Ingvar finally reveals the origins of his hatred and the bitter history between him and his father, Jotun.
"Fucking—" Ingvar's voice cracked as he swiped angrily at his face. His shoulders hitched once, twice, before he forced out through clenched teeth: "She was my mother." Jonas recoiled as though struck. The chamber's oppressive heat suddenly felt icy against his sweat-slicked skin. He'd expected boasts, threats, curses—not this raw confession. Ingvar's next words came in a rush, as if the admission had broken some dam inside him.
"She screamed when he took her," Ingvar spat, his voice cracking like thin ice underfoot. "The great Jotun forced the shieldmaiden, my mother, half his size down and defiled her." His swollen testicles twitched against Jonas's thigh, still hot from their violent coupling. "My mother hid me in the closet, behind the door when the perverse act happened. I could hear her screams as Jotun bred her"
Jonas recoiled as though branded, the image searing itself behind his eyelids—a younger Ingvar witnessing his mother being fertilized, listening to the wet slap of flesh and his mother's stifled sobs. The same halls where Jonas had trained with blunted swords, blissfully unaware.
The torchlight flickered violently as Ingvar's words hung between them. Jonas watched his half-brother's fingers twitch toward the rune-carved gelding knife, the blade's edge still glistening with Jonas' own blood. "He had her pinned beneath him," Ingvar rasped, his voice raw as frostbitten flesh. "Her legs spread like a broodmare's. I saw his cock—thick as my forearm, pulsing with that same fucking blue veins you have."
Ingvar's knuckles whitened around the knife's hilt. "I waited until he was at his peak," he continued, his eyes glazing over with the memory. "Right when his balls drew up against his shaft, when he'd be most vulnerable." His free hand mimed the motion—a vicious upward slash. "The runes flared white-hot when the blade bit in. Cut through his manhood like parchment."
The knife had sung through the air with a warrior's precision. Ingvar would remember forever how Jotun's manhood was liberated by the rune-carved blade. His father's cock, still iron-hard and pulsing, had launched skyward like a loosed spear, trailing arcs of copious thick, creamy cum.
Jotun's severed manhood had landed with a wet slap against the mead-stained floorboards, twitching with such violent spasms like a dying fish on land. Each contraction sent fresh ropes spurting across the room, splattering the bedroom and Ingvar in viscous strands, as if it was fulfilling its duty to fertilize and unaware of its demise. The cockhead had remained engorged, its flared tip swelling obscenely as final, desperate pulses emptied the shaft in shuddering gouts that pooled around Ingvar's bare feet.
The torchlight flickered against Ingvar’s face as his fingers clenched around the hilt of the gelding knife, his knuckles bone-white. "It started growing back before the blood even stopped pumping," he snarled, voice raw and jagged. "Like a fucking hydra’s head. From the stump, the veins weaved themselves out of nothing, flesh knitting together like some cursed tapestry." His thumb traced the runes carved into the blade, the same ones that had failed to keep Jotun’s cock severed for good. "I grabbed his severed manhood and ran. His fucking dick was still twitching in my fist like it wanted to finish inside her."
Jonas watched a bead of sweat slide down Ingvar’s temple, catching on the scar that split his eyebrow. The Breedmaster’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his breath hitching when he swallowed. "As I managed to escaped his grasp, he screamed after me promises of my castration." Ingvar’s lips peeled back from his teeth. "*‘I’ll strip the flesh from your bones and feed your balls to my hounds.’*" The mimicry was too accurate, the cadence too familiar. Jonas felt his own scrotum tighten instinctively.
Jonas's fingers slackened around Ingvar's bruised testicles. "You stupid fuck," Jonas breathed, but there was no heat left in it. His thumb brushed a stray droplet from Ingvar's eyelid, smearing blood and salt across the bridge of his nose. "All this gelding of men, crushing my nuts to paste—just to spite that old bastard?"
Ingvar's laughter came out jagged, filled with anger and frustration. His hips jerked when Jonas' palm settled over his ruined scrotum—not gripping now, just resting. The swollen flesh pulsed against his calluses. "I wanted to take his sons and manhood from him..." His voice cracked like thin ice. "I wanted him to pay.”
Jonas smirked. The torchlight caught the dried streaks of Ingvar's seed still crusted along his jawline as his lips curled into something too sharp to be called a smile. "I understand you better than you think, brother," he grinned, his thumb brushing the split in Ingvar's lip where his own teeth had bitten through earlier. The Breedmaster flinched at the contact, but didn't pull away, his swollen cock twitching pathetically against Jonas's thigh where they still lay tangled.
The Norse warrior exhaled through his nose, watching Ingvar's eyelashes flutter against sweat-slicked cheeks. "I, too, want to empty that old bastard’s nutsack, to end his reign," Jonas admitted, fingers tracing Ingvar's battered organs unexpected gentleness. The skin was smooth beneath his touch, majestic and beautiful. Jonas could feel the family jewels pulse against his palm like twin hearts.
