Immortalis and the Satire of Hierarchies That Never Shift
In the perpetual dusk of Morrigan Deep, hierarchies stand as rigid as the ziggurats of Neferaten, their foundations cracked yet unyielding, designed not for stability but for the endless churn of dominance and decay. Primus, the Darkness who birthed the stars and souls alike, engineered a world where power fractures along fault lines of blood and will, ensuring no structure endures without its shadow of subversion. The Immortalis embody this most acutely, split into Vero and Evro, true self and primal urge, forever halved yet whole, their supremacy a satire on the very notion of rule.
Consider Theaten and his Evro, Kane: the refined lord of Castle D’Aten, presiding over banquets of basted tribute with Ducissa Anne and Count Tepes, his every candle adjusted for perfect shadow play, contrasts the feral beast who drags kills to his bone-shack in Varjoleto Forest. Their merger, permitted only by ancient accord, promises unity but delivers only temporary savagery, a reminder that even gods cannot reconcile their own contradictions. Nicolas fares no better, his Vero a theatrical asylum master, Evro Chester the silver-chained seducer roaming Neferaten’s sands, leaving villages in his wake of discarded lovers and bacterial plagues. The Ledger, inscribed in Irkalla’s Anubium, mocks such divisions, classifying Immortalis as neither thesapien nor vampire, yet binding them to eternal duality.
Irkalla itself parodies governance, six circles from Mortraxis purgatory to Vyecarth labyrinth, overseen by Behmor, lesser Immortalis and reluctant king, who trades souls for silk suits while his Evro Tanis rampages across Sioca Glacier. The Ad Sex Speculum, six mirrors watching every Vero and Evro, enforces surveillance as if balance could be spied upon rather than imposed. Primus’s countermeasures to Lilith’s cult, the Darkbadb Brotherhood and Pauci Electi, fare worse: the former reduced to Demize’s severed head on a gramophone, the latter drowned in their own wine by unseen hands. The Electi, seven decrepit priests breeding Immolesses every century to challenge Immortalis power, send forth pious failures like Lucia and Stacia, ripped asunder or roasted alive, their rituals a farce etched in The Rationum.
Even the thesapiens’ tribute system, men breeding women for Immortalis appetites, satirises feudal obedience, mobs forming only to be crushed at The War Before the Dusk. Vampires, immortal yet fodder for horses, barter in Irkalla’s circles, contracts sealing fates below The Deep and above the Void. Lilith’s Neferaten cult, once a bid for sovereignty, crumbles under aardvarks and ants, her son Theaten petitioned by her endless meddling. Nicolas’s Corax Asylum, a labyrinth of mirrors and clocks, declares sanity arbitrary, inmates strapped to gurneys or void chairs, their screams harmonising with Nicolas’s screeching violin.
These hierarchies never shift because Primus willed them so, chaos masquerading as order, appetites devouring structure. Immortalis, fractured gods gorging on blood and flesh, rule a Deep where every contract binds tighter than chains, every mirror reflects division, every ledger entry mocks resolution. In eternal dusk, power endures not through strength but through the satire of its own impossibility, hierarchies that persist by perpetually failing.
Immortalis Book One August 2026