Cramped, dim, and cluttered.
To Igula's right was a large cardboard box stuffed with over twenty packs of tissues, likely bought during a clearance sale. On top of the box sat a portable heater, surrounded by various household items that weren't in immediate use. To his left was a tightly closed door.
This was the storage room—his refuge for the past five days.
The persistent hunger in his stomach told him it was already 6 PM. Amy should be back soon to feed him.
Reflecting on his recent life, Igula sighed. While he had managed to evade the Scourge Division's sweeping manhunt, the way he achieved this left much to be desired—he'd been living as Amy's pet dog.
Literally a dog. Igula tugged at the collar around his neck, a biting reminder of his situation.
He'd worked so hard to rid himself of the chip-embedded neckband in pursuit of freedom, only to willingly don a real collar for the same cause.
As for why Amy Lexus, a Scourge Division hunter, was willing to harbor him? That traced back to an incident three years ago, during his part-time stint at a mud café.
The Mud Café of Manipulation
While men with succubus lineage often worked at mud cafés (a concept akin to host clubs), Igula rarely bothered. Such jobs paid too little compared to his usual grifting schemes. But when Igula did take up a mud café gig, it was usually to advance his cons.
One such establishment was "Gamble of Submission," a hybrid mud café and gambling den. Its name hinted at decadence, and it delivered. Patrons purchased initial chips to gamble in various games, but the stakes were unique: time.
Each participant wagered 60 minutes of servitude. Winning meant being served by the dealer for that time, while losing meant submitting to the dealer's whims for the same duration.
Regardless of the outcome, the café ensured everyone left satisfied—losing patrons often found themselves "compensated" in other ways.
The premise, a mix of gambling and mutual servitude, proved wildly popular. Winners reveled in their victories, while losers either vowed revenge or simply indulged in the café's "services."
Igula worked there not to entertain but to exploit. Targeting wealthy patrons, he'd lure them into games, secure their 60 minutes of submission, and then use his Contract Sorcery to bind them with absurd vows like "devote your life to me" or "give me your most treasured possession."
The victims, thinking it all part of the café's "spicy fun," would agree, only to find themselves magically compelled to fulfill the promises. Even reporting him would violate their oaths to "treat Igula kindly forever."
Rich clients were bled dry, though Igula always declined their more carnal propositions, an ironic breach of industry ethics. Occasionally, even wealthy men fell into his net, making vows like "never lust after anyone but me," effectively curing themselves of susceptibility to seduction.
In his twisted way, Igula was redistributing wealth on an impressive scale. But, as with all con artists, smooth sailing was never guaranteed. One night, Amy Lexus walked into the café.
Amy's gambling skill was decent, but Igula's mastery of human nature gave him the upper hand. After a decisive victory, Igula planned to let her off lightly. As a Moonshadow, Amy's status as a privileged elite made her a dangerous mark.
But Amy wasn't content to lose. She bought more chips, insisting on rematches. The café allowed repeat purchases to encourage spending, with the added rule that multiple purchases extended the service time proportionally.
In a moment of inspiration, Igula added a twist:
"If I win, can I make one wish? It'll only last 120 minutes."
Amy agreed without hesitation, forming a binding contract.
By the second match, Amy had lost another 300 minutes. Before Igula could decide how to use his growing pool of time, she abruptly left, summoned by a message.
Only later did Igula learn she was a Scourge Division hunter.
Realizing the value of his "wish," Igula bided his time. Amy continued visiting the café, frequently gambling with him. Although she occasionally won, Igula consistently gained the upper hand. Over time, her accumulated servitude surpassed 9000 minutes.
But before he could cash in, the Scourge Division raided the café and arrested him.
Amy's intent became clear. She had used the games to stall him, knowing his growing record of fraud would eventually bring the authorities down on him.
Caught off guard, Igula had no time to alter his memories before they were scanned. The Division uncovered his extensive con history, earning him a one-way ticket to Lake Shard Prison.
Yet, even in custody, his contract with Amy remained valid. The Void itself bore witness to such oaths.
When he escaped, Igula went straight to Amy's doorstep. Facing her in pajamas, he delivered his command:
"I order you to help me escape Bloodmoon."
Though limited to one wish, he divided it into three directives:
1.Provide him with a safe shelter and food.
2.Keep his whereabouts secret.
3.Gather intelligence for him.
Amy complied. Technically.
She housed him in her cramped storage room, feeding him minimally and reducing him to near-total dependence. Though humiliating, her actions adhered to the contract's terms.
The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted Igula's thoughts. Amy was home.
"Finally," he muttered, adjusting the collar around his neck. "Let's see how she plans to mess with me tonight."