image [https://i.imgur.com/eY2gF5l.png]
The glow from the glass dome above cast an eerie red hue, transforming the surroundings into something otherworldly. This place was no longer the humble church they stood in; it felt as though he had been whisked away to an alternate plane of existence. The unsettling prayers of deranged individuals filled the air yet there was no one in sight, their maddening chants harmonizing with the disconcerting scene. In the midst of it all stood Graybeard, immobilized by an inexplicable force that seemed to emanate from the very darkness itself, constricting his heart in its icy grip.
"Morgana Blackblood," Graybeard muttered the name to himself, each repetition intensifying his bloodshot gaze as it remained fixated on the imposing figure before him. His lips quivered, the syllables of her name a chant of their own, building into a crescendo that erupted from his throat: "Morgana Blackblood! Morgana Blackblood! Morgana BLACKBLOOD!!"
He was still in the wake of the hysteria of what had transpired in the church. The death of Joan slowly settling in.
A mirthful chuckle escaped Morgana's lips as her hand emerged from the folds of her robes, a glint of steel catching the light. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness, the air heavy with the promise of impending death.
Morgana drew nearer to Graybeard, the distance between them defined by an eerie elevation. A flight of stairs stretched downward, leading to where she stood. Her gaze locked onto his immobilized form as she licked the dagger's blade, her voice dripping with a malicious undertone.
"Welcome to my palace," Morgana's words were a chilling invitation that echoed through the chamber, enveloping the atmosphere with an unsettling tension.
Graybeard struggled to respond, his vocal cords strained as he barely managed to form words, "Where... Where are we?"
"We stand within the Citadel of Darkness," Morgana replied, her voice an embodiment of authority. "A sanctuary of forbidden knowledge and untold riches. A domain of the mind."
"A domain of the mind??" Graybeard's voice wavered, his confusion evident.
"In essence, you now dwell within my mind, traversing a realm separate from the physical plane. Your body remains in the mortal world, a mere vessel, while your consciousness resides here. Wounds inflicted upon your being in this realm will not affect the body in the realm of flesh and bone. Though your body may remain unscathed, you shall endure the agony of every drop of blood that is drawn."
Her hands ascended, the robes draping around her like a sinister shroud as she began to speak, the air itself seemingly bending to her authority.
"And this is my authority as one representing the sin of Greed and Envy. This is the Ceremony of Torment and Melancholy."
Morgana's deliberate steps brought her closer, her predatory presence causing Graybeard's heart to race. Her sharp fingernails pressed into his shoulder, a frigid touch that sent a chill down his spine. Her sadistic grin only deepened as her nails punctured his flesh, evoking a guttural scream of pain.
"AGHH!" Graybeard's cry echoed through the chamber, the searing pain lancing through his shoulder as blood began to flow, staining her fingers crimson. Morgana pulled back, savoring the blood on her nails, her demeanor oozing malevolence. Graybeard was trapped, powerless to escape the torment.
Her words dripped with a perverse delight, her gaze locking onto Graybeard's anguished form as she spoke, "I relish in this power granted by my beloved. The ability to torture you at my leisure. Do you not find it a privilege, a reward to spend the remainder of your life here?"
"NO, I DO NOT!" Graybeard's retort was a defiant cry, his agony mingling with a fierce refusal to surrender.
Morgana's dagger gleamed menacingly in her hand as she advanced, the weapon's blade sinking into Graybeard's body with ruthless precision. The pain was unimaginable, his scream echoing through the chamber. But she did not withdraw the dagger, locking him in a nightmare of unending suffering. Graybeard's body convulsed with each twist of her hand, his resistance feeble against her cruel power.
Amidst his writhing, he locked eyes on the dagger embedded within him. Morgana's sadistic twist brought new waves of anguish, his cries of agony intensifying as his insides contorted. Though the dagger was small in size, it did not hinder its effectiveness.
With abrupt swiftness, the blade was yanked free, blood spurting forth. Morgana's lips met the blade, a macabre kiss that reflected her twisted pleasure. Graybeard's bloodshot eyes met her gaze, a mix of torment and defiance.
Her voice held a venomous sweetness, her intentions clear, "How are you holding on so far? Are you enjoying it as much as I am?"
"WHY? WHY ARE YOU DOING—" Graybeard's desperate plea was silenced by another strike, the blade plunging into his abdomen. His words trailed off as he gasped for air, his voice fading.
"To what end?" Morgana's words were chilling, her voice dripping with a sinister satisfaction, "To the point where your agony forces you to become the agent of your own torment. It's the way of this place. I shatter your mind, infuse it with exquisite despair, leaving you an empty husk. Time stretches here in this realm. By the time I'm through, you'll awaken in the world of the living, your screams echoing like a symphony like the rest of them."
