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Nicolai with a Huge Demonic Worm. Immortalis β€’ Extreme Horror β€’ Dark Romance β€’ Vampires. @ImmortalisDB. Kerry & Brett Dyer @DyerbolicalDB.

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Immortalis Book One: The Jester and The Immoless Movement 1: The Pledge, Breaking The Recurring System Act I: The Breadth of Corax Scene I: Prelude, The Plague The 31st Day of the 3rd Moon, 1536 P.V. (Post Vesperum – After the Dusk) Khepriarth, The Kingdom of Tepes At dawn, a shipment of top hats arrived in the rural village of Khepriarth in the mid-east of the Kingdom of Tepes, a land ruled by the higher vampire, Count Tepes, or, as Nicolas called him β€˜Count Pompous.’ The hats, which arrived in a yellow and black plaid horse-drawn carriage, were labelled as a gift to β€˜All the Gentlemen of the Village,’ and presented to the gentlemen of the village by Nicolai-Pauley the Cheese. Nicolas gave Pauley the name Pauley the Cheese because he always had cheese on his meat. It was a running and mildly insulting joke among the Nicolai. Of course, the people of Khepriarth did not know that Pauley was a Nicolai, or even what a Nicolai was, but the Corax Asylum logo on the carriage held the warning β€˜Part of the DeSilva Group’ in enormous writing to inform everyone that Pauley was an associate of Nicolas’s. Pauley was revered throughout The Deep for his tenacity in rigging boar races and making a mint through the DeSilva Bureau of Dubious Turf Accountants. The people of The Deep applauded Pauley’s ingenuity in doping and disabling the boars, bribing the jockeys, and spreading dirty racing tips to anyone who would listen. As such, the gentlemen of Khepriarth saw the delivery as nothing less than an altruistic gift and opted not to look beyond that possibility because it suited their greedy natures and gentlemanly pride to receive the free goods. Unfortunately, there was a problem. The problem did not become apparent until after Pauley’s departure. The problem was that there were not enough hats to go around. This caused a public scene with one man arguing with another about what was considered gentlemanly. The mayor, Lord Fuckwad of Khepriarth, a stout, pious man, spoke up first explaining that gentlemanliness could only be defined by electoral elevation. He reasoned that the matter had already been decided when the citizens placed their confidence in any given public servant. This sweeping statement excited the farmers who pointed out that they had no time for public office since they already served the public by providing produce. The blacksmith rebutted the farmers, venting a speech about how their horses could not pull the carts without shoes, and the butchers jumped on the bandwagon reminding the farmers that all they did all day was herd animals around fields, whilst the butcheries were left with the visceral task of slaughtering and slicing the livestock. By the time the baker took the bread out of the oven, the whole town was in chaos with one man arguing with another in the cobbled marketplace. Very little work was getting done, and fights broke out. At length, a meeting was called at the town hall, and the β€˜Bee Test’ applied to determine who was, and who was not, a gentleman. The bee test stipulated that only a true gentleman would remain seated, and gloved, in the event of a swarm of bees. That was Lord Fuckwad’s theory anyway. Unfortunately, neither the gentlemen nor the bees got the memo. The Lord of Khepriarth made matters worse by insisting on locking all of the doors. He then mislaid the keys. By the time the surviving gentlemen escaped the town hall, many of their women were already showing signs of the plague. It seemed that whatever material had been used to create the hats was saturated in a damp matrix housing fleas. Fleas that carried a bizarrely accelerated form of the bubonic plague. The men were quite displeased by the situation as they did not want to be infected. Neither did they want to endure sexual relations with women who were scratching and clawing at the black, puss-filled buboes that were already tearing through their skin and substantially lowering their market value. A decision was rapidly made to bury both the infected, and the hats, in a communal grave. The men did not wait until their wives had expired, but acted immediately, and, on this matter, they were all in agreement. The women of the village were quite vexed and a little too vocal about the whole situation, but once the soil was backfilled no one could hear the complaints and that suited everyone. Except the women. Some men were so concerned and overzealous that they opted to bury their wives, who showed no sign of sickness at all but did exhibit an