The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Breeding

The mention of Inadrys carried a weight that seemed to compress the very fabric of divine reality.

“Your interference,” Saubras emphasised, each word a precise instrument of divine reprimand, “threatens the carefully constructed mechanisms we have maintained across human civilizations. The Daryen Valley was never to be a battleground for your personal vendetta.”

Hesuas attempted to interject, but Saubras’s raised hand silenced him—a gesture that carried absolute authority. The divine hierarchy was not a democracy but a meticulously structured system of power and consequence.

“Restrain yourselves,” the directive came like a final judgement. “No more direct interventions. No more manipulations of human narratives. The balance must be maintained.”

A warning had been issued. And in the realm of divine politics, warnings were more potent than any physical confrontation.

Isanra got you and walked to him; she looked him in the eye and said, “You think you make rules here. This isn’t over.” Then she walked out of the chamber, and soon Hesuas followed her out.

***

Jolthar stood frozen as he beheld the eerie structure before him. The circular pit stretched into the darkness below, its walls riddled with holes that seemed to have been carved haphazardly.

The pit wasn’t natural; it was a creation of deliberate, malevolent intent. His eyes followed the curved wall upwards, where a circular opening at the top let in a faint glimmer of moonlight.

The entire space exuded an unsettling atmosphere, but it was the sight below that truly unsettled him.

Looking down, Jolthar could see the ground sloping inward, spiralling down into the depths of the pit.

At the centre stood a small, jagged pillar with a flat surface on the top of the pillar.

Surrounding the pillar, the ground was uneven, its surface carved into unsettling patterns that resembled the coils of a massive serpent.

But the smell—an overpowering stench of blood and decay—made the air almost unbearable. It wasn’t just the metallic tang of spilled blood; it was thick, cloying, and wrong, mingling with an acrid, slimy odour that clung to their senses.

“People,” Jolthar called out, his voice steady despite the knot forming in his stomach. “You should see this.”

Eran was the first to arrive. His confident stride faltered the moment he looked down into the pit. The torchlight reflected in his wide eyes as his face turned pale. “Gods above,” he whispered, gripping the edge of the pit to steady himself.

One by one, the others gathered around, their expressions ranging from shock to outright terror.

Even the hardened warriors among them were visibly shaken.

Jolthar picked up one of the torches and threw it into the pit, watching as it descended into the shadows. The flickering light illuminated the depths, and what it revealed caused audible gasps and curses to erupt from the group.

The ground near the central pillar was covered in what appeared to be eggs. Slimy, glistening eggs, their transparent shells pulsating faintly as if alive. The faint torchlight revealed grotesque shapes shifting within the sacs—coiled forms, spindly limbs, and something unrecognisable but unmistakably malevolent.

They weren’t ordinary eggs, either. They sat in pools of a dark, viscous liquid that oozed and bubbled faintly, almost as if it were alive. The liquid was unmistakably blood, thickened and blackened into a tar-like consistency that seeped into the carved grooves of the ground. The sight made the stomachs of even the bravest among them churn.

“What in the gods’ names are they?” Eran finally managed to say, his voice trembling as he stared down at the pit.

Jolthar didn’t answer immediately. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he studied the eggs, his mind racing. The sight was unlike anything he had encountered before. The pit’s design, the eggs, the dark liquid—all of it pointed to something old, something vile.

“They’re not natural,” Jolthar said, his voice low but firm. “This isn’t the work of any mortal being. This… this is something else.”

Belan, who had been silent until now, stepped forward and peered into the pit. Her expression was unreadable, but Jolthar noticed how her hand instinctively moved to her weapon. “Those aren’t just eggs,” she said, her voice calm but edged with a hint of unease. “They’re incubating something.”

“Something?” Eran turned to her, his voice rising in panic. “What kind of ‘something’?”

Jolthar narrowed his eyes, ignoring Eran’s outburst as he studied the black liquid. His gut told him this wasn’t merely blood. It had a life of its own, a purpose. The eggs fed on it, drawing strength from the essence of whatever had been sacrificed here.

