The studio felt alive
tonight, a sanctuary of soft lights and sleek tech. My desk was organized
chaos, strewn with collectibles, a few scattered notebooks for brainstorming
content, and a towering rig humming softly in the background. On the wall
behind me, neon lighting framed the room in a warm magenta glow, its soft
vibrancy contrasting with the cooler blue of my monitors.
I sat cross-legged
in my chair, the worn leather hugging me like a familiar embrace. Tonight’s
outfit was casual yet striking—a cropped white sweater paired with high-waisted
black leggings. My hair was tied in a loose braid that draped over my shoulder,
and my makeup was minimal, just enough to accentuate my features under the
glare of the camera.
The holographic
drone hovered silently in front of me, its lens following every gesture. The
chat scrolled furiously on my secondary monitor, thousands of followers
clamoring for my attention.
“Alright, alright,
settle down!” I said with a grin, leaning closer to the camera. “I know you’re
dying for updates, and trust me—I’ve got some stories to tell.”
The chat exploded: “We’re
ready!”, “What happened in the crypt?!”, “Show us Stormreaver!”
“First things
first,” I began, resting my elbows on the desk. “For those of you who missed
yesterday’s update, let me recap. I took on this dungeon-level quest, trying to
figure out what’s up with Grimholt—this creepy fog-covered village where,
surprise surprise, people are missing and wraiths are out for blood.”
I gestured to a holographic
replica of Stormreaver sitting on the shelf behind me. “And yeah, I’ve got this
baby now—the legendary sword Skirnir used to cut down spirits. I’m not saying
it was easy to get, but let’s just say there were a lot of draugrs, a crypt
full of traps, and oh, did I mention a boss fight that got invaded by a fellow
player?”
The chat lit up
again: “That’s insane!”, “You’re a beast, Nusrat!”, “Can’t
wait for the next part!”
I sat back,
chuckling. “Anyway, the good news is I survived, and the bad news? This
village’s mystery isn’t going to solve itself. So tonight, we’re heading back
into Grimholt to see if I can finally put this quest to rest. Wish me luck.”
With a wink at the
camera, I slipped the NeuroBand over my temples and let the real world
fade away.
---
When I opened my
eyes, the world of Nytherra Unbound greeted me once again. The room I’d
rented at the inn in Snowspire was quiet and cozy, its wooden walls lined with
tapestries depicting snowy landscapes and tales of Vaelkir heroes. A faint glow
from the hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, and the smell of pine
smoke lingered in the air.
I stretched, the
weight of my armor and gear a comforting reminder of where I was. The
reinforced leather corset hugged my torso, laced tightly over a dark blue tunic
embroidered with silver thread. Fur-lined pauldrons rested on my shoulders, the
metal clasps gleaming faintly in the dim light. Thick bracers, studded with
rivets, covered my forearms, and my fingers instinctively traced the cool steel
of the throwing knives strapped to my belt. A heavy cloak draped over my back,
its deep green fabric swaying slightly as I moved.
Stormreaver hung at
my hip, its presence a constant reassurance.
After a quick meal
downstairs—smoked venison and a slice of crusty bread—I mounted Flurry at the
stables. The horse snorted softly; her breath visible in the crisp morning air.
My boots, wrapped in fur and strapped with leather bands, creaked as I settled
into the saddle. The weight of my round wooden shield on my back was familiar,
its surface smooth from years of wear.
With a gentle
nudge, Flurry carried me forward, hooves crunching against the frost-laced
earth. The wind whispered through my flowing hair, and I smiled. Today, the
journey continued.
---
The journey to
Grimholt was uneventful but chilling. The narrow path wound through snow-laden pines;
their branches heavy with frost. The wind howled faintly; a mournful sound that
seemed to echo the desolation I was riding toward.
As Grimholt came
into view, the sight was as eerie as I remembered. The village sat cloaked in
fog, its dark silhouettes of houses looming like forgotten sentinels. The
oppressive stillness returned, broken only by the soft crunch of snow under
Flurry’s hooves.
I dismounted and
approached cautiously, every step stirring old questions. Where had the
villagers gone? Why had the wraiths been unleashed?
The village felt
like a tomb, its silence thick and heavy. I began searching the houses,
focusing on those that looked important—larger, sturdier, or placed near the
village’s center. Inside one such house, I rummaged through overturned
furniture and broken pottery, hoping to find anything that could shed light on
what had happened here.
As I stepped into
the main room, a loud creak echoed beneath my boot. I froze, then knelt to
inspect the floorboards. One of them seemed loose, slightly warped compared to
the others.
Using my dagger, I
pried it free, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. Inside was a small
pouch, its contents jingling softly when I picked it up—gold. I pocketed the
coins quickly, but my eyes were drawn to something else: a leather-bound
journal, its cover worn with age.
