Home Page    Log in / register    Newsletter    Authors

Search by Title, Author or words


Shopping Cart

No Cart Open


Books showing a sign means books can be sent direct to your Kindle from our download pages or Member Library -
if your Kindle has the Personal Document Service feature! Other eReader formats (epub, etc) are also available.



Heart of Darkness (Bruce McLachlan)

Heart of Darkness by Bruce McLachlan

Click here for larger cover


Add To Cart

More By This Author

Read reviews further down this page

    • Average 3.0 from 2 ratings

The occult runs throughout this novel of the sadistic suffering and merciless torment of helpless slaves and slave girls!

Dennis Wheatley was never like this!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 9 / 2018

No. words: 30790

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Bondage/BDSM and Horror

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1

The heart of the subterranean chamber was an altar of obsidian, the midnight surfaces carved with eerie sigils and runes of accursed power. A squat candle at each corner of the rectangular stone block cast a flickering amber glow across the scene, an alien warmth in this room of cold, midnight blackness.
A naked woman was spread-eagled across the glassen stone, her wrists and ankles pinned down by a brazen trammel. She writhed impotently against her studded bonds, her shrill screams subdued by the gag affixed about her sweat dampened features.
Her swollen abdomen bucked and rippled, the infant within eager to escape the womb. The shadow cloaked figures surrounding the diabolic site continued the chant, channelling the dark energies into the altar, saturating the unborn with the power of the Great Wyrm.
The Grand Warlock threw back his hood, his eyes pulsating with a crimson glow, his features hollowed onto his bones by the desiccating effects of black sorcery.
“Ahma nexchtica torlentcha - Great Wyrm, whose vile power seeps through the earth, corrupting Gaia, deliver your power into this altar of your servants and bless the child with your welcome taint on this night of Samhain,” he proclaimed.
The very firmament seemed to shift, a wriggle in the hide of existence. The propitious locale lay at a vast intersection of the ancient network of Ley lines, and though the plexus of menhirs had been damaged by man’s meddling hands, causing many of the primary mustering sights to fall dormant, there remained enough to conduct the power of the earth along the arteries forged by the ancient Druids, feeding this spot with the Great Wyrm’s power. Its malevolent claws were less constrained than at any other time because of this most unholy of nights.
When the lines had been set down, Gaia had been pure and the network collected her energy for benign use, but now the malignant side of Gaia - the Great Wyrm - was rising, polluting the life force of the planet, it was this swell of evil that pulsed inward, welling at the altar like a sickly boil. The obsidian lit up from within, a terrible opaque light far beyond any natural darkness, a black light that voraciously devoured its opposite without mercy.
Crackles of crimson lightning began to play across the rigid angles as the fluctuating aura grew ever more intense, submerging the woman in a sphere of unnatural radiance.
The Grand Warlock unleashed a wicked smile, he alone being party to the truth of this ceremony. The Wyrm was a greedy force, one that could give grandiosely and then exact a far graver demand for repayment.
His deviation from the normal litany was almost undetected, the others being engrossed with the rapture of the churning power of evil flowing through their conductive souls. The offer of these tasty morsels was made and the granting of the ritual accepted. The sorcery was to be augmented by their fleeting essence. Such was the requirements of the prophecy, and the Grand Warlock wanted to ensure it was his creation which took up the route to this illustrious destiny.
In a single shrieking choir the group wailed, their ragged cries eclipsing the agonised yowl of the woman. The raging current of energy released its barbs and began to tear away their life with serrated claws of ice, dissecting their black souls a sliver at a time.
A gust of hot air rushed through the chamber, the Wyrm opening a lazy eye, and as its stare assessed flesh, every humanoid form save the Grand Warlock detonated simultaneously. The cultists burst backwards, transforming into smeared streaks of red, splashing across the stone surfaces behind with a wet slap before trickling down in a lumpy stream of bone shards and sundered viscera.
The door burst from its hinges, dropping to the floor with a booming note. Into the darkness stormed a unit of pale robed forms, each armed with sword or staff.
“By Gaia!” exclaimed the first, seeing the charnel stains soaking the rock, a crimson drizzle pattering the floor from the mangled fresco of gore painted across the ceiling.
As the Grand Warlock whirled, a trio of silver throwing blades lanced through the air, cast by incensed arms. With a stern thought he threw up a defensive ward to deflect the pernicious daggers but they too were enchanted and he was woefully unprepared for attack.
The tips slashed through his shield and sank into his chest, their lengths sheathing in his heart and left lung. With a hiss he forced out the blades, which rattled upon the floor with a bright peal of tones. Clamping a hand to the trio of mortal punctures, he released a blood flecked cackle, his life flowing through his fingers as he mocked their efforts.
“You are too late, fools! It is done, your Druidess has spawned the child of the prophecy!” roared the Grand Warlock, overwhelmed with glee, knowing that they had not the stomach to butcher a newborn, and by shielding her and trying to overcome her now inherent allegiance, they would only succeed in proving themselves an unequalled body of fanatic guardians.
With a soft thud he dropped and keeled over, a warm puddle of his blood forming beneath him.


