Wretched Wrath

Wregen

Chapter one

Fuck. Him. Up.

“Itold you to fuck him up, and I mean Fuck. Him. Up.”

My words erupt as a low growl. The performance I’m demanding from two of the outer wraiths takes the edge off, but just barely. The male on top, who was a spoiled prince when his blood flowed, casts a terrified gaze at me, eyes wide and nearly bulging from their sunken sockets.

He’s not yet ready to abandon the miserable reality they all suffer in Helheim, even if he’s forever trapped in the decrepit body that made it to this world’s gates.

Like every other pathetic fucking soul here, the story of his death is written in wounds that festered as he journeyed to this place.

He’s stuck in that physical state, exactly as he appeared when he arrived.

Unless another ghoul makes it worse. Or I do.

And, oh, how I love making it worse. Their misery was the only satisfaction I found in this place before her. Finaan’s presence was a balm to my broken soul. Now she’s gone, and these peons are all I have. My hunger is eternal, voracious.

I glance up, always searching for her, although she’s never there.

This part of the world is desolate, illuminated by the pit’s eternal flame to cast reds and yellows and oranges across every visible stone and rock.

Nothing lives here; everything simply exists, trapped in a never-ending purgatory.

Helheim’s occupants—humans, elves, animals, even rodents that once walked the other worlds—shamble around, desperate for something else.

I offer it, but only to those willing to assuage, for a time, the anguish of my existence.

“He wants to hold onto this existence as badly as you,” I murmur, projecting my voice to the male on top, ensuring he’ll hear every word, as if my lips are caressing his ear. “But you chose to play my game. One of you will be thrown into the pit—you whole, or him in pieces. You decide.”

He swallows, a bulge sliding down the throat that was ripped open in the moments before his death. Looking at the male beneath him, he nods.

“You won,” I bark as my leg starts to bounce, the need for release building in my gut like a storm.

“You’re almost there. You could sleep in Niflhel this very night.

It’s the only place in Helheim that feels alive, like Midgard.

You’ll walk the streets of that beautiful city, see the castle our mistress built for herself.

But only if I let you. And I will change my gods-damned mind and throw both of you into the pit if you don’t fuck him up. Now.”

He looks up, dead eyes as mournful as I’ve ever seen, and I capture the image to show Wrath later. The specter’s agony is scrumptious, and the beast who shares my skin will sup it up. That is, if I choose to release him from the hole in my gut where I stuff him when he pisses me off.

Wrath has been more irksome than usual. He’s miserable without Finaan’s presence to calm him.

“I didn’t think you could best him,” I tell the prince with a laugh. “He’s fucking huge, but you are deliciously vicious. Now finish it. Slowly. Let his pain echo around us. Fill the air with his screams. Then, you can join me in Niflhel.”

“He’s my best friend, my squire, the only person who ever cared about me,” the curmudgeon whines, as if I don’t already know that. “He gave his life trying to save mine. We traveled to Helheim together.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” I tell him with a shrug. “You came to me, asked for a path to Niflhel. I told you what I would need and you agreed to play my game.” I smirk, letting him see how few fucks I have to offer.

“But … you were supposed to send us after others. Not each other,” he cries, and I swear to all the gods, if his body could produce tears, they would be streaming down his face.

This pitiful bastard deserves his fate.

“That wouldn’t have been any fun,” I scoff. “You should be more careful when you make deals with the devil.”

Pulling out my throbbing erection, I pump it, spreading the pre-cum along its tip as I savor the pathetic soul who’d be genuflecting in front of me if he didn’t need to keep the other male pinned.

These ghouls would be shitting themselves if their bodies still could spew out waste.

But they knew when they took my wager that this would end one of two ways.

They’d entertain me, or I’d cast them both into the pit.

And then they’d know true pain. Eternal misery.

The prince watches me for too long, probably searching for evidence that a heart still beats in my chest. But our mistress Hel wrecked that part of me long ago. I care about two things now: pain and pleasure. Nothing else matters.

Gripping my cock tighter, I gust out a sigh when the prince’s shoulders slump. Finally. The pathetic bastard’s chin even trembles. He hates it, hates me for compelling it, but his hold on his friend doesn’t waver.