---
The journal was
heavy in my hands, its cracked leather betraying its age. The faint smell of
mildew clung to its pages, but the ink was still legible. As I flipped it open,
I saw the name Ingimarr written in bold strokes on the inside cover.
“This must have
been one of the elders,” I murmured, settling against the wall to read.
Journal Excerpts:
"The famine
has worsened. Our stores are empty, and the hunters return with nothing.
Grimholt will not survive another winter. We must act."
"A traveler
came to our village today, cloaked in shadow and speaking of salvation. He
claims there is a way to save our people, to bring bounty and prosperity back
to our land. But the price… the price is steep. A life for a life, he says. One
must be given for all to thrive."
"We elders
debated for hours. I argued for the pact—it is our only chance—but the others
are fearful. They do not understand what must be done. If we refuse, the
village dies."
"The pact is
sealed. We have agreed to the terms, and the entity has delivered as promised.
The fields yield crops again, the forest is full of game, and the river teems
with fish. But the price… Oh gods, I fear we have brought ruin upon ourselves."
The entries grew
more frantic as I read on.
"The entity
has returned, demanding more. A greater sacrifice this time. The villagers are
terrified, and the elders speak of deception. They believe we can trick it,
offer a false tribute. Fools! Do they not see that it watches, that it knows?"
"We performed
the false ritual. The entity took the offering, but I could feel its rage in
the air. It knows. It knows what we’ve done. The whispers have started, and the
wraiths have come. The people cry outside as the fog thickens. We are cursed. We
are lost."
"I can hear
them now, at the door. The whispers are so loud. I will hide this journal
beneath the floorboards. If anyone finds this… know that it was our hubris that
doomed us. The entity’s wrath will only be sated by blood."
As I finished the
last entry, a faint sound reached my ears—a whisper, soft but growing louder.
My blood ran cold as I realized it wasn’t just in my head.
---
The whispering grew
louder, like a chorus of unseen voices hissing in a language I couldn’t
understand. The air in the house grew colder, the walls seeming to exhale a
chill that sank into my bones. My fingers tightened around the hilt of
Stormreaver as I rose to my feet.
From the corner of
the room, a shadow coalesced into form. A wraith emerged, its spectral body
flickering like firelight caught in a storm. Its hollow eyes glowed an
unnatural green, and its long, skeletal fingers gripped an ethereal blade that
shimmered with a sickly, translucent light.
It lunged at me
without hesitation.
I sidestepped just
in time, its blade slicing through the air where I’d been standing moments
before. My heart pounded, but my hands moved instinctively. Stormreaver came
alive in my grasp, the enchanted steel humming with energy as I swung it
upward. The strike connected, and the wraith let out an unearthly screech as it
disintegrated into wisps of smoke.
But the whispers
didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder, swelling into a cacophony that
filled the air outside.
I burst through the
door of the house, Stormreaver in hand. The fog had thickened, swirling like a
living thing, and with it came more wraiths. They emerged from the haze, a
dozen or more, their twisted forms gliding silently toward me.
“Okay,” I muttered
under my breath, gripping the sword tightly. “Let’s do this.”
The first wraith
came at me with a speed that belied its ghostly appearance. I sidestepped its
lunge and countered with a downward slash, Stormreaver cleaving through its
incorporeal form. The creature screamed and dissolved into smoke, but two more
took its place, their glowing eyes locked onto me.
I retreated, using
the narrow streets of Grimholt to my advantage. I couldn’t let them surround
me. As one wraith closed the distance, I spun, catching it mid-attack with a
horizontal strike. The blade sang through the air, and the wraith dissipated
into nothingness.
Another came from
my left, its claws outstretched. I barely had time to raise my sword, the force
of its strike sending a jarring shock through my arm. Gritting my teeth, I
pushed back and swung Stormreaver in a wide arc, cutting it down.
The fight was
relentless. I moved from street to street, dodging and striking, always keeping
on the move to avoid being overwhelmed. The fog made it hard to see, and the constant
whispers grated on my nerves, but I couldn’t let myself falter.
One wraith after
another fell to Stormreaver’s edge, each strike leaving me more exhausted. My
stamina bar flickered dangerously low in the corner of my vision, but I pressed
on.
By the time the
last wraith disintegrated, my body felt like lead. I stumbled against the wall
of a house, leaning heavily on Stormreaver for support. My breath came in
ragged gasps, the cold air burning my lungs.
The village was
quiet again, but the oppressive weight in the air remained. I knew the wraiths
would return unless I solved the mystery of Grimholt’s curse. The journal’s
final entries echoed in my mind.
"The entity’s
wrath will only be sated by blood."
