The hall cracked open at dawn.
Stone split along the walls with sharp, dry sounds. Silver fractures now glowed on nearly half the husbands' brands, thin lines of anti-magic spreading like frost.
The black-and-crimson flames from the purge had died to low embers, but they still licked across every surface. Aiden stood in the center, chest heaving, trying to pull the magic back under control.
It fought him.
The chains moved on their own. Flaming links rose from the brands, snaked through the air, and wrapped around the wives and daughters like living serpents. They stroked clits, squeezed nipples, slid between slick folds.
At the same time the chains yanked every husband down onto his knees, forcing their faces to the floor in worship. The men groaned as their own brands burned hotter, milking their cocks dry without touch.
Aiden snarled and raised both hands. Power flared along his arms. The chains slowed for a second, then kept moving, bolder now.
