Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 225: I will put my seed in you, Sigora

Jorghan’s boots crunched softly on the mossy path leading away from Sigora’s dwelling, the floating island’s perpetual twilight casting long shadows from the bioluminescent vines that twisted around every structure.

The Sol’vur settlement hummed with subdued evening activity—elves sharpening blades, weaving essence threads into glowing armlets, and children chasing glowflies under the watchful eyes of matrons.

But his focus was singular: Sigora. Her words from their earlier council had burrowed into his mind like roots seeking soil, stirring the primal imperative that defined him. He needed to find her, to press the matter, to make her see the truth that only he could envision for their clan’s future.

Her scent trail was unmistakable, a rich blend of sun-warmed soil, wild herbs, and the faint, underlying musk of her fertile femininity.

It led him past the central gathering glade, around clusters of woven huts suspended on vine bridges, and finally to the island’s jagged edge.

There, where the lush greenery gave way to mist-shrouded precipice, lay the huge trunk.

A colossal relic of some primordial tree, its girth rivaled that of a small hill, felled eons ago and laid horizontally like a bridge to nowhere. Elves had reverently hollowed its core over centuries, transforming the heartwood into a spacious chamber: walls smoothed to a golden sheen, floored with layered cushions of woven moss and silk, open archways framing the endless cascade of falling water that poured from the island’s rim into the infinite abyss below. Mist rose in perpetual veils, cooling the air and lending the space an otherworldly serenity, the roar of the falls a constant, soothing thunder.

Sigora sat within the trunk’s embrace, her immense 8’3" frame perched on the edge of a cushion pile, long legs dangling toward the misty drop. The sheer wrap she wore clung to her brown skin like a lover’s caress, translucent from the damp mist, outlining every dangerous curve: the heavy sway of her full breasts, nipples dark shadows pressing against the fabric; the generous flare of her hips, thick thighs parted just enough to hint at the shadowed valley between; and her soft belly, a sign of ripened maturity. Mist beaded on her skin like diamonds, trickling in rivulets down her cleavage, pooling at the dip of her navel. Her dark hair cascaded loose over one shoulder, damp strands framing her face, golden eyes distant as she gazed at the plummeting water.

She sensed him before he spoke, her pointed ears twitching slightly amid the falls’ din. Turning her head, a soft smile curved her full lips.

"Jorghan, my son.

Come, sit. The water’s song clears the chaos of the mind."

He crossed the threshold into the hollowed trunk, the wood warm and resonant underfoot, vibrating faintly with the island’s essence pulse. Dropping onto the cushions beside her, his 6-foot frame felt compact next to her towering presence, yet his presence dominated, muscles coiled like springs beneath his tunic, blue eyes burning with purpose. The mist kissed his skin, raising gooseflesh, but it was her nearness that quickened his pulse. Up close, her scent enveloped him, stirring the familiar ache in his groin.

"Mother," he began, voice pitched to carry over the roaring cascade, low and resolute. He shifted to face her fully, one hand resting on her thick thigh, thumb tracing idle circles on the damp fabric. "About what I said earlier and your counsel earlier—the rosters, the matriarchs, the grand alliances—it’s sound strategy. I see the board as you lay it out. But it misses the heart of Sol’vur’s strength.

I want children with you, the ones with pure blood of Sol’vur. Call me anything, but I want to have a child of our blood. Your blood is the purest Sol’vur vein left—undiluted, potent with essence mastery and ancestral fury. Mine carries the blood berserker fire, the raw human vigor that bends even elves to breaking. Together? Our offspring would be legends incarnate: warriors who channel rage without madness, essence wielders with unbreakable bodies. The clan doesn’t just survive on numbers; it conquers on quality. Madayanti’s get might bind politics, and Yasoraga’s sharpen tactics, but ours will forge an unbreakable dynasty.

It’s not indulgence, Mother. It’s destiny. Sol’vur rises from our union first."

His words hung in the misty air, earnest and unyielding, laced with the tactical fervor that had made him clan head. He watched her face, the flicker of conflict in those golden depths, the advisor weighing clan math against the woman who had raised him, bedded him, and craved him.

Sigora was silent at first, the falls’ thunder filling the space. Her hand covered his on her thigh, squeezing gently, her touch electric.

