Arc 1 - The Beginning
[???]
In the heart of an ominous and enchanted forest, a desolate clearing bore witness to the aftermath of unspeakable horrors. Broken merchant carriages lay strewn across the bloodstained ground, their wares plundered, their occupants dead or dying.
Of course, young children and women are spared, but they are aware that their fate will be far worse. Children become slaves, and orphans without parents face a grim future. Women are forced into s*x work and prostitution, becoming their only means of survival. Their husbands have passed away, leaving them without a source of income.
The perpetrator to this massacre is five burly men with rugged faces and visible scars, have left the women and children alike in a state of fear.
"Please oh... please don't" said by a young woman. From what can be observed, she appears to be 16 years old, possessing a slender and unusually beautiful visage for a peasant girl. However, at this moment, her countenance is haunted and filled with desperation. Tears stream down her cheeks, but alas, her pleas are rendered futile, for she is pushed down by one of the perpetrators and do the unspeakable.
"*chuckle* Ah... it seems Rook had his fun eh," said the leader of the perpetrators, his voice rough, ominous, and deep.
"Boss, Hahaha, would you like a turn too? She's quite tight and fit, boss, ghh.... Yes, baby you are really tight, virgin girl really is the best." Rook said with a sinister grin expression and a sadistic tone. Beneath that, the girl's voice trembled, choked with pain.
"Later, but for now, our master needs some samples," the leader declared in an authoritative and firm voice, "and you can't lay your hands on the goods, Rook. I know you're just a sadistic pervert who can't restrain your urges but prioritize the task; you can have your fun later."
"Aww, you're no fun, boss..." Rook lamented before abruptly ceasing his activity. The girl beneath him felt a fleeting sense of relief, but tragically, before she could savor that fleeting respite, two large and calloused hands descended upon her neck. In the quiet of the forest, a sharp, brief popping sound echoed, and the girl's neck snapped disturbingly to the right. Her eyes grew dull, life extinguished.
Witnessing this, the slaves and workers became even more terrified and subdued. They desperately sought to avoid sharing the same tragic fate as the unfortunate girl. Throughout the entire ordeal, they remained as silent as statues, their only desire being to ensure their own survival.
"Well, if it touched goods, and our master wants them untouched, then I just need to kill it," Rook declared with a grin and a remorseless tone.
"You know, it's really a waste," a newcomer interjected, having observed the entire event while guarding the newly acquired slaves and workers. "She's quite a beauty and could be my next experiment for my magic."
"Rook, as I've told you, don't do anything that compromises our standing with our master and Vorkan," the leader cautioned, his voice growing darker and more profound. "Your fetish for abomination needs to be restrained. Our master will provide you with a new subject."
The newly introduced Vorkan chuckled and said, "Well... alright, boss. I hear you, but you'll need to locate Jarek and Torin. It seems they've ventured into a new village and are causing havoc."
Rook's grin widened, revealing his twisted sense of satisfaction. "I'll find those two soon enough, and then I can have my fun without any interruptions."
Vorkan couldn't resist a wicked chuckle. "Rook, you always did have a taste for the macabre. It's almost admirable, in a twisted way."
The leader's expression grew even darker, his voice a venomous whisper. "We are here for a purpose, and we serve a master who values discretion above all else. Our existence depends on it. Do not forget that."
Rook's reply was laced with a chilling nonchalance. "Oh, I won't forget, boss. But when the time comes, I'll make sure our master's 'samples' are as untouched as he desires."
Vorkan, ever the opportunist, added with a malevolent glint in his eye, "And if there's anything left of them, perhaps I can have my fun too."
The leader, cautious and mindful of the impending threat of the empire, leaned in closer. His voice was a hiss. "Vorkan, we can't afford any attention, especially with the rumors of the empire coming to our town. All these victims of our massacre, they were not just victims of the demon, but associates of our master. We must remain hidden, waiting for the carriage."
Rook nodded, his demeanor shifting slightly to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. "Understood, boss. We'll lay low until the carriage arrives."
Their conversation carried an unsettling tone, a glimpse into the darkness that bound them together in their sinister pursuits. These men were no ordinary villains; they were agents of malevolence, driven by their insatiable appetites for power and cruelty, all while carefully avoiding the prying eyes of the approaching empire. As their carriage arrived, they prepared to depart for the town of Aridoria, where their covert operations would continue under the veil of secrecy.
