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The elves fell upon the orcish tribes that settled by the beginning of autumn. It was a fast and furious campaign that lasted until winter, where orcs, despite their strength and the fact of being a warrior race by nature, had no chance against the ancient people of slenderness and beauty. Elves knew the territory very well, so the possibilities of hiding were minimal, even less to perform guerrilla warfare. They resisted as much as they could, but elves went with everything: their famous archers' divisions and their outstanding mages and wizards, not to say about their cavalry; while orcs had their shamans, dire-wolves cavalry, and their mighty warriors.

It has been ages since both races fought. If truth be told, most elvish kingdoms paid no attention to wandering orcish tribes, which sometimes even settled temporally within their borders; but for Kalangor, the prince of those lands where those tribes settled, was different. His hatred towards the orcs was rooted deep in his family, for it was quite fresh in their collective memory the atrocities the last King of the orcs did to his family, especially to his great-grandmother. So, in the instant he got aware of the tribes that settled in his kingdom, he called his generals and organized the campaign to exterminate them.

Orcs knew well about the resentment between their races, but after centuries of peace and tolerance, as well as the unwritten law of being left alone as long as they stayed far away from each other in remote lands, it took them by surprise the sudden attack of the prince. They tried to negotiate, but the prince did not listen, even when they promised to depart as soon as possible from his lands. They quickly understand that there was no other way, but war.

Autumn died and winter came, the tribes were gradually pushed away from the borders of the kingdom, leaving behind nothing but destruction. Kalangor ordered that there could not be any traces of orcs in his kingdom, so his soldiers set fire to every camp and killed every orc at their sight, no matter if they were men, women, or children. The pursuit even continued out of their lands, and so was the hatred of that elvish prince.

Orcs resisted as much as they could, but the sudden attack, the lack of knowledge of the terrain as well and the fact of having to carry with them their families, gave them a huge disadvantage, so they perished under the arrows and spells of the elves by the end of winter.

Kalangor returned triumphantly to the capital by the beginning of spring, almost with the equinox. He immediately ordered to celebrate both things: his victory over the orcs and the spring festival, so that year, celebrations would last for two weeks instead of one. People were joyful, streets covered with flowers, musicians sang and played on the streets, while people danced and laughed. In the castle, parties were daily, from dawn to dusk, even until midnight. Delicious plates were enjoyed, minstrels sang the victories of the prince over the orcish tribe or his ancestors, while fools played jokes to the court.

It was the night before the equinox that a stranger stood before the eastern gates of the capital. He was welcomed by the set of guards who kept the entry that day.

"Who's there?" asked one of them, his voice showed hints of some alcohol.

"Good evening... almost good morning, gentlemen" the stranger saluted. He looked like an old human, with a beard as white as snow that fell to his waist, his clothes worn by time and the weather, yet of a dark blue color, consisting of a hood that covered his head, barely showing his old, yet proud face, from where a set of black eyes pierced the dark with intelligence, and a cap that shield his thin body from the cold of the night. "I'm here to speak with your king."

"By what name should we introduce you to our king?" questioned the other guard, also as affected by the alcohol as his companion.

"Galanmyr's my name, fair people" replied the old man. "I'm just here to pay my respects to this glorious king who helped in the extinction of that filthy kind which are the orcs."

These last words certainly hit the right spot in the guards, who, perhaps by the effects of the wine they were just drinking until just a while, relaxed.

"Then you're more than welcome, wise man" The guards smiled at him and left him in.

Galanmyr walked in rapidly. The city was about to wake up once again to restart the festivities, not as if they had over completely. As the old man walked through the streets, hundreds of elves lay on the streets completely drunk, some music was still being played in scattered spots across the urb.

When he arrived at the palace's gates, he repeated the same words he spoke at the city's gates, and was also welcomed by a set of guards even drunker than those he met before. The gardens were splendid, with a dozen tree species, thousands of flowers as well as some couple of fountains and ponds here and there. However, they were nothing compared with the palace itself: tall towers made of white marble that menaced to defy the heavens stood proudly. Myriads of windows with stained glass let the light of the moon into the palace. Within it, he walked from one hall to another, each one more splendid than the previous one, with beautiful statues and gorgeous paintings. As the city itself, he spotted drunk elves sleeping on the floors, some of them with a bottle of wine between their arms. He even found some couples in a very intimate moment.

