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Zavintar panted heavily, forcing his magic to course through his body. It was pulsing and fading - even magic had a limit, and he'd long ago reached his own. There was a physical strain to using it; go too far past that, and it started to drain away your very life force.

The warmage had hit that limit. His magic was starting to drain his life away - but he would die if he didn't keep it up, and so he forced the fire within him to keep burning.

The horde of orcs just didn't seem to end. Zavintar wondered not for the first time what had possessed him to try to take on an entire orc tribe alone. Certainly, he was powerful for a warmage - but to think he'd be powerful enough... perhaps he'd gotten a little arrogant over time. At the very least, he'd underestimated just how intelligent the orcs were.

"Gh..." Zavintar tried to catch his breath. One hand was wreathed in flickering fire, the other a pure bolt of mana that faded in and out as he struggled to keep channeling it. "Come at me, then! You don't stand a chance!"

A brave roar of defiance - but it was a bluff, he knew, and the orcs knew it too. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin that hadn't been there before, and even his vision was starting to fade in and out. He needed a better solution - some way of defeating the orcs without killing every single one of them... Targetting their leader, perhaps. There was no guarantee they wouldn't simply swarm him in anger, but it was the only chance he had.

He brought his hands together. Mana and fire turned into a bolt of lightning, blasting straight into the sky; it flickered for a moment amongst the clouds before it exploded downwards in a stunning display of force. It had cost the rest of Zavintar's magical ability, but it was worth it - the orc warchief was struck. The orc didn't have the time to shout in pain as his flesh charred and burnt - he was dead before he hit the ground.

Unfortunately for Zavintar, that was the one moment an orc he hadn't seen chose to strike - a shaman, powerfully built even for a caster of magic. A blast of darkness caught the warmage in the chest, throwing him backwards and lighting his world on fire with pain.

He lost consciousness.

---

Zavintar opened his eyes blearily, his mind still hazy from shock. It took him a moment to process events, to remember what had happened - but when he did, he jerked upwards, magic flaring into his arms.

At least, he tried.

He was forced back to the ground almost immediately, magic blazing into existence around his arms to jerk him back flat against the ground. Zavintar hit the ground with a thud, a woosh of air leaving his lungs from the force. He grunted in mild pain, and immediately tried to counter this new magic with some of his own.

As soon as he did, however, a circle of light burst into life around him. He twisted his head to glance at the ground, realizing - to his horror - that he'd been trapped naked in a ritual circle, and a complex one at that. From the feeling he'd gotten when he tried to cast, it was designed to both physically restrain him and drain him of any magic should he try to cast.

Well. Fuck.

He heard a chuckle, and realized for the first time that he wasn't alone in the room. The orc shaman from before had been watching him, a faintly amused smirk on his face.

Now that he was closer, Zavintar could make out more detail - he was surprisingly handsome, for an orc, with smooth cut features rather than the brutish looks of most. The tusks that extended from his bottom mouth was neat and trimmed, his hair was combed neatly back, and he wore a rather unique shamanic outfit. He recognised some of them - a necklace of runes, beads to channel magical energy, a sash across his body that left most of the orc's green muscle exposed to the air...

He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? Certainly, the orc was well-built for a mage type; he had the layers of muscle and thick arms that were standard for orcs, even if his overall look was more refined. None of that was any reason for him to think about the orc's muscles. He forced himself to look back at the shaman's face instead, just as the orc began to talk.

"I am Gro'shak." The orc introduced himself with a slight bow. Noticing the startled look in Zavintar's face, he laughed. "Are you surprised that I speak in first person? You rather underestimate the orcs, I think. Certainly, many of my brethren are... less than intelligent - but all we need is one guiding force."

"Unfortunately for us," Gro'shak continued, and this time his voice was cutting, accusatory. "You've taken that guiding force away from us,and I'm the shaman. It doesn't matter how smart I am, the orcs need someone on their level to connect with. Smart, yes, but only on the battlefield - uncaring of anything but food and sex... orcs will happily follow a leader like that, but we don't really have a suitable replacement."

"So I'm going to make one." Gro'shak gave him a dark sort of grin, and Zavintar's eyes widened. He tried to shout, to yell, but the ritual circle stole his words away before he could speak. He knew the kind of magic the orc shaman was talking about, had even bore witness to it once upon a time, but...

He'd never thought he might be a victim of it.

The warmage watched in horror as the shaman fished a flaccid shaft out of the loincloth he wore

Gro'shak grunted softly as he began to tease his balls, thick fingers caressing the sensitive skin slowly. His cock rose slowly at the stimulation, and Zavintar could only watch in fascinated horror.

