This book contains raw, unfiltered content and may include graphic descriptions that some readers may find disturbing or offensive. The material presented is intended for mature audiences and is meant to provoke thought, not to offend. Reader discretion is advised. By continuing, you acknowledge that you are aware of the explicit nature of the content.

"What am I doing with my life," he whispered, his voice low and heavy. The words echoed through the dark, narrow alley, bouncing off empty walls and disappearing into the void. Only two others were present to hear him—his silent coworker and a terrified young woman clutching her purse, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy.

"I'll give you anything—money, favors—whatever you want," she stammered, her voice trembling and breaking with every word.

"You hear that, Hound? Anything we want," Puck said with a cruel laugh, his boots scraping against the gritty pavement as he moved closer. "What I want, sweetheart, isn't in your purse. Can you give me that?"

Her face paled, her lips trembling as she tried to reason with him. "I… my family values my honor above all else. Please, I'll give you money, connections—I can even cover your academy fees. Registration opens soon, and I'll pay for it all."

Unmoved, Puck continued his advance, closing the space between them until her back pressed against the cold, filthy wall. His presence loomed over her like a shadow, and his rough hand reached out to tilt her chin upward. She turned her gaze toward Hound, who stood leaning against the opposite wall, his expression unreadable. Her silent plea for help met only the stillness of his posture, her last sliver of hope slipping away.

The sounds of ripping clothes, her stifled cries, and Puck's laughter and brutality filled the alley. Puck's confidence only grew, his tone mocking and self-assured.

In no time she bore no clothes. Her bruised arms covering her exposed breasts. Streams of tears soaking the ground she lies on. Her silky smooth naked skin soiled by filth as she is towered by Puck's overbearing and sculpted build. His muscles, corded and scarred, were a canvas for intricate tattoos that crawled across his skin like living, breathing serpents. The runes, dark as obsidian, seemed to shimmer faintly under the dim light.

Each symbol was jagged and angular, their edges curling inward like barbed hooks. They flowed seamlessly into one another, forming an endless chain of patterns that spiraled around his arms, coiled across his chest all the way to the soles of his feet. At the center of his broad chest, the runes converged to form the open jaws of a serpent, its fangs poised to strike. They pulsed faintly, as though imbued with a latent, otherworldly energy. His erect 5 inch veined penis bulged as if to taunt her.

"Want a turn, partner?" he called over his shoulder to Hound, his grin as twisted as his intentions.

"We've got places to be," Hound replied softly, his voice calm and detached. His eyes flicked toward her for a moment, his gaze sharp but cold, before he resumed his vigil.

Hound watched silently as his coworker tormented the woman, her desperate cries and futile struggles echoing through the alley. Puck's crude laughter cut through the tension, his every movement steeped in cruelty. The scene was oppressive, the air heavy with despair, as Hound observed it all with a chilling detachment, his intentions unreadable.

The woman, overwhelmed and broken, ceased her resistance, her tears falling steadily as she lay motionless on the ground. Puck, unrelenting, reveled in his power, his demeanor growing more frenzied as his actions reached their peak. With a final, triumphant exclamation, he finished, leaving her further reduced to silent despair.

Puck stepped back, his breathing ragged as he grinned down at her. "What do you think, partner?" he asked with a mocking tone, as if proud of his cruelty.

Hound's silence continued, his gaze fixed, the weight of the moment still lingering in the darkened alley.

The alley seemed to grow quieter with every second, the tension thick and suffocating. Suddenly, Puck froze mid-sentence, a strangled noise escaping his throat. Blood began to trail from his neck, dripping onto the ground below. His eyes widened in disbelief as he turned toward Hound, who stood holding a dagger. Its blade hovered over a small doll inscribed with intricate runes—the same symbols etched into Puck's skin.

"Hound… what are you—" Puck gasped, his voice strained and thick with confusion. His hands instinctively pressed against his throat, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Blood magic?" he rasped, his voice faltering as his knees buckled. "Why? If you didn't like what I was doing, you only had to say so."

"I couldn't give less of a fuck what you do to her" he replied with his face remaining impassive, his voice steady.

"Then what is this about? I don't understand" Puck exclaimed with his hands on his neck, walking closer to Hound with a morbid expression.

"The job is to bring her in—dead or alive.. I needed you to lure her out but tell me now, Puck. What purpose do you serve but take a percentage of my reward"

"Your reward?" Puck spat, his voice hoarse and full of rage. "You bastard, I did all the work!"

"And now you're unnecessary," Hound replied coldly, carving another mark into the doll. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as Puck's spine gave way, and he collapsed onto the ground, his body shaking from the sudden paralysis.

"There's no honor in dying in the streets, old friend," Hound said, crouching down beside him. "You should've known better than to let your guard down. Exhaustion makes even the strongest vulnerable, and you were far too distracted."

"Hound—"

Puck's words were cut off as Hound drove the dagger into him. The blade moved with precision, each strike methodical and unrelenting. 

Even now, as blood trickled from his throat, the tattoos seemed to shift, as though trying to protect him. The serpent's eyes glowed faintly, its coiled body tightening across his chest in a futile attempt to reverse the damage Hound had inflicted. But the blood magic etched into the porcelain doll in Hound's hand was more potent—a force designed to counteract the very magic Puck had used to become what he was. 

 Puck's fingers grazed the runes on his chest, a mixture of desperation and disbelief etched into his face. The tattoos, once vibrant, began to fade, their energy siphoned away by the cursed magic now unraveling him from within.His breathing slowed, and finally, he fell silent, his body motionless on the ground.

Hound rose to his feet, his figure silhouetted against the dim light spilling into the alley. Blood stained his clothes, dripping slowly from the blade in his hand. He turned toward the girl, trembling, still laying down.