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Zor did not look pleased. He flung his drinking horn to the ground at his feet, where it shattered. The hall quieted.

"So Grothor taught you to fight," Zor conceded. "Well, a war-wolf can be taught to fight just as fiercely."

Stedon laughed. "You underestimate your fellow orcs, then, my lord!"

Roaring laughter of approval rose about the hall. Stedon whipped his head at them, sharply, glaring. "Shut up!"

To Zor's surprise, and Grothor's as well, the orcs did. Stedon walked over and knelt by Majok's body. He cupped the back of the head orc's head and pressed their foreheads together.

"My lord Zor," Stedon said, slowly looking up at him. "This orc died believing I was worthy of becoming one with my true people. What more must I do to prove myself?"

Stedon stood back up and addressed the hall. "His name was Majok! He taught me everything I know about orc history and lore. In the old days, before we learned the art of metalworking, if an orc's foe was a worthy enough enemy, the orc would eat his enemy's heart to make such strength his own."

Stedon walked back over to Jynzek's body. He knelt with one knee on Jynzek's burly chest and worked his blade through his flesh and his ribs. Blood spattered across his face, into his hair. It pooled slowly outward across the flagstones. Back home on the farm, Stedon had done his share of butchering livestock for slaughter. He cut through the ribs, used the blade like a lever to wedge them open.

Reaching in, Stedon gripped the slimy still-warm heart. He couldn't pull it out without damaging it, and the sword was too long to cut it loose with. So Stedon bent down and buried his face inside the bloody ribcage. Jynzek's blood pushed up his nostrils as if he were plunging his face into a stream to drink. Stedon bit down.

The flavor was so intense he gagged, but managed not to vomit. Stedon pushed his other hand in and began to chew the heart flesh like a mutton leg, forcing himself to swallow the raw meat even knowing what it was. His stomach roiled in protest. Stedon had to last long enough to make his point. Then he could afford to be sick.

Stedon came up for air with a gasp. He wiped the blood from his eyes. The entire hall was silent, on its feet. Looking up at Zor.

One of the Best Blade warriors, whom Stedon recognized as being a cuntman from Grothor's night of siring spawn, stepped forward.

"Zor," he said, "Tuskbreaker is more of an orc than I am! If he looked like how he acted, with proper tusks and green skin, you would be demanding the Big Boys give him to your warband as tribute!"

Zor leapt to his feet. "You DARE tell ME what I would do, Valnog?! Maybe you'd like to come up here and take this throne!"

"Well, if Zor is fool enough to turn you down, Tuskbearker, I'm not! I want you in my warband!" called out another orc. "I want you to show us how you Big Boys grew so strong and beautiful!"

"I want you in MY band!" insisted another warmaster.

"And I!" called another.

Stedon stared around him in disbelief. Every warmaster present was willing to look past Stedon's pink skin and tuskless mouth to see what had become of him inside. The old Stedon might have cried in joy. But now, Stedon knew he had earned it. Deserved it.

Stedon faced Zor once more.

"I ask only for the right that any fellow orc would deserve, my lord. The right to join a warband and kill our enemies until I die in battle." Stedon stepped forward. He knew better than to kneel and bow his head to ask for what he wanted. "Now either give me what I've earned, or there'll be one more dead orc in this hall!"

Zor raved at the assembly. "You are all BLIND! Look at this human, masquerading as one of us! What's wrong with you?"

"The only thing wrong here is you, Zor," Stedon said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grothor start forward, and saw Kreg grab his shoulder to stop him. Stedon strode toward Zor, blood still dripping from his mouth to his feet.

"When the Big Boys came to Adaar'kurn, I expected to meet a titan of an orc. Some massive manly sex god who's voice would make any cuntman's loins quiver. Surely, only such an orc could command a mighty fortress like Adaar'kurn. But what did I find instead?" Stedon bared his teeth and pointed his blade at Zor's face. "You are weak. You are fat. You rule from the safety of a stone fortress instead of leading your warband's charges into battle. You are no warleader!"

"I don't have to take the challenge of a human!" Zor spat. He pointed at Valnog. "Gut this pink-skin like the pig he is!"