There was one hour left before the sun rose over the horizon when the elder put a foot in the throne hall. Dozens of long tables were set from one wall to the other, yet with enough space between them for people could walk freely. Leftovers of the last night's banquet remained one of them. He did not lose time inspecting the hall but headed to the throne, where a dormant prince sat peacefully.

"Your Highness!" called Galanmyr so the prince woke up. "It's an honor to me to be in your presence."

Kalangor woke up with difficulty, too much wine. But as soon as he saw the man before him, he recovered his regal pose.

"I'm pleased by your words, old man," he said. "But who are you, and why are you here so early in the morning?"

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, for interrupting your sleep" Galanmyr bowed. "My name is Galanmyr, a little wizard who had the chance to listen to the marvelous stories about you and your victory over some orc tribes that invaded your lands. So, I'm here to deliver a present to commemorate your actions. As for the early hours, my feet seemed to not be so slow for my age, and the road was peaceful, with no bandits or monsters that could cause me any harm or slow down my arrival."

"Did you say a present?" Galanmyr's words caught his interest. "I would be very pleased."

"Indeed, Your Highness" The old man bowed again before looking into his bag, from where he extracted a crown. It was the most beautiful crown the elf had ever seen. It was made of gold, with some incrustation of silver as well as precious stones. Some strings of silver resembling ivy ran across the surface of the royal piece, while a trail of white pearls bordered the inferior edge of the crown.

"It is an excellent work" the elf prince expressed. "I can't decide if it was made by elves or dwarves."

"It is an ancient elf crown that was made by both dwarfish and elvish blacksmiths, Your Majesty" Galanmyr explained. "It was lost long ago when an orc tribe, under the orders of the Necromant, attacked said kingdom. I managed to recover it after so long, so I think, considering your latest actions, that it will suit you well."

"It is then an honor to wear this crown" Kalangor invited Glanmyr to present him with the crown. The old man obeyed, he climbed the steps up to the throne and handed the precious object to the prince, who, after inspecting it with detainment, put it on his head.

The first lights of dawn slid between the stained glasses of the big windows into the throne hall. The equinox had arrived. Gradually, that sunlight illuminated the room and one of the rays landed on Kalangor's new crow, which glowed ominously. Said glow rapidly enveloped the prince elf, who suddenly felt some discomfort.

"Ugh" he complained, the glow grew brighter as the sun rose from the horizon. "Did I drink too much?"

A wide smile drew over Galanmyr's face as he watched the prince.

"It is not the wine, Kalangor, that is bothering you" Galanmyr explained, no longer talking respectfully, his expression twisted into a mischievous smirk. "It is the crown."

"What?" Kalangor was confused and in pain. "I... can't understand."

"I gave you a cursed crown, bloody elf" Galanmyr confessed. "It is not even made of gold, or made by dwarves or elves. It was an illusion that I set on it. It is made of iron and bones and it belonged to the Orc King."

In that instant the crown's image changed, it became of black iron with incrustations of dragon and dire wolf bones, with some onyx stones and amber. Its delicate features roughened and it became heavier.

"What?" it was difficult for Kalangor to enunciate words, his body and head screamed in pain. "Who are you?"

"That was also a lie" the old man laughed. "I am Grymnal, also known as the Black King, the Necromancer, the Commander of Shadows, the Bringer of Doom."

"It cannot be" Kalangor continued. "My grandfather destroyed you centuries ago."

"I was certainly weakened in that last battle against your grandfather" Grymnal admitted "But I was not dead, but I did accept the defeat and ordered my troupes to disband and to try to live peacefully with the other kinds, which gradually was achieved. But your last actions lit the flame of wrath in me."

Kalangor did not say anything, for he was struggling with the increasing pain. He felt as if his bones broke and elongated.

"Those you attacked never participated in any battle nor committed any crime against any country when I ruled over the orcs" Grymnal continued. "In fact, they were the outcasted of the rest of the orc kind, for most of them were half-blood or descended from half-bloods, whether human or elvish. So, they were kinder than most orcs, not to say, weaker. Yet you eliminated them without even talking to them!"

"Ugh, they were orcs... and orcs..." his supposition of being growing was true, he was becoming taller by each second that passed. Kalangor, who normally had 1.80m, was gradually reaching the 2m.

