--- CHAPTER 36: (R18) Bargains in the Shadows ---
The afterglow of their passionate union lingered in the air like a heavy fog, thick with the scent of sweat, arousal, and release. Alleria's emerald eyes rolled back in her head, her lithe elven body convulsing in waves of ecstasy as her inner walls clenched around Arthas with a vise-like intensity that made him groan. She sucked on his tongue with desperate fervor during their lingering kiss, the slight pain from her eager bites only heightening his arousal, sending fresh surges of heat through his veins. Waves of hot nectar surged from her depths, syncing perfectly with her breathless moans that filled the chamber. Arthas could hold back no longer; he thrust deeply a final few times, his hands gripping her ample buttocks firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh. His cock pulsed violently within her, his testicles contracting as thick ropes of seed erupted like artillery fire, flooding her unprotected womb with his essence.
Alleria trembled as if electrified by some arcane force, her sharp nails digging into his broad shoulders, leaving faint red trails on his skin. Her legs stiffened around him, toes curling in rigid pleasure, while her eyes widened in a silent scream of overwhelming bliss. The cross-species union had concluded after twenty minutes of fervent, uninhibited coupling, both participants basking in a profound satisfaction where physical release mingled seamlessly with emotional entanglement, forging a deeper connection amid the chaos of their world.
As the last spurts subsided, Arthas felt the irritations and stresses of the day ebb away completely, replaced by a serene clarity that sharpened his thoughts. Gazing down at Alleria's flushed, disheveled form—her silver hair splayed across the furs like a halo, her chest heaving with labored breaths—he swallowed hard, a flicker of renewed desire igniting within him despite the exhaustion settling into his muscles. She was a vision of elven perfection, her body still quivering with aftershocks, her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat that made her glow in the lantern's dim light.
After what felt like an eternity of shared silence, broken only by their ragged breathing, Alleria stirred beneath him, her senses gradually returning to the present. Catching Arthas's adoring stare, her cheeks burned with a deep crimson blush that spread down her neck. She pushed gently at his chest with a delicate hand, her voice soft but firm. "Enough... I should go now."
"No—once more!" Arthas blurted out, his voice laced with an insatiable hunger that surprised even him. He was a man possessed, his cravings far from quenched by their previous encounter. The raw need in his tone hung in the air, building a fresh tension between them.
Alleria hesitated, her emerald eyes searching his face. She expected some internal resistance to rise within her—a voice of reason reminding her of duties, races, and the perils of such entanglements. Instead, she closed her eyes, whispering so softly it was barely audible, "Then... hurry." There was no refusal this time, only a quiet surrender that sent Arthas's heart racing. Her previous rejections had given way to full acceptance; she was hooked now, the path to her soul breached through the gateway of passion. Age, status, race—all those barriers crumbled before the onslaught of raw, unfiltered desire. Elves, with their extraordinarily long lives, often guarded their hearts with ironclad resolve, but once that barrier was shattered, the fall was absolute and irreversible.
Emboldened by her consent, Arthas wasted no time. He pulled her close again, his hands roaming over her body with a renewed urgency that built the tension once more. His fingers traced the curves of her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples until she arched into his touch. "Ah... Arthas..." Alleria murmured, her voice breathy and laced with anticipation. He lowered his head, his lips capturing one peak, sucking gently at first, then with increasing fervor, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her, making her hips buck slightly against him. He moved lower, his mouth trailing kisses down her toned abdomen, building the foreplay with deliberate slowness.
His hands parted her thighs, exposing her once more, and he dove in with his tongue, lapping at her folds with hungry strokes. Alleria's back arched off the bed, a soft "Oh... mm..." escaping her lips as the warmth built within her core. He worked her expertly now, his fingers joining his tongue, sliding inside her slick heat to prepare her fully. The tension coiled tighter, her breaths coming in short, elliptical gasps— "Ngh... yes... there..." —her body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. Emotions swirled within her: gratitude for his earlier sacrifice, the thrill of forbidden passion, and a growing affection that scared her as much as it excited her.
Finally, unable to bear the buildup any longer, Arthas positioned himself at her entrance, his cock throbbing with need. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Alleria... make you scream my name," he growled vulgarly, the words fitting their heated, uninhibited dynamic like a glove. With a powerful thrust, he entered her again, the penetration intense and passionate, filling her completely.
