Elara is the last witch and must unlock her powers before her time runs out.
The Last Witch
Chapter 2: The Demon in the Tome
A wave of weakness washed over Elara. She pressed her trembling hands against the floor, slowly rising to her feet, though her legs wobbled beneath her. The reality of her situation sank in like the morning sun creeping into the room. She was alive, her heart pounding with a strange mix of relief and disbelief.
Elara's gaze swept the dimly lit space, trying to focus, to gather her scattered thoughts. She was disoriented, but one truth cut through the fog in her mind like a blade: she had to keep moving. "I need to find the tome," she whispered, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. "It's the only way."
Elara scoured the house, her fingers brushing against every wall and corner, until she discovered a narrow door hidden beneath the staircase. She pushed it open and descended into the dark, dank space below. The air was thick, and musty, with a lingering scent of wax and dried herbs that only intensified as she ventured deeper.
At the center of the room stood a stone dais, encircled by candles long extinguished, their wax frozen in mid-drip. Concentric chalk markings covered the floor, carved into intricate patterns, with ancient *********** woven around them and Roman numerals marking the perimeter. Elara’s fingers traced the symbols as she stepped closer, her pulse quickening. Finally, she spotted a book resting on the dais—a thick tome bound in worn leather, its cover embossed with faded symbols. She reached out, hands trembling, and felt a powerful, almost magnetic energy radiating from it.
As Elara’s fingers grazed the tome, its ancient leather cover seemed to pulse beneath her touch. A sudden jolt surged up her arm, and a gasp escaped her lips as her vision blurred, then sharpened into images that were not her own. She clutched the tome tighter, and like a dam breaking, the images flooded her mind, each image a blade of pain and revelation.
She saw the faces of her coven, her sisters, twisted in agony as werewolves tore through them. She saw blood, spells shattering, and desperate cries echoing in the dark. But then she glimpsed a shadow, a woman cloaked in dark magic, watching from afar. An unfamiliar witch, radiating with magical power, she watched the slaughter intently, her lips curled up in a smile. The werewolves were under her control. Elara’s breath caught, her heart pounding with a mix of horror and rage as the truth crystallized. She had the markings of a member of the coven. One of their own had betrayed them all.
The tome pulsed again, its energy surging through her as the images shifted, morphing into fragments of her future. Tears traced down her cheeks as she watched herself hunted, her life hanging by threads, caught in visions of herself murdered or enslaved by forces far beyond her current power. She clenched the book, frustration and fear colliding inside her—her magic alone would never be enough to counter the growing darkness closing in on her.
Then, as if in answer to her despair, a single vision sharpened into focus. It was a deal, whispered to her in alluring promises: an incubus, dark and powerful, offering her vengeance in exchange for surrendering to the raw, carnal magic only he could unlock within her. She saw herself unraveling, her moans and cries of pleasure igniting a primal, forbidden power—a force so potent it both terrified and exhilarated her. She shuddered, understanding that to conquer her enemies, she would have to abandon restraint and embrace this dark awakening.
The tome’s chant grew louder in her mind, ancient words reverberating with a seductive call: “The power of Irdu…” Her hands shook as she clutched the book tighter, the shadows of destiny unfurling before her with chilling clarity. She saw herself, as a queen of vengeance, her might swelling with each sacrifice, her power stoked by the primal ecstasies she would offer as tribute. With each scream, each willing submission to pleasure, she would feed the dark magic needed to destroy the evil that had ripped her life apart. And there, in the vision, she stood—resplendent, unstoppable, and unyielding—ready to claim the vengeance she had been promised.
Then as quickly as the visions came they disappeared. The silence of the room was deafening, her heart beating, her resolve solidifying.
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Elara had spent days holed up in the hidden room beneath the staircase, poring over the ancient tome with growing desperation.
Each day felt like an eternity, and no matter how much she studied the cryptic symbols, the hidden meanings seemed to slip through her grasp like sand. Frustration gnawed at her, no matter how much she studied the text the tome would not yield its secrets.