There was a certain stink to it too, he realised - a scent that grew a little stronger as the orc began to tease himself. He'd assumed the smell in the air to be just a natural part of the cavern they were in before, but...

His expression twisted in disgust as he realised what the smell must have been. It was distracting, though - made it hard for him to think.

Gro'shak moaned as he finally reached a full erection, a stroke of his thick fingers drawing out a clear bead of precum. His eyes flickered with primal magic as he spread the pre along the length of his shaft; he obviously had no intention to waste any time. His balls were already swelled with his seed, more than ready to spill -

And a small part of Zavintar - one that only existed because of the strange musk hanging around in the air - looked forward to it.

The rest of him struggled, of course, trying to tear free of the magical bonds holding him in place and free himself before Gro'shak could begin the ritual. Muscles bulged with effort, his body starting to sweat as he strained - to no avail, alas. All he managed to do was put on a good show for the orc shaman before him, who moaned softly at the sight. His hand moved faster and faster along the length of his shaft, the skin stretching almost hypnotically, a heavy musk filtering in the air...

"Heh." Gro'shak's voice was heavy with exertion, his eyes glazed with both lust and magic. "Not gonna lie, you're a pretty good looking human... Can't wait to see you turn into one of us..."

Never, Zavintar wanted to respond. I'll die before I give in.

The only problem, of course, was that there was nothing he could do.

He could only watch in disgust as those beautiful green muscles tensed - no, damn it, that's not me - and cum began to streak out of the orc's throbbing shaft, landing on both his face and his chest. The liquid was warm, and the stink of its musk was almost overwhelming; the stench sunk slowly into his mind, making it harder and harder for him to think with every passing second.

Gor'shak seemed to know this, given the faint smirk on his expression even as he bent down. A thick finger dipped into his own seed, and he began to draw shapes onto the warmage's body - first his forehead, then his chest, his fingers leaving a faint tingle of magic with every stroke.

Zavintar recognised what he was doing. It was the marks of an orcish ritual, runes that better channeled orcish magic. They were necessary components of any form of transformation magic; humans and orcs, for example, used fundamentally different arcane energies. In order to allow a transformed human to use orcish magic, or even to survive as an orc, the runes were necessary. It stabilised the transformation and gave it a place to anchor.

It was no wonder that Zavintar squirmed and struggled, trying to throw off the shaman with even the smallest of movements. Gor'sham was far from an idiot, however; his inscriptions were slow and meticulous, and he applied a short paralysis spell any time he got to a particularly sensitive part of the runes.

It was so damn hard to keep trying to fight it off, too. As the smell seeped slowly into his brain, Zavintar began to wonder why he was fighting. Was it really necessary, when the digit tracing slowly across his skin felt so good? He could escape later, enjoy the touches for now...

But that was the lust speaking, not him. It burned away at his resistance, whispering thoughts to him that weren't his own - told him it was good to be touched by an orc, that it was an act of bonding for the orcs.

Zavintar forced himself to focus. He wasn't an orc, not yet, and as long as he could remember that he stood a chance at resisting the spell.

The shaman finished off his inscriptions by lifting the warmage's cock, slowly teasing it with gentle touches and massaging his balls. Magic from his palms slowly filtered into Zavintar's skin, filling him with heat and arousal. His cock began to plump, to fill with blood, and he glared - he knew for a fact this was not a part of the ritual.

"What do you think you're doing?" Zavintar felt the magic that kept him from speaking abruptly weaken. The orc wanted to hear his moans, evidently, and while he wasn't doing any such thing, his breathing was certainly a little heavier than it had been before. "Ngh... this isn't part of the damn ritual."

"I'm surprised you know that much about our rituals in the first place," Gor'shak observed. "How did you come across that information, pray tell?"

"I was there!" Zavintar growled out. Gor'shak smiled, unexpectedly.

"Were you, warmage?"

"Of course I-" Zavintar stopped, abruptly. He remembered watching the ritual, but he couldn't remember anything else about it - not the person that was being converted, not what he'd been doing during the ritual. A cold feeling settled in him, mixed with the shameful heat of his arousal as he recalled more specific details that hadn't been there before.

There were other orcs involved, he knew. Now that he thought to look, he saw faint shadows at the edges of the cave, hidden in the dark. They moved and shifted, watching and waiting.

Eager.

He recalled more about the ritual. The way orc after orc would take the victim, using both his mouth and his hole... The way every bit of his body would be worshipped, groped and manhandled, and the victim would come to love every second of it - crying out with joy as his muscles and his pleasure grew. The picture in his mind was filled with an exquisite detail that most of his own memories didn't have.

He realised, too late, that the memories had been deliberately planted into his mind. It was a trick to make him more accepting of the ritual, more turned on by it - and by the gods, but it had worked.