Valnog looked as if he had swallowed a rotten fruit. He strode forward and wrapped his powerful arm around Stedon's waist.

"His name," Valnog growled, "is Tuskbreaker. And I would rather bear his spawn than yours!"

Stedon looked up at Valnog, who gazed back at him. "Thank you, Tuskbreaker. Thank you for showing my warband the truth. We should never have followed Zor this long."

"I will kill both of you with my bare hands!" Zor raged.

Valnog drew a pair of serrated short swords. Behind him about the hall, the other Best Blades pulled their weapons as well.

"Just try it, slave," Valnog sneered. "Tuskbreaker offered you challenge, and you spat in his face! You rejected your right to combat for your position. So it fell to the warband itself to decide who they would follow!"

Valnog turned to look back at Stedon and grinned. "Best Blades! Hail Tuskbreaker, your new warleader!"

Stedon's mouth fell in shock. The hall took up the chant of his orc name again, louder than ever before. Grothor, Kreg, and Firescar rushed forward to surround him, pounding his back, and finally hoisting him up over their heads in victory.

Amid the celebration, Stedon spied Zor. Two of his former warband held each of his arms while they stripped him bare of all his clothing. They forced him to his knees, ready to begin shaving him hairless in preparation for his slave tattoos.

"Stop!" Stedon barked.

The orcs set him down and he approached Zor's struggling form.

"You really hate me, don't you," Stedon said.

"Wouldn't you?" Zor hissed, glaring murder up at Stedon.

"Not accepting your fate, eh, Zor? That's the most orcish thing you've done in a long time."

The other orcs started to chuckle until Stedon glared them into silence. He turned back and crouched in front of Zor.

"You were great, once. The strongest orc in history, or so I'm told. You deserve better than this, no matter what your warband says. Do you know the ritual I need?"

Stedon could see Zor struggling inside. Zor was proud, but he wasn't stupid. Stedon was giving him a chance to end his life with honor instead of disgrace. It was unexpected.

"I do," Zor conceded.

"If I'm going to lead this warband," Stedon said, "they deserve a leader who will inspire them on sight, not just by his deeds. We both know that, Zor. Do you really want me looking like this, sitting on that throne?"

Zor shrugged off the two orcs holding him. He stared at Stedon. "Even after everything I did, everything I said to block you? Insult you? You'd offer me this?"

Stedon smiled, and put his hand on Zor's meaty green shoulder. "Not very orcish of me, I know. But maybe I plan to create a new breed of orc. And you can help me, brother."

Stedon offered his hand. Zor pursed his lips. He nodded. "Take my strength, then," he said, gripping Stedon's hand. "My soul. Use them well, Tuskbreaker."

Valnog was the Best Blade's shaman. It fell to him to prepare Stedon and Zor. Valnog consulted with his former warleader on the details all through the night. As for Stedon, it was impossible for him to sleep.

The Best Blades were in high spirits at the historic events, and wanted further examples of how orcish Stedon was. Stedon had little choice but to drink and whore his way to dawn, getting to know his new warband.

It was an awesome responsibility - taking the lives of such illustrious orcs into his hands. After the enormous physiques of the Big Boys, the Best Blades seemed like a step down. Stedon vowed to the Best Blades that he would share everything he knew, so that they could gain similar strength and size. But he wanted more. He wanted every orc to know how to train their bodies as the Big Boys had.

Of all the orcs in Adaar'kurn, only twelve were true Best Blades. The rest belonged to warbands who cycled in and out of the fortress city as part of their regular patrols. Many of them wanted a chance with the illustrious Tuskbreaker, but Stedon refused them all. His body would belong only to his new brothers in arms.

Stedon's first act as the new leader was to offer membership to the Big Boys, an honor they accepted gladly. The irony of it was not lost on Grothor, who gave Stedon coy looks even as he suckled on Stedon's shaft in subservience. Stedon went easy on Kreg. He knew Kreg's pride would drive him to rage if Stedon enforced his will and made Kreg bottom for him. So instead he kept Kreg fetching the blood beer through the night.

