As the MC flexed his hand, the familiar feeling of time stopping rushed over him. The chaotic, suffocating reality of the world of despair came to a standstill. Everything froze—every breath, every flicker of movement, every flicker of pain.

He floated above the dark, cold cells, his body weightless in the stagnant air. Below him, Rade lay unconscious in the corner of his cell, blood still wet from the brutal beating Jackal had delivered.

Across from him, the girls huddled together, trembling like fragile birds, their eyes wide and empty. Bruised, battered, and utterly broken, they seemed like shadows of their former selves. The dim light flickered weakly from the torches lining the walls, casting twisted shadows on the dungeon floor.

"Plot Armor Genius activated," the system chimed in the back of his mind, but he hardly paid it any attention. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the weight of the suffering around him.

He floated toward the top of the underground prison, passing silently through the bars and into the hallways above. The corridors, damp and grimy, stretched on like a labyrinth of misery. Moving effortlessly, he found his way back to the boss's room, where that tiny bastard of a man had taken Rade. The one who claimed to be in charge of this twisted hellhole.

The door creaked open as the MC hovered inside. The sight that greeted him made his stomach churn. The tiny man—naked, with his disgusting lil tiny cock, short frame sprawled across a lavish sofa—was lost in his own sick pleasure. One of the captured girls knelt beside him, her eyes dull, her face blank, giving him a blowjob with the same lifelessness that filled the eyes of every other girl in this place.

Disgust washed over the MC like a wave of bile. He floated closer, barely able to stomach the scene. Without thinking, he reached down and closed her mouth, forcing her jaw to clamp shut around the despicable act. For a second, he grinned, watching her mouth seal tight, imagining the tiny bastard's reaction when time resumed. Just a tiny taste of pain for you, he thought with a dark satisfaction. Barely enough to match the hell you deserve.

With a flicker of amusement in his eyes, the MC floated back out of the room, leaving the grotesque scene frozen in time. He explored further, moving through the empty halls, stopping at each door and glancing inside. Most of the rooms were deserted now, but the memory of what had happened in them lingered—especially the fat bastard's room.

The bloodstained sheets still clung to the bed like a macabre reminder of the girl's suffering. He floated closer, staring at the deep crimson stains, imagining the brutal acts that had taken place here. Anger twisted in his chest, but he forced himself to move on, floating back into the corridors and down the hallways that led to the bar.

Outside, the moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale, silver light across the town like a fragile beacon of hope. A cruel irony, considering the horror that lay beneath its glow. The bar was closed now, its windows dark and its doors locked. He moved through it effortlessly, scanning the layout of the place, making mental notes. Each room, each exit, each staircase—it all became part of a growing plan in his mind.

I need to create the perfect plot armor for Rade, he thought, his mind racing as he floated up the stairs to the rooms above.

The bartender was sleeping soundly in his small, clean room. The MC took note of the single window that looked out into the darkened streets, the study desk that sat neat and tidy by the wall, the wardrobe, and the bed that seemed untouched. Nothing special. Nothing unusual. It was a stark contrast to the filth and decay below.

He moved to the next room. It was almost identical—except it looked unused, abandoned. Dust clung to every surface, and the air was thick with neglect. No one had stayed here for months, maybe longer.

He floated back down to the underground cells, passing through the heavy iron doors once again. The air was colder here, thicker with the scent of despair.

The world stopped. Silence gripped everything, like the calm before an inevitable storm. The MC floated above the dark, stifling underground prison, watching the frozen figures below. Rade lay crumpled on the cell floor, his body twisted in pain from Jackal's brutal beatings. Across the way, the girls huddled together, their eyes wide and hollow, faces pale as ghosts. Not a single breath moved, not even the faintest flicker of life in the air—time was frozen, locked by his will.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He drifted closer, his eyes landing on the girl from before—the one he had seen in that fat bastard's room, tortured beyond the limits of endurance. She was still as a statue, her body bruised and beaten, barely clinging to life.

The MC hovered above her, his heart heavy with anger and sorrow. He reached out, activating his new skill: Memory Recollection.

Suddenly, the girl's memories surged through him, pulling him deep into her past, her life before this hell. Her name was Ariana. A simple girl, once full of light and joy. She was the eldest daughter of a farmer, living just outside the southern edge of the town. They had a small farm—nothing grand, but it was enough. Enough for a happy life.

