The Tide Of Rot Ch 07

The events in this chapter take place around three weeks after part 6. If you read the previous parts it won't be a surprise, but here is a content warning: this might not be a good read for everyone; there will be a lot of nasty things, including graphic description of undead, worms, slime, and similar stuff.

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The throne room was draped in black colors of mourning, and the crowd in it was appropriately solemn - the heir's tragic death was just a part of a much direr problem. King Ruben sat on his formidable throne, a grim frown on his aged face as the debriefing of the sole survivor of the recent battle with undead hordes went on:

"What happened when the army entered the shroud?"

"The protective barrier held, as mages promised. They detected the source of foul magic further in the cloud so in we went... Prince Conrad led the right flank, while I commanded one of the regiments in his charge..." he noticed the king's eye twitching at the sound of his son's name and continued:

"They lured us into encirclement - the enemy leader always was just ahead of us, I heard one of our battlemages swearing he could feel the dark magic source a mile away.

"Several knights advised caution, but it was impossible to secure flanks in the shroud. We could not send mounted scouts into deadly magic, and what use would they be when one could hardly see a hundred feet forward in the damn fog? We marched for about three hours before they engaged us from all sides at once."

"Are you implying they are capable of complex maneuvers and strategy?" One of the officers intervened.

"Absolutely, they surrounded us in complete silence and launched simultaneous attacks from all directions... God almighty, the things I saw... No nightmare will ever beat the reality..."

Queen Rose sat right next to her husband, holding back tears as the somber tale continued. Her precious Conrad rode into the battle in shining armor, smiling and singing upbeat songs, but by now it was obvious her son died on that battlefield. It would be unbecoming of a queen to weep and cry openly, but luckily the black mourning veil obscured her face and no one saw her closed eyes and smeared mascara.

"Regular corpses charged first, tying all our flanks, front and rear at once. Then they released amalgamations of flesh, massive monsters broke our formation..."

"Can you list all forms of undead combatants you encountered?" An eager female voice intervened from the mage representative, a redhead woman with a richly decorated stave holding a notebook to mark all details.

"Archmage Eliza, we appreciate your contribution with the mist-warding spell, but you will have an opportunity to question him more thoroughly later. Surely, my queen does not need to hear all the revolting details", Ruben steered the conversation back from the overly curious attendant while the frustrated redhead slumped back to her chair. She caught hushed whispers, "She is not even an archmage, just an upstart who embarrasses us in front of the king..." and glared murderously at her older, grey-haired colleagues who wisely chose to shut their murmurs at once.

Meanwhile, the soldier continued:

"Perhaps the details of dead soldiers and their tactics are better to be discussed later with army officers. Once the mages were slain the barrier vanished and the battle was lost. I rallied my company and we broke through the enemy's ranks - we lost many but made it out of encirclement. The mist kills slowly, so we had several hours to save our souls. Splitting towards different directions in the hope that at least one would go the right way seemed like the best idea at the time. Looks like I chose right and they were not so lucky." The warrior lowered his head, mourning his faller comrades.

"I know I left my prince and I am prepared to face your judgment, Your Majesty." The man kneeled, showing his neck as if the executioner was already near.

"If you have not fled, we would not know of the battle at all. Tell everything you know to the magic conclave and the marshal, and then I will decide your fate. Take him under arrest, I expect a full and detailed report by evening," the king spoke, signaling the end of the hearings.

"Hey! Don't just take him away!" Eliza tried to intervene but guards escorted the survivor without giving them a chance to speak. She sighed in frustration, then turned and went to the city guard captain:

"Officer! This man arrived in Ostland on a horse? I would like to inspect the mount."

The man frowned, "With all due respect, you are not an expert on treating a horse, besides..."

"I want to study the effect of the mist on the living creatures, you idiot. Where is it?"

The man swallowed the offense and finished his phrase, "... besides, the animal is dead. It succumbed to the wounds from the battle some hours after arrival to the city."

"Then bring me the carcass, I will see at least what poison or magic killed it. Move it to my study," she finished on a commanding note and rushed out of the throne room. By God, sometimes the young magic prodigy seriously doubted the intelligence of everyone around.

