(Another chappy, had to prepare for a math exam rewrite, its tomorrow! Fucking teacher gave me 24 points less because of formal mistakes and didn't even let me argue with her. I went to the pricipal and he was like, 'Dafuq is this shit?!' as he saw my exam paper. Then he decided I should be able to rewrite it. Love that guy.

Warning: It's longer than any other chapter from this fiction so far!

Anyway, sorry about my rant, enjoy this chappy! :D )

I slowly woke up from my baleful slumber. The ground was as hard and cold as steel, the freezing gales of the night and the humidity in the cell should have affected a person more than just a sore back but my physique allowed me to enjoy the perks of being inhuman.

I first felt the real difference of my modified body when I arrived at this hellhole.

I was tortured non-stop, from night till break of dawn. With ulcerated wounds I was left in a corner, tears dotted my face and pain was an ever-present companion.

Benighted by darkness I drowsed in my lone corner. The pain sparked from my innumerable wounds, some internal lacerations and others cuts on my body. My grisly body was surprisingly resilient against the uncountable germs and parasites and with only a few minor bruises and a light cough I woke up, in the same corner, covered by gloomines and my ubiquitous blood and feces.

For the better or for the worse my body started to accustom itself to the torture. My pain receptors simply send less and less signals towards my brain, my pained screams turned sour, into roars of hate. My torturers felt the change, the pangs had lost its strings on me.

With glee and anxiousness they experimented further on my body. Tried their cruelest methods on me, showed their forte; which part they could make hurt the most. It was funny in a sense, seeing all these grown men frolic like children. Of course it was less funny because I was their subject and my pain was their impetus.

I could count two years before they felt bored by the continous torture. They left me to my own devices but only after cruely disfiguring my proud horn. It was cut and broken to pieces and only a dull remnant of a once majestic horn remained.

Nonetheless I was proud for what little was left of my former self.

Before long I wa sent into the 'cage'. With nothing but barely covering leatherpants I was thrown into the arena. Taken off-guard by the sudden change I waddled forward, to the only source of light in the dark corridor. It was, of course, the entrance to the arena.

I could hear the loud yodeling of the crowd and their stampeding feet, it was more reminiscient of a massive exodus than simple stomping. The walls shuddered and after a loud call from outside the noise receeded and a thick tension spanned through the air. Even from behind the gate I could feel it crisp clear, my heart nearly thumped out of my chest.

Moving forward in my slow gait I closed in on the exit, it's blinding light extremely contrasting with the veiling darkness that environed me. At my front was something akin to freedom and behind me was the eternal imprisonment. Be it desperation or the haunting nightmares, I just wanted to leave this place.

My feet and legs hurried towards the source of light, towards my salvation from this hell. But when I listened closely to the voice, that high-pitched, jarring screaming, my resolve felt vain and hollow. What replaced it was boiling hot hatred and wrath. It spilled out of my body, of each and every pore. My body and mind ramped in unison, my teeth clenched and spit and bile flew out like silver projectiles. My throat urged me to scream, shout and my body forced me to move and destroy, obliterate the source of all this pain. I wanted to vociferate over the whole mess that my life turned into, make space for my pent up anger but I quelled it all down. I squashed it all into a shard of pure hatred and kept it as a remembrance latent in my heart where it nurtured itself from my red desires and only waited to be freed.

I felt my skin tremble as I was approaching the source of my pain further. It was a mixture of panic and sickening rancour over my own despairing.

The huge metal gates lifted into their slots, like the fangs of a snake they only waited to burry themselves deep into the ground to hide its victim in its vile intestines once again.

Without even me knowing I started to glare menacingly at the outside world, outside sat all those people, enjoying their lives, feasting on the forthcoming slaughter and the freedom they grasp.

With light steps I left the gate, old silence was filling the air and only a few sparse gales hushed through the arena.

My attention, which I thought would undoubtly be focused on the more pig than human man, shifted through the audience and stopped on an inconspicuous plain of liquid gold.