In the memory, Ariana smiled, her brown hair flowing freely as she played with her younger sister. Her laughter filled the warm summer air, the sun casting a golden glow over their simple home. Her father, strong and weathered, worked the fields with pride, while her mother tended to the garden, their lives filled with love, laughter, and purpose. They didn't have much, but they were happy. Content with their little world.

But that peaceful life was shattered when Ariana made the fateful decision to venture into the town. Her sister's coming-of-age ceremony was approaching, and Ariana wanted to buy her something special, something she could cherish forever. The thought of surprising her sister with a beautiful gift filled Ariana with excitement, her heart light as she stepped into the bustling town for the first time.

She found work quickly, landing a job at a local pub as a waitress. She was young, cheerful, and her beauty did not go unnoticed. The patrons adored her, and the job seemed like a blessing. Days passed, and she began to feel at home in the town, confident in her ability to save enough money for the gift.

But then… fate intervened.

One day, as she walked the cobbled streets of the town, her life took a cruel turn. She was lost in thought, humming softly to herself when a carriage approached from behind. The sound of hooves clattering against stone echoed through the narrow street, but there was no place for her to move aside. The driver shouted at her, his voice filled with disgust.

"Step aside, you dirt mongrel!" he yelled, yanking the reins to halt the carriage.

Ariana quickly stepped back, her head bowing low as she muttered an apology, "I'm sorry, my lord."

But then… the curtain of the carriage window shifted, revealing a man's face. His eyes were dark, filled with a vile lust as he looked her over like a predator eyeing its prey. His tongue flicked across his lips as he stared at her.

"Oh, young miss," he said in a tone that dripped with feigned politeness, though the excitement in his eyes betrayed his true intentions. "Where are you heading?"

"To the Bracks Pub, my lord," she answered, trying to remain calm, though her heart pounded in her chest.

The man grinned. "Ah, that's on my way. Why don't I offer you a ride?"

Ariana's stomach twisted with unease. She wanted to refuse, to run, but she feared offending him. His tone had shifted, growing more insistent. "No, thank you, my lord. I can manage," she stammered, trying to avoid eye contact.

But his smile faltered, and a dark shadow crossed his face. "I insist," he said, his voice hardening. "Please, I humbly request it."

Ariana hesitated, fear gripping her. She couldn't anger a lord, not here in this town. Reluctantly, she climbed into the carriage, sitting opposite him, her hands trembling in her lap. The air inside the carriage was suffocating, thick with tension as the man's eyes roamed over her, undressing her with every glance. His excitement was palpable, his gaze lingering on her legs, her chest, as if she were a piece of meat displayed for his pleasure.

She kept her head down, her body rigid with fear. She could feel his eyes burning into her, each second growing more unbearable. Her hair, brown and glossy, framed her face in a delicate ponytail, but strands had slipped loose in the commotion, and the man reached out, trying to brush them away. His fingers trailed down her cheek, then her chin, as if testing her boundaries.

"You're exceptionally beautiful," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Why don't you come to my manor? I'll take good care of you."

Ariana flinched, pulling away, her heart racing. "No, my lord. I must decline," she said firmly, pushing his hand away.

The man's eyes narrowed in anger. No one had ever dared to refuse him—least of all a peasant. His face twisted with rage as he grabbed her arm, pulling her close, his hands groping her chest. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, squeezing with a sickening greed.

Ariana screamed, slapping him across the face before scrambling to the door of the carriage. She jumped out, running as fast as her legs could carry her, her heart pounding in terror.

"Where will you go, bitch?!" the man screamed after her. "You'll pay for this!"

As she fled, she could hear him barking orders to the driver. "Take her request to Big Mann! I want her, untouched! She's mine!"

The carriage clattered away, but Ariana didn't stop running until she could no longer hear the wheels or the angry shouts. She collapsed in an alleyway, sobbing, her body shaking with fear and exhaustion. She had never felt so violated, so powerless. The memory of his touch, his disgusting words, clung to her like a poison.

But she wiped her tears, forcing herself to stand. She couldn't afford to leave the town now. She needed the money for her sister's gift, no matter the cost. She would just have to avoid that man, stay hidden in the shadows.

But as the MC stood there, floating in the frozen moment of time, he knew that fate had other plans for her. She would not be able to escape the cruel machinations of this world. Big Mann, the tiny, twisted creature who ran this hell, had already set his eyes on her. Her purity, her innocence, had only drawn more cruelty to her.

The more innocent they are, the more the world wants to break them.

As if it was a cliché scenario of a flop movie the scenes flooding the MC mind, one by one without missing anyrhing.