The Shadowed Double
In the depths of the Obsidian Vault, where crimson light seeped from cracked walls like blood from wounds, Vaeloria and her Seven worked their darkest magic.
Ethan, still chained to the stone altar after his exhausting ordeal of licking their pussies, watched through half-lidded eyes as they chanted around a bubbling cauldron. Nyra dropped in a vial of his stolen cum—harvested from his earlier forced arousal. Vaeloria added a lock of his hair, plucked during her brutal ride.
The brew hissed and boiled, shadows coiling into a humanoid form. With a final incantation under Vael's moon, the clone solidified—identical to Ethan in every way: same muscular build, same handsome face, same thick cock hanging between his legs.
But his eyes were wrong—cold, black voids like the Shadows themselves.
Vaeloria smiled, running a massive hand down the clone's chest. "Perfect. A bad Ethan for a wicked world."
The clone smirked, voice a twisted echo of Ethan's own. "What's my purpose, mistress?"
"To weaken them," Vaeloria growled. "Insult the good women. Fuck them, but not where it counts. Make them sick, tarnish his image. Breed doubt and disease among the light-lovers."
The clone's dick hardened instantly at the command. "With pleasure."
They released him into the night, a shadow among shadows, while Ethan remained bound, fury burning in his chest.
The real Ethan could only watch helplessly as the plan unfolded in visions forced upon him by Vaeloria's magic—cruel glimpses of his double's rampage.
The clone started in a small village on the edge of Aeloria's influence, where women had gathered in hope of the Breeder's visit. He arrived at dusk, looking every bit the king they worshipped.
"Breeder!" one cried, a curvaceous brunette with full tits and wide hips rushing forward. "Bless me—fill my pussy with your seed!"
The clone laughed—a harsh, mocking sound. "You? With that fat ass and saggy tits? You're barely worth my time, slut."
The women gasped, hurt flickering across their faces. But desperation won out; they had traveled far.
He grabbed the brunette roughly, bending her over a table in the village square. Instead of her dripping pussy, he aimed his thick dick at her tight asshole, spitting on it for lube before thrusting in hard.
She cried out in shock and pain, but he pounded relentlessly, his cock stretching her ass wide. "Take it, worthless whore," he growled, slapping her cheeks red. "This is all you get—no babies for trash like you."
When he came, pumping hot ropes of cum deep into her ass, she collapsed—face pale, body wracked with sudden fever. The shadow essence in his seed twisted inside her, making her sick: chills, nausea, weakness that left her bedridden for days.
The other women watched in horror, but the clone moved on quickly—insulting each one before fucking their asses raw.
"You're too skinny—eat something before begging for dick," he sneered at a lithe elf, before slamming into her tight asshole, making her scream as he filled her with tainted cum. She retched afterward, skin turning ashen.
"Ugly bitch with that flat chest," he taunted a shy maiden, forcing her onto her knees to suck him hard before bending her over and reaming her ass until she passed out mid-thrust, cum leaking from her abused hole as illness took hold.
Village after village fell to the same pattern. The clone traveled fast, shadow magic speeding his steps. He insulted their beauty, their worth, their desperation—calling them "desperate cum-sluts," "barren hags," "pathetic breeders who don't deserve my seed."
And always, he fucked them in the ass—hard, deep, without mercy. His dick stretched their tight holes, pounding until they begged for release, only to fill them with corrupted cum that left them feverish and frail, unable to stand, let alone fight or travel.
No pregnancies. Only sickness and shame.
Word spread like poison: the Breeder had turned cruel. His image tarnished—women whispered of his insults, his refusal to breed properly, the mysterious illness that followed his visits. Some villages barred their gates; others sent weakened pleas for aid.
The good women weakened—physically from the spreading sickness, emotionally from the betrayal. Pregnancies halted as fear kept them from seeking the real Ethan.
Back in the Vault, Vaeloria watched the visions with glee, her Seven pleasuring themselves around the cauldron—fingers buried in hairy or bald pussies, moaning as they came without weakening.
"You see?" she taunted Ethan, straddling his bound form once more. Her hairy pussy dripped onto his chest as she ground against him. "Your precious light dims. They think you've betrayed them. Soon, they'll turn on you—and we'll take what's ours."
Ethan strained against the chains, dick throbbing despite himself from the forced visions. "They'll figure it out. You won't win."
Vaeloria laughed, lowering her massive tits to smother his face briefly. "Oh, but we already are. Your clone fucks their asses raw, fills them with sickness instead of life. And when the world is weak enough… we strike."
She rose, leaving him in the dark with the echoes of his double's cruel laughter.
Rescue had to come soon.
Or Elysara would fall to shadows without a single battle.