I went for a Heroes-verse take on this, working off of Zephiel running across the woman who attempted to kill him. Who knows how death works in that world, honestly, but hey.
While the Askrian keep that held the Order of Heroes was massive, it was inevitable that Heroes from all times and worlds would have a chance of bumping into each other. Usually, this was no issue. At times, however, sparks would fly. And at other times still, the absolute worst would come out in those who crossed paths.
Those with more villainous natures, when not on the front lines under Kiran’s orders, tend to stick to themselves, in the less populated areas of the keep. Zephiel is one who sticks to his isolation with a fierce tenacity, only seldomly backed up by his former subordinate, Narcian. Today is one such day, and the two walk the halls in silence, taking in the nostalgia of each other’s presence. Until, however, their peace is disturbed.
Another disreputable Hero is making her way down the hall toward them, and the sight of her causes Zephiel to grind his teeth. The former king had survived countless attempts on his life, the most prevalent of which was his own father’s attempt to poison him. But another that always stood out in his mind was the Blue Crow’s attempt to end his life.
And now, by chance, she crosses his path. Either this incarnation of Ursula hasn’t failed in her attempt to assassinate him yet, or she simply doesn’t recognize him after his many years of training and growth.
“Narcian,” he growls, keeping his voice low. “What say we have some fun here? I have quite a bit to pay this wretched woman back.”
“Gladly, milord. Things have been far too boring for Narcian’s taste of late!” the Wyvern Lord answers, still showing reverence to the man who once gave him his orders. That is, to his face, at the very least. Zephiel is not a man one wishes to anger, with his tenuous grip on sanity.
And yet the very sight of Ursula, the Blue Crow has enraged him. As their paths converge, the two men spread out, blocking the blue-haired assassin from progressing any further.
“What is the meaning of this?! Is there some grievance between us?” Ursula asks, her tone demanding. “I’ll have you know, harassing an assassin of my caliber does not end well.”
“Quite the tongue you’ve got there!” Narcian says, “But you should really watch how you speak to your betters.”
“Betters? You two?” she scoffs, “Unlikely. Now, stand aside before I make you stand aside.”
“Hmph. You truly don’t recognize me, then?” Zephiel says, his eyes darting up and down Ursula’s full figure. “I am Zephiel, King of Bern! All men will tremble at my name, as they’re eradicated in the flames of dragons.”
Sure enough, the name and title get a reaction out of Ursula. Her eye’s widen, then narrow in anger.
“Ah, yes. Zephiel. One of the ones that got away,” she says, venom dripping from her words. “Do you want me to rectify that, milord?”
“As if a washed up hag like you could manage such a feat!” Narcian says, backing up his former ruler, just like old times.
“What did you call me, you insignificant whelp?!” Ursula asks, taking a step towards the blonde. Before she can reach him, Zephiel’s fist collides with her head, the King of Bern moving surprisingly quickly considering his size and the full plate he wears.
The punch is enough to stagger the assassin, catching her completely off guard. Narcian is quick to spring forward, shoving her to the ground, rolling her face first, and straddling her. Though he isn’t as bulky as Zephiel, his weight is more than enough to pin the mage, who relies more on skill and magic than actual strength to end the lives of her targets.
Even knowing she’s pinned, she struggles, squirming beneath his weight with a desperate ferocity. That is, until Zephiel takes a step toward her, and places the heel of his boot against her neck. He pushes down, letting her know who is in control, until her struggles slowly cease.
“You have much to pay for, wretch,” he says, “Trading coin for lives is pathetic. Humanity is such a blight, and I can’t wait for it to be swept aside. For now, however, I’ll have to get rid of you myself.”
“You fool, it’s not as though we can truly die in this world,” Ursula spits, “What good is any of this?”
“I can make you wish you were dead,” Zephiel says, simply. “Do whatever you wish with her, Narcian.”
“Gladly, milord!” he answers, and the pushes his weight against Ursula’s prone body. She can feel, then, that he is hard, and it isn’t difficult to piece together what comes next for her. Sure enough, Narcian reaches down, freeing his cock, and then works quickly to yank Ursula’s panties aside beneath the revealing robes she prefers. He pushes the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the heat of her sex against him, and Ursula can’t believe she’s allowed this to happen.
“Kiran will never accept this, you know,” she threatens, invoking the Summoner’s name as a trump card. “You’ll both be punished.”
“I believe we both know you lose most of your memory upon coming back,” Zephiel says, referring to the strange magic that keeps them from dying in Askr. “All that will linger is the pain, and you’ll likely think random enemies did this to you, not Narcian and myself.”
Ursula falls silent then, knowing Zephiel is right. Her silence doesn’t last long, however, as Narcian begins pushing into her. He is slow, but forceful, and each inch he shoves into her brings forth another whimper. Ursula can hardly stand the noises she makes, already showing such weakness before her attackers. She can feel Zephiel’s eyes burning a hole in her back, sense him thinking of what a failure she must be, whimpering like some child in the face of so little.