A chant rose around him and more and more orcs stepped into view, low voices grunting out words in a strange orcish tongue. Each of them were naked, with lewd smirks on their faces and a hard cock in hand - and he hadn't noticed it before, how handsome each of them were, how their brutish looks made them look strangely dashing.

They were muscular and well-built, strong; their entire culture was built around accumulating strength and power, after all. Glistening green muscle, faint trails of dark hair... Zavintar had never realised how manly it all was.

Perhaps it was the scent that was soaking into the air, getting ever stronger with each orc that approached, but he felt himself starting to salivate. How would it feel to have an orc fucking his throat, filling his mouth with cum? To have another on his back, violating him - it was only right, after all, to have a specimen of such masculinity and brutality assert it in an appropriately dominant fashion.

Zavintar's mouth closed around something warm before he realised it. The salty, slightly bitter taste pulled his mind back to reality, the warmage's eyes widened - some time during his reverie, the orc shaman had knelt beside him so that his thick, throbbing shaft was right next to Zavintar's head. Lost in fantasies that weren't his own, his body had moved without permission, taking it into his mouth...

He jerked backwards frantically, knowing that to swallow Gro'shak's cum would spell the end for him - the ritual would be irreversible from that point on. Try as he might, though, he couldn't move his body.

More specifically, it was moving against his will.

Zavintar realized with panic that his body had succumbed to the curse long before his mind had; his hands were clenched around the shaman's firm buttocks, pulling the orc's cock deeper into his throat. He let out little panting moans while his head bobbed eagerly up and down on the tasty manhood, and try as he might to wrestle control back, he found he simply couldn't.

He was forced to be nothing but an observer to his own corruption, his own loss of humanity. His mind was clean, if fogged up from the musk of the orc warriors around him - but his body acted like a proper slut. The restraints had long since faded away, yet rather than escaping, he was eagerly licking away at the orc's sac, letting the shaft dribble precum onto his face.

"Heh, who knew you were such a little whore?" Gor'shak grunted, groaning softly as he thrust his hips into the warmage. He felt his power gathering in his loins, knew the final stage of the ritual would begin soon. He growled, his hands gripping into the back of Zavintar's head, forcing the human down on his cock. "Rgh..."

He roared.

The shaman came for a second time that day, a flood of orcish seed pouring forcefully into Zavintar's throat. The warmage tried one last time to resist, to pull away - but his body fought him, sucking every drop down eagerly instead. And he couldn't deny that it tasted good; it was just the right mixture of salt and bitter, a strangely manly taste that slid down his throat and spread a growing warmth through his stomach...

Just like that, he could no longer quite remember why he was fighting, why he was trying to resist. He looked up at the specimen in front of him, bulging with muscle and with a handsome smirk on his face - and he realised how much he wanted to be like him, big and green and strong.

It would only happen if he ate enough orc seed, something in his mind told him. What reason did he have to protest?

Zavintar didn't move as the orc shaman lifted his legs and aimed his still-hard cock at his virgin hole. Gro'shak groaned softly as the tight, still-human flesh wrapped around his cock, firm and warm... and where the traces of his cum came into contact with the warmage's skin, a faint green taint began to spread. He didn't bother preparing the human, stretching him out ahead of time - the magic did that for him, dulling most of the pain. Besides, what was an orc that couldn't handle a little pain?

Zavintar seemed to agree, judging from the way he moaned at the intrusion. He spread his legs a little wider for Gro'shak, his cock achingly harm between his legs; precum dripped slowly down onto hard abs that were beginning to turn a faint green. The sight made him moan, reach down for his cock -

But that seemed to be a signal of sorts for the horde of men watching. One orc in particular approached, grunting in disapproval as he batted Zavintar's hand away from his dick; instead, he aimed himself at it, slowly letting the human's cock push into his ass. He grunted, panting and shaking as it stretched him out - yet it only seemed to give him pleasure. His cock began leaking, and he moaned softly as he moved, bouncing up and down on Zavintar's manhood.

The green spread further. It wasn't just cum, he realised - contact and proximity with orcs hastened his change. The more he was around, the more he pleased, the faster he would turn into one of them - a perfect specimen of brutish masculinity. Two approached on either side of his face, and he grabbed at the eagerly, not even bothering to look at the faces of the men he was pleasing. All that mattered was their dicks, their seed, that heavy scent they all seemed to have...

He wrapped one green cock with his lips and jerked the other off, switching between the two as he fucked the orc straddling him. He felt the shaman spearing into him the entire time, and he loved the experience - surrounded like this by men.

No, not just any men. His brothers.