Nial reached up with a trembling hand, pressing his crystal into her palm, his body in tatters, a weaving line of red emerging from his twitching lips. Eire held him gently, rallying her powers to heal the terrible wounds, gripping her own sacred stone for added reassurance and courage.
“No,” he rasped, a gurgling fluid rattle deep in his throat. “Save it, you will need it all to slay her.”
His eyes glazed and his form went limp in her arms. Eire laid him tenderly back and arose, leaving the last member of her escort sprawled across the carpet.
The interior of the country mansion had fallen into silence once more, but it was no innocent quiet, the demons were no doubt rallying to renew the attack.
The estate had seemed innocuous enough, looming amidst the preened grounds deep in the rural landscape, its baroque architecture wreathed in the shadows of this cloudless night. The defences had been easily overcome for they were adept at evading alarm and lock, and what they could not by-pass manually, they confused with sorcery. The horrors which were the true guardians of this abode had proved far more formidable, and of the seven shaman who had accepted the task, she was the lone survivor.
The sounds of slithering wafted forth upon the musty air, attesting to the approach of the aberrations. Drawing in a deep breath, she muttered a prayer for strength and leapt boldly out.
With a ferocious sweep of her arm a blizzard of refulgent white splinters winked into existence with a defiant flash.
The howling shards tore down the corridor, banishing the gloom, revealing the shambling mounds of corrupted tissue that lumbered forward, rending fang and claw outstretched in eager expectation.
The creatures had once been human, but their foul devotion to perversion and hedonistic depravity had warped their flesh into unspeakable forms. To perform such feats of ruin, the despoiler behind them had to be one of immense power, assuring her that she had found the witch responsible for conducting the downfall of her sect. The Trinity had sought to protect the cursed woman from her fate, yet she had repaid their kindness in the blood of their own, and when Eire’s Order attempted to ambush and destroy her, few survived.
The candescent mystical teeth bit into the transmogrified forms, drilling ragged tunnels through their bulk. However, the monstrosities were not so easily slain, and simply tumbled indolently to the floor, the rough craters spattering their frames already beginning to close as the evil house nurtured their recovery with its own strength.
Taking advantage of this temporary enervated state, she charged forward, splashing through the puddles of their loosed fluids. She turned the corner and skidded to a halt, instinctively calling up a barrier with a panted sentence of multiple syllables.
Halfway down the passage crouched a young girl, blocking access to a set of huge double doors, their surfaces marked with a lattice-work of brass occult symbols and baleful talismans.
The small frame was sleek and wiry, with a wild cascade of red hair falling crazily in all directions. A studded metal collar encircled her throat, and a leather thong was the only other item she wore, the penurious article dotted with studs.
The feral form bolted forward without word or warning, springing into the air with such speed that Eire barely had time to weave aside. The sting of razor edged fingernails afflicted her cheek, her sidestep twist being the only thing that had preserved her face from a similar shredding.
The girl released a bestial growl, turned, and recommenced her offensive as Eire ignored the throb in her cheek and absently broke down the venom that now skulked in the opened tissues.
With a bounding spring, the lithe frame entered the air, her outstretched talons preceding her attack. With a hiss Eire strengthened her shield, expanding it with a sudden force, slamming the psychokinetic shell into the assailant. With a pained shout she was cast aside, her back slamming to the wall with such force that the wood cracked and splintered. The invisible wall dissipated, letting the diminutive form drop to the floor where she swayed unsteadily and then collapsed, unveiling the myriad weals adorning her back.
Exhaling deeply to assist the steadying of her pulse, Eire hastily cast a cataleptic rune and deposited it in the youth’s mind, leaving her in a deep coma.
This last obstacle defeated, she threw her mind against the final barrier with a petulant shout, shattering the defensive magics and dispelling the lingering spells of pestiferous retribution.
