A commotion echoed through the marketplace, drawing a few hesitant glances. A small man, dressed in garish clothes and standing atop a wooden crate, shouted over the crowd. Beside him stood a towering bodyguard with arms crossed and a blank expression.

  "TWO FOR ONE, TWO!" the small man bellowed, voice cracking from overuse.

  From behind a makeshift curtain, a boy and a girl stepped out, guided roughly by another handler. They moved slowly, each step hesitant and weak. Dirt clung to their skin, their clothes hung loosely off their frail bodies, and their eyes looked empty, like the life inside them had long since started to fade.

  "Brother and sister—still fresh! Only fifteen and sixteen years old!" the man screamed again, drawing attention with a wide grin that didn’t reach his eyes. A few people in the crowd murmured, unsure whether to stay or walk away.

  Suddenly, the man pulled out a worn leather whip from his belt and lashed it across both of their backs. The crack of it rang out like a gunshot in the tense silence.

  "Introduce yourselves," he hissed low, his smile now tight and cruel.

  The girl flinched, holding back tears, and took a trembling step forward. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "M-my name is Lira..."

  The boy followed, his voice hoarse and hollow. "I'm Ren..."

  Both of them stood with lowered heads, their bodies thin, their cheeks hollow. Malnourishment had taken its toll. Bruises marked their arms. Their wrists bore the telltale signs of tight restraints. And yet, they stood side by side, holding on to each other with what little strength they had left.

  The small man raised his arms again like he was announcing the stars of a grand performance.

  "Perfect for labor, housework, or... anything else you want!" he sneered.

  The crowd began to shift. Some watched in silence. Others turned away in discomfort. But no one stepped forward. Not yet.

  The bodyguard’s eyes swept the area, bored but alert.

  And nearby, hidden from sight, someone was watching.

  "Now, starting from one gold coin... start!" the small man barked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

  He raised his hand dramatically, eyes scanning the crowd for even the faintest flicker of interest.

  "One gold for the pair—come on now, that's a steal!" he coaxed, grinning as if this were some festive auction rather than the selling of broken lives. "You won't find stock this young and obedient anywhere else! Two for one!"

  The boy, Ren, flinched at the word stock. Lira gripped his hand tightly, their fingers trembling in the open air. Their eyes didn’t rise. They knew better than to hope.

  No one spoke.

  The crowd was silent—hesitant, unsure. Even those used to these kinds of markets looked uneasy. The tension hung like thick fog.

  But the small man didn’t care. He only smiled wider.

  "Alright, one gold! Do I hear one and a half?" he shouted, undeterred.

  Still silence.

  And then—softly, somewhere in the back of the crowd—there was a shift.

  Boots. Heavy. Deliberate.

  Someone was moving forward.

  It was a man in his late forties, broad-shouldered with a gut that spilled slightly over his ornate belt. His cloak shimmered with thread-of-gold embroidery, and his rings gleamed like trophies with every gesture. Flanking him were four female elves—tall, beautiful, and eerily silent. Their clothes were elegant, but their eyes were lifeless.

  Everyone recognized him.

  Big Lou.

  Whispers rippled through the crowd as he stepped forward, every heavy bootfall sinking into the dusty ground with purpose. He was infamous in the region—owner of Big Lou’s Lodge, a so-called "entertainment house" that ran on misery.

  The truth? It was a den of suffering.

  The women he bought were forced to sell their bodies under his thumb. Any male slaves he acquired were either beaten down into submission or thrown to the streets when they stopped being useful.

  A parasite dressed in silk.

  The small auctioneer perked up immediately, bowing slightly with a nervous chuckle. “Ah—Master Lou! Always a pleasure! I’m sure you’ll appreciate this fine pair—clean, young, and quiet!”

  Lou stopped a few feet from the stage, his eyes scanning Lira and Ren like they were livestock.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

  One of the elf women beside him stepped forward and dropped one gold coin into the collector’s box without a word.

  The auctioneer grinned.

  “One gold! Do I hear more? Anyone? Going once... going—”

  Lira trembled. Ren looked like he might collapse.

  “Going twice!” the auctioneer shouted, his voice rising with excitement, arm lifted high.

  He paused dramatically, scanning the silent crowd one last time.

  “SOLD! To Master Lou!” he declared with a flourish, slamming his hand down as if sealing a fate.

  A hush fell over the square.

