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Insistent (the What Magic Have I Wrought? Remix)

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The incantation itself appears to be simple, but the diagram Khadgar must draw to summon a familiar is anything but. It’s certainly one of the most complex, if not the most complex, pattern that he’s ever seen.

Many mages see familiars as a crutch, and while Khadgar is no seasoned Warmage, he’s seen enough that he’d be a fool not to use all the resources at his disposal.

Between his training and his new official duties within the royal court of Stormwind and the continuing war efforts against the orcs, it takes weeks for Khadgar to draw the necessary patterns, always careful to place a protective barrier around it lest someone destroy the fruits of his labor.

Working on the final section, Khadgar curses when he notices the smudged details on the page he’s copying from. This is the keystone for the entire spell, the part that will bind the familiar to his will, and without it, at best his efforts will have been for naught, and at worst, the results will be dire.

Neither are options that Khadgar cares to explore. Poring through books brought in from Karazhan, he examines other diagrams hoping that he can find what he needs, and slowly but surely he’s able to come up with what he feels is a piecemeal solution, but one that should work, or at least shouldn’t kill him.

With a final stroke of his chalk, Khadgar rises and examines the diagram. He can find no flaw, but even to his trained eye, he is far from an expert. Khadgar’s old teachers from the Kirin Tor would be horrified if they saw what he was doing now, his eyes glowing blue as he draws on his magic, and feeds it into the circle, reciting the incantation he’s memorized.

The circle burns bright with white light instantly, and as it continues to feed on Khadgar’s mana, three spheres begin to form and grow, one for each school of magic Khadgar knows: fire, frost, arcane.

When the spheres suddenly fly towards each other, Khadgar instantly knows something’s gone wrong and attempts to end the spell, yet he finds he can’t stop the flow of his magic, that he can’t even move. Feeling bereft as the last of his mana is temporarily drained, Khadgar is powerless to do anything except watch as the unharmonious magics spin around each other until finally they meet in the middle.

Heart racing, Khadgar closes his eyes at the blinding flash of light that is released at their collision, and when he opens them again, he’s not certain what he’s looking at. The anamorphous form shifts and changes shape continuously, sometimes sprouting long tendrils before they’re pulled back in, but that isn’t what amazes Khadgar. Rather it’s the seeming harmony that the magics have found. They are not fighting each other, and it goes against all the magical theory that Khadgar has ever learned.

“What magic have I wrought, today?” Khadgar muses when a tendril reaches out and wraps around his wrist. Khadgar doesn’t do the smart thing and jerk away. No, instead, he bends closer, raising his other hand to examine the entity, wondering at the strange slickness that causes his skin to tingle. At his touch, the ever-changing form explodes into a writhing mass of tentacles, and Khadgar yelps as they surround him, lift him from the floor, and begin to tug at his clothing.

"Stop! I don't know what you're doing," Khadgar says to the tentacles currently undressing him. “But I demand you stop this at once!"

Khadgar doesn’t know what he is doing either, speaking to it like this as he’s fairly certain that this thing doesn’t even have ears. Piece by piece each article of his clothing falls to the floor, the tentacles surprisingly dexterous and strangely knowledgeable about the fastenings of his attire as they seemed to take care not to rip anything. When the last article of Khadgar’s clothing drifts to the floor beneath him, leaving him bare, Khadgar shivers in the cool air of his room, not having lit the fire in his hearth.

Shouting as the world spins, Khadgar finds himself maneuvered into a reclined position, his head lower than his legs which are pushed up towards his chest, leaving his genitals disconcertingly exposed. "This is not what I summoned you for," he squawks as one tentacle curiously nudges at his asshole.

Khadgar is not surprised when it pays him no attention.

"Fine, fine, carry on then," Khadgar says, struggling to break free from the tentacles twining themselves around him, whatever they’re secreting leaving him extra sensitive. For all his struggles, the tentacles do not budge, and Khadgar gains nothing as he is left winded. When one curls around his dick, Khadgar hisses between his teeth, fear washing through him for the first time, yet despite that his dick begins to fill with blood in response to the tentacle’s curious ministrations. "That's only my dick," Khadgar says, the last word rising pitch as his panic increases. Nothing important.