Her fingers traced the intricate drawing of a demonic figure. “Irdu”, she whispered, remembering the words from her vision. Suddenly the image seemed to move, just ever so slightly. His eyes, once frozen in place, now followed her. His fingers, bound in the drawing, twitched as if desperate to communicate.
Elara’s breath hitched in her throat. She reached out to him hesitantly, her fingers brushing the rough, worn page. She felt him—his presence, his consciousness. Irdu wasn’t just a figure in a story—he was bound to the tome. She could feel his energy pulse through her, and then…images.
They flooded her mind in a rush—cryptic, overwhelming, but unmistakable. He was trying to lead her, to show her something. A face, a name.
Marcus Blackthorn.
The name etched itself into her mind, and Elara recoiled in shock. “Who is Marcus?” she whispered, her voice shaky as the images continued to flash through her mind, each more vivid than the last. Irdu showed her a man—strong, tall, unfamiliar to her, yet marked with a powerful aura. She saw an incantation—an ancient spell she’d never seen before—and the image of Irdu, urging her forward, pointing her toward the stranger.
He needed her to find Marcus. She had to cast the spell on him—an incantation that would release Irdu’s soul from the book. But why? Why this man, of all people?
“I don’t understand,” she muttered aloud, her fingers trembling as she traced the cryptic text that was beginning to unravel its secrets. “Why him?”
Then, a final vision struck her with brutal clarity. "He knows who betrayed your coven." Irdu’s eyes blazing with the truth. “Only he can release me from the book.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Elara froze, the realization sinking in. Marcus—whoever he was—held the key. He knew who had led the werewolves to her sisters. He knew who had torn her life apart. And she needed to confront him, to cast the incantation Irdu had shown her, if she had any hope of avenging her fallen coven.
Her heart pounded in her chest, fear mixing with a strange excitement. The path ahead of her was dangerous, filled with uncertainty. But now, she had something she hadn’t felt in weeks—a purpose.
With a trembling hand, she placed the tome back on the dais and whispered to the empty room, “I’ll find Marcus. And I’ll make him tell me everything.”
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Elara had spent days researching Marcus, trying to unravel the mystery of his connection to witches. On paper, he seemed like any other influential businessman—wealthy, a notorious womanizer, a collector of antiquities but completely mortal. There was nothing to suggest he had any ties to the mystical world. He was just a man, she told herself, albeit a powerful one. But the demon Irdu had been clear: Marcus was the key, the one she had to confront to unlock the truth about her coven's betrayal.
She had watched him for nights, learning his routines, his habits. Finally, she discovered that he frequented an exclusive bar downtown, a place where powerful men like him indulged their vices away from prying eyes. It was perfect. Elara knew her charm spells were potent; no man had ever resisted her before. She would use her magic to seduce him, to get him alone, and then she would pry the answers from him. She had done it before—this time would be no different.
Elara entered with a confidence that belied her internal fear. She was still being hunted, still vulnerable, but tonight she was the predator. She saw Marcus seated at a corner table, his back turned, engrossed in conversation with another man. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she cast her spell, letting the charm ripple through the air and wrap itself around him like an invisible thread.
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Marcus turned his head, his gaze locking onto her immediately. Elara felt the familiar pull of her magic doing its work as his eyes darkened with interest. She approached him slowly, every step calculated to ensnare him further. When she reached his table, Marcus smiled, gesturing for her to sit beside him.
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Elara felt a thrill race through her. It was working. She had him.
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Marcus sipped his glass of whiskey, letting the smooth burn settle in his throat. She was absolutely gorgeous, the kind of beauty that made heads turn and hearts race. Her body was draped in a sleek black dress that clung to her curves like it had been painted on, every step she took accentuating the smooth sway of her hips. The dim lighting of the bar cast a sultry glow on her skin.
Marcus's eyes traveled up her body, from the slit in her dress that teased just enough thigh to leave him wanting more, to the deep neckline that revealed the soft swell of her breasts. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves framing her face. Her full lips curved into a slight, knowing smile as her gaze met his, and for a moment, Marcus felt a spark of excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time.
He took another sip of his drink, hiding the mischievous grin that was already tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was going to be fun. She thought she had him under her spell, that she could walk into this bar and use her magic to control him like some lovesick fool. But Marcus wasn’t like the others she’d played with. He wasn’t going to be the one seduced tonight.
