Cold seeped into Kanul's bones. Not the chill of the crypt, but a deeper, existential cold that settled in his soul. Hours had passed since Morrigra's touch had rewritten his very being. He stood now, naked, at the edge of a vast, ornate chamber, its walls carved with disturbing reliefs of skeletal figures feasting on vital organs. Torches, fueled by an unnatural, green fire, flickered along the stone, casting dancing shadows that made the grotesque carvings seem to writhe. His skin crawled. He hated the exposed feeling, the vulnerable stance. Warriors wore armor, not chains. His wrists, though no longer physically bound, felt phantom restraints. His eyes scanned the room, desperate for something to ground him, but found only more horror. Before him, a long, obsidian table stretched, gleaming with an unholy sheen. Seated around it were Morrigra's 'court'. Not living beings, but a collection of the damned: withered liches with eyes like pinpricks of malice, skeletal knights whose rusty armor clattered with every slight movement, and ghoulish figures with elongated claws and gaping maws. None spoke. A suffocating silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional dry rasp of a bone-joint or the faint, wet slither of something unseen beneath the table. Kanul felt their vacant gazes, their hollow attention fixed on him. He was the only living thing in this hall of the dead. A hand, cold as grave soil, clamped onto his shoulder. Kanul flinched, his muscles tensing, but his body refused to move. Morrigra. Her touch sent a jolt of unnatural pleasure and terror through him, a sickening cocktail he was learning to despise. "Welcome, my pet," her voice purred, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his very core. "To your first banquet." She steered him forward, a puppet on her strings, towards the head of the obsidian table. A vacant seat awaited him, directly to Morrigra's left. He felt a wave of nausea, his stomach churning at the thought of sitting among these horrors. This was not a feast; it was a desecration. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Morrigra settled onto her own throne-like chair, crafted from what appeared to be fused bone and dark metal. She gestured to the seat beside her. "Sit, Kanul. You are honored." Her tone held no warmth, only an icy command. He sank into the chair, the cold stone biting at his bare flesh. His gaze fell upon the 'food' laid out before him. Platters of glistening, pale meat, some still twitching faintly. Bowls of black, viscous liquid that steamed with an acrid odor. Fruits that pulsed with sickly green light, their skins too smooth, too perfect. This was not sustenance. This was an affront to life itself. His stomach rebelled, a sour taste rising in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but the bile burned. Morrigra’s skeletal fingers, tipped with long, sharpened nails, reached for a goblet carved from a human skull. She filled it from a ewer that seemed to hold liquid shadow. The substance inside glowed with an internal, sickly green luminescence. "A toast," she announced, her voice echoing unnaturally in the silent hall. "To my newest acquisition. To Kanul, the living heart of my dominion." Her empty eye sockets seemed to bore into him, stripping him bare. He wanted to refuse. Wanted to shatter the goblet, to spit in her skeletal face. But his body remained still, his hand frozen, his jaw locked. He was a prisoner in his own flesh, a spectator to his own humiliation. She lifted the goblet to her non-existent lips, then lowered it. "Drink, my pet. This will bind you further, make you truly one of my court." Her voice was a silken threat. Slowly, agonizingly, his right hand lifted. It trembled, not with his own will, but with a horrifying compulsion. His fingers closed around the cold bone of the goblet. The green liquid pulsed, radiating a faint, sickening heat. It smelled of decay and something else… something metallic and sweet, like stale blood and corrupted magic. His hand brought the goblet to his lips. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest. He could taste the stench before the liquid even touched his tongue. It was foul, impossibly so. A bitter, earthy flavor mixed with the metallic tang, and a strange, almost electric hum. He swallowed. A tiny amount, just a sip. It burned, searing a path down his throat, hot and viscous. His eyes watered. His stomach spasmed violently, threatening to expel what he’d just consumed. He choked, a raw, desperate sound. Morrigra watched, her head tilted, a cruel smile playing on her skeletal face. "More, Kanul. Do not insult your Queen with such meager devotion." Her command was absolute, a brand seared onto his very soul. His hand, independent of his will, lifted the goblet again. He tipped it further, the glowing ichor cascading into his mouth. He gagged, the taste overpowering, coating his tongue, burning his esophagus. It was a violation, each swallow a defilement of his living body. His vision swam. He felt lightheaded, his head pounding. Yet, beneath the nausea, a strange sensation began to bloom. A warmth, not unpleasant, spreading from his stomach through his veins. A subtle thrumming, a newfound energy that hummed beneath his skin, chasing away the bone-deep cold. He finished the goblet. The last drop of the glowing liquid vanished, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste that lingered. His body felt lighter, stronger. His senses seemed sharpened, the green torchlight brighter, the silence of the court more profound. But the invigoration was tainted. It was not his own strength. It was hers. A gift from the Lich Queen, a poison veiled as sustenance. Shame washed over him, deeper and more profound than before. He had consumed her corruption. He had willingly, though unwillingly, allowed her to twist him further. His gaze fell to his hands, resting on the obsidian table. They looked the same, but they felt different. Prickling. Alive with a borrowed, unholy vitality. What had she done to him? What changes had she wrought upon his living flesh? He was becoming something else, something alien, something monstrous. The silence stretched, a heavy blanket. Morrigra gave a dismissive wave of her hand, and ghostly servants, translucent and shimmering, began to clear the untouched 'food' from the table. The feast was over, yet Kanul felt hollower than ever. He wanted to run, to scream, to tear himself free. But the compulsion kept him seated, his muscles locked. His fear wasn't just of Morrigra anymore. It was of himself, of the traitorous body that obeyed her every command, of the unknown corruption now flowing in his veins. Morrigra rose from her throne, her movements fluid and deadly. She circled the table, her gaze sweeping over her silent court, a queen surveying her morbid domain. Her eyes finally settled on Kanul, a predatory gleam in their hollow depths. Her hand shot out, her grip burning as her skeletal fingers closed around his arm. He cried out, a muffled sound of pain and surprise, as she hauled him roughly from his seat. The invigoration in his body warred with the pain, leaving him momentarily disoriented. She didn't lead him back to the crypts, or to a cell. Instead, she pulled him towards a massive, carved door at the far end of the hall, away from the court. Each step echoed in the vast chamber, sealing his fate. "The true banquet begins now, my pet," she whispered, her voice a chill breath against his ear, her grip burning. His heart pounded, knowing the 'feast' was merely a prelude.

Chapter 2: The First Banquet