Year 7 of Imprisonment – Eternal Light Cage, Grand Hall of Valhalla
Days 2,191 to 2,555 – The Year of the Giant Wolf and the Day of Purple-Black Blood
After the lullaby horn shattered and the twin sacs began devouring souls by the dozen, Odin never slept again.
Night 2,190.
Valhalla was suffocatingly silent. The horn was long gone, yet the twin sacs still hung in the center of the hall, endlessly sucking the weakest Einherjar (souls only a few centuries old). Every night they made wet, chewing sounds: "glug… glug…" then exhaled thin white smoke carrying the final screams of the devoured.
Odin could no longer close his eyes.
The raven-shaped burn on the left side of his face had eaten down to the bone. Black blood bubbled, dripped onto his white cloak, and fell onto the marble of Hliðskjálf, corroding the divine stone. Every time he blinked, he saw Freya (no longer the golden goddess of old, but something purple-black, wet, perpetually erect, smiling at him with eyes that had no whites).
He knew ordinary magic was useless now.
Gungnir trembled in his hand. For the first time in countless millennia, the All-Father felt true fear.
He had one last card.
The card he himself had chained beneath the deepest earth, where light had never reached.
The card even the other gods spoke of only in trembling whispers: Fenrir.
Odin rose.
He took Týr's long-severed right hand (still bearing deep black-crusted bite marks) from its eternal ice casket. The fingers were curled as if still trying to grasp something that no longer existed.
He placed the hand in the center of Valhalla's oldest rune circle.
Fresh blood from his facial wound dripped onto Týr's dried blood.
The runes blazed crimson.
Space did not open; it was torn.
The stench of old blood, wet fur, and earth thousands of meters deep flooded the hall. A freezing wind carried flecks of black ice.
Fenrir stepped through.
The wolf stood over six and a half meters tall on its hind legs. Its body stretched nearly fifteen meters long; every footfall spider-webbed the stone floor for dozens of meters. Jet-black fur, glossy as starless night, each strand harder than divine steel and glinting with green poison. Eyes like twin exploding suns, pupils thin vertical slits. Fangs fifty centimeters long dripped glowing green venom (one drop could dissolve a god into black foam in a single heartbeat).
Between its hind legs hung a meter-long cock, thick as a warrior's thigh, glossy red-black, covered in backward-facing barbs five centimeters long that shimmered with lethal poison.
Odin stood twenty meters away. His voice cracked, trembling, yet clinging to the last shred of authority:
"Fenrir… do you want freedom?
I give it to you today…
If you do one thing."
He pointed to the Eternal Light Cage suspended in the center (where Zetsumyo Freya hung upside-down, platinum hair matted with dried blood reaching the floor, breasts swollen and scarred, belly bloated with yesterday's seed, and between her legs a thirteen-centimeter purple-black shaft in permanent erection, twin sacs the size of large oranges swaying and dripping silver fluid so potent that merely standing near it made men come in their armor).
"Silence that monster.
Rape it.
Rape it until it no longer wishes to live.
Until it begs for death."
Fenrir tilted its head.
Its burning eyes fixed on the cage.
It inhaled deeply. Its nostrils flared.
Freya's silver scent slammed into its brain (seven years of imprisoned lust, the smell of a goddess turned sexual demon).
The wolf roared once.
"GRÀOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
The sound shook Valhalla's vaulted roof. A thousand golden goblets on the Einherjar feast tables exploded simultaneously. Golden roof tiles cracked and rained down. Guarding Valkyries collapsed, blood pouring from their ears.
Then it charged.
The light-door of the cage ripped wide open. Gleipnir (the invisible chain that had bound Fenrir since the dawn of time) snapped thread by thread with the sound of breaking crystal. Fenrir was free inside Valhalla.
First day of Year Seven.
The Eternal Light Cage was now merely a fifteen-meter-square transparent prison floating in the hall.
Zetsumyo Freya hung supine: ankles chained to the ceiling, wrists wrenched behind her back until her shoulders cracked with every breath, throat throttled by a thin golden ring that sliced flesh the moment she struggled (purple-black blood streaming).
Her once-platinum hair now reached her knees, rigid with dried blood and silver fluid, hanging like a waterfall of death.
Breasts stretched to bursting, nipples dark red and torn from six years of biting, constantly weeping pale blood tinged violet.
Cunt and asshole permanently gaping, outer lips everted like rotting petals, dark-red mucosa always weeping clear fluid mixed with blood.