unnecessary amount of verbal and prolonged protest, alive and healthy. Lord Fuckwad complained to Count Tepes, who managed the Kingdom of Tepes, and Tepes complained to the renowned Immortalis Theaten of D’Aten. No one knew who had sent the hats, but there were rumours, and Theaten believed those rumours to be true. He immediately dispatched a letter via raven to his beneficent and quite magnificent brother, Nicolas DeSilva of Corax Asylum in Togaduine. The letter read, β€˜Dear Nicolas, Count Tepes has recently alerted me to an outbreak of plague in the village of Khepriarth. The plague, it seems, was spread by one Pauley the Cheese, an employee of the DeSilva Group. I have reason to believe that you not only created this disease but have the cure to it. I suggest that you resolve this matter with immediate effect. May I remind you that Khepriarth will be unable to supply tributes if all of the citizens of that village are dead. pp Klouthe, Ghoul of D’Aten Your brother, Theaten.’ Nicolas, who had had a horrific night, was less than pleased to receive the communication. The letter arrived in the evening and poor Nicolas was already quite worn out. In the early hours of the morning of the same day, Nicolas’s favourite green and orange silk lounge suit, one that he had adorned continuously for more than a century, had developed a nasty hole to match the nasty odour that it emitted. The hole arose during a rather difficult and displeasing encounter with one of the new tributes. Tributes, as you may recall, were thesapiens, mortals, bred in every town and village within a tributiary as sacrifices to appease and feed the appetites of the Immortalis. Nicolas’s new tribute, a redhead who went by the name of Stricta of Threnodyl, lacked the submissive nature expected of tributes. She also lacked any theoretical education in the subject of carnal knowledge. Nicolas had explicitly, and repeatedly, impressed upon the people of Threnodyl the need to impart such knowledge to please him, but the Tributiary of Threnodyl had a high staff turnover. This was largely on account of Nicolas waging fury on the tributiary’s constant failures in quality assurance, which forced Nicolas to make an example of the workers by removing the arms and legs of the frontline staff. Such antics resulted in a perpetual loop of failure and punishment, for which Nicolas took absolutely no responsibility. Stricta had been washed by Nicolai-Dr Shiverton Smythe, who was nursing a hangover and used acid instead of soap, putting the girl in a rather difficult mood. The mood declined further when Nicolas entered her cell and decided to dispense with any foreplay. He had a day of doing nothing in his office planned and did not have time to indulge newcomers. Smythe’s lack of judgement had seeped from the washroom to the cell, and he had neglected to chain Nicolas’s new conquest to the bedposts. Stricta not only struggled, but bit and slapped Nicolas. This did not impress him and put an awful dampener on his desire. During the struggle Nicolas attempted to force her legs apart with his knees, ripping the crotch of his favourite trousers. This put him in a worse mood. He decided to dispense with the romance and move straight to the correctional facilities. After knocking Stricta out cold with one hard wallop, he pulled a chain on the cell wall and a door jutted open in the stonework. Nicolas could not be bothered with the main stairs. He carried Stricta through a tight passageway, up some unstable wooden back stairs, and through a wooden door at the top of said stairs. This delightful secret passageway led straight into one of Nicolas’s torture chambers, or β€˜Corrective Facilities’ as he liked to call them. Nicolas called them corrective facilities as they corrected tributes and inmates from being alive and moderately well thesapiens to being dead or severely injured thesapiens. This particular chamber, the riding room, was quite bare except for the exquisitely carved wooden rocking horse that sat in the middle of the room. The horse was painted black and had a steely, red-eyed gaze. Nicolas carried his unconscious prey to the creature and sat her on the horse’s saddle and then climbed on behind her. Nicolas used the chains that acted as the horse’s reins to bind Stricta to the cruel beast, shoved his frustrated hardness inside of her and recommenced his horny morning interlude. Stricta’s head flopped over the barbed wire mane, and Nicolas delighted in pressing her resting-bitch face into the barbs. Stricta woke with a shriek, and that was all Nicolas required to sate his need, that and the visuals of watching her struggle against the chains. Her pain gave him a wave of pleasure followed by a moment of what is generally called β€˜post-nut regret.’ This wave of guilt came from the knowledge of Nicolas’s impending marriage to the third Immoless, a demonic priestess bred to slay him known as Allyra, but the regret passed almost as quickly as it arrived. Nicolas remained in position until the last few drops of desire had departed from his body and then cleaned himself on the screeching tribute’s filthy white dress. Once the cock-cleaning matter was concluded, Nicolas alighted from the steed leaving Stricta in position. He pressed a small red button on the side of the horse; this triggered the release of nine iron spikes that did not care for the woman sitting blocking their trajectory. The spikes, a little addition suggested by the inventor and scientist Nicolai-Webster, shot upwards, impaling Stricta’s newly explored regions and in doing so secured her body to the overall apparatus. Nicolas watched as his difficult tribute floundered and wailed, whilst bleeding all over his nice, grime covered floor. Stricta flapped about for an unnecessary long period, two maybe three minutes, forcing Nicolas to pull out his pocket watch. He flicked it open, looked at the time, and muttered, β€˜I don’t have time for this!’ And he didn’t. A quick decision was made. Nicolas’s hands grasped Stricta’s neck, gripped, twisted, pulled, and steadily ripped her head from her body. He lifted the head, so that it faced him, looked into her still twitching eyes, and said, β€˜You won’t be fighting back again, will you? No, you will not.’ The body remained on the horse and Nicolas tucked the head under his arm. He licked his lips, then exited by the chamber’s main door and danced down the stairs to the banqueting hall. Breakfast was concluding. The last horde of Nicolai were kneeling on the table ripping apart and eating a succulent and plump tribute who’s breasts had proven too delicious to avoid. The feast was made the merrier by each Nicolai making a concerted effort to force their own horny release with firm hands. Nicolas pulled a plate from the table, doing his best not to disturb his other good selves as they chewed and slapped the salami, and placed Stricta’s yummy head on the silverware, then called, β€˜CHIVES! CHIVES!’ Chives, Nicolas’s ancient, weary manservant-come-ghoul hobbled in almost immediately and was forced to carry the scrumptious head to Nicolas’s office, right next door. Chives placed the snack on Nicolas’s desk, minding the heap of parchments that were strewn all over the surface, and pulled Nicolas’s chair out so his lordship could park his regal ass without the worry of having to make too much effort himself. Chives was about to leave when Nicolas shouted again, even though he was still in the room, β€˜CHIVES!’ β€˜Sir?’ β€˜I need you to go to my milliner in Sapari and order me a new suit. Now listen, this century’s fashion is quite different to last century’s fashion. Plaid is the way to go. Yellow and black, and a touch of burgundy. A burgundy silk scarf to match. A black waistcoat, and a new top hat.’ Chives hovered momentarily. Nicolas hated Chives malingering so continued, β€˜Go now, and don’t dally. I know you, playing up about that limp. Get one of the porters to take you in Nicolai-Nicky’s horse and trap.’ β€˜Very good, Sir,’ Chives sighed. Nicolas waved him away. Once the door had shut Nicolas waited, then stood, wandered over to it, and opened it as wide as possible. He returned to his desk, sat bolt upright, focused his eyes on the wall and smiled. The smile was not a pleasant one. It was one Nicolas had mastered over time. His eyes narrowed and frowned, his lips parted enough to bear his yellowing teeth, and the corners of his mouth drifted into his cheeks, whilst his chin took a detour to his neck. Occasionally he dribbled blood laced with some gritty, yellow fluid. Nicolas remained in that position for the better part of the day to unnerve the inmates. Inmates were allowed to roam freely during the day, or scoot about in their hideously over-sized, rusty wheelchairs, or β€˜Billy Boxes’ as Nicolas called them. There was no escaping Corax, so Nicolas was quite happy for the roaming to commence. It made him even happier when the inmates caught a glance of his psychotic grin and went scattering about the hall in panic. Chives returned at exactly the same time as Theaten’s raven, Malcolm, arrived. Unlike Nicolas, Theaten was no good at naming things. His ravens and the bong-eyed pet pugs he insisted on keeping around his palace all had stupid names; Norman, Malcolm, Cutalicious, and so forth. Nicolas was glad that Chives had returned as it was far too much bother for him to open the envelope himself. Chives unsealed the envelope, as Nicolas continued to grin at the dirty wall, and read the letter. Nicolas’s smile soon dropped. He grabbed a piece of parchment, spat on it, then dipped a quill in red ink, and penned the following response. β€˜Robert, I am sorry to hear that you are unwell, don’t scratch them buboes, and I am glad you enjoyed the cheese. Give my regards to Count Pompous and tell him that some people consider shit stirring almost rude. Stacia will be ready for collection soon. The exalted and magnificent, Nicolas DeSilva PhD, PhD, PhD, MD, Lord and Master of Corax, who managed to write this letter himself.’ Nicolas whistled, screwed up the letter, dumped it in an envelope that was far too small for it, spat on it for good luck, and handed it to his own bird, the splendid raven, Ghorab. Ghorab flew straight to Castle D’Aten only to find Theaten also staring at the wall whilst sitting in his black and gold, minimalistic drawing room. Theaten was not staring to annoy the inmates as he did not have any inmates. He was staring because the vacuous space between his ears often went on strike. Ghorab dropped the letter in his lap triggering Theaten to arise from his thoughtlessness and call his unnecessarily tall and morose butler Klouthe. Klouthe arrived hastily and read the letter as slowly as possible. Twice. Theaten’s brow furrowed. His eyes wandered, then he spoke in a gruff voice trying not to dribble on account of his overbite, β€˜I will need the carriage soon, Klouthe. A new Immoless skull awaits!’ immortalisverse.com #DarkFantasy #DarkRomance #Horror
Immortalis Book One: The Jester and The Immoless Overture The Annubium, Irkalla 1537 P.V. (Post Vesperum) The Rationum, also known as The Ledger Inscribed by The Ledger CORAX WARNING Extreme Horror | Extreme Fantasy | Extremely Dubious Erotica | Extremely Fucking Funny Dear Reader, I have a tale to tell of a monster cruelly in love, a woman who was never supposed to love him, and a world that will suffer for his affections. It is a tale of blood, lust, desire and appalling misunderstandings of romance. Our monster's understanding of love is more disturbing than his intentions, and his execution of said love is even worse! Prepare for unapologetic gore and amusing, yet repulsive anecdotes. Welcome to Immortalis. Before we proceed with a few world-building formalities, allow me to introduce this tale through a summary, or blurb, whichever tickles your fancy. Repulsive, multi-bodied monster Nicolas DeSilva is an irredeemable scumbag who makes the terrible mistake of falling in love. His plan is simple, he intends to torture the woman he loves into marrying him, using the finest dating advice available to a horny, sadistic demon: dark romance porn. Nicolas possesses an inexhaustible appetite for cruelty, and suffering is frequently an end in itself. He delights in prolonging torment, particularly when his victims still possess enough hope to make its destruction entertaining. For Immoless Allyra Cavidini D, matters are worse. Nicolas exists in two hundred and sixteen bodies sharing a single consciousness, each with its own personality, proclivities towards sadosexual gratification and ravenous appetites. The Nicolai feast upon mortals and immortals alike, sating their sexual needs whilst tearing flesh from bone, and every Nicolai desires a taste of the woman Nicolas intends to possess. Like all ravenous monsters, Nicolas wants his fairytale. He wants to be loved precisely as he is, without compromise, and demands absolute ownership. His volatile temper makes resistance a hazardous undertaking that tends to end in blood. Nicolas sees no contradiction between suffering and affection, and the distinction between tenderness and calculated sadism is apparent to everyone except him. He considers the terror of losing oneself to another an entirely reasonable expression of devotion, provided the other person is him. My tale will begin as a darkly comic interpretation of horror's hurt/comfort trope before descending into extreme horror, grotesque erotica and a repulsive parody of romance. The comedy will not diminish the horror, Dear Reader. It will accompany it, often at the most inappropriate moments, as the truth behind Nicolas's apparent love story emerges. Nicolas may joke while his victim bleeds, offer tenderness after inflicting torment, or congratulate himself upon a heroic deed everyone else recognises as an atrocity. His amusement is genuine, Dear Reader, and so is the suffering. The story will take you through horror, dark romance, fantasy and black comedy, with wars, catastrophes, obscenities and an unreasonable quantity of property damage along the way, before culminating in a finale of such grotesque extremity that I promise you shall struggle to find its equal in storytelling. Before we sink our teeth into the meat of this story, you