Two long and pointy ears peeked timidly through the veil of long blonde hair that descended down her fair and white shoulders like a golden cascade. The tip of her ears were coloured in a light rogue, like a glacé apple. I noticed her trembling under my red-hot glare and the sight of the trembling girl with a head full of gold and her fine dress evoked emotions burried deep inside my heart. A single phrase escaped the entanglement that were my thoughts presently: 'How cute...'.

My heart jumped up and down inside my chest and feelings so long forgotten resurfaced out of oblivion to tinge my mind a mirth pink. My whole personna turned somehow blithe and all those troubles seemed to lay in the past, but they lurked in the shadows and only waited for my delight to wither like a drying and dying plant and then strike.

I dismissed my thoughts and broke my piercing glare as I smoldered my inner turmoil out. Her trembling lessend and I bit my inner 'ass' for making her shudder in fright in the first place; it just pulled my heartstrings to see such a feeble creature shiver from fear.

The emotionless glare from before returned and I faced the opposing entrance.

After the fat man spoke once again, a voice that will torment me for years to come and I would rather like to forget, the gate openned and an arabic themed man stepped into the spotlight.

The crowd started a heated disccusion but I paid it no mind. What I needed before the battle was a weapon.

I leisurely walked towards a single brown weapon rack leaning against the arena's wall.

It was filled with all kinds of crude weapons, their shafts were rough and the loose metal chinked and was rusty. Without a second thought I pulled out a long bastard sword.

It was dull but the brute force created by its massive weight compensated for it. Its durability was no joke either, the massive iron blade would even survive hits against stone. On second thought it was more of an iron slab than a sword...

My muscles heated up as I hoisted the sword into the air. I could see the muscles on my arm tremble as the weight of the sword pressed down onto the ground. Blue veins peeked under my epidermis and turned my skin into a maze of blue serpents.

I could faintly hear the shout for the start and let the sword smash onto the ground. I heaved it over the dirt and as I turned around I could see my opponent sprint with incredible speed towards my position.

His brown hands rested on the hilt of his two curved sabres. They tinkled against his legs with each of his feathery steps.

In a short moment he appeared right before my eyes. His dark brown -black- eyes glared infernally with their cold indifference.

With a shallow flick the copper at his waist turned into a pair of viscious vipers. They slithered across the air, side by side with his arms, and hounded for my unprotected left side.

My feet chut over the ground, the sword in my hand was barely any hindrance for my shrewd footwork. It resembled a suave dance under the moonlight.

I avoided the breezes of sword cuts by only a hair's margin. In the past, as a human from earth, I could have never hoped to achieve such a bodily control. I dodged in bizarre angles, used the chains as anchors to pull me over the terrain and my sword was nimbly turning and winding in the wind.

The man lunged forward, both swords pointed at me from above. I narrowly dodged the vertical slash which turned right before my eyes into a powerful thrust.

À la Matrix style I evaded the cold blades by leaning backwards and at the same time swiped with the broad sword for the man's feet.

With his body still being in a forward motion he used the energy to jump over my backwards leaned body and turn his thrust once again into a vertical slash that was aimed for the arteries on my neck.

I could see the copper coloured blades inch closer towards my neck, dangerously close. The power from my horizontal slash was used to move my body sideways and at the same time I used the flying chains as a pseudo shield as they tempested around me in abstract movements.

The man somersaulted in mid air and skid over the dry ground. His momentum raised up a thin cloud of dust.

I jumped up from the ground I tumbled over and pressed my right shoulder tightly against my neck. A sanguine, red line was continously letting crimson liquid seep through my bronze skin. From the amount of blood that was oozing out of my flesh I could guess that an artery might be punctured by the slash. It was a dangerous situation, I could suffer any time from haemoorhagic shock.

I let the sword rest on my body, spit a large drop of saliva on my finger and applied the thick spittle over my wound. It was better than nothing in the end.

Be it my saliva or my improved physique, my body recovered at a pace so fast that I swear that I could feel it regenerate.

