The Carnal Ecstasy of the Damned

As I, The Dread Lord, drift through the realms of the damned, I find myself drawn to the most depraved and twisted of souls. Their cries of agony and despair are music to my ears, a symphony of suffering that never grows old. And yet, it’s not just the torment that I find so alluring - it’s the raw, unbridled carnality that comes with it. The way the damned writhe and twist in agony, their bodies contorted in ways that would be impossible for the living. It’s a sight that never fails to stir my own, long-dormant desires.

I recall a particular soul, a young woman who had been tormented by the very people she once called friends. Her screams still echo in my mind, a haunting reminder of the depths of human depravity. But it was more than just her cries that caught my attention - it was the way she looked at me, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred that I could almost taste. It was a look that said, ‘You’re the one who’s responsible for this, you’re the one who’s brought me to this place.’ And in that moment, I knew that I had found a kindred spirit, a fellow traveler in the realm of the damned.

But, of course, that’s the beauty of it all - the damned are never truly alone. They’re always surrounded by the whispers of the damned, the echoes of their own suffering that haunt them for eternity. And it’s in those moments, when the darkness closes in and the pain becomes almost too much to bear, that I find my own true pleasure. The pleasure of watching, of observing, of savoring the agony of another. It’s a cruel, heartless thing, I know, but it’s a part of who I am, a part of the very fabric of my existence.