FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Freezing, big dog? 'Shame your kennel is too far."

Leaning on his halberd, Rholo had the impression this patrol would never end, and the constant jokes of his aide Edward did not help.

Far from the Cathedral's warmth or the fresh beer, the white-coated Worgen only enjoyed some comfort in the presence of his fur. Otherwise, he may have ended like the other Paladins from his order: their chilled breath condensing before them, their glabrous face red like rubies. Though he did not gloat in their suffering and wished them a fairer winter. The same he wished for those patrols to have never occurred at all.

Worgen, yet a member of Stormwind's Paladin order, devotee to the grand cathedral of the Light, Rholo was not a mere servant. Gilnean in blood and origin, cursed much like any of his peers, it was through the destruction of his country the man discovered his aspiration and purpose in the Light's grace. And with his name expunged, only to be known as "Sir Rholo", he bore his silvery plate armor, the insignia on his chest, and that blue cape on his back with pride.

Yet, if those red eyes scowled, it was not for his work. But rather a threat that had been roaming the streets recently. One strange occurrence, something he had never expected to witness.

It all started two weeks ago. When one guard had discovered a man on the ground on one of the Old town's streets. Small and cramped, this district was perfect for thieves and murderers to hide there, but what they discovered stood in contrast. The lad's clothes were in tatters, covered with fluids whose scent spurned the nose, and it seemed obvious the man had been the target of some... Abuse.

But what struck them most was his face: once cleaned up; they discovered it was one of Azeroth's champions. However, when he woke up, he seemed a different man. Gone was the hero, replaced by a wanton seeking attention and venereal pleasures.

Of course, this poor sod had been let go and the rumors of that unsettling presence had only abated recently.

But this schema was repeating itself. Over the last weeks, guards or habitants had discovered other souls like the champion. Abused by someone and someone, exposed if not naked, their apparitions were not confined to the Old Town district. Each time, as they woke up, it was no longer the same self. The husband would spurn his wife, the blacksmith ignore his former work, even the guard would only roam the street in the search of something. Each reduced to a shadow of their former selves and driven by one thing: lust. As if in their abuse and violence, they had found something to yearn and desire. But again, never to approach the women... An odd perspective.

So Rholo scowled, forced in the night and cold by a request from the City to the Cathedral. The streets were unsafe and those deranged men had become the subject to dish about. That's why he and his fellows had been dispatched: to find the perpetrator of such crimes. They were either to capture or kill it, as letting that thing escape was not an option.

With a sigh, the Worgen emptied his lungs and turned his gaze right, his retort ready.

"Alas, it is not mine testicles that are freezing." Rholo jested, but heard no groan and flustered exhalation. And he saw no Edward at his side.

In the last years, the aide had become a sort of warming presence: like a tick remembering you pain along with relief by its absence. But the pimpled-faced young was not here, and there were no signs of those auburn hairs in that narrow street. Nor in the previous one, during their patrols within the Dwarven district.

It seemed he was all alone as most would be sleeping or hiding away in taverns in the death of the night.

"Shit! Edward! Where are you?!" Howled the Worgen out loud while picking up his halberd.

There was an eerie sensation within the silenced district. Silenced, too silent. Usually, he would have heard the distant clang of the hammers, and many drunkards would be screaming their lungs out to prove who was the best at imagining figments. But there were no sounds, no cries, nothing... Except for a wet gurgle, and a muffled breath.

The ears perked, the paladin jolted in the sound's direction, his exposed paws barely striking the pavement. Swiftly, he returned on his way, took left. Then right. Then right. Then again right. Only for him to be back where he was a minute ago. But the stifled screams were now closer, and not alone. Not... Alone?

North, south, east, west, the sounds came from everywhere yet there was nothing. The walls were closing upon him, the houses ever so tall he saw nothing of the night's sky.

And this was why he prayed. Not to find his aide, or to have a chance, but to bestow clarity and vision. In return, his weapon gleamed, then glowed like a second sun. A potent energy that brought light and horror.

Where he had been treading the paved ground a second ago, Rholo stood at the edge of madness. Walls, grounds, even the sky above. He was in the maw of a creature, of twisted purple flesh and yellow bones. It had stretched a web of corruption upon everything before him. And where he could have expected a stable ground to walk on, the Paladin witnessed the tongue of a monster sprawling within the streets of Stormwind. And on it, men littered on the ground, slowly swallowed by the cursed corruption. Some were entirely covered, others not. And he saw them. Faces he recognized from the city's guard, old apothecaries who helped him in dire moments, other paladins.