A new warleader meant whoever most impressed Stedon either in battle or in bed would become a new favorite, and rise in status within the band. The Best Blades certainly tried. They kissed Stedon's mouth and ass numb, sucked his cock raw. Stedon refused to take any ass, though. An orc's greatest sexual prowess came from his ability to fuck, and Stedon didn't want his reputation tarnished before he was transformed.

"Wait until I have my real cock," he boasted to his band where he lay in the middle of the feast table, back propped against a roasted boar as if it were some edible pillow of meat, "I'll make sure none of you walk for a week!"

"I care more about how you fight than how you fuck me," said a pale jade-skinned orc. He was called Axemaster, and his face was a criss-crossed patchwork of scars. He'd barely touched any bloodbeer. In fact, he left the celebrations early to patrol the walls.

Stedon watched him go, noting the discipline in his step, the pride in the lift of his chin. Huge strong hands caressed up his shoulder blades from behind.

"Wouldn't worry about Axemaster," rumbled the largest of the Best Blades, a great mountain of grey-green muscle named Thul. He had been Zog's favorite lover, an orc bedecked out in golden bicep and forearm bands, wearing a loincloth of finest satin and three golden rings in his left ear. He seemed to know exactly how Stedon liked to be touched, because in seconds he had Stedon softly groaning, his cock rock hard.

"He's like that," Thul went on. "But you should see him fight. He becomes an unstoppable beast. He becomes Death Himself. It's glorious to see."

Stedon smirked up at Thul. "And you, lovely one? Shall I guess what your specialty is?"

Thul laughed. "I am old enough to be your father, Tuskbreaker. Which means I have decades of...experience...to offer you. After so long, you develop a reputation. I intend to keep it intact."

"I was the favorite of my old warmaster, Thul," Stedon challenged, "you have high standards to meet."

Thul smeared a playful heavy finger within Stedon's lips, rubbing his tongue and his teeth. "Test me, then, my greater. Put me through my paces."

Stedon shuddered. Oh he wanted to. And he wanted to show Thul all that the Big Boys had taught him of orc love.

Valnog strode into the feast hall with the rising dawn, to find Thul lounging on the throne, naked, huge legs wide apart. His bulging arms lay behind his head while a groaning Stedon nursed up and down on the largest cock in the warband.

Valnog had changed into a scarlet g-string that hugged his gleaming green ass, along with matching footwraps that left his heavy toes bare to be admired. He wore a dragonbone necklace around his throat.

The look Stedon gave him told Valnog his warleader approved. Valnog smirked and greeted Stedon with a slow, hard kiss that pushed the back of Stedon's head against Thul's bloated ballsac.

"The sacrifice is prepared, my greater. We must go to him now."

"Go on, Tuskbreaker," Thul cooed. "I will clean up here and look after the band for you."

Stedon sighed. He left Thul's massive embrace and followed his shaman down into the dungeons below the throne room.

"What must I do, exactly?" Stedon asked Valnog.

"First, you must sleep with Zog," Valnog said. "If you wish to fuck, of course, that is your right. He is your slave, after all. But at least sleep in his arms to build up a connection with him. You must be well-rested for the coming ordeal."

"Is it painful?" Stedon asked.

Valnog shrugged. "The lore does not say. Pain matters little to orcs, of course. However..." he searched for tactful words "...perhaps you should prepare yourself for an ordeal. Without a doubt, the greatest of your life."

"Good," Stedon replied.

Valnog pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a dark stone chamber, triangular in shape. Torches of blood red mage light burned on every wall. Zor knelt in the center of the room. His wrists were chained to the walls behind him, big arms hanging in space. He had been shaved hairless. The tattoos marking his slave status were so fresh, the edges were still raw. His head rose as Stedon entered.

"So. It begins," Zor rasped.

"Bring water," Stedon ordered Valnog. "And unchain this one."

"An orc does not seek comfort," Valnog said gently.

"DO IT!" Stedon did his best to roar the words.

Valnog smiled and bowed his head in acquiescence. The chains holding Zor's arms up jangled as they fell from their moorings. He returned a few minutes later with a clay jug full of cold water and left back up the stairs.

