Aralyn Leto and her mother Larissa, are running across Soovaree, a mystic supernatural realm, to escape Malleteagan, Aralyn’s father and Larissa’s destined mate. At tender age of 13, Aralyn witnessed Malleteagan killing Larissa in a cold-blooded murder. Taking her last breaths, Larissa made Aralyn promise to continue to live and fight. Brokenhearted yet determined to keep her promise, Aralyn continues running away from Malleteagan. Blinded by the hatred, Malleteagan (Aeolian Warlock’s Royalty, the Lycan King and son of Moon Goddess) believes that Aralyn’s death is needed to break the Moonlight curse cast upon him by the God of War. Left with no choice, Aralyn finally escapes from Malleteagan to Wengarthria (the supernatural hell of Soovaree). In Wengarthria, Aralyn enters Oribus, the first of nine levels of hell. In Oribus Aralyn meets Sentaya, enigmatic Oribian ruler and gatekeeper of Wengarthria. Sentaya offers a hideout to Aralyn, who agrees to work for Sentaya in exchange. About five years later, Malleteagan discovers Aralyn’s hideout in Oribus and attacks Sentaya when she refuses to handover Aralyn, only to lose the battle. However, Aralyn’s relief to hear about Malleteagan’s battle loss and retreat from Oribus is short-lived. Upon the battle end, Aralyn’s hideout was discovered by Marcellus Riggs, the illegitimate son of Hades. As commanded by his father, Hades, Marcellus, the seasoned army commander and heir apparent to Wengarthrian throne, led the army to Oribus to collect the souls of Malleteagan’s fallen Lycan soldiers. When he discovers Aralyn. Marcellus is annoyed to discover that she is his destined mate. Due to personal vendetta, Marcellus abducts Aralyn and imprisons her in dungeons of the last circle of Wengarthria with a plan to destroy Aralyn and get revenge. Will he manage to get going with his plans?
View MoreMarcellus POVI had barely managed to swallow the last bits of the gag-provoking, stinky mass they gave me to eat when Cesar and Joachim barged into my cell. Hello to you too, pricks. These two bastards were the only surviving guards among those who tortured my mother. And now, Noosha assigned them to lead all of my tortures. I would stay calm during their usual morning drill when they would drag me close to the exit of the cell to have more space for beating me and lashing, yet enough to contain me in the safety of the cell where my powers are blocked. And, as every day, right after the meal and just before my road to the examination lab, they would whip and beat me up before they shackle me with devilsbane and corpse flowers to take me to the lab. As the blows of their boots and fists and the stings of the whip lashed against my broken skin, the bruises and cuts from the previous day, which would barely start to heal, would reopen, break and bleed again. Many of the old cuts were al
“Oh, how is our precious prisoner today.” I heard the bitches voice somewhere, in the distance, outside. I just rolled my eyes and scoffed. I ignored her, the devilsbane and corpse flower injection mixture they gave me just seconds ago and continued to eat. Given that they have deprived me of my demon by suppressing his powers and abilities with injections and spells cast within the cell, I am unable to heal. I heal as a human would do, as they have disabled Ezel. They would only try to invoke him in the safety of the examination lab. And in those moments, I would be able to pick up dribs and drabs of Ezel’s energy to heal my human. This was the only reason why my human is still alive. Barely alive, but alive at least. The daily beatings I am receiving have affected my ability to hold the spoon, as most of the knuckles on my fingers are broken. So, I am holding the bowl and slurping this gloppy, unappetising mess with my broken wrists. And the pain that shoots through my broken wrists
Marcellus’a POV -During the Macabantran battle-I think it’s morning. Well, this is only my guess, given that they finally took my restraints off and brought me some vicious-looking mucky substance in a bowl to eat, so I guess it’s breakfast time. Every day, they bring a spoonful of food to me- once a day only, for breakfast. I am eating the mucus-looking food and am thinking of those amazing cinnamon buns I had in Nerzelis. That would be so nice now, goddammit. I was restrained since that day I spat at Noosha. I would not have much space for movement in my cell, even if I weren’t. I have no idea how I managed to move so quickly that day when she annoyed me, given the crammed space here. My cell looks like an alcove and smells like a bloody manhole. It is a dingy little box room with a low ceiling, which prevents me from standing up even when I am not restrained. And I am not talking about standing up to my full height, given that I am lofting at about 7 feet in my human form. I’d
Hades POV -few weeks after the Macabantran battle-Mirra and Lana, Noosha’s ladies-in-waiting, were helping us with the bloody regalia crap to be set up. We are preparing for an urgent strategic meeting with the Council of Wengarthrian Elders to discuss the next steps regarding the war. I know that Noosha probably hates wearing a uniform more than I do. I have to wear this fugly tunic uniform of a chief commander of the Wengarthrian army. It is in the stupid signature obsidian and amethyst tones of Wengarthria. I’m one second away from pouting like a bratty child. I hate the bloody formal wear and formalities in general. I am the fucking ruler of this circus, and I should at least have some sodding say in what I am to wear while carrying out official duties. My shitty mood is skyrocketing because, in our dressing room, we are surrounded by mirrors, so wherever I look, I see myself in this ridiculous, godawful toga, being decorated with bloody regalia, looking like a sparkling giant c