Nestled in the harsh embrace of a terrain where sprawling grasslands merged seamlessly with the unforgiving desert, the town of Aridoria stood as a testament to the indomitable spirit of its inhabitants. Here, the rhythmic clash of swords and the roar of the coliseum's crowd were the town's lifeblood. Aridoria was renowned throughout the empire as a crucible of gladiatorial combat and martial prowess, a place where warriors were forged in the crucible of battle.
Positioned hundreds of miles from the opulent heart of the empire's capital, Aridoria thrived as a regional hub, a vital trade center that bridged the gap between the lush, prosperous core of the empire and the arid, untamed periphery. Its bustling markets and trade routes drew merchants and travelers from far and wide, transforming the town into a thriving economic nexus where riches flowed as freely as blood in the arena.
Amidst the grandeur of Aridoria's architectural marvels, there existed a stark contrast that cast a pall of social inequality over the town. Here, the presence of slaves and workers, clad in tattered, sweat-soaked rags, was a painful reminder of the gaping chasm that divided the privileged from the downtrodden. They toiled relentlessly in the sweltering heat, their contributions often met with indifference or cruelty, forming the silent, oppressed foundation upon which Aridoria's magnificence rested.
As the Colosseum's grandeur loomed over the town like an insurmountable fortress, its towering spires and intricate carvings seemed like cruel taunts to those who knew only the harshness of their labor. Within its hallowed confines, gladiators from all corners of the empire clashed in brutal duels, their battles drawing cheering crowds from far and wide.
The opulent elite reveled in the spectacle, while the slaves and workers were forced to witness the disparity firsthand, their dreams of escape or upward mobility crushed by the weight of an unforgiving society. In Aridoria, the clash of steel was not only a spectacle but also a brutal reflection of the social injustices that festered beneath the surface, a town where the pursuit of glory for the few came at the cruel cost of suffering for the many.
[Colosseum - 327th year of Epoch Era, Month of Radiance, 23rd Day]
In the center of Aridoria, surrounded by bustling markets, clanging blacksmiths' forges, and the skilled warriors from distant lands, stood the Colosseum. It was not merely a testament to grandeur, but the epicenter of commerce, craftsmanship, and combat in this remarkable town. Rising like an ancient titan, its massive stone walls bore witness to the presence of ancient runic inscriptions, their origins shrouded in mystery, marking not only the arena's enigmatic enchantments but also the heart of Aridoria itself.
These mystical defenses remained nameless and mysterious, fulfilling a dual role by safeguarding both the sanctity of the arena's battles and the mesmerized spectators. They ensured that the fierce combats within remained contained, protecting the citizens from the unrestrained fury of the combatants and preserving the vibrant hub of trade, blacksmithing, and warrior prowess that flourished in this remarkable crossroads of cultures.
As the day's first rays illuminated the Colosseum, a growing crowd thronged its entrances. The air buzzed with anticipation and excitement, as the audience exchanged hushed conversations and engaged in spirited debates over which champion would emerge victorious. The most intriguing duel of the day was a match between the legendary champion, known as "Aurelius the Invincible," and a fearsome B+ rank monster called "Razorthorn."
In one corner of the crowd, a group of nobles congregated in the VIP room, an opulent chamber adorned with gilded tapestries and plush velvet seating. They sipped on exotic wines and nibbled on rare delicacies, all while enjoying the spectacle in the comfort of their exclusive enclosure. The atmosphere was one of opulence and privilege, as they watched the unfolding drama below, their own debates centered on wagers and bets placed on the outcome of the epic battle between champion and monster.
But what they don't know is that there is a hidden room, a privilege reserved for the most influential nobles and those fiercely loyal to their master, the enigmatic figure who holds sway over Aridoria, known only as the Grand Inquisitor.
In this secret chamber, luxury far surpassing that of the VIP room awaits, where rare delicacies, the mere dream of the VIP room, are set out as if they were common fare. The expanse is vast, a testament to the ancient runic magic that has endured for over centuries, dating back to a time long before the Epoch Era.