At thirty-three she was the youngest member of Ostya's magic conclave - the old senile fools begrudgingly granted her the place but withheld the official rank of archmage despite her vitally important recent invention - the spell protecting from the death fog.

From a very young age, Eliza showed great aptitude for magic and jumped grades and ranks much faster than any of her peers, putting to shame even the most respected and experienced wizards. Without her discovery the enemy would be invulnerable, hidden behind a thick veil of suffocating mist. But as soon as rushing headlong into a battle became possible, the prince and his knights did exactly that with a disastrous result, and now she had to figure out what killed them and what kind of monsters they were dealing with.

The aspirant sorceress returned to her study and prepared instruments and protective clothing to handle hazardous materials; she did not have to wait long until several cussing men hauled a massive body wrapped in gray fabric. Despite the cover, a weak scent of decay wafted in the air, instantly catching her attention - the beast had died only several hours ago, it was way too early for it to decompose as much.

They dumped the corpse into an insulated crate and unwrapped it. The eye-watering stench of death struck her, provoking gagging and huffing. There was something odd about the scent - unusual sweetness to the point of sourness, but the she adjusted to it surprisingly quickly.

Having dismissed the helpers, she finally took a proper look at the deceased mount. There were no signs of agony, no twisted limbs or rigor mortis - the horse just appeared to be asleep, if not for the deep bite marks on its croup. She measured the distance between wounds - the maw that inflicted them was massive, undoubtedly attached to a large monstrosity.

It was hard not to notice another thing - the maggots. They swarmed the deep gashes, spilling out from the lightest touch. Eliza pincered one and tried to study it only to find the worm to stop moving immediately after it was taken. Within a second the vermin disintegrated into dust, leaving her with even more questions.

The familiar rush of facing something unknown, being the first ever to dare venture forward overcame her. In the following hours, the mage carried out a series of experiments, eventually detecting the complex spell that gave them a parody of life. Her talents were just enough to understand the complexity of the magic, but she was nowhere near to completely unraveling it. Consumed by her studies, she missed the gradual distention of the animal's carcass until a sickening sound of ripping flesh announced a new arrival.

A wide hole between ribs opened to the astonished woman and an oblong, foot-long creature emerged from it. At first, it seemed worm-like, but in a moment its body flattened and deformed akin to a slug. His snout moved in the air as if sniffing, then turned towards the redhead.

Eliza snapped out of the shock at the sight of the eyeless, malformed appendage, and swiftly activated the magic seals, trapping the thing in the cage. Alerted by the movement, it scurried back inside the corpse, slipping between jagged bones to hide inside the pile of rotting meat.

"Amazing! Was the mount infected with it? Now I have a specimen for experiments! But how do I get him out of the corpse?" By now she had been working for hours and the fatigue started to settle, so the sorceress decided to sleep on this and see if the morning would bring any new ideas. She put several layers of warding around the cage and started preparing for the night.

To her annoyance, neither magic nor physical barriers could contain the stench. "I will have trouble getting rid of the dead flesh smell if it stays here for a long time. Better hurry with the research. At least the aroma is not horrible, almost feels like strong perfume on some court dame." She inhaled deeply, tasting the rancid but sweet aroma - it permeated her bedroom despite closed doors.

Tired by the day's event she quickly drifted off, unaware of the attention she attracted by messing around the reanimation spell. Many miles away, the ancient necromancer sensed a new opportunity and focused on the mage's mind.

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"Now, let's look at the little genius who tries to unravel my magic," thought Moraen as she uttered the last part of the spell. Figuring out the exact consciousness to reach was not easy, but she used the spawn in the horse's corpse as an anchor and found the nearest person. Now she invaded the said person's dreams, expecting to see an ancient archmage who might be tempted by the promise of immortality or simply broken by her sheer power.

However, the figure forming in front of her was positively feminine. Once the chanting was finished, the elf stared at the middle-aged redhead human female who shook her head, clearly dumbfounded.

"Welcome, dear. What a pleasant surprise this is," the necromancer purred.

