The family's carriage pulled up as the servants and slaves stood outside, awaiting their arrival. Three slaves accompanied them: the Head Slave-Butler Gnome, the newest male elf, and a beautiful female elf who exuded elegance, even for a non-human. The family liked to take this female elf with them on outings such as this one. After the members of House Liame climbed into the carriage, it set off down the empty streets. The male elf stood unmoving, contempt drawing on his face, as he watched the other two slaves chase after the transport.

"For real?"

With no other option, he followed suit but soon realized his folly.

"What... is this? My body... can barely fucki—"

"Aargh!"

His stomach ached, making him bend over and struggle to catch his breath.

This... is going to kill me.

Fortunately, the building the family was headed to laid only three blocks away. Still, it took him about five minutes to catch up with them.

"By Ferrallia’s Circlet, you’re making me look bad!" the gnome scolded. "Better train your weak body, or you won’t last!"

[Weak then, weak now. I see no difference.]

The specter from times long past popped into reality whenever it wanted, not projecting shadows but spewing venom.

This is beyond weak, even breathing takes a toll.

"Ah... ah..." The male elf struggled to catch his breath while fighting off dizziness and nausea. After a few seconds, he composed himself as best he could.

"Where's the other elf?" inquired the new slave elf.

"Ruianne? She’s already inside with the family," replied the gnome. "I was just waiting for you!"

"Well, I’m here. Stop whining."

"The Lords made me check if you were still following us. Luckily, your slave collar didn't go off, but you have to be more careful. A couple steps further in the wrong direction, and you’d already be dead. Not that I care about it, but your death would taint my résumé. So, do better next time. And if you’re going to die, do it on your damn own!" stated the gnome.

It really works like that. Wait. Doesn’t that mean... we always have to be together?

"What are you waiting for? And you’d better change your attitude, or you won’t survive the punishment our Lords give." The gnome stormed inside.

"Lovely people..."

[Reminds me of someone.]

The interior of the building stretched out in a straight line from its entrance, showcasing walls adorned with paintings ranging from portraits to epic battles featuring unknown monsters. Display cases exhibited an assortment of objects, from weapons to ornate vases and books, some with glowing inscriptions. The wealthy and refined audience toured the featured objects, commenting on the collection of treasures that had been gathered, stolen, forcefully bought, or otherwise. Members of the different Houses admired the priceless artifacts, taking note of their favorite objects. At the end of the room, a massive golden chandelier took center stage in a circular chamber, exuding an air of wealth in every detail. A narrow corridor, surrounded by rows of benches, ran through the room and led to a platform with an altar and a red curtain decorated with banners inscribed with unrecognizable patterns.

As people milled about, examining the displays and chatting with others, some wore elegant, dignified clothes as House Liame did, while others donned more practical attire, carrying weapons like swords, maces, and daggers. Only humans wore wealthy clothing or carried weapons; all other races present served as slaves, and among those, only the best-looking non-humans accompanied the Houses to places like this one—slaves that offered their masters refinement and elegance. This meant only elves, gnomes, and the more humanoid of slaves could join them in these kinds of outings.

Liame family members engaged in conversation with a receptionist at Wareim’s Auction House, while their slaves stood at the ready, their eyes scanning the faces and movements of those around them—all except the new slave-elf.

An old, dusty bookshelf near the entrance went unnoticed by both humans and slaves. However, the recently purchased elf approached it, picking up a random book.

"Hey! You, elf, what are you doing?! Ruianne, go get him or we are in big trouble!" Head Slave-Butler Gnome panicked, ordering the female elf to intervene.

"B-but—"

"Just go!"

Without much interest, the male elf leafed through the book. He struggled to make sense of the doodles he found plastered in the beautifully illustrated thick tome he picked up.

Figures.

"You want us death?! Put it back!" Ruianne whispered as loud as she could, her voice shaking with fear. "We slaves are not meant to touch anything, least of all human things!"

The male elf turned and took a closer look at her. Ruianne's beauty, her moon-glowing skin, and golden wheat hair enthralled his instincts. In front of him stood a stunning young female elf, radiating an alluring appeal. Her well-endowed chest was accentuated by her curvaceous body, which exuded grace and poise. She projected an aura of superiority, and he couldn't help but think she was the most stunning female he had ever seen.

"Good grief, you don’t have to be all stiff about it," replied the mischievous elf and put down the book.

Did anyone notice? Head Slave-Butler Gnome and Ruianne turned their heads around, but everyone remained busy elsewhere. Crisis averted, they thought. Yet, without warning, a whiplash hit both slave-elves. A bug-armored human male lashed them two more times each.

Pain, though not as intense as the pain from his final days or the demon-gods' curse, coursed through the elf's body—nothing reality-bending nor mind-altering. A strange kind of disappointment colored his thoughts. However, a blinding surge of pain hit Ruianne, sending her collapsing to the ground, clutching herself. She failed to contain her screams.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You had to go and do it," said the male elf. "You alright?" He offered his hand to her.

In that moment, he felt a sting on his back and spun to face the man who had struck him once more. Fury surged through him.

"You don't know what you've just done," spoke the elf to the bug-armored man as he raised his hand and descended in anger towards his attackers' exposed face.

"Huh?"

The outspoken elf gazed at his opponent, with faint traces of doubt clouding his vision. His strike missed, only grazing the man's armor. To unsuspecting eyes, it appeared as if he had approached the human to clean his armor rather than to hit him. He let out a sigh.

Those... demons. They’ll soon find out who they messed with.

[They did you a favor.]