Wafting aside the tendrils of steam spilling from the breached symbols, Eire located the central seam and taking hold of her crystal for comfort, kicked the portal open.
The hall beyond was warm, with an ambience of imposing dread and twisted debauchery. The walls were obscured by stone panels, the masonry embossed with a detailed mass of corrupted impressions and grotesque runes, all designed to collect and store the Wyrm’s sweated power.
Sacrificed skeletal remains hung in collections, their bleached bones the only conflicting influence in this chamber of midnight shades.
Before a throne wrought from polished remains stood the hall’s only denizen - a woman of unparalleled beauty. A crooked crown of jet held back her mane of red hair, the shimmering lengths hanging as a wreath about her sculpted features and piercing blue eyes. Silver serpent earrings dangled from her lobes, and a silken cloak sheathed her tall frame. Eire stepped into the centre of the hall, audaciously defying the encroaching insidious evil of the place, a force that saturated even the air, causing dark thoughts to creep at the edges of her pious psyche.
“What is so important that you have to storm my sanctum, shaman?” she uttered absently, as though Eire’s presence were a trivial thing of little consequence.
“I have come to put an end to you, Kitjana,” Eire retorted with choler, having to strain to pull in the unblemished power of the earth, for the taint of the Wyrm was exceptionally strong here, so much so that the focusing medium of her crystal was the only thing that lent her sufficient strength to fuel her enchantment, and even this was reduced to a negligible effect.
Throwing her arms out, she paused as cyan forks wound playful streams about her shoulders, the intensity growing as she hurled her fists together. A thunderclap made the hall shudder as her hands met. The crackling force blasted forth in a dense bolt of pure lambent light, cutting through the shadows as it sped towards the idle woman.
Kitjana shoved forward her right arm, first and little finger rigid and upright. The bolt seemed to waver as though obscured by the haze of an intense heat, and then faded as it reached the extended digits.
“A fair beginning, now here is my response,” chuckled the woman, pulling back the arm like a coiled spring, a pulsating aura of darkness arising to whirl about the balled fist.
Eire put her hands together, lifting a protective shell to counter the imminent sorcerous attack. The woman punched with fury, the pool of night breaking into a dozen curling tentacles. The lengths shot across the space between them in an instant, extending, their ethereal tips hardening into serrated, curved blades.
A scintillating burst of angry sparks signalled each repulsed strike, the slashing blades hacking with insane verve at the unseen sphere encasing fire.
Maintaining the punished shield, she watched as Kitjana slowly lifted both arms over her head, her serene face betraying no hint of what she intended to unleash next. Seeing her again was distracting, they had been close during the early years of their upbringing, and though she had always known that her friend bore this inner darkness, it was a profound shock when it finally began to take over, making her glad that her induction into the order of the Swan had separated them years earlier.
Kitjana slashed her arms outward, a howl of displaced air leading the impact of a truculent blow. The tentacles blurred aside in the gust and vanished, their energy diverted at the source. Eire was forced back as her shield was rammed, her soles sliding against the floor as she fought to strengthen her powers and repel the driving force.
Her back was dashed to the far wall, the harsh connection driving the wind from her lungs. With a choked gasp she dropped to her knees, desperately trying to restore the integrity of her only protection.
The unmollifiable witch slapped her hands together before her waist, furling the slender digits into an arcane ward and then jabbing them towards the downed opponent. A jigsaw of tiny cuts opened across her palms, confined within a perfect circle. Scores of tiny droplets vomited from the minute wounds, speeding towards Eire upon a hurricane, each of them swelling, growing into a crimson shape before throwing out jagged wings. The misshapen raptors clawed and stabbed at her barriers, their enchanted nature causing the structure to crack, allowing them to squeeze themselves through the tears.
With a roar Eire leapt up, jolting her arms high, throwing off the shield and causing the bloodforms to spatter back in a plume of tiny drips.