require some background. Our world differs from yours, and a passing acquaintance with its history, inhabitants and peculiar arrangements will spare us confusion later. I shall keep matters simple, although simplicity rarely survives Nicolas DeSilva, so please try to endure as the actual story moves at a disgustingly amusing speed. I shall be your guide. I am the Ledger of Irkalla, Hell. I am also known as the Rationum, keeper of contracts, classifications, histories and assorted administrative catastrophes. The events I am about to recount are already inscribed in my records. You may trust me, mostly, but I advise against making a scene over complicated details. We shall revisit ideas as the story progresses, and occasionally I may repeat myself as I am aware of the fundamental difficulties in grasping a concept as complicated as Nicolas. Our principal concern, the hero of our story, is Nicolas DeSilva, an Immortalis and son of Primus, Darkness himself. You will encounter faces, names and personalities so distinct that you may regard them as separate individuals. This would be convenient, but inaccurate. Two hundred and sixteen bodies do not make two hundred and sixteen men. There is only one Nicolas, and there has only ever been one Nicolas. Nicolas wishes to be the hero of every story in which he appears. Having taken extensive measures to appear in most of them, he presents us with a narrative problem. In horror, he casts himself as both monster and hero; in dark romance, he assumes the romantic lead; and when kingdoms go to war, he develops an enthusiasm for commanding armies or sailing as a pirate. He appoints himself physician, prosecutor, detective, saviour, victim, husband and sovereign, sometimes while repairing a catastrophe he has caused just minutes earlier. He is easily angered, prone to spectacular outbursts and convinced of his own importance. Somewhere during his existence, the cheese slid from his cracker, or rather, all two hundred and sixteen of his crackers. To understand how he came to exist, we must return to the beginning, when there was Primus, and Primus was Darkness. Before the Deep, Irkalla, the stars, suns and moons, Darkness existed alone within the Void. Primus was the first existence, without corporeal form or means of experiencing anything beyond himself. He created Lilith for companionship, and together they inhabited the Void before Primus fashioned the skies and, beneath them, Morrigan Deep. The Deep contained deserts, forests, mountains, oceans and innumerable species of flora and fauna, although self-conscious life had yet to emerge. The Getsug Sea lay west and the warmer Lanme Wouj Sea south, with Thanata and the Sihr Archipelago beyond the western shores. Its fertile mainland awaited inhabitants who would find innumerable reasons to quarrel over it. When souls born of darkness and light entered the Void, Primus granted them corporeal bodies to experience his creation. Mortal thesapiens inhabited the Deep alongside immortal vampires, baer lycans, sorceresses and necromancers. Primus also fashioned bodies for himself and Lilith, allowing them to experience their world physically. Unfortunately, Primus’s consciousness and some of his weird urges were far too great for only one body, so he created two; Primus, the Vero, and his dandy Evro, Argentum. We shall discuss the Vero and the Evro shortly. Chaos followed bodily incarnation as vampires hunted thesapiens, thesapiens organised mobs and armies against vampires, and other factions established themselves through violence, territorial ambition and mutual resentment. Primus discovered that consciousness brought an extraordinary capacity for cruelty, appetite and grievance, so he created Irkalla. Irkalla, Hell, which existed beneath the Deep and above the Void, was divided into six circles: the Annubium, Baalatra, Mortraxis, Judicara, Cenotapheon and Vyecarth. Although a place of torture and punishment, it also served as the administrative centre of Primus's creation, where contracts were sealed, laws enforced and the affairs of the Deep permanently recorded. That, naturally, is now my responsibility. The kingdoms developed through barter, feudal allegiance and contracts with Irkalla, while Primus and Lilith ruled the Deep from Neferaten, the warm lands that kissed the Lanme Wouj sea. Primus loved Lilith, and eventually she conceived their first child, Theaten. Theaten belonged to none of the existing species. Born of Darkness and Lilith, he was something new, and Primus classified him as Immortalis. I recorded this distinction within the Annubium, establishing the classification shared by the sons of Darkness at a later date. Ordinarily, an Immortalis possesses two bodies, a Vero and an Evro, like