The shadow from the elf’s deepest self appeared behind the whip-wielding man.

And I’ll have to repay them... the sooner, the better.

"Argghhh! This slave touched me!"

The commotion caused by the two individuals drew attention, and a crowd gathered, escalating their altercation. Dozens of eyes fixed on the scene, eager for entertainment. Head Slave-Butler Gnome rushed over, swiftly followed by the Liame family. The outraged bug-armored human drew his sword, ready to strike.

[Now things are getting interesting.]

Just how I like them.

"Hey you... I think that spot in your armor is clean now. Look, it's all shiny—" stated the male elf before being interrupted by the armored human.

"An elf touched me!" exclaimed the bug-armored man.

"Are you allergic?"

"An elf—"

"Autistic?"

"You, putrajado, stop talking!" yelled the armored man, enraged at the elf’s lack of any semblance of education.

Head Slave-Butler Gnome helped Ruianne to her feet before the Lord of House Liame stepped forward.

"You lashed our slaves! Our property!" exclaimed the Lord.

"Then keep an eye on them! I saw him stealing a book!" retorted the bug-armored man.

"Did you?" the Lord turned around and asked the elf in question.

"I only wanted to... clean it. Cleaning is... what I do! And look at these poor books, moldy and dusty." The elf faced his accuser. "And why would I steal a book I can't even read?"

Faces scrunched in suspicion at his words.

"That book you took is in elven. All the books in that bookshelf come from non-human lands, and we humans don’t touch them," a bearded adult from another House said.

"So, what's the problem?" inquired the new slave elf.

"Aside from claiming you, a slave-elf, can't read elven, your slave attitude!" exclaimed a noble human.

"This slave-elf doesn't know how to properly address its masters!" added another noble.

"He’s new, a fresh hunt. We bought him yesterday, so he doesn't know our rules and... he’s not quite right in the head. He’s been sick all day," interjected the young Lord from House Liame.

"Regardless, he needs to be punished," spoke his father, the Lord of House Liame.

"With punishment for this misunderstanding, this hiccup will be resolved," added the Lord's wife.

The bug-armored human grumbled. He realized that challenging House Liame was not an option at the moment. Discouraged, he gave in and sheathed his sword. With a sudden slap to the elf's cheek, he sent him tumbling to the ground.

"As long as you deal fair punishment to this slave, Lord Derreick, I shall condone this grievance, for I’ve already given him mine."

Lord Derreick, the Master of House Liame, signaled his agreement, bringing the conflict to a satisfactory resolution for all parties involved. The crowd dispersed, returning to their various tasks. Conflicts with slaves were a common occurrence, often ending in punishment or death, mostly driven by the deep-seated resentment humans had towards them. Few humans cared about the fate of slaves, except for those who owned them. Regardless, the public enjoyed the elf's brief outburst, a welcome distraction from the daily monotony.

The bug-armored human glared one last time at the weak elf before turning away. The Lord and Lady of House Liame let out a sigh of relief, after all, their investment remained safe. They soon began considering potential punishments, searching for a fitting one.

The elf took his time, and after a while, he stood straight.

[How does it feel? Being on the receiving end.]

I’m going to show you exactly how it feels.

A sly smile spread across his face.

"Head Slave-Butler Gnome—" the Lady of House Liame started to say but was interrupted by a crooked voice.

"Coward!"

Time stopped inside Wareim’s Auction House. No one could believe what they heard, least of all the members of House Liame. The bug-armored human spun around in disbelief.

"What did you say?"

"What everyone else is thinking,” spoke the rebellious elf. “Picking on a weak elf slave who can't defend himself... there's a name for people like you."

The human erupted in laughter, incredulous.

The elf laughed back.

"You're laughing at me?" questioned the human.

"No, you bug," corrected the elf. "I'm not laughing at you. Everyone else is." He gestured to the stunned crowd surrounding them. Their contorted and shocked faces stared back at them. Or were they, laughing?

"Slave collar on!" bellowed the human.

Every slave in Wareim's Auction House dropped to the floor, writhing in pain from the collar's shock. Most of them fainted immediately. The device’s produced pain brought the mischievous elf to his knees.

Now this is more like it!

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he fought through it, standing once more.

"Hey, bug boy! You think you're tough? Picking on this weak— no, on this dying elf?"

"Why are you still standing?" exclaimed the armored man.

"Big guys like you are all talk," replied the male elf.

"Slave collar on!" barked again the bug-armored man.

"Stop it!" Noble voices boomed in unison as their slaves twisted themselves on the floor, foaming at the mouth.

"You're going to kill all of our slaves!" cried out a member of House Flosse.

The elf, struggling to remain conscious, fell to his knees once more.

"How can this slave still be conscious when the slave collar is working?!" The bug-armored man asked the stunned crowd. "Every race with a single call of the slave collar gets flattened out. Even the strongest races crawl on the floor, begging for it to stop. And to withstand a second call?" The bug-armored man addressed the nobles. "What’s the meaning of this?!"

People were in disbelief.

"Does it not work?"

Yet the elf felt the pain building up inside him. His hands trembled, legs wobbled, jolts shot through his body, sweat poured down his face. And still, he met the gaze of the man before him.

Strange... I have a weak body.... but at the same time, a high tolerance for pain. What a mess you’ve made, demon-gods. But to be sincere... I've always been built to last.

[Remember where that kind of thinking took you last time.]

He smiled.

The last thing he saw was a fist flying towards his face. His mind went dark, and all the shouting vanished into a dreamy fog, leaving only peace.