The thought of a
human sacrifice left a bitter taste in my mouth. Was that really the only way
to end this nightmare?
---
The silence was
heavy, broken only by my labored breathing. I wiped the sweat from my brow, my
gloved hand trembling as I adjusted my grip on Stormreaver. The fog still clung
to the village, its tendrils wrapping around the buildings like a suffocating veil.
That’s when I heard
it—the sound of boots crunching against snow. Not one pair, but two.
I straightened,
scanning the haze as the shapes of two men emerged from the mist. Both were
armored, their gear indicating they were Fated. The taller one wore piecemeal
leather armor adorned with mismatched iron plates; his sword sheathed at his
side. The shorter of the two was clad in heavier chainmail, his helmet tucked
under his arm.
Their faces came
into view as they stepped closer. The taller man had a sharp, angular face and
a smirk that sent a wave of unease through me. His companion was broader, with
a thick neck and small, cunning eyes that darted over me and the surroundings.
“Well, well,” the
taller one said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What do we have here? A lone
Fated in the middle of a cursed village. Brave—or stupid?”
I kept my grip on
Stormreaver, my posture tense. “Just finishing up some business. You two should
keep moving.”
The shorter man
chuckled, his gaze lingering on me in a way that made my skin crawl. “Oh, we’re
not in any rush. Besides, looks like you’ve been busy. Those wraiths weren’t
exactly quiet.”
“Drawn in by the
commotion, huh?” I asked, my tone flat.
“You could say
that,” the taller one replied, taking another step forward. “But now that we’re
here, why not… lend a hand? You know, help you relax.”
His words carried a
lewd undertone, and his companion snickered.
I tightened my grip
on Stormreaver. “Not interested.”
The shorter man
grinned, his expression darkening. “Oh, sweetheart, I think you’ll change your
mind.”
Before I could
react, they lunged. The taller one grabbed my left arm, wrenching Stormreaver
from my grip and sending it clattering to the ground. The shorter man seized my
other arm, pinning it behind me. I struggled, kicking and twisting, but their
strength combined was overwhelming.
“Feisty,” one of
them muttered, forcing me to the ground.
They began tearing
at my armor, the clasps of my corset coming loose as I thrashed beneath them.
Rage bubbled inside me, but I was pinned, my strength useless against the
weight pressing me down.
The taller man, his smirk now a twisted sneer, yanked off my boots one by
one. He tossed them aside, revealing my bare feet, red and cold from the frozen
ground. The shorter one leaned in, his hot breath on my ear as he whispered,
“You’re going to enjoy this, whore. And when we’re done, you’ll thank us for
it.”
They continued to strip me, their calloused hands tearing at the fabric of
my tunic and breeches. The chill of the air bit at my exposed skin, my body
shivering not just from the cold but from fear and disgust. They laughed at my
struggling, their rough hands groping and squeezing every inch of me.
Finally, I lay there, naked and vulnerable. My skin stung from the slaps
they’d delivered, red handprints blossoming across my cheeks. I stared up at
the swirling fog, the leering grins of my attackers stark against the dimly lit
street.
“Look at her, still fighting it,” the taller one sneered, his hand wrapping
around his substantial cock. He spat on the ground beside me, the glob of
saliva steaming as it hit the snow. “It’s going to be so much fun breaking you
in, little whore. You’re going to scream for us to fill every hole you’ve
got—and you’ve got plenty, don’t you?”
The shorter man’s eyes raked over me, lingering on my small, perky breasts
and the curve of my hips. His hand reached down to grope my crotch, and his
eyes widened when he felt the bulge beneath his hand. He jerked back with a
snarl, disgust contorting his features. “You’re a fucking trap!”
The taller man’s grin widened, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Oh, this is
perfect. A little freak like you, playing the hero? You’re going to pay for
that mistake.” He leaned in, his breath reeking of ale. “You think you can hide
from us in here, dressed like that? We’re going to show you what a real man
feels like.”
The shorter man, his rage palpable, removed his gauntlets. “Let’s start
with the basics, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll learn to be a good girl when you know
who’s in charge around here.” His hand connected with my face, the sting of the
slap echoing through my skull. The sound of leather against skin filled the quiet
street, the thwack echoing off the fog-covered buildings.
The taller one took his turn, his hand landing on my cheek with a force
that made my eyes water. “You’re going to suck us both off, then we’re going to
fuck you raw, understand?”
I spat in his face, the warm saliva contrasting with the chill in the air.
His eyes narrowed, and he backhanded me, my head snapping to the side with the
impact. My vision swam, stars dancing at the edges of my sight. “You’re going
to pay for that, bitch!”