It's a room adorned in sumptuous crimson velvet, a haven of luxury that embraces all who step within. Here, the real authority and sway of the mysterious Grand Inquisitor come to the forefront, concealed from curious gazes. It's in this elegant chamber that discussions about Aridoria's future take place, where influential nobles and loyal followers gather to influence the town's path.
In the midst of the grand chamber adorned in rich crimson velvet, an air of debauchery permeated the room. The sound of moaning and grunts were heard between the two individuals. The scene revealed the woman on top of the man, with him beneath her writhed in evident pain, his contorted expressions revealing the intensity of his suffering. It was unmistakably clear that he had been reduced to something beyond mere humanity, resembling nothing more than a lifeless husk of flesh, akin to a desiccated plant.
"Hm... Oh..., yes, boy," she moaned quietly, and purred seductively, her tone laced with arousal, and malice, "your energy is truly intoxicatingly potent, give me more, ah... yes..." Said by the woman in her naked sweaty body.
The man below uttered not a word; his eyes were devoid of life, and his cheeks were so hollow that it left a lasting impression, likening him to an otherworldly, zombie-like being in the wild.
"Mmm... oh yes," she sighed, her words filled with anticipation and pleasure, " hah... hah... I can feel it, you want to come right, you want to come in my tight hole?" ask the women, her desire palpable, filled with longing and anticipation to pursue that ultimate pleasure.
After that, the women's movements grew more vigorous, the sound of their passionate rhythm echoing through the opulent chamber. The room was filled with the unmistakable wet and squelchy sounds. Hearing this sound make the women even more turned on.
"Yes, yes, yes, Come on, Ah... AH.... Come on boy, give me that, give me your last offering. Mmm.. Yeah. I'm coming, coming, hah... Hah... I'M CUMMING." The woman's body trembled, her face filled with ecstasy, and her eyes closed in bliss. But in that moment, an unsettling yet captivating energy enveloped the woman. A subtle, eerie pink glow emanated from her body, and her eyes, now possessing slit pupils, held a mesmerizing and slightly disconcerting allure.
Beneath her, the man's breath had stilled, his body frozen like stone. He grew ever more alien, as if the gentlest touch might turn him to dust, destined to vanish from memory.
Not long after that, the sound of a door opening could be heard, and as the door swung open, an aged man entered the room. His face was marked by time and wisdom yet hinted at youthful vibrance. His silver hair elegantly framed his features. The intensity in his captivating black eyes reflected a lifetime of experience, drawing others in. Despite the etched lines, a youthful glow emanated from within, a testament to his unbound spirit.
The black clothes he wore, fitting of his noble status, exuded timeless sophistication, reflecting his refined taste. This enigmatic man's presence lay in the captivating contrast between his weathered features and the spark of vitality that shone through, leaving all who encountered him in awe of his enduring charm.
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"So, have you completed your business, Lady Blackthorn?" inquired the newcomer, his voice heavy with weariness and monotony.
The radiant glow enveloping her body seemed to dissipate, and her eyes returned to their usual state. Upon hearing his comment, she turned slowly and flashed the man her signature seductive grin.
"Ah, Lord William, please, call me Velveletta. We've moved beyond mere acquaintances, haven't we? I'd consider us friends and colleagues now," responded the alluring, naked woman. Her voice, though breathy, still possessed a silky, seductive quality that could easily ensnare even the most composed of men.
Unfortunately, the man who had engaged in conversation with Velveletta was far from ordinary. He possessed a keen awareness of Velveletta's true nature. With a cold, calculating gaze, he remarked, "Please, Lady Blackthorn, adorn yourself with your attire. And I don't recall granting you the privilege of addressing me by my name."
Lord William's words held a subtle, yet unmistakable air of authority and a hint of underlying tension, conveying his understanding of the situation and a measure of control over it.
In response to Lord William's stern comment, Velveletta maintained her seductive demeanor, her voice a sultry purr as she teased, "Apologies, Lord William. Your name just seems to slip from my lips more easily than titles and formalities. But if formality is your preference, I'll comply... for now."
Her words carried a subtle challenge and an alluring invitation, hinting at the complex relationship between them—one of reluctant acquaintances, cooperating solely for the benefit of their shared master.
As he heard his name mentioned by the woman, William felt a flicker of power stir within him. Yet, he exercised restraint, recognizing that her cooperation held paramount importance for his own goals and his master.
