Do Not Read Immortalis If You Dislike Uncomfortable Themes
Immortalis plunges into territories where most narratives dare not tread, confronting readers with a relentless assault on the senses and the soul. This is no sanitised fantasy, no polite exploration of power or desire. It is a deliberate immersion in the abject, the visceral, the profoundly disturbing. If themes of sadism, cannibalism, psychological domination, and sexual violence unsettle you, turn away now. The world of Morrigan Deep demands unflinching engagement, and it offers no mercy to the squeamish.
The Immortalis themselves embody this discomfort at their core. Theaten and Nicolas, sons of Primus and divided into Vero and Evro forms, exist as engines of appetite. Their hungers, for blood, flesh, and fleshly indulgence, drive a narrative that spares no detail. Scenes of gorging on the living recur with clinical precision, bodies reduced to meat and bone while victims remain conscious, pleading. Cannibalism is not mere horror, it is sustenance, ritual, the mundane rhythm of immortality. Vampires and thesapiens alike become fodder, their screams the soundtrack to casual consumption. One need only recall the banqueting halls where tributes are basted and carved, their longevity ensured for prolonged use, to grasp the depth of revulsion intended.
Sexual violence permeates the text, woven into the fabric of power. Immortalis urges exceed the vampiric, demanding submission that blurs consent and coercion. Nicolas, proprietor of Corax Asylum, exemplifies this through his “corrective facilities.” Restraints, whips, and bespoke devices like the Nerve Harp or Void Capacitor Chair extract pleasure from pain, inmates strapped and tormented until identity fractures. The hall of mirrors disorients, reflections warping into flayed flesh and impossible distortions, while the washrooms spew sewage over pre-cut bodies. These are not isolated acts, they form the asylum’s architecture, a labyrinth where privacy dissolves and suffering is engineered for the proprietor’s delight.
Psychological horror compounds the physical. Declarations of insanity grant Nicolas absolute authority, anyone deemed mad becomes his plaything, driven further into lunacy to justify confinement. The Electi’s Immolesses, bred for futile rebellion, face tug-of-war dismemberment or skilleted torment, their “sisters” reduced to meals. Allyra’s arc, from defiant interrogator to ensnared vessel, underscores the inescapable pull of this world’s hierarchies. Even love twists into possession, wagers trading lives, marriages sealing ownership.
The Deep’s societies mirror this brutality. Thesapiens breed tribute daughters, villages collapse under engineered plagues, ports grind to halt via magnetic anchors or sail blight. Irkalla’s circles enforce contracts through eternal flaying, its king Behmor redistributing souls into torment or drudgery. No respite exists, only cycles of predation and subjugation, where gods like Primus and Lilith scheme through cults and betrayals.
Immortalis confronts these themes without apology, demanding readers witness the machinery of cruelty. If such immersion repels you, heed this warning. The book thrives on discomfort, its prose a scalpel dissecting the monstrous within power, desire, and survival. Proceed only if you can bear the unrelenting gaze of its darkness.
Immortalis Book One August 2026