Their second round escalated quickly, the context allowing for a wilder, more primal energy. Arthas flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up to meet his thrusts from behind in a rough, animalistic position. The slaps of skin against skin echoed louder now, each impact sending ripples through her body. "Your pussy feels so fucking good... gripping my cock like that... you want me to cum inside you again, don't you?" he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.
"Ah... oh... yes... don't stop... mm... fuck me... husband..." Alleria moaned, her phonetic cries interspersed with ellipses for breathlessness, avoiding repetition to keep the sensuality intact. Her body rocked with each thrust, sensations of fullness and friction overwhelming her, emotions of surrender and passion flooding her mind.
They shifted positions again, Alleria straddling him now, riding him with abandon, her hips grinding wildly. The energy turned crazy and wild, her hair whipping around as she bounced, her breasts heaving. Arthas's hands gripped her waist, guiding her movements, his own hips bucking up to meet her. "Cum for me, Alleria... let me feel you milk my cock," he urged, the vulgarity heightening the raw carnality.
An hour later, Arthas lay sprawled on the bed, exhilarated and utterly spent. Alleria had departed moments ago, leaving behind the lingering scent of their union—a musky perfume of sweat, fluids, and ecstasy that permeated the furs. Visions of her wanton expressions replayed in his mind: the stoic ranger-general, hero of countless battles against trolls and orcs, transformed into a creature of pure, uninhibited indulgence. Who could ever imagine her astride him like that, hips grinding with wild abandon, her face contorted in rapture as she chased her peaks?
A holographic interface materialized in his vision—the system UI, a peculiar remnant of his transmigrated existence from another world, granting him abilities beyond mortal ken.
[Task: Liberated Scion(Complete)] What separates a prince's unfreedom from a caged prisoner? Strive for enough freedom for yourself. Participate in the orc war, command a team, and make contributions.
[Task Reward] Language Mastery.
"Language Mastery: You now comprehend all tongues and scripts, from Murloc gurgles to Naga hisses, Elven runes to ancient tomes. No being can deny communication with you."
[New Mission Triggered: Rescue the Red Dragon Queen]
Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder, languishes in orcish captivity within Grim Batol. The Dragonmaw Clan experiments with enslaving her flight. Liberate her for bountiful rewards.
[Task reward] Revered reputation with the Red Dragonflight, unlocked professions.
Professions: Enchanting, Blacksmithing, Tailoring, Herbalism, Mining, Disenchanting, Alchemy, Skinning, Leatherworking, Engineering, and more.
Arthas stroked his chin thoughtfully, his mind shifting from passion to strategy. Faction reputations unlocked exclusive blueprints—alchemical recipes, forging schematics that could turn the tide of wars. Professions were powerhouse tools: craft superior gear, brew potent potions, harvest valuable resources. In his original world knowledge, these skills operated like game mechanics, executing in mere seconds with the right materials. Logically, with ample supplies, he could mass-produce weapons, armor, and trinkets on an unprecedented scale. Tailor to market demands—sell enchanted blades to Alliance troops, healing potions to beleaguered healers—and reap fortunes that would fund his ascent to unparalleled power. This was not just about survival; it was about economic dominance, building an empire from the ground up through ingenuity and exploitation.
His musings were abruptly interrupted as the door creaked open. Onyxia—still in her Katrana Prestor guise, her human form elegant and deceptive—entered the chamber, immediately wrinkling her nose in distaste. "What is that smell? It's... overpowering, like a brothel after a long night."
Arthas waved dismissively, feigning nonchalance as he sat up on the bed. "Details, details. What's on your mind?" He could not admit to ravishing Alleria twice in quick succession, both times culminating deep inside her without any precautions. Such revelations would complicate their fragile alliances and potentially ignite jealousies.
Onyxia shot him a sharp glare, irritation flaring in her eyes for reasons she could not quite pinpoint—perhaps a twinge of jealousy, or her inherent draconic possessiveness rearing its head. "Father says the artifact you seek is with an orc warlock. In exchange for his aid, ensure he receives ten red dragon eggs."
Deathwing's scheme was as transparent as it was audacious: pilfer eggs from Alexstrasza's clutch, transport them to Draenor, and corrupt them into black dragon thralls under his command. Dragons of differing flights could not interbreed naturally, but through magical coercion, he could bend them to his will, rebuilding his decimated army far from Azeroth's watchful guardians.
