Page 165 of Crowned In Venom

But not like this.

This is fire and ice. Blades carving through my flesh from the inside out. A thousand swords piercing me, withdrawing, only to stab again.

I open my mouth to scream, but the sound is lost to the torrent of raw suffering flooding my veins. My throat is already ruined, shredded, but my body keeps trying to scream anyway, trying to purge the agony even though there is no escape.

I am bleeding. Everywhere.

The altar drinks it in. The red light grows brighter.

A part of me is being taken. Something deeper than blood, deeper than flesh.

I thrash, convulsing. I can hear a voice—Varkos.

"Stop this!" His snarl is hoarse, wrecked. "You're killing her!"

His voice is frantic. A storm of rage and desperation.

A firm grip yanks him back. The Ghost, keeping him from interfering.

"She must endure," the Ghost says, his voice calm. Distant. "Or it will all be for nothing."

Endure?

I can’t.

I want to die.

This isn’t worth it.

My vision blurs, dark edges creeping in. But the Ghost’s magic is cruel, relentless—it won’t even let me slip into unconsciousness.

I have never felt so utterly helpless.

Tears and blood mix on my skin, my body writhing against the stone, my limbs twitching involuntarily. The magic reaches deeper, pulls harder.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

"Please," I try to whisper, but my voice is too raw, too broken.

I am going to be nothing after this.

A hollow shell.

A body with no soul.

The altar pulses again, and my back arches violently. A new wave of pain splits through my stomach.

I hear Varkos roar.

His voice is pure anguish.

"Anya!"

I want to answer him.

I want to tell him I’m still here.

But am I?

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