Stedon knelt beside Zor on the stone. Cupped Zor's square jaw with his hands. Fed him water from the jug. Zor gazed into his eyes, silent for a moment. Then he said, "I know not what has driven you so to all this, Tuskbreaker. But I am resolved to play the part destiny has chosen for me."

"The Best Blades are glorious. They are everything I could have hoped for in a warband. You should be proud, Zor."

Zor looked aside. "You honor me with the use of my name, warleader."

Stedon pulled him into a French kiss. "I swear to you, Zor, that every orc born under my reign as warleader will know your name."

Zor reached over and slowly drew Stedon's sword. He pressed the edge of the blade across his heavy chest and cut with sharp precision. Blood welled up.

"Drink my blood, Tuskbreaker. Taste its fire."

Such an act was normally only done between orcs who had become more than lovers, more than brothers. To taste another orc's blood while he still lived was to share one's very soul with him.

Stedon licked along the wound. He heard Zor exhale. Zor ran fingers into Stedon's mowhawk. They embraced. They kissed. Stedon smeared his erection against the smooth roundness of Zor's gut.

"Mmmnnhh."

"Shall we sleep, my greater?" Zor murmured. "Or would my lord desire some pleasure, first?"

Stedon pressed his face against the side of Zor's chest. He started back awake again when he realized he'd nearly collapsed. "Valnog says we need our rest."

"As you wish."

Zor showed no sign of disappointment as he lay on one heavy side and welcomed Stedon up against him. They snuggled on the cold hard stone. Minutes later, Stedon started to snore.

Valnog returned for them some hours later. This time, he was naked. His entire body was painted in savage, primal-looking designs that glowed blood red against his skin. Stedon fought down a wave of apprehension as Valnog guided him toward the rear wall of the chamber and used the chains to ensnare him spread-eagled against the warm black stone.

Valnog stripped Stedon bare and couldn't resist teasing Stedon with a few strokes to his shaft that left Stedon bucking and growling at him in helpless lust. Valnog chuckled and winked before he turned to prepare Zor for his role.

Zor was re-chained as before, kneeling in the middle of the room. Valnog drew a long, wickedly barbed dagger. The blade looked to be made of bone, possibly dragon. Runes were etched all along its length, and a black opal sat within the handle. Even from his position against the wall, Stedon could sense its age and power.

Valnog began to chant. His voice filled the chamber, unnaturally deep. The ambient light began to fade, yet the hellish red fires burned higher. Valnog's chanting rose, reaching a fever pitch, and with it he raised the knife point-down in both hands.

"Zor! Look into his eyes!" Valnog shouted.

Zor bared his throat for the blade and locked eyes with Stedon. Stedon's owned widened. The blade struck. Zor the Undefeatable, the greatest warleader in living memory, dropped dead at Valnog's feet.

Valnog whirled on Stedon.

"Did you see? Did you see the moment of his death?"

Stedon nodded, mutely. Valnog drew the bloody blade free and approached him. "If we are wrong about this, the Best Blades will lose their new warleader."

Stedon bared his teeth, relentlessly fighting his own pounding heart to speak clearly.

"I would rather die than live in this human shell any longer."

Valnog kissed him. Worked his tongue slow and hard around Stedon's mouth. Stedon responded, starting to moan. His penis oozed its pleasure. Valnog teased the blunt side of the dagger's blade along the bottom of Stedon's shaft.

"I am an orc," Stedon begged. "Please, I can't stand this weak pink skin any more!"

"Are you close?" Valnog purred.

Stedon nodded feverishly. Valnog put the blade's point to his heart. His other hand stroked Stedon harder, faster.

"When?"

"NOW!" Stedon howled as he came.

Valnog ran him through the heart. Stedon felt the blade as a cold, foreign stiffness between his ribs. He gaped for air. Breathing was a sharp agony. Stedon couldn't hear his own heartbeat. All was silence.

Valnog drew the blade out in a single sharp jerk. The flames roared with such fury the entire fortress shook. As they roared, so did Stedon.

The wound closed itself. His heart began to beat again. Great, pounding, hard, ferocious beats as he'd never felt before. Like a great drum hammering out a slow war march.

