Heleion Archives

            "I can't believe it. Two in a row!" Griyis, a Stygian human Hirdriar, exclaims in frustration as she slams her cards onto the table, displeased with Szairon's consecutive victories. The white cards, adorned with vibrant depictions of saints and kings, gleam under the radiant glow of the embedded ceiling glowstones. The room itself echoes the design of northern homes, characterized by sturdy wooden walls boasting a rich reddish hue that matches the furniture.

"I'll take a breather," she says, leaving her Hirdrian Type-III jacket draped over the back of her chair. She contemplates briefly whether to bring her RMG (Rapid Magical Gun) with her, secured on the weapon rack by arcane energies, but ultimately decides to leave it behind. As she zips up her corset vest, she prepares to take a momentary break from the intense card game.

"Want to shuffle?" Szairon asks the sole elven Sister, as Griyis exits the room and closes the door behind her. She lets out a sigh and takes a step outside, holding a pack of cigarettes in her right hand. With a flick of her wrist, a cigarette flies from the pack and lands perfectly between her glossy, reddish-brown lips. As she walks, the snow crunches beneath her feet.

She makes her way towards the windows, appreciating the enchanting scene before her. "This never gets boring," she murmurs, leaning against the wooden railing of the balcony. The moon's silver light reflects on the mirror-like surface of the lake, casting a gentle glow upon the nearby forest.

Her inky locks cascaded luxuriantly down her shoulder and chest, their glossy sheen catching the light. They framed her devilish and alluring face, which exuded an air of abyssal elegance that could easily be mistaken for that of a succubus. Sprouting from her dense and even fringe, her long and gnarly horns possessed an infernal texture with veins of fiery flames. Her fiery irises, burning with a violet hue, blended with the intense silvery glow reflected from the lake that surrounded the small island where their guard post was situated.

As she flicked the cigarette away, her gaze caught sight of a slender figure moving in front of the shed's single window on the opposite side. A mischievous chuckle escaped her, lending a slightly wicked air to her demeanor, though no one was there to witness it. "Maids on the other side, everyone else inside. Jackpot!" she murmured, her hand reaching for her wand pistol holstered on her belt.

Descending the stairs with deliberate slowness, her thick blouse with folded collars, extending down to the upper baseline of her chest, stirred softly with each silent step. Even as her feet met the snow-covered and muddy ground, her movements remained utterly muted, courtesy of the inscriptions placed in them during their production. Illuminated by the moon's gentle glow, she navigated through the darkness with clarity, gradually approaching the shed while keeping her fully metallic wand pistol aimed at the slightly open door.

Her mana flowed through the arcane points within her honed and slender body, as she attempted to sense any sign of life force within the small wooden structure. Detecting nothing from within, she maintained her pistol's steady aim at the door, cautiously closing the distance. As the door slowly creaked open, her field of vision expanded, revealing only silence and the cramped confines of the space before her.

"For once, her paranoia may have paid off. But not this time, Gri," she murmured to herself, a tinge of dejection evident in her voice as she closed the door and meticulously inspected every corner. Adding layers of inscriptions to her eyes, she sought to enhance her perception. "Let's hope my luck turns for the better in the next round after this," she sighed, her hand reaching for the handle.

“Hhnh” Her expression quickly transformed into a muffled yelp as a leathery sensation clamped over her mouth, accompanied by a gelatinous feeling and a sweet scent that left her senses reeling. Another hand wrapped around her waist as she found herself falling onto something soft beneath her back. Pitch-black legs, adorned in some form of leathery attire, entwined with hers, intensifying her struggle to break free. Within a matter of seconds, her eyes closed tightly, her body becoming limp.

A series of clicks and two short tears follow, reaching only beyond the door before silence settles on the otherworldly scenery of the backgarden.

**

“Nnmn nph. Nph fmmmph phn gnnn.” Gudlangtriel lets out a long and soft unintelligible sound thanks to the small, glinting sphere between her soft lips. Her whole body in heat, the crotch rope cutting deeply into her private area making it even more hard to get herself free. Especially with the enchantments stopping her body from reaching the climax, making it somewhat a torture.

“Nn, phhmphm mmmrm prnhnhmm mghpmnphnfm” At first, she tries to use her sharp claws inherited from her red draconic lineage, but opts against after thinking how much it may have costed for Zina to get these premium ropes. While her darker side already imagines how tightly she will bind her friend with it when she gets free. Her victory is secured once she gets free, knowing how Zina likes to be bound and gagged as much as she too.

She instead opts for trying to struggle a bit to loosen the knot behind her wrists. If she gets that loose enough, the rest is easy. Then as she makes slight movements with her upper body, the rope connected to her crotch binding accidentally pulls it making her let out a loud muffled moan. Yet in the end nothing taints her soft panties, while her reddened cheeks puff out as she breathes deeply while staring down at her chest covered in the arousing rope and sealing tape.

After the warm sensation starting in her vulva, spreading all over her body in waves, dies down a bit, she continues her struggling. This time she goes at it with soft movements to not pull the connective rope once more. Meanwhile, Zina watches from a reflective mirror, her right hand slipping into her vagina while her lacquered dress is zipped open as she lays on her bed, exposing her ample, gleaming smooth breasts.

