"H...y wa...e up!"

A shrill voice pierced the darkness of my tired mind, followed by pain shooting through my body as something struck my side hard.

"C...me on, get the fuck up!"

The familiar tentacles wrapping my mind swamped me with the urge to leave the warm embrace of my nightmares. And what a nightmare it was this time. I dreamt of how I escaped from this cursed place full of suffering, pain, and screaming. I dreamed of turning into a beast, running through a forest full of them, and even freedom gained in a city full of humans and beastmen. As always, however, that beautiful dream, full of joy and hope, turned into a nightmare.

"I said, get the fuck up, wench!"

Urged by the tendrils pressed against my mind by the collar around my neck and the compulsion of my own array to obey my master, I moved. It wouldn't be hard to resist such a simple command, but there was no reason to make it harder on myself when I might need that strength later, whether in enduring through another mutation or defying another order.

'Tss… that fucking asshole!'

Of course, I was too slow, and another kick landed on my body, this time on my thigh. The pain, however, was nothing compared to the pain the rest of my body was in. It wasn't the worst pain, some of the vile concoctions the deranged asshole made me drink caused worse; still... half my body felt like it was on fire, while the left side of my face as if it melted away.

"Oh, she seems to be awake, boss."

"Idiot. I can see that myself, Tate!"

'Boss? Tate?' Those weren't words I ever heard in the cellar; in fact, come to think of it, that deranged asshole Dungreen never came inside my cell. All the kicks he gave me were after I exited the cage under his commands. 'Seriously, what the fuck was...?' A piercing pain hit my mind, and I whimpered, holding my head.

"What's wrong with her, boss?!"

"The better question is what's not," someone, a woman, remarked as my dream began to take on greater clarity, cutting through the quagmire of darkness plaguing my mind. "Harcon fucked her up worse than I busted that guardswoman cunt."

'Guardswoman. Library. Empty streets. Lieutenant Blaine. Fire! Lots of fire!' It all flashed back to me. Gasping and howling in pain, I burst into a sit-up. That wasn't just a dream, nor one of my nightmares. The full weight of it came over me as I forced my eyes open, or rather one eye, as my left seemed to refuse to listen, and looked around. Seeing the thugs surrounding me, I found, much to my horror, a familiar collar back on my neck.

'No! No, no, no!' Wishing so hard it wasn't true, I dove into my Grid Forge, only to be hit by a notification not unlike one of the first I received in this world.

* You have been blessed with a new master: Arlo Rutledge

'No, please, no. Don't let this be true.'

─◇────────────────────────────────────────

Name: Korra Grey

Race: Human

Gender: Female

Age: 27

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

1st Array: Slave

Master: Arlo Rutledge

Sigils: 97 - ○○○○○○

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"Is she crying?"

"They all cry in the end," remarked one of the thugs, bemused.

"Shut your traps, all of you!" shouted the man I knew was my new... my new master. Yes, master. The thought was terrifying - devastating even. So much so that when he asked, "I'm your master, bitch. Do you understand?" I just nodded dumbly, without so much as a hint of defiance, and utterly numb to all the pain.

"Good. Very good. Get up; we need to get out of here," the little round man, Arlo Rutledge, my new master, growled at his thugs, pointing somewhere behind me. "That goes for you two, too."

'Why? What have I done so wrong in my life to deserve this? Was all my effort pointless to begin with?' With thoughts of desperation echoing in my mind, I looked behind me to where he was pointing. There, sitting on the ground like me, tied up were two guardswomen. Unlike me, though, they didn't have slave collars around their necks. Vara seemed barely conscious; Elira was pale as a sheet, her face covered in sweat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Master Fire Mage growled. "You want to take them with us?"

"You didn't think we'd leave them here, did you, Harcon?"

"That's not what we agreed to."

"No, it fucking isn't," the fat little bastard barked back. "For that, you'd have to keep your end of the deal. Besides, I don't know why you ever thought we'd just let them go - they'd run straight to fucking Rayden, and we can't afford that."

"Y-You..." Master Mage growled, his clenched fists catching fire. Seeing that, a spark of hope flared up in my heart along with the fear at the memory of tasting the power of those. As much as I'd like to rip that mage's throat out for making me go through all that shit, all the pain he caused me, if he killed that...that...

[Slave Trader: 114 sigils]

...that fucking Slave Trader, I wouldn't mind mating with him. 'The fuck?! The beast!' Fighting off that untamed yearning for a strong mate, I looked down at my hands, finding them surprisingly human again. 'Where did it come from then?' The follow-up check through my domain, however, literally left me speechless - and disgusted. No, I hadn’t shifted into some half-beast with human hands, I was back to being human, as much human as I was before. Nor did I grow another tail, a leg, or another pair of eyes on the back of my head. I wasn't in Dungreen's hands after all, at least not yet. It wasn't the burns inflicted by leaping through the fire, some muscle-deep, that made my heart clench with terror, either. It was the state of my face.

What I thought were burning swellings giving a dull ache after being punched repeatedly in the face by a burly guy with several times the sigils on his array than me, turned out to be burns so severe that I could see my teeth exposed, as well as my cheekbones and empty eye socket.

'Shit...urg...'

My stomach turned at the sight of it, but nothing came out of my mouth. In fact, looking at myself again, I noticed that nothing leaked from my wounds either - no pus or blood.

'Regeneration. My regeneration,' the thought flashed through my mind as my initial shock wore off, hope replacing it. With time, my face should... 'Wouldn't it be better to die?' Stupid question and the shitty clinging to life. It would, it would be so much better if I died. Anything was better than being this, a slave. But to do that, I couldn't have the fucking Fae runes carved on my chest. Even if I were to bite my tongue now, it would accomplish absolutely nothing. 'Wait! Fae! Was all this the fucking bug's plan, too?'

Desperation was biting off more of my will to live, bite by bite.

No one seemed to mind except me, though. Everyone's attention was elsewhere. Understandably.

"Go on, Harcon," the little fat Slave Trader stood up to Master Fire Mage, challenging him to punch him. "BUT burn a single hair on my head, and I guarantee you'll regret it for the rest of your life." For someone who was barely half the level of a fire mage, the bastard was pretty damn sure of his words. What could a dead man possibly do? Yet despite my desire to see the bastard burn, his face melted as mine, Master Fire Mage, gritted his teeth and put out his fire. "My biggest regret is ever meeting you, Arlo."

The bastard shrugged. "You're the one who came to me, remember? Now, do your fucking job. We don't have all night."

Sighing, the fire mage crouched down beside the two guardswomen and held out his hand. "The ring, Vara."