Pain.
That was the first thing Don felt when consciousness clawed its way back—a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed through his entire body like a second heartbeat.
His eyes cracked open to darkness. Not the absolute void he'd fallen into, but something close. Dim, suffocating, pressing down on him like a physical weight.
Stone. Cold, damp stone beneath him. The air thick with the smell of mold, old blood, and something else—something that made his newly acquired Immortal body recoil instinctively. Sulfur. Decay. The stench of demons.
Don tried to move. His arms responded sluggishly, heavy as lead. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his back scraping against rough stone wall. His head spun, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out again.
[System Alert]
[Host has regained consciousness]
[Location: Unknown - Underground structure detected]
[Environmental analysis: High concentration of demonic energy]
[Warning: Foreign object detected on Host's body]
Foreign object?
Don's hand went to his throat instinctively—and froze.
There was something there. A collar. Smooth, almost warm to the touch, made of material that felt like neither metal nor leather.
It pulsed against his skin with a rhythm that didn't match his heartbeat. As his fingers traced its surface, he felt it—a gem, cold and smooth, embedded at the front.
[Analysis complete]
[Object identified: Demon-forged Suppression Collar]
[Effect: Blocks access to Imagination skill]
[Secondary effect: Drains mana over time]
[Current mana: 200/650]
[Warning: Prolonged exposure may cause permanent damage to skill pathways]
Don's breath caught. They'd put a collar on him. Like a dog. Like a slave.
No. No, no, no—
"Easy there," a voice said from the darkness. Young, male, carrying a strange mix of weariness and amusement. "Panicking won't help. Trust me, I've tried."
Don's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes, slowly adjusting to the gloom, made out bars—thick iron bars separating his cell from the one adjacent.
And behind those bars, a figure sat with his back against the wall.
A boy. Maybe fifteen years old, though it was hard to tell in the dim light filtering from somewhere high above. Black hair that fell into his eyes. And when he looked up, Don saw them—red eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness.
Red eyes. Like the demoness. Like—
"Relax," the boy said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm not going to hurt you. Can't, even if I wanted to." He gestured to his own throat, where an identical red collar gleamed. "Same situation as you, apparently."
Don didn't move. Every instinct screamed danger, but his body was too weak, too drained to do anything about it. He studied the boy more carefully now.
The collar looked identical to his own. The boy's clothes were torn and stained—a simple shirt and pants that might have once been white but were now the color of dried mud and old blood.
His hands bore fresh cuts, and there was a bruise blooming along his left cheekbone.
"Who…" Don's voice came out as a croak. He swallowed, tried again. "Who are you?"
The boy's smile was bitter. "Nobody important. Just another prisoner." He shifted position, and Don heard the clink of chains. The boy's ankle was shackled to the wall behind him.
"Been here… three days? Four? Hard to tell without sunlight. What about you? You're new. I heard them bring you in a few hours ago."
Hours. Don's mind raced. The quest. How much time did he have left?
[Time Remaining on Quest: 06:47:33]
Six hours and forty-seven minutes. He'd been unconscious for four hours.
"What is this place?" Don asked, his voice steadier now.
"The Royal Castle's dungeons. We're deep underground—maybe five or six levels down."
The boy leaned forward slightly, his red eyes catching what little light there was. "You're from the city, aren't you? The capital. I can tell by the way you talk."
Don said nothing, watching him carefully.
The boy sighed.
"Look, I get it. Trust no one, especially not someone with red eyes in a demon dungeon. Smart."
He paused, then added quietly, "But I'm not your enemy. Not really. I'm… complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"The kind of complicated that gets you thrown in a cell and tortured for fun." The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut. "The demons think I betrayed them. The humans would kill me on sight for what I am. So here I am, stuck in the middle, waiting for someone to decide which way to dispose of me."
Tortured. The word hung in the air between them.
"What did you do?" Don asked despite himself.
The boy was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer, almost… sad. "I tried to warn them. The humans in the city. About the tainted water.
About what was coming." He laughed, a hollow sound. "Fat lot of good it did. Nobody listened. And the Blood King… well, he doesn't take kindly to traitors."
Don's pulse quickened. "The Blood King?"
"You'll meet him soon enough," the boy said darkly. "He's very interested in you. That red hair of yours… it's got everyone talking. They think you're one of us. Are you?"
"No." The word came out harder than Don intended. "I'm not a demon."
"Neither am I," the boy said quietly. "Not fully. But that doesn't matter to them. Or to anyone else."
Half-demon. Like the girl who'd captured him. Like what they'd accused Don of being his entire life.
"The city," Don said suddenly, his hands clenching into fists. "What happened to it? After I—after they took me?"
The boy's expression grew somber. "It's gone. Everyone who drank the water… they changed. Became those things. Mindless, hungry.
The demons are using them as foot soldiers now, spreading across the continent." He paused. "I'm sorry. If you had friends there—"
"I didn't." Don cut him off. The words felt like ash in his mouth, but they were true. He'd had no friends. No one who cared. Just Alfred, and Alfred was—
Where?
"Your family?" the boy asked gently.
"My father left. Before the invasion." Don's jaw tightened. "I don't know where he is."
"Maybe that's for the best," the boy murmured. "At least he's not here."
Silence fell between them.
Don's mind churned, trying to process everything. He was trapped. Collared. His Imagination skill was locked away, and his mana was draining. Six hours left on his quest to survive, and he was in the heart of enemy territory.
But he was alive. That counted for something.
"The girl," Don said abruptly. "The one with red eyes and black hair. Half-demon. Is she—"
"Selene." The boy's voice held a strange note. "That's her name. She's… one of the Blood King's favorites. Very powerful for someone so young. Did she hurt you?"
"She captured me."
"Then you're lucky. Selene doesn't usually let her targets live long enough to become prisoners." The boy shifted again, and Don heard him wince in pain.
"She'll probably come back. She always does. Asking questions, trying to figure out why you're different."
"Different how?"
"Red hair. Immune to the taint. Able to use Source-based abilities." The boy tilted his head. "You're not normal, even by our standards. Whatever you are, the Blood King wants to know more."
Before Don could respond, a sound echoed from somewhere above—footsteps, multiple sets, descending stone stairs.
The boy's expression hardened.
"They're coming."