Each of them had been stripped of their armor and weapons, leaving their skin bare. Some appeared unfazed by it, most seemed barely able to open their eyes and focus. And the flesh crept on them, like plants rambling and taking root within. It started with their limbs for the less exposed, then the lower body, before it covered their chest and faces. In the end, each cocoon or swelling within the walls could be a victim too.

But the most indecent part was the pulses within the flesh. No... The throbbing from them as they clung to the bodies and nethers of their victims. This was obscene, but he had... He had to know what was happening. Meticulously, Rholo approached his steel from one of the prisoners. A balding dwarf whose eyes hardly focused on the light, but revealed a tinge of sanity. Except for the tentacles sliding in his throat, and his belly sometimes kicked by an unholy spawn.

From a being that eluded him, even in this place.

Kneeling before the dwarf, a gloved hand gripped the tentacle while another approached the halberd's edge and pressed it against the slimy flesh. And then, he cut through. Purple blood and golden ichor poured from the sliced appendage. Which, in turn, made the Dwarf frantic. As the Worgen pulled and attempted to remove the appendage, he heard the muffled screams. Before he noticed the green eyes alternating their attention to him and the working hands. The Dwarf's chest jolted, shaken by a seizure. His eyes were bloodshot, those blue lips barely moving. Then...

"Duar! Save me!" The Dwarf cried out loud after he had taken a freed inspiration. His gaze ignored Rholo, and he now thrashed against the purple flesh. He was not noticing that, in his wake, golden and red eyes opened from the flesh. They looked, they peered, they gazed upon the armored Paladin.

"Shh! Shhh! It's alright! I'm a Paladin! Calm down, calm down!" He enjoined, before pushing the dwarf against the fleshy ground. "What is happening here?"

"Duar- ... Duar... Where is Duar?"

"Who is Duar?"

"I- I must find Duar. He- He will help us!"

The Dwarf grew hysteric anew. He tried to fight with his bound limbs, but they seemed to... Frail, feeble. There was almost only skin on those bones. But as the worgen observed the movement, he noticed the eyes closing lazily, and the Dwarf freezing.

And groaning. The man's lower body now bulged once more beneath the veiled flesh. His eyes were now glassy, and no longer appeared cognizant. Not as he was salivating over his beard, that mouth ajar.

"By the Light. What is that abomination?" Growled Rholo, as he stepped back. And witnessed a new tentacle slipping in the Dwarf's welcoming mouth... And the flesh gripping that humping groin avidly.

The Worgen had to puke. He had to burn it. And as Rholo gazed upon the alleys, he saw them. The souls nursing on those tentacles; the suckers attached to the oversized chests; the swollen guts with their popped belly buttons; and the hips lazily humping the void.

"By the Light. Edward! Where are you?!"

No longer looking after the Dwarf, the Worgen raced away. His halberd raised, and his paws hitting the fleshy ground, Rholo darted his eyes in the direction of each victim. Over here was another Dwarf, an Elf, a Human, a Worgen, a second Human, a Draenei. There were in such number, he could not make out their faces or from where they hailed. And it continued, as he took turns and turns within those maddening corridors. There was no end to it. Was he running in a circle? The walls were the same, but he never witnessed the same faces.

And then came the question: How long has this been going? How many have been captured? Steadily, the Worgen's hearing focused on his brash breath and beating heart. Even... Even if he managed to find Edward, what could they do together?

He slowed down, his run becoming a strut. Then he ambled and stopped. Those red eyes were almost teary as Rholo finally heard something. A musing, a song coming from the captured men.

Growing, rising, like a choir. But whose deep voices could not pertain to mankind or any mortal souls. They sang, from their fleshy tombs, despite their swollen throat, and they praised.

Duar. Duar. Duar.

We live through you, you help us through.

We crave your existence, we thrive in your presence.

We need, we want, we desire! And you bestow us all, you provide!

Duar. Duar. Duar. Take us whole, swallow our souls, we will be yours, we will be void.

This was madness, and Rholo did not think he could do anything to change this scene. Only then did he look down, and saw the glowing sword at his foot. One familiar, one he barely recognized through the tears. Clinging to it was a hand, a man whose auburn hair covered his pimpled face. And he grinned. "Duar. Duar. Duar."