Arthas pondered the demand, his chin resting in his hand as he weighed the implications. "Stealing eggs risks the red flight's wrath—an endless vendetta that could consume us all. This skews our deal unevenly. Even without his help, I could seize the Demon Soul through force or cunning. We negotiated terms already; reneging now reeks of bad faith and desperation."
Onyxia shrugged helplessly, her expression one of reluctant duty; this was Deathwing's edict, not her own invention. Relaying it placed her in an awkward position, potentially souring her carefully cultivated rapport with Arthas. "That's between you and Father. I'm merely the messenger. If you object, contact him directly via the medal."
She departed swiftly, avoiding any further debate—wise, given her undercover role as a spy within the Alliance's ranks.
Arthas retrieved the Black Dragon Medal from his spatial ring, the artifact cool and heavy in his palm. It bore an obsidian gem—actually a scale from Deathwing himself, pulsing with a faint necrotic energy that sent chills up his arm.
"Black Dragon Medal: Links you to Deathwing. The embedded scale harbors death's essence."
Gripping it tightly, Arthas spoke evenly into the void. "Duke, reconsidering our pact so soon?"
Deathwing's voice resonated in his mind, a chilling whisper like grinding tectonic plates shifting beneath the earth. "Merely an addendum. Deliver the eggs, and earn a fitting boon beyond our original terms."
"And if I don't?" Arthas probed, amusement tinging his tone as he tested the boundaries.
"No matter. Adhere to our original accord, and all will proceed as planned."
Arthas blinked in surprise—Deathwing, the destroyer of worlds, yielding so pliably? Suspicion bloomed like a poisonous flower in his mind; this smelled of ulterior motives, a trap veiled in concessions and false generosity.
The connection severed abruptly, leaving Arthas's eyes gleaming with cold calculation. No one could fathom the depths of his thoughts—schemes layering upon schemes like the skins of an onion, each revealing more complexity. He rose from the bed, bathing meticulously to cleanse the day's residues from his skin, then settled back for rest. Pre-Demon Soul acquisition, all plans remained fluid hypotheticals, subject to change. Action trumped speculation; Deathwing's egg demand was ambitious, akin to claiming the distant world of Argus itself. Conquer first, boast later—that was the mantra of victors.
Logic dictated caution: allying with Deathwing bought precious time, but betrayal loomed as an ever-present shadow. The system's unlocked professions promised self-sufficiency—forge alliances through crafted boons, not through draconic debts that could bind him eternally. Rescuing Alexstrasza aligned with a heroic facade, boosting his reputation for red dragon aid in future endeavors. Yet, Arthas's ambitions veered into darker territories: wield the Demon Soul not just for freedom, but for control. Enslave dragons outright? Tempting, but risky—better to manipulate subtly than dominate openly, avoiding the backlash.
Alleria's growing affection complicated matters further; elves harbored a deep-seated despise for black dragons and their corrupting influence. Reveal too much of his pacts, and he risked losing her loyalty entirely. Onyxia's presence was a double-edged blade—useful as a spy and informant, but a potential betrayer if her father's whims shifted.
As sleep beckoned, pulling him into its embrace, Arthas envisioned vast empires rising under his command: Lordaeron fortified with professional crafts, armies clad in enchanted gear that gleamed with arcane power, potions turning the tides of battles in his favor. Freedom was not mere escape from chains; it was supremacy, unchallenged rule. The orc wars were merely stepping stones to demigodhood, an eternity shared with lovers like Alleria and perhaps even Jaina, if fate allowed.
Outside, twilight cloaked the Wildhammer highlands in a veil of deepening shadows. Muradin Bronzebeard and Rom plotted intricate routes to Grim Batol's heart, unaware of Arthas's secret trysts or his shadowy pacts. Onyxia reported dutifully to Deathwing through her own channels, sensing subtle shifts in the prince—madness tempered by cunning, ambition sharpened by experience.
The mission loomed ever closer: infiltrate the orcish fortress, confront the warlock Nekros Skullcrusher, claim the Demon Soul. The eggs? A potential bargaining chip, perhaps traded for greater rewards—or withheld strategically to assert dominance over even the mightiest of dragons.
Arthas dreamed of power that night, the whispers in his mind urging bolder steps toward destiny. Logic held firm: adapt to the changing landscape, exploit every opportunity, ascend without remorse. The transaction had evolved, but so had the players, each maneuvering in the grand game of shadows.
--- END OF CHAPTER 36 ---