Ash's consciousness flickered back to life in a dimly lit dungeon, confusion swirling around him like a thick fog. He blinked against the darkness, slowly adjusting to the cold, damp atmosphere that surrounded him. The heavy scent of mold and despair clung to the stone walls, each breath a reminder of his grim reality. As he attempted to lift himself from the cold, hard ground, a jolt of pain coursed through his limbs, and panic set in. Chains clinked ominously against the stone as he realized that he was bound—an iron collar chafing at his neck, its oppressive weight a constant reminder of his helplessness.
The memories of his last moments as the powerful Demon Lord flashed in his mind, a haunting montage of betrayal and defeat. He had ruled with an iron fist, feared by all, until a coalition of heroes had conspired against him, catching him off guard in a moment of vulnerability. Ash had fought valiantly, but in the end, the combined strength of his enemies had overwhelmed him, and he had been brought low. Now, stripped of his power and dignity, he was nothing more than a slave.
"Get up, you worthless piece of filth!" a rough voice barked, pulling Ash from his thoughts. Two guards entered his cell, their heavy boots echoing in the confined space. They yanked him to his feet with brutal force, the chains rattling as they dragged him out into the corridor. Ash gritted his teeth against the humiliation, refusing to show weakness even as they manhandled him like a sack of grain.
They maneuvered him through the labyrinth of the castle's dungeons, the bright flames of the torches around doing little to help their already, Nyasha's squinted eyes, cutting through the darkened corners of the place.Observing the surroundings very closely, Ash cataloged everything he saw. It was never a hidden thing for him that he was intelligent and smart and he believed this was one of those times that brought with it the need to be inquisitive. As they entered the main area of the house, he regrettably lost the ability to distinguish any individual shapes due to the lavishness of the place. Expensive gold chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, decorating the place as well as making it warmer. Walls were covered with tapestries, and the place was filled with ornate wooden pieces and furniture, unlike the dirty prison.
In the middle of the hall was a well-dressed lady who looked like she possessed authority. As her long dark hair completed the picture, the high contrast docility of her facial angle accentuated the beauty of her delicate features. Looking at him, she arched one of her perfect brows and calmly said, "What have we here?" Her voice sounded sweet, but there was an undercurrent that made it sound dangerous. "Another slave, I presume."
With Ash being shoved and right below her feet, the woman recalled her knees and bowed. 'My lady, this one was found in the peripheries, scouring for trash, ' one of the guards added arrogantly.'
The woman leaned in closer, freezing him in her stare which oddly gave him goose bumps. 'What is your name, slave?' She added, softening the tone a bit.
"Ash," he replied, his tone flat, refusing to show any sign of submission.
"Ash," she repeated, savoring the name as if it were a rare delicacy. "I am Lila, and from this moment on, you belong to me." There was a commanding finality to her words, yet Ash detected something more—a curiosity, perhaps even fascination.
As he stared up at her, the weight of his situation bore down on him. This woman held the power to dictate his life now, but he was determined not to yield completely. He would play along, gather information, and wait for the right moment to reclaim his freedom.