"Yes, that's all you think about" Grymnal threw him a cold glare full of hatred. "And because of that, I'm going to turn you and all your people into what you hate most."

"No!" Kalangor yelled with a mixture of pain, fear, and disgust. By then he was 2.50m, without showing signs of stopping. His clothes were far too short by then. However, he not only was growing in height, but his body was also broadening.

"Have you heard about the theory that orcs were elves, but they were corrupted?" Grymnal inquired, but Kalangor was too focused on his pain to even answer. "Well, it's true. Long ago, a tribe of elves were caught by dark entities and were turned into what you know."

"You won't get away with this" Kalangor grunted as he struggled with his progressively more constrictive clothes. His natural slender, yet muscular body was hardening, shoulders expanded laterally, biceps and triceps inflated under the silk shirt, his chest pressed forward the fabric with each breath he took.

"I already did, disgusting elf" Grymnal strongly replied. "And don't think your magic can do anything against mine. This is an ancient spell, more powerful than any you or your mages have seen before. Moreover, it not only affects you but your entire kingdom!"

Grymnal was right with that last statement. Kalangor had not noticed yet, but all his subedits were suffering the same changes as he did, even domestic animals such as horses, which were turning into giant wolves. Buildings were crumbling down, furniture became less sophisticated, even inexistent.

"Ugh, these clothes are killing me!" Kalangor complained. He tried to take them off, but he tore them instead. He had developed more musculature than any elf had ever done before. He looked more like a barbarian human with pointy ears, big and powerful hands capable of crushing skulls with bare strength, a wide back that could serve as a shell, and his hard abs like steel.

"That's it, get reed of those clothes" the necromancer suggested as he watched the pants turning into a cloth because of the calves and quadriceps erupting with new mass and feet piercing the shoes, revealing a set of wide platforms capable of holding the increasing weight over them.

"Ugh... my head hurts" As Kalangor's neck increased its girth, his voice dropped some octave, turning his melodical voice into a thundering bass. His soft facial features hardened and squared, two tusks grew from his lower jaw, and his nose broadened to inhale more air needed to his new set of expanded lungs. A beard spread, like a fire in a savannah during the dry season, across his previously unbeard jawline, and the hair of his head grew wilder.

"Keep going, it's almost done!" Grymnar exclaimed with excitement. The prince was unrecognizable by then, and so were his subedits, their bodies were completely changed by then. Gone was their slender and delicate figure, they had acquired the strength of ten men and the body to match: large backs, strong arms and legs, wide chests, and hard abdomen, some even had gained some fat and acquired a round belly, which was unthinkable for an elf. For the final touch, their skins turned green and body hair grew over their arms, torso, crotch, and pits, as well as legs, varying in thickness and length.

Even though Kalangor's body was of an orc, his mind was still elvish, but that would change eventually as well. Gradually his memories were erased and rewritten: his name was not Kalangor, but Khraggör, he was not the prince of any elvish kingdom, but the chief of an orcish tribe, he was even aspiring to become the new Orc King, always under the command of his master the Necromancer. He loved to battle like any other orc, to feast after every victory with beer and meet. He rode dire wolves, not horses. He also loved the orgies he did with his companions; it did not matter if he fucked a woman or a man, an orc a human, or an elf, he was manly and virile, any hole would satisfy him.

The walls of the magnificent castle over him crumbled down as did the other palaces and houses of his kingdom. Carpets and curtains turned into the leather and skin of which huts were made. The exquisite statues, paintings, and murals disappeared and turned into simple totems and wood or bone figures. Jewelry became simple, mainly made of bones. Khraggör's throne turned into a chair covered by dire wolf's skin.

The sun was high when Khraggör opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his master Grymnal, the Necromancer. So, he stood up from his chair and made a light bow to pay respects. He might be the next Orc King, but he was aware of how powerful a thin man was.

"It's good to see you here, master" Khraggör greeted the necromancer, then he picked up his horn of bear, which was as long as his forearm, and waved it to demand some beer. "Want some beer."

Grymnal refused the invitation with a wave of the hand, so Khraggor drank the whole horn with a single sip, some beer spilled from the horn onto his chest, and the orc cleaned his lips with his forearm and burped loudly.

"I'm here to talk about my new plans" Grymnal spoke, both, Khraggör and him, smirked in partnership. A new era was about to begin.

Nayar Leng