And Rholo drowned.

He awoke with a splitting headache, seemingly sitting on... In the middle of nowhere? No walls, no firmament above, no fined ground. The Paladin was sitting on a mirror reflecting an empty void, ephemeral clouds forming within the reflection only to dissipate. But he could see himself in the mirror. What shed light unto him, he did not know nor perceive. It did not source from anything close or far, nor himself.

Moreover, as he glanced around, Rholo noticed his lack of... Attires. Except for baths and ablutions, the Paladin had covered his body with clothes or steel. At this instant, he was here and plain naked, in an unknown place. In display for anyone to witness.

In the pervasive light, his white fur seemed to be a beacon beneath which muscles and skin bulged and coiled, ropes traced by the eyes and touch. A mere flexion produced a tense startle from the flesh, whether of those elongated arms or legs with upturned articulations.

His V-cut torso ended in defined abs, then a generous groin: his plump sheath certainly augured a large manhood whilst his testicles were hanging, eye-catching, and apple-sized. He had no reason to be ashamed of his body but his order and faith was to keep those temptations away.

Therefore, he averted his gaze with a chaste expression.

Towards that empty landscape that seemed to never end.

One fact he desired to prove and try. Rholo stretched his legs and arms, but as soon as he pushed forth, he felt the tug. Fetters and manacles, bondage unnatural and inhumane. He did not feel the weight of iron shackles yet the strength of his binding proved stronger than the Paladin. And there he stood.

Alone... Not anymore.

It was a chill in his spine that tipped Rholo off on the foreign presence. And a glance over his shoulder revealed... A voidwalker?

It was a creature whose shape resembled vaguely a humanoid, with broad shoulders and arms ending with claws. Their lower body ended in coalescing mist which followed their sliding dark form. But from that form pierced two purple eyes that gleamed with malice.

"Welcome, Paladin." Intoned the creature with a toneless voice. It merely stood a foot away from the Worgen while floating around him in a circle.

Those creatures sourced from the Void, hence their name, but they were hailing in Azeroth by the presence of Warlocks and mages who dipped in magic that had destroyed many lands before. What scheme stood behind the creature?

"Fiend." Spat Rholo, though he obtained no reaction from the creature. "Let me go before I chase your summoner and sent you back to the hell you hail from!"

This time, the creature reacted and laughed back. The blood of the Paladin chilled.

"Good luck. I have no summoner, nor do you have any way to escape my home." And this... was unheard of. Most Voidwalkers were impersonal, cold, never to betray any emotion. Or even desire for a... Home? And this affirmation about having no summoners.

"No? Do not lie to me, creature. And I will escape... From your "home" as you call it."

"You can call it my nest, lair, or use any word preferred. But I don't lie."

There, the creature stopped right before the Worgen and hovered closer. Instantly, the bindings tensed, taking away any freedom he had retained.

Without fear, the fiend moved close enough to extend a clawed hand to the Worgen's face, despite the man attempting to shy away. A collar formed around the neck, invisible yet stiffing his breath. There, satisfied, the creature began to stroke those cheeks. It disregarded the danger those hands represented: the claws could easily rend his flesh and crush that skull. Each caress met the apprehensive gaze of Rholo. Sweat poured along his temple, beneath his arms, and a drop danced while tracing the arced spine. His skin cooled, his hair stood up.

"Wha- What do you want? If you have no summoners, you don't need anything."

"Oh, but I do desire. Yours. Your desires, mortal being."

Almost in answer, the formless shape narrowed the distance between the Paladin's jaw and that gaseous body.

Up close, the creature's skin, or whatever it could qualify, proved to be volatile. Forming and dissipating within the second, though no breeze could undo that demon. Which got closer, closer until Rholo experienced the presence of something cold pressed against his lips, then teeth. Something absorbed the heat from anything it was exposed to. And it pushed, attempting to pry his mouth.

He moved his head, thrashed his bound arms right and left, merely to delay the inexorable.

"Let me-Urf!"

He screamed, then gurgled. The cold appendage pushed through and invaded the serrated muzzle with a disregard for Rholo's comfort. Frightened red eyes met the satisfied purples.

The worgen flailed his elbows, his knees, in vain. Their range did not permit him to reach the creature or hit, whilst the tentacle pushed deeper into his mouth. Instead of gaseous, it was a clear and fleshy texture he experienced against his taste buds. Rubbing, squeezing, it felt akin to a tongue. In contrast to saliva, it was a more viscous liquid that oozed from all parts of the tentacle. And tasted like spit. No, not like spit. Something familiar, he had forgotten.

