Obsessed Heroine

Tyrande's heart bled. Her two sons hated each other to this extent, determined to fight to the death, and she was powerless to stop them, forced to witness their fratricide. The silver cross gleamed white in the moonlight, chains binding Tyrande's delicate body tightly, the intricate magic array draining her of all power.
The night wind howled, biting like knives. The tranquil moment vanished in an instant. The Soul Guardian roared, transforming into a black orb of lightning, accompanied by a violent tremor in the air, and suddenly three enormous black demons appeared. The demons' wings spread wide, obscuring the moon, their muscular, thick arms converged and thrust forward, unleashing a barrage of emerald fireballs at the Anti-Mage.
The Anti-Mage, facing three opponents, did not panic. His agile figure deftly dodged the attacks, swiftly teleporting to the demon in the center and rapidly wielding his Moonblade. A whooshing sound echoed through the night. The demon, struck with tremendous force, shattered instantly, transforming back into a black ball of light and vanishing without a trace. Before the Anti-Mage could recover, he suddenly sensed an unusual fluctuation in the air. Sure enough, ripples spread across the void like the surface of a lake, reflecting a phantom image of the Anti-Mage.
The immense pull made it difficult for the Anti-Mage to move. The phantom mirrored his movements, its moonblade swirling like the wind, each strike ruthless and deadly. The Anti-Mage desperately defended himself, parrying the sharp moonblades and dodging powerful fireballs, his situation precarious.
Tyrande watched, her heart filled with anxiety. She wished she could kneel before them, willing to do anything to prevent this tragedy. But all her struggles were futile. Tyrande couldn't even utter a sound, left only on the cross, heartbroken.
The remaining two colossal demons twitched their lips in unison, as if revealing wicked smiles. The ghastly green fireballs they unleashed became even more powerful, instantly vaporizing the air. The Anti-Mage was in agony, his body already slashed several times by the phantoms, blood dripping and scattering in the wind. Exhaustion kept washing over him. Finally, when Blink's cooldown ended, the Anti-Mage mustered his strength and activated his special ability, suddenly vanishing from the demons' sight.
The Temple of the Moon, having existed for countless years and been reinforced with countless protective barriers, was still ravaged by the Soul Guardian's domineering attack. The ghastly green flames seemed to come from hell, igniting anything they touched. The entire temple was engulfed in flames, billowing thick smoke
in a terrifying display. "Majina, you coward, all you do is hide and dodge! If you have the guts, come out and fight to the death! Come out, you coward, come out!!" The demon's tall figure was blurred by the black smoke. Unable to find an opponent, he became enraged and began to roar.
Hiding in the shadows for a brief rest, the Anti-Mage racked his brains for a solution, but to no avail. He could only hope the rumors were true, since such transformation spells had time limits; the stronger the power, the shorter the time limit.
"Coward, if you don't come out, I'll kill Tyrande! Hahaha!! You and your son can meet in another world!!" The black demon didn't speak empty words; his body trembled violently, and streaks of black lightning coiled like dragons, slowly flowing into his hand and merging together. At the same time, another demon condensed an enormous green fireball. The lightning and fireball suddenly converged, the black and green orb trembling as it flew towards the cross.
The Anti-Mage, seeing the orb shooting towards his mother, his eyes bloodshot, could no longer escape. He flashed before the cross, his moon blade slicing through several strange arcs, actually shattering the orb into fragments without detonating it.
The black demon, embodied by the Soul Keeper, stared in disbelief, halting its movements. The Anti-Mage seized the opportunity, charging towards the demon with incredible speed, its arms moving in a strange rhythm. The moon blades seemed to transform into the bright moon in the sky, strikingly bright amidst the green flames and black smoke.
Perhaps the delaying tactic worked; the other demonic illusion vanished as a black orb, leaving only the Soul Keeper itself. Victory seemed within reach. The Anti-Mage blinked again, leaping high into the air and instantly appearing above the demon's head, its two moon blades slicing towards its opponent in bizarre arcs.
