Damon could barely hold himself back. But in the end, he failed. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat as the blood surged deeper into his core, boiling his insides and ripping apart every nerve with invisible claws.
He writhed in the crimson pool, veins bulging, eyes wide with agony. The pain was beyond anything he had ever imagined, sharp, relentless, primal. It felt like dying over and over again.
He had laughed off Varnyx's warnings earlier, thinking the old vampire was just being dramatic, throwing in a bit of cultish flair to make the ritual sound grander than it was. But now? Now he knew. This bloody thing was seriously trying to kill him!
His screams echoed through the ritual chamber, but no one came. Varnyx stood at the edge, silent and watchful, the same way one might observe metal in a forge, impassive, waiting to see if it would crack or hold.