The organ pushed in the absence of a gag reflex, the throat numbed by the touch. Only a gurgle escaped the mouth as the man drowned. And tried to remember the origin of this reminiscence.

A souvenir. A forgone memory he had thought forgotten.

And there it was. The tongue of a lover as young as him, an ephebe whose blond hair was maintained in a ponytail. His skin was fair, devoid of any freckles, proper to his age, or default. Even the green eyes were perfectly shaped, their gaze lustful as always. And those thin lips, with a pinkish hue, were so hungry for him. For his touch.

Shutting his eyes, the worgen attempted to close his maw and crush the tentacle. It was not him. It was an illusion! He had to escape, to flee. And then, Rholo watched the narrowed eyes burn with malice, while the tentacle thrust beyond his uvula once more. But he did not choke or feel the lack of air. He sensed a tension within his esophagus with each second passed by the Voidwalker. But no pain, no suffering. He merely felt his body giving in, his hands by his side.

And he heard it again, uttered.

"You are a fierce soul. Your arrival is fortuitous."

It was wrong, he had to fight. He could not let the foul creature invade his body, let those fingers inch closer to his ears. This was corruption, the degrading shadow.

"Do not fear, child of the Light. I am here to ease your worries."

The creature spoke without using his mouth... If the concept of a mouth applied to a Voidwalker. And it seemed to listen to his thoughts. Curses. All of his fear, worries, and desires were laid bare.

"Indeed. I read through you. And you've been longing for contact, dear child."

The voice of the creature rumbled through his mind, deep like a tremor, clear like water. And with it came the sweet nectar against the Worgen's tongue. A liquid whose sweetness could only be equalized by its intense tartness, then slightly bitter touch. But not in amounts that offended his tongue, the opposite. It danced and caressed his taste buds whilst uttering promises.

Rholo's breathing steadily increased though no air moved. His lungs filled and emptied though he sensed no exhalation. His fur, below his arms and legs, was damp with sweat. His skin clung to his muscles and articulations. His heart raced within his chest, and a slight tremor spread over these hands and feet.

And he was liberated.

His hands were free to reach, grasp, hurt.

His mind ran, fled, raced. Freedom at last. He could raise those digits, close them in a fist. His weapon would be somewhere, there was a possibility for him. He just had to punch the... Creature.

But the digits did not close, the fist unclenched. And he caressed the Voidwalker's form. Despite what he knew and had experienced, the shape remained firm beneath his palm. Cold, yes, but pushing back.

It was there.

Despicable, horrible. Stings of fear, horror, disgust. He had been longing for something, for contact. Fear of showing himself, horror in his shape, disgust in his weakness. Yes. But he did need to suffer for it.

Should he truly hate someone who helped? It... It was normal he was afraid. He had seen the gift in its most ominous form. But many dreamed, many experienced dominions over their sufferings. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. He shouldn't refuse the gift. The liquid dripped against his tongue. Yes, he did not need to fight. After all, he was so weak. He had always been so weak. Even heeding the call from the Light was arduous, had always been too arduous. The appendage pushed deeper and pushed within his stomach, sensing it churning while oozing this nectar.

"It feels better to accept it, Child. Let me take the strength that burdens you."

His lungs filling without air, the Paladin stroked the purple skin while he spread his legs and almost beckoned the creature to step closer, to help him.

Duar... Yes, that was its name, it was not there to engender pain or suffering. The Voidwalker was kind and magnanimous, he was for them. To give another drop of this unctuous nectar.

How long had he refused the touch of his lover? The caress of that desired memory?

Rholo offered no resistance, as if his feeble body could, when the Voidspawn slid his hands lower; along his cheek, his jaw, neck, collarbone, soft pectorals, flat abdominal... And stopped above the groin. There, the cold palm roamed and circled, as if inspecting the prize. Lascivious fingers scratched the soft hair, rubbed it in.

"Pray. Child of the Light. Call your might."

Whispered the creature insidiously, before those eyes lowered towards the groin.

Towards the red tip escaping the white and plump sheath: its canine form finely developed as it expanded beyond those soft ridges. The tip was jagged, the whole length soft and coated with sweat and precum. And in the refulgent twilight, the cock retained a certain gleam. A gleam that only stopped at the base of the 8 inches cock, with its last centimeter still concealed by the sheath. Even though the bulge from its prize was there: a needy and girthy knot.