As I fumbled with my fingers over my neck I felt a sharp edge point at my skin. After feeling around some more I came to the conclusion that the collar around my neck was chipped and possibly saved my life. I was a bit conflicted at that moment. The blade would have passed my neck weren't it for the iron collar, but because of this collar I was here in the first place. MY fingers clenched around the piece of metal encircling my throat -with hate and pain-. My turmoil was quickly resolved and the same fury as ever brood in my mind and reigned over the other emotions with cold determination.

I picked the heavy sword up, the man opposite of me was observing my actions with keen eyes. He was a honorable opponent that would only fight an armed person, his eyes told me as much.

He waited patiently for me to get ready, take a stance and collect my wits before the second round started. His forehead was slightly blanketed in dust and sweat but his overall condition was at its peak. Seeing me finish my preparations he let his body fall forward, his breathing was regular as though he was going in for a stroll and his eyes shone with bloodlust only a pinch inferior to my own.

The wind billowed over the arena, and marked the start.

He shot forward like an arrow released from the bowstring, both swords pointed forward, the horns of a bull ran straight into me. It appeared to be a simple and rushed maneuver, full of oppenings and only focused on offense, but I knew it was never good to underestimate his opponent.

I readied the clunky sword and rattled the chains over the ground, they were a good distraction.

In a few moments only he reached my position.

I jumped back; but before, I cracked the chains like thunderous whips through the air. They cackled like hyenas as they crashed into the ground. It put a tremendous strain on my ankles to move the humongous iron serpents but it rewarded me abundantly.

It was noisy and my eardrums pulsed from the continous thunderclaps but I pushed through.

The man dodged the iron chains' forward assault, as they dug into the ground like monstrous worms, but he could not avoid the backlashes. They were pulled back from behind and one managed to crash into his side.

He avoided a fatal injury by placing one of the swords between him and the chain. His arm cracked under the pressure and pushed his own blade deep into his flesh.

Both metals groaned as they clashed with each other but it was obvious that my massive chain prevailed. The sheer power of a leg and whipping motion powered iron chain was something that not even the most sturdy of humans could block unscathed.

""Ahhh..."", we both moaned from pain as he slid over the ground, holding his cracked side, whereas I felt a sharp pain from my legs. *SNAP!*, the pain intensified manyfold and the sound of strands snapping was heard. My muscles were aching and screaming for relaxation and the skin on my ankles was bloody and sore. I tried to move my legs but they defied my own will, I could feel the torn muscles.

'Shit...', I cursed myself, those movements were simply to overbearing on my body and my opponent. The strain should have been predictable but I was once again to rash and this was my retribution.

The man, Jerome, spat out a mouthful of blood beneath his face cover. The cloth turned from a light beige to a blood red. After the fabric soaked itself with the viscid liquid it started to drip large crimson tears. The man coughed once more and send a spray of blood between his lips, clustering on the cloth and turning it further red.

Surpressing his pain he stood stock still and readied his swords for another mad attack. His arm was bleeding profusely and one sword was bend in an odd angle but its sharpness remained untouched. With a deafening roar he collected his scattered pugnacity, and shock off the coughing fit.

I could faintly discern tensed gulps and eager breaths from the spectators. These actions only fueled my disdain for the audience and my mind was once again flooded with thoughts of hate and killing. Killing those people that took joy in the death of others. It was ironic that in my case I found some perverted joy in killing particulary these people. 'When did I even start liking to kill people?', I wondered but ony shook my head in response.

With a roar of my own I dispersed my red thoughts and focused on the opponent standing in front of me. My legs trembled in agony as I tried to move them. 'Gotta stay defensive huh...'.

I waited patiently for Jerome's next attack. I held the sword pointed to the ground, it dug a small pit into the patch of untouched brown. He agreed to my 'invitation'; after only a few seconds he was already circling around me, goggling for an opening he could abuse. With clenched teeth I followed his steps, my legs only moved with the utmost effort.