  Lira's eyes widened in silent panic. Ren clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around hers, as if he could somehow protect her with nothing but his grip. The elf women beside Lou didn’t flinch. They had seen this too many times.

  Lou gave a smug nod, already turning away. His men moved toward the stage to collect the siblings like property.

  ...

  Inside Big Lou’s Lodge, the air was thick with perfume, sweat, and something darker—fear. Velvet curtains covered cracked walls, muffling the sounds of forced laughter and footsteps from above. In one of the back rooms, dimly lit by a flickering lantern, Lira and Ren sat on the floor, wrists tied tightly with coarse rope. Their ankles were bound too, making even the smallest movement difficult.

  Lou stood before them, arms behind his back, that same twisted grin plastered across his face.

  “I expect both of you to behave well,” he said slowly, voice low and dripping with malice. His eyes locked onto Lira, trailing over her in a way that made her shrink back despite the restraints. “Especially you, little flower... I have a special room already prepared.”

  That gaze, that intent—it was enough to make Lira tremble.

  Ren saw it.

  His disgust burned hotter than his fear.

  “Don’t you touch her,” he growled.

  Lou raised an eyebrow, amused. “What was that?”

  Before he could lean in closer, Ren surged forward with every bit of strength he had, teeth bared like an animal. He latched onto Lou’s ear and bit down hard.

  “AGH! GET OFF ME!” Lou screamed, stumbling back as he tried to yank Ren off.

  Ren held on, refusing to let go until Lou shoved him violently, sending the boy crashing into the wall. Without hesitation, Lou stormed forward, rage replacing his usual smugness.

  “You little rat!” he barked.

  His foot slammed into Ren’s ribs—once, twice—then fists followed. Lou’s blows were sloppy, wild, but Ren couldn’t even shield himself. Blood hit the wooden floor. Lira screamed, struggling against her restraints.

  "PLEASE! STOP!" Lira screamed, her voice raw and trembling, echoing through the tight, suffocating room.

  Lou finally paused, turning his bloodied face toward her. A strand of hair clung to his sweaty forehead, and his ear still dripped from Ren’s desperate bite. His chest heaved with each breath.

  He looked down at Ren’s limp form, then back at Lira, and sneered.

  “This is what you get, you stupid little rat,” he muttered coldly.

  Without another word, he snapped his fingers.

  One of the silent slaves in the corner—an older man with downcast eyes and a collar around his neck—stepped forward obediently.

  “Take him to the den,” Lou ordered, not even sparing Ren another glance.

  The slave nodded and gently picked up Ren, who was barely conscious. His head hung low, arms limp, the only sign of life being the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

  Lira’s heart pounded in her ears.

  “No... no please!” she cried, but her voice cracked. Her wrists burned against the ropes as she struggled.

  Lou turned back to her, slowly. And then, with a smile that made her blood run cold, he reached down and grabbed her by the chin.

  “You and I have unfinished business,” he said softly, his voice filled with poison.

  The last thing Ren saw through blurred vision was Lou dragging Lira toward another room… and the door slamming shut behind them.

  Ren finally woke up. His eyes fluttered open to darkness, his head pounding and body aching. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of where he was, but the only thing that came to mind—more powerful than the pain—was Lira.

  He sat up fast, panic surging through him. “Lira...!”

  But the moment he tried to stand, he was yanked back by cold, heavy metal. A thick iron shackle was clamped around his ankle, bolted into the stone floor. He was chained.

  To a cell.

  The realization sank into him like ice in his chest.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He staggered back and sat against the wall, breath shallow. There were no windows, no torches. The room was pitch black. A silence so complete it felt unnatural—like sound itself was afraid to exist here.

  Ren had no idea how long he had been out. Hours? Days? There was no light to tell. No sound. No food. No Lira.

  He waited. At first with hope. Then with fear.

  Then with nothing.

  His mind began to unravel, the silence pressing against him like walls closing in.

  To keep himself from slipping into madness, Ren started counting—just to hear his own voice.

  “One... two... three...” he whispered.

  His voice was so low, so hoarse, that not even a bird would have heard it.

  “Four... five... six…”

  Time didn’t exist anymore. Only the dark.

  And the waiting.

  Ren continued to count.

  "One million one hundred thousand six hundred thirty-eight," he whispered, lips cracked and dry, voice barely more than a breath. He had long since lost track of what number came next. He wasn’t even sure if he was still counting correctly. But counting was all he had. Numbers were his only companions in this godforsaken place.

