Year 5 of imprisonment – Eternal Light Cage, Grand Hall of Valhalla
Day 1,825 – The fifth birthday of Zetsumyo Freya
After Kári's shriveled corpse and the two hairline cracks that had appeared on the old golden ring, Odin did not sleep for three full days and nights.
He locked himself in the deepest forge beneath Nidavellir, where the fires of Muspelheim burned crimson year-round.
He summoned every surviving dwarven smith who had lived through Ragnarok and drove them without rest beneath the glowing lash of Mjölnir itself.
The old ring was melted into a pool of molten gold, then alloyed with powdered bone from an ancient Titan that had died at the dawn of creation – bone capable of binding a soul forever.
A new ring was forged from scratch.
Diameter: only 1.8 cm. Thickness: 8 mm. Weight: that of a small iron shackle. Surface mirror-smooth yet cold as the ice of Niflheim.
Three new layers of runes were carved deep with drops of Odin's own heart-blood:
1. Frigg's Rune of Eternal Purity – cold silver – sealing all soul-flow.
2. Skaði's Rune of Freezing Cold – frost-white – freezing every bodily fluid solid.
3. Hel's Rune of Death – pitch black – should the ring ever break, it would sever both the wearer's soul and the soul of whoever broke it.
On the inner band, in the most ancient tongue known only to the gods of creation, Odin personally engraved a single tiny line:
«You will never release until Valhalla itself falls.»
On the first day of the fifth year, as the sun rose over Asgard's dome, Odin walked into the grand hall alone.
He wore a plain black cloak, no armor, no crown, carrying only Mjölnir now layered with fresh sealing runes.
His lower body was still wrapped in blood-soaked bandages; he limped heavily, but the single remaining eye blazed with madness.
Freya had changed visibly after five years of captivity.
Her platinum hair reached her heels, matted into stiff ropes by layer upon layer of dried semen accumulated over thousands of days.
Her once-pale skin was now a map of old and fresh bruises, bite marks, glowing whip scars, and stretch marks across her swollen belly from being filled beyond capacity again and again.
Her breasts had grown into two heavy, round globes; the nipples were perpetually swollen and red from constant biting, weeping pale pink blood.
Her vulva was no longer a neat pink slit: the outer lips were permanently everted, the inner mucosa dark red and inflamed, constantly oozing clear fluid mixed with blood.
Her anus gaped open, ruined since the third year.
And between her legs hung the 9-cm shaft – as thick as a child's wrist, the glans swollen like an egg, deep purple-pink, the slit perpetually parted like a staring black eye.
Odin stopped before the cage, raised Mjölnir, and brought it down hard on Freya's left kneecap.
Crack!
Bone shattered. Blood sprayed. She did not scream.
Only the corner of her mouth twitched.
Golden chains instantly yanked her lower, forcing her to her knees; the broken left leg folded backward, blood pouring in a steady stream.
Odin stepped close – unafraid – and seized the 9-cm shaft with his remaining hand. He pulled it forward as though yanking a rope.
Skin stretched white; veins bulged.
With his own index finger and thumb he forced the new ring down to the very root, pushing it past the taut flesh.
Krrrrreeeeeeet…
The ring clamped shut.
The screech of metal grinding into living meat was hideous.
Dark purple blood jetted from severed vessels, spraying across Odin's face.
The shaft immediately turned livid purple-black; the glans swelled to the size of an apple being strangled, veins writhing like worms, yet not a single drop of silver fluid escaped.
Odin smiled coldly, voice hoarse with pain and hatred:
"Now you are nothing but a set of holes for us to use, my daughter.
No weapon left.
No silver fluid.
Nothing."
He turned and walked out of the cage.
The new ring worked perfectly for the next 364 days. The silver fluid was completely sealed; not one drop could emerge. The shaft remained agonizingly erect 24 hours a day, black-purple as though gangrenous, the glans swollen to bursting, constantly oozing dark blood that dripped onto the glass floor and etched smoking pits. Freya endured in silence – no laughter, no words – only staring with crimson eyes that memorized every face that entered. Each morning the light-door opened and released five to ten male gods or Einherjar – immortal warriors of Valhalla – tall, massively muscled, skin pale or sun-bronzed, hair gold or black, but always naked from the waist down, cocks 25–35 cm long, enchanted by Odin to remain rigid and dripping thick golden pre-cum. They fell upon her: one tearing into her inflamed vagina from the front, blood and semen pouring out together; another yanking her hair back and ramming into her throat until it bulged with each thrust, drool spilling from her nose; a third pounding her ruined anus, the wet slap of flesh echoing. They came endlessly, flooding all three holes until her belly distended, skin cracking wider, semen overflowing from mouth, nose, even ears. Freya never resisted; she only stared, red eyes unblinking, body trembling from pain. When they finished each day they withdrew, leaving her collapsed in a lake of semen and blood, the strangled purple shaft twitching uselessly.
Until day 1,825 – the exact fifth anniversary of her imprisonment.
Fifth Birthday Celebration: "100 ejaculations in a single day"
Odin decreed the grandest celebration yet.
The light-door opened to triple its usual size.
One hundred of Asgard's mightiest gods and Einherjar were released at once – no more taking turns, no pauses.
They wore gleaming golden armor, yet from the waist down they were completely naked.
Cocks 25–35 cm, granted 24-hour temporary immortality and libido ten times stronger than usual – steel-hard, glistening, leaking thick golden fluid.
Odin sat upon a temporary golden throne placed only five meters from the cage, close enough to see every detail.
He wore pure white robes; his lower wounds were no longer bandaged, though he still limped.
