Author note: All of you who expect a heroic MC or someone that stands sane although he is constantly getting beaten down and lampooned; Sorry, but this won't be for you then. The MC rapes and whores, at one point in time he will have slaves himself to pleasure him or work for him, that is just how the system works. Not all is flowery and happy in a medieval world.

*Twhack! Twhack! Twhack!*

My pickaxe glittered beneath the murky light gifted by a handful of oil lamps. Opaque streaks of light lingered in the air as I heaved the worn tool above my head, only to ram it into the rough cavewalls for the hundredth time this night.

I shuffled closer to the new indentation I carved into the brittle stone.

With my bloodied fingers, nails cracked and splintered, I fumbled inside the small cleft. My flesh pressed against a piece of rock with iridescent sheen, protruding coyly from the wall.

Gently I grapsed the pickaxe below its head and began rasping away at the stone.

Trance like I scraped the impurities from the gemstone, my thoughts drifting away from the life I am leading and towards the life I have led.

I could remeber all too well the faces of my family and friends, the people I loved and cared about, as well as those I would rather like to forget. But now, thinking back, I couldn't imagine my life without the people I hated, my life wouldn't be the same without them.

*Chick!*

"AH! Fuck!", I cursed and noticed the small cut on my finger, throwing me out of my stupor. It wasn't bleeding all too much but the dirt and grime would make sure to turn this small scratch into a nasty infection.

Fuck my life.

I sucked on the barely visible cut, wiped spit and blood alike on my wheathered leather shorts. So much for daydreaming in your workplace. Sure as hell I won't get an employee of the month cup.

Nearly forgot where I was.

Turning around and fishing the gem splinter from the crack I fingered the hole -'hehehe'- in search for another cunning gem piece. Those little fuckers loved to hide deep inside the cavern walls, protected by a layer of sharp rock that would cut your hand into confetti if you are dumb enough.

First you needed to prepare the wall with a corrosive solution of milky slush; nasty stuff that burns like fuck on your skin. The stone will turn brittle, the liquid seeping into its pores, expanding and breaking it apart from the inside. Now its ready to be worked on with a pickaxe, but sometimes a few spines and spikes will still remain, sharp and unyielding they punish the poor mine workers. Good grief they pissed me off.

I heard of some poor sap that had his wrist cut open by one of those little shits. Blood everywhere, I tell you. He screamed, the acid solution still potent on raw flesh, and coiled around on the ground, screaming some more. Then more blood. Very morbid. He died....

It was rather difficult to maintain concentration while musing over past events. What needed to be done was to collect as much gems and rubble as possible, end the shift without a beatdown or cut wrist, trod back to my bunk and get a wink of sleep, maybe.

I complied with the voice in my head, no use pondering in this dismal hellhole.

Fortunately my cart was already brimming full with obsidian rock and the small pouch on my hip reserved for the dim gleaming gems had a satisfying weight to it. That should do it.

I pushed under excruciating agony the cart onward, up the steep gullet of the cave and past the flickering lamps. In all honesty, the smell of burning animal fat was disgusting, nothing like the good fat sizzling on a pan.

The nausea came back. Nearly thought I was over it after the first few months, didn't look like it.

The cart screamed on the iron rails, working with its rusted wheels against all the effort I put into pushing this massive iron hull. It was fraught just how sordid the whole equipment is. Pickaxes with hardly durable hilts, sullied by their predecessors' blood and sweat; it was much more likely that you kill somebody 3 yards behind you while swinging that shit than being able to scratch those walls.

Or the leather vests we get for our streinous labour. They won't even withstand a pull from a newborn, much less the constant scratches of the cave walls. It was infuriating!

We slaves need a bare minimum at the very least! I demand to speak with the manager! Health insurance, Obama care, anything to keep a standard!

I chuckled, something I rarely do anymore, as I imagined myself as a middle-aged woman with blonde dyed hair in a retail store or the mundane worker class. All fun and jokes aside, my life at the moment was horseshit.

Some kind of ore manufacturing company bought my sorry ass from the orphanage with a bunch of other children and some adults in between and now they work us to the bone as their personal slaves.

Of course, being as nice as they are they at least don't kill us when we mess up. They just gently flog us with pats on the back, with iron battons, iron battons with spikes sometimes.