The shorter man, his anger barely contained, yanked my panties down,
exposing me to the frigid air. “Look at that—a little cock hiding between those
girly legs. How cute!” he jeered, his voice thick with contempt. The taller one
chuckled darkly, wiping the spittle from his face with the back of his hand.
With a vicious jerk, they pulled me up by my hair, the strands feeling like
a rope of fire against my scalp. My knees dug into the hard, icy ground as they
forced me into a submissive position, my torso bent back at an agonizing angle.
The taller one’s hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just hard enough to
cut off my air as he unbuckled his belt.
His cock sprang free, thick and veined, its purple head glistening with
anticipation. He pressed it against my lips, his foul breath hot against my
cheek. “Open up, whore. Time to show us what you’re good for.”
My jaw was forced open, and the head of his cock slammed into my mouth. I
gagged around the intrusion, my throat spasming as he began to pump into me.
His hand tightened around my neck, the pressure unyielding as he pushed deeper,
his shaft invading my throat with every thrust. My eyes watered, my chest
heaving for air as he used me like a flesh toy.
The shorter man knelt behind me, his rough hands clutching a fistful of my
hair, pushing my head down harder onto his companion’s cock. “Take it, you
little slut,” he grunted, his own erection straining against his armor. He
licked his lips, savoring the sight of my degradation.
My throat was raw from the relentless assault, but I could feel the taller
one’s excitement growing as he thrust into my mouth. His grip on my neck
tightened, his movements becoming more erratic. His cock, a monstrous thing,
was hot and slick with saliva and precum. I choked and sputtered, trying to
pull away, but the shorter man’s hand was a vice, keeping me in place.
He leaned in, whispering, “You’re going to love this, slut. You’re going to
beg for more cock, aren’t you?” His own cock was out now, jutting from his
armor, red and thick, the veins standing out like cords of rage.
The shorter man’s grip loosened slightly, and I took the opportunity to
twist away, gasping for air. But the respite was short-lived. The taller man
stepped aside, his cock bobbing with excitement, and gestured to his companion.
“Your turn, brother,” he chuckled darkly.
The shorter man took his place, his hand tightening around his cock,
stroking it to full hardness. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing me to
look at him. His eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire as he brought his
cock to my mouth. It was smaller than the first, but the malice in his gaze
made it seem like a weapon.
“Open up, you fucking whore!” he snarled, and with a swift motion, he
plunged his cock into my mouth. It was thick and unyielding, and I gagged
around it. The taste of him was bitter, and I could feel the hatred in every
inch of his shaft as he pushed deeper. His hands gripped the sides of my head,
his movements violent and erratic. He didn’t care if I could breathe; he just
wanted to claim his prize.
I struggled, my teeth scraping against his shaft as I tried to push him
away. But the shorter man was relentless, his eyes burning with a frenzy that
spoke of his need to dominate. The cold ground bit into my knees as I squirmed,
but his grip on my head was unbreakable. His cock felt like a hot iron rod in
my mouth, stretching my lips and filling my throat.
The taller one knelt beside me; his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.
He grabbed my cock and began to squeeze. The pain was immediate and intense,
abrasive fingers scraping against my tender flesh as he twisted and pulled. I
whimpered around the cock in my mouth, my eyes watering. He chuckled, his grip
tightening as he began to knead my balls, his calloused thumb rubbing against
the sensitive skin.
My body trembled, a mix of horror and arousal warring within me. Despite
the fear and the pain, my cock responded to the touch, growing harder as the
shorter man continued to fuck my throat with his thick, angry shaft. The
sensation was perverse, the feeling of his cock in my mouth while my own was
being brutalized by the tall one’s hand.
The taller man leaned closer; his eyes gleaming with malice. “Looks like
our little freak enjoys the pain, doesn’t she?” He smacked my cheek with the
back of his hand, a twisted smile spreading across his face as I gagged around
the shorter man’s cock. “Get on your hands and knees, whore. Show us that ass
of yours—I want to see if it’s as tight as your mouth.”
With a kick to my side, they flipped me over, and I found myself on all
fours, the icy ground biting into my palms and knees. The taller one knelt
behind me and grabbed my hips, his hands like iron vises, as the shorter man
positioned himself before me, his cock still wet with my saliva. My throat was
raw, my mouth filled with the bitter taste of fear and humiliation, but I knew
what was coming next.
The taller man’s cock, thick and menacing, nudged against my ass, the
coldness of his shaft a stark contrast to the heat of my own. I clenched,
trying to resist, but his strength was overpowering. He chuckled, his voice a
sadistic purr. “So tight, so virgin. This is going to be so much fun breaking
you in, isn’t it?” His hands slid over my hips, his fingers digging into my
flesh as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pushing against my anus.
