[⚠ NSFW scene ⚠ ]

There was nothing but darkness. It was cramped, suffocating, and the air was thick with the scent of blood—old and fresh. Rade stirred, his small body bound tightly in a sack, every movement restricted. Panic gripped him, the oppressive weight of the situation slamming into him like a hammer. He had been captured—taken by the same men who had taunted him, the same ones who were responsible for his sister's brutal end.

Above them, the MC floated, helplessly watching as the nightmare unfolded. His face was etched with disgust and distress, his mind racing for solutions. What can I do? He frantically searched for any way to intervene, but the realization hit him again: Plot armor has limits.

"I can't change the story... I'm not the writer, just the guy who pushes plot armor when things spiral into hell," he muttered, pacing frenetically in the void above. "Fuck my luck." The habit surfaced—his hands subconsciously rubbing his balls in frustration, a pointless attempt to soothe his nerves. But it did nothing to calm him. This was beyond him, and he knew it.

Meanwhile, Rade's breathing grew faster as he regained consciousness in the suffocating sack. The darkness was all-consuming, and his heart pounded in his chest like a caged animal. The sack reeked of sweat, fear, and blood. Each time the man carrying him jostled the bag, Rade winced as pain shot through his body. He was helpless, bound, and trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

The man cursed, his voice dripping with fury. "You little shit," he spat, the sound of his boots scraping the uneven stone floor echoing through the air. His anger was palpable, seething. Rade's earlier defiance had cost him an eye, and now, the man was hell-bent on revenge. He kicked the sack hard, sending Rade sprawling within it, his small body trembling with pain. "Wait till the boss gets his hands on you."

Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through Rade's body. He bit down on his lip, trying to stifle any noise that might provoke another brutal kick. His mind, disoriented and frantic, tried to grasp what had happened, but all he could think about was her—his sister. Her face, her last breath. The pain twisted deeper in his gut.

MC hovered, watching the scene unfold, his frustration boiling. Damn it, damn it... He knew he couldn't alter the course directly, but the helplessness gnawed at him. His frustration turned to desperation as the man carrying Rade finally reached his destination—a rundown tavern on the far edge of the city. It looked like it had crawled out from the bowels of some forgotten world. The wooden beams sagged under years of decay, the windows were fogged with filth, and the whole place seemed to thrum with an unspoken menace.

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Inside, the air was heavy, filled with stale smoke and sweat. A few patrons sat in dark corners, their faces obscured, their conversations muted and secretive. At the bar, the bartender polished glasses with a slow, mechanical motion. His eyes flicked toward the door briefly before settling back on the dirty glass in his hand, completely uninterested.

The man hauling Rade tossed a coin onto the counter, a twisted grin spreading across his scarred face. "Got something for the boss," he muttered, the half-cross on the coin gleaming in the dim light.

The bartender barely glanced at the coin before jerking his head toward the back. "Room's in the back. Boss is with a guest." His voice was a monotone, devoid of any care or concern. "Don't disturb him."

"Yeah, well, he's gonna want to see what I've got." The man didn't wait for permission. He shoved his way through the hidden door, dragging Rade along like a piece of luggage.

The hallway stretched long and narrow, with doors lining each side. From behind each one, dark, disturbing noises seeped into the air—low murmurs, moans of pain, and twisted laughter. The hallway reeked of unspeakable acts. Behind each door lay a different brand of horror, a place where men came to indulge their darkest desires.

As the man reached the end of the hallway, he was stopped by two guards standing before a door. "You can't go in," one of the guards growled. "Boss is busy with a guest."

"I've got something important for him. Trust me, he's gonna want to see this," the man argued.

"I don't care what you've got. He doesn't want to be disturbed," the guard snapped.

While they argued, the MC floated closer, his attention drawn to one of the nearby rooms. Curiosity and dread mingled as he peered inside.

The room was small, with a dirty bed and a single drawer beside it. On the bed, a young girl was tied up, her body stretched in a humiliating doggy style position, she was naked nothing to hide her pure body, her wrists bound to the front of the bed. An old, fat man stood over her, grinning as he slapped her bare skin, reveling in her pain. The old men streching her legs wide open so he can clearly see every hidden part of her body that she protected her whole life, he open his mouth with wide grin and starts licking her like she was something to eat,

"Now you understand, don't you, bitch?" the man hissed, his breath ragged as he spat down at her. "You'll pay for disobeying me."

Her chastity was no longer, the fat ugly bastard started licking putting his fingers in her vagina smirking laughing, "How does it feel, your body is really reacting to my fingers quite well, who would have thought that you were such a whore who loves to stick other peoples finger. Don't worry the main thing is still waiting I'll make you feel soo good, that you will never try to even think of disobeying me. "

The girl's face was wet with tears, her eyes wide with terror as she struggled against the bonds. Her mouth was gagged with a dirty cloth, muffling her screams, and her body convulsed whenever he put his finger in her vagina, the red marks on her skin growing darker. Her tear-streaked face contorted in agony as the man's saliva dripped onto her, and she cried silently, her sobs echoing in the back of her throat.

The MC's stomach turned. This place… it's hell, he thought, his mind reeling. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The cruelty, the suffering—it was too much. But he couldn't do anything to stop it.

A part of him wanted to believe there was a way out—some trick of the plot, some twist that would bring a sliver of hope. But standing in that hallway, surrounded by the echo of screams and the stench of suffering, he knew... this wasn't that kind of story.

It was only going to get worse.