Morgan’s Border Village (Patreon)

Dressed in a soft, velvety, dark purple robe, Morgan glided across the countryside by herself faster than any horse could manage aided only by her magical powers. She wore nothing underneath her large outer covering, enjoying the feel of air rushing across her devastatingly sexy, nude body as she hovered a few feet above the earth, traveling forward with incredible velocity.

Ever since she had won the Battle of Dual Hill—now not so aptly named, considering she had flattened both of them with nothing but air pressure—some survivors from the opposing kingdom had fled and sought refuge. These villages closest to them often had sympathizers.

Their own kingdom’s villages had the gall to find her to be too cruel a ruler, too iron-fisted, too sadistic and hedonistic. Well, she would show them first-hand just what it meant to criticize her rule. Never mind that she was reinforcing what everyone already knew to be true. That would only make it more fun. Morgan licked her lips in anticipation.

She arrived at the outskirts of the village.

“I am looking for the fugitive soldier from the Bryony Kingdom.” She amplified her voice with the power of her breath, projecting the sound and carrying it through the village, rattling the poorly constructed walls of the ramshackle huts.

She could hear whimpers of terror, but nobody came out.

“One of you has him,” she continued her declaration, blasting their habitats even harder with her voice. “If nobody steps forward, then I will begin to interrogate everyone, one by one.”

Morgan picked up the sound of indecisive peasants. Perhaps some were going to come out and confess. But that would ruin all of her fun!

She took action before that could happen.

Her eyes glowed brightly as she looked up at the heavens. Dark, ominous storm clouds formed overhead at her will. A powerful wind came sweeping from miles behind her, breaking branches and causing more flexible, tall grasses to bend in her direction. The winds picked up intensity as they approached, before finally striking the huts with full force. The loose straw thatching of the nearest homes began to break apart and blow away.

Without warning, a devastating lightning bolt struck another hut, igniting the dry straw roof. Only after it had blazed into flames did the thundering echo sound.

The inhabitants fled outside, only to be greeted by Morgan’s unstoppable gust. The children were too weak to withstand it, and were blown away as soon as they stepped foot outside. The parents screamed as they reached out to grab them, but Morgan’s storm had picked them up too quickly and blown them far away already.

The parents looked back to Morgan with pure hatred and fear. Morgan merely smirked as she swirled a finger, conjuring a gentle tornado over their burning roof. The swirling air did not put on the flame; instead, it magnified it and picked it up, borrowing the element of fire to add to her mastery of wind.

The flames were sputtering, finding it hard to survive in Morgan’s immense power, so she pursed her lips and blew a breath at the roof, easily ripping the whole thing off and feeding the fire. The blaze renewed itself.

The remaining two inhabitants remained rooted to the spot—the blustering winds had intensified again, and if they so much as moved, they would have been picked up and swept away, just like their children.

Helpless to resist, or even flee, against Morgan’s easy storm, they watched as their beautiful tormentress, robe flowing in the wind, body on display, gave them a little wave.

Her victims expected the storm to pick up and blow them away. Instead, a crack of thunder snapped, synchronized with Morgan’s closed fist. It heralded the movement of Morgan’s fiery tornado. It began to drift in their direction, approaching ever nearer. The searing flames licked ever closer, and they were faced with two choices—die by Morgan’s breeze, or die by her fiery cyclone.

The wife was paralyzed. The flame soon swallowed her, consuming her. She screamed as she was burnt alive. Her legs finally gave out as she began to swirl in the vortex of fire.

The husband witnessed his wife’s fate and quickly tried to surrender to just her storm, no longer leaning forward to try and root himself in place. He was quickly blown off his feet, but Morgan wasn’t having it. With another puff of breath, she sent the inferno chasing after him, easily catching up to him and roasting him alive in midair. When the fire finally died out, Morgan snapped, ending the cyclone. All that was left of her plaything were his bleached bones.

Still, no one else had come out. Morgan flew through the tiny village, flicking tiny blasts of wind with her fingers, splintering and knocking down the front doors of all the houses she passed by. Peering inside, she could see the inhabitants huddled in fear. With a smirk, she blew another breath into each and every house, conjuring only a small wind devil at first. It barely occupied any of the interior, but swirled and grew larger by the second…

Every single house Morgan passed, she injected a growing cyclone. Before long, objects and people alike were being dragged along the rectangular walls of the houses. Every single lane that Morgan floated past began to sound with the screams of her victims, blended in with the dull, rhythmic thud of furniture and bodies alike, slamming against the four corners of the walls.

The whole process only took a few minutes. By the time she had visited a quarter of the village, blowing down doors, swirling cyclones into existence, finally two men stumbled out into the village square, one of them bearing the crest of the Bryony Kingdom.

They covered their faces as they leaned forward. With a Herculean effort, they made their way to the village well, held onto the brick, and surrendered themselves to Morgan’s judgment.

Morgan halted all of the localized cyclones she had placed in all of the houses. The destruction could not be undone, but most of the people were alive, albeit bruised and broken. She crossed her arms under her exquisite bust and inhaled deeply, stopping the storm that was blowing across the entire countryside as well. Finally, all was calm.

Morgan gracefully descended from five feet in the air, to just inches above the dirt path of the village. She was still fully nude after all, save her robe. She walked across a platform of air and approached the pair of men.

“I surrender! He, he’s the fugitive!”

“You betrayed me!” the other one spat.

“Please! Take him and leave!” the first man begged. He supplicated himself before the beautiful, sorcerous queen, hoping for mercy.