"I should crush your nuts for what you did," Jonas snarled. "Leave you bleeding out and covered in your nut mush." His fingers tightened fractionally around Ingvar's swollen sac, just enough to make the Breedmaster's hips jerk. "But I won't."
Jonas turned toward his scattered weapons. The torchlight caught the glint of his axe's edge as he reached for it, but a sudden scrape of steel on stone made his shoulders tense. He spun, expecting an attack, but found Ingvar gripping the rune-carved gelding knife with shaking fingers—not pointed outward, but downward.
The Breedmaster's face twisted in something between agony and ecstasy as he dragged the blade across his own groin in one brutal motion. The sound was obscenely wet as flesh parted beneath the razor-sharp edge. Ingvar's severed genitals hit the stone with a meaty thud, his cock twitching violently in its final moments while his ruined testicles pulsed.
Jonas recoiled, his own newly-formed organs throbbing in sympathetic pain as Ingvar extended the knife handle-first toward him. Blood sheeted down the Breedmaster's thighs, but his gaze burned with manic conviction. "Finish it," Ingvar rasped, his voice raw as he shoved his own severed flesh toward Jonas with trembling hands. The glistening organs steamed in the cold chamber air, the severed end of his cock still dribbling thick strands of seed onto the stone. "Take my manhood and my strength so you may gain the power to castrate that cunt once and for all.”
Jonas picked up the severed organs, his fingers sinking into the warm, yielding flesh with unexpected reverence. Ingvar's cock lay heavy in his palm, still thick even in death. Jonas turned it slowly, marveling at the delicate tracery of veins beneath alabaster skin, the way the foreskin had drawn back in its final moments to reveal a plum-dark glans still beading with moisture. The testicles were twin masterpieces—heavy as plums in his palm, their veined surfaces smooth as polished agate where they pressed together in their sac. Jonas traced the delicate seam between them with his thumb, feeling the thin membrane stretch taut as parchment. Demigod seed welled sluggishly from the severed cords, rich and creamy where it smeared across his wrist tattoos. He brought the offering to his face, inhaling deeply—the scent was Ingvar distilled: honey, musk, and mead, just like him.
Jonas' tongue darted out first—just a tentative flick on the surface of the left bollock. Then with a mighty bite, he tears off the left gonad of the severed organ. The taste exploded across his palate: salted honey and game meat. He could feel the chunks nut meat breaking and combining in his mouth, slowly liquifying before he swallowed his half-brother’s babymaker. The Norse prince reached for the right nut afterwards and greedily devoured it as well with voracious appetite.
Jonas gasped as the power of Ingvar's essence coursed through him, but concentrating in his groin with an almost painful intensity. His engorged cock throbbed violently, swelling to an obscene thickness as divine energy flooded his sac. The skin stretched tight as a drumhead, his balls churning with stolen vigor that blurred his vision and made his body shudder.
"Fuck," Jonas hissed through clenched teeth, watching his own shaft twitch like a living thing against his abdomen. Precum beaded at the slit in thick, syrupy strands that dripped down the veined underside. He wrapped his fingers around the heated flesh, hissing at the oversensitivity as nerve endings fired in electric bursts.
Ingvar watched from the stone floor, his severed genitals still steamed gently where they rested against Jonas's thigh. The Breedmaster's gaze locked onto Jonas' fist as it began moving in slow, deliberate strokes—not the frantic pace of before, but something almost reverent.
Jonas's hand moved slowly at first, the rough pads of his fingers catching on the hypersensitive ridges of his own cock. He watched Ingvar's ruined groin through half-lidded eyes, where the Breedmaster's blood still pulsed in weak spurts from severed cords. "Open," Jonas commanded, his voice thick with the same primal timbre Theseus had used on him in the chamber of the fertility house.
Ingvar didn’t hesitate. He dragged himself forward and looked up at Jonas, his eyes full of newfound devotion. As he reached the Norse warrior's thighs, Ingvar leaned in and enveloped Jonas's engorged shaft with a slow, wet hunger.
The sensation was an electric shock to Jonas's system. He let out a guttural groan as Ingvar’s mouth closed around him. The Breedmaster's tongue swirled around the flared glans and traced the pulsing veins. Jonas gripped Ingvar’s hair, his fingers digging into the brown strands to hold him firmly in place.
The pressure built behind Jonas’s hips as Ingvar’s head moved back and forth. Every suctioning pull from Ingvar’s mouth felt like a vacuum drawing the very marrow from his bones. His toes curled against the cold stone, and his breath came in hitches that mirrored the motion of Ingvar’s head. Jonas could feel Theseus's stolen power churning in his nuts—the Spartan's regenerative magic thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. When he came, it wasn't the explosive release of before but a thick, relentless outpouring that painted Ingvar's lips and chin in silver strands.
Jonas watched with detached fascination as Ingvar swallowed his seed and caught every stray drop from his lips, throat working visibly around each thick mouthful. Ingvar's throat worked like a starving man's, swallowing Jonas' seed with a fervor that made his Adam's apple bob violently.