"The rest of them...?" Graybeard's voice trembled.
"You know... Like those humans you encountered upon entering the church," Morgana mused, her tone a chilling melody. "They, too, stood where you stand now. But they didn't last as long as you. If anything, I should commend you for it."
"I DON'T NEED YOUR PRAISES!"
"Very well," Morgana's voice carried a wicked amusement.
Bringing her finger close to his face, Morgana's eyes glinted with a maniacal fervor. Her hand took on a twisted posture, aimed like a dagger at his eye. With a flick, her jagged fingernail brushed against his eye, igniting a scream that seemed to tear through reality itself. Graybeard's body contorted in excruciating pain, a puppet manipulated by the strings of her madness. But the symphony of torment didn't end there. Again and again, her finger struck targeting his eye, each touch a tribute of suffering. He wasn't even able to close his eyelid as his whole body was exposed as a canvas for her sadistic masterpiece.
"STOP! PLEASE, STOP IT! STOP IT!" Graybeard's cries echoed, his pleas a discordant melody to Morgana's insanity.
Yet Morgana's finger didn't relent. With cruel precision, she aimed her nail like a dagger, driving it straight into his eye. The gouging of his eye began, a slow and methodical intrusion that transformed his agony into a visceral nightmare. His eye fell to the ground, a grotesque spectacle of terror, his own fear reflected in his convulsing form.
Tears mixed with blood as Graybeard's face contorted with pain, his remaining eye a window to his suffering. Underneath the blood-soaked eye, a slow trickle of blood adorned his face like macabre paint.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
As his eye rolled toward her, Morgana's gaze followed, her voice tinged with a disturbing mixture of revulsion and perverse curiosity, "Ugh, men and their tears. Can't you at least mimic the demeanor of my beloved? Show a modicum of dignity, you wretched worm."
But Graybeard's cries and pain seemed to dull his capacity to respond, his suffering surpassing the reach of words.
As he screamed, Morgana mused to herself. "Then again, Even Michael could not withstand the torment I can bring... So to expect this much of you is quite a foolish endeavor."
"Are these screams your escape from the brutality of reality? A coping mechanism?" Morgana's words danced on the edge of madness. "Back then, you showed bravery. And now, this?"
Graybeard remained incapable of offering any coherent response, his sanity on the verge of absolute despair.
"You've served well in distracting me... But is this agony justified, all to protect Mila?"
Morgana's voice twisted with lunacy as she questioned his motivations, her laughter ringing with a distorted melody. "What's even captivating about her? She's neither strong nor heroic. Most would beg for her death instead of their own, yet here you are. One eye gone, yet you persist in shielding her from me in expense of your sanity and your life."
Her tongue traced the tip of her finger, a macabre gesture of pleasure amidst the torment. She picked up the severed eye, flaunting it in Graybeard's vision, savoring his vacant gaze.
Silence fell, Graybeard's remaining eye void of life. Emotion drained from him like the blood that had flowed.
"You know, if you can't scream anymore then I won't be entertained." Morgana's words dripped with maniacal disappointment. "Keep up your performance, or perhaps I'll turn my attention to that girl you hold dear."
At the mere mention of Mila, a spark of reaction flickered within Graybeard's eye, a twisted source of satisfaction for Morgana.
"Shall we continue?" Morgana's voice echoed through the chamber, her madness guiding her actions. With an unhinged precision, she thrust her dagger into his chest and legs. Moving to his back, she repeated the cruel process, the blade sinking into his flesh with relentless rhythm. His body, once violently responsive, now endured the agony with a muted response. Every strike carved its mark, his mind approaching the precipice of madness.
As his reactions diminished, Morgana withdrew her blade, her voice a chilling whisper that cut through the air like a death knell, "This sensation, it ravages your soul, not just your body. The mind is what shatters. They usually cry out, 'Spare me! Please!' like the swine they are. But you... you're different, aren't you?"
"Still, Your body may be fine in the human world, but who knows how long you'll be here..." Morgana's words held a foreboding darkness. "But that expression of yours tells me all I need to know of your situation. Since I can't torment you any further, I'll leave you. But fret not for I'll return soon enough. And about your wounds, don't worry. The sanctuary of darkness mends all within with its malevolent energy. You may experience discomfort, but rest assured, you will heal."
