The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Legend of the Spectral Seal

The Slayer of Gorupth

by Phantom Pen ()

As the Fiend smiled and turned from his mindless prize, he heard a peculiar, keening sound behind him. In the far corner of his chamber, a strange light hovered a few feet above the ground. As he watched, it began to grow in size and shot arcs of lightning, blackening the walls of his chamber. As it grew it became brighter, and the Fiend had to turn his head to avoid being blinded. Then with a burst of light and a final burst of electricity, something materialized.

The Fiend turned and looked. Kneeling there on the scorched floor with bowed head was a figure in armor. A human figure. Resplendent in a highly polished suit of armor, the warrior came gracefully to his feet and raised his head to stare balefully at the Fiend through his visor. He raised one gauntleted hand to point at the Fiend and seemed on the verge of speaking when the Fiend cut him off.

“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you think you’re doing here, puny man?” The Fiend bellowed.

The armored figure was off balance for only a moment. “I am the Chosen Warrior of the Iron Circle. We’ve been trying to locate you since you abducted the girl, and you just now lowered your concealment enough for us to pierce it and teleport me to you. Give her to me, and you may leave with your life. Otherwise, I shall destroy you.”

The Fiend rocked his head back and laughed. “Is this some kind of joke, puny human? I am a Fiend, you are no more than an insignificant mortal. I have slain more of your kind than you could possibly comprehend. Your blades cannot touch me, your armor cannot stop me, and your courage does not impress me.” He leaned his head back and roared again. “And I never abandon what I have claimed.” His eyes began to breathe thick smoke. “Now you have insulted me, and for that you die. It will be a long and painful process, I assure you. And I will enjoy it.” With that, the Fiend reared to his full height, well over eight feet tall and with a thickly armored and scaly hide, clicking his menacingly long, sharp claws.

The warrior reached behind his back and pulled his sword from its sheath. It was incredibly long, the blade itself nearly five feet with a two-handed grip, yet he swung it effortlessly as though it were made of air. Then, with a whispered word the sword changed. The drab metal became clear, then shone through with a radiant light. It transformed into a translucent blue crystal with words that seemed to flow within it. The warrior spun it around in a circle once, taunting, and picked up an aggressive stance. “Come.”

With a snarl, the Fiend pounced.

* * *

The Fiend layed sprawled out on the ground, its black blood pouring from the wounds the eldrich sword had gouged through its hide. It raised the remaining eye to look at its attacker.

The warrior stood proud over the defeated Fiend. Blood covered his armor, most of it black but some red still flowing from where the Fiend’s devilish talons had cut through his blessed armor. His helm had been torn off in the fighting, and his close-cropped hair was sticky and matted to his head. With a flick of the wrist, he removed the Fiend’s hand which still clutched the Spectral Seal. He poised the sword above the Fiend’s twisted neck. “Any last words, spawn of Evil?”

“Who...” The Fiend sputtered, “Who are you?”

“The Slayer of Gorupth.” With a flourish, he sliced the Fiend’s head in half. With a disembodied scream, the Fiend’s body began to disintegrate.

With a visible weariness, he walked over to the girl who was still on her knees after servicing the Fiend. After stripping out of his armor, he pulled out his canteen and poured the water over her face and hair. He painstaking cleaned the filth from her beautiful face and untangled the knots from her hair.

He looked into her eyes, and still saw no recognition in them. “To the victor go the spoils.” With a smile, he pushed her head back and dropped his trousers. He pulled his erect cock out and placed it on her lips and pushed in. She didn’t resist or react at all. His flesh to pound.