The green had spread up to his neck, now, and the orc warriors around him seemed to love it. They groped and licked eagerly, some of them leaning down to swirl their tongues around his nipples, shoving each other aside so they could have their turn. They hardened quickly under the stimulation as some orcs tweaked them and others rubbed their dicks along the sensitive flesh, and all the while, Zavintar did the only thing he could do.

He moaned.

It was a loud, eager sound as he allowed himself to sink properly into the debauchery. The green spread even more rapidly, until the entirety of his body was the shade of his brothers, his men. His muscles began to grow next. He was already finely tuned as a warmage, but now he became downright spectacular. A toned body grew into defined pecs, his abs grew and bulged, and his spine stretched.

He was growing taller, stronger - becoming a true member of the horde.

The cum that the shaman had drawn on him earlier seemed to burn with a warm heat, and slowly, he felt the liquid fading away. It was replaced by sharp black lines, orcish runes that marked his skin and made him a permanent member of their tribe.

The warriors around him cheered, their hands stroking all the more eagerly around their cocks, and he moved to please as many as he could. He sucked and swallowed, jerked off what he couldn't lick - even his feet and toes were massaging the cocks of some of the lesser orcs, pleasing them into grunting moans. It felt good, to give in and revel in the pleasure... and it felt so right to have the shaman inside him, fucking him hard, jolting with every thrust. He heard a grunt, felt hands clench tight around his thighs and a warmth fill him from within...

His hair grew longer, a messy cut that was one of the few remnants of his humanity. Features on his face shifted slightly - not so much that he was unrecognizable, but his face became exaggerated, distorting until they reflected the more primal nature of the orcs. His teeth, in turn, grew, his lower canines developing into the signature tusks of an orc...

He roared, this time the sound of a warrior - horny and teased beyond measure before finally getting release. His seed arced high into the air, and the rest of the orcs groaned and grunted. His orgasm reacted with the magical field that emanated from the ritual circle - it flickered between the remaining warriors, causing each one to climax as it touched them, gathering their pleasure and using it to bring the next orc to an even greater release...

Each and every orc cried out with their climax, aimed their seed at the new orc they had created - their newest brother and the leader of them all. He was covered and bathed in their seed, and it only made him moan; he smeared his hands across the cum, lathering his muscles and with it, teasing his nipples, and giving his cock a few strokes.

The magic ran full circle and came back to the former warmage, now fully an orc. His back jerked up and he growled as he was struck with the combined pleasure of all of the orcs - he somehow had even more seed, this time. It sprayed across his body, mixing in with the semen of all the warriors who had landed their essence on him.

And so the ritual was over. Zavintar panted and growled as he came down from his orgasm. He remembered barely anything from his former life, and anything he did, he would use to protect his new clan - his brothers. His family.

The shaman came forward, then, some jewelry sparkling in his hands. "I welcome you to the ?Shak clan, Warchief," he said, his head bowing slightly - this time as a gesture of respect. "Your new name will be Ora'shak, leader of us all. If you accept this, allow me to mark you as our leader."

Gro'shak opened his hands. In them were two small silver studs, and two silver nipple rings.

"Ora'shak accepts," the new orc grunted, baring his chest proudly to the cheers of his fellow orcs. The shaman smiled, slipping the two nipple rings on with a faint blast of magic, and doing the same with the ear studs.

"Then long live Ora'shak, leader of us all," Gro'shak spoke, projecting his voice so that all the orcs of the clan could hear him.

"Long live Ora'shak!" The orc warriors joined in the cheer, many giving the new warchief a friendly punch on the back or arm. Ora'shak grinned proudly.

"Warchief's first command is to let Ora'shak learn about all his brothers!" The orc declared. His grin turned lecherous. "Ora'shak must bond with the clan, after all... line up outside Ora'shak's tent."

He turned and walked away - very deliberately showing off his slightly stretched ass, and the cum leaking away from it. The orcs stares at each other for a moment, then scrambled over themselves in a rush for Ora'shak's tent.

---

Shikar panted heavily, glaring up at the warchief before him. How could he have known that the orcs would be this strong, this organised? This was supposed to be an easy assignment, yet now the warmage was on his knees in front of the enemy...

"Get it over with," Shikar spat. "Kill me already."

"Ora'shak does not think so," the warchief grinned, a growing bulge in his loincloth. "Ora'shak was like you, once... Warmage. Proud, strong... worthy." He stepped closer, letting his musk wash over the human mage. "Ora'shak think you worthy, too. Clan need new warrior... and Ora'shak know how to get one."

He fished out his cock, long and thick - and as the transformation of another warmage commenced, Gro'shak smiled.

He'd done his work well, it seemed.