The night hung over Eskol City like a shroud, casting shadows on its labyrinthine streets. Damian Vandran, draped in a cloak, navigated through the city's underbelly. Eskol, a city within the borders of the beleaguered kingdom of Aglos, bore the scars of neglect and corruption under the indifferent rule of King Darovan.

The once-prosperous city had transformed into a breeding ground for criminality, its alleys echoing with the whispers of illicit deals and clandestine activities. Damian moved with a silent purpose, his steps masked by the ambient sounds of the city's nocturnal life.

As he delved deeper into Eskol's murky heart, Damian observed the harsh realities faced by its citizens. Poverty and desperation clung to the air, a stark contrast to the opulence enjoyed by the ruling class. The discontent among the people was palpable, yet King Darovan remained ensconced in his palace, indifferent to the suffering of his subjects.

Damian's investigation led him to the heart of the city's corruption - an underground network of crime lords and slavers who exploited the vulnerable for profit. Among them, a notorious figure emerged as the linchpin of the city's depravity: Roderick Blackthorn, a man whose wealth and influence reached into every dark corner of Eskol.

Roderick Blackthorn, infamous in the criminal underworld under the moniker "Iron Hand," was a slaver whose notoriety surpassed all others in terms of ruthlessness. His very name sent shivers through the spines of those acquainted with the darker aspects of society.

Blackthorn's auctions were chilling events, gaining a notorious reputation for drawing the most malevolent characters from all corners of the underworld. These gatherings were not just transactions; they were macabre spectacles where lives were treated as mere commodities. The "Iron Hand" earned his title not only through his brutality but also through his unyielding grip on the slave trade, an empire built upon the suffering of countless individuals.

The depths of his cruelty were unparalleled, and the tales of his deeds whispered through the criminal circles like a haunting refrain. Blackthorn's clientele consisted of the vilest characters, individuals whose moral compass had long been forsaken in pursuit of power, wealth, or perverse desires.

To many, Blackthorn was more than a mere slaver; he was the embodiment of malevolence, a figure whose very presence symbolized the darkest corners of humanity. His slave auctions were not just transactions of flesh and blood; they were sinister theaters where the boundaries between humanity and inhumanity blurred, and the moral fabric of society seemed to unravel.

The epithet "Iron Hand" encapsulated not only his merciless dealings but also the unrelenting grasp he maintained on the trade. His reputation extended far beyond the confines of the criminal underworld, casting a shadow that reached even the most remote corners of the city. Roderick Blackthorn stood as a grim testament to the depths humanity could sink when consumed by greed and cruelty.

The more Damian uncovered, the more he realized the extent of Blackthorn's influence. The slaver had entwined himself with the city's power structures, operating with impunity. Eskol had become a city where the cries of the oppressed were drowned by the clinking of coins in the pockets of the corrupt elite.

And yet, there was a layer of irony to the darkness that pervaded Eskol. The kingdom of Aglos had long outlawed slavery, making the auction scheduled for tomorrow night one of the most clandestine and sought-after events of the year. It wasn't just about selling lives; it was a black market extravaganza where a myriad of stolen goods, forbidden artifacts, and valuable contraband would change hands.

The atmosphere of impending action was thick in the air as Damian recounted his discoveries to Castiel in a dimly lit room within a modest inn. "The auction is tomorrow night. I still don't know where they are keeping the kids. And the local government not only doesn't care, they are involved in it."

Castiel's gaze bore a mixture of concern and determination as he listened to Damian's report. "This complicates matters. The involvement of the local authorities means we have to tread carefully. We can't rely on them for support," Castiel remarked, his mind swiftly calculating the intricacies of their next move. “I thought three-four days would be enough to find them. But they are obviously hidden well.”

Castiel acknowledged Damian's successful gathering of information with a nod. "I know you did all you could in three days, Damian. Good job!..... However, we need more intel, and time is not on our side."

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Damian inquired about their next plan, prompting Castiel to delve into the heart of the matter. He stayed silent for a moment and then asked Damian, "Do you know where Blackthorn's base of operations is?"

