Protected: THE CURSE OF ALTVALL : CHAPTER 1 – 10 (18+ Story)
THE CURSE OF ALTVALL : CHAPTER 1 – 10
The Festival of Fire and Flesh 1
Once every year, the Island of Altvall plunged into darkness wrapped in celebration.
What once began as a sacred festival to honor the moon gods had, under Surganah’s wicked reign, become a twisted carnival of lust and terror known as The Festival of Fire and Flesh.
Torches lined the path from the eastern cliffs to the Temple of Hunger—a grand stone arena where the air itself reeked of blood, sweat, and sin.
That night, villagers were dragged from their homes by Surganah’s loyal beasts, most of them howling with laughter and thirst for flesh. The people of Altvall lined the streets, forced to attend, silent and trembling.
The festival’s centerpiece had always been the dance of the chosen.
Twenty girls.
Some as young as sixteen, others women in their prime.
All of them beautiful.
All of them terrified.
Once, it had been an honor to dance beneath the firelight. Now, they danced naked not in joy, but in fear—each one knowing she might be chosen, each one praying to whatever gods still listened that she wouldn’t.
The chosen stood in the center circle of the Temple, surrounded by werewolves and humans alike, their bodies painted with silver ash, trembling as drums pounded in rhythm. Their tears shone like stars in the firelight.
Atop his obsidian throne sat Surganah, watching with eyes like boiling oil. Around him sat his most loyal werewolves—monsters in flesh and bone, laughing, growling, licking their teeth.
He licked his lips and stood.
But just before the selection could begin, his supernatural pot, brought by two cloaked servants, began to boil without fire. A thick black mist rose from it, and a voice older than time whispered into Surganah’s soul.
“Be warned. Today, your flesh may taste death. One of these flowers bears thorns sharper than your pride. Caution. Or crumble.”
Surganah’s eyes narrowed.
Even after decades of rule, of terror, of dominion—there were still hearts bold enough to resist him? Still souls foolish enough to try?
His chest burned with rage.
He motioned to his guards.
“No girl touches my bed tonight without being stripped, searched, and sniffed. I will see through skin and bone.”
And yet…
When his eyes fell upon her, his anger faltered.
She danced with grace, though her tears were real. Her curves swayed, her skin glistened, and her eyes—though sad—held something beneath them: fire.
Her name was Lyara.
Eighteen. The daughter of a seamstress. Once a singer in the village’s sacred choir. Her beauty had always been spoken of, but this night, she burned like a phoenix in the dark. Surganah’s dark heart skipped. Desire clouded his judgment.
He rose and pointed. “That one.”
THE CURSE OF ALTVALL : CHAPTER 1 – 10
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