I had lost count of the scars that littered my body, at least now I could play 'connect-the-dots' all over my body. Who knows, maybe I am able to draw a beautiful flower or something like that.

Wheezing and gasping for fresh air I reached the cave opening. My arms trembled, my legs buckled and my body reeled against the cart. The cool night air blew through my auburn hair, coppern like my pitted skin and the keys of the bucking guard. For fucks sake.

"Yo' finshed a'ready, eh?!", the man drawled. I love my luck, I love it so much!

"Not talkin' yo' brave one? Think you are tough, eh!?". I couldn't fathom how my body language could be translated into: Yo man! I will beat your ass and then smash your wife!

Maybe in this world the tough guys all have those deadpan eyes, pallid complexion, a posture that screams: 'I am submission incarnate!' and overall disease stricken constitution? I think I would be one of the toughest then.

Now... What to do? Speak up and apologize? Nah the drunkard will just beat my ass anyway, maybe have literal fun with my ass later, God knows their weird fetishes. Or I can just remain silent, prompting a beatdown because I didn't answer the mad drunkard. What will it be?

I went with the third option, stammering and looking as pitiful as it gets, maybe fake a stroke here and there.

"I-I-I I... I Did- didn't *cough* Didn't want- want to *haahaa...haaaa... cough*-!"

"Ah shut yor gob!"

*Smack!*

And there I laid, strewn across the ground with a plate sized handmark square over my face. Wow, being pitiful really helps.

I watched the guard receed into the darkness, or rather, the giant tavern solely reserved for those fuckers. Glaring lights -inhospitable- shone through the numerous windows of the ebony coloured complex. Even from a mile away you would be able to hear the drunken laughter and moans of pleasure and pain alike. It was the guards' favorite place to rape, drink and beat somebody into a bloody pulp. Luckily I didn't end up there.

Now you may wonder: 'Where do the proud slaves sleep then?!'. I tell you my friend.

For us -solely for us humble slaves-, laid ontop of the finest of faeces, is the most simplistic of housings reserved. The rustic scent of mold, human waste and blood gives our lodging a warm afterglow that people from young to old can thoroughly enjoy.

Fortunate visitors need to walk a well maintained path of sharp and poisonous shrubbery planted on the most muddiest of grounds until they reach our beautiful abode. Bathroom's are obsolete in this wonderful iteration of modern man against fierce nature, instead you can shit and piss wherever you want. Some go even the extra mile to make their own bedding out of literal shit! Wonderful, 'aight?

Stolen novel; please report.

(Yadda yadda. Tl;dr: It is shit.)

I waded over the soft ground until my body leaned agains the hard cart. If I don't reach my daily quota a harmless beatdown will be the least of my worries.

Stemming my arms onto my weak legs I stood up, bristling against the fatigue that tided my consciousness into a gentle lull.

I wheeled the heavy cart past some more guards, pants down and fucking a slave against the ground or behind a scrub. I ignored the woeful stares of the defiled. 'Don't look at me like that! It's not like I hadn't experienced the same as you guys!', I nearly shouted as one of the slaves met my stare. If those fuckers keep looking at me it won't be long until the guards do the same. Just fucking stop staring! Moan, groan or pant for all I care you fucks!

I broke into a trot, the cart leisurely screeching its broken melody, and sooner than later I reached a small metallic construct.

It consisted of two compartements. A small hut with a lone guard and a deep reaching maw of iron with a smaller openning at the side.

I moved the cart towards the gaping hole, pushed my trembling shoulders against the rusted metal and made it keel over. Like thunder the black stone rolled down the metallic openning, crackling obnoxiously loud. Small numbers began glowing behind a glass surface. 600 pounds. That should be enough.

I undid the crude knot that connected me and the small pouch at my hip. I gazed into the soft sack of cloth and eyed the bead-sized gems. They looked beautiful under the sparse moonlight. If people only knew what lies behind their smooth surface. It was the work of dead and dying slaves, but with my luck the populace probably knew of this and even supported those fuckers with smiles on their faces.

The pouch was emptied over the smaller hole, rolling down the shaft the noise this time was more mellow; good for my headache. 2.4 pounds, not bad.

I went towards the small hut, knocking on the wooden shutters.

A bored guard, eyes sunken and grizzly stubbles sprinkled over his chin, looked me in the eyes. The common hate and disgust for slaves was missing from this man's eyes as he gave me a crooked smirk.