Primus. The conception or construction of the Evro, as you shall see, varies, as does its form. However, its existence was declared a requirement by Primus, who understood the nature of the Immortalis. The Vero is the central self, the identity through which the creature principally understands itself. The Evro is a second corporeal expression of the same consciousness, created to carry the weight of the Immortalis's ravenous libido, which encompasses far more than sexual appetite. It includes hunger, aggression, possession, instinct and desire, together with urges civilisation prefers its citizens not to indulge in before breakfast. The Vero and Evro are not opposing moral halves. Neither is inherently good or evil because both belong to one consciousness, capable of acting through separate bodies or merging and becoming physically whole again. When Theaten's appetites became unmanageable, Primus created the second body to carry their weight. Theaten remained the Vero, while Kane became his Evro, a corporeal self through which the same consciousness could indulge its primal appetites. Imagine possessing two bodies, one expressing your central identity and the other your animalistic urges. Both could walk, speak, act and acquire separate reputations while remaining entirely you. Now imagine that neither persona was particularly pleasant, and you begin to understand the Immortalis. With Nicolas, matters become more troublesome. As the Deep developed, Lilith's desire for sovereignty grew. Primus suspected she intended to imprison him within the Void and rule his creation with Theaten beside her. Heartbroken, Primus prepared for the betrayal. While Lilith established a cult in Neferaten's deserts, Primus travelled through the Deep disguised as a thesapien and selected thirteen individuals to form the Brotherhood of the Darkbadb. Their purpose was to watch the Immortalis and to maintain a library cataloguing the achievements and lives of the sons of Darkness. Primus also recognised the danger of depending upon one son, especially one as stupid as Theaten. Whilst travelling through the Varjoleto Forest he encountered Boaca Baer. Primus lay with Boaca, who subsequently gave birth to Nicolas. Boaca Baer was quite surprised to discover that her adorable baby boy possessed two hundred and sixteen unusual bodies, each born wearing a top hat. Nicolas spent his first twelve years among the Baers, since his father could not be bothered with the hard part of child rearing, before Primus returned and, demonstrating the paternal sensitivity that would characterise much of our history, ripped him from his mother and took him to Irkalla for a demonic education. Boaca, who was quite happy to have two hundred and sixteen helpers did resist, but her head fell off and Primus subsequently won the debate. Some maintain this separation contributed to Nicolas becoming peculiar, although others would argue that β€˜peculiar’ is doing heroic work in that sentence. Unlike Theaten, Nicolas was, as I have mentioned once or twice, forged with two hundred and sixteen personalities, each possessing its own brain and physical body, yet all sharing one consciousness. Primus made every one of them Vero, except for Chester, who Primus made Nicolas’s Evro, his literal walking, talking, charming dick. Nicolas therefore does not possess the conventional Vero and Evro arrangement. Every Nicolai can walk, speak and act independently, yet all remain expressions of the same being. In Nicolas's case, every last one is a sadistic bastard. The Nicolai can separate, merge and share bodies at will, functioning like the tentacles of an extremely evolved octopus. Primus regarded this exceptional ontology as a failsafe against Lilith securing absolute power through her slow son, Theaten. What Primus did not anticipate was that Nicolas would develop into a spoiled cockwomble. Now, I do mention Nicolas’s bodies a lot here, and that is because I am very aware of the nature of humans, and their flawed perception that one body means one being. Nicolas’s plurality will be a difficult concept to grasp, but I have facilitated it by introducing all Nicolai with the prefix β€˜Nicolai,’ except for one, and my reasons for doing this will become apparent much later on in the story. To put it simply, imagine someone with multiple personalities where each personality has its own body, but all share a unified consciousness, to an extent, and that being is a git. That is Nicolas in a nutshell. Lilith continued seeking immortals to support her overthrow of Primus, unaware that his answer to her insurrection would arrive wearing two hundred and sixteen top hats. Lilith enacted the betrayal Primus had anticipated. Primus was defeated, which did not concern