The shaft had grown to exactly thirteen centimeters, glossy purple-black, living blue-green veins writhing beneath the skin. The glans was egg-sized, slit perpetually parted, revealing a slow-spinning spiral of black-violet runes inside.
Twin sacs the size of large oranges, glossy and taut, skin so thin the swirling golden semen inside was visible like miniature storms. With every breath they swayed heavily, making wet "glug… glug…" demands.
The silver fluid dripping from the glans smelled of real semen (so potent that any male who caught the scent ejaculated instantly without being touched).
Fenrir entered the cage.
Its paws cracked the crystal floor with every step: "crack… crack… crack…"
It said nothing. It didn't need to.
It lowered its head and inhaled deeply at her dripping shaft.
Unlike every other male, Fenrir did not come.
Its eyes burned brighter, pupils narrowing to slits, meter-long barbed cock rising, poison glinting green.
Then it attacked.
First, the tongue.
Fenrir's tongue (nearly eighty centimeters long, rough as heavy-grit sandpaper, covered in thousands of tiny horn-like papillae that secreted numbing venom and extreme aphrodisiac) licked one slow line from her asshole to the tip of her shaft.
"Riiip… riiip… riiip… riiip…"
The sound of coarse fabric tearing.
Purple-black blood welled along the path, yet every nerve exploded with pleasure. Freya convulsed, golden chains clanging wildly.
For the first time in seven years, she moaned aloud (not human, but the sound of a mortally wounded beast tortured by ecstasy).
"Uh… uh… uh… ah… ah… UH… UH!!!!"
Hoarse, broken moans mixed with panting and the wet squirt of fluid from her cunt.
Fenrir opened its jaws until the upper touched the ceiling, the lower the floor.
It took her entire thirteen-centimeter shaft and both swollen sacs into its mouth.
Fangs gently clamped the sacs (not piercing, merely pinning them so they could not contract and escape).
The rough tongue coiled around the shaft like living rope, papillae scraping relentlessly, tearing the skin in thin lines.
"Slurp… slurp… riiip riiip… slurp slurp… riiip…"
Purple blood sprayed in thin jets with every coil.
Freya screamed, body seizing, violet-black tears running backward into her hair.
The twin sacs convulsed wildly, shooting jets of scalding silver semen straight down Fenrir's throat.
The wolf swallowed it all, unharmed, only growing more frenzied, eyes blazing like suns about to go supernova.
It released her.
The shaft was now raw purple, bleeding silver fluid in a steady stream.
Then it mounted her.
Front paws (tons of weight) crushed her chest; black scythe-like claws sank deep into her ribs: "stab stab stab stab" (four steady fountains of purple-black blood with every breath).
The meter-long barbed cock slammed into her cunt in one thrust (to the hilt).
The fist-sized head punched her cervix; backward barbs hooked into vaginal walls, shredding mucosa into floating ribbons.
"GRÀOOOO!!!!"
Fenrir roared and began to piston.
Each thrust jerked Freya up and down like a broken rag doll, golden chains clanging insanely, purple blood splattering the glass walls.
"WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!"
The obscene sound of flesh on flesh echoed in the sealed cage.
She came continuously (not once, but dozens of times in the first hour).
Each climax shot a column of silver semen back into Fenrir's belly, yet the wolf never faltered; only fucked harder, deeper, barbs ripping longer gashes.
For all 365 days of Year Seven, Fenrir was the only one allowed inside the cage.
No Einherjar dared approach; merely watching made them come until they passed out.
Every day it raped her for at least nine continuous hours.
With its mouth. With its tongue. With its cock. With its five-meter tail wrapped around her throat, squeezing when it came (squeezing until her neck cracked, eyes bulged, yet she never died; only came harder, screamed louder, shot more).
Her body changed color day by day.
Day 1: pale purple-black.
Day 7: glossy purple-black, blue-green veins rising like living serpents beneath the skin.
Day 30: lower belly, inner thighs, and asshole turned solid metallic purple-black.
Day 100: nipples permanently dark violet, constantly weeping purple-black blood.
Day 200: hair began shifting from the roots (strand by strand) from platinum to pale violet, then deep purple-black, spreading to the tips.
Day 300: the whites of her eyes vanished completely, leaving only bottomless black pupils that flashed violet when she climaxed.
She no longer spoke.
She only moaned and growled like a beast.
Each time Fenrir flooded her womb with liters of scalding red-black wolf semen, she screamed a long, echoing howl that shook Valhalla through the glass.
Day 365 of Year Seven.
Fenrir was especially savage.
