Chapter 81
When the cold, almost perfectly sharp edge of the razor touches my neck, my heart involuntarily skips a beat. The deft, weightless fingers of one of the witches massage my shoulders, rubbing in incense. The aroma agitates my nerves, forcing me to clench my fists so as not to move while they shave my skull and neck. This change in style is required for participation in the ritual that Evil-Lyn signed Liandra and me up for.
And so now I lay half-reclining in the dim light while three or four nearly naked witches stripped my mortal coil of all vegetation. However, the desire to stare at the "barbers" practically didn't arise. Too much sharp metal was currently close to my vulnerable and important body parts. Nevertheless, so far I haven't felt a single more or less serious flash of pain. The witches acted surprisingly carefully and even... gently?
All of this took place in almost complete silence, which only sharpened my perception. Even Loom-Pia was in no hurry to comment on what was happening. He only advised being careful and went silent. The hygienic execution was accompanied only by the rare echoes of chants drifting from the main hall of the temple. I couldn't make out the words from here.
"Lie down. Close your eyes," a pleasant female voice whispered to me, though it contained not a drop of tenderness.
Only an alluring mystery, covered by a shroud of darkness.
Next followed a four-hand massage. Every muscle in my body was rubbed with fragrant oil. Sometimes the touches took on a teasingly erotic character, but I held on. Evil-Lyn had very strictly advised me to remain silent and even move as little as possible. Supposedly, this could negatively affect the ritual's scenario.
Finally, the witches let me stand up, simultaneously putting a loincloth of white cloth on me. In this state, barefoot, I followed them into the main hall. An ominous crimson shimmer sliced through the gloom and smoke of incense from there. Streams of warm air blew over my body like the breath of a giant monster that had made its lair somewhere ahead.
I didn't feel fear, but I felt some excitement. What was ahead? A ritual blood orgy? I wouldn't be surprised.
Accompanied by the witches, I entered the main hall of the temple. The spacious room was drowning in thick gloom. Darkness hid it except for the most important part—the altar. There stood a huge statue of Khaine, three human heights tall, and at the foot of the monument to the bloody-handed god, a huge brass cauldron held the place of honor on a pedestal. Its walls were covered in shimmering runes, which were the only source of light now. The cauldron twitched slightly from the liquid boiling inside, although I noticed no source of fire beneath the bottom.
Twelve witches stood around the statue of Khaine, kneeling. Even closer, right by the cauldron, I noticed Evil-Lyn and Liandra. The women were frozen opposite each other, clad in weightless, translucent fabric. Only the gloom truly hid their nakedness now. Next to them, bent down to the very floor on their knees, were four more male elves. Ah, no, it seems there was also one woman among them. All four were completely naked and, it seems, not in their right minds. They bowed before the statue, bowed their heads, and trembled slightly.
Oh, where the f#ck have I ended up...
However, it's too late to back out. It remains to count on the protection of the Iron Edict and act according to the witches' scenario. They wanted to perform some kind of ritual. They promised Liandra that this would help us defeat any enemies in the future.
From the darkness of the temple's depths came the alarming beat of drums. The kneeling witches began a warbling motif without words. The runes on the brass cauldron flared brighter, and it jerked itself like an impatient beast eager to pounce on a victim as soon as possible.
"Rise!" Evil-Lyn commanded in an imperious voice, pointing her dagger at the first kneeling elf. "Come forward!"
He slowly rose and headed toward the Witch Elf with an uneven gait.
"How did you come to be before the eyes of Khaela Mensha Khaine?" Evil-Lyn asked sternly.
"I made a deal, then another..." the Druchii said with a slurring tongue. "Tried to collect gifts for the Drachau on Hanil Khar... I made a mistake, lost the goods..."
Judging by his voice, the elf wasn't just afraid. He had been drugged with some potions and deprived of his will. Despite the terror he felt, he could not help but obey.
"Your fault is stupidity. Your sentence... Come closer."
On trembling legs, the Druchii approached, and in the blink of an eye, Evil-Lyn slit his throat. Then the physically stronger Liandra grabbed the convulsing corpse and threw it directly into the cauldron. Strangely, splashes didn't fly in all directions. The cauldron swallowed the victim like a deep well. Not a single drop spilled onto the floor. The artifact seemed unwilling to part with its contents.
Two witches approached the cauldron from behind, beginning to stir the contents with iron gaffs. The rest of the Brides of Khaine continued to draw out their wordless song. Through these sounds, I imagined the screams of death agony, which seemed to ring out directly from the cauldron.
The witches stirring its contents began to pull out completely clean white bones with the gaffs—all that remained of the debtor elf.
"Next!" Evil-Lyn announced.
The second Druchii practically crawled to the foot of the altar.
"I drank too much wine with herbs... two of my master's slaves escaped... one of them was eaten by Cold Ones..."