"Hah, David! How you doin'?"

Yes, laugh all you want. My name is simply David, no lastname whatsoever. Pretty lame name for a fantasy world. Why a fantasy world? Well, I will explain that later.

"Doing good Sven, just a bit battered and bruised. Your colleagues can't hold their drink, can they?", I responded amused and leaned my arms against the small sill that protruded below the shutters.

"Haaah... Those guys are real assholes. Fucking, drinking and barely guarding. Don't know why they are even here.", Sven grumbled with a condescending voice.

Sven was really a good guy, one of the few impassive guards. I met him in my second year here, or was it the third?

Bottled up with hundreds of slaves, half nude and most even good looking places a great tool on your mind. Sven was going to rape some newcomer girl as I was passing by. Coming from modern earth and having experienced my fair share of drug initiated orgies or simple one night stands I could tell from a single glance: That girl wasn't clean.

At that point in time Sven was still the benign guard, not really caring what happens with us and neither interfering, so I saw it as my duty to warn him about the trap he was walking straight in.

Sven and the slave alike watched with abhorrence as I explained them about the dangers of STD's. The poor girl started crying and screaming how the heavens cursed her, not even a slaver would fuck her...

Sven was somewhat suspiscious but I told him he should just wait and see what happens to those that play with fire. Well, the only thing burning would be their crotches, but whatever.

A week later, as I stood at this same spot where I am standing now, Sven threw himself at me, hugging my frail body while he babbled something about rashes and swollen genitals. It was quite embarassing. A grown man hugging a young teen boy, yeah wrong picture.

With tear welled eyes he thanked me for the warning he so smartly heeded and since then he is my best buddy in this cesspit.

A wonderful story of male friendship!

"Here is your ticket.", Sven smiled and his husky voice shock me awake. He pressed not one but two food stamps into my hands with an astute smirk. God bless this man.

Hiding the two small stamps inside the now empty pouch I swiftly moved away from the small hut, another slave was ready to get his ticket. The tall teen fidgeted as I met his wavering gaze. Knowing some martial arts, getting more food than others and knowing how to train your body in your free time truly makes you the alpha in such a ragtag bunch of missfits.

I enjoyed how the slave boy tried to avoid any contact with me, poor sap only wanted some food.

Parting ways with Sven I reached my sweet sweet keep after a few minutes of walking.

How I missed you. Sardonic caressing the rotten wood I pushed the door open for the spacious yet suffocatingly tight house to unveil itself. The air smelled foul, like every other day of the year, and the cold night breeze moved unhindered through the ajar planks that made up the walls. There was only one big light hanging from the askew ceiling, multiple candles alit and emitting numbing fumes, wonderful.

For lunch I had already my fair share of clubbing and dried bread and something akin to oatmeal, enough to survive the night and treat myself to a nutritious breakfast.

The huddling throng of slaves watched me intently as I moved through them. The youngsters parted like the sea as I made my way forward into an inconspicuous corner. I let myself slump down and wandered with my feverish gaze over the new heads that poked out here and there.

It was bizarre to see so many different people corraled closely together yet all of them so far apart. A dog eats dog world... I think that's how such a setting would have been called.

I spotted a rather good looking girl in the mass of people, crouched down behind a few tables and stools. Yeah, we had the bare necessities, no bed though.

With a wave of my hand I beckoned the girl towards me, the other females in the room giving the girl envious stares. They knew what would happen now. I would rape the girl, precisely speaking.

But let's look at it from another perspective. I won't fuck her without compensation. She would get one food stamp and I would try my best in pleasuring her while I am pleasuring myself WITH her. Win-win right? Considering that I will be taking her without her consent maybe not but.... I got nothing.

Yes, I am a wicked person, my morals are twisted and I raped and whored to satisfy my lust. So what?! No one I know would stay fucking sane in this deteriorating hellhole; with pain and agony on a daily basis lust is our only solace, the only medium we can acquire for free that sates our need for skinship and warmth.

Yes, I am a rapist.

Yes, I am evil.

Yes, I am scum.

So what?!

Scorn me all you want, I am just adapting to this cruel world. Fuck the Gods, fuck all of them in their gilden thrones. It was this world that formed me into what I am today.

I led the girl by her arms outside, only a thin layer of wood shielding us from the others, before I induldged myself in her tender body. Young and fresh flesh feels the best.