Entering the pit, I paused at the altar, removing the ancient sacrificial sword from its honored resting place, its gleaming razor-sharp blade surprisingly heavy in my hands as I carried it to the center of the pit, where I crouch down as instructed, the sharp tip of the sword’s blade resting on the floor with my hand lightly holding its upright hilt.

As it has been our custom for centuries, on the last day of May, the council of the hundred tribes met to select their Sword Maiden, our people’s annual offering to the Nordic God Odin. Brought to this sacred pit of sacrifice, she’ll willingly die so that her spirit can make the holy journey to Valhalla, where she’s destined to take her rightful place as one of Odin’s pleasure slaves for all eternity. Earlier today our village elder’s informed me of the council’s decision, that they’ve given me the great honor of becoming this year’s Sword Maiden.

Glancing up at the temple’s ancient stained-glass windows above the pit, I can see that sunset is near, that in a few minutes the high priest of the hundred tribes will end my life, freeing my spirit for its glorious journey to Valhalla.

A few minutes later, as the sun finally set, I watched as the high priest entered the pit, the cowl of his blood-red robes hiding his face in the shadows as he approached. Stopping before me, I can feel his eyes upon me as he reaches out for the sword, “Katrine, it’s time.”

Struggling to remain outwardly calm, I tilt the sword forward, placing its leather-wrapped hilt in his open hand. Then, releasing the sword, I sank fully down onto my knees, crossing my wrists submissively behind me as I arched my back and closed my eyes.

The pain when it came was like nothing I’d ever imagined, an explosion of pure unadulterated agony as the cold steel blade of the sword slid through me. Doubling forward over the blade I instinctively brought my hands around and grasped the sleeve of the high priest’s robe. One single glance downward was all I needed to confirm that the sword’s razor-sharp blade had likely pierced both my liver and right kidney before coming out of my back. Already starting to feel light-headed I stared down in horror at the small amount of blood escaping around the blade buried in my guts as I realized I was bleeding out internally.

It was in that timeless moment of horrific enlightenment that the high priest savagely twisted the blade within my guts. The deceptively small trickle of blood escaping from around the sword’s blade suddenly becoming a raging torrent as the cruelly twisting blade ripped my insides apart.

Pausing to use an oiled cloth to wipe Katrine’s blood from the ancient blade of the sacrificial sword, the high priest watched with amusement as Katrine slowly slumped over and collapsed onto her side in the rapidly growing pool of her blood. That look in her eyes, almost begging that she desperately wanted to say something, but that she no longer had the strength to speak. That delightfully amusing look of horror in Katrine’s lovely eyes slowly fading as she lost consciousness mere moments before her heart finally stopped beating.

Returning the ancient sacrificial sword to its honored resting place upon the altar, the high priest loosened his robes. Even in death, Katrine remained an enticingly beautiful young woman, no sense in skipping this chance to take advantage of all her erotic charms, her moist luscious mouth, her virgin sex and her tight little ass, after all Katrine was still warm, and it would be days before the pit’s Carrion Beatles reduced her mortal remains to pile of cleanly picked bones. Besides, as the high priest, he knew Odin would likely approve...