No, he was going to turn the tables on her.
His desire for her grew with every second, the thought of what he was going to do to her tonight sending a thrill through him. The idea of having her— a gorgeous, powerful witch—completely at his mercy, unaware of just how powerless she truly was, made his blood heat. She was a seductress, a witch, and she had no idea that the real game had already begun.
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Elara leaned closer to Marcus, her hand brushing along his arm as she let her voice drop to a low, inviting tone, her words weaving like a silken trap. She could feel the magic hum beneath her skin, the spell of desire and control enfolding around him with every subtle movement. Her eyes sparkled with flirtation, lips curving into a knowing smile as she watched him respond exactly as she expected: his gaze darkened, raking over her body with that all-too-familiar hunger. He was spellbound, she thought, sinking deeper with every beat of his heart.
But then, just as she thought she had him firmly in her grasp, a flicker of something unfamiliar rippled through her spell. Marcus’s gaze lingered, yes, but there was an intensity she hadn’t anticipated, an awareness lurking just beneath his smile. She felt a faint chill as his eyes met hers, his expression unreadable, almost… amused.
Determined to dispel her own unease, she strengthened the enchantment, letting her magic radiate from her touch, each word dripped with just enough allure to pull him further under. She leaned in, whispering a subtle suggestion for him to invite her to his place, fully expecting him to comply. But instead of the dazed compliance she was used to, his lips curled into a smirk. He leaned close, fingers tracing a featherlight line along her arm, as though he were savoring the game just as much as she was.
“Come back to my place,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet, his breath warm against her ear. It was exactly what she wanted to hear—yet the way he said it sent an unexpected thrill of danger racing up her spine. As she nodded, accepting his invitation, a shadow of doubt flickered at the edges of her mind. Was he as entranced as she’d believed, or had she underestimated him? But she shrugged it off, confident her magic would hold. After all, no one had ever resisted her charms before.
But as he led her toward the door, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back, she couldn’t shake the prickle of unease.
The moment they entered his penthouse she knew something was wrong. The air inside was heavy, almost oppressive. Elara felt a strange tingle at the back of her neck, an instinctual warning she couldn’t place. Marcus closed the door behind them, his movements calm, and controlled, like a predator biding its time. As he approached her he ran his hands up her arms, his breath hot against her skin.
Elara felt a sudden heat pool between her thighs, her pulse quickened at his touch. She told herself it was the thrill of seduction, the anticipation of what was to come. Her body responded to his desires. Instead of feeling the control, the power of her magic, she felt something else—like her own spell had backfired, turning against her. Marcus’s grip on her tightened, and when she tried to pull away, she found she couldn’t. Panic flared briefly, but before she could react, Marcus spun her around, pressing her hard against the wall.
"Did you really think you could control me?" His voice was a low, mocking growl in her ear.
Elara gasped, her mind reeling. How? How was he immune to her charm? She struggled against him, but her body wouldn’t obey her commands. It was like every nerve, every muscle, had betrayed her.
Elara’s eyes widened as the truth hit her like a bolt of lightning. His amulet. The small, glowing stone that hung around his neck — it wasn’t just a trinket. It was a magical artifact, one that could protect him from her spells and reflect them at her. Every ounce of magic she’d used to seduce him was now working against her, forcing her to desire him, to submit to him.
“I know what you are,” Marcus whispered, his lips brushing the back of her neck as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer. “A witch. You're not the first one to think you could control me but your choice of spells is… interesting. I think I am going to enjoy breaking you.”
Marcus pressed her harder against the wall, his thick cock already pressing against her through his pants. He wasted no time, roughly pulling her dress up over her hips, his fingers tearing at her panties until they fell to the floor.
“You’re mine now,” he growled, his hand wrapping around her throat as he pushed her legs apart, forcing her open.
Elara gasped, she couldn’t fight it, couldn’t stop the way her body reacted to him, her chest pressed into the wall, her back arched, her hips pushed back into him. She wanted him so badly, so desperately. His cock slammed into her with brutal force, filling her completely. Her head fell back against his chest as she moaned.