him as Lilith’s nagging was a bit harsh about the ears and respite in the Void felt like a holiday, but before departing, he stripped her of sovereignty, denying her the authority she had sought. As Primus was overthrown, Nicolas, through the skullduggery of the trickster Djinn Ibliss, had a son, Behmor. Like his father before him, Behmor served his apprenticeship in Irkalla, where he trained as a lawyer before becoming King of Irkalla. To assist his governance of the Immortalis, Behmor created six mirrors within the Annubium, known collectively as the Ad Sex Speculum, through which every Vero and Evro could be observed at all times, including Behmor’s Evro, Tanis. Behmor considered constant surveillance an excellent idea, provided someone else performed it, and delegated the watching to his minions. With Primus gone, the thesapiens attempted to establish their own balance. Thirteen men were elected as the Pauci Electi, an order opposing the sons of Darkness and the DarkBadb Brotherhood. Believing mortal numbers could overcome the Immortalis, they raised armies and began the War Before the Dusk. The thesapiens lost, although the war lasted a fortnight and might have ended sooner but Nicolas could not decide whether to be on his own side or that of the thesapiens. Such nonsense was characteristic of his habit of engineering catastrophes for his own entertainment. The war left the Deep ravaged. The thesapiens were despondent, and their despondency grew when the Immortalis demanded the ongoing supply of tributes, mortals sacrificed to the Immortalis for sex, food, and whatever other weird acts the Immortalis wanted to engage in. Tributiaries were built for such a purpose and everyone was mortified, except for the men who got to breed day and night. Thesapien rulers were bound by administrative frameworks, contracts, alliances and mutual hatred. The two overlapping suns were lowered, some said by Primus from the depths of the Void, permanently to the horizon, ending the day without permitting night to arrive. The Deep entered eternal dusk, beginning the era known as Post Vesperum, or P.V. as opposed to Ante Vesperum or A.V. In 1 P.V., the Pauci Electi established the Immoless and the related Immoless seasons. Every hundred years, two girls were bred through arrangements involving Irkalla, demonic women and the Electi priesthood. They were trained, poorly, in whatever magick their parentage afforded them, and then sent to challenge the Immortalis. Across fourteen centuries of these seasons, every Immoless was slaughtered, mainly by Nicolas. Then came Allyra Cavidini D, the anomalous third Immoless, born of Reftha, a snake demoness, and allegedly Tempus of the Electi, although there were rumours to the contrary. Allyra’s true nature and what she became and why she mattered to Nicolas are questions best left to the story. From the Electi’s perspective, she was certainly not bred to become the heroine of his grotesque romantic ambitions, although Nicolas has never respected other people's plans or narratives. By 1536 P.V., kingdoms had risen and cruelties had become customs, and Nicolas had acquired an alarming number of places in which to make himself unwelcome. The Deep's inhabitants had found inventive ways to exploit one another, so allow me to acquaint you with a few of the locations where Nicolas and his family conducted their affairs. Let us start with Irkalla, the hellish domain whose aperture sits on the cusp of the Kingdom of Tepes and Bratsioca. At the commencement of my tale, Irkalla was home to Nicolas’s long-suffering son, Behmor, and his lover Baal. Behmor, like all Immortalis, has an Evro, Tanis, a monstrous creature that dominated the icy glaciers of Bratsioca, north of the Irkallan Aperture. A frightful beast whose loud roars and horrifically sewn body parts attracted tourists. Tanis did not want to be a tourist attraction, but it gave him a reputable living. South of Bratsioca, still within the Deep's northern reaches, stands Castle Tepes in the Kingdom of Tepes, where Count Tepes, Roger, or Count Pompous as Nicolas called him, ruled the six villages of Tepes and the port town of Sapari with his queen, Anne. The villages known as Threnodyl, Ashurrel, Doloros, Khepriarth, Serphage and Lethecrown, each had thesapien lords. Count Pompous was a higher vampire who took his role as leader extremely seriously, and in doing so, made a rod for his own back as every minor complaint would be referred to Tepes by the local lords for immediate resolution. Most of their complaints were about Nicolas, and Count Pompous would refer these matters to Theaten, who Nicolas called, β€˜Robert.’ Theaten had an amiable relationship with Tepes and Anne, whereby Tepes received tributes and Theaten received copious portions of Anne’s ripe ass, and this brings us to the Kingdom of D’Aten. D'Aten is a forested land of villages and holdings, dominated by Castle D'Aten, a bleak fortress rising from a rocky outcrop at its centre. There, Theaten kept his favourite tribute, Calista, imprisoned, indulged his appetites for domination, engaged in threesomes with Anne and Tepes, boned the bones of his victims, and consumed copious amounts of tongue. Some said that this was due to his mother Lilith’s rampantly wagging tongue and excessive smothering of her little pickle. Neferaten remained under Lilith's influence. There, her priest and priestess, Kufia and Owuo, maintained the old ways through public tribute-sacrifices with dancing, singing, and blood draining from the living beneath the low desert suns. North of Neferaten, one may find Ard Quahila, canyonlands that provided home to Nicolas’s malformed discarded creatures, and a few weird cults. Of course, Nicolas did not live in close proximity to his monstrous mutants, he was far too good for that. Nicolas lived in Togaduine, south of the Varjoleto Forest, which lies south of D’Aten Forest. Togaduine was Nicolas’s domain, a Kingdom that sits on the cusp of the seas and borders Neferaten. His home, if one can call the mire that, was Corax Asylum. The term asylum is applied with generosity. Corax was Nicolas's personal playground of torture, where he devised new instruments of suffering, tested their effectiveness upon the unfortunate occupants and regarded the resulting screams as useful feedback and a constant stimulus for his hard cock. Nicolas’s estate comprised of the main asylum, a cluster of cottages, a secondary house, extensive grounds and a wall of heads. His residents were made up of tributes and inmates, people Nicolas had declared insane, and whoever else took his fancy. The staff, of course, comprised of two hundred and sixteen Nicolai and a miserable aged ghoul named Demitri, although Nicolas called him Chives, mostly. There were also porters, ghouls in training. There is one further matter before we begin. You may encounter events that appear to contradict one another, occur twice or unfold in an order that defies conventional chronology or previous iterations. I have recorded them precisely as they occurred, Dear Reader, although the order in which you discover them is another matter entirely. There is sorcery afoot, and I suggest you reserve judgement and allow events to unfold, but whatever you do, do not trust Nicolas. Now let us enter the absurd nastiness of this gruesome tale without further ado. Signed, The Ledger. #Horror #DarkFantasy #DarkRomance immortalisverse.com
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Nicolas believed pain and pleasure were excellent foundations for marriage. Allyra had other ideas. He had 216 bodies to argue with her. #ExtremeHorror #DarkRomance #HorrorErotica #ToxicRomance immortalisverse.com
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She fell for the monster. Then she discovered how much of her life he had already written. #DarkRomance #ExtremeHorror #ObsessionRomance #PsychologicalHorror immortalisverse.com
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The romance was a trap. The horror was real. The monster was in love. And the bride was never innocent. #ExtremeHorror #DarkRomance #MonsterRomance #HorrorErotica immortalisverse.com
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WEBSTER BELIEVED NICOLAS'S JEALOUSY HAD MORPHED, HAD BECOME SOMETHING NASTIER. HE CALLED IT 'ENVY'! #darkromancereads #vampire #horror #extremehorror #booktok immortalisverse.com
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They told me to make my work accessible. So I've removed the price, not the atrocities.
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All you need is love. And a dungeon. Preferably soundproof.
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Theaten was fuming, 'The thermostat at the Ashurrel hospital was turned all the way up and someone dumped broken clocks into the drains so the streets are flooded. AGAIN! You wouldn't know anything about that would you?' Nicolas smiled, 'It's very kind of you, Robert,' he replied, 'but I have enough clocks already!' #ExtremeHorror, #darkromance #HorrorBooks, #HorrorTok, #DarkRomanceBooks immortalisverse.com
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πŸ€– Made with AI
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πŸ€– Made with AI
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The Nicolai merged as one, the true face of Nicolas, Nicolester! #ExtremeHorror, #darkromance #HorrorBooks, #HorrorTok, #DarkRomanceBooks immortalisverse.com
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