The shorter man’s grip on my hair tightened, forcing my mouth back onto his
cock as the taller one began to press inside me. The pain was unbearable, a
white-hot knife slicing through my insides. I screamed around the shorter man’s
shaft, the sound muffled by his thick cock. The taller one didn’t stop, though,
his grunts of effort mixing with the squelch of my ass being violated. The
pressure grew, and then, with a pop, he was inside me, his cock stretching me
to the brink of what I thought possible.
My eyes watered with pain, my body trembling as he began to thrust, the
cold air stinging my bare skin. The shorter man’s cock felt like a living,
pulsing beast in my mouth, his hands tangled in my hair as he face-fucked me
without mercy. The taste of him filled my mouth, the scent of his musky arousal
mixing with the stench of fear and sweat. I could feel my own cock, hard and
trapped between my thighs, a betrayal to the horror playing out before me.
The taller man’s cock was a blunt instrument inside me, his strokes deep
and unforgiving. My ass burned with every thrust, my body desperately trying to
reject his invasion. The cold ground beneath me was a stark contrast to the
heat of their bodies, their rough armor scraping against my sensitive skin as
they used me, reducing me to nothing more than a vessel for their twisted
pleasure.
The shorter one’s cock in my mouth was a relentless presence, his grunts
and moans of pleasure the only sounds piercing the thick silence of the
fog-covered street. His grip on my hair tightened, and he began to pump his
hips, forcing his cock deeper into my throat. I could feel my gag reflex
fighting, my eyes watering as I choked around his girth. Yet, my own arousal
grew, a traitorous response to the brutal violation.
The taller man’s cock inside me was a merciless invader, his strokes deep
and punishing. Each thrust sent a wave of pain shooting through my body, making
me quiver and moan around the cock in my mouth. My ass felt stretched beyond
its limits, the burn of his entry now a constant throb that was almost numbing.
He groaned in satisfaction, his hand moving to slap my ass with a stinging
force that sent another jolt of pain through me.
The sound of his hand connecting with my skin echoed in the silent street,
a twisted rhythm accompanying the wet slap of his cock invading my body. His
spanks grew harder, the skin on my ass flushing a deep, angry red. I could feel
the warmth radiating from the handprints he was leaving, a stark contrast to
the cold that seeped into my bones. Each strike sent a bolt of pain shooting
through me, my ass throbbing with every impact.
Through the fog of fear and pain, I felt something else—a dark, twisted
thrill. My body, so often a canvas for my desires, had become a battleground
for theirs, and the very act of resisting them seemed to fuel their excitement.
They laughed, their grunts of exertion and pleasure mixing with the sound of my
muffled cries and gagging.
The taller one’s spanks grew more intense, his hand a blur as it smacked
against my ass. Each blow sent a jolt of pain that radiated through me, making
my eyes water and my teeth clench around the shorter man’s cock. The sound of
his palm against my skin was a gruesome symphony, a twisted rhythm that matched
the pounding of his cock inside me.
With a final, particularly vicious smack, the taller man stepped back. He
grabbed my hips and flipped me over onto my back, my body sprawling over my
discarded armor and clothes. The cold fabric pressed against my exposed skin, a
stark reminder of my vulnerability. The shorter man took position between my
legs, his eyes glinting with triumph as he lined his thick cock up with my ass.
The weight of the taller man’s body descended onto my chest, his armored
thighs straddling my face. His cock, still slick from my ass, hovered above my
mouth. “Open up, slut,” he growled, and before I could react, he pushed himself
back into my mouth, his girth stretching my jaw to the limit.
The shorter man, his eyes alight with victory, lined his cock up with my
abused ass, the tip pressing against the ring of muscle that was still
clenching in an attempt to keep him out. He gripped my legs, spreading me
wider, and with one vicious thrust, he buried himself deep inside me. A scream
tore from my throat, muffled by the taller man’s cock, his grip on my hair
keeping me in place.
My body, my mind, everything was in turmoil. The cold ground bit into my
bare back, the fabric of my clothes providing no comfort against the icy
embrace. The shorter man’s cock was a blunt instrument, pummeling my insides
with a ferocity that seemed fueled by my whimpers and tears. The taller one,
his armor digging into my breasts, used my mouth like a personal fuckhole, his
thighs pressing against my cheeks as he rode my face.
Their laughter was a symphony of sadism, echoing off the fog-covered
buildings of Grimholt. The village's eerie quiet was shattered by the wet
sounds of my abuse, the slap of flesh on flesh, and the muffled cries that were
all my own. My ass was on fire, a ring of pain that seemed to pulse with every
thrust of the shorter man’s cock. He was brutal, his movements punishing and
swift, his grip on my thighs leaving bruises that would linger even in the
game’s virtual world.