“Oh fuck! You feel so good!” she screamed, her nails digging into the wall as he pounded into her, each thrust harder, deeper than the last. The pleasure was unbearable, a vicious cycle of ecstasy that made her body tremble with need.
Marcus grinned, his hands gripping her ass, slamming her back against him as he fucked her harder, faster. “You like that, don’t you Witch?” His words were cruel, filled with sadistic pleasure as he took her, owning her in a way no man ever had before.
Elara could only moan in response, her mind spinning as her body surrendered completely. Her climax built quickly, spiraling out of control until she was shaking, her muscles tightening around him as her orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pleasure blinding her to everything else. Marcus didn’t stop, fucking her through her release until she was a quivering mess, barely able to stand.
When he finally let go, she collapsed, gasping for air, her body spent. Marcus stepped back, his grin still in place, watching her with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “You’ll learn soon enough,” he said, removing his clothes, “This is just the beginning.”
Elara lay there, trembling, her mind reeling from the truth. She wasn’t the hunter anymore. She was the prey. And Marcus? He was far more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.
Marcus stood over Elara in the dimly lit foyer, the once powerful witch, now completely at his mercy, was a sight that filled him with dark satisfaction. He could see the hunger in her eyes, the desperate need to please him overriding any remnants of resistance.
“Take off your clothes, witch,” Marcus growled, his voice low and commanding. “Then crawl over here and suck my cock.”
Elara looked up at him, her body responding immediately to the order, her breath hitching as she began to undress teasingly. Her fingers trembled as she slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, letting the silky fabric fall to the floor, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her body. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her nipples hardening in the cool air. She reached down, slowly pulling off the rest of her clothes until she was completely bare, vulnerable, exposed in front of him.
Marcus’s eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her—her body was perfect, every curve begging to be touched, dominated. His cock twitched in anticipation as Elara, now naked, lowered herself onto her hands and knees. She crawled toward him, her eyes never leaving his, like a hungry animal seeking approval, seeking to please.
When she finally reached him, Marcus grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly. He looked down at her, his grip firm but not painful, guiding her as he shoved his cock in front of her face. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Suck my cock, slut.”
Elara didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, her lips wrapping around his length as she began to work him with a fervent desperation, her hands bracing against his thighs. Marcus groaned in pleasure, his hips bucking slightly as he forced her to take him deeper. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, controlling every movement as he watched her submit completely to his will.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice a dark whisper. “You like that, don’t you, witch? Being on your knees like a good little slut.”
Elara moaned softly around him, her body aching with the need to please him, to satisfy the dark desires that had taken hold of her. She had never felt so powerless, so overwhelmed by the need to obey.
“That’s right, take it all,” Marcus growled, his fingers tightening in her hair as he pushed her head all the way down his long thick cock, “Gag on it, bitch. I want to feel you choke.”
Elara felt Marcus’s thick, powerful cock push into her throat, the sudden intrusion making her gag. Her eyes watered, tears welling at the corners, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, her need to please him only intensified, driven by the harsh commands and the raw dominance in his voice.
"Ravenna is such a fool to think she could double-cross me! I’m going to have so much fun making you my sex slave," he growled, his voice dripping with arrogance. His hips moved faster, each thrust filling her mouth, Her throat constricted around him, her breath catching as she fought to keep up with his relentless pace. The dirty words he spat at her sent a shiver down her spine, igniting something primal within her.”
“You love this, don’t you?” he sneered, looking down at her tear-streaked face, her lips stretched wide around his cock. “Being my little slut, taking me as deep as I want. You’re mine, witch.”
Elara’s chest heaved, her heart pounding in her ears as his words sent a jolt of excitement through her. She nodded as much as she could, her throat tight but willing. She could taste him, the salty prelude to his release coating her tongue, sending a wave of pleasure through her.
He groaned louder, gripping her hair tighter as his body tensed. Then, with a final thrust, he let go, pulling back just enough to make sure her mouth was flooded with his release. It filled her, warm and thick, the taste of him spreading across her tongue.
