Chapter 3
The bridal chamber in the Abyssal Depths reeked of sulfur, rotting flesh, and cold dampness.
Seren sat on the edge of the obsidian bed, her heavy black veil concealing a triumphant smile. The stone walls were freezing, but her ambition burned hot. She had done it. She had stolen Elowen’s destiny. Soon, Draven would walk through those doors, claim her, and elevate her to the Supreme Mother of the dark realm.
The heavy iron doors smashed open, hitting the stone walls with a deafening clang.
Seren straightened her spine, adopting the haughty posture of a queen. But as the shadows parted, her smile froze.
Draven didn’t walk in alone.
The Wyrm Lord strode into the room, his eyes glowing with a sickly, predatory green light. Behind him lumbered three towering, heavily Scaled men. Their eyes were equally hungry, their breathing ragged as they stared at the elf on the bed.
"My Lord?" Seren’s voice trembled slightly. "Who are they? This is our wedding night."
Draven let out a low, guttural laugh.
"They are my blood-brothers, my top generals," Draven said, unfastening his dark cloak and tossing it to the filthy floor. He looked at Seren like a piece of meat on a butcher's block. "A Silverbranch elf is a rare delicacy. A twin pureblood? Even rarer. In the Abyss, we share our finest spoils."
Seren’s mind went blank. The blood drained from her face. "Share? I am your wife! I am the future Goddess of the Abyss!"
"You are a battery," one of the Scaled generals sneered, stepping forward and grabbing her veil. With a violent yank, he tore it away, along with half of her silver bridal crown.
Seren screamed, scrambling backward against the cold headboard. "Don't touch me! Draven, stop them! I carry the Moon's Glory prophecy!"
Draven didn't stop them. He sat in a high-backed chair in the corner of the room, pouring himself a goblet of dark wine. "Show me this glory, little elf. Bleed for us."
The three men lunged.
Rough, clawed hands pinned her wrists to the mattress. The fine silk of her stolen wedding dress was ripped to shreds in seconds.
Seren thrashed wildly, her magic flaring in a desperate attempt to fight back. But her weak silver light was instantly crushed by the suffocating, toxic miasma of the Wyrms.
She had nothing to bargain with. She was entirely powerless.
"No... please..." Seren choked out, tears of genuine despair finally spilling down her cheeks.
"Scream louder," Draven commanded coldly from his chair, sipping his wine. "Fear makes the blood taste sweeter."
The nightmare began. It was a hell of tearing claws, crushing weight, and endless humiliation. She was passed around like a cheap tavern cup, her royal pride ground into the filthy stone floor. Every time she tried to scream, a clawed hand choked the sound back down her throat.
When the morning light finally pierced the gloomy fog of the Abyss, the men were gone.
Seren lay on the ruined bed, covered in bruises, bite marks, and dried blood. Every bone in her body ached. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes hollow.
Slowly, a twisted, venomous glint returned to her eyes.
This is just a test, she told herself, gritting her teeth as she forced her broken body to sit up. In the past life, Elowen eventually became the Supreme Mother of the Abyss. She must have gone through this exact same nightmare. Monstrous kings always break their mates to test their worth before sharing the throne. Draven is just testing her endurance. Once he ascends to godhood... She will be the one holding the leash. Just need to endure...
She wrapped a torn blanket around her shoulders and yelled toward the door. "Guard! Bring me hot water! I am the Lady of this domain!"
A low-level imp poked its head into the room. It looked at her battered state, spat a glob of black phlegm onto the floor, and sneered. "Clean yourself."
The imp slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside.
She screamed, throwing a silver candlestick at the door, but the only answer was the mocking laughter echoing in the corridor.
Hundreds of miles away, in the sunlit Holy Light Kingdom.
I sat on the porch of the wooden cabin Kaelen had built for me. The scent of blue Silverbell flowers filled the crisp morning air.
A silver falcon landed on the wooden railing, carrying a coded scroll in a small metal tube attached to its leg.
I unrolled the parchment. My eyes scanned the brief, clinical description of the Abyssal wedding night.
Target arrived. Wyrm Lord did not consummate alone. Three generals participated. Target heavily injured, confined to quarters.
My expression didn't change. I neatly folded the parchment and held it over a small candle on the table, watching the flames consume the paper.
I felt no pity. Zero.
The Wyrm clan respected nothing but raw, absolute power. In my past life, I had survived only because I viciously fought back, using my Moon Heart Scales to constantly trade blows and make deals with Draven, eventually manipulating him to the top. Seren thought she could just walk in and claim the crown for free.
"Enjoy the bed you made, sister," I murmured, taking a sip of my morning tea. "This is only the first day of your eternity."