Amidst the growing tension, another figure entered the room—a portly nobleman with a deceptively calm exterior that concealed a hint of malice. His bald head gleamed with polished brilliance, enhancing his imposing presence. His captivating red eyes held an enigmatic depth, hinting at hidden darkness within his soul. His muscular frame exuded a calculated composure, a testament to his sharp intellect.
He wore opulent, well-tailored attire that gracefully draped over his ample form, radiating wealth and authority. What made him truly intriguing was the juxtaposition between his unassuming appearance and the unsettling aura of danger he exuded. Those who encountered him were both drawn to his commanding presence and wary of the enigmatic secrets he harbored.
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"Prepare yourselves, the master approaches," he announced, causing the two individuals to stiffen with determination. As he stepped aside, they moved forward, and get ready to face their master.
Deep beneath the grandeur of the Colosseum, where the deafening roars of the arena's enthusiastic crowd gave way to eerie silence, lay the prison dungeon. Here, the air was thick with an oppressive sense of dread and despair. The walls, once adorned with the triumphant stories of gladiators, were now encrusted with filth and decay. Dim torches, barely flickering, cast long, menacing shadows that seemed to writhe in agony. The dungeon's inhabitants, a forgotten and forsaken lot, shared only the tormenting echoes of their wails and the palpable cruelty of their captivity.
As an agonizing wail reverberated through the darkened passages, it was followed by an indescribable voice, a haunting resonance that seemed to defy the laws of nature. It was a voice that echoed with the collective suffering of those who had met their fates in the unforgiving arena above. The desperate cries of the damned mingled with the chilling whispers of the tortured souls, forming an eerie symphony of despair that enveloped every inch of the dungeon.
Among the shadows and squalor, a figure emerged—a 12-year-old boy, his once-black hair now matted and tangled, his yellow eyes hollow and vacant. His skin, pale and malnourished, bore the rugged marks of a life endured in the deepest pits of the Colosseum. Clad in tattered, bloodied rags that were once white, he was a living testament to the horrors concealed beneath the glamorous façade of the arena.
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Now, it's apparent that he remains in an unconscious state, even as his eyes flutter open. Above the boy, is three person who is responsible for the boy condition,
"Well, this little guy is at it again, huh?" remarked one of the gladiators, his expression contorted into a malicious grin, oozing with a disturbing sense of satisfaction.
"Yeah," chimed in another, "he's got quite the fight in him, doesn't he? It's clear he still needs to LEARN." As he uttered these words, the gladiator delivered a swift, cruel kick to the boy's prone form. The boy twitched in response, trapped in an unconscious state, even as his eyes remained eerily open.
"AHHH... YES, I feel that agony, more... MORE," exclaimed the sadistic gladiator, relentless in his brutality. With each kick, his expression twisted into ecstasy, relishing the infliction of pain upon another. It was not difficult to understand why he served as a guard in this prison.
Watching this sadistic spectacle unfold, the warden, a sinister figure who harbored a deep-seated hatred for the boy, reveled in the torment. His eyes gleamed with a malevolent delight, but he craved more than just physical suffering. He yearned to witness the complete transformation from hope to despair, an experience that brought him an eerie satisfaction, surpassing even when he fuc*ing one of the best sluts from his favorite brothel.
With permission granted by his unseen master, he possessed the power to twist the most hopeful into the most despairing, breaking the spirits of those unfortunate enough to be held captive in this place. Therefore, even as he longed to witness the boy's demise, his desire was for it to unfold with a sinister elegance that would etch a lasting mark of despair on all who bore witness.
So with the heavy heart and dissatisfaction, He raised a hand, gesturing for the two gladiators to cease their brutal assault.
"Zanir, Thyros, stop," he commanded with a sinister grin. "I know you want to end this boy's life, but I have a far better plan in mind." His eyes gleamed with a malevolent excitement, a wicked light that matched the dark depths of his twisted imagination. He let out a low, chilling chuckle, savoring what expression will the boy have.
Upon hearing this, they were initially stunned, but soon after, a chilling, unsettling laughter escaped their lips, sending shivers down the spines of anyone who heard it. They knew their boss's game all too well, having been in his service for quite a while, and they were all too familiar with the twisted thoughts that crossed their boss mind.
