🔁 Previously…
Lynx traveled to Valgarde to confront Cerys, the battle-hardened daughter of a warlord he once killed.
She demanded blood. He gave her surrender.
Through combat, lust, and brutal honesty, he performed the Fourth Ritual, earning her allegiance as an equal—not a follower.
But peace never lasts.
The Seer trembled with prophecy:
"She doesn't desire you… she wants to consume you."
The fifth woman awaits.
A desert witch whose touch dries rivers.
And whose kiss may kill.
🏜️ Sand and Silence
The dunes of Vareth-Khaal stretched for miles—endless, blinding gold. No wind. No sky. Just heat, and the bones of men who came seeking pleasure and died screaming.
Lynx walked alone.
Cerys had warned him not to go.
Rika had begged to fight instead.
Kaethe had vanished.
Only the Seer gave him parting words:
"She lives below. She drinks men like wine. And your blade will thirst more than she ever has."
Nyxfang was quiet.
Too quiet.
🦂 The Temple Below
He found the entrance buried beneath a dune shaped like a skull.
A spiral staircase led downward—black stone slick with blood. The air grew colder, then warmer again. Everything smelled of honey and rot.
Candles lit themselves as he descended.
He passed statues—nude men frozen mid-ecstasy, mouths open in permanent bliss. But their eyes were hollow.
He reached a room of velvet and bone.
And at its center… she waited.
💋 The Witch of Thirst
She lounged on a throne of glass, legs crossed, veil translucent.
Her body was tall, curvaceous, almost inhuman in its perfection. Skin like burnished bronze. Hair black as oil. Eyes violet—and starving.
She smiled.
"So. The masked sovereign comes to feed the thirsty."
"Are you the fifth?"
"I'm your fifth. And perhaps your last."
He stepped forward.
"Do I offer blood?"
She rose, walked barefoot across the floor toward him, hips swaying with immortal confidence.
"Not blood. Not seed. Not even your blade."
She stopped inches from him.
"I want your regret."
🩸 The Fifth Ritual — Devour Me
She didn't strike. She didn't seduce.
She simply whispered:
"Let me in."
And the world shattered.
Lynx fell to his knees, gasping.
His mind filled with memory.
Old deaths. Lost comrades. Betrayals.
The moment Kaethe was chained.
The look on Cerys' face when her father fell.
Rika's tears in the dark.
The Seer's scream beneath his hands.
"This is your shame," she whispered, now behind him. "You carry it like armor. But I drink pain."
He turned—
And she was on him.
Fangs in his neck.
Hands on his chest.
Magic pouring from her like wine—thick, intoxicating, heavy with lust and ruin.
He didn't fight her.
He let her take it.
Every guilt. Every sin. Every broken vow.
She kissed him, and he bled remorse.
He touched her, and she moaned regret.
And when they joined, it wasn't passion. It was absolution.
The Fifth Ritual was no climax.
It was a confession.
When he collapsed, she held him, humming softly.
"You are no god yet," she whispered, licking the scar she left.
"But you are delicious."
The mark burned into her spine: a chalice overflowing with flame and shadow.
She kissed it gently.
"Sixth is not a woman," she said. "It is a curse."
🐍 Aftermath
When Lynx emerged from the underworld, the desert wind had returned.
Waiting atop a dune were all four of his bound:
Kaethe, Rika, the Seer, and Cerys.
They stared at him, surprised.
He looked gaunt.
Changed.
Heavier.
Nyxfang pulsed violently.
Rika frowned. "You smell like… guilt and sex."
"I feel worse."
Cerys crossed her arms. "Who's next?"
The Seer answered in a whisper:
"It is not who, but what. The Sixth is a curse made flesh."
"And she already walks among us."
🕷️ Next Chapter — "The Sixth is Watching"
Lynx begins to unravel.
Something has followed him from the underworld.
Something that hungers for what the Witch could not devour.
The Sixth is not human.
And she knows his name.
❤️🔥 Was Chapter 6 haunting enough for you?
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