Evil-Lyn treated this elf much more gently than the previous one. He was led to the cauldron, and then the witch sliced open his forearm. The sacrifice turned out to be not a life, but only a certain amount of blood. Afterward, the deathly pale and stuttering Druchii trudged back, whispering words of gratitude.
The next woman wasn't even given a word. Evil-Lyn immediately opened her throat and, even without Liandra's help, hurled her into the cauldron, throwing her over her shoulder. The last of the four victims was allowed to speak.
"I overheard and sold my mistress's secrets," he stated relatively calmly. "I am ready to bear the punishment."
The price of his mistake was a bit of blood and his left ear. While Evil-Lyn carried out the execution, the witches pulled the bones of the previous victim from the cauldron.
What was I thinking to myself a couple of days ago? Long live the Druchii court! The most humane court in the world!
Perhaps previously I would have vomited at the sight of such a slaughter, but I've already seen things much worse.
"Call him," the witch said in Eltharin, ordering Liandra to address me.
"Come forward," she nodded.
I headed forward, following the path of the recent victims.
"Khaela Mensha Khaine, Lord of War, Taker of Souls, Destroyer of Worlds, Lord of Murder, Prince of Mad Death..." Evil-Lyn began to list. "Open the eyes of your wrath. Give us wise madness so as to interpret the signs of the fate prepared by you for this beast."
I climbed the steps to the altar. The brass cauldron ahead was full of blood boiling almost silently. I felt the last sparks of life from the elves killed here just now penetrate my own Bloody Vessel. However, there was something else... A strange, alluring feeling.
"This primitive but in its own way powerful artifact concentrates huge volumes of life force within itself," Loom-Pia commented. "However, it is not pure, like that which we are used to absorbing. It is not the taint of Chaos that has struck it, but the dark aspects of the winds of magic that these unwise elven creatures have toyed with. Be firm of will like the base of a pyramid, warm-blood. Maintain concentration or you will become the beast that the foolish elves see in you."
"A beast?"
The cauldron bubbled harder. I heard it gurgling and churning now even through the chants of the Witch Elves, yet still not a single drop spilled onto the floor. They were all miraculously drawn back to the artifact.
"Hear our prayers, Beloved Executioner. Descend to our weak hearts and fill them with your primal cruelty!"
Simultaneously with these words, Evil-Lyn led me right up to the cauldron. I felt the magic of the Khainite artifact touch my skin. It felt like a painful itch, like the countless pricks of tiny needles.
"Look in there..." whispered the voice of the Witch Elf, placing her hand on my back. "Lower your head further."
The blood in the cauldron bubbled and pulsed. It seemed dark at first, but as soon as I stepped closer, something inside began to glow. The blood took on a bright red hue. Thousands of bubbles formed and burst per second on the surface, but there were no splashes or heat.
My Bloody Vessel began to fill rapidly, segment by segment. Power—how much power was inside! Literally in a few seconds, all segments. I absorbed them, but the vessel immediately began to fill anew.
My hearing was shaken by the wails of thousands of dying. Criminals, infants born with deformities, captive humans and elves. So much spilled blood that Khorne himself couldn't drain this little pot in one gulp.
The artifact wasn't just a storehouse. It lived. It contained a bloodthirsty entity, infinitely hungry for life forces.
"Lower!" Evil-Lyn was already screaming. "Drink! Plunge into the madness of Khaine!"
Drink, Hellscream. Accept your fate.
Strange that some part of me is still trying to joke.
The hands of the Witch Elf and Liandra lowered my head directly into the boiling blood. I remembered the possibility of resisting too late. The power of the artifact enchanted me. The Bloody Vessel filled, was absorbed, and was already to the brim again.
I saw nothing but it now. My face was immersed in the streams of boiling blood. Warm, thick, living...
Power. How much power is here! Too much. I felt as if I could no longer absorb energy. Bones and muscles ached. Skin began to tighten from the excessive growth of tissues. I opened my mouth in a silent scream, but a stream of blood rushed in there, carrying more and more of someone else's life.
Overcoming the resistance of the elven women, I jerked my head out of the cauldron. I wasn't afraid of drowning, but of literally exploding from within from an excess of might. Holding onto the edge of the cauldron, I coughed, watching the blood drip off me, when suddenly...
The flash of a dagger and...
A burst of pain! I'm suffocating! Blood flows into the cauldron. Not just someone else's now, but mine. They slit my throat. Sacrificed me like some prisoner or...
A moment of confusion and panic was replaced by euphoric calm. They slit my throat? Well, yeah. Right now that isn't so important. The Bloody Vessel is full to the brim. Absorb.
Already after a few moments I could breathe again, and I breathed even easier than before. It was as if the healing of the wound allowed the power that had accumulated too much inside to be vented. There was no longer the feeling that I was about to be torn apart from the inside. Leaning over the sacrificial cauldron, I laughed. Then, plunging both hands in there, I scooped up the blood.