Marcus watched her intently, his eyes dark with satisfaction as Elara sucked him clean, savoring every drop. She didn’t stop, her lips continuing to move over him as if she needed more, her desires fueling the act. She drained him, her body humming with satisfaction as she let him slip free with a soft pop.
“Good girl,” he praised, his tone dripping with approval.
Elara’s mind raced, questions swirling amidst the haze of pleasure. Who was Ravenna? What had she done to double-cross him? The thrill of submission clouded her thoughts, leaving her unsure if she even wanted to escape anymore. The line between desire and control had blurred, leaving her yearning for more of whatever dark power Marcus held over her.
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Marcus’s belt came down hard on Elara’s ass, the sting sending a shockwave of pleasure and pain through her. She gasped, her body arching under his control, loving the way he gripped her neck and whispered filth into her ear. “You’re such a slut, aren’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against her skin.
She moaned in response, feeling the weight of his dominance pushing her further into submission. She loved it—the control, the power he held over her. But deep inside, her mind was fighting back, trying to focus on more than just the overwhelming pleasure.
As much as her body craved him, she knew she needed answers. Ravenna. The name had surfaced again. If she couldn’t use magic, would she still make him talk?
Between gasps of her punishing lashings, Elara weaved together a story that Ravenna had sent her here. “You won’t get away with this?” Elara said breathlessly, her voice laced with feigned defiance. “Ravenna will come here for me. You’re nothing more than a pawn in her game.”
Marcus’s grip tightened on her neck, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. For a moment, Elara feared she’d gone too far, but then his grip loosened, and his expression darkened with something more than lust—anger. “Ravenna would be nothing without me?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Elara bit her lip, sensing she had hit a nerve.
She could feel the tension in his body as he paced around her, his arousal momentarily overshadowed by his rage. “That bitch,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “She needs my amulet to unlock the tome she lost! She needs my magical artifacts to control her fucking witch.”
He grinned wickedly, his anger reawakening his arousal, his hands sliding back down to grip her hips, fingers digging into her skin. “No, Elara. My home is protected. No one can enter my home without my permission. I am going to play with you before I kill you” His words were laced with cruelty.
Marcus’s dark eyes bore into Elara’s as he gripped her face, his fingers pressing firmly into her cheeks, making her feel small and powerless beneath him. “I’m going to break you,” he whispered, his voice low and dripping with menace. “You may be Ravenna’s little tool. But tonight, you’re mine.”
Marcus wrapped his belt around her neck like a leash. Her heart pounded in her chest as he tightened it, her breaths labored.
His hands dug into her hips, his fingers bruising her skin as he positioned himself behind her. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, the heat of him making her tremble. And then, with one brutal thrust, he was inside her, filling her.
“Oh fuck, you’re so thick!” she screamed, her voice breaking as he tightened the noose around her neck. Her mind wanted to fight back, but her body—her traitorous, desperate body—was giving in.
His hand pulled hard on the belt, pulling her back onto his cock, forcing her muscles to clench around him, making her arch painfully as he took her harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, her gasps and moans mixing with his grunts as he pounded into her.
“You like that, don’t you?” Marcus growled into her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “You like being my little slut. Ravenna’s fool—fucked by her enemy.”
Elara’s mind swirled with a storm of conflicting emotions. She hated how much she loved it. She hated that he was driving her body to the edge, that despite everything, her pleasure was building again. Each brutal thrust sent her closer and closer to the brink, her muscles tightening, her body betraying her over and over.
Marcus’s hand pulled the belt taught around her throat, holding her in place as he fucked her harder, deeper, each stroke pushing her further into submission. She couldn’t fight it—her orgasm was building, inevitable. Her toes curled, her legs shook, and with a final, desperate scream, she came hard, her body convulsing around him as he pounded into her relentlessly.
She hated him for it. And she hated herself for loving it. “Marcus!” Elara screamed, her voice breaking, the pleasure too intense to contain. Her muscles clenched around him, her body shaking as waves of heat rolled through her.
Marcus loosened the hold around her neck, his arm pulling her back against him, “Tell me you love it, witch!”
“Oh fuck! Oh god, I love it!” she cried, her voice raw, desperate. “I love your thick cock!”
