The ritual seethes, twisting dark as Baldur lets his addiction take him. As his power roars through the cosmos now and the Void, unleashed and insanely free, I cry out as his fucking of me becomes painful rather than pleasure.
But he isn’t stopping; he can’t stop, as I see the roped coils of his addiction now, in my Void-sight. Diseased and oilslick-black, they surge in from everywhere. They cinch around his dragon’s neck, wrists, and ankles, as they coil all around his middle and even seize his tail in the Void, binding him tight.
It’s a terrible magic, something ancient as the universe itself; as Baldur struggles in it now, his power flaring in a maelstrom as he roars and fucks me harder, I feel how it’s got him.
Becausethis kind of demon won’t do his bidding, and it will never give up. As Baldur is caught in his addiction, forcing his power to rage out further to find Hedda’s imprint and heave it down in his Soulstone to finish this, his power suddenly collapses.
Because those ropes in the Void have got him; they’re bleeding him out now, rather than making his magnificent power do as it should. It’s making our entire ceremony go sideways, as I shriek in pain from how he’s fucking me now.
Bjorn roars, heaving his arms around Baldur’s middle and hauling him off me, so he doesn’t ruin me. Baldur’s connection to me snaps out as we part, and the power in our ceremony recoils.
As it cracks hard through the cavern, blasting us all to the furthest corners of the bed, I feel how the seething ooze from the cavern’s floor receives all that wrecked energy. The evil ropes of oilslick darkness coming out of the floor rush up to devour us, fed by that careening power from our broken ceremony.
Lærke can’t hold it, as she roars in pain and her power flashes out, her Bloodshield that contained that vile madness disappearing. Hedda does nothing from the stars, only watches us, as that most evil oilslick-black tar surges up to take us.
I’m seized by a dozen tentacles of leviathan night, as that terrible energy hurtles up all around us, pouring onto the bed. As it seizes my drakes also, true tentacles of darkness haul us all apart.
Baldur is secured even more than the rest; our power is gone now as I roar and struggle in my bonds, in unimaginable pain as they char and blister me like acid, preventing me from shifting up.
What’s worse is that I know we’ve failed to imbue Hedda’s imprint into the Soulstone, as all the Ancestors who knew her flood away from the hell that’s imprisoned us inside this cavern.
My Bloodwalker power can no longer hold them near; our ceremony has failed and we cannot finish this, as I feel Hedda’s terrible laugh echo all around me from the stars.
Your hubris will devour you, child.Hedda laughs now, as she watches our ceremony disintegrate, and our power become overrun by the leviathan night pouring out of the floor.Overcome your deepest schism now, between your darkness and your light. Or fail… and never leave this cavern alive. It’s your choice.
As Hedda’s dragon swirls out in the Void, gone, I know we’ve failed to capture her soul’s essence. As the fifth and final rune that was imbuing upon the Soulstone fizzles out, a vicious shockwave concusses me from that rune upon the orb breaking.
It hits me, slamming me hard right in my heart, making Aesa’s shattered Truthstone explode from my chest in pieces. As the leviathan darkness below us heaves up all over the bed now, seizing us with a hundred tentacles of freezing cold night, we’re plunged into the darkest hell.
As it drinks every last drop of our light—forever.
My drakes and I are trapped in darkness, as each of us is bound by the black tentacles of night. Because hell has come for us from far beneath this cavern, thanks to whatever atrocity broke this place, long ago; we’re fucking drained now, as that terrible, almost Vampiric darkness seethes with glee, drinking all our light from us.
Though I sense no mind to it, like a Vampire Revenant, it has a purpose. That purpose is to destroy everything our light is—our heart, our love, our passion, and our rage, as it leaves behind only our innermost darkness.
Our willpower, our retribution, and our wrath.
It’s the ultimate destructive force, as it devours us from the schism in the floor, relentless. And we are trapped by its innate darkness, writhing and screaming and separate, as each of us faces our own innermost hell alone now.
As Bjorn faces the depths of his hate, his father floods his mind, his darkest memories showing him the death of his sister Astrid over and over, infinitely.
Ström is possessed by the face and beautifully horrible body of AlfhildFey. He fucks her and fucks her, then kills someone and fucks her more, as he’s caught in an endless hell-loop of subjugation to her most black-hearted ways.
Mikkel is devoured by a scene of Lærke, caught and gang-raped in their teens as he was magically restrained by thugs of the Jarl, unable to intervene. I feel his chartreuse green acid as it surges up from his throat for the very first time, inundating his captors and Lærke’s, melting them as his dragon takes over.
For Baldur, it’s a scene of utter devastation, of a village. Nothing is left but a blast-cavern, as he stands in the ruins in shock, unscathed. I feel it in his memory as he understands his affinity for high-level runic magic is an addiction, and the self-hate that follows it. As he spirals into a feeling ofI’m evilso deeply that it courses right through his very soul, I feel how he knows he’s unforgiven.
And unforgivable.
For me, it’s knowing that I have been trapped by fate. It’s finally understanding that I have no choice in this battle with the Black Dragon; that all of this was predestined for me, by forces far more ancient than me and completely beyond my control.
It’s knowing that Baldur’s sister, Hekla, was right about the odds for my life and my success. Far worse than that, however, is knowing I was a pawn of Hedda’s all along—and still am.
For even if I win this battle inside this cavern right now, I only grow more powerful in my magic, fulfilling some insane destiny she has chosen for me, which I cannot escape. It makes everything lose-lose inside my mind now, as this diabolical black oil drains me, and I lose my grip on my inner light.
As my brighter drakaina struggles inside me now, roaring and keening for me to hold on, I feel how my inner darkness simply watches her dissipate, uncaring.
Because we both know that my inner darkness is far more powerful than my inner light. To kill without feeling, to have will but no heart, topush my agendas forward with retribution but no passion, and to wrath black without my rage, is to be untouchable.