“This place,” Jolthar said, his voice cutting through the rising tension, “is a nest. And whatever laid these eggs… it’s not far.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their fear palpable in the dim light.

Daus took a step back, his face pale as he muttered a prayer under his breath.

“Jolthar,” Belan said, her voice steady but sharp, “we need to destroy them. Whatever is in those eggs cannot be allowed to hatch.”

Jolthar nodded, his hand tightening around his sword.

–

Jolthar moved with purpose, his torch flickering in the stale air of the cavern. The faint groans of pain drew him toward another hole near the main pit. The narrow entrance opened into a small, cave-like room, the oppressive smell of blood and decay nearly overpowering. His steps slowed as the torchlight revealed a horrifying sight.

A woman was suspended in midair, bound by the same dark, snake-like tendrils they had seen earlier. Her body was pale and covered in a viscous, mucus-like substance that glistened grotesquely under the flickering light. Her head hung limply, but faint groans escaped her lips, signalling she was still alive.

Jolthar’s sharp eyes quickly scanned her condition.

A large, round pipe-like object was embedded into her abdomen, pulsing faintly as if it were alive.

It was connected to the roof of the cave, leading outwards of the cave.

His stomach churned, but he forced himself to focus. He stepped closer, drawing his Knashii, the curved blade gleaming in the dim light.

“I’ll get you out of this,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the chaos roiling within him.

With a swift motion, he severed the tendrils holding her aloft. The dark snakes recoiled, hissing before dissolving into an oily smoke. The woman slumped into his arms, her body unnaturally light and fragile. She groaned softly, her lips trembling but unable to form words.

Jolthar didn’t linger.

He carried her back toward the others, his muscles taut with both effort and fury. As he emerged from the smaller cave, the group turned to him, their expressions shifting from wary determination to sheer horror.

Daus stepped forward, his face pale. “Eloda, help us… She’s one of ours,” he said, recognizing the woman immediately.

Belan gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

Sgard’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword, his fury barely contained. The rest of the group looked on in stunned silence, their minds struggling to process what they were seeing.

Jolthar gently laid the woman down, glancing at the others. “Daurgien didn’t just kidnap them,” he said grimly. “He’s been using them… breeding them. Those eggs—they’re born of these women.”

The statement hit like a thunderclap. The implications were horrifying, and the group stood frozen for a moment, their horror mounting with every passing second.

“We have to act fast,” Jolthar barked, snapping them out of their daze. “There could be more of them trapped in those holes. Spread out and check every one of them. If you find anyone alive, bring them here. Now!”

The group moved swiftly, fanning out to search the cavern. Torchlight flickered across the walls as they peered into each hole, calling out for survivors.

Minutes later, they began to return, each carrying a woman in similar condition to the first. There were groans, weak whispers, and in some cases, haunting silence.

Sgard reemerged, his face stricken with disbelief. In his arms was a frail woman.

“Mother…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

The group gathered around as the rescued women were laid down in a circle, their battered bodies a stark testament to Daurgien’s atrocities.

“They’re all the missing women from our tribe,” Daus said, his voice heavy with guilt. “He took them all… and did this to them.”

Jolthar’s jaw clenched. His eyes swept over the scene, his mind racing. These women were victims of a monstrous act, and yet there was no time for mourning. The pit still writhed with eggs, and Daurgien was nowhere to be seen.

“Eran, Belan, Sgard,” Jolthar called his voice firm and commanding. “Get these women to safety. Find somewhere secure, away from this cursed place. The rest of you, stay alert. Daurgien’s still here somewhere, and we need to end this before those eggs hatch.”

Belan hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at Jolthar. The conflict in her expression was evident, but she nodded and moved to assist Sgard and Eran in carrying the women.

As the others worked to secure the survivors, Jolthar turned back to the pit. His gaze lingered on the writhing mass of eggs, his resolve hardening. Whatever twisted vengeance had driven Daurgien to this, it ended here and now.

They were all done taking the women out, with the help of the drake. Now Jolthar, Daus, and Eran, along with Lysandra, were present.

The group’s collective breath caught as they saw something move, like a shadow on the pillar, began to move.