“His eyes first,” I rasp as Wrath draws my attention away from my cock. He writhes, fighting my hold, and I let him slither closer to the surface. He won’t be able to take our skin—I control our body in this place—but my stubborn beast will try his damnedest. He craves this even more than me.

“Wrath demands more,” I tell the prince as I grip myself tighter, every stroke hard, almost painful.

He nods, one quick jerk of his head, and I embrace the calm that fills me as the final dregs of the wraith’s resistance slip away. He digs a finger into the socket of his only friend and yanks, popping out the first eyeball.

My cock jerks again, a spark of pleasure rippling through me.

I’ve grown to crave the loathsome chaos of their existence, a temporary salve across the eternal, bottomless hunger my beast stirs within me.

Not that anything the drudges might do will fill that void.

I was sated—or, as close to it as I’ve ever been—when Finaan walked this realm.

Her presence calmed my beast more than I ever thought possible.

Nothing has been able to drag me from the anger, the furor, that consumed me the moment she disappeared.

The prince hacks, leaning to his side as he acts like he’s going to vomit. He won’t, of course. He can’t. Some humans, though, never forget the revulsion, the intense nausea that twists every part of you when you’ve done or seen something horrific.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” I murmur, again placing my voice right next to his ear. “You will continue without pause or I’ll throw the two of you into the pit. Aware.”

“Please.” The large male sputters out that single syllable, his remaining eye flickering to look at me and then back at the specter above him. “End me, in any way you must. I can’t go there. I can’t spend eternity in the insatiable fire.”

“Wise choice.” The tingling in my balls grows as I focus on the squire’s good eye.

“That’s the Helheim you dread,” I continue as I give my attention back to the prince, “the eternal fire that will keep but never consume you. These wounds you brought with you to Helheim, whatever pathetic little injuries I’ve added here, are nothing, a drop in the ocean of pain you’ll experience in the pit.

If I send you there—and I am very gods-damned close to doing that—you’ll know eternal torment. ”

“But, you could end us whenever you chose if you kept us here,” the prince rasps. “Nobody else can do that. Why would you send us into the pit, give up your control over us?”

By the gods, this male is an idiot. “It entertains me,” I explain, as if to a child.

Wrath is thrashing within me, my beast’s craving for blood greater than mine.

Pumping more slowly to make sure I last as long as the squire does, I grunt at the prince.

“The other eye, and then the ears. But not the tongue yet. I have plans for that.”

The squire shudders out a breath, but the prince’s chin shakes even more. I wonder if they’ve heard the rumors. If they know what I’ll demand next.

Still, the prince sets his shoulders and digs a finger into the other socket, forcing that eye out to dangle down the squire’s cheek.

The male on the ground—who really is a hulk of a man—sucks in a deep breath as a tremble rolls through him, finally settling in his hands.

He holds his tongue, not a single sound coming out.

“Well done,” I cry with a single clap of my hands as my gaze focuses on the squire. “You really are a prize. I’m very disappointed you let this poltroon best you. You’d have served me well in Niflhel. But we’ve set the rules of this game,” I add with a sigh. “Can’t change them now.”

The prince is silent for a moment, his jaw shifting back and forth before what’s left of his teeth clench tightly. “Do you have a blade, or am I to … bite off his ears?” he asks at last. The plea in his voice drags a rare laugh from my chest.

Well, fuck me. That was unexpected. Maybe the prince has more to offer than I realized.

“Master.” The sniveling voice of my latest peon drenches the smidgen of humor still rumbling in my chest.

“Go away, Pudge,” I mutter, not bothering to turn around. “Whatever it is can wait.”

“The mistress summons you back to Niflhel,” he croaks. He knows the penalty for disobedience. And as miserable as his existence is, he clings to it more than most.

“She can wait. I’m not ready to return to the city.” My liege may disagree but I need this—Wrath needs this—more than I need to evade whatever punishment I’ll face for my delay.

“Apologies, master, but the mistress was … explicit … about what I’ll suffer if I don’t retrieve you now.” He ends with a whimper that rattles from his chest, snaking through a throat so tight, it’s a wonder any sound emerged at all.