**

"I'm going to check out the restroom." Rannothil, the sol elven Hirdriar, stands up after removing her corset vest. "Sure, Griyis may have another smoke," Szairon adds as she too gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen to retrieve some food left by the maids

Rannothil steps into the bathroom, momentarily blinded by the dazzling snow-white tiles when she switches on the glowstones. The bathroom itself has been enchanted to create more space, extending beyond the natural boundaries of the building. It features nine stalls that stretch towards the east, each with a wooden door and walls coated in raven-black paint adorned with shimmering silver runic signs that change depending on whether a stall is occupied.

Inside each stall, there is a bidet with a warm, grayish-black fur seat that keeps bottoms comfortably warm even when pants or skirts are pulled down. The spraying conjurer inside the bidet is filled with a crystal constantly supplied with mana from the cellar, where the golem engine tirelessly operates day and night.

But Rannothil's first stop is the mirror facing the stalls, spanning the entire southern wall above the handwashers, mirroring the number of stalls. Her fiery irises reflect back at her with approval as she adjusts her blouse's collars. The glow of a sunset embodies her hair, a long pixie cut parted to the right, blending vibrant orange and gold strands together. Her elven face is both daring and elegant, exuding a captivating allure.

Her complexion radiates a rich, honeyed glow, reminiscent of sun-kissed fields in the south, while her plump lips shine with a reddish-golden hue. "Well, Ran, you still look fantastic," she notes to herself. She then effortlessly slides her blouse's sleeves back, a motion resembling a cannon retracting within a tank's top part, seamlessly disappearing beneath itself.

With her preparations complete, she enters the stall to relieve herself, whistling absentmindedly, unaware of a shadow passing overhead. Slowly taking shape, the shadow transforms into a slender, feminine figure with perfect athletic curves and muscles. The Thief hovers upside down from the ceiling, drawing closer to the whistling sol elf, and silently casts a spell to engulf the entire stall in a silencing inscription.

Then like a spider, she strikes at Rannothil who finishes pulling her pants back on, covering her mouth and nostril with her right hand drenched in some kind of gelatin leading to the struggling and yelping Rannothil going limp and silent.

**

“Ran?” After looting the cooling box, stacked with handmade sandwiches filled with Nairenthian boar roasted meat and Hoshigawan mayo, Szairon returned to the main room, placing the tray on the table. She found the absence of both Griyis and Rannothil strange. First, she went out to look for her Stygian Sister, but after searching all over the balcony, she headed inside to call for Rannothil.

Her senses, akin to those of a spider, started tingling as she noticed the eerie silence upon stepping back into the main building. She quickly grabbed one of the RMGs from the weapon rack, tightly gripping its long handle that also served as the trigger. To activate it, one had to pour their mana into the long tilted handle with runes engraved into the Magitritium it was made of. The rest relied on their will and the inscriptions carved into the mana crystals embedded inside the handle.

For most of the RMGs, the inscriptions were for basic mana bullets that could penetrate walls enchanted with either low or mid-level protective spells, while a few had added explosive or other types of spells inscribed. The lethality of the basic bullets depended on the user's will.

Szairon stops in front of the toilet door, extending her detection inscription into the room. There, she senses Rannothil's presence in one of the stalls, unmoving. After detecting no other presence, she slowly opens the door while keeping one hand on the handle of the RMG, aiming its long single barrel forward.

She takes a few cautious steps towards the stall, unaware of the Thief hiding behind the door that opens inward. The RMG slips from her hand and hits the ground with a metallic thud as Szairon's mouth is suddenly covered. She starts to perceive the sweet scent of the gelatin, and decides to play along, gradually reducing her struggling while closing her eyes. Her kind, thanks to the Archfey known as the Spinner of the Night, are highly resistant to sedatives and various poisons, making them the ideal guards.

"I love this job," the Thief exclaims, mistaking Szairon for an Umbral Elf, who possess similar resistance but only against lethal poisons. Sensing the Thief's hands tapping her waist and moving toward her bottom, Szairon springs into action, sweeping her legs. The Thief falls onto her back while Szairon gracefully spins in the air, landing back on her feet.

"Seems like Viaraema's paranoia paid off for once," she exclaims, recognizing the infamous Godborn Thief, Rhommi, by her sleek, slime-infused leather attire. Specifically, it's the white porcelain mask with a wide smile, a clear indication that it's a recreated visage of the God of Trickery.

"And it seems like I made a small blunder." Rhommi remarks, springing up with a magnificent athletic move. She adjusts her high, stiff collars, which partially cover her head from the sides and back. The two adversaries face each other, locked in a tense standoff, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze.

"Well, I'd say my eyes are a dead giveaway, but seeing through a mask is hard, I guess," Szairon mocks, her right spider-like iris focusing on the enchanted mirror in the room, prepared to counter any illusion spells an infiltrator might employ.

