"Let's go, slaves. This way."
Mistress V ushered them toward two wooden wagons, each fitted with six iron cages, large enough to cram five people inside.
"You lot are lucky," she added, her voice sweet but sharp.
"His Lordship, Viscount Thompson, bought you.
It should be an honor to be owned by such a prestigious man."
Her eyes shone, almost dreamy, as if the idea of that man owning her thrilled her beyond reason.
"V, my dear, you haven't changed at all since I last saw you."
The voice made V's breath hitch.
"V-Viscount Thompson, it's…it's a pleasure having you at this branch of the Silver Moon," she stammered, her horrible voice cracking from nerves and… arousal?
The man approaching her was grotesque.
His bald head glistened under the sun, his bloated face struggling to breathe, flushed pink as if he were perpetually choking.
Beneath his chin, layers of fat formed grotesque folds.
Despite his monstrous body, he was dressed with care.
A deep purple robe over a white undercoat stretched tight over his ball-like frame.
Around his blubbery neck, a golden amulet dangled, set with a brilliant purple jewel etched with ancient runes.
"Load them up, boys. I want to get going immediately.
I need to deliver this scum to the dungeon grounds. Furthermore, I have other business to attend to."
He glanced back at V, offering a greasy smile.
"And as for you, V, the pleasure is all mine.
How have you been?
Any changes recently?
Any… suitors?"
"Of course not, my lord. I am married to my work now."
She leaned in, a glint of hope in her eyes.
"Unless… you wanted to change that."
Viscount Thompson ignored the invitation. "Very well, V. We're just about ready to go.
Here's the 230 silver for the slaves.
I've already set the delivery of slave collars to my main estate. I hope they will arrive on time."
"Stay out of trouble, won't you?"
"Yes, my lord."
Her eyes lingered on him as he walked away, her hopeful smile collapsing into something bittersweet.
Inside the carriage, Robert Thompson's personal guard couldn't contain his curiosity.
"My lord, why do you keep toying with that Mistress V woman? Why not just take her as a concubine? Her body seems… well-suited for the picking."
Thompson's eyes narrowed. Who do you think you are to question me, felix?
"I meant no offense, my lord. Please forgive me."
The viscount grunted but said nothing for a while, watching the forest pass beyond the window.
"Felix," he said finally, his voice low, "don't ever go near that woman. She may look like she likes you, but what she's really after is money."
"But what's wrong with that, my lord?"
"Nothing if that's where her ambition ended. But it doesn't. That woman's been married four times to four different men.
And each time her husband and his entire family have been mysteriously killed, and she has seized everything they owned. Merchants, innkeepers, nobles… it doesn't matter. No one can touch her."
"Why not, my lord?"
Just forgetetet it. Stay away from her. Understand?
"Yes, sir."
◆◆◆
In one of the slave wagons, chained to an iron bar, sat a boy who barely looked alive.
His body was so thin his bones pressed against his skin. Wild, matted black hair spilled over his face, with two wolf ears poking through the strands.
His dull amber eyes scanned his surroundings like he was waking from a deep slumber.
But if one were to look closely, they'd see it a raw, suffocating hatred, simmering beneath the surface.
He sat alone, chained like a rabid beast. Unlike the other slaves, who moved freely within the cage, he had to be restrained, even among his own kind.
The other slaves looked at him with disgust as if they weren't chained too. As if he didn't deserve to live.
Hate.
It was the only thing keeping his mind from shattering.
Hate.
The last thread holding his fragile sanity together.
Kill.
The thought echoed endlessly.
He wanted to rip the heads off everyone in the cage. He wanted to massacre them all.
He wanted to kill the one who bought him. He wanted to drown the world in their blood.
They took him from his home. They took his brother and separated them from his mother. He didn't even know if his brother was still alive.
Kill.
They had sold him, he had to escape.
Hate.
They treat him like a filthy mindless beast.He had to kill them.
Kill.
They took his Brother. They had to pay.
Hate.
Made him leave his mother behind. They had to suffer.
Kill.
They all needed to die.
Hate.
Wait. What did they do again? Who am I?
Kill.
Why should I kill them? Where am I?
Hate.
And What the hell is that?
[Host's mental state is deteriorating. Unable to accept system initiation. Emergency override commencing. Prepare yourself for…]
[PAIN]
[Host body and mind are not in optimal condition. Gifts will be forcibly implemented to prevent collapse.]
[Gift One: Freedom of the Broken, Level 1]
1.Grants an unnaturally strong mind. Resistance to mental collapse.
2. Greatly enhances resistance to poisons, addictive substances, and drugs.
A headache exploded in his skull, a burrowing, writhing agony like something clawing into his brain, splitting it apart not in two, no two was too small. It was three.
Six. Twelve. Fifty. Six hundred. Nine thousand.
More. More. More. More.
He struggled against the chains, but they held him fast.
All he could do was scream.
Blood gushed from his nose, his ears, his eyes. His vision blurred, returned, and blurred again.
And the worst part when his mind began stitching itself back together he could feel everything. He understood everything.
And that made it worse oh so much worse.
[Freedom of the Broken successfully installed. Initiating Gift Two: Body of Pure Devastation.]
What?
[Gift Two: Body of Pure Devastation, Level 1]
1.Automatically adapts the host's body to the peak condition.
The scream that tore from him wasn't a choice, it was ripped out of him as his body ignited.
It wasn't fire. It was worse.
His veins burned.
His bones shattered.
His muscles tore and reformed.
His skin peeled away in bloody strips—until something stronger replaced it.
His hair fell in clumps, drifting like black ash—only to regrow, longer, darker, heavier. Light no longer touched him.
CRACK!
His spine arched.
His tail jerked and then split.
A second tail forced its way from his spine, bones snapping, tendons stretching, flesh twisting.
Blood poured from his mouth as his teeth cracked and fell only to grow back, sharper. Stronger. Feral.
And then… the voice came.
Not the system's.
Not his own.
Not the guards dragging him outside the cage.
A voice like time shattering. Like galaxies screaming. But at the same time it was calm.
"Azrael has been recognized. Evolution to Innate Stage: Third Star confirmed. May %#$?? grant you luck."
The last thing he saw was the fat bitch who bought him ordering the guards to give him a healing potion, chastising them for beating him even if he was
"just a filthy beast."
And then he saw her.
A girl, watching him. Her hair was a creamy White color and she had beautiful pink eyes,
she looked extremely malnourished like a skeleton.
But the more he looked at her the more he wasn't so sure.
And the more she looked back at him Curious, Pitying.