Strength flooded his limbs. He thrashed in his chains, snarling, moaning, feeling the pathetic weakness that was humanity slithering off of him like a sheen of oil under a rainstorm. His mind was consumed as fire consumed a fist full of paper.

"Now we'll see what sort of an orc you'll become!" Valnog crowed, arms wide in triumph.

Tuskbreaker's blood red eyes burst open. The savagery....the passion in them left Valnog speechless. They seemed to take Valnog apart, piece by piece, noting the best ways to tear his head from his neck. Valnog had not felt like such prey since his encounter with a dragon in his youth.

A low, gutteral GROWL echoed out of the writhing half-orc form before him. The face contorted, brows thickening until a hood of shadow covered those eyes, now mercifully shut. The mouth cracked like wet bone, protruding outward into a more proper simian shape.

Thickening hands gripped the chains and started to fight them with loud, angry snarls from the emerging orc.

Tuskbreaker felt his jaw grow heavy. His tongue brushed something. He moved his swelling tongue and felt tusks rising upward. He let out a moan of pure dark joy.

"YES! YEEESSS!"

Tuskbreaker's cry vibrated the very stones of the floor. Valnog found himself moist as a raw steak while he watched, jaw slack, eyes taking in every detail.

The human hair fell out like wheat before a farmer's scythe. Ink black hair, glossy in the mage light, grew upward in a Grunt's mowhawk twice as high as it had been, a great rooster's crest that swooped backward to meet his thickening neck.

Nostrils pulsed wider, deeper, wider still, nearly bovine in size. The nose's bridge crackled thicker to compensate. Tuskbreaker looked positively brutish. Drool ran from his moaning, roaring thrashing mouth.

Tuskbreaker now looked like some ungainly orcish puppet, writhing in the chains with bones far too thick for his still-human proportions. But that changed with every breath Tuskbreaker took.

Valnog couldn't contain himself. He dropped the ritual knife and started finger himself deeply with both hands. For there in front of him, Tuskbreaker grew into a GOD.

Part of it was due to the fact that Zor had been such a large orc. This compounded with the fact that Stedon had begun his weight training much earlier than the rest of the Big Boys. It had been Stedon who'd pushed himself past his limits over and over again. Stedon who'd nearly driven himself into a coma or worked his muscles so hard that he vomited, yet clawed back to the weights the next day for more.

Only now, now that he was becoming an orc, he understood.

Not only was pain a second form of pleasure to an orc, but killing - bloodshed - was a siren song buried deep within their very souls. To deny it was to deny life itself. To indulge in it was to awaken mind, body, spirit, senses, libido, everything an orc was in ways that no human tongue could hope to describe. Gorod, orcs called the sensation.

It was that feeling that ripped through every fiber of Tuskbreaker's being, now. As if his very flesh were MADE of gorod. It fed the orc-equivalent muscles that his suicidal training regimen had endowed him with, and because he was becoming an orc through magic and not through Nature, the feeling bonded to the meat, the sinew, the blood.

Tuskbreaker's feet came to rest on the ground as his height soared past seven feet, past eight feet, past nine, only stopping when a ten foot orcish giant towered there. Pecs like wagon wheels, as thick as beer barrles, heaved up and down so lewdly the mere sight of them made Valnog cum.

Beneath them, Tuskbreaker's abs had developed to such an insane degree that they showed tiny striations of their own. Veins connected them to his massive obliques and to the cobra's hood of his immense lats. Sweat dripped from nipples as thick as spear points.

Tuskbreaker gave a contemptuous shrug of his gigantic arms and the chains snapped as easily as autumn leaves pulled from a twig. He gazed down at his now huge thick heavy hands, each easily capable of crushing a human skull in their grip. He looked past them, caressing wondering fingers up the flesh of one godly arm and clapping his palm for a squeeze against his pectoral.

"Great gods," Tuskbreaker whispered.

Tuskbreaker curled one arm experimentally and even his red eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the bulge that swelled up past his own head.

Tuskbreaker relaxed his flex and regarded the cowering figure of Valnog. He could smell the mix of fear, awe, and lust on the cuntman orc like the aroma of a cooking soup.