"But I'm afraid I'll have to keep this short." Suddenly, two additional arms sprout from Szairon's body, her enchanted uniform seamlessly adapting to the change. Emerging from under her armpits and clad in dragonid faux leather and aetherna satin. She expels three sticky webs from her mouth, aimed at Rhommi. Evading two with a swift backflip, Rhommi is unable to dodge the third, which adheres to her left hand, pinning it to the wall.

After a brief struggle, Rhommi manages to free herself, still encased in the sticky web, and also pulls off one of the tiles from the wall behind her. Holding it firmly, she channels her mana into her arm, greatly increasing its speed as she charges towards Szairon, who clenches her fists and prepares to engage. With a loud crash, the marble and stone smashes against Szairon's head, but her thick hair protects her from the fatal blow. She collapses to the floor, unconscious.

Szairon's additional arms retract, and her uniform reverts back to its original state. Her body twitches twice before going completely limp. Rhommi flips Szairon onto her back and proceeds to pat her down from head to toe.

"I'll take this, if you don't mind. I've already run out of mine," she remarks, grabbing the Arachfolks' silver sealing tape along with a Dampening Cuff.

"Now, where should I leave you?" she ponders aloud while lifting Szairon by her armpits.

**

“Just a bit more. More. Almost there!” Zina says while sitting on the edge of her bed, her lacquered dress zipped down to her ample, soft breasts. She practically yells to the mirror reflecting the image of her friend tightly bound to the chair, with the ball gag tightly staying in place while she hops towards the edge of a drawer in the left corner. Her body in heat already while imagining her friend getting out to capture her, her soft hand pushing onto her lips and cheeks while her arms being bent behind.

“Better to prepare.” She drops the mirror on the middle of the bed while jolting up. Her high heels clap loudly as she walks to the simple mirror. In front she folds down the neck caressing her jaws, before her index finger slips through the large ring shaped zipped which she pulls up to the baseline of her soft neck. Then she grabs the back of her hair, knotting it into a high ponytail, the mauve end flipping as she makes poses that make her cringe a little as she pretends to be a highly enthusiastic damsel.

“Time to hide somewhere.” She adds while getting her uniformed jacket on, putting the large pink dildo in its inner pocket. She walks out, her cheeks already reddened as excitement spreads through her body.

**

The loud clang of the magicraft clock landing on the wall reverberates through Viaraema's second-floor office as she wakes up from her nap. She straightens her metallic gray, thick aetherna satin blouse, which gleams like the calm surface of a northern lake. Hurriedly, she grabs her corset vest and Hirdrian Type-III jacket, meticulously dressing in front of her mirror.

"Still not bad," she notes with a faint smirk as she zips up the suit like jacket, encasing the blouse collar completely. She lets out a soft sigh as the smooth material gently tightens against her slick, deep violet skin.

Descending the stairs, Viaraema notices the untouched sandwiches left on the metallic tray resting on the table. She quickly grabs one and eats it, her senses heightened by the eerie silence that surrounds her, putting her on edge. As she reaches for her wand pistol, she intensifies her detection abilities.

She detects the presence of multiple familiar figures that remain motionless, engulfing the entire island. One is outside in the shed, while two are inside the toilet. "This is the day my paranoia had to pay off," she murmurs as quietly as possible while extending her field of vision. With caution, she enters the toilet, sidestepping as the door closes. Once she is certain no one is hiding behind it, she proceeds to the third stall on her left.

"Seems like I was right all along," Viaraema notes after opening the door wide. Her pistol is aimed at Rannothil, who is sitting on the bidet. Gleaming silver sealing tape keeps her tightly bound to it, wounded across her chest and ankles, with another layer of tape keeping them crossed together. Her arms are bent behind her back, and Dampening Cuffs push her blouse sleeves onto her wrists. A short strip of sealing tape covers her lips.

Lying in front of Rannothil, laid out horizontally with her head slumped over, is Szairon. She is similarly bound on the floor, her legs reaching towards the fourth stall. Viaraema crouches down and observes that they are both knocked out cold, noticing a few spots of dried snow silvery blood on Szairon's head. She briefly considers whether to free her, but when she hears something metallic falling in the kitchen, she quickly stands up and hastily leaves the toilet.

"Hands where I can see them!" she yells at Rhommi, who carefreely rummages through the kitchen cabinets attached to the walls. "So, you caught me, huh? How carefree of me," Rhommi says melodramatically, raising her arms in the air and turning around. The grin on her mask annoys Viaraema, but she manages to calm herself down as she slowly approaches Rhommi on her knees.

"How did the sandwich taste?" Rhommi asks as she gets closer, a wide mocking smirk on her eerily gorgeous face, similar to the mask’s that hides it.

"Huh?" is the only sound Viaraema lets out, feeling a bit confused by the random question. Then the world starts to become hazy as she takes two steps closer to Rhommi. Her wand pistols slip out of her right hand as her grip weakens. Before she hits the floor, Rhommi catches her under the waist, gently parting the strands of hair that fell on her violet lips. "Don't worry, I'm going to be gentle with you!" she says as her mask's lips connect with Viaraema's.