As the rough fibers of the rope tugged against the collar encircling my neck, I found myself being led towards an imposing brick building that loomed ahead. We approached a worn counter, the surface etched with the marks of countless transactions, where a man with hair the color of autumn leaves stood. His eyes lit up with recognition upon seeing Klint. "Heyyy Klint, how yuh doing? It's been an eternity," he exclaimed with a warmth that belied the coldness of the space.
Klint offered a nod, his face betraying little emotion. "Indeed, it has been quite some time. I'm here on business today," he stated, his voice carrying a transactional tone. With a casual gesture, he drew attention to me. "I wish to put this one up for sale," he declared, as if discussing a piece of merchandise rather than a person.
The man's gaze shifted to me, appraising with a critical eye. "Hmmm, he's certainly going to require a thorough examination, but..." His voice trailed off as he took in my appearance, his eyebrow arching with intrigue. "He's quite the looker, isn't he? And that hair... there's a hint of the demonic traces about his aura, plus his is huge so he must be a magic weilder…that would explain the collar. A demon, perhaps?" he mused, a speculative glint in his eye as he pondered the possibilities that my presence suggested.
Klint exhaled a weary sigh, the weight of unspoken stories lingering in the air. "Yes, he is indeed a demon," he confirmed, the word 'demon' hanging heavily between them. His curiosity, however, seemed to get the better of him as he leaned forward slightly. "What do you reckon he'd fetch in the current market?" Klint inquired, his voice tinged with a blend of anticipation and uncertainty.
The man's interest appeared piqued as he stepped out from his sanctuary behind the counter, closing the distance between us with deliberate strides. His hand reached out, and instinctively, I recoiled, a jolt of fear sending me scrambling backwards. But the attempt was futile; the rope jerked me back with a swift, unyielding pull. "Stay still," Klint hissed through clenched teeth, a stern command that brooked no argument. His grip on the rope was a clear reminder of the control he held, as the man loomed closer, his eyes scrutinizing me with a mix of appraisal and curiosity.
The man's fingers traced the contours of my arms, feeling the skin and muscle that lay beneath with a clinical detachment. "Well, he certainly has muscle," he observed aloud, his tone clinical, as if he were assessing the quality of a stallion. His hands, firm and unyielding, then moved to my face, gripping my jaw. "And he appears to be durability, I mean he was with you and lived so," the man remarked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized every inch of my visage. "Good facial structure, strong... and his presence…it's slightly off but definitely a demon so I know your not playing me there," he mused, as if piecing together my worth from the sum of my parts.
After a moment of contemplative silence, he delivered his verdict with a confidence that seemed to echo off the walls. "Hmmm. He'd sell for about 1,000 silver," he declared. The figure hung in the air, a substantial amount that visibly took Klint by surprise. His eyebrows shot up, a silent testament to his astonishment at the valuation, as if the number had surpassed his expectations and challenged his understanding of my worth in this grim marketplace.
"Very well, I'll sell him to the auction now for 1,000 silver then," Klint stated, his voice steady and resolute, as if he had made peace with the decision. There was a finality in his tone, the kind that came from a man accustomed to such transactions.
The man across from him responded with a silent nod, his agreement not needing words as he turned on his heel and made his way back to the counter. There, he rummaged for a moment before producing a heavy pouch that clinked with the promise of silver. He extended the pouch towards Klint, the sound of the coins jingling with each movement.
"I'll take the deal," the man declared, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "It's not often we are able to obtain demons." His words carried a sense of rarity, a treasure found and quickly claimed.
Klint accepted the pouch, the weight of the silver feeling both heavy and cold in his grasp. He nodded in return, sealing the agreement with a firm handshake. "Pleasure doing business again, Frank," Klint said, addressing the man by name, a name I now knew: Frank. It was a name that seemed to carry a history of prior dealings, a mutual recognition of the business at hand. Frank, the man who now held my fate in the balance of his ledger.
With the exchange concluded and the weight of silver changing hands, Klint turned on his heel and departed. His footsteps echoed through the space, a receding testament to the transaction that had just occurred, leaving me in the company of the man now holding the rope that was fastened around my collar.
"Let's get going, kid," he said, his voice carrying a tone of anticipation, as if he was already envisioning the profit to come. "I'll put you up for auction in about a month or two. That's when we're selling off our next rare species. Don't worry I'll find work for you until then," he added, his eyes twinkling with a shrewd glint that spoke of his experience in such matters.
He tugged at the rope gently, guiding me further into the depths of the auction house. Despite the unassuming exterior that had greeted us upon arrival, the interior of the auction house was a stark contrast. It was adorned with beautiful marble that gleamed under the carefully positioned lighting, the opulence of the surroundings a deliberate display designed to impress potential buyers.
As we continued, I found myself being led towards a stairwell. It was a grand structure, sweeping downward in an elegant curve, but it led to the basement—a place that promised to be far removed from the grandeur of the marble halls above. The descent felt like a tangible shift, a crossing over from one world to another, as the unknown awaited me in the shadows below.