The black demon, though powerful, lacked agility, its dodging and weaving proving ineffective. In a short time, it was struck several times, feeling its once abundant magic power drain away by the slicing moon blades. The situation reversed rapidly. Caught off guard, the Soul Keeper could no longer maintain its demonic form, and in a flash of black light, it transformed back into a half-elf wielding a jade-green moon blade.
The Anti-Mage gave his opponent no chance, pressing forward with overwhelming force. His sharp moon blade moved with effortless skill, suppressing the Soul Guardian to the point of utter helplessness. Wounds appeared on his brother's body, and the Anti-Mage suddenly felt a pang of doubt. Was he doing the right thing?
In that moment of distraction, the Soul Guardian, on the verge of collapse, began to chant an incantation. Simultaneously, both brothers trembled, and two irregular green orbs of light flew from their chests, rushing towards their opponents and quickly merging into their bodies.
The tide turned again. The Anti-Mage collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain and limp, as if all of his opponent's injuries had been transferred to him. Meanwhile, the Soul Guardian, who had been on the verge of defeat, was suddenly full of energy. A verdant moon blade rested against the Anti-Mage's neck, blood gushing from the wound. The Soul Guardian remained silent for a long time, his mind filled with hesitation.
Tyrande, watching from the sidelines, was drenched in sweat, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. This breathtaking duel was more mentally and physically demanding than anything she had ever faced before, almost costing her her life. With her mouth gagged, Tyrande could not speak, only silently praying for the moon goddess to intervene and end this quickly.
The Anti-Mage, mustering his last ounce of strength, secretly condensed a dazzling blue-white orb. Sensing the malice flashing in the Soul Guardian's mind, he steeled himself and unleashed his final attack. The result was, of course, mutual destruction. The Soul Guardian, struck by "Mana Void," vomited a mouthful of blood, and with a swift movement, his emerald moonblade slashed a long, deep gash across the Anti-Mage's body, almost fatal.
The two brothers lay on the ground, their fates unknown. This situation was clearly beyond Tyrande's tolerance; the former Priestess of the Moon could no longer bear the strain and fainted. *
Clap clap clap!* "Truly magnificent!" A deep, slightly hoarse male voice pierced the silence, the space began to distort, and the suddenly appearing figure gradually became clear. Upon closer inspection, it looked exactly like the two brothers, the only difference being that their eyes, filled with endless vicissitudes, burned with emerald flames—Illidan Stormrage!!
The ghastly green hellfire became docile before Illidan, obediently dispersing and gradually extinguishing.
Illidan walked to Tyrande, his gaze piercing, and emerald flames soared into the air, incinerating the silver cross and all the instruments binding her to nothingness, but without harming Tyrande in the slightest. With her warm fragrance in his arms, Illidan's expression was strangely enigmatic. He waved his hand, summoning a large bed, and gently laid Tyrande down.
At this moment, Illidan was extremely tender, caressing Tyrande's skin as if cherishing his most beloved lover. His love was unwavering, though fate had played a cruel trick; it was too late. Illidan sighed, gazing wistfully at the full moon in the night sky, casting its silvery light across the land.
Tyrande had a strange dream, as if she were on a beach, the cool seawater gently washing over her body, cleansing away all her weariness; or as if she were wrapped in a ball of cotton, the warm, soft cotton gently caressing her body, sending away all her worries… "
Mmm, so comfortable," Tyrande murmured unconsciously, her tense face finally relaxing, her stunning beauty radiating a mysterious moonlight, like a sharp sword piercing Illidan's heart. The pain was so intense, even death in the Black Temple couldn't compare. Illidan slumped down, his chest heaving. "
I was reborn from the ashes, created the world, controlled everything, yet I could not hold your heart. Why, why, even now, did you still choose the Moon Goddess?! Tyrande, no one can stop me, not even you!" " I'm sorry, I had no other choice..."