  At first, it was a way to pass the time. Then, it became the only thing anchoring him to reality.

  The cell was beyond dark—it was absolute. The kind of darkness that didn’t just cover your eyes, but crawled into your skull and stayed there. No windows. No torches. Not even the sound of rats. Just the never-ending silence of stone and metal. The cold floor dug into his bones. The chain clamped to his ankle felt heavier with every passing day, rubbing his skin raw and bleeding until it turned to scab... then bled again.

  The first few days, Ren screamed.

  He screamed until his throat bled.

  He cried for help. For anyone. For Lira.

  But no one came.

  The hunger was manageable at first—just a dull ache. But after the first week, it turned into fire. His stomach twisted in on itself, eating what little remained. He clawed at the floor like an animal, searching for crumbs that weren’t there. Sometimes he swore he smelled food, only to realize it was his mind breaking. After two weeks, the hunger became something else—hollow, no longer pain but an endless void. The feeling of being eaten from the inside out.

  The thirst, though—that was worse.

  His tongue became thick. His lips cracked and bled. The inside of his mouth turned dry as paper. Every breath was like sandpaper against his throat. Sometimes, he’d catch himself opening his mouth to catch moisture from the air, praying for something, anything, to drink.

  There was nothing.

  Sometimes he hallucinated. He saw light shining through a crack that didn’t exist. He saw Lira’s face, smiling at him, reaching through the bars. He would crawl toward her, fingers trembling—

  And then wake up, curled in a corner, teeth clenched in dirt.

  He stopped screaming after the second week. No one was listening.

  He stopped crying after the third. There were no tears left.

  He stopped hoping after the fourth.

  Time became meaningless. The days bled into nights, and the nights into oblivion. His mind tried to fight, to stay alive, to believe. But even that was taken from him.

  By the fourth month, he didn’t know who he was anymore.

  His name? Forgotten.

  His voice? Unused.

  Even the numbers had stopped.

  There came a day when he sat against the cold wall and simply stared into the dark.

  Not thinking. Not dreaming.

  Just existing.

  And in that moment—quiet, still, hollow—the final thing inside him dimmed.

  The hope he clung to, the desperate little flame flickering in the back of his mind—the only light left in his eyes—

  It went out.

  And there was only the dark.

  Ren stared blankly ahead, eyes dull, lifeless—more a husk than a boy. His back was pressed against the wall, knees drawn close, arms limp at his sides. There was nothing left to feel. No pain. No hunger. No fear. Just the silence… and the dark.

  Then, something flickered.

  For a split second, the pitch-black cell rippled like water.

  Then again—violently.

  The walls cracked and peeled back like paper. Fire burst from the floor, devouring everything in a chaotic blaze. The stone walls bled smoke, and the air turned thick and hot. Screams echoed somewhere far away—too far to reach. Chains melted. Ash rained from above.

  Then—darkness again.

  The cell returned. Cold, dead. Still.

  Then chaos.

  Again and again. A strobe of insanity. A pendulum swinging between nothing and hell.

  Ren didn’t even flinch.

  He just watched.

  And then… the fire stayed.

  In the heart of it stood a man.

  Not a beast. Not a demon. But a man—at least in form.

  He wore a suit and tie, crisp and immaculate despite the inferno around him. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back. His eyes were hidden beneath blood-stained bandages, wrapped too tight, like someone had tried to keep something from leaking out. The fire danced at his feet but never touched him.

  He began to walk.

  Each step echoed with unnatural weight. The fire bent around him, almost bowing.

  Ren didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  The man stopped just in front of him, crouched down, and tilted Ren’s chin up with gloved fingers.

  "I’ve finally lost it..." Ren whispered. His voice was cracked, dry. He wasn’t sure if he said it out loud or just thought it. Either way, he didn’t believe the man was real.

  The stranger ignored it.

  His voice was calm, smooth—inhuman.

  “Do you want power?”

  The words slithered into the room like smoke. Not loud, not forceful—but they lingered, sinking deep into Ren’s fractured mind like hooks.

  The fire pulsed. The walls cracked again.

  And for the first time in months…

  Ren blinked.

  The man's bandaged eyes remained unblinking, his grip on Ren's chin unyielding. The fire twisted around them, but it didn't seem to touch the man at all. His presence alone bent the very air. He crouched lower, his face inches from Ren's, as if studying him—probing him for something deep inside.