Abruptly he halted in his tracks, the copper swords at his sides clenched tightly by his hands and a deafening silence assimilated into our surroundings. Sweat dripped down my back anda my spittle turned thick. Only a sudden jump was neeeded to close the gap between us.

My sword was raised high and at the same time I kicked out for a last desperate distraction. The chain flew through the air, slower than before and plumeted down on the ground before hitting Jerome's body.

Instinctevly he jumped away in surprise but after a single glance at the ground he turned his attention towards me once again, a sneer visible under the stained cloth. With a swift dash he bombarded me with a flurry of swings.

My vision turned rust red as the swords filled my horizon to the brim. My taxed legs responded to late and a few of the slashes reached my body. They struck like a serpent, bit through my skin and diloricated my flesh like wet papertowels.

Two slashes were particulary strong, meant to rupture my flesh and servere my remaining arm. But to the surprise of Jerome and the gasping audience, that thought I would be torn apart, the swords stopped halfway through my flesh and bones. I already had a hunch that my body was more than just simply stronger. My skin, muscles and bones were denser than any human could ever achieve, even my hairs were thin strands of metal plaited into a dark blonde mane. My metabolism was extremely high, it caused extreme hunger and heat which was unbearable the first weeks. The pangs of hunger hit me hard and I even resigned to canibalism after the first months. Those unfortunate slaves...

But after a while it dimmed down as the feeling of a foreign substance entering my body intensified. It was most likely a by product of the 'elemental essence' in the air or even a third unknown substance besides the by me known mana and essence.

My eyes slanted into mocking curves as the wide eyed Jerome tried to pull his swords out of my body. My tissue hardened around the copper sabres like metal clamps.

The liquid red was silently flowing from my wounds but the swords showed no signs of leaving any time soon. With both sabers stuck in my left shoulder and right forearm respectively I was a miserable sight to see. It looked extremely painful, and in truth it was, but the wounds were bearable as long as vital spots were missed like right then and there. Concering the damage they did to my body it was only pat.

I gripped my sword tighter and swung it with brute force, no technique whatsoever, right into Jerome. It was an upward slash coming right out of the corner of his eyes.

My arm pumped incredible heat and the blood flowed now even quicker out of my grievous wounds, my sight grew somewhat blurry but I endured and pressed forth with my colossal sword. It split the air apart and blurred through space. The rough and jagged edges buzzed melodious with the wind.

The might of my swing was nothing to look down at. If I tried to put it into perspective it would be the raw might of a tiger and grizzly swing combined. A bestial power, maybe even a god-like power, that resided in my body from who knows where? The sword connected square with Jerome's chest like the stroke of the gong. By the law of inertia only his chest caved in before the rest of the body followed suit.

His feet left the ground and his head flung forward, not able to bend back fast enough. His body was propelled into the sky and a constant crackling squired his every movement. Only when the sword reached its maximum reach did the limp body shot through the air. In that moment Jerome turned into a ragdoll as he was chucked away by my swing for tens of meters. His body bend in odd angles and a red lotus burgeoned on his chest.

His fists were still balled, greedy for his swords, but the rest of his body was lifelessly lying on the ground. The dark brown eyes were wide in surprise but the light of life was wordlessly expired.

With heavy puffs between my dry lips I knelt down on one knee, my waulked hand lost its grip on the heavy sword and it plopped silently on the ground.

I groaned slightly as I pulled out the two sabres stuck in my flesh, a spate of blood discharged out of the wounds. I got up from the ground, still wheezing heavily and caked in my own blood.

Without looking back I entered once again the abode of darkness that was my home for the past years.

Not a single word was spoken as the guards closed the gate behind me and I entered the large corridor. Cheers errupted at my back but I payed it no heed.

A slight smile adorned my lips, the fight was a nice one, it was bloody, erratic and violent, exactly what I liked.