Disgusted by such noxious sorcery she tore off her sacred stone, wound the cord about her palm and expended the last of her energy in sculpting a greatsword of pure natural force, the fulgent form repelling the gnawing dread with which this room was slowly infecting her.
Charging forward with an ascending growl of anger, Eire held the blade back to deliver a mortal stroke. Kitjana merely waited, a grin of monstrous glee upon her lips.
This was her only chance to snatch victory, it was all or nothing. Kitjana’s power was too strong, especially in this Stygian hall which served as a vast battery, charged with the unspeakable acts that were perpetrated at the foot of the throne under Kitjana’s gaze and in the name of the Great Wyrm.
A few steps from her target she destroyed her crystal, using its strength to vastly magnify her power one last time. Hurling the sword inward the keen edge hummed against the air, its length infinitely sharper than any conventional blade.
Against all reason Kitjana drew up her arm, clapping her palm to the virulent slash. But where the blade should have severed cleanly, it was instantly halted, sending a jarring shock along Eire’s arm.
The witch closed her fingers upon the blade, releasing a relishing grin as the purity of the energy made her corrupted skin sizzle and burn. Pain flashed across the side of Eire’s face and after a moment’s scrambling her phased senses returned. She detected a brief moment of flight and then struck the floor with a cruel thud, her fall almost cracking ribs. Her stunned body slid to a halt as the dregs of impetus wrought by the backhand slap were eaten by friction, and gasping for breath, she flopped onto her back to see her conjured weapon disintegrating against Kitjana’s nullifying enchantment. The witch’s smile transformed into a sneer of triumph and the intention for slow retribution.
Eire felt the ragged incisors of apprehension nibble upon her skeleton and frame, the fear of what her fate might be. If she perished in this baroque hell hall, she might not be able to return to the earth, her soul condemned to languish here for eternity.
She considered appealing to Kitjana, hoping to reach some sliver of her former self, but it was plain that she was now wholly converted to the path she had been set upon before birth. The prophecy would flow unchecked, she would explore the darkness and bring forth the Great Wyrm’s final apocalypse. Unless she could be vanquished, all of Gaia’s creatures would be desecrated and spoiled.
The woman threw open her cloak, exposing the curvaceous body hidden beneath, a body amply displayed by a distinct shortage of clothing. A latex bra clung tightly about her torso, creating a deep cleavage with incorporated clamps to pinch her nipples from within, the mounds tipped with a silver stud. A G-string of the same gleaming fabric hooked its straps over her hips and released suspenders to follow her smooth thighs and take hold of fishnet stockings, while twin dildos entered her body, the phalli held in place by the tight thong. Elegant thigh boots clutched the contours of her shapely legs and propped her up on stiletto heels, adding to her already imposing height. About her neck hung a thin silver chain, supporting a clear crystal within a jagged embrace. The Wyrm crystal throbbed with a terrible aura, the esoteric artefact casting a nebulous shadow across her features.
Eire tried to rise, an attempt that failed for her dizziness was still throwing off her equilibrium, causing her to slouch back down after barely making it to a brief crouch.
Wiping the blood from her lip, she tried to gather some measure of force for defence. It was useless, the loss of her sacred stone had left her impotent, and even if she still had the charm, the hall itself was allowing nothing through. Her only choice was to touch the well of power that was so strong it prickled her skin, making her hairs stand on end, but she dared not draw on the black force of the Wyrm lest she be seduced, and such a rank fate was far worse than mere death or defeat.
Heavy footfalls sounded, their uneven cadence and scratch of talons upon wood testifying that the beasts were back.
The untamed girl scampered past, freed from the coma by the annihilation of the crystal responsible for its creation.
Settling at Kitjana’s side like a faithful pet, she glowered at the supine Shaman, outraged at her previous defeat.
“So much for Gaia’s wrath,” pondered Kitjana with a soft chuckle, stroking the girl’s frantic mane with fondness.