Emerald flames flowed from Illidan's eyes, instantly engulfing his entire body like a phoenix rising from the ashes. His fading figure emitted two eerie lights, one shining on the Anti-Mage and the other on the Soul Keeper, before vanishing completely the moment the two brothers regained consciousness.
Suddenly, Tyrande, in her sleep, shed tears, crystal clear as jade, making even the moon in the sky seem to lose its color.
The Anti-Mage rose from the ground, the black blindfold gone, his body functioning perfectly restored, as if the fierce battle had never occurred. An antique sandalwood bed suddenly appeared before him, its sheer curtains barely concealing the jade-like beauty within.
Faint whispers, like nimble little hands, parted the curtains, pulling the Anti-Mage onto the bed. The sight of his mother's pure yet alluring naked body instantly shattered his remaining reason. Driven
only by instinct, he tore his clothes and pounced on Tyrande, his movements far more savage than usual. Burning with lust, his insides flared, the Anti-Mage was like a ravenous tiger, greedily sniffing at the delicious prey about to be devoured.
Tyrande, still lost in her dream, remained unaware of her son's actions, though her furrowed brows seemed to hold something unsettling.
Countless fantasies, countless hopes, countless moments of guilt, countless moments of hesitation. The Anti-Mage finally witnessed this scene firsthand. Without the admonitions of reason, without the constraints of morality, without the obstruction of others, it was all driven by instinct. His
thick, long, purple penis, veins bulging, like a blood-red spear, broke through worldly constraints and thrust forward relentlessly. *Thud!* The Anti-Mage finally entered his mother's body. Her narrow, honeyed orifice was already overflowing with spring tides, like a misty waterfall, the tender walls like a thousand tiny tongues licking and sucking.
Tyrande's violet skin was slightly damp with sweat, exuding a captivating fragrance like musk and orchid. Her long eyelashes trembled gently, as if she might open her eyes at any moment. The Anti-Mage was completely immersed in his mother's alluring body, his penis thrusting in and out with wide, sweeping strokes, like an iron spear sweeping across a thousand armies.
The sounds of their intense flesh-on-flesh combat echoed far and wide, seemingly reverberating within the Temple of the Moon.
Feeling his mother's soft moans under the fierce onslaught, even though she was only unconscious, the Anti-Mage was still ecstatic. His already extraordinary penis swelled even more, plunging into her honey pot and causing a bulge to appear on his mother's lower abdomen. The mother and son's tightly pressed genitals occasionally spurted out vaginal fluids, accompanied by the continuous, pounding thrusts like a pile driver, producing incredibly lewd sounds of intercourse.
Desire, like an ever-increasing balloon, brought the Anti-Mage unprecedented excitement and confusion: Mother, you are mine, no one can take you away, I want you! As if possessed, the Anti-Mage kissed Tyrande's lips, his tongue roughly forcing its way in, desperately sucking the sweet saliva, his heavy breaths hitting her face.
Their tongues intertwined, their penises and vaginas perfectly sealed. Never before had he felt so intimate with his mother. The Anti-Mage felt as if he had returned to his childhood, to infancy, to his mother's womb… In his dream, Tyrande and her husband Malfurion were engaged in passionate lovemaking: sometimes on the beach, sometimes on the grass, sometimes in the sea, sometimes in the clouds. This unrestrained intercourse was an experience she had never had before; even he, in his past life, seemed inadequate.
Finally, the Anti-Mage reached the summit, his hard, iron-like penis forcing open his mother's cervix, the large glans penetrating the mysterious place that had once conceived him. In a violent spasm, the Anti-Mage's scalding semen shot directly into his mother's uterus, wave after wave, the white fluid filling her cavity gushing out, slowly flowing down the thighs of both mother and son.
The Anti-Mage let out a long sigh, gently releasing his arms from his mother's embrace, gazing at her stunningly beautiful face with a complex expression. Suddenly, Tyrande opened her eyes, and in that instant, the moonlight filled the sky!

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