  “Do you want power, Ren?” he asked again, voice low, silky. It was a question, but it felt like a command. His tone was patient, almost kind, but there was a chilling edge to it.

  Ren barely responded at first. His mind was so far gone, drifting through the haze of pain and hunger that had torn him apart for so long.

  “Do you want power, Ren?” the man repeated, his voice still steady, his words sinking deeper into Ren's fractured consciousness. “Power that can destroy everything... if you are willing to lose yourself for it?”

  Ren’s breath came ragged, strained. His lips parted in frustration, his eyes burning with the remnants of something long buried beneath the dark.

  He shook his head weakly. “What’s the point?” His voice cracked. “Everything is... already lost.”

  The man’s lips twitched, as if pleased by the answer.

  “Then do you want power to destroy this world?” The man’s voice grew colder, his words more cutting. “Do you want to burn it all away? Even if it means losing yourself completely? Everything you know, everyone you love... gone.”

  Ren’s chest tightened as the words ripped through his fractured mind. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.

  Lira.

  His parents.

  The world that had forsaken him.

  The fire blazed around him, swirling violently now, consuming everything—yet Ren felt nothing but emptiness. And the only thing that burned in his soul was the relentless ache, the hunger for something... anything that could give him a sense of control.

  Power.

  Ren’s eyes flickered with something darker. He gritted his teeth.

  “Yes... YES!” he shouted, voice raw, breaking with anger and despair. “THIS WORLD IS MEANT TO BURN! WHY IS IT MY FAULT THAT MY PARENTS ABANDONED ME? WHY IS IT MY FAULT... that they left me to rot? Why... why should I suffer for their sins?”

  The words exploded from him, every ounce of rage and helplessness spilling out into the flames.

  “I should have never been born,” Ren whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his words. “I should have been... nothing!”

  The man remained silent, his bandaged eyes never wavering. He studied Ren, as though waiting for something—waiting for this moment.

  Then, without another word, the man raised his hand, and in a sudden flash of heat and power, Ren felt something deep inside him stir.

  The man spoke softly, as though giving Ren a gift.

  “Demonic Art: Flame.”

  Pain. The searing pain of fire coursed through Ren’s body, but this time it was not a flame that burned him—it transformed him. His very blood felt like it was boiling, his skin tingling with raw energy. His vision blurred, then sharpened, as though he could now see through the flames themselves. Power, pure and destructive, surged inside him, filling every crack of his broken spirit.

  The fire was no longer something that raged around him. It was within him.

  Ren gasped, falling to his knees as the energy took hold. His chest heaved, and he clutched at his head, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

  “Good,” the man said. His voice was calm, approving, as he watched Ren struggle with the raw power now coursing through him. “You’ve chosen. You’ll make your mark on this world... one way or another.”

  Ren’s eyes, once dull, now flickered with the flame of something new. Something dangerous.

  The man straightened up, his presence towering over Ren. He stepped backward, turning to leave, his form beginning to fade into the flames that consumed everything around them.

  Before he disappeared into the fiery chaos, he spoke one last time.

  “My name... is Contractor,” he said, the name feeling almost like a whisper in Ren’s mind, “And this contract... is yours.”

  And just like that, the fire burned even brighter, and Ren was left alone in the dark, his body aflame with a power that would either consume him or set the world ablaze.

  Either way, he no longer cared.

  Ren stood still for a moment, his body engulfed in a fiery aura that seemed to breathe with him. The heat radiated from his form, swirling around him in a whirlwind of intense, crackling energy. The chains that had bound him to the cold, dark cell were now nothing but molten remnants, falling to the floor in smoldering pieces. The sound of metal breaking apart was swallowed by the flames that surged from his skin.

  The room, once shrouded in absolute darkness, was now alive with the light of his power, the fiery tendrils crawling up the walls and casting shadows that danced like specters. The air around him shimmered with heat, the temperature rising to unbearable levels, yet Ren felt nothing. The fire was him now, and he was the fire. The room had become an extension of his fury and his newfound power.

  "Lira..." Ren whispered, the name barely a breath on his lips. The very mention of her name seemed to reignite the hollow ache in his chest, a reminder of the one person he had vowed to protect. The one person who had suffered with him, and for whom he had endured.

  He stood up slowly, feeling the strange strength in his limbs. His body, once frail and gaunt, now felt different—stronger, leaner, and more solid. The fire surrounding him only made his muscles appear even more defined, his form more imposing, his aura more dangerous. The flames that circled his body began to settle into a steady, controlled blaze, like a flame contained in the heart of a storm. His eyes burned with the same intensity.