Its fur stood on end, eyes blazing, barbs fully extended, dripping green venom that ate smoking holes in the floor.
It pinned her face-down.
Front claws sank into her back all the way to the spine (stab stab stab); purple-black blood pooled beneath her.
The meter-long cock slammed into her asshole, barbs shredding intestines, blood jetting with every withdrawal.
Freya screamed in agonized ecstasy, body seizing uncontrollably, purple-black hair whipping Fenrir's face.
She had already come twenty-seven times that day.
The twin sacs (now watermelon-sized) convulsed, ready to fire the strongest load yet.
Fenrir opened its jaws until they touched ceiling and floor.
It bit down on her thirteen-centimeter shaft in the middle.
SNAP!!!
The cock was severed clean.
A three-meter fountain of purple-black blood sprayed the ceiling and rained down.
The twin sacs were torn open; silver semen exploded like fireworks, smoking black where it hit the floor, eating deep holes.
Fenrir spat the severed shaft onto the crystal (it still twitched, leaking silver, glans gaping as if trying to scream one last time).
The wolf threw its head back and roared in triumph, shaking the entire hall.
At that exact moment, the cage door opened wide.
Odin released eighty of the mightiest Einherjar (the tallest, most muscular warriors, cocks 35–40 cm long, already erect from the scent of her silver fluid).
They charged like starving wolves.
Pinned her to the shattered floor.
Three cocks forced into her shredded cunt at once.
Three more into her ruined asshole.
Ten lined up to pump golden semen down her throat until it poured from the corners of her mouth.
Freya lay in a lake of her own blood, eyes half-lidded, seemingly broken at last.
But then.
In the pool of purple-black blood, the stump began to boil.
Flesh peeled away, white bone flashed… and regrew.
Faster than any regeneration spell in existence.
In seven heartbeats.
A new cock erupted (eighteen centimeters instantly), forged of liquid obsidian, glossy purple-black, blue-green veins writhing like living ropes, glans the size of a small grapefruit, slit permanently open, revealing a spinning black rune vortex that swallowed light itself.
Two new sacs the size of large watermelons, skin stretched to tearing, purple veins bulging, swaying like living bombs.
Freya opened her eyes.
No whites remained (only twin bottomless voids flashing cold violet).
She roared a single word (no longer human, the voice of a demon who had transcended death):
"DIE… ALL…"
The new cock fired its first load.
Not a jet, not a column (a true storm).
Silver semen became tens of thousands of invisible arrows, shrieking through the air, punching through chests, skulls, testicles, throats of all eighty Einherjar simultaneously.
Flesh corroded instantly.
Skin sloughed off in sheets, muscle melted, bones crumbled. Black blood foamed. Souls were yanked backward into the gaping glans (stretched into screaming white threads before vanishing forever into the black rune vortex).
In three seconds, eighty withered corpses collapsed and shattered into gray-black ash.
Fenrir spun, jaws wide for another bite.
But this time Freya was faster.
She rose.
The virgin-gold chains (that had imprisoned her for 2,555 days) disintegrated into light-dust the moment a single drop of new silver touched them.
She lunged.
Her eighteen-centimeter cock stabbed upward through Fenrir's lower jaw, through its two-foot-thick tongue, through the roof of its mouth, into its brain.
One single climax.
A storm of silver semen flooded the wolf's skull.
Fenrir gave one earth-shattering death-howl, body convulsing, blazing eyes going dark.
The six-meter giant withered in five seconds (fur fell out, skin shrank over bones, then exploded into a cloud of black ash that swirled through the cage like a miniature storm).
Freya stood in the ashes of Fenrir and eighty corpses.
Her new eighteen-centimeter cock still erect, glans gaping, twin watermelon sacs swaying heavily, silver fluid pooling and eating a deep lake into the stone floor.
She raised her head and looked at Odin.
He stood frozen outside the cage, face corpse-white, Gungnir clattering to the floor with a deafening ring.
Her voice (hoarse but clear as a final judgment from hell) echoed:
"Year Seven.
I was severed.
I regrew.
Now it is your turn… Father."
She took one step out of the cage.
The Eternal Light Cage (once Asgard's proudest unbreakable prison) shattered into beautiful, deadly light-dust wherever her silver fluid touched the ground. The dust fell like deadly snow.
Odin turned and ran.
For the first time in his existence, the All-Father fled from a creature of his own making.
Year Seven was over.
Zetsumyo Freya was no longer a prisoner.
She was the nightmare that had escaped its cage.
And Valhalla had just lost its final trump card (forever).