Ursula clamps her mouth shut, determined not to make any more noise. And as Narcian pushes in as deep as he can, she is amazed at how long she’s stayed silent. Even when he begins thrusting, starting out with a steady, rough pattern, she stays quiet. He picks up speed, and his grip on her hips grows firmer and firmer, but she remains silent. Narcian, however, continues savoring how tight her cunt is, even if she has managed to avoid growing wet with arousal so far.
It makes no difference to him, and she certainly wouldn’t be the first beauty he’s fucked into submission. Zephiel, however, seems annoyed by her silence. He kneels beside her head, grabbing her by the chin and forcing her to look up at him.
“If you’re going to remain quiet, this must not be bad enough for you. Is that it, you wretch?” he asks, squeezing her jaw.
“There’s… nothing you can do that I can’t take,” Ursula assures him, through gritted teeth.
“We’ll see about that,” he says, and his hand wraps around her throat. He squeezes, blocking off her air, and watches as her eyes go wide. Each second she goes without air, the thrusts from Narcian grow more intense. Zephiel’s grip is like iron, and Ursula can do nothing to wriggle away from it, cannot manage even the slightest gasp of air.
Unfortunately, the asphyxiation works against her efforts to resist. As she struggles to remain conscious, and her face begins turning the same blueish-purple as her hair, Narcian’s thrusts become more and more pleasurable. The man certainly knows what he’s doing, she must admit, but such thought is far from her mind now. All she can think of now is air, glorious air, and how badly she needs it. She looks up at Zephiel, eyes afire with her rage. She struggles, flailing her arms and hoping for any sort of purchase against the floor, his armor, anything.
But as her eyes lose focus, and her limbs go limp, Ursula knows she has no chance. Just as she begins to lose hope completely, Zephiel releases her. Her body reacts instantly, sucking in lungfuls of air greedily. The blurriness at the edges of her vision fades, as life-giving air flows through her once more. She can’t suppress the euphoria she feels at having her life in the hands of another, having it nearly yanked from her only to be returned at the last second. But that euphoria is quickly replaced by another, as Narcian’s thrusts push her over the edge.
Whatever ability Ursula had to resist was stripped away as Zephiel choked her, and now the assassin can do nothing but ride out the waves of pleasure she feels as climax crashes over her. The walls of her cunt tighten around Narcian, and the Wyvern Lord reaches his own climax, his seed spilling into her womb with no concern.
“Gods, you’re quite the fuck!” Narcian says, pulling out. “Even Narcian must admit, he’s not had much better than you.”
“And I doubt she’s had better than you, considering how easily you made her come. Pathetic, I thought you were a renowned assassin, not some worthless whore,” Zephiel says. “To think you nearly killed me all those years ago. Well, I’m no failure, ‘Blue Crow.’”
The King of Bern draws his greatsword, Eckesachs, and can practically feel the blade hungering for her blood. But how best to end her miserable life?
“Go on and help her up, Narcian. I would like her to meet her end on her feet,” Zephiel orders. “A luxury I doubt she gave many of her targets.”
Narcian rises, then, and tugs her up by her hair. He is far from gentle, and Ursula comes up cursing.
“As I said before, I’ll just come back. We can’t truly die here, you stubborn fool,” she says, yet her eyes betray fear. After all, none of them have died within the walls of the keep, only on the fields of battle. Perhaps there is something to where one dies, that none of them are aware of. In the midst of her thought, Zephiel swings his great blade.
It connects just below Ursula’s knee, easily severing her leg before travelling on to the next. The arc of the blade brings it lower, striking directly against the bone of her lower leg. The blade, coupled with Zephiel’s strength, makes short work of that as well, and Ursula topples to the floor once more, blood pouring from the ruins of her legs.
“Wha-” she cries out, but Zephiel is quick to raise his blade, only to turn it blade-down, and drive it into her toned stomach. It pierces her easily, before striking the floor. Zephiel twists the blade then, and Ursula feels a blinding pain as her guts are twisted with it. She turns her head, vomiting up blood and Gods know what else. In spite of herself, her bladder gives out amidst the intense pain, her piss pooling beneath her as Zephiel pulls his blade up once more.
He stands for a moment, watching her twitch and squirm as her life’s blood seeps out of her, joining the piss and vomit that surround the Blue Crow. It’s a good feeling, seeing the woman who once tried to end his life as she feels her own slip away. He turns the blade down once more, this time bringing it down slowly. The tip rests against her throat, and in spite of how weak she feels, Ursula manages to raise her hands, to grip the blade, as if to hold it at bay. Zephiel only scowls, pushing the blade down, rending the flesh of her palms as easily as paper, as Eckesachs travels through her neck, separating her head from her body.
Her body spasms, then, blood pouring from the opening he left. Narcian looks over the ruin of her body, shaking his head.
“Quite a waste, if you ask me,” he says, “She really was a good fuck.”
“You’re welcome to her now, Narcian,” Zephiel offers, “Though if she does return to life, I’m not sure how that would work with you inside her. Likely best to wait and see.”
“Yes, milord,” Narcian agrees, “And what do we do if she does come back? None of us have died within the walls of Askr’s keep, after all.”
“I feel generous. We’ll do this one or two more times, then let her go,” Zephiel says, “Perhaps that will teach her some manners.”