"What happened?" Tuskbreaker demanded. "What did you do?"

"Th-the sp-spell is shaped by your deepest desires, my gr-greater," Valnog stammered. "I had heard legends of mighty orcs capable of reshaping their own bodies to suit their wills but..but...I never believed!"

Tuskbreaker took a step toward him that cracked the ancient stones. He puts his hands on his hips and sneered over his massive pecs at him.

"Do you believe these legends now?"

"...oh Master!" Valnog whispered, his voice a squeak. He was trembling.

A slow smile rose on Tuskbreaker's beautiful masculine heavy lips. And with it, his cock as well. Such a monstrous organ belonged on a bull or perhaps even a small dragon. Certainly nothing humanoid was meant to possess the double-wide, lewdly veined, goey and dripping horror connected to a pair of cannon ball testicles.

Tuskbreaker caressed the side of it possessively.

"Do you want my children?"

"NNNGGHH! NNNFF!!" Valnog couldn't speak. Being in Tuskbreaker's presence was torture.

Tuskbreaker picked Valnog up by the waist in both hands. He squeezed Valnog's hips, forcing his legs wide apart. Changing his mind at the last moment, he turned Valnog around to squeeze open his ass cheeks.

"My thanks, shaman," Tuskbreaker declared.

He rammed Valnog's ass onto his dick. Valnog's howl of agonized bliss rose up through the floor, out through the walls, and across the desert. It was the sound of ultimate surrender. Tuskbreaker laughed. His monstrous cock hilted itself in Valnog, disdending his entire pathetic green body.

"I hope you have a spell that lets you survive this," Tuskbreaker sneered.

He laughed again as he started to fuck. His mirth shook the entire fortress. Above, in the throne room, Grothor swore under his breath.

"Boys, I think it worked. We have ourselves a true warleader."

Down below, Tuskbreaker grabbed Valnog's puny and pulled it backwards agianst his gargantuan pectorals. He rumbled as he worked his magnificent new muscles and let them devour the skull, Valnog's drool running down all the way to the central canal of his abs.

Tuskbreaker dropped the insensate shaman to the ground like a carcass. He stormed from each mage fire to the next. He swept the flame up into his mouth, quick as a swatting lion, so that the flames died in his throat rather than the air. They tasted oddly sweet to him. Fed his power. At last, when there was nothing left to fuck, consume, or destroy, Tuskbreaker turned to the stairs that led back to his new throne.

Kreg steadied himself against Grothor as the entire hall trembled again and again. Orcs looked about themselves wildly. What unholy monster had the magic created? Surely there was no orc climbing those stares. Many of the Best Blades drew their swords, preparing to slay whatever horror emerged into the firelight. Instead, their swords clattered to the floor at the sight of Tuskbreaker.

Ten feet tall. A full TON of orc muscle. More hung than a god. To look upon his face was to look upon everything an orc had ever dreamed he could be - utterly fearless, without remorse, without pity, without sentiment. A living machine existing only to kill, flex, fuck, and feast.

The Best Blades swarmed over Tuskbreaker, who opened his arms to receive them. The hall devloved in seconds into a writhing groaning mass of green muscle, sweat, and cum. Orcs orgasmed as he kissed them, humped his arms, worshipped his back and his ass, tore their tusks into the flesh of his legs in raw desire.

Tuskbreaker moved deeper into the hall despite the orcs that clung to him. Eventually he tired of their worship and sent a series of tenses and flexes into his massive muscles, forcing the orcs to crash off his immense body to the ground.

The Best Blades staggered to their feet, naked and cum-soaked, before him. Tuskbreaker surveyed each of them in a single slow turn of his head. Then he reached behind himself and sent a fist punching through the solid stone throne. The top buckled and fell away, down the back. A huge crack rivened the throne's seat in twain.

"This stone chair is not the proper throne for an orc," Tuskbreaker announced. "I will forge a new one on every battlefield from the skulls of my enemies."

The Best Blades shuddered at the uber bass power in his voice. Tuskbreaker narrowed his eyes and grinned at them.

"Go forth, brothers! To every warband in every corner of the world. Tell them their KING awaits them in Adaar'kurn!"