  He took a step forward, his footfall causing the ground beneath him to crack and hiss as it came into contact with the heat emanating from him. The door that once stood as a barrier between him and his freedom seemed to melt at his approach. The metal warped and bent, melting into pools of liquid metal, before falling away entirely.

  Ren didn’t even flinch at the destruction, the power he now wielded nothing but an extension of his will.

  As he walked through the now-nonexistent doorframe, the echoes of heavy footsteps reached his ears. They were distant at first, but growing closer. Someone else was coming. Perhaps someone who thought they could stop him. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

  Ren's eyes flickered in the direction of the sound, his new powers surging, feeling the vibrations of every step in the ground beneath him. His gaze sharpened, focused on the coming footsteps. They were growing closer, but Ren wasn’t afraid.

  In fact, he welcomed it.

  Ren searched every room in the village, his heart racing with desperation. Despite the overwhelming power that coursed through his veins, a strange restraint still held him back from unleashing his fury on anyone who stood in his way—except for Lou. The man who had caused so much pain. The one responsible for the suffering of Lira and countless others.

  "Where is she?" Ren’s voice was low, tinged with an edge that made the air crackle.

  "W- who are you?!" Lou stammered, backing away, his face pale with fear as he saw the flames flickering around Ren’s body.

  "Answer me!" Ren demanded, his eyes burning with fury. The air around them seemed to warp with the intensity of his emotions, the heat rising.

  "I—I don’t know! She escaped!" Lou cried out, his voice pleading for mercy.

  Ren’s gaze darkened. He took a step forward, and the ground beneath him seemed to burn with each footfall. Without another word, he closed the distance between them. His hand shot out and grabbed Lou by the head, his fingers digging into the man’s skull with a grip so strong it felt like iron.

  In an instant, Ren’s body became engulfed in flames once again—this time, darker and more destructive. The fire spread rapidly, cascading from his form like a hellish inferno, enveloping Lou in a swirling vortex of flame. Lou’s screams echoed for a brief moment before his body was reduced to ash, the remnants of his existence scattered in the wind.

  Ren let go of the ashes, his expression cold, his mind still consumed by the thought of Lira. He had done it without hesitation, the flames that had once symbolized his pain and anger now an unrelenting tool of destruction. Yet, even with Lou gone, the emptiness in Ren’s heart only deepened. The satisfaction of killing the man who had tormented him and Lira didn’t bring peace. It only left a void that nothing could fill.

  Ren continued his search through the village, his eyes scanning every building, every corner. But it was no use. Lira was gone. She had escaped, just like Lou had said. But despite the devastation around him, Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still alive, somewhere out there.

  The flames on his body had dimmed, but the power still coursed through him—raw, untamed, and waiting for a reason to burn again.

  He stepped out of the village, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t look back. The fire he had unleashed had consumed everything in its path, but it wasn’t enough. Ren didn’t care about the village or the people inside it. His only focus was on finding Lira.

  The world around him seemed to fade as he walked, his heart heavy with a determination he couldn’t explain. He knew she was alive. He could feel it deep within him. No matter how far he traveled, no matter how many days passed, he would keep searching. Lira was out there—alive—and he wouldn’t stop until he found her.

  Ren continued to search the village, but no matter how many rooms he checked, he couldn’t find Lira. His mind was consumed by one thought. Where is she? The flames that had once surrounded him were gone, but their trace remained, a quiet reminder of what he had become. Unaware of the destruction he caused, he moved through the village with an eerie focus.

  He heard Lou’s voice in his mind, She escaped. But Ren refused to believe it. She was out there, he was sure of it. With his body now strong and hardened from his battles, Ren’s obsession pushed him forward. He left the village without looking back, his focus solely on finding Lira.

  Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The search was endless. Three years passed, and Ren transformed. His reputation as a mercenary grew, and with it, his power. He became known as Death, a mercenary with the ability to bring destruction wherever he went. His skill in battle was unmatched, his flame-like power an unstoppable force.

  But despite his newfound strength, the one thing that drove him remained unchanged—his search for Lira. The world around him could burn, but as long as he knew she was alive, he would keep going. The title he carried Death, was both feared and respected, but for Ren, it was a curse. His purpose was clear to find Lira. And no matter the cost, he would burn everything in his path to do so.