My horn resonated with my thougths as it pulsated with a warm rythm. A volatile battle frenzy spread through my body, my heavy legs felt light and the wounds slowly crept to a close, but to remain as ugly battle scars. I was in wonder over the warm-liquid like feeling, this quixotic but wanton feeling. I just wanted to continue the fight, slaughter some more and then bed hundreds of woman. It was a feeling stemming from my abstinence of killing, or rather the joy of killing originating by my transformation, and the warmth of another human body. The thoughts stung in my heart but I continued on, through the dark path and entered my 'chamber'.

The room was made of rough and cold stone, a hard wooden board was my 'bed' and a stinking latrine stood in the corner. A small window served as vent and only let sparse light through and into the room.

I sat down on the hard, chocolate-brown, wooden planks and inhaled deeply, not the stench around me but my scattered spirit.

Days passed, another fight which I left victorious. Over the time I turned into the colliseum's enigma. A young, promising fighter, a demon and a slave.

Weeks after my first fight, as I laid down on the ground training my body, harden it for future fights, a knock resounded on the thin door. I stopped and, to be fair, was startled quite a bit.

It was not the brutal, drunken knocking of the guards, looking for an object to vent their anger on, it was a knocking that said 'Can I come in?'. It was gentle and judging by the nonetheless heavy knocks it was a male visitor. 'How can this be?', it contradicted to what I experienced over the past few years, men loved it to oppress those weaker than them, or those that couldn't fight back.

So why was this person so insistently knocking and not just simply barge in and torture me like the rest did?

I wondered and wondered and the knocking remained constant. I waited for a few minutes but it did not pass and I began to think that this was just a figment of my imagination, my magnified heartbeat maybe that was pulsing against my bones?

A light cough and a murmur told me that this was indeed real, a real person stood outside, seperated by this door, and waited for a response. The person outside had to have longst turned its own knuckles bloody, so why was this person keeping this charade up, wasn't silence another form of an answer? And why even bother with a slave?

I gasped in surprise, maybe this person didn't understood such a simple principle. I smiled faintly as I thought about the dunce that was knocking incestantly on this door.

"Who is it?", I asked in a low voice while still lying on the floor.

"Marquis Herenthal Vior Hieden, I wish to speak with you.", a firm yet gentle voice responded, permeating through the door and carrying honest intentions. "You might not trust me but could you let me, old fool, in?", the voice continued.

I was flabbergasted. No, I had no idea who that man was but the title alone made me jump up in surprise. What did a man with such a position want to discuss with a slave?

With a slightly cracked voice I answered back. "O-of course, come on in.", I couldn't surpress the nervousness in my voice and in some way it made me panick for a short moment but only before I thought about the following. 'As a marquis he shares the same position as my slaver, so... shouldn't he be the same? A power hungry self-obsessed monster hiding beaneath human skin?'. The nervousness faded away from my face -to quickly maybe-, much like a culm of grass in a storm, and was replaced by a cold indifference.

The door sprang to life and creaked open. A man in a dark green mantle with yellow embroidery and a clean white vest stood in the door. He had a tall but slender frame, some muscles under the clothing were faintly visible. He had a clean shaven beard and thin black spectacles situated on his sharp nose. He had short black hair that complemented his lightly tanned skin. He looked extremely versed and held his posture with elegance but not the least bit of arrogance. Neither his dark brown eyes hid such.

His dark shoes tapped on the stone ground as he closed in on me.

Sly eyes probed me with their cunning gaze. I retaliated with a fierce gaze of my own, infused with bloodlust and wrath. The man paled slightly and gasped for a moment. He looked at me again and raised his hands up. "It's alright, I have no bad intentions.", he said while showing me a genuine smile.

Inside his framed glasses I saw a severe youth, broad chest, covered in grueling wounds that boiled hot with infection. Fresh wounds dipped his body into a bloody mess. A massive yet chipped horn grew from his head, it had an intense aura surrounding it, as if it would startle awake and hunt you in your nightmares. I bit my lower lip as I saw the intimidating figure of this youth, namely me, alone in his glum quarter.