The taller man’s weight on my chest was a crushing force, his armor digging
into my soft flesh, a stark reminder that this was no ordinary battle. The cock
in my mouth was thick and unyielding, his strokes matching the rhythm of the
shorter man’s brutal thrusts into my ass. My throat was raw, my eyes watering
and stinging from the effort to accommodate his size. Yet, there was a dark
thrill in the struggle, a twisted game of submission that made my traitorous
cock throb against my stomach.
The shorter man’s hand moved from my thigh to my cock, his grip like a vice
as he began to abuse it, squeezing and twisting with a ferocity that made me
whine around the taller one’s shaft. His eyes never left mine, the malicious
pleasure in his gaze a mirror to my own conflicted arousal. Each twist of his
wrist sent a fresh wave of pain through my body, and yet, my cock responded,
growing harder despite the abuse. His breath was ragged, his strokes punishing
and erratic, as he fucked my ass without mercy.
My moans grew louder, my body shaking as the two men claimed me. The pain
was a living, breathing thing, a beast that fed on my fear and humiliation.
Yet, amidst the horror, there was something else—a dark, seductive power that
whispered to me, telling me to give in, to let them use me as they saw fit. My
mind reeled, the line between reality and the game blurring until all I knew
was the pain and the pleasure, the heat of their bodies and the cold of the
ground beneath me.
The shorter man’s thrusts grew erratic, his breaths coming in harsh gasps
as he neared his climax. His hand was a blur on my cock, the pain a crescendo
that seemed to match the pounding in my chest. I could feel his cock swelling,
the pressure building inside me, and I knew what was coming next. With a final,
brutal thrust, he emptied himself inside me, his hot seed filling my ass with a
feeling that was as much violation as it was relief.
He pulled out with a grunt, his cock glistening with the proof of his conquest.
He stepped back, panting, and the taller man took his place without a word, his
own erection bobbing with eager anticipation. He smacked my cheek with the flat
of his hand, a gesture that was both a claim of ownership and a demand for
compliance. His cock, thick and pulsing with excitement, nudged against my
bruised, gaping ass.
Without warning, he shoved into me, his girth stretching my sore, abused
opening even wider. He groaned with pleasure as he sheathed himself to the
hilt, the sound sending a fresh wave of dread through my body. His strokes were
slower than the shorter man’s, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every
second of my violation. Each thrust sent a bolt of pain through me, but I could
feel my own arousal growing, a traitorous response to the depraved act playing
out before me.
The shorter man stood over us, his chest heaving, watching with a twisted
smile as his friend claimed my body. His eyes were filled with a mix of envy
and satisfaction, his own cock still semi-hard as he stroked it idly, watching
the show. The taller man’s armor scraped against my skin, his breaths hot and
heavy on my neck as he fucked me. His cock was a thick, merciless invader, his
movements a slow, deliberate torture that seemed to never end.
My ass, still slick with the shorter man’s cum, was a battleground for his
brutal strokes. The pain was a living, breathing entity, but so too was the
dark thrill that pulsed through me. I hated the way my body responded, the way
my cock twitched and leaked against my stomach, betraying the horror of what
was happening. The taller man’s grunts grew louder, his hips slapping against
my ass as he picked up his pace, his excitement feeding off my own.
The shorter man had moved to stand beside us, his own cock now forgotten as
he watched his companion take his turn. His eyes were glued to the spot where
our bodies met, his breaths shallow and quick as if he were living vicariously
through every thrust. His hand hovered over his own crotch, but he made no move
to touch his spent self, content to revel in the sight of my degradation.
The taller man’s cock was a beast inside me, his strokes powerful and
unforgiving. The cold steel of his armor pressed into my skin, leaving a
pattern of bruises that would be a constant reminder of this nightmare. His
breaths grew ragged, his grip on my hips tightening as he neared his climax.
Each thrust was a declaration of victory, a claiming of what he saw as his
right. His cock felt like a hot brand, searing me from the inside out as he
claimed my body without mercy.
And then I heard
it—the faint whispering that had preceded every attack in Grimholt. A wraith has
spawned nearby.
Through the haze of
my own anger and desperation, I spotted it behind them. The creature’s skeletal
form flickered into view; its glowing eyes locked on us.
The men hadn’t
noticed.
Mustering all my
willpower, I pulled back my knees and planted both feet firmly against the
taller man’s chest and shoved with all my strength. He stumbled backward, right
into the wraith’s grasp.
“What the—?!” he
shouted, but it was too late. The wraith’s claws tore through his armor like
paper, and his health bar plummeted to zero in seconds. His body crumpled to
the ground as the system logged his death.
The shorter man unsheathed
his sword and hurriedly turned to face the wraith, panic etched across his
face.