As Ingvar devoured the seed, a transformation took place: The blood flow from Ingvar's severed groin slowed to a trickle, then stopped entirely. The skin at the wound's edges began to ripple, pale filaments of new flesh weaving themselves into existence like spiders spinning silk in fast motion. A glistening glans formed like wax melting in reverse, the urethral slit splitting open with a wet pop that made Ingvar arch off the stone floor with a choked gasp. His balls descended next, smooth as river stones sliding into a pouch of freshly-formed scrotum that tightened instinctively when Jonas exhaled sharply above him. "Fuck," Ingvar panted, his hands shaking as they hovered over his reborn genitals—too new, too sensitive to touch yet. A bead of silvery precum already glistened at his tip. "How—"
Jonas's fingers still dripped with Ingvar's essence when he chuckled. "Ymir's runes carved into your blade," Jonas grinned, tracing the intricate sigils on the knife's hilt, “has no effect on the Greek’s phallus.” He dragged a fingertip through the cooling mess between Ingvar's legs, where fresh skin now stretched tight over newly-formed flesh. “Unless you are armed with an adamantine blade, you could hack away at his cock until Ragnarok dawned, and still it would grow back, ready to fuck and fertilize.”
His free hand closed around Ingvar's wrist, guiding the Breedmaster's trembling fingers to the thick vein pulsing along Jonas' own shaft. “Absorbing his severed manhood, I have gained the powers of regeneration temporarily."
Jonas smirked. “Though the regenerative power will fade eventually, the strength I gain from the absorption remains. Perhaps one day, I will castrate our father for good." The torchlight caught the sweat sheening Ingvar's chest as his gaze dropped to Jonas's groin—where Theseus' essence had visibly altered the Norse warrior's anatomy. Thicker veins, a heavier hang, the way his balls drew up tighter against his shaft when aroused.
Ingvar reached behind him, fingers closing around something wrapped in oiled leather. "Here," he grinned, pressing the bundle into Jonas' palm with fingers that trembled only slightly.
The weight was unmistakable. A flaccid length of flesh, veined and heavy, the severed end crusted with old blood but still faintly pulsing as though remembering life. Jonas's breath caught when he recognized the runes branded into the shaft. In the palm of his hand, he held his father’s severed phallus.
"You should have this," Ingvar spoke. The flesh was unnaturally warm against Jonas' palm, thrumming with residual power that made his own freshly-regenerated cock twitch in response. "A reminder of your quest." His laugh was bitter. "Make sure you crush his nuts with your bare hands, make the bastard unable to breed."
Jonas turned his father’s severed manhood in his palm, the heavy and intimately familiar. The skin was smooth, pale as winter, and stretched tight over thick veins that pulsed faintly. The tapered head flared dramatically, and from the urethral slit, a pearly drop of precum.
Jonas brought it to his lips just as the first tremor ran through the shaft. The veins beneath his fingers swelled abruptly, the entire length jerking as though electrified. Theseus's regenerative power surged through Jonas's fingertips, igniting a divine spark in the phallus.
Jotun's cock hardened with violent suddenness, the head darkening to a bruised purple as it strained upward. Jonas barely had time to wrap both hands around the base before the first eruption hit—a thick rope of Titan seed that splattered across his collarbone with the force of a crossbow bolt. Jonas opened his mouth just as the second spurt came, this one arcing directly down his throat.
Jonas drank deeply, his throat working around each thick pulse of cum as Ingvar's severed cock convulsed in his grip. The Breedmaster watched, lips parted in awe, as the Norse warrior swallowed every last drop—his Adam's apple bobbing violently with each gulp until the shaft in his hands went limp, drained and spent. A stray trickle escaped Jonas' lips, tracing a glistening path down his chin before he swiped it away with the back of his hand, licking his fingers clean with deliberate slowness.
"I promise you brother, I will harvest our father’s manhood,” Jonas spoke with quiet conviction. He squeezed his father’s severed phallus in his hand. “But I have a request." His gaze slid toward the arched doorway where women reclined on pillowed benches, hungry for cock.
"Name it," Ingvar breathed, still panting from the aftershocks of his rebirth.
"Your women—I want to feel their touch tonight." Jonas’s grin turned wolfish. Ingvar's laugh was low and dark.
"Done." He pushed off the bloodstained floor with a warrior's grace, his newborn sack swinging heavily between muscular thighs as he gestured toward the arched doorway.
Jonas followed Ingvar's gaze toward the arched doorway where the scent of sweat and seed hung thick in the air. He inhaled deeply. "You'll find no virgins here," the Breedmaster laughed. "Only women who know how to pleasure a warrior and draw out his seed. They'll take every drop you can give."
Jonas' cock twitched, a thick strand of precum beading at the tip and dripping onto the stone between his feet. "Bring it on." He smirked, his veiny cock painfully erect as the women welcome him with open arms and cunts.
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