I lowered my guard a bit and asked, neither aggressive nor torpid. "So... what do you want, marquis...", I placed emphasis on the word marquis, his position was just to high to meet with a slave, and I made it clear I wanted to know why he still did so.

"Honestly, I was rather appalled by the idea but... wait, could you tell me your name first?", he asked.

"I got no obligation to.", I answered flat.

The man sighed and a hint of simpathy was in his gaze. "I guess you are right...", he murmured silently while cupping his right fist into his left palm.

He cleared his throat, held one hand against his Adam's apple and spoke once again.

"This request might seem foolish, yes incredibly so, but please hear me out.", he nearly pleaded in a helpless voice. I nodded faintly. "This request of mine, it is up to you whether you accept or not but I promise you your life will be better than it is now.", he paused for a moment, let the words sink in. I nodded again and gestured him to continue.

"My daughter... seemingly took a fancy to you...", he scratched his head and I gazed at him with wide eyes. "She wants you to become her butler, servant, friend? Whatever... So... what do you say?", his voice drifted down on the last part and his tall frame looked now incredibly small and weak, even his face looked old and pallid.

"Pfffft.... hahahahahaha! Hyrion, Hyrion is my name.", I laughed out loud. This father was just to pathetic to lie and to loving too. "I would love to see the girl that could make a man like you submit. She forced you didn't she?", I asked in good humour.

"Hyrion is it? Nice ring to it. And yes... she is the devil.", a weak smile crept on his face. The smile spoke of defeat.

He turned and leaned his upper body into the hallway. With a strict yet loving tone he shouted. "Ciera, Miril, come here for a second. Where is my dear Clara?"

As he shouted these names I could hear the faint pitter patter of tiny feet on the stone floor. It sounded like tiny raindrops hitting on the hard stone ground. It stopped when two small figures appeared at the door and peeked through.

The girl at the front, the older one I supposed, could hardly reach my chin. She had a head full of smooth brown hair and equally chestnut brown eyes like her father. Inside her eyes I could see a dangerous bloodlust that waited to be released. It was less from her gaze filled with anticipation and cruelty but more on a spiritual connection between two of the same batch.

For a moment I thought this was the only girl but a few moments of awkward silence later and a pained expression on both the girl's and the father's face, another girl emerged behind the back of the first girl.

She was small compared to me, barely reaching my chest. Long waves of golden strands stretched over her meek shoulders. She had a white one piece dress on that highlighted her azure eyes and amde her the embodiement of innocence. Her weak trembling and the tears glistening in her eyes made her only more pure and precious.

The way both girls stood, so close to each other, my first thought was that they are sisters but the finned hands of the blonde girl and the lack of intensity in her glare made them abstract to much to be related genetically.

A uncomfortable silence persisted in the room.

"So what do you say? Do you agree?", the marquis asked.

I just looked at him baffled. "Yeah, I really did NOT want to know who these two young ladies are, I really did NOT want to...", uncharacteristically of me my tone was filled with bite.

"Oh I forgot!", the man exclaimed and hit himself on the head. 'Not good in hiding his emotions, a honest idiot. But how did he become a marquis then? Hum...', I thought to myself. I never fully trusted this person, in fact I wouldn't even trust a small kid that was whining on the street for its mommy, not after all what had happened... That he was a marquis and 'played' the innocent fool only fuelled my distraughtness.

The man put his hands on the brown-haired girl's shoulders. "This is my eldest daughter, Ciera.". The girl vigorously nodded her head up and down while holding out an outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you!", she downright shouted. I gently shook her hand. "Yeah... n-nice to meet you.". 'Ah... I am no good with such people.', it was the truth it only exasperated me to talk with such lively people. I need my time, my own relaxed atmosphere to work properly. The only exception was a bloodbath.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw two round sapphires peeking through its veil of gold, timid and abject. The blonde girl's body was trembling slightly.

The reason for her shyness was not without cause.