Disgusting? Perhaps. But I felt a huge power in this liquid and had to possess it. Such is the price of future victories. The cursed Druchii accumulated power for themselves, but I will use it for the sake of saving this entire miserable world.
A gulp.
It's as if I'm drinking something living. It continues to move by itself inside me before finally dissolving and...
Pain!
Sharp, piercing, but not long at all. My chest burns. Like an ember fell into my ribcage. My legs give way. Is this a strike to the heart? I think I've been stabbed with a dagger again. Struck in the back. Not scary. Absorb!
And again I stand firm. The pain has passed. It's getting easier. I can take another gulp. The taste doesn't matter. Only power is important now...
A dagger strike to the liver didn't seem particularly painful to me. it was just one more chance to recover and absorb energy again.
Absorb energy or let it absorb you?
For a moment, I literally dropped out of reality. My vision was clouded by a red haze, and when my reason returned, I managed to distinguish Loom-Pia's voice in my head:
"Enough, warm-blood. This barbaric ritual is becoming dangerous for your mind and soul."
Soul? Do I still have a soul? I do, of course! O Sigmar, why the f#ck am I doubting!? It's all this cursed cauldron!
Making an effort, I stepped back. My whole body was engulfed in the fire of excessive life force. Arms, legs, muscles, bones, organs—they felt slightly different. Looking around wildly and breathing heavily, I realized that silence had fallen in the hall. The Witch Elves went silent. They were all looking at me, covered in blood from the cauldron.
"Magnificent," Evil-Lyn finally broke the silence. "Look!"
With her dagger, she pointed to the cauldron. It seemed to shine dimmer, and something had changed on its rim... Looking closely, I realized my handprints were there. With such monstrous strength they had gripped the enchanted brass that they literally crumpled it. And that wasn't all. There was less blood in the cauldron. Not by half, not even by a third, but noticeably less. The ancient vessel of might had transferred part of its power to me.
"Come to me, child," Evil-Lyn said, beckoning Liandra to her.
She approached and, obeying the witch's gesture, leaned toward her. Evil-Lyn pulled out a small vial from somewhere.
"In one gulp," the witch commanded.
Liandra drank the potion from her hands. It seems the drink was unbearably bitter or burning.
"I..." the dark elf said, barely breathing.
"Quiet, quiet," the witch replied tenderly, taking her hand. "Come."
I wanted to follow them, but several other witches blocked my path. They wrapped their arms around me like the pale shoots of poisonous ivy.
"But..." I started.
"You are with us," they replied to me in Norscan. "They will return soon. Wait."
The hands of the Witch Elves pulled me into the gloom. After a few seconds, I stood in almost complete darkness, feeling my body, sticky with blood and incense, being caressed by many palms. A pleasant but simultaneously unbearable sensation. My nerves were stretched so tight they were ready to snap at any moment. I hadn't yet managed to digest and accept into myself all the absorbed power. Loom-Pia was currently likely busy with an emergency repair of our energy reservoir so that it wouldn't fall to pieces. Well, good. He shouldn't watch what is about to happen.
Following the palms, I felt one of the witches lick off part of the magic cauldron's contents from me. These deadly beasts fanned over me like cats in heat. They felt in me the shadow of their deity's blessing, hidden in the depths of bones and muscles.
I also began to touch the witches surrounding me. Gripping them, restraining myself with all my might so as not to break anything for anyone. The raging power still churned inside me.
What happened to me today was equivalent to a hundred or two bloody battles with maximum filling of the vessel and its subsequent absorption. I had changed very significantly physically in an incredibly short period. I became taller, stronger, larger.
On Ulthuan, one would hardly have managed to get such a boost. Surprisingly, when Liandra said that a new power awaited me among the Druchii, she turned out to be right.
After a few minutes of superficial caresses, the witches' hands guided me to a spacious bed. And then...
"Not now. No," such was the answer to my every attempt to develop our intimacy.
They only teased me, fueling my passion. It was harder and harder to restrain myself—or did they themselves want me to lose control? Did they wish to feel upon themselves the primal cruel rage that breaks bones instead of caresses?
A kiss from first one witch, then another and a third, touched my lips. Or perhaps it was the first one. Deft hands again applied some oily compounds to my body, the smell of which awakened desire even more than before.
All of this continued for a painfully long time. When I had almost lost control, the light of a magic lantern dissipated the gloom. In its dim but now seemingly bright rays, I saw Evil-Lyn. She stood right by the bed, completely naked except for hairpins and bracelets. Her sharp nipples were decorated with intricate piercings of black metal. A tattoo in the form of a snake skeleton coiled in rings around her hips.
"Perhaps you were not his chosen one before," the witch said in Norscan. "But today you certainly became one. And I do this not with your body, but with that part of divine rage that has touched it. And now let us begin, and don't you even dare hold back."