Her hips moved on their own, pushing back into him, grinding against him with reckless abandon. She was lost in the sensation, her need taking over, her mind overwhelmed with the pleasure that he gave her.
“That’s right, slut,” Marcus growled in her ear, his words dripping with dominance. “You finally know your place.”
His body slammed into hers, driving her wild as she rode the wave of pleasure. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body writhing beneath him as he controlled every movement, every sensation.
“I want to see your face as I fill you, bitch!” Marcus commanded, yanking her up by her hair and spinning her around, forcing her to face him. His hands gripped hers, pinning them above her head as he lowered his lips to her breasts, sucking and biting until she was moaning uncontrollably. Her legs parted instinctively, opening wide for him, inviting him to slide back into her.
“Beg for it, you fucking slut!” he snarled, his words raw and commanding.
“Please, fuck me! You feel so fucking good!” she begged, her desperation clear, her need for the pleasure he gave her overwhelming.
He smirked, watching her as she completely surrendered to him. He loved hearing her beg, loved how easily she submitted to his control. The sight of her willing body, the sound of her pleading voice—it made his cock twitch with even more desire.
“You ready to carry my child, witch!” he growled, slamming into her harder, feeling her body tighten around him.
“Yes! Oh god, yes! Fill me!” she screamed her orgasm building, her body trembling beneath him.
“That’s right, I’m going to claim you! Fill you with my seed!” Marcus watched her face contort with pleasure, saw the way her body arched toward him, completely lost in the sensations coursing through her. He could feel his release building, the pressure mounting as he thrust into her with increasing urgency.
Her hands flew to his back, her nails digging into his flesh as her climax approached. “Marcus, oh god, Marcus!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with ecstasy.
His hands moved to her neck, tightening, making her gasp for air as he plunged deeper into her, his release just moments away. The intensity between them mounted, the room filled with the sound of their bodies colliding, their shared moans echoing around them.
With one final thrust, he groaned, his release flooding through him as he filled her, her orgasm ripping through her as she cried out his name in a final, desperate moan, ”Marcus!!”
As Marcus came, Elara felt the searing heat of his release surge inside her, filling her with an almost unbearable warmth. His breath was ragged, and his grip around her neck tightened as his body shuddered with each final thrust. The sensation of his creamy release radiated deep within her, intoxicating her senses. Her fingers trailed down his back, tracing the sweat-slick muscles as he hovered above her, his body still trembling from the climax they’d just shared.
For a brief moment, as she gazed up at him, a strange thought flitted through her mind—she could almost see herself remaining like this, his willing plaything. She reveled in the way he had dominated her, the way he held her life in his hands. There was something dangerously addictive about the power he wielded over her, and she hated that a part of her craved it.
But then, reality crashed in. “Remove the amulet,” a dark voice calling out to her said. The voice triggered a moment of clarity as she watched the amulet dangle in front of her. Carefully, her fingers slid beneath it, unhooking the clasp with a steady hand. He was too caught up in the moment, his chest heaved against hers, his lips curled into a self-satisfied grin, utterly unaware of what was about to happen.
It’s too bad, she thought, a pang of regret flickering inside her as she admired him for the last time. He had made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a long time and controlled her in ways no one else had. But now…now the tables had to turn.
With the amulet finally unhooked, she slipped it from his neck, releasing herself from its power. Elara could feel it, the weight lifting, the chains of the spell dissolving around her. Her magic was hers again, and she was no longer under his control.
Marcus’s grip tightened around Elara’s neck, his voice dripping with venom. “You cum-hungry slut! You got exactly what you deserved,” he spat, his smirk twisted with cruel satisfaction. His hands remained firm, expecting the usual submission, but this time something was different.
Elara smiled.
It was a wicked, knowing smile that unnerved him.
Then he saw the necklace in her hand.
Before Marcus could react, the air around her crackled with an invisible force, a deep and ancient magic she had never felt before. It coursed through her veins, feeding off her anger, her desperation, her desire for vengeance. The power surged, guiding her every move.