“Take him?” Queen Morgan inquired. “Why would I want to take him?”

“You bitch!” the fugitive yelled. “Your warmongering husband just takes whatever he pleases and sends you to do the dirty work!”

“Nothing dirty about it,” Morgan retorted. “Do I look soiled?”

She opened her robe, letting both men gasp at the sight of her naked splendor. They drank in the sight of her luscious legs, still suspended in midair. Her slender legs, her wide hips, the pale, creamy flesh of her voluptuous bosom…

The fugitive was the first to regain his senses.

“I’ll avenge our kingdom!” he yelled as he drew a sword and charged her.

Morgan watched his slow, clumsy advance. A simple flick of her finger generated a burst of wind inside of his grip, billowing outwards and forcing him to open his fist, allowing the sword to clatter to the ground.

“What!?” he yelled as the ball of wind held his hand immobile.

“Well, if you wanted to get closer, why did you stop? Let me help you.”

Morgan inhaled a little, and the fugitive’s body left the floor and rocketed toward her. She stretched out an arm and generated a wall of wind that he smashed into, right before he would have tackled straight into her.

Dangling helplessly in midair in her invisible prison, she hovered closer, easily phasing her body through her own wall of wind. Puckering up, she leaned in close, until their lips were almost touching, and gently blew at him.

She backed off and watched as her little airborne kiss rushed into his nose, filling his lungs to capacity. He couldn’t even exhale against her little puff as the air rushed into him!

He opened his mouth to try and relieve the pressure, but that avenue was completely blocked by another gentle kiss sent his way over her upturned palm. Just before he felt his lungs would explode, Morgan sucked in, and all the air rushed out of him. The dramatic wilting of his body was plain to see for all onlookers. There he was, a powerful male soldier, being helplessly inflated and deflated just by Morgan’s little kisses.

The winds that controlled his breathing alternated back and forth, filling him, emptying him, filling him, causing his lungs to burn. With a grand gesture, Morgan’s finely tuned magic filled every house, opening the doors and pulling every single last citizen of the village out into the town square on a cushion of her wind. She deposited them all roughly into one large crowd to witness her punishment.

There was a large murmur as they gathered themselves after their forced extraction. They saw the fugitive right there in front of her, something as fundamental as breathing, under Morgan’s full control.

She levitated her victim high into the air, twirling him in a slow circle for all to see. His panicked eyes were bloodshot, his body spasming from asphyxiation. Morgan snapped her fingers, and he was sent flying into the distance as if shot from a cannon.

“This is what you get for harboring a fugitive. If you break any of our laws, this is what you can look forward to…” She wafted her breath over the entire crowd, her gentle exhalation snaking its way into every last person’s lungs by force. Just before they would have burst, she cut the stream.

The entire crowd gagged and choked as they fell over from her easy display of power.

“And now for the issue of the sympathizers…”

“No, please! I’ll never do it again!” cried the original man who had finally given up the fugitive under duress of the entire village.

“I know you won’t,” Morgan smirked. With a snap of her fingers, his wife and son came tumbling forward.

“Oof!” cried the pair as they were put in front of the crowd. “Daddy?” called out the son in fear. The mother clutched him tight as she trembled before Morgan’s wrath.

With a swirl of Morgan’s finger, a small wind whipped up at the mother and son’s feet. It was small at first, merely fluttering the raggedy cloth coverings of their lower body. Morgan smiled in anticipation of what was to come.

“Honey? No, wait…” cried out the man as he tried to join his wife. Morgan pinned him in place by firing a shot right into his gut, winding him and bringing him to his knees. Another constant stream of windy force blew down from the heavens, preventing him from getting up. He was forced down to the ground, face pressed against the earth, helpless to do anything but watch. He couldn’t even find the breath to scream.

The cyclone began to pick up for the mother and son pair. Morgan made sure to insert a column of wind to separate them from each other, blasting the two violently apart.

“Mom!” he cried.

“Get down!”

They both hit the floor, desperately trying to claw their fingers into the hard earth. The audience could only watch in terror. Morgan’s control was so fine that her growing cyclone didn’t affect them at all.

The son screamed as he began to get dragged along the floor, spinning in circles, his fingers finding no purchase in the solid ground. The mother had crawled to the stone well and was holding onto its circular wall for support.

Morgan merely raised an eyebrow, and the spinning gust lifted the child off the earth, making his way up the funnel high into the midday sky. His screams diminished as he flew farther away, until they could no longer be heard at all.

“Nooo!” cried the mother.

“Don’t worry, you’ll join him soon.”

The struggling woman’s feet soon left solid ground too. She held onto the stone well as best she could, but one by one, her fingers slipped as Morgan’s tempest picked up even further, a testament to her limitless power. Soon, she was flung into the squall as well, screaming as she swirled around, ever higher, following her son into the heavens.

Finally, Morgan cut all her winds out of existence. The father was all alone now, unmoving and sobbing.

“Would you like to join them?” Morgan inquired.

He had no response but to choke on his own tears.

“Come see me if you do. I’ll send you to Heaven right after your family! Haha!” Morgan taunted.

Then she turned and flew away, leaving the village trembling in fear and awe. They probably wouldn’t be harboring any more fugitives anytime soon.

And for good measure, as she floated away, her robe billowing out from her own winds, she pursed her carmine lips and exhaled gently at the village. Her easy breeze demolished half of the village’s infrastructure, leaving only faint rectangular outlines of where the houses used to stand.