Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Chapter 194 44. Endless pain and torture (as in the title)

(This chapter foreshadows three or four main lines, so you don’t have to read it if you’re not interested)

The dragon-armored Kain cursed Malekith with thirteen moves, but there was no solution. Darkus could only go to Athel Loren to try his luck with Lord Dais.

After talking about Cairn for a while and then talking about other things, mainly dragon eggs, Malekith suddenly had a great idea and was about to formulate a twisted plan to use against his damn cousin. That Prince of Nagaris, Bascon, had nothing to talk about. Although he didn’t know why his father sent Bascon to the north at that time, in his words, he was a proud and arrogant fool. They met him several times in his father's military camp, and he didn't like the look on Bascon's face when he looked at him. As for the dragon, he didn't even remember it. There were too many dragons at that time, and Bascon's dragon didn't leave a deep impression on him.

It was already late, and Darkus was ready to resign.

"Darkus!"

Just as Darkus was about to walk out of the black steel gate, Malekith called him.

"Your Majesty?" Darkus turned around and looked into Malekith's orange eyes.

"Don't underestimate God, at least not now!"

Darkus was stunned for a moment. He was a little confused as to why Malekith suddenly said this. Then he bowed to Malekith and left again.

Malekith's words seemed to drop his head. Darkus was not having a very good night, or it could be described as painful. Because he had nightmares, he seemed to be walking under a tumbling, thundering sky raining bones and ashes, fighting in a turbulent sea of ​​blood. He stumbled and walked, occasionally tripping over unseen stones under the bloody water and falling into the bloody water. A large group of angry ghosts grabbed him at every step he took, talking nonsense and chattering endlessly.

The ghosts howled and reached for Darkus with misshapen hands. Their eyes had no pupils, just pearly whites. A withered sorceress suddenly jumped on Darkus' back, dug her cracked nails into Darkus's chest, and tore Darkus' face with her jagged teeth. A hulking, slithering creature of exposed, tumbled muscle undulated on a sea of ​​blood, lashing Darkos with jagged tendrils of sticky flesh. A group of hounds hungrily circled Darkus, their open jaws dripping with green venom, ready to bite.

Darkus roared in the storm, slashing at the ghost with his long sword, but the ghost's body separated like water with every blow, and then came back together again, and he kept slashing like this. .

The next second, Darkus was lying on a bed with tumbling corpses. His pale hands picked him up, caressed his body, and held him tightly in his arms. Lips pressed against his skin, tasting him, admiring him. The air was heavy and still, scented with incense, and quivering with the groans and sighs of hundreds of ecstatic voices.

Faces appeared around Darkus, with a hungry look in their deep eyes that he could not forget. She stretched her face towards him, her hands caressing his naked chest, each slender fingertip leaving a trace of heat on his skin.

On the other side, Hagrid Grave, the castle of Varachal.

A Druchi woman bent down and opened one eyelid.

"His wounds are healing."

"Then some more khushalta, I'm tired of waiting!" said a stern voice.

Hushaltar, also known as "mother's milk," is a viscous, pungent liquid made from extracts from Tilean plants and alkaloids from the mountains of Naggaroth. Drinking the stuff can induce a deep sleep characterized by vivid nightmares and lingering hallucinations upon awakening, but can also speed up Druch's recovery process. In addition, long-term use and high doses can cause memory loss or even dementia, making you a fool.

Cold fingers pried open his lips, and a thick liquid with the smell of burnt copper poured down his throat.

Malus choked, his body convulsing, but a pair of strong hands held him in place.

The lights dimmed, the face was hidden in a red mist, the red gradually turned to black, and a familiar voice sounded in the darkness.

"You fool!" Zhakan said teasingly.

Malus opened his googly eyes and saw his toes scraping against the smooth marble floor. Two druchi grabbed his arms and dragged him along a passage lit by witch lanterns.

"I seem to have been sneak-attacked? How strange?" Malus raised his head with difficulty to observe the surrounding environment. His mouth felt like tanned leather. His skin felt tight, as if he had a fever, but his body was still intact, and he thought hazily.

The howling cold wind blew across Malus' face, ruffling his hair, the chains jingled, and the pure tones made his blood run cold. The strong hands on his arms released him and he fell to his knees on the marble tiles of a large circular room.

The orbs of witch lamps shimmered from ornate iron candlesticks lining the walls of the room, illuminating reliefs depicting a series of famous massacres during Druchi's long war with Assur. Hanging from the high ceiling in the center of the room was a bunch of chains with cruel hooks at the ends, and the metal links made a soft clanking sound in the wind.

Malus could feel the eyes on him. He took a shuddering breath and straightened up. The waiting druch looked at him with reptilian eyes.

Lehan the Corrupted Blade, Valahar of Hagrid Grave, stood bare-chested before his son, his sinewy upper body marked by dozens of scars from his service to the Witch-King. His black hair was slicked back from the top, emphasizing his fierce eyes and full, aquiline nose.

Two broken men stood behind Lehan's shadow, hatred flashing in their eyes.