"Who are you? Where am I?" They were surrounded by the thick dark mist, but here it felt warm, almost cozy.

"You are asleep back at home, I invited myself into your dream to have a quick chat about magic, if you do not mind." The human's eyes widened at the sight of stunning beauty in front of her - the oldest of all cursed elves, Moraen birthed countless abominations, and now her figure was a sight to behold. Round and curvaceous in all the right places, with heavy, gravity-defying breasts and a round pregnant belly, she looked like an ancient, pagan goddess of fertility.

Even in a dream, Eliza did not lose her sorceress flair, instantly locking on the glassy black shard between two monumental globes of titflesh. She recognized it as a powerful artifact at first sight, growing nauseous after looking at it for too long. With every second she sensed more and more magic flowing through it, its immense energy far exceeding anything she imagined possible.

"You have a keen eye, jumping straight to the most important part. My name is Moraen, and I am here to make an offer of a lifetime." The black mage moved closer, suddenly standing a mere foot away from the human.

"I recognize a talent when I see it. I can teach you spells no one ever heard in this world, help you with embracing your true potential."

"You are behind all that!" Eliza finally gathered her bearings to make a logical guess. "The shroud, the undead! You are their overlord!"

"Yes. This world is going to wither and die, and many more will follow until the whole universe is united in eternal oblivion. And you might have a front-row seat at this show."

Inhumanly fast, Moraen was upon her prey, smashing her colossal mammaries against her partner's modest bust while her plump black lips covered Eliza's mouth. With their mental and physical connection secured, the necromancer released a flood of memories into the receptive mind of the helpless sorceress.

Eliza saw events from centuries ago, watching young Moraen serving as a cleric before the war. The emotions of the young priestess transferred to the human - her initial pious fervor was replaced in time with doubt and forbidden curiosity. Then the elven civilization met the God of death and his legions of restless dead, Moraen was disgusted... but intrigued. Assigned to the army to heal wounded, she was taken prisoner but spared, deemed too valuable to simply be killed and raised. Instead, the Archenemy blessed her with the ability to unite life and death and create a new kind of undeath.

In this fever dream, Eliza lay on the black altar while a freshly reanimated zombie was fucking her, he did not last long and was soon replaced. Each new fucker was more rotten than the previous - their skin became more discolored and gray, riddled with yawning wounds until she was mating with a completely flayed corpse. His blackened muscles and sinews contracted with every powerful thrust, with slime and maggots generously splattering over the panting priestess.

She now knew Moraen's secret - the elf loved giving herself to twisted corpses from the very first mating, her long-repressed lust released in a storm of depravity. Every putrid load made her paler, while her features darkened, and when the wide-opened eyes finally turned black as the abyss, she felt it - something moved in her uterus, a new unlife was growing inside her!

Eliza's pussy gushed rivulets of cum down her thighs as the woman came, moaning into the hot, wet elven mouth. Not giving her even a moment to recover, the necromancer drowned the poor human's mind in a century's worth of pleasure of undead copulation, showing her the most deformed carcasses and disgusting monsters taking her, vomiting their maggoty seed into the cursed womb.

At last, she took the court's mage hand and placed it between two heaving fleshy orbs, right onto the Shard. Eliza gasped when she understood its full might - the power stored in this relic could level mountains and evaporate seas, or raise millions of thralls. Moraen hardly used even one percent of her vast energy pool - she preserved it for the real enemy, the hated Life Goddess clergy and priests.

"This is the way of things - life ends and death consumes all. You can be destroyed by it, or you can tame it, embrace the inevitable decay, and command it. I saw your memories - you are hungry for knowledge, and you dare to step into the unknown while weaklings cower in fear. I also saw other things." The elven whisper became huskier, more passionate. "Home alone, your hand between legs, pleasuring yourself. You never had time to date, always honing your mastery, studying, and practicing. I offer you endless youth and millions of vigorous lovers who will satisfy your every craving. I offer you knowledge and power beyond your wildest dreams and eternity to master it."

"I... I do not know..." the overwhelmed human barely uttered.