Damian affirmed, "Everyone knows. He's the bloody kingpin here."

"Well then, let’s go and have a chat with him." Castiel suggested, causing Damian to recoil in disbelief. "What? Have you gone mad? Just because everyone knows where he lives doesn't mean anyone can walk up to him and 'have a chat’."

"Damian, sometimes the best solution is the simplest one. Trust me," Castiel asserted, and Damian, recognizing the gravity of the situation, fell silent.

Castiel and Damian made their way to Blackthorn's base of operations. Upon reaching a villa, they were immediately confronted by Blackthorn's guards. One of the guards, eyeing Castiel’s quality gear, suggested, "That's some good gear you have there, but I think it would look better on me. So, why don't..."

Before he could finish, Castiel swiftly punched him in the chest, sending him sprawling across the villa's lawn. Weapons were drawn by the guards, and Damian, unimpressed, unsheathed his sword. "I knew you were gonna get us killed," he remarked, but Castiel remained silent.

Amidst the tension, one of Blackthorn's lieutenants appeared, demanding an explanation. One of the guards accused Castiel of attacking without cause. “This guy attacked Eli out of nowhere, boss!”

Castiel calmly explained, "Eli demanded my gear for himself. I only made him see reason."

The lieutenant gauged the distance between where Castiel stood and where Eli writhed in pain on the ground. He then shifted his gaze back to Castiel, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion etched on his face. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a blend of authority and caution.

"Who I am is not important. Tell Mr. Blackthorn I have a business proposal for him regarding the auction," Castiel replied cryptically.

Clad in masks that veiled their identities, Castiel and Damian added an extra layer of mystery to the already tense situation. Despite the looming threat posed by the armed guards, Castiel refrained from unsheathing his sword. The lieutenant again scrutinized Eli's pain-ridden form and then turned his gaze back to Castiel. "Wait here!" he commanded before retreating into the confines of the villa.

After a brief interlude, he returned, instructing them to follow him. The air was thick with tension as they followed the lieutenant through dimly lit corridors adorned with opulent decor, a stark contrast to the squalor outside.

The lieutenant led them into a lavishly furnished chamber where Roderick Blackthorn, the "Iron Hand" himself, awaited. The slaver's countenance bore the mark of a man accustomed to power and control. His piercing gaze met Castiel's with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"I heard you have a proposal for me." Blackthorn's voice resonated, echoing through the room. His lieutenants flanked him, eyeing the intruders with suspicion.

Castiel, shrouded in mystery with his mask concealing his identity, stepped forward. "Yes, I do, Mr. Blackthorn."

Blackthorn reclined in his opulent chair, a cunning smirk dancing on his lips. "You have my attention, Mr...?" he inquired.

"Azriel," Castiel responded.

Blackthorn extended a gesture, inviting Castiel to take a seat. "Please! Tell me about this proposal of yours."

Castiel remained composed, his tone measured. "I represent an interested party, one with the means to make your current and future auctions more lucrative than you can imagine. But for such a partnership to flourish, we need certain assurance that our interests align."

Blackthorn's eyes narrowed as he assessed Castiel. "And what assurance do you seek?"

Castiel replied with unwavering determination, "Exclusivity for all your future slave sales - you will sell them only to us."

A flicker of interest crossed Blackthorn's face, but he remained guarded. "You waltz into my villa, and make such a demand, and expect me to trust you?"

Castiel's gaze held unwavering. "Trust is earned, Mr. Blackthorn. We offer you a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Blackthorn leaned forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "And what's to stop me from having my guards cut you down where you stand?"

Damian, sensing the tension escalate, tightened his grip on his sword. Castiel's response was calm and assured. "Because, Mr. Blackthorn, the moment you make such a decision, you forfeit the opportunity to elevate your status beyond a mere slaver. And also because you will lose access to items like these."

With deliberate poise, Castiel placed a magistone and an amoyo seed on the table. "The choice is yours."