For a moment, the Voidwalker narrowed the hand, eager to caress before it stopped with a restrain. One word was uttered: "Not yet.". Not yet as the cold claws dragged along the thighs and then on the Worgen's asscheeks. There, their icy caress could never be chained and restrained while they pushed through the warmed crack, and then through the hole.

Not against, through. Barring any forewarning, the creature plunged one index inside the tense and virginal hole, stealing a squirm from Rholo.

A squirm, a squeak, a mewling whilst the creature progressed and pushed a second finger through. And at no moment did he experience pain from the penetration, nor discomfort from their physical presence. It was this glacial touch. It stole warm, it made him tremble and numbed his insides. Even as the fingers moved back and forth, only the echoing slick slick betrayed their presence to the Worgen's mind.

After all, he was bound. Not by steel, by magic, but by that perfect kiss.

His lover's kiss, so tender and warm, yet cold.

Despite the tremble of his weakened digits, the Worgen reached for the creature and touched that body, sensing the frigid sensation going through his veins as he cajoled, and caressed the voidspawn.

He... He loved Duar. He loved anything it would do.

Therefore, he entirely discarded the freedom given: of movement, from gravity. He was weightless as the creature lifted him with one hand. In their distance, their embrace did not break or tear. The lover's tongue expanded beyond those lips, over the cusp. It bulged and distended though never to spill its nectar.

And now, he could see. The large voidwalker bore him with both hands, ensuring Rholo was afloat and at the proper height. Despite being a voidspawn at root, Duar possessed a more defined body. There were no muscles but strength underlined the creature that wore those spaulders with gusto, all to put forth the broad shoulders. The torso itself ended in a V shape and a thin abdomen.

Yet, at the limit between gas and body, stood something unseen and unexpected. A girthy black uncut cock, whose flesh was as deep as the night. And yet, it glistened in moonlight's absence, tantalizing the Paladin who could not pry from the defined veins or even the filled scrotum below.

That vision was as absurd on a Voidwalker as it enthralled the Paladin. Who kept accepting the kiss, and the nectar from it.

And though the fear hammered through his devious thoughts, Rholo rose his thin arms and joined them before him, to feel fetters unite them. And it pleased Duar who slid its hands under each knee. There, maintained in the void, in the air, without any need... The Paladin welcomed the creature and spread his legs further, exposing the gaping hole beneath his testicles.

I need it.

That line of thought ran through his mind, while the Voidspawn approached its penis. The tip was round, with a defined urethra though no fluid emanated from it. It was a facsimile, a likeness bestowed by Duar. But the Voidwalker peered his thought, knew what the Worgen truly desire. There was no shame in accepting that fantasy, Duar would welcome them all. And the Voidspawn rammed through his hole. Numbed, the orifice did not explode in a concerto of pain and suffering like expected. No, Rholo's hole was perfectly fit for his lover, perfectly made for a man. And Duar's cock was inside, at its proper place. The Worgen arced his back whilst the fingers danced and joined, same for his jaw he clenched despite the feeble muscles. That icy sensation within him, he had desired it for so long.

After a second, the Voidwalker was inside to the hilt, the scrotum pressed against the round Paladin's cheeks. In their contact, another jolt scoured the Worgen's body, from the glacial touch along with another sensation.

Beatitude, whose tendrils wrapped around the tendons, the nerves, the muscles, the bones, the organs. He should have been trembling, yet there was none. It felt even warmer as the creature cautiously pulled out this magnificent cock, then thrust it in. And once more, the hips swayed at a steady pace.

"Give it to me, Child of the Light." Spoke the creature, as the tentacle within the palate bloated and inflated, almost crushing his jaw and throat. The tendril throbbed within the mouth and more ichor coated his tongue whilst his belly bulged from the added liquid.

He was feeling heavier, but his mind seemed so clear. So much clear. So... At peace.

"Gnghhh" The Paladin groaned, though still stifled by the invasion.

And between his legs, he saw his manhood spraying the Voidwalker's body with white fluid. His hardened cock spurted hands-free, without stimulation.

It was a gift to witness his 7 inches penis spurting with so much energy for... Yes, his master.

"Give!"