"So, what's the plan, boss? I mean, this kid's got a pretty long history with our game, so what's the deal?" Zanir, one of the gladiators, asked the warden.
The warden's eyes darted around the room, his gaze frenzied. He appeared lost in thought for a moment before his gaze locked onto the boy.
"You know, this kid's got those eyes that just get under my skin! Even after we've put him through hell, offed some of his cellmates, and whatnot, THOSE EYES STILL BURN WITH DETERMINATION AND HOPE! IT'S DOWNRIGHT DISGUSTING!" the warden ranted, his voice growing increasingly unhinged as he shouted.
Suddenly, the warden took a deep breath, as if he were calming himself down. He regarded the boy with a strange mix of respect and disdain, like one would look at a bug that had somehow managed to survive a hurricane.
"I must admit, there's a certain resilience in this boy, like a persistent insect that refuses to be squashed," the warden stated, his tone adopting a somewhat formal air. His expression then took a disturbing turn, and he added, "And that's exactly why I wanna see... I wanna see just how deep this kid's despair can go. You know what they say, when something gets harder to get, people desire it even more."
The gladiators exchanged intrigued and somewhat twisted glances, their fascination mingling with curiosity and a hint of wicked delight. Finally, Zanir spoke up, "Okay, calm down boss. So, what's the game plan here? How do we go about breaking him down and finding out what he's really made of?"
The warden leaned in, "You see, much like all our prisoners, we offer him a glimmer of hope, the illusion that he might find his way out of this place. However, the boy, he's no stranger to our little game. We feed him morsels of truth, tell him if he can somehow survive his sentence, there's a slim chance he might make it out of here."
Zanir and Thyros exchanged surprised glances, their eyes widening in disbelief. Zanir couldn't help but blurt out, "Wait, are you saying you're actually giving him a shot at getting out of here?"
The warden, upon hearing this, allowed his gaze to turn icy and replied, "Indeed, I'm giving him that opportunity." But then, a manic expression overtook him, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "And that's where the real fun begins—when he discovers that his punishment is truly an impossible feat." The warden paused, lost in the twisted image of despair he envisioned, picturing the boy's eyes growing dull and lifeless, his expression becoming as vacant as a puppet with its strings cut.
"KHAHAHAHHAHAH... YESSSS, I CAN'T WAIT ANYMORE" A chilling, manic laugh escaped the warden's lips, a high-pitched and unsettling sound that echoed through the room, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it.
Zanir and Thyros exchanged wicked grins as the warden's laughter filled the room, a chilling and manic sound that seemed to reverberate with a twisted delight.
After a while, the laughter subsided, and then Thyros asked, "So, what's this punishment gonna be, boss? I've had my fair share of goin' at this kid, but he's as stubborn as a cockroach." He looked at the warden with anticipation. "I've been itchin' to try out some of my new tools, see if we can finally break that iron will of his and give you the despair you're after."
"No, Thyros, your methods won't cut it. What I have in mind is far more effective. You see, our colosseum is thirsting for more blood and spectacle, and what's more thrilling than an all-out slaughter?" said the warden with a growing sense of excitement in his expression.
Hearing this, the gladiators exchanged a puzzled glance, but after a moment, understanding dawned on them, and excitement crept in. Thyros, the most thrilled of the bunch, couldn't help but exclaim, "So, you mean you want this kid to become one of our 'Thralls'?"
The warden nodded eagerly, his tone shifting to one of enthusiasm, like a kid who had just discovered a new toy. "Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? The last 'Thralls' in our colosseum was three years ago, and it's faded from memory. Those bugs got too cozy and forgot what happens when they rebel. It's high time we resurrect the tradition and remind our slaves what goes down when they cross Aridoria."
Zanir, who maintained his composure even in his excitement, asked, "So, what will our kid be fighting?"
"A rare monster born from the fierceness of the colosseum, Gruskorn," replied the warden with anticipation.
Zanir and Thyros couldn't contain their excitement, fully aware of the sheer challenge that 'Gruskorn' presented. They had struggled to take down the monster themselves, even with their combined strength and matching aura levels.
Thyros chimed in, "Well, that kid's in for a wild ride. Too bad it won't be me who gets to bring him down." He couldn't help but sound a tad disappointed.
