Lord of the realm-Chapter 54: The Awakening of the Lady of the Abyss - 2

From the circle of dark watchers, a figure stepped forward into the torchlight.

This one was human, dressed in ceremonial robes that were different from the others. His cloak was deep black with intricate red embroidery, and on the front was emblazoned a red skull symbol that seemed to glow with its own inner fire.

The man moved with the careful precision of someone performing a sacred ritual. In his hands, he carried a curved dagger that gleamed wickedly in the flickering light.

"What are you doing?" Jaenor demanded, pulling against his chains as the robed figure approached.

"Stay away from me!"

But the man paid no attention to his words.

With quick, practiced movements, he grabbed Jaenor’s right hand and drew the blade across his palm.

Pain shot up Jaenor’s arm as blood began to flow from the cut. He moved to the other hand and did the same.

The drops fell onto the carved platform beneath his feet, and where they touched the stone symbols, something extraordinary happened.

The blood didn’t just pool on the surface.

Instead, it seemed to be absorbed by the carvings, flowing along the carved lines like water following a channel. As it moved, the symbols began to glow brighter and brighter, pulsing with red light that matched the rhythm of Jaenor’s heartbeat.

The pattern of light spread outward from where he stood, following the intricate design carved into the platform. As more blood flowed from his cut hand, the picture became clearer and more complete.

It was the image of a figure—not quite human, but close enough to be disturbing.

The carved face had features that were beautiful but wrong somehow, with eyes that seemed to stare directly at whoever looked upon them. The body was curved and feminine, but there was something abominable about the way it was positioned.

"What is that?" Jaenor shouted, fear making his voice crack. "What are you doing to me?"

He struggled against his chains, trying desperately to stop the blood from flowing onto the carved image. But the more he moved, the more the cut on his hands bled, and the brighter the symbols became.

"Let me go!" he screamed at the circle of watchers. "You fucking lunatics, LET ME GOOO!!!"

But none of them even looked at him. Their attention was focused entirely on the glowing image beneath his feet, and they continued their chanting in that horrible language that sounded like death itself.

The carved figure was almost complete now, glowing so brightly that it hurt to look at it directly. The air in the chamber began to hum with power, and the temperature started to rise as if they were standing next to a great furnace.

Suddenly, a column of red light erupted from the platform, shooting up through the darkness toward the ceiling far above. The light was so bright and intense that it turned the entire chamber red, and the sound it made was like the screaming of a thousand voices.

-

High above the chamber, Morgana was flying with Swefarna. The dragon flew on top of the dark lands at terrifying speed; they were searching for the trace of Jaenor, but they couldn’t find it.

Swefarna couldn’t find the trail of that fiend after entering the gorge.

As they were flying, Morgana suddenly felt something and turned in that direction.

Then she saw the red light blazing up from the dark forest like a beacon of doom. Her heart nearly stopped as she realized what she was witnessing.

"There!" she shouted to Swefarna. She knew right away, right after the moment she saw the light.

"That light—that’s where they have him!"

The dragon folded her wings and dove toward the source of the light, moving faster than a falling star. They crashed through the canopy of twisted trees and landed hard in a clearing where a massive stone structure rose from the scorched ground.

The building was ancient and terrible, carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It was built like a great square well, sinking deep into the ground, with the red light pouring out of it like blood from a wound.

Morgana leaped from Swefarna’s back and ran toward the structure, her heart pounding with fear and desperation. From somewhere deep below, she could hear screaming—Jaenor’s voice, filled with agony and terror.

She found stone steps leading down into the chamber and took them three at a time, her hands already glowing with silver fire as she prepared for battle.

But even as she descended, the screaming below began to change. It became higher, more intense, as if the pain was beyond anything a human mind could endure.

And then, suddenly, it stopped.

The silence was somehow worse than the screaming had been.

She stopped in her tracks, feeling the dread. Her expression had turned grave as she realized what might have happened.

Shaking her head, telling herself that Jaenor would be fine, she started running again.

-

Morgana reached the bottom of the steps and burst into the ritual chamber, ready to fight whatever enemies awaited her.

But what she saw made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

Jaenor was still chained to the platform in the center of the chamber, but he was no longer moving. His body had turned a sickly purple color, and his chest was not rising and falling with breath.

He looked... empty, as if something vital had been drained from him completely.

But that was not the most terrifying sight in the chamber.

Standing in the center of the glowing platform, where the carved image had been, was a woman.

But she wasn’t human; she looked like one.

She was tall—nearly eight feet—with skin as white and pale red and hair like liquid silver that flowed down her back. Her body was curved and shapely, with a thin waist that emphasized her large hips and full bosom that moved with each breath she took. Her ass was massive, creamy, and voluptuous, and so was her bosom. Her garb was scandalously minimal—thin strips of cloth barely concealing her nipples and the cleft of her hips, leaving the rest of her body gloriously bare. The sight was an intoxicating mix of obscenity and allure, the kind that could make even the most disciplined man lose all composure.