“The green of the wilds has marked you. Tainted your blood and you don’t even know it. The slaves are mine!” She smacks me across the face before booting a struggling Russ. He squirms trying to break his bindings on the floor.

I try to force air down my throat even as the leather strap gets tighter. Pamphlet’s definitely stronger than me, I am a fool to think that Iron rank amounted to anything. He forms an immovable wall behind me.

The Madam watches me die. “I was born in this city and I’ll die here as a free woman. A rich free woman. Why would I throw that away to go dancing through the rotting leaves and let that green witch get in my head.” She laughs with malicious disconnection.

She mockingly pretends to caress my face, our skin never touching.

I clench my teeth with fury when I notice she’s wearing Piia’s ring.

“To tell you the truth I have always hated my kind. Disgusting hairy creatures, full of lice and dirt.” She feels her smooth outfit with ecstasy.

As her hands reach all over herself, the ring winks to life.

I push forward against the strap with all my dwindling strength, causing Pamphlet to lean forward.

With a quick jerk, I pull backwards. Shoving my right hand in the henchman's face. Relieving the strain enough to gasp at the air.

Instead, I choose to whisper. “Order’s not real.”

Flash

Cries fill the room as the ring’s magic activates to bind us. I open my eyes to find the Madam has fallen over her chair. My wannabe killer drops the strap as he recalls.

I chug air and collapse to the floor. My body betrays me as I attempt to grab the knife but all I can manage is an onslaught of hacking coughs. Now I know how Piia felt after the fight with the Daemon.

Crawling slowly, I force myself on to grab the curved blade.

I slash Pamphlet's Achilles, cutting through the exposed tendon. He screams and falls.

Frightened and blind he lies on his back and howls with horror. His limbs kick out like an overturned gazelle trying to fend off a lion. His foot catches my hand and sends the weapon tumbling across the sex dungeon.

I’m wasting time, they’ll recover soon. The Satyr had already stumbled to a rack of ‘toys’.

I grab one off the ground and begin bludgeoning the man. The rubber horse cock is heavy, but I swing and swing. His cries falter as I collapse his nose. His head cracking against the tiled floor. I keep going until brain matter leaks and I know he won’t get up.

Controller / Sadist spirits collected

I cut Russ free and we advance on the Madam.

She brandishes a string with several fat spheres hanging in a row. They chitter and vibrate as if a tiny animal was trapped inside each one. I knew for certain there was once they screamed like crying foxes as she began swinging it menacingly around her head.

Russ feints at her with the knife. She swings wildly like an untrained youngling. I surge forward and whack her arms with the dildo. The beads go screaming into the air as she loses her grip. I kick out her legs, knowing the damage a Satyr’s kicks can do.

“You fucking miserable virgins. Abomination!” She spits out at me.

Runes flash in my periphery

I ignore them as she goads me. “They’re lost to you, little shepherd. Gone and locked away!” She cackles with malice.

“Where are they?!” I scream in her face.

She slashes wildly with long nails. I batter her arms away and connect solidly against her temple. A horn dislodges and clangs on the floor. The noise sounds out of place.

I picked it up to discover its carved wood. Why would she have fake horns?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Russ.” I nod towards the table.

Still dazed, we grab her together and lay her across one of the weird tables with random holes down the centre. Using the provided straps we easily restrain her.

As I latch her final arm, she comes back to her senses. “Do not touch me, you infected bastard.”

My companion heads back to the dungeon door to lock it and wedges a chair in place for additional security.

I held her fake horn, a glossy side shown in the torchlight while the other was smeared in blood.

I waver it before her, resisting the temptation that came so easily to me now. “If you tell me where they are. We’ll leave and no one else has to die.”

“I have a better ultimatum. Kill me and you will never find them?”

After seeing all the stairs and doors, I knew her argument had merit. Russ slams a hot iron poker against the table causing embers to explode out.

“Why did you poison your supply of bukke?” He says with the poker creeping towards her, his veins popping as if restraining himself.

The Satyr relaxes as if she’s about to receive a pedicure.

“Boys, you are amateurs. Which is it, the bukke or the slaves?” She looks between us. “Well?”

I glance at my so-called partner in crime who answers first.

“The horns.”

She lets out a soft giggle. Before waving her hand as if dismissing it.

“That is a long and dull story. Might even take an entire evening. We shall book you in at my next available appointment. Pamphlet? Oh that’s right you killed my secretary.”

Her leg sizzles as the poker makes contact, burnt hair and meat wafts into the air.

A small voice whispers in my head about how delicious it smells.

The Madam moans in ecstasy. “Painful pleasures… Oooooooh.”

The iron clangs as he throws it against the wall.

“Don’t tease me like that darling.” She coos while licking her lips.

I kiss my teeth at her and look for anything that will get her to talk.

The black beads lay silent on the floor, I inspect them. Picking up one end with an outstretched hand and giving them a little swing.

The chittering of tiny teeth clashing together begins like a tiny orchestra. My heart starts racing as adrenaline courses through me, beads of sweat trickle down my back. I hadn’t noticed the effect before as I was already rushing from the fight. Whatever is trapped inside the beads is clearly distressed from the motion and elicits the same stress onto others as a defence mechanism.

A whirl them around the Satyr who only laughs and squirms harder.

“Rut this.” Russ barks after searching through more items to no avail.

He strides back and smacks her. “Tell me why?” smack. “Why poison the horns?” Smack.

I grab him as he winds up for another hit.

“This is useless. Torture is her craft.” I say.

He shrugs me off, but instead of slapping her again, he covers her mouth as a polite knock comes from the door.

I creep over, skirting the remains of Pamphlet to listen.

“Madam Trowse?” A man whispers as I arrive.

I remain silent.

From deeper down the corridor I hear multiple voices approaching. Laughing and shouting drunkenly.

“Madam, those Blackroots I mentioned earlier are here. You spoke of servicing them as a way of apologising.”

The voices were getting louder.

Rut me. I look over to Russ who’s signalling to be patient.

The man behind the door clears his throat before continuing. “Madam if you had a booking, you should have said. We’ll have to clean the room before they can enter.”

Clean the room? I look down and notice a small stream of blood flowing under the door, I backtrack to Pamphlet.

We’re fucked I mouth to Russ.

I crouch down to peer under the door. The gap is tiny but in the reflection of the blood, I see the attendant’s eye staring back at me.

“Madam?” He shouts in distress and starts banging. “Open this door at once.”

I hear the merry lads react, their laughter dies as they run towards us.

The Satyr screams with joy as Russ returns to our previous failed attempts.

As I return to the table, I avoid the pool of red. A thought occurs to me. Even as a wielder of chaotic will that requires the use of my own blood, I’m still squeamish at touching others.

“Stop, you're wasting your time,” I say to my partner.

His desperation is making him manic, clouding his judgement.

“Leave then. There’s a back door.”

I make a deep cut on my forearm and hold it close to the Satyr.

“Your powers won’t work-”

With a frantic jolt, she pushes on her bindings to get away from me, from my blood.

The door rattles as bodies slam against it. A marble battering ram will break it down any second now.

“Get away from me, tainted!” She squeals with despair.

I’d never thought the sound of fear in a person’s voice would give me so much happiness.

Streams of blood dribble off my fingers as I hold them inches from her.

“The Satyrs?” I ask.

“Gone, they’re all gone. They took them all.”

“Who did?” I snap.

Her fear bleeds into loathing. “The Yorks.”