Zanir couldn't help but ponder for a moment before addressing the warden, "But boss, is there any chance that kid might—"
Before Zanir could finish his sentence, the warden interrupted him, and his tone took on a manic edge, "Like I said, it's impossible! We'll make it even more despairing for him by feeding him false information about what he'll be up against. And, of course, we'll aim to break him not just physically, but also spiritually."
"More labor, fewer meals, and, of course, a daily torture from the two of you," the warden continued, his voice growing increasingly unhinged. He struggled to contain his huffing excitement, the anticipation of the impending cruelty almost too much for him to bear.
Zanir and Thyros couldn't help but let grins creep across their faces, their minds already racing with visions of what they would do to the boy. But before they could fully savor their dark imaginings, the warden interjected.
"Of course, let's not forget that you both oversee all the slaves in this prison dungeon. Following our discussion, I want you to inform all the guards that every slave will undergo this particular punishment."
Zanir couldn't help but look puzzled. "Why do all the slaves need to share in this boy's punishment?"
The warden smirked devilishly and spoke casually, his eyes glinting with malevolence, "Can you even begin to wrap your head around the amount of hate this kid's gonna catch? Picture this, he's got his new bug buddies, and suddenly, they all turn on him, itching for payback."
Zanir suddenly got the devious plan and turned to his unhinged boss, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he said, "Alright, boss, that's some twisted genius right there, and count me in."
After that conversation, the three figures turned their attention back to the still unconscious boy. The warden then gave an order, "Get this bug back to his cell, and while you're at it, toss that one in there too."
Zanir couldn't help but ask, his curiosity piqued, "Why are we putting them together?"
The warden then grinned and said, "Because that one's just like this bug here, and let's just say that girl has served her purpose. And, well, wouldn't you love to witness the look of despair on her once-fair, beautiful, and noble face?"
Thyros overheard this and chuckled, "Oh yeah, that fallen girl, hehe. Looks like these two are in for some fun."
As the warden's sinister plan took shape, the dark specter of cruelty loomed over the prison, casting a long shadow over the unfortunate boy. Zanir, Thyros, and the warden reveled in their anticipation of the impending despair, their malevolent spirits united in the sadistic games they were about to orchestrate. The colosseum awaited its next gruesome spectacle, and the boy would soon learn the full extent of his merciless captors' intentions.
But what they didn't know was that, in this very moment, there was a soul, brighter than the sun, with a light that shone more determined and steadier, merging with the boy's soul. This soul was destined to change not only the fate of the world but also the fate of a special individual, someone whose destiny was yet unknown. The world teetered on the brink of an impending catastrophe, and thanks to this soul, just maybe, the world would discover its path to a happy ending, with the fate of this unnamed individual intertwined with it.
[??? POV]
I groaned, my world a swirling vortex of confusion and pain. Slowly, like shards of glass piecing together a fractured memory, my senses began to coalesce. The first thing I noticed was the searing ache in my body, every muscle protesting as I attempted to move. It felt as though I'd been pummeled into oblivion.
The surroundings were shrouded in shadows, and I couldn't quite piece together how I'd ended up here. My head throbbed relentlessly, a relentless, pulsating pain that seemed to tear through my skull. It was so agonizing that I couldn't help but let out a scream, the sound reverberating in the dank, stone chamber.
"KHH, AHHHHH, HAH.......Hah.......Hahh"
As I regained some of my bearings, I realized I was in some sort of dimly lit, damp cell. The cold, clammy stone floor pressed uncomfortably against my cheek. My last recollection was a flurry of kicks and brutal punches. But by whom and for what reason?
The cell itself was a grim and foreboding place, with damp, moss-covered walls that seemed to close in on me. Rusty iron bars barred my exit, and the air was heavy with the acrid scent of dampness and decay. It was a prison dungeon, a place of despair and captivity.
But there was something else, something that sent shivers down my spine. It was as though a fragment of another soul had merged with mine during that inexplicable moment of unconsciousness. The memories were a tangled mess, like two rivers colliding and intertwining. I couldn't quite discern where I was, what had happened, or the significance of this newfound presence within me. The pain in my head only intensified as I grappled with these unanswered questions, threatening to overwhelm me once more.
[W-where am I?]
Thanks for the chapter.