As we descended further, the atmosphere shifted dramatically, the air growing colder and the ambiance turning sinister. The once polished marble gave way to roughly hewn stone, and the opulent glow from above was replaced by the flickering of dim torches casting elongated shadows against the walls. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, a metallic tang that seemed to seep into my very pores, and the yells and screams punctuated the thick silence, a chilling reminder of the suffering that permeated this place.
The voices rose in a symphony of distress, different languages intertwining in a desperate chorus that echoed off the stone, each one telling tales of pain and fear from across the globe, illustrating the diversity of the unfortunate souls brought here against their will.
Finally, the bottom of the stairwell loomed before us, revealing a sprawling expanse of cells that stretched out into the darkness. Each enclosure contained a figure, some with hollow eyes and sickly skin, their bodies dying from neglect. Others were robust, their muscles defined from what could only be the result of grueling physical exertion, a stark contrast to their fellow captives. A number were completely devoid of clothing, their vulnerability on display for all to see, while a few clutched at scraps of fabric that did little to preserve their modesty.
The sight was yelling of human misery, each individual a living testament to the cruelty that this dark corner of the auction house represented. It was a place where humanity was forgotten, and people were reduced to mere commodities, their worth measured by their physical prowess and the depth of their despair concealed behind the bars of their cages.
The deeper I was dragged into this nightmare, the more my stomach churned with revulsion. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if I was wading through the very essence of human depravity that clung to the air. The rope tethered to my collar grew slack, a small mercy that did little to ease the growing knot of dread in my gut. It was a silent signal that our grim procession was coming to a halt.
We paused before a cell that stood apart from the rest, its solitary door a grim sentinel. Unlike the others, this one boasted reinforcements, the metal of the door and the bars of the cell seemed to have been forged with a singular purpose in mind—to contain something, or someone, of great consequence. The bars were noticeably thicker, the gaps between them narrower, as if to prevent even the slightest chance of escape or communication with the world outside.
Frank, the man who had been my escort through this labyrinth of sorrow, produced a hefty keychain from his pocket. It was a monstrous thing, laden with what seemed like hundreds of keys, each one a silent witness to the countless lives that had been locked away behind these cold, unforgiving barriers. The keys clinked and clattered against one another as he sifted through them with an air of disinterest, a mundane routine for him, no doubt.
After an eternity of metallic whispers, he found the key he was searching for. Its teeth slid into the lock with a precision that spoke of frequent use.
"Given the potent demon blood coursing through your veins, vigilant surveillance is a must," Frank declared, a wry smile playing on his lips as if he relished the caution his words implied. "Plus, there's an unmistakable aura of bloodlust that clings to you. It's almost palpable, and I'm not one to take unnecessary risks," he continued, his tone a mixture of wariness and a strange sort of respect.
With a turn of his wrist, he swung open the heavy cell door, its hinges groaning under the weight. As it revealed the space within, my eyes fell upon a girl of slight stature. She was a stark contrast against the oppressive gloom of the cell, with long, pitch-black hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight silk. Her eyes were a startling shade of crimson, vibrant and intense, cutting through the shadows like twin beacons.
Despite her small frame, there was an undeniable strength to her presence. She was shackled at the ankles, the chains a dull echo of the cell's own bars, anchoring her to the cold, hard ground. Yet, it wasn't the physical restraints that seemed to weigh her down. Her gaze held a distant fury, a tempest of emotions that seemed to be held at bay by sheer force of will. It was clear that while her body was confined, her spirit was untamed, burning with a fire that was both haunting and mesmerizing.
But what got me was the realization that they could even consider me a demon it struck me with incredulity. My mother was as human as they come, and my sister too. And my father... well, memories of him are hazy at best, but I'm almost certain he was human. These thoughts swirled in my head, a storm of confusion and disbelief, until I was abruptly yanked back to reality by a forceful shove.
Stumbling forward, I found myself thrust into the confines of the cell, the cold air of the space a stark reminder of my situation. Frank was right on my heels, and with a rough push, he sent me crashing to the ground. The impact jarred me, and as I landed awkwardly on my backside, I could feel the cold floor beneath me. Frank didn't waste a moment; he produced a set of shackles from seemingly nowhere and fastened them around my ankles with a chilling efficiency, securing me beside the enigmatic black-haired girl.
"There, now behave yourself, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get something to eat. Got it?" Frank's voice was stern, brooking no argument. "I'll be back for you tomorrow. We've got work to do." His words hung in the air as he knelt down, his knee hitting the ground with a soft thud, and he untied the ropes binding my arms.
The relief of being free from the bindings was short-lived as I looked down at my arms. The skin was marred by the cruel imprint of the ropes, a canvas of purple and blue bruises that bore testament to the harsh treatment I'd endured. Swollen and tender, the marks were interspersed with patches of dried blood. Sure to leave scars across my arms and wrists.