“There will be others, witch, and my only regret is that I will not be there to see you executed for your crimes.” retorted Eire, the deformed aberrations forming a ring about her.
“Oh but you will, as soon as you let the Great Wyrm into your soul, you will be in thrall to me.”
“Never, I will die first!”
“Perhaps, but once my followers begin to violate that supple virgin flesh, you will succumb soon enough.”
Kitjana put her hands to her thighs and began to lift them up, her fingers twisted into crooked claws, the tendons raised and pronounced, stretching the skin until it was a flushed white as her demonic crystal throbbed with fresh might.
Two mutant creatures stomped forward, their flesh melting like wax in heat, their forms dribbling great gobs of molten meat into a growing mass of pulpy tissues as the Charm of Vicissitude was invoked.
Eire panicked, jumping to her feet and turning to run, because without any means of repelling attack, she was completely at the mercy of her foe. The befouled vessels of the Wyrm’s power flowed inward as broiling waves, their blubbery weight rising and falling with a quivering pulse. Thick coils wrapped themselves about her legs, taking a crushing hold as the main sacs of congrescent meat engulfed her ankles.
The oily touch of this warm clinch made her shriek with alarm; trying to pull her feet free, she felt the tiny cilia that were spread across the inner surface of the tentacles caressing her skin, the multitude of tiny fingers hauling up the appendages, their hold tightening inexorably as they wound further and further up her legs. Risking a look down, her cry became all the more frantic as a hardened and frighteningly overlarge male member lifted from a protruding bulge. Eire ducked forward and grabbed the rising phallus, using all her strength to fend off the approaching length which wriggled in her grasp, avidly seeking to find its way into her.
“No!” she screamed.
“Not this!” Kitjana mocked her fear with a throaty giggle, knowing that Eire’s sect drew their exceptional power from a virginal status. To be deprived of it was to cripple them, and such was their avoidance of carnal lore that it left them disgusted and repelled by it.
Three fingered hands grabbed her rear and with a stern yank ripped the skirt and underwear in half, totally exposing her body. Before she could respond to this new offensive a javelin of sharp pain burrowed into her anus, a second phallus having sheathed itself in her. With a gasp she arched back, her grip coming away and letting the original threat grind into her womb, tearing apart her hymen, doubling her up with the shock of this profanity.
With a howl of indignation, Eire tried to force out the defiling rods, clawing at them like a maenad. Sticky tentacles entwined her wrists, their strength easily overcoming her own and towing her arms away. Twisted backwards, her spine feeling as though it were going to crack, the flesh in flux continued to crawl upward as the phallus’ began to rock back and forth with a brutal rhythm, taking the rape to new heights, making her squeal with outrage.
Swallowed by chagrin revulsion, she cried out to Gaia for aid, but it was in vain, no force of nature would dare touch this grotesque lair.
The tentacles rode ever upwards, their tiny fingers pulling away her clothing, gradually stripping her naked. Two tips reached her breasts. The bra and shirt were snagged by the cilia underbelly and steadily stretched downward, the fabrics pulling at her shoulders until they were ripped from her. Panting from the ongoing violation, she threw her head back with a wanton moan as the points tickled her nipples with the gentlest of brushes.


The idea and plot are interesting, but reading the book is a vocabulary test. The author seems to be Notre interested in using every arcane word than in telling the story. Many words don’t actually fit as adjectives when used, making the reading harder than it should be. Tell the story, do not try to impress with your command of vocabulary. 2 out of 5 (Bigrdr)

Author Information

Aliens, strange worlds, fetish based writing.


Publisher Information

Publishers of non-adult and adult fiction. Authors, experienced and new are welcome. We have a number of different sites for various genres, including specialist sites for Romance (www.a1romancestories.com, our non-adult and erotica site at www.fiction4all.com and a number of adult sites based around our main site at www.a1adultebooks.com

 Contact Us    Terms and Conditions    Protection Policy    Privacy Policy    Refund Policy   

This Site Owned By Fiction4All - Copyright Ó 2013