The first druch was tall, almost as imposing as Lehan himself, although his right arm was hidden beneath layers of black robes. This was Malus's fifth half-brother Ulay, who had the same sharp, angry features as his father, but his face was gaunt and his pale skin had an unhealthy blue tint. Since his return at the Temple of Cain, his thick hair has turned almost entirely white, and his eyes have turned a color that would melt brass.

The second Druchi was bent over and trembling, his sunken eyes were like colorless black holes, and his face was covered with fine scars. A thin beard covered his narrow chin, his head was shaved except for a pirate-style topknot, and his pointed ears were adorned with glittering spirit rings. This guy who looked like a fool and a wretch was still wearing a red leather robe with dark red peaks, which made him look a bit rustic. This is Ferland Bale, the son of Barnes Bale on the Black Ark Nagol. He was held hostage by Hagrid Grave's court and stared at Malus with fear and anger. .

Farther behind Lehan, three Druchi slaves were working on chains suspended from the center of the room's ceiling, with large, sharp hooks attached to the chains at varying heights. Several small tables stood nearby, with rows of gleaming tools displayed on silk cloth.

The two retainers stepped away from Malus and retreated into the shadow of the door.

"My dear father, the esteemed Valahar, I am honored to be invited into your tower at last." Malus looked at Lehan and bowed exaggeratedly.

"Disrespectful bastard! Who do you think you are? From the moment you were born! You have tarnished the honor of this family! I wish I could have sent you to the blood pool of the Temple of Cain when you were still a baby Here." Lehan hissed angrily, and finally roared angrily.

Ulai stiffened slightly after hearing these words, but his cold expression did not reveal his thoughts. Unlike his half-brother Malus, he was physically disabled and was thrown into the blood pool of the Murder King. His deformed body was offered as a sacrifice to Kane by his father, but he survived unscathed. And reappears as Kaine's chosen one (Chosen may not be appropriate, one level down).

"Who did I think I was? The terrible Lehan? The invincible Varahar? I think it's you who are arrogant here, and we can never be equals. I can never rise to the level of your other children, you see. Here you are, giving me the support I need to barely survive, just fulfilling your obligation to my mother, and then leaving me to wither away," Malus said slowly, trying not to slur his words. The sound of his words echoed through him, as if he were speaking underwater.

"You disgusting bastard! You are not here to talk! You are here to suffer! You owe a debt to a handful of petty nobles, and I was forced to repay the debt when you were unable to repay it! But you took hostages And endangering the reputation of Night Governor Draka! Hagrid Grave is going to fight the Nagor again!" Lehan roared.

"Don't forget this is the truce of hatred you provoked. The Witch-King ordered you to raid the Nagol and take Eldir from her brothers, but you claimed the Conqueror's privileges and took her with you. Come back instead of sending her to Naggarond. Has she served you well, Father? Has she shown you the future and guided you on the path to glory? Or have you discovered, too late, that She only shares what she wants, and only when it suits her mysterious plans? But! Even now, with Lord Draka ordering me to die, do you have the guts to piss her off? How dare you kill me to anger Her?" Mallus shot back with a wolfish grin, stumbling to his feet and staring at his father with pure hatred.

Lehan made a gesture and the Druchi slaves approached.

"Father, I have never let you down. Mark my words, you will regret it. Father, you will regret it!" The Druchi slaves dragged Malus to the chain, and he turned his head and glared at his The father roared hysterically.

Lerhan sneered and went to check his tools.

"Cheer up, devil! Lend me your power!" Malus tried to struggle and roar, but his limbs were stiff and weak.

"Very good, no problem, as you wish, you will get the power." Zakhan's strange tone echoed in Malus' mind.

There was no end to the pain, and Malus hung on the chain, twisting slowly in the cold wind. As his father lowered the blood-spattered tool, the air alone was enough to torture his exposed nerves and muscles.

"Oh, sorry, I just forgot to say it was at the right time." Zakhan suddenly added at this time.

Malus felt dry and hard, like petrified wood. His wounds stopped bleeding, and for a while he could tell time by the steady trickle of blood on the marble floor, but now the pain made it impossible for him to feel the passage of time.

As Malus hung in his chains, waiting for his father to return, he could feel his life slipping away, receding like a tide. However, whenever his life force is about to fade away, something dark and alive flows into the space left behind and lends him a little bit of power.

The Chaos Demon is always so reliable. Zhakan lent his power to Malus and whispered in a language that Malus couldn't understand. Although Malus couldn't understand it, it was deeply engraved in Malus's heart. In Ruth's mind.

While Malus was suffering physically, Dacus's mental pain continued in the dream. The scene in the dream changed again. The vortex dissolved in a pale light, and the dark clouds condensed from the haze to form a picture. Suddenly, a familiar yet unfamiliar face appeared.

A woman, sharp and slender as a knife, with cold features and sunken eye sockets, is as lifelike as the statue, as if she has come alive from the statue.

At this time, the woman looked at Darkus with calmness in her eyes.

"Mother of the Night! (low key)" Darkus could no longer distinguish between dreams and reality because the scene had changed again.