"Oh, but you do. Remember, I looked into your mind, and we both know the answer already. My child in your study room will help you see the truth." Moraen snapped her fingers, instantly ending the lucid dream.

Back in reality, the busty necromancer inhaled sharply and rose up. As usual, she was resting on the soft bed made of decaying flesh, full of pus, and inhabited by hundreds of worms. The bedding was a part of a much larger construct - a walking palanquin with a dozen skeletal limbs that carried the pregnant necromancer.

Shael patiently waited right next to the walking pile of dead meat, smiling as she noticed her sister returning to consciousness:

"Got a good sleep?"

"A very productive one - we might have an agent inside the capital even before Thasia and Helena test their dream control spell. Are they still fiddling with the star?"

"Yes, their 'fiddling' consists of covering it with many layers of undead seed. I can get behind this kind of magic." She smirked and climbed up to join the older elf on her spacious cushion. Thick globs of green sludge and swarms of worms were pushed out when Shael's voluminous ass landed next to her mistress, quickly absorbed by the tainted elf. She gave birth recently, but another monster was already growing in her cum-swollen womb. After multiple births, her hips and pelvis widened but she still was yet to catch up to the glorious proportions of Moraen's curves. Shael's breasts and nipples were surprisingly full, much bigger than the last time they spoke, with bulging veins visible under the skin. Noticing her partner's inquisitive stare, the former war hero smirked and explained:

"My latest batch decided to stay with their mommy a bit longer." She pinched one of the meaty nipples, squeezing the inch-long knob. In response, a long tentacle emerged from its center in an explosion of black milk. The thin tendril wiggled in the air for several moments before gradually sinking back into the corrupted elf's flesh. The necromancer noticed one of the veins visibly changing its shape as it hid in the welcoming depths of his mother's mammary and clicked her tongue:

"This happens sometimes, be sure to expel them before they grow too big or they bloat your tits so much it will impede your movement."

"The squirming is lovely, and my boobs are now as big as yours!" Shael pouted, gently pinching her sister's tit. Moraen smiled and pulled her into an embrace, locking their lips, while her hand explored mouthwatering elven curves. Their passionate smooching was accompanied by slurping wet noises from the bedding - two heavy bodies pushed pools of green filth out of the worm-infested meat as two wide and round asses wiggled on it.

"There is still work to be done, we will have all the time in the world to enjoy each other's bodies," the leader whispered, provoking a disappointed sigh from the younger woman.

"I hate when you are right. We sorted out the casualties - most fallen human soldiers can be raised, our sisters are restoring them to a fighting condition as we speak. Some bodies are too mangled; zombies will make a pile of flesh so you can sculpt more colossi. Their force was around thirty thousand strong, and we found some prisoners and kept them alive long enough for questioning - turns out their prince was leading the army! We found his corpse... more or less intact."

"A prince? Intriguing. Show me." Following an unspoken command, the fleshy construct carried them to the site of battle. They saw Melara and Rylae restoring damaged meat puppets - green flashes of necrotic energy illuminated their concentrated faces when corrupted elves connected chopped limbs back to their torsos. Further down the way, Alea trained her minions to use reanimation spells, cheering when Isabella made a corpse twitch. By now all of them had human servants helping with various tasks, and only Moraen was hesitant to take one. The trio waived to the moving palanquin, showing their round bellies before returning to raising new soldiers.

The elves were carried forward, noticing more signs of a recent battle around. Eventually, they arrived at the resting place of young Conrad, his remains already recovered from under a cavalry charger. His serene noble features contrasted with a mortal wound right below the ribs, with one leg broken under the weight of the dead horse.

"I can work with this." Panting heavily, the pregnant necromancer approached the fallen heir, emerald sparks of energy dancing between her fingers. In several minutes, the body was repaired to a pristine condition and raised by the skillful mage.

"He might be useful later to demoralize the city by a surrender call," Moraen observed her sisters in damnation and their servants fixing corpses damaged during the battle and reanimating new ones, and nodded in satisfaction. At this pace, the army will be up and running within a day or two, complemented by the bodies of the recently slain.