With just a flick of her wrist and a single, whispered command, Marcus was lifted off the ground as if he were weightless. His smug expression shattered into one of pure shock as his body flew backward, slamming into the front door with bone-cracking force. The wood splintered around him, the door frame cracking under the impact.
Her lips parted, and without conscious effort, ancient incantations tumbled from her mouth. The words seemed to echo in the room, dark and powerful. As they escaped her, Marcus felt something shift—a ripple in the very air.
Elara’s laughter filled the room, a sharp, menacing cackle that chilled the air. Her body rose from the ground, levitating a few inches off the floor as he struggled to get up, to comprehend what was happening.
Marcus, for the first time that night, looked up at her with something he hadn’t felt in years: fear.
A new set of words formed in her mind, ancient and deadly. She spoke them softly, almost gently, and with them, a blade materialized from thin air, its surface black as obsidian, glinting with an otherworldly sheen in the dim light of the room. The knife hovered in front of her, sharp and lethal.
Marcus, furious with anger, lunged at her with a desperate roar. But Elara didn’t even blink. With another flick of her wrist, the knife shot forward, slicing through the air with terrifying speed. It embedded itself deep into Marcus’s chest.
He crumbled to the floor, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, until his vision blurred and darkness took hold.
Elara floated down slowly, her bare feet touching the floor as she approached his body, barely holding onto life. She crouched beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his bloodied face with an almost affectionate gesture.
"Looks like you got exactly what you deserved," she whispered, her voice laced with satisfaction.
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Marcus awoke with a jolt, his body stiff, kneeling in a pool of his own blood. The cold, sticky liquid clung to his bare skin, and his chest pulsed with excruciating pain. His breath came in ragged gasps as his wide eyes darted around the room, trying to make sense of the horror before him.
Concentric circles, painted in his blood, surrounded him on the stone floor, their ancient symbols glowing faintly as if pulsing with dark energy. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey—he was completely paralyzed, trapped in this nightmare.
The woman from earlier, Elara, stood before him, but she was different now. Her belly was grotesquely distended as if she were pregnant, her flesh stretching and moving like the child within her was trying to get out. She was speaking in a language that Marcus couldn’t comprehend, the words flowing like an eerie chant. As her gaze locked onto his, she grinned.
“We are almost done, my pretty,” she purred, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction.
A low, guttural sound echoed from beyond the room, a chorus of voices, not of this world, filling the space with an unnatural chant. It was as if the spirits of long-dead witches had come to bear witness to his demise. Their voices grew louder, reverberating in his mind, each word driving spikes of terror deeper into his soul.
Marcus screamed, feeling the agony spread through his body. His insides boiled, his chest wound split open, and his ribs cracked as if something was trying to claw its way out. The pain was unbearable, white-hot, and endless. He should be dead, but the cruel magic kept him alive, forcing him to endure every excruciating moment.
He watched in horror as Elara’s belly began to shrink, replaced by a dark and malevolent smoke that filled the space around her. Soon a swirling black cloud, thick and ominous, coalesced into the shape of a demonic figure—its form ghostly yet solid, with wings slowly unfurling, stretching as if it hadn’t moved in centuries. Its eyes gleamed with a hunger beyond this world.
Marcus had seen this creature before. Irdu.
Marcus gasped in terror, his voice lost in the cacophony of chanting spirits. The blood from his wound began to lift from his body, snaking its way through the air toward Elara. Entrails followed, the grotesque sight making him gag, though he couldn’t turn away. The blood, the guts—it all coiled around her hand as she molded the gruesome mess into something else entirely.
In her hands formed a replica—a bloody, fleshy imitation of his manhood, perfectly detailed. Elara looked down at it, her eyes dark with twisted glee.
“I enjoyed it so much,” she said, her voice cold as she lifted the grotesque toy to her lips, “I thought I’d keep it.”
Marcus's mind reeled, overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all. His body began to collapse in on itself, starting from his chest as the magic tore him apart from the inside out. He felt his bones shatter, his muscles rip, and his organs liquefy—all while his consciousness remained intact, forced to witness the implosion of his own body.
His scream of agony was lost in the roar of the dark forces swirling around him as his body folded in on itself, a final offering to Irdu.