“Help me!” he
shouted, swinging wildly at the creature. But his blade passed through its incorporeal
body harmlessly.
I took the
opportunity to retrieve Stormreaver, its familiar weight a comfort in my hands.
The man’s health
bar was nearly depleted, his stamina dangerously low. The wraith lunged at him,
claws raking across his chest. He staggered, dropping to his knees, his breath
ragged.
I charged forward,
positioning myself between him and the wraith. “You’re outmatched,” I snapped
at him. “Stay down.”
Without waiting for
a response, I brought Stormreaver down in a powerful arc, slicing through the
wraith’s spectral form. The blade’s divine energy pulsed as it connected, and
the wraith let out a piercing screech before dissipating into a swirl of shadow
and smoke.
---
The village fell
silent, the oppressive whispers gone, but the fog still lingered like a heavy
shroud. I turned to the surviving player. He was on the ground, clutching his
side, his health bar down to its last sliver.
He looked up at me,
his face pale and glistening with sweat. “Please… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…
Help me.”
The words from the
journal echoed in my mind.
"The entity’s
wrath will only be sated by blood."
I tightened my grip
on Stormreaver, my heart pounding. The incantation was clear, the ritual
unavoidable. A soul must be given to lift the curse.
I stood over him,
Stormreaver in hand, and began to recite the incantation Ingimarr wrote down on
his journal:
"By the shadowed veil, by the
whispered breath,
I call upon you, entity of death.
Hear my voice, as it cracks the night,
To break the chains that bind the light.
A soul must pass, a life must be lost,
In exchange for the souls that you have cost.
Let the price be paid, let the curse be undone,
In the name of the dark, the binding is spun.
Take the blood, take the life,
And let the village know peace from strife."
The man’s eyes
widened in terror as he realized what was happening. “No—wait! You don’t have
to do this!”
My expression
remained steely. “It’s the only way.”
With one swift
motion, I plunged Stormreaver into his chest. Blood poured from the wound,
pooling on the ground before being absorbed into the earth as though the
village itself were drinking it. A deep, resonant hum vibrated through the air,
and I felt the weight of the curse begin to lift.
The fog dissipated,
rolling back like a tide, revealing the sunlit village beneath. The oppressive
presence that had loomed over Grimholt vanished, leaving the air clear and
still.
---
As the last
tendrils of fog retreated into nothingness, Grimholt transformed before my
eyes. The oppressive gloom that had cloaked the village was gone, replaced by
soft sunlight breaking through the overcast sky. For the first time, I could
see the true colors of the village—the dark timbered houses with moss-covered
roofs, the cobblestone streets glistening with melting frost, and the vibrant
patches of ivy creeping along the walls.
The air felt
lighter, as though the village itself had been holding its breath for years and
was now finally exhaling.
Then they appeared.
One by one,
villagers began to emerge from their homes, their expressions a mix of
confusion and awe. Their clothing was simple but practical—woolen tunics,
sturdy boots, and cloaks patched and worn from years of use. They looked
malnourished, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow, as if they’d carried the
weight of years of suffering.
A woman with a
child in her arms stepped hesitantly into the street. Her blonde hair was dull,
and her skin pale, but her eyes shone with tentative hope. Behind her, an
elderly man leaned heavily on a wooden cane, his posture bent and frail.
They all moved
slowly, as if unsure whether they were truly free or if this was another cruel
trick.
“What… what has
happened?” the old man rasped; his voice weak but filled with wonder.
I lowered
Stormreaver, its blade glinting faintly in the light. “The curse is broken.
You’re safe now.”
The villagers began
to gather around me, their faces turning from confusion to gratitude as
realization dawned. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
“She’s the one who saved us…”
“The wraiths are gone…”
“We’re free!”
The woman with the
child stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. “Where have we been?” she
asked, her voice trembling.
I sheathed
Stormreaver and took a deep breath, the weight of the journal’s revelations
still fresh in my mind. “You’ve been trapped in another plane of existence,” I
explained. “A place of decay and suffering, created by the entity your elders
bargained with. It was their way of punishing the village for breaking the
pact.”
The villagers’
murmurs turned to gasps, their faces a mixture of horror and sorrow.
An older woman
stepped forward, her eyes brimming with anger. “That’s why the fog came? The
wraiths? It was the elders’ doing, wasn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
“Yes. The pact was meant to bring prosperity, but when the entity demanded a
second sacrifice, the elders tried to trick it. That betrayal is what led to
your suffering.”
The mood of the
crowd shifted, gratitude giving way to indignation.
“They did this to
us!” a young man shouted; his fists clenched at his sides. His ragged tunic
hung loosely over his wiry frame, his anger giving him a strength that his body
lacked.
