The orcish king had never felt fear. Now, it came in sickening waves, shocking and cold as his metal restraints. All at once, the elven girls rushed at him, nails bared, teeth flashing, eyes wild with anger, fire, lust for revenge. They scratched his skin, peeling it off in sheets, yanked muscle free from bone, gouged his eyes, ripped his once-fearsome tusks from his gums. His agonized roars spurred them on. They only stopped when the once-powerful king had been reduced to pulp and pink-streaked ivory on the dungeon floor, the only fitting retribution for his crimes against elfkind.