victory. Still, her ambition troubled him. True, no witch or warlock got anywhere in the coven without killing another, but even so, there seemed to be an inescapable pattern with masters and apprentices.

Merlin and Nimue, that redhead and that one old guy...was he too destined to die by her hand? Perhaps if he had a witch lover more equal in knowledge to him, she wouldn't be tempted to betray him, which outside of Morgana, seemed impossible...he sighed. Being a servant of darkness could be so tiring.

Across the city a violet flare reached high into the sky, followed by a loud war horn. It was time. Morgana had seized the king and now the culling was to begin. For Vincent and his companions, they were dealt the task of destroying the city's local magic order, something the barbarian king saw fit to keep intact in case of magical attack. Wise king thought Vincent, but not wise enough.

With a sharp whistle, he and the rest of the Black Moon coven piled out of their draped carriage, charging for the mystical tower that glowed even under the cloak of night. His imp hyperventilated at the thought of murder and at the sight of the rival sorceresses straight ahead, his mouth drooling as he took in their smooth curves and low cut regalia, their deep cleavage shining like soft pearls as the starlight illuminated their ivory-white skin.

"Master, master! You forgot your hat!" screamed the imp as he pulled on his master's coat, causing Vincent to backhand the creature and send him tumbling into the cobblestone street.

"Damn the hat!" snapped the warlock, as he threw bolts of shadowy magic at the sorceresses, the air quickly lighting up in a wash of colors under their magical volleys. "Stay my hand again and I'll have you flogged for the next century!" The imp only cowered in submission as the warlock charged into the tower, a grin spreading on the creature's face as he noticed the now unconscious sorceresses, their buxom bodies ripe for his evil intentions.

***

Vincent barged through the tower doors, leaping to the side as Zhara screamed and fell in front of him, crumpling in a ball of flame. A momentary sadness tugged at him before he shooed it away. She was going to stab me in the back anyway, he thought, as he searched for his mark. The High Witch. The cacophony of the dying and arcane combat filled his ears as his eyes fell upon his foe. She was at the top of the tower, channeling a mighty spell, causing blinding light to issue from the top. He bounded up the stairs with supernatural speed as his comrades fought and died below.

***

Lady Eglantine, High Witch of the Order of the Crimson Dawn, sat in her study as she applied beautifying spells to herself, keeping track of her enhancements in her crystal mirror. In her youth, she had been what men had described as 'village beautiful'. Beautiful in the presence of an average peasant, but quite average in the capital, where those possessed of taste and options required more than a willing slit before heaping upon their gold and affections.

That was the past. Now none could tar her with such a brush as 'village beautiful', indeed beautiful would suffice, as would any number of pleasant sounding superlatives. Only the faint line in her nose, or angle in her shoulder, hinted at the homeliness her magic had covered up. She had to strike a balance when it came to her enhancements.

She could neither be too busty nor too modest, achieving and maintaining a bust line that marked her as a leader, but never going overboard, being well aware that the most voluptuous witches tended to be the most wicked. She eyed herself in the mirror and smiled. She looked the part.

Her cheeks had a rosy glow, complemented by the clean and sleek lines of her face. She looked like a mature woman, unlike so many young adepts, who, drunk with power and narcissism, made themselves into little more than dolls, with inappropriately doe-like faces atop gigantic breasts.

Her sparkling blue eyes took in her reflection, drifting down to the milky-white swells of her breasts, abundant yet not excessive. She thrust her bosom forward, admiring how light and shadow fell over her globes, and how her magical pendant dangled enticingly in her cleavage, the beaded line of her necklace intended to draw the attention of many a watchful wizard into the tantalizing valley of her burgeoning and plentiful femininity.

The witch's reverie of herself was broken when her crystal ball illuminated to life, sending rays of light across the ornate carvings of her mahogany desk. She blanched when she saw Morgana's Black Moon crazies carving up the tower lobby. Chunks of marble exploded into the air, while much to her horror, expensive desks were overturned and charred, used as make shift pieces of cover as scepters, wands and bare hands were used to hurtle all manner of deadly spells.

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