A chorus of
agreement followed, and the villagers began to murmur among themselves. The
words grew louder, angrier, and it wasn’t long before they started demanding
retribution.
“They betrayed us!”
“They should pay for what they’ve done!”
The old man with
the cane raised his voice, his tone sharp despite his frailty. “Where are the
elders now? We’ll make them answer for their sins!”
I raised a hand,
trying to calm the growing fervor. “Wait. Listen to me.”
The crowd quieted,
their eyes fixed on me, though their anger still simmered beneath the surface.
“The elders made a
terrible mistake,” I said, my voice steady. “But they didn’t do it out of
malice. They acted out of desperation to save you. Everything they did—right or
wrong—they believed it was for the good of the village.”
A murmur of
uncertainty rippled through the crowd.
“Revenge won’t heal
the wounds you’ve suffered,” I continued. “But unity might. If you turn on each
other now, the entity’s curse will claim a victory it doesn’t deserve. Let this
be a time of rebuilding, not more destruction.”
The villagers
exchanged uneasy glances; their anger tempered by my words. After a long
silence, the old man with the cane spoke again. “Perhaps you’re right. We’ve
suffered enough… Let’s not bring more harm to our village.”
The crowd murmured
in reluctant agreement, their shoulders sagging as the weight of years of
suffering began to ease.
One of the
villagers—a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a calm demeanor—stepped
forward. His clothes were slightly finer than the others, marking him as
someone of importance. “You have done us a great service, stranger. We owe you
a debt we can never repay. Please, let us offer you something in gratitude.”
The bearded man
introduced himself as Ingimarr, the former leader of the elders. Though
his face was lined with guilt, his voice carried a quiet dignity.
“Take this,” he
said, handing me a smooth stone inscribed with glowing runes. “It is a
teleportation rune, linked to a house here in Grimholt. It is modest, but it is
yours. At the expense of an Aetherstone, you can return here from any safe
place. Consider it a small token of our gratitude.”
I turned the stone
over in my hands, its faint warmth and magical hum a reminder of the village’s
mystical ties. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.
Ingimarr gave me a
small, grateful nod. “And if you ever need rest, Grimholt will always welcome
you.”
As the villagers
began to disperse, turning their focus to rebuilding their lives, I stood alone
in the center of Grimholt. The sun now shone brightly overhead, its warmth a
stark contrast to the cold, foggy gloom that had once suffocated the village.
Stormreaver hung at
my side, its weight a reminder of the battles I’d fought here, but also of the
lives I’d saved.
I took a deep
breath, letting the crisp mountain air fill my lungs. For the first time since
entering Grimholt, I felt a sense of peace—a hard-earned victory tempered by
the knowledge that the scars of the past would take time to heal.
Before leaving the
village, I thought it best to learn more about the cottage I had been given. I
found Ingimarr near the central square and asked him where to find it. With a
nod, he pointed me toward the outskirts of Grimholt, past the old mill and across
a small wooden bridge. Following his directions, I made my way down the narrow
dirt path, the sounds of the village fading behind me as I approached my new
home.
The wooden planks
of the bridge creaked under my boots, beyond it lay the simple cottage that was
now mine. Unlike the grand halls of warriors or the fortified keeps of
Snowspire, this place was unassuming—a quiet refuge nestled by a small pond,
its waters still and glassy beneath the dying sun. A narrow dirt path led from
the bridge to my doorstep, lined with wildflowers that had begun to wither in
the crisp winter air.
The cottage itself
was modest, built from weathered timber with a thatched roof that sloped low to
keep in the warmth. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of
burning pine, and a single lantern flickered beside the wooden door. As I
stepped inside, I was greeted by the gentle crackle of a fire in the hearth.
The warmth wrapped around me, chasing away the lingering chill from my misadventure.
The space was small
but inviting. A sturdy wooden table sat near the hearth; two chairs tucked
neatly beneath it. Shelves lined the walls, holding earthenware bowls, bundles
of dried herbs, and a few well-worn books. A simple cot lay against the far
wall, layered with thick furs and woolen blankets. Beside it, a narrow window
overlooked the pond, the surface rippling softly in the breeze.
I ran my fingers
over the rough wooden beams, breathing in the scent of aged wood and fresh
herbs. This wasn’t a grand palace or a warrior’s hall, but it was mine. A gift
from Grimholt, a place where I could rest, reflect, and perhaps, for the first
time in Nytherra, feel at home.
Sitting down on the
cot, I let out a slow breath, watching the firelight dance across the walls.
The night outside was quiet, save for the rustling of trees and the distant
call of an owl. For the first time in what felt like ages, I felt safe.
A small smile
touched my lips.
For now, that was
enough.
---
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