Trigger warning: scenes of humiliation, sexual, physical and emotional abuse. Kandreah’s POV I held my breath to suppress my utter terror and shock as I watched this brave, stubborn as fuck, and above all - proud guy, who has the blood of the gods running through his veins, being reduced to a feeble, servile slave. The claws of Erzelus’s Lycan are protruding through his human-like fingers as he starts to shift to his wolf and is about to grab and rip his own throat obediently. How is this possible? He is the son of Moon Goddess and grandson of Nepenthern, God of all Gods. I know him to be feisty as fuck, fierce, bold, brutal, helluva warrior and a lethal fighter. I know him well enough by now to know that he is dominant as fuck. But now, he is as tame as a lamb prepared to be slaughtered. “No!!!! Fuck!!!! Don’t!!!! Stop Nahevra!!!! I snarled as I watched his suicidal attempts at his own throat. “…Ok, ok…you can control him!!! You proved your point, I fucking believe you!!! But ple
Thersar’s POV When we reached the Macabantrah castle, no one could deny that it looked like a vast complex. Still, when Erzelus managed to open the gate of Macabantrah Castle with his blood, the magnitude of its interior appalled me. As soon as Erzelus vanished, a surge of troops of respawn demons flooded out of the castle, obscuring me from seeing more of the insides of the fortress. Kandreah was just about to unsheathe his Morningstar chthonic mace and lead the attack with vampiric Faes when tendrils of black magic mixed with zaps of amethyst electric currents rippled, nested and wrapped around him, tugging him into the castle, scattering all the warriors ahead of its way. He roared as he tried to resist and thrashed against the force which was suffocating and dragging him in, but he was soon pulled in by a mighty yank, which ended this tug-war. He was sucked in with full speed and strength to the insides of the castle. He was still fighting, roaring and resisting the pull when he
Erzelus POV I woke up feeling fucking groggy and sick. I hope dwarves haven’t tricked me again to drink that shitty Darhana again—little plonkers. I cannot peel my eyes open. My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. A phantom sting of injection with some sedative which is still evaporating from my veins burns almost as sticking your wick in a flap of a bitch with claps. And sadly, I know how much that burns because fucking Malleteagan was always a man whore, so he had his fair share of a variety of slags on his dick. The guy was clearly unfazed by what he fucks, as long he emptied his sack somewhere; he was like a little pig: he’d take whatever swill you put in front of him, well, at least when it came to choice of women. And to say that this was also something that annoyed me to my wits end for centuries is an understatement. But he would again take over the control over our body and would shag everything that comes under his balls, and I had no say in that. He knew he would heal imm
Erzelus’s POV“Ok, bat boy, let us try it that way then,” I sighed before I allowed my nails to morph into claws. I cut each palm of my hand with my talons, and my ichor started to trickle from my hands. I am not sure how long will I bleed, though, given that Lycans have fast-healing ability, not to mention the speed with which we celestials heal. Kandreah turned away, and I saw that he was looking at his warriors, probably compelling them to resist my blood. I pressed the bloodied palm of my left hand on the handprint engraving on the left side of the iron-wrought doors. As my ichor dripped into the handprint, a heartbeat could be heard, ringing from the doors, mixed with swooshing and sizzling sounds, followed by the dust of black smoke. As it filled the engraving, I felt my energy receding, and agonising pain wracked through every pore of my body. The same thing happened when I pressed my right hand on the handprint engraving on the right-hand side and at the moment when my blood
Erzelus’s POV We were finally getting close to the peak of Macabantrah mountain after we spent the last several days hiking and circling through the web of its narrow inlets, ravines and chasms, which heaped into an enormous chain of rocky stalactites. Indeed, Macabantrah is really an entry to the Macabre zone of Wengarthria, as its name says. Massive blocks of basalt black stones were cramping every corner of our surroundings, veins of ember circling through them. Basalt stones were encrusted with clusters of onyx pebbles that shone ominously, each pebble looking like it held harrowing secrets. Tattered, barren willows were creating sinister alleys which hung and flailed from each stone above us, clogging already narrow passages. Their branches with dried leaves were always on our way, hurdling our challenging rise up the Macabantrah slope. However, when looking more carefully, you could see that each dried leaf on those branches had a little onyx pebble smeared with a subtle ruby g
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