I could do that, so I focused on my breathing. My every breath felt harder than the last as I approached my limit. With every step, we approached the chief's hut, and I felt myself breaking. Finally, my lungs reached the point of collapse, and I fought on. I would heal. That's what I told myself with every breath as we walked on.
The interior of the chief's hut was covered in spotted furs leading to a small seat where the chief a matronly elf with massive tits, thick kissable lips, and a dick on full display, including her sizeable pink foreskin.
Blood dripped down my nose and pooled over my upper lip before dripping down. Still, I sucked in a ragged breath and refused to drop the technique. The chief gave me a strange look before sighing at the sight of Samael and Elorael.
"So, you've found another girl for your little harem. Why am I not surprised? Please tell me you didn't forgo the sacred rights and take her virginity outside a witness." The chief said.
"Of course not, mother. I will honor our pact with the forest god and mate with a witness. The broken round ear and his minder will do fine." Samael said.
"But not your own mother. Where did I go wrong with you? The broken are to be culled with no exceptions; instead, this one breaks himself with a bastardized breathing technique. Do you have no mercy?" The chief asked.
"My mate asked only for me to spare him and accept him as a member of the tribe. A bridal gift must be honored. So, if he masters his breathing technique, he will be a full member. You can't castrate him either, mother, because he has broken no law and is under my protection." Samael said.
She looked at me then and winked. My hands shook at the implication. I existed with my balls intact only thanks to her. What was her game? Or was she just a sadist?
"Our laws are not cruel; we don't cull the unfit because we hate them. They will never be beautiful and often find it impossible to attract a mate. If they are to live, we castrate them for their own good." The chief said.
"Well, I tried. But, sorry, it looks like we will have to castrate you for your own good. But, don't worry, I'll do it." Samael said.
My eyes widened, but I kept breathing even when my lungs felt like they would explode. I refused to stop. Something warm and wet dripped out of my ears.
Two warriors grabbed my arms, and it felt like I was held by two giants. I couldn't move an inch despite keeping up my technique. Even while I kept up my breathing, I fought against the two elves holding me, only for another two to come and grab my legs.
I swore then to get my revenge on them. I wouldn't rest until their tribe was no more. Then I would kill their god and eat its brain just like it did to the sea god. All that came out of my mouth was a bloody gurgle as I breathed. Blood seeped from my eyes as my lungs protested, but I refused to drop the technique.
"Enough!" A voice called.
I turned to see a white-haired elf enter the chief's house. The elf walked heavily on a cane but still appeared untouched by time.
"Zosimael, what is the meaning of this interruption.
"I would not speak against our god, and I am not the wisest of us, but this isn't right. You claim not to be cruel, but this is the action of the skull tribe. They would waste his potential just like you're trying to do. And I've never heard the law in the songs say anything about castrating a broken willingly joining our tribe. No, we are told to welcome those like him with open arms and make them us. None of us are castrated committing no crime." Zosimael said.
"I don't care what the songs say or don't say. You won't remember any of this in a few heartbeats, you old hag." Samael said.
"That's more than enough time to discipline you before I forget," Zosimael said.
Elorael grabbed Samael by the ears.
"What are you doing?" Samael asked.
"If you don't drop the knife, then mate or not, I will rip your ears off. In my tribe, those who suffer this dishonor take their own life. Is it the same here?" Elorael asked.
"Unhand my daughter, now." The chief said.
Samael dropped the knife. "I like it when my wives have some spirit in them. I agree with her mother he should become a member of the tribe, testicles intact." Samael said.
The chief looked conflicted, and the other elves still hadn't let me go.
"Glorael, this isn't the hill to give your life for. The skull tribe has already sent one of their own to tempt us to join them. They won't ask nicely much longer. We need every warrior." Zosimael said.
"Very well, but you will be his minder. If he can't master breathing constant within the week, he will be removed from the tribe and our lands. Let the skull tribe have him." Glorael said.
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Zosimael took me to her treehouse on the edge of the tribe. Inside, the home was covered in drying herbs with shelves of potions-filled clay pots. A splash of colored paint-covered each pot, along with a picture hinting at what each pot contained. I sucked in a breath and felt my bones ache.