For the first time in five years, Freya's position was changed.
Virgin-gold chains hoisted her upside-down completely – head toward the floor, legs spread obscenely wide toward the ceiling, platinum hair hanging like a dried blood waterfall all the way to the glass.
The locked 9-cm shaft pointed straight upward, black-purple, veins bulging, glans swollen like an egg, dripping dark blood in a steady stream.
Odin raised his hand.
"Begin."
Hours 0–6: First wave – 20 warriors
Three charged instantly. A sun-bronzed Einherjar 2.7 m tall, muscles rippling, 34-cm cock thick as a forearm, rammed upward into her inverted vagina – mucosa tore with a wet rip, fresh blood spraying. A second (32 cm) speared her anus; her guts were forced deep inside. A third (30 cm) yanked her head back by the hair and buried himself in her throat until the outline bulged. They pistoned without pause, only swapping when exhausted, the slap of flesh like war drums. Golden semen jetted into all three holes, overflowed, poured down her hair, face, and eyes, burning. She never closed her eyes; she stared straight at Odin, crimson and unblinking.
Hours 6–12: Second and third waves – 40 more
They began forcing two cocks into one hole at once. Two 30+ cm shafts stretched her vagina until it tore wider, blood and semen cascading down her hair in rivers, belly skin cracking audibly. Her anus took two as well; intestines stretched to their limit, she breathed in ragged gasps through her nose. Her mouth was stuffed with three cocks at once – cheeks ballooned like steamed buns, throat visibly pulsing with each blast, drool and semen gushing from her nostrils in thick white streams. Her abdomen swelled like an eight-month pregnancy, shiny and taut, stretch marks splitting open; semen was forced out through nose and ears, dripping to the floor.
Hours 12–18: Full second rotation
All 100 had completed one round; now they returned. This time they simply stayed inside her and ejaculated continuously like fire hoses. Golden semen fountained, coating Freya from crown to toe in a thick white layer. Upside-down, she was completely encased in congealing seed; only her crimson eyes and the strangled purple shaft remained visible. The 9-cm shaft had been erect for 18 straight hours; the glans gaped wide, blood oozing from the crushed ring, flowing upward across her semen-coated belly.
Hours 18–24: The final warrior – Hræsvelgr
The eagle-giant Einherjar, 2.9 m tall, half-man half-feathered monster, 35-cm cock thick as her calf, glans the size of a grapefruit. He had already come four times that day; this was his fifth. He seized her hair, wrenched her head back, and drove straight down her throat. The entire 35 cm bulged visibly beneath the skin of her neck; the glans pushed out at the nape like a second head. He roared and unleashed his fifth load straight into her esophagus – semen jetted back out her nose in two thick streams that ran over her eyes.
At that exact second,
Freya opened her mouth – not to swallow, but to whisper.
In the ancient tongue of the nine goddesses who had died within her blood, she spoke the five final incantations, each a curse aimed at Odin:
• Freyja: "Love stolen becomes a dagger."
• Frigg: "The vow of virginity binds only the virgin – I was defiled on the very first day."
• Skaði: "Ice cannot hold a hatred that has burned for a thousand years."
• Lofn: "A taboo born of taboo will shatter taboo."
• Hel: "Death cannot bind death – I am death itself."
With each sentence came a tiny crack from the golden ring.
Frigg's silver rune shattered first, crumbling to dust.
Skaði's frost rune melted into water.
Hel's black rune was last – it exploded into black ash while the Titan soul inside screamed and vanished.
The triple-thick ring – heavy as an iron shackle – burst into thousands of golden shards that shot outward like divine buckshot.
The 9-cm shaft, compressed for an entire year, sprang free like an over-tightened spring.
It vibrated violently, the slit yawning open like a true mouth.
And it erupted.
A wrist-thick column of silver fluid, nearly a meter long, hot as molten lava, shot upward with terrifying speed.
It struck Odin full in the face from five meters away.
Where it touched his white robe, black smoke billowed; fabric and flesh dissolved instantly, carving a deep, smoking wound from left cheek to throat, black blood bubbling.
Odin leapt from the throne, screaming, clutching his face as black blood poured between his fingers.
The remaining silver rain fell like a storm upon the hundred men still inside the cage.
Wherever the fluid touched, skin blackened and sloughed off; souls were ripped out as thin silver threads and sucked back into Freya's gaping slit.
In seven seconds, the twenty-seven closest warriors withered into husks, collapsed, and crumbled to ash.
Freya – still hanging upside-down, body encased head to toe in thick golden semen, hair plastered, face masked – revealed her first smile in five years: long fangs fully bared, predatory.
Her voice rang out, not loud, yet it shook the very dome of Valhalla:
"Fifth birthday.
One hundred ejaculations.
I have drunk my fill."
She lifted her head (which, upside-down, meant lowering it) and looked straight at Odin as he staggered back clutching his ruined face.
"Your final ring is broken, Father.
Now it is Valhalla's turn."
The 9-cm shaft remained rock-hard, silver fluid now leaking in a steady, smoking stream that ate deep holes straight through the glass floor.
For the first time in his existence, Odin retreated from a creature of his own making. He turned, limping desperately, and fled through the closing light-door, abandoning the remaining seventy-three men inside.
The door sealed with the clang of runes.
The trapped warriors screamed, pounding uselessly against the walls of light.
Freya, reborn in power, began draining their souls one by one. Silver fluid lashed out like a weapon, reducing them to ash.
The fifth year was over.
The final ring lay in shattered pieces.
Zetsumyo Freya had become something even Odin could no longer bind.
Her five-year hunger was sated.
Her thirst for vengeance had only just begun.