Her body, her heart, screamed for him, the adopted son whose cock had reshaped her world, whose seed promised ecstasy and power intertwined.

She was worried about clans and all the elves who will hear about it. But seeing the look in Jorghan’s eyes, she resolved herself.

Fuck the Council!

Fuck stagnation!

She wanted it, his child swelling her belly, their legacy etched in flesh.

Leaning in, her free hand cupped his chiseled jaw, pulling his face to hers. Their lips met not in a tentative brush but in a ravenous fusion, soft at first, her plush mouth yielding to his firmer one, tongues dancing slowly and exploratory.

Then hunger surged.

She deepened it, sucking his lower lip, nipping with sharp canines, her breath hot and herb-scented against his skin. Mist clung to their joining, dampening cheeks and chins.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, voice husky with surrender.

"I’ve thought on it endlessly, my dear Jorghan. Every second, every stolen glance. Your seed in me... it’s all I crave. I agree. Fuck politics, fuck the elders’ games. I want you breeding me, filling this womb with our child. Nothing else matters—not alliances, not purity debates.

Just us.

Plant it deep, my son.

Make your mother heavy with Sol’vur’s future."

Her confession shattered restraint.

Jorghan growled, a primal rumble from his chest, hands tearing at her wrap with feral urgency. The sheer fabric shredded like mist, falling away to reveal her naked glory: brown skin glistening, massive tits heaving with anticipation, dark nipples erect and begging, wide hips flaring to thunder thighs parted invitingly, and her pussy, puffy lips already slick, and dark curls dewed with arousal.

She was a thicc milf goddess, 8’3" of fertile perfection, built for breeding.

He shoved her back onto the cushion pile, the mossy layers compressing under her weight with a soft whump. Mounting her like a conqueror, he yanked open his tunic and pants, his cock springing free, long, thick, veined human-elf hybrid meat, head purpled and leaking precum in anticipation.

No foreplay; he gripped her inner thighs, spreading them wide, and thrust, savage, hilt-deep in one motion.

Schlurppp!!!

Her pussy engulfed him, walls rippling hot and velvet-tight around his girth.

Sigora’s scream pierced the falls’ roar, back arching off the cushions, tits thrusting skyward. "Fuuuuck! Yes, Jorghan! Split your mother’s cunt!"

AAHHH!!!

Her claws raked his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that only fueled him.

He set a merciless pace—missionary fury, hips pistoning like a war machine, smack-smack-smack of flesh on flesh echoing in the trunk. Sigora’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she surrendered to the primal pleasure coursing through her body. Jorghan’s primal instincts took over, driving him deeper into her with each powerful thrust, their connection unbreakable in that moment of pure passion.

Each plunge battered her cervix, her thick belly quivering with impacts, her tits flopping wildly side to side, slapping her arms. Sweat beaded instantly, mixing with mist to slick their bodies.

He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth—sucking hard, teeth grazing the pebbled peak—while one hand pinned her wrist above her head, and the other snaked between them to grind her swollen clit.

ARRGHH!!

AHHH!!

MMMHHH!!!

Their breaths mingled, hot and heavy, as they moved in perfect sync, lost in the raw intensity of their union. With each touch, each kiss, they felt an unspoken connection that transcended mere physical pleasure.

"Gonna flood this breeding hole," he grunted between thrusts, voice ragged.

"Fill you till you burst."

Her response was a wail, legs locking around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

"Harder! Breed me like your slut mother I am!"

Her first orgasm hit like a storm—pussy spasming violently, gushing hot squirt that soaked his balls and puddled beneath them. She thrashed, golden eyes rolling back, but he powered through, fucking her limp form relentlessly.

No pause.

Growling, he pulled out his cock, which was gleaming with her cream, and flipped her onto her stomach.

"Ass up," he commanded.

Sigora obeyed eagerly, scrambling to her knees and elbows, presenting her massive brown ass, globes thick and jiggly, cheeks parting to reveal dripping pussy and winking asshole.

He slapped one cheek, CRACK!

Then the other, painting them red before mounting doggy-style. Gripping her hips like handles, fingers sinking into soft flesh, he slammed home.