Do Not Read Immortalis If You Avoid Disturbing Themes
Those who seek solace in tales of gentle romance or heroic virtue will find no refuge here. Immortalis lays bare the raw machinery of desire and dominion, where love twists into possession, and tenderness yields to calculated cruelty. This is no mere story of vampires and mortals locked in eternal struggle. It is a meticulous dissection of the human form and spirit, conducted with the precision of a surgeon who savours the tremor of the blade.
The world of Morrigan Deep operates under systems that demand unflinching attention. Irkalla, the sixfold hell beneath the eternal dusk, enforces contracts etched in blood and bone, where souls are traded like currency and the dead serve the living in endless civil drudgery. The Ledger, inscribed in the Anubium, records every fracture and merger, every Vero and Evro, ensuring that no act escapes its cold enumeration. Primus, the Darkness who birthed stars and souls, watches from the void, his progeny splintered into beings of insatiable appetite. Theaten and his primal shadow Kane, Nicolas and his elusive Chester, Behmor and Tanis, each a dual embodiment of godlike hunger, gorge on thesapiens bred for tribute, their flesh and blood sustaining kingdoms built on ritualised slaughter.
Disturbing themes abound, woven into the very fabric of existence. Corax Asylum stands as a monument to institutionalised sadism, its corridors lined with mirrors that warp reality and clocks that chime discordantly, amplifying the screams of the strapped and the severed. Nicolas DeSilva, doctor of psychiatry by dubious Irkallan decree, declares sanity a myth and insanity his licence to dissect, his gurneys tightening until ribs crack and breath fails, his nerve harps plucking agony from exposed sinew. Washrooms spew sewage over pre-cut flesh, infections festering as cure. The brazen bull roasts alive, the iron maiden pierces slowly, and the hall of mirrors traps the mind in infinite distortion.
Beyond the asylum, the hunt reigns supreme. Kane’s Varjoleto forest, thicket of bear traps and barbed wire, devours the loving and the lost alike, bodies hoisted and split by machete under the perpetual dusk. Theatens castle hosts banquets where tributes are basted and carved, their longevity ensured by noble silverware, only to be flame-grilled or torn in tug-of-war. The Electi, decrepit priests in rotting shipwrecks, breed Immolesses for futile rebellion, their mediums and priestesses dispatched to challenge gods, only to meet sticky ends in asylums or forests.
Blood is the life, but also the chain. Immortalis fracture into Vero and Evro, true self and primal urge, merging only briefly to unleash unrestrained savagery. Nicolas, son of Primus and Baer, wields mesmerism like a lash, compelling submission, his Long-Faced Demon emerging in lust or rage. Wagers pit Immortalis against each other for tributes or chariots, sovereignty hanging on the survival of a vessel like Allyra, the third Immoless, whose extraction chambers boil vampires and whose defiance tests the limits of control.
Non-consensual acts permeate every layer. Tributes chained and conditioned, lovers betrayed into torture, contracts sealed in suffering. The Djinn grants wishes with malicious literalism, the Darkbadb pries into forbidden histories, and the Ledger tallies it all without mercy. Even the stars hang low, suns locked at the horizon since Primus’s fall, casting eternal twilight where shadows breed unchecked.
Immortalis is not for the faint-hearted. Its immersion demands confrontation with the grotesque machinery of power, where affection curdles into ownership, and survival hinges on the whims of fractured gods. If such themes unsettle you, turn away now. For those who persist, the ledger awaits.
Immortalis Book One August 2026