"Six bottles of Verdyn over here, on me!"
"Bring out a plate of the biggest lobster Lala Fat, my treat!"
"A round of ale for the entire hall, this one's on Black Beast Tuck!"
By noon, the registration table was gone, and volunteer recruitment had concluded.
The prison cafeteria buzzed with noise as the chosen volunteers spent their contribution points on extravagant meals, even treating others to their fleeting joy. For these hardened criminals, tomorrow offered only two outcomes: freedom through survival or death in obscurity. Either way, contribution points were useless to them now, so why not splurge?
The cruel irony of life: dying with unspent money.
And worse still: having unspent money but wishing for death.
Ronald Wade found himself firmly in the latter camp.
He stared at the lavish spread of food before him. His stomach churned with hunger, yet he had no appetite.
A server placed a chilled mug of ale in front of him, courtesy of Black Beast Tuck. Before prison, Ronald drank like a fish—alcohol was his lifeblood. But now, the ale tasted no better than slightly bitter water.
Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
Prison was meaningless. Life was meaningless. Even his own compulsions felt hollow.
The only thing that made Ronald feel truly alive, the only thing that could ignite his senses, was—
Suddenly, Ronald buried his face in the food, frantically shoving mouthfuls into his mouth. He chewed with desperate force, grinding the sinew and muscle fibers of the meat, as though the act of eating could momentarily drown out his vile, insatiable cravings.
"Not bad for an appetite like that," a voice commented. "But you're pretty lean. Do you work out?"
Ronald looked up, and two familiar figures stood before him: The Elegant Beast Igula and The Demon Ash.
Igula's reputation preceded him. Known for exploiting newcomers through his contract magic and trading in secrets, he was someone you were better off avoiding entirely. Ronald had been warned by none other than Ronald "The Gourmet" Ronna himself to steer clear of Igula's silver tongue.
Ash, on the other hand, had etched his name into Ronald's mind for different reasons. The man had survived a Blood Moon Tribunal, defying impossible odds not once, but twice: first defeating Igula, then taking down Varkas. To Ronald, Ash was the embodiment of an anomaly—someone who shouldn't win but always did.
"Do you want something?" Ronald asked, his tone guarded.
"We're here for you," Ash said, taking a bite of a sandwich. "Still upset you didn't get picked as a volunteer? Don't worry—there's another way out of this prison."
Ronald's eyes lit up. "What way?"
"Escape," Ash whispered conspiratorially. "We've got a solid plan, a high success rate. All we need is one more person. Interested?"
Ronald hesitated, then sighed. "Please, just leave me out of whatever scheme you're cooking up. I'll pay you—one whole contribution point. Take it and let me eat in peace, okay?"
Ash exchanged a look with Igula, who sighed dramatically. "If the leaders of the Four Pillars Cult are as persuasive as you, it's no wonder they've been in hiding for so long."
Igula turned back to Ronald, his tone shifting. "You know as well as I do that you can't stay here. You have to leave—by any means necessary. Even if it means risking your life as a volunteer. Because staying with Ronna? That's a fate worse than death."
Ronald's expression flickered. "I don't know what you're talking about. Without Ronna, I'd be stuck in the Blood Moon Tribunal until they beat me into paste. He's the only thing keeping me alive."
"Oh, sure," Igula said dryly. "All you have to do is maintain a 'close relationship' with him, and he'll keep throwing fights to help you earn contribution points. A sweet deal, really—especially after you lost your first five death matches and hit rock bottom on the food chain."
Ronald clenched his jaw but didn't deny it. His first foray into the prison's death match arena had been a disaster. Every opponent had crushed him effortlessly, leaving him demoralized and broke.
Then Ronna appeared, offering salvation. He would lose intentionally, funneling contribution points to Ronald in exchange for two conditions.
The first was their "intimate relationship." Unpleasant but bearable, Ronald thought. Survival required sacrifice, after all.
But the second condition...
"Ronna needs you as a 'resource,' doesn't he?" Igula said, his smile razor-sharp. "He challenges you to death matches, takes whatever he wants, then lets you win just before you're dead. That's your 'relationship,' isn't it?"
Ronald hesitated, then nodded. "As long as I survive, my body will recover. Sure, it'll shorten my lifespan in the long run, but without contribution points, I'd never make it through the next Tribunal."
"If that were all, it might even be worth it," Igula admitted. "But let's be honest—you've noticed something, haven't you? That's why you were so desperate to become a volunteer. You can feel it, deep down: this isn't just an arrangement. It's a ritual."
Ronald froze. "A... ritual? What are you talking about?"
"Come on, Ronald. Do you really think Ronna's demands are just about indulgence? He doesn't see you as a tool or a possession. He loves you. Truly, deeply, unconditionally loves you."
Ronald's face turned ashen, his hand trembling around a fork.
It sounded absurd. Ronna's actions screamed dominance and exploitation. But Ronald knew better. He had felt it—genuine affection, radiating from Ronna's every glance, every touch.
Even when Ronna was... consuming him, his gaze held no malice, only love.
"Ronna's love isn't just obsession," Igula continued. "It's devotion. And that's the most terrifying part. This isn't a simple exchange of needs. It's a ritual, Ronald. One that you're at the center of."
Ronald swallowed hard. "W-What kind of ritual?"
"I don't know the specifics," Igula admitted, his grin widening. "But I do know the outcome. Ronna's previous 'friends' all died in their sleep. Perfectly healthy on the outside, yet every organ and system shut down as though their souls simply... vanished."
The blood drained from Ronald's face. "That's impossible! The chips prevent self-harm—no one can just die in their cell!"
"Exactly," Igula said. "Unless they were... helped along by something far more insidious."
Ronald's trembling grew worse as Igula delivered the final blow:
"You've felt it, haven't you? That pull toward Ronna, that irrational compulsion to accept his death match invitations—even when you don't need the contribution points. Do you know why?"
"Why?" Ronald whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Because in those moments, your soul feels whole again. And it's desperate to escape—before Ronna takes it for good."