Khadgar yelps as the tentacle around it grips harder before poking at the hole at the end of his dick. Khadgar shakes his head in denial. "Just let me go and - mmph." One particularly determined tentacle forces its way into Khadgar’s mouth and down his throat, forcing his neck to bulge around its thickness as he chokes and gags, his body protesting the intrusion.

Perhaps it can hear him after all, Khadgar muses as it works over his body. Khadgar doesn’t know if there is something in the fluid that the tentacles have by now covered him in, if the tentacle down his throat is pumping something directly into his stomach, or if it’s the result of the lack of air as he struggles to breathe around the tentacle shoved down his throat, chest burning, but with each second that ticks by the fear and worry and even the knowledge that this is wrong fades away, leaving a growing heat in its place, a heat that makes him sweat and squirm in an entirely different way.

When the tentacle that had been teasing his asshole suddenly pushes itself in deep with no warning, Khadgar knows it should hurt, but instead he only feels pressure and pleasure, his dick leaking at the feeling of fullness, at the press and drag against his prostate as it fucks into him. He doesn’t worry when another somehow forces its way inside next to the first one, burrowing deeper than anything should reach. He doesn’t worry when a third and fourth join them, or when his stomach bulges so large that he can no longer see his dick.

Khadgar doesn’t even worry when the tentacle that has been exploring his piss hole suddenly sinks into it. Brain whiting out, unable to process the sensation of fullness as the tentacle burrows deeper and deeper into previously untouched depths, Khadgar feels nothing but pleasure. He doesn’t worry when the tentacle in his mouth withdraws, and he still can’t fill his lungs because of the ever-growing mass of magical tentacles within him. He doesn’t worry when he finds himself laid out on the bed, the tentacles releasing him and leaving him free to move.

Hand rising to caress the unbelievable bulge of his stomach, Khadgar’s cock jerks at the sensation, and he moans brokenly as pleasure crashes over him, drowning out the horror a shrinking part of him knows he should be feeling.

It’s only when the tentacle within his cock slips free and the entity somehow manages to pull the entirety of its bulk into Khadgar’s body, stretching him beyond belief, filling him more than should be possible, that a shock of fear cuts through Khadgar’s pleasure

But even as Khadgar shakes his head in denial, even as he moans, “No, no, please, no,” Khadgar can do nothing but feel as he struggles to sit up. It takes effort to reach past his bulging stomach to fist his throbbing dick and squeeze his balls, but it only takes two quick pulls before he comes, collapsing backwards, his body convulsing with the strength of his orgasm, an orgasm that seems to go on forever, the pleasure falling and cresting again and again until he’s covered in his own cum and his balls are aching and empty.

Panting and sweat drenched, covered in fluid and stuffed full, Khadgar isn’t sure how long he lays there, an occasional shiver wracking his frame as he stares at the ceiling. When the high finally fades, and Khadgar can feel the first trickle of his mana refilling, the entity within him surges within him. Khadgar cries out as the mass of his stomach wriggles before his eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?”

A sudden spike of agony shoots through his head, and Khadgar shoves his fists against his eyes, trying to get it to stop. As the minutes tick by the pain gradually fades, Khadgar slowly realizes that the thing is attempting to communicate. And then as if a switch was flipped, Khadgar can understand its words.

Master, we are yours to command? What are your orders?

An image of himself, bound and fucked by tentacles, fills Khadgar’s mind, and he can feel it moving within him, working its way out of his body. “No, no,” Khadgar says with a shake of his head. “That’s not what I—” Khadgar breaks off with a wheeze, then a cough, then gags as a tentacle forces its way out of his mouth from the inside.

Once again quickly losing himself to the pleasure of the creature he had created, half in hysteria, Khadgar wonders how he’s going to explain this and if he can sell this as an effective battlefield tool to Anduin.