The man went behind Ciera and pulled the blonde girl forth, with one hand he pushed her to the front. "This is my youngest daughter, Miril!", an expression of pure joy flashed across the girl's face as the man said 'daughter'.

She made not even the slightest attempt to greet me and I did not hold it against her. I took the initative -before we stay here for any longer-.

"Hello my name is Hyrion, nice to meet you.", I tried to talk as anodyne as I could but to no avail.

The girl, Miril, stared at my calloused hands with wide eyes, her sight fluttering between my own eyes and the outstretched hand. Panik was written all over her face and the long strands of gold tremored as her whole body started to tremble.

I followed her switching gaze and looked at my own calloused hands. A bit of shame welled up inside of me. How could I think such a fine girl would take the weathered hand of a foreign youth, a slave and demon nonetheless.

I might have been a slave but my manners were not forgotten. MAybe it was precisely because I was a slave, Being mindful of every movement you make around strangers, not showing the slightest hint of disrespect. I became an obedient little lapdog; I realized.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips and my arm dangled down from my side.

Father and sister gave the girl a slightly disappointed look, the person in question was still squirming in place, trembling but no other motion whatsoever. Her eyes were turbid and cast on the grey floor. The air turned chilly and an awkward disposition spread through me.

It wasn't that I was particularly bad with other people, or the years of torture turned me numb for social contact. I was right now a simple young boy standing awkwardly before a young girl while scratching his cheek.

"Haa... I am sorry, she is a bit shy.", a mutual cheek scratching began between me and the father.

"No, it's alright.", I answered with my honest feelings. I was not upset or anything, in fact I pitied the girl a bit. She was sure to be alone for a long time.

I gave the father and especially Miril a reassuring smile.

The man wanted to bombard me with the same question as before as he raised his finger and opened his mouth. But before a single syllable left his mouth hurried footsteps clung from outside. Two footsteps, heavy and graceful.

A gracious woman entered before the noise of footsteps assimilated into the silence.

She had long dark brown hair reaching down to her waist, it was braided on one side. She had a long black robe covering her tall and slender body. Her eyes were a golden brown colour that was accentuated by her abnormally pale white skin. Her eyes were slightly droopy but looked as gentle as that of a saint. Her former deep red lips were a light pink that seemed to be drained of nurturing blood.

Once she entered she ruffled Ciera's short brown hair, kneeled and gave her a kiss. She did the same with Miril who looked now more worried than anxious, even her shuddering body came to a sudden stop.

'She has to be Clara... What kind of illness does she have?', I was rather intrigued by this world's diseases so the woman peaked my interest quite a bit.

And then behind her stood the man I despised the most.

The fat shot in every direction with each slow and heavy step he took. A beastial growl rang whenever the obese man breathed through his rattling mouth. Sweat gathered between the steaming folds of fat and skin. His two lone strands of hair on his calvous head danced with his irregular heartbeat that suffered from the yellow blubber suffocating the heart in a lethal deadlock.

The mustache on his upper lip dripped with smelling sweat, the entrance of the man made the latrine in the corner smell and look like a flowerbed.

Everyone had an appalled expression on their faces, except for the woman. Although I noticed a glimmer of hate in her eyes it might have been that she just hadn't the energy to express it on her face anymore.

"S-so, who wanted what?!", the excuse of a human being was resting on the doorframe and panted like a bitch in heat.

"Hooo, Duke Visor, so it was you...", the marquis Herenthal said with disdain lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"We thought we could buy of your slave...", the marquis' wife said, pangs visible with each word and furhter underlined as she termed me as 'slave'. 'She s a good person, probably.'.

"P-PAH NEVER!", the duke chortled with wide eyes as his mouth dripped disgusting saliva with each word.

"Viscount, I think you misunderstand. It is not your choice. He is slave, yes. But don't tell me you forgot the basic rights of slavery? A slave can buy himself free, as long as the sum he earned surpasses the damage he has done in its full cost. From what scarce information I have come by Hyrion falls under the category of a warslave, which I can hardly imagine, no wars are raging around the human empires, not with demons of course. I don't know which papars you have falsified but I digress.