Keep breathing. I had to breathe even if I bled from my eyes and ears or my lungs exploded; I couldn't stop. Stopping would make it impossible to move forward. So I had to think like a mage, and a mage knew how to make sacrifices. It wasn't all about flashy attacks; sometimes, a strong foundation was needed, and I didn't want to get kicked out after risking so much.
The old elf looked back at me then her eyes widened. "What is a round ear doing in my hut. Is little Glorael playing a prank on me? Should I have her mother give that girl a talking to?" Zosimael said.
"What a sharp memory you have. I bet you know what each pot contains. There's no way you would forget something that important." I said.
The old elf coughed. "Enough of that; if you live as long as I have, it's easy to get lost in memories. I remember you. Samael played you for a fool and nearly took your balls. Glorael gave you a difficult task, and you've nearly killed yourself already. If you don't give your body a break, your organs will shut down, and you will die." Zosimael said.
I stared at the woman, then shook my head. Stopping would only waste time; my healing factor would have to keep up. If it didn't, then all my problems would be solved.
"If you die, then Samael will torture that girl you're sweet on to death. Dear sweet Samael has had many wives, but none lasted long enough to bear a child. Besides, if you pass out during the mating ceremony, they will have to copulate again. Each copulation improves the chances of pregnancy. You don't want that do you." Zosimael said.
"Of course, I do, isn't that the point of this, to prove Elarael's value to the tribe and bear an heir to the chief's line. She sacrificed her freedom for my sake without a second thought. If I freed her from this, she might do it again." I said.
Every breath felt more difficult than the last, and talking to Zosimael felt like an exorcise in futility. She would forget everything in a few minutes.
"What if I told you I had a way to help you surpass your limits and fight Samael on equal footing?" Zosimael asked.
"No offense, but I don't trust your potions. Besides, how would that help me get Elorael back?" I asked.
"I'm sorry, I work hard to make the best potions I can, but I'm forgetful, and I don't know what half of these do or why I made them. I forget at the worst times, and when I come to, it's like I'm in the past. But that doesn't make my creations useless. Each of them has been tested on other tribesmen or skull tribe during our war. I wouldn't have them on my shelf if they weren't complete brews." Zosimael said.
I stared at the elf. Zosimael had an ageless appearance like all elves, with a slightly glazed look in her eyes. Her hands rested at her side and occasionally pulled at the hem of her pelt robe, exposing the tip of a reasonably large member. Most elves had pretty small breasts, Elorael included, but this elven woman had large breasts held tightly by a cotton wrap. She was lithe like most elves and only looked exotic with her silver hair.
My tongue moved over the roof of my mouth, feeling for the newly developed lumps. Even after Samael knocked my teeth out, I wasn't ruined. My teeth were growing back at a steady pace. Even if every breath was agony, I blocked most of that pain out. With every breath, my control over my body improved.
"Even if your brew can make an elf equal to Samael, that wouldn't do me any good. I'm not an elf." I said.
"I'm sorry again; I thought you suffered from numerous birth defects. Still, you don't have to be an elf to use this potion. I used some flesh from a stillborn forest god when I made it.
"Shouldn't it be incompatible?" I asked.
"Not many know this, but breathing techniques are inconsequential. We become stronger by incorporating flesh from other gods, just like the gods do when they eat another of their kind. This potion is just the standard tonic for the elven children training to become warriors. Drink it, and you will gain some of the forest god's powers." Zosimael said.
I took a brown clay pot with a caricature of the forest god on it and pulled off the lid. A shining green liquid bubbled, giving off a faint smell of pine.
"But what about different breathing techniques," I asked.
"Well, the power isn't in the breath; it's in the god. The breathing technique allows us to trick the power into believing we're like the gods. So a forest god that eats a sea god has the same powers as a sea god that eats a forest god. Though its original powers will be stronger." Zosimael said.
I turned the pot up and drank the strange liquid. All the while, I continued to breathe, keeping up my cycle. Once the pot was drained, I put it back on the shelf.
"Thief, what are you doing here and drinking my whole pot of forest god breathing primer. When Lucael finds out about this." Zosimael said.
"So, how did you learn the secret of the gods?" I asked.
Her eyes glazed over, and after a while, she blinked a few times before getting back to normal. "I'm sorry; what was your question?" Zosimael asked.
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