It needed to end. The rivalry between the two archenemies was decades-long in the making. Many times they had tried to kill each other - to put an end to each other's encroaching on the other's morals. Every time unsuccessful. Matched in power, strength and ability, the two always came to an impasse, until one fateful day. After numerous war crimes, chaos and destruction, once Horde leader Sylvanas Windrunner and her tyranny needed to be stopped. High priestess Tyrande Whisperwind was the one to do this. With the guidance of the goddess Elune and years' worth of resentment, Tyrande swore to be the victor in their final battle. On the other hand, the former Banshee Queen believed her entwined fate with darkness and hatred would secure her the ultimate win. She would rid herself of the infuriating interfering justice bringer and deliver mayhem at will.
Equal in their desires to be rid of each other once and for all meant taking a different approach to their concluding conflict. In the long history between the two, they would always fail to kill each other in regular hand-to-hand combat. They were such powerful beings that their bodies were near indestructible. As such, they decided to go about it the one way they knew for sure would mean the end for one of them. There would be a duel for their very existence - a fight that lacked weapons or magic in a non-traditional sense. Hidden under the gauze of immortality was a weakness they both shared - the one place they could truly be harmed - the area in which their life essence was stored: their busts. They would fight with their boobs until the weaker one's essence was absorbed by the strongest of the two. It would be the ultimate fight between good and evil with only one winner.
The two long-term rivals met in the neutral Outlands - a place where neither would have an advantage. They came without weapons, but most importantly - alone. They would fight until only one was left. The night elf Tyrande arrived looking as elegant and celestial as ever. Her turquoise hair billowed in the soft breeze, petals from the flowers in it fluttering about her. Her seafoam green gown was light and free of armour. She felt uncomfortable in the open terrain. She'd prefer to fight in forests or familiar groves where nature's spirit was strong. She would use her advanced speed and mobility to stay out of range of her foes whilst taking them down with her trusty bow and arrow. Out here in the open without her weapons, made her feel exposed and vulnerable. There was no cover to hide behind so at least a sudden ambush couldn't be sprung on her. The battlefield remained sparse but only for a moment. Then, her opponent appeared.
The entrance of Sylvanas was made obvious by the shimmering darkness that was the rift in space she walked through. Even after the portal closed behind the Dark Lady, a moody atmosphere lingered - dispelling the otherwise pleasantly clear day. Heavy storm clouds darkened the sky. Sylvanas wore an attire also free of armour. The crimson and golden fabrics she wore in its stead were minimal - leaving the greyish-blue flesh of her stomach, thighs and arms exposed. She was also without weapons but that didn't mean she couldn't just summon some. Not that would pose much of a threat to Tyrande and she knew that. The same action could be performed by her. The only finite way to defeat the other was to engage in the battle they had agreed upon.
The two elves - alike in some ways yet so different in every other sense - met in the centre of the vast nothingness. They stopped a respectable distance of a few feet away to greet one another.
"Windrunner..." Tyrande spoke cooly, a grimace on her plum-coloured lips. "Here to take me out with your puny tits, bitch?"
Sylvanas sneered and took a step closer, replying in an eerie tone, "Tyrande... Your words amuse me, as does your inadequate chest," the woman snickered then circled her prey. "So this is it? Our final battle, " her smile broadened as she got ready to attack, "Come then - unworthy filth - show me Elune's wrath! Maybe it'll make up for lacking bust!"
Tyrande mirrored her challenger's stance; knees slightly bent and fists clenched. "Elune gave me her strength." Then she gritted her teeth and charged as she said, "The wrath is mine alone! And with it, these tits will defeat you!"
Pleasantries over, the fight began. The wrath of Tyrande was immediately evident. Markings on her skin glowed like the light of the moon. Rage bubbled in her white eyes which illuminated with intensity as she crashed her chest into Sylvanas'. The other woman grunted out a series of ughs and ooofs as she absorbed the blows to her breasts - bracing herself by pressing her forearms to them. She was pushed back a few steps, even with her feet planted firmly on the ground. Tyrande didn't allow a second for recovery. She was serious right from the get-go - slamming her chest with intention. Her goal was to break the essence; Sylvanas's soul energy from where it festered in her heart. In the way, though, were her breasts. Therefore the only way to get to it was to use the power of her own essence and subsequently her breasts to rupture the seal. Enough damage to them would allow the essence to leak from the body and be absorbed into her own - thus consuming her enemy's life force and ending her.
"Your essence will be mine!" The two threatened in chorus, only to growl at one another for copying them.
Sylvanas gritted her teeth. As soon as she saw an opening, she attacked back. Her method was different to Tyrande's tit slaps, however. The approach she went for consisted of bracing her hands against Tyrande's - their fingers interlocked as they push against each other's bodies. Grunting noises of strain came from them both as they pushed and squeezed their breasts - equally generous in size - together. This was an effective technique as a hell of a lot of pressure was needed on the bust to get the essence flowing. But doing such was detrimental to them both and would cause the same amount of damage. Knowing this, Tyrande attempted to pull away to dish out a few more chest slaps, hoping to pull ahead in the race for control.
It wasn't long before they both started to notice the effects of the battering so far. As they separated the beginning whisper of essence - pure white in colour - rose like steam from a kettle from the cleavage of Tyrande. She looked breathlessly at her opponent. An equal amount of essence was coming from Sylvanas' bosom but with a distinct difference. The colour of the essence was a deep soul-less black. It was like a sooty fire, dirty and choking.