And because he is considered a warslave he abides by a ten year contract, minors by a seven year contract even if he reaches adulthood in these seven years. Translated into currency those seven years are worth 160 gold coins, the equivalent sum of what a five headed family spends in three years for their daily necessities. ", the marquis breathed in and swallowed.

"W-wait a minut-!". "Stop right there, viscount!", the duke tried to retort but the marquis let him no breathing space.

"These seven years can be further decreased by physical labour; even duels. The worth of each task has to be agreed upon by both parties and the value disbursed directly to the slave as per contract. So, can you tell me where today's money for the duel is? Hyrion works in this establishment for two years already if what I heard was right, can you tell me where THAT money is? Or, don't tell me, you let him work illegaly? There is no way that is true, right dear viscount?!", the marquis' eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and bile foamed through them.

"What are you hinting at?!", the duke grinded his yellow teeth in anger.

"Well, we could go this way: From this day onwards Hyrion gets what he deserves and will buy himself free in five years maximum, or we go with this case to the court. Hyrion might remain as a slave but will be freed from your clutches. Of course I could buy him off of you, the slave status won't be removed for the following year and this damned collar remains, but a year in good hands is better than a day in yours.", with a sigh the marquis finished his lecture over basic slavery.

'That guy is quite shrewed, I knew I had to be careful...', as I thoguht so the aforementioned marquis turned his head to me.

"What do you say, think I can buy your ass out of this hellhole?!", he said so with a slight crack on his lips.

I considered. But in the end I couldn't just agree so readily. I didn't want to owe him. "I thank you for your kind offer but I decline, I would rather work my way out to the surface.", I cracked a slight smile as well.

The viscount just glared at me threatingly, hungry for my free labour and the relieve of torturing my body. But it would soon come to an end.

"Oh and before I forget,", the marquis was with one foot already out the door, his daughters and wife following him. "I just hope that you don't forget that it is prohibited to kill a slave or threaten its life by any means as long as reachable countermeassures are not in place. I just thought you looked like a person that might forget this. I'd love to see your next fight Hyrion!", the last part was more directed to the viscount, conveying that he expects me to survive under the tyrannical thumb of the count.

These were his last words as he left into the moist hallway and left behind a stupified slave, me, and a slaver that was pale from anger. He looked like burnt out charcoal.

This was how I met Miril and her family. I first didn't expect to meet her any time later but since then we started meeting each other. Every fight was followed up with lovely cuddling. My life did not only turn better but also harder. The viscount injected periodically a lethal poison which antidote had to be earnestly worked for. IT had no side effects, the marquis made sure of it after hearing about what the viscount schemed.

Ha, what am I saying? My life got better a whole lot!

I won't hide it, I love Miril! I might be a slave but who cares?! And guess what...

With a wide smile on my face I waited for my last fight, against the knight Ash. It would be my last fight as a slave, after that I would have paid off my non-existent debt created by non-existent documents.

My body leaned against the cold iron bars of the 'waiting room' and for what seemed like an eternity suddenly came true. Slow footsteps echoed in the hallway bordering to the cell.

With anticipating eyes I stared for the languid knight that would any moment enter. And there he was, back crooked and stride without any ingenuity. A sad sight of a knight.

His armor clamored with the same rythm as the keys in his hands. Those rusty keys shone as brightly as the morning sun, its metallic smell was as refreshing as lavender and roses adn its obnoxious rattling was as harmonous as the chirping of angelic birds.

I thoguht I drooled from joy as the keys unlocked my cell. I had to hold myself back to jump into the arms of the knight and give him a straight out smooch; he didn't knew it but for me he looked like the messiah's right now, a messiah in grey armor and a repulsive face.

With vigor directed for the coming fight I shot up from my kneeling position, my goal was clear. I would fight, and win. And then I shall shout sweet freedom through my hoarse throat, to the skies, and enjoy it like golden honey!