With that, Morgana's form vanished from view, leaving behind a chamber drenched in torment and a tormented soul trapped within the labyrinthine corridors of her madness.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7fgH3qs.png]
What transpired over what felt like an eternity, a year of relentless torment, was etched into Graybeard's consciousness. Morgana's sadistic visits were as predictable as the rising sun, each day a gruesome cycle of agony that tested the limits of his endurance. His mind danced on the edge of oblivion, pushed to the brink but never quite shattering. His body bore the marks of unrelenting violence, each day's torture leaving him mangled, mutilated, and broken. Yet, to his dismay, the cursed sanctuary that cocooned him prevented death's sweet release. His eyes, those windows to his suffering, had been gouged out time and time again.
But now, at the end of that torturous year, a shift occurred. Morgana returned, not alone this time, but accompanied by her servants bearing an ominous object that resembled a chair. Even though his body was incapable of movement on his own accord, they placed him onto the chair, providing a momentary respite from the unending pain. He experienced a fleeting sensation of relief as they restrained his broken form.
His limbs were secured to the chair's handles and legs, further cementing his immobility. A metal collar was fastened around his neck, a final touch that rendered him utterly captive. With the finishing touches complete, Morgana casually disposed of her assistants, their lives snuffed out by her dagger. Yet their deaths held a mere footnote in Graybeard's ordeal, left him strangely unaffected.
Bound to the chair, he awaited Morgana's approach with a mix of fear and anticipation. The rush of terror that once coursed through his veins had dulled, the endless torment having transformed him into a figure devoid of the usual human responses.
"How's life treating you in this wretched place?" Morgana's voice oozed with sinister curiosity as she neared him.
He remained silent, his tongue and spirit alike numbed by the relentless suffering he had endured.
"I've brought some new toys I'd like to practice with. You might not experience the same level of pain, but these delicate delights should serve as a reward for enduring your suffering."
A portal of hellfire, reminiscent of the one Morgana had used to enter the citadel, shimmered open. Her demeanor shifted, her face adopting an uncharacteristic seriousness as she muttered under her breath, "Damn it."
From the depths of the portal emerged a formidable demon, a being of immense power. Yet, this demon was not Arbious. No, the figure that materialized was none other than Alpos himself, a manifestation of his full doom-guard grandeur. A sinuous tail trailed behind him, a sinister emblem of his demonic essence. Following in his wake was Sigfi. As they passed the fallen bodies of cultists, Morgana kneeled, her gesture an acknowledgment of deference.
"Master Alpos. And..." Morgana's voice trailed off, uncertainty clouding her words as she regarded the imp standing beside him.
Graybeard, frozen by the unfolding spectacle, could only watch in stunned disbelief.
While Morgana held greater raw power than Alpos, it was Arbious's decree that placed Alpos at the helm of the demon horde, granting him a position above her.
"Please, rise. Such postures do not befit you," Alpos commanded with an air of authority.
Morgana straightened, adjusting her robes as her attention refocused on Alpos. "Why have you graced us with your presence?"
Alpos's voice carried a weight as he responded, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "I couldn't help but overhear your declaration of intent to kill Mila. As you are aware, we require her for our experiments. To end her life would be a breach of the scripture."
"But—"
"I'm not interested in excuses," Alpos interjected, shifting his gaze toward Graybeard. "Speaking of which, did you deliver your scripture to the human you abducted?"
"Human?" Morgana's confusion was palpable.
"The one who was brought here from the gates of the void. The anomaly."
"Yes, he now possesses the scripture, and only he, along with our great lord, can decipher its contents."
"If that's the case, why are you not exploiting his potential to the fullest?"
"We are trying, and our operations here are the fruits of that endeavor, yet the boy is deranged. He's convinced he's traversed here from another universe."
"The void harbors enigmas even beyond our understanding. His claims may hold more truth than you realize."
"Perhaps, but I still fail to grasp the reason for your visit."
"You will cease this reckless endeavor and return to the Hellfire Citadel. Your efforts to prove your love have reached a point of absurdity. Your actions have led to the loss of countless occultists."
With his authoritative decree issued, Alpos vanished in a blaze of flames and embers, his form and that of his companions disintegrating into ash. Morgana stood alone, left to contemplate the weight of her circumstances.
Amidst the stillness that settled in the chamber, Graybeard found his voice, breaking a silence that had persisted for months. "The fighting... It's still happening?" His inquiry carried a sense of weariness, his mind worn thin by the relentless ordeal.
Morgana's gaze shifted toward him, a mixture of resignation and consideration in her eyes. "Regrettably, it seems we must prematurely conclude our little engagement. As much as I would relish prolonging our time together, duty prevails. Orders are orders, after all..."
And so, in a mirror of Alpos's departure, Morgana too was engulfed by a fiery conflagration, the flames becoming a swirling vortex that whisked her away. The very essence of her being was consumed by the inferno that teleported her away, releasing Graybeard of her Authority.