A shock suddenly pierced the Worgen's spine. His enervated fingers and fists clenched while he arced his back further. His head was thrown back whist the Voidwalker's penis pushed his prostate. Once, then twice, then thrice. Brutally, without respite, it abused the tender organ and stole muffled moans from the teary Paladin. Another ejaculation was taken from him.

"I need more!"

The Voidspawn seemed frantic, and awaited more from the Paladin... And gave no pity as tendrils formed from his body and latched onto the chest of the man. Disregarding the hair, they attached to the erected nipples and bestowed their glacial kiss. They suckled and gripped until the nubs poked through the fur and distended.

"More, mortal!"

Maintained the creature, its rhythm changed from a regular thrust to a gut-punching pace. And it kept milking, whilst its form grew and strengthened. The poor numbed Paladin could only relish in the pleasure before he looked in front of him, and meet eyes to eyes with the fully-armored creature.

His hands and legs bound, he could not clean the purple plate covering the arms and torso but admired the defined muscles beneath them. But, he was so stupid... He was a weak mortal. It was impossible for him to maintain the armor, he was just there to be used and... Yes, feast on the nectar.

His belly was round, perfectly fit for a being like him... Though the taut skin revealed the movement of that enormous shaft crushing his guts, rocking his body. Duar had such stamina for its lovers.

The Paladin grinned whilst experiencing the cold embrace to his nose and ears. He had no need for those after all. Breathing was impossible, nor smell anything. But as the tendril pushed in, so followed a hearty perfume that only existed in the depiction of Eden.

And hear... He did not need to talk to make himself understood, his master did not use such base methods. The Paladin sensed a few drops of a hot liquid along his neck as the tendrils pushed.

"Give me all that is yours!"

Ordered the creature in his mind.

And what else did the Paladin possess? His belly was full of ichor, his body rocked by the voidwalker's thrusts. And below, between his legs, that 4 inches cock was only spraying a few drops of cum within a sea of precum.

Senseless manhood that could not compare to the massive cock that was bulging through his belly, bigger than what he had taken five minutes ago, years ago. It crushed his insides and carved them until they adapted to the forceful presence within.

Even his prostate had been forced to adapt and though he still felt a tingle, he no longer needed those mind-numbing orgasms, each time his lover took and breed him. What was the interest of a cocksleeve to cry and squirm?

Take it.

In a moan, the Paladin shut his eyes and admired with a certain distance the tendrils rushing to his 3 inches cock, watching them coil around the pathetic length. Some even played with his cherry-sized nuts and tugged them brutally. They were almost ripping the scrotum apart, with how taut the skin was. But it endured whilst another set of tentacles pushed within the Worgen's urethra.

Down and coiling, pressing, their presence bulged beneath the groin before they pervasively surged under the skin.

They squirmed, akin to parasites, and crawled until their bulging existence reached the testicles themselves. A pang of cold reached the Worgen's mind, the clawed fingers curled. Rholo was blessed.

At first, the oval forms seemed to wither and shrivel, their features crumbling. But then, the tendrils moved deeper and the forms bulged anew. Bulged, throbbed, moved. No longer round or oval, tiny ridges marred the outline of those testicles that grew bigger by the second. This was as beautiful as odious.

Thank you.

Whispered the Worgen while gazing upon his swollen belly, the fattened chest explored by the feelers. He could no longer raise his arms to caress this bestowed body, but it was alright... Duar would do this for him, do everything for him.

And looking up at his lover, watching the enormous Voidwalker looking down on him. Compared to the creature, Rholo was a mere twig, something that could break at mere movement. But Duar never made any mistakes as it kept thrusting inside him, his guts entirely crushed by that cock as big as his arm.

And Rholo smiled at the Voidwalker, happy. Before the pressure of the tendrils in his ears increased. He heard a whistling, then nothing. Then nothing.

-

Duar watched the Worgen, entirely coated and covered in flesh.

The halberd was laying on the ground, close to the seizing hand, along with the armor that had been stripped.

Laying on the ground, his body entirely covered with flesh, one of the numerous victims sprawled within this maze. Though Duar possessed a sense of intimacy with the Paladin. With his strength, the creature would be able to extend its influence further.

And those eyes filled with malice enjoyed how the poor pup was giving himself to the void entirely.

But before he could observe the rocking body any longer, he heard cries. Deep, frantic, hysteric, along with the loud steps of someone clad in armor.

A group of Paladins to feast upon.