In a very peculiar city, protected by a gigantic translucent dome, a single commercial complex dominates the equivalent of two entire city blocks, covering over 10,000 square meters.
The entire complex is surrounded by high walls, over five meters high, built with extreme reinforcement. The perimeter and interior are monitored by cameras and guards, stationed at every entrance and along the walls.
These guards alone attract considerable attention—they are all women. Tall, athletic women, with physiques that reveal intense dedication to the gym. Many of them exceed two meters in height.
None carry firearms. Instead, they are equipped with swords, spears, staves, daggers, combat gauntlets, shields, and modern bows. Some carry wands and staffs adorned with glittering jewels.
More surprising than the absence of firearms is the fact that none of them are pure human. Each one possesses peculiar genetic traits—animal ears, skin in improbable shades, eyes of unusual shapes and colors, among other expressive and unmistakable characteristics.
However, one thing was common to all: a stunning, genuine, and natural beauty. None of them could be classified as merely "beautiful." They were all far above average.
Within the walls, the complex is organized into several structures interconnected by ground-floor corridors and elevated walkways, all orbiting a main building over 70 meters high.
And it was precisely in one of these ground-floor corridors that an unexpected encounter occurred: a young man and a colossal lamia woman were facing each other.
The encounter had barely begun, but it had already become heated.
"I want you," the young man said, his gaze firm, staring directly into the lamia's eyes.
The woman was speechless, surprise etched on her face. It took her a few seconds to process.
"What...? I don't think I heard correctly. Can you repeat that?" she asked, still in disbelief.
To anyone who saw her, she was stunningly beautiful.
Standing well over two meters tall, her presence was as striking as her beauty. Long, curly, pitch-black hair shone with vivid intensity under the artificial light. Her eyes were slanted, with reptilian pupils and deep blue irises so deep they seemed hypnotizing. Her dark brown skin had a seductive, almost supernatural glow, and her perfectly symmetrical face displayed refined, sensual, and intimidating features.
From her full, provocative lips, a forked tongue protruded, testing the air with soft, insinuating movements. When she spoke, two large white canines appeared—threatening yet beautiful, like part of an elegant beast.
Her powerful body was enveloped by a low-cut dress that boldly hugged every curve, revealing her full breasts and strong shoulders. Below the waist, her human form merged with a long, imposing serpentine tail, black and imposing, covered in small, gleaming scales that looked like diamond fragments. But despite the natural shine, there were clear signs of wear: the scales, though clean, showed they hadn't been polished often, with several dull areas and some even cracked.
The tail wasn't just a weapon or an extension of her beauty—it was a living record of her history. Several scars of varying sizes marred its surface, some recent, others old and already whitened with age. One stood out: a long scar over eighty centimeters long, starting where her right thigh would be and spiraling upward until it disappeared beneath the fabric of her dress.
This scar, in particular, carried a silent strength. It was impossible to ignore. Not just because of its length, but because of the way it seemed to contradict her beauty—or perhaps, intensify it.
"I want you to be my Hound." I want you to accept my first Lifelong Pact," he concluded.
The meeting had barely begun, but the young man's words were so unexpected that they left her bewildered, wondering if it was even real.
"Ha... haha... Hahahahaha!" She laughed out loud, cackling loudly, the sound echoing through the hallway. The intensity of her laughter could embarrass anyone.
"..." Even so, the young man remained calm, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. He observed each of her expressions with attention and admiration, as if witnessing a work of art in motion.
"Haha... Oh dear..." Finally, the woman took a deep breath and composed herself.
She wiped her eyes, smoothed her hair, and then spoke:
"Hmph... I'm sorry, kid, but you shouldn't be telling jokes around. Especially not in a Superintendent's Office. At your age, you should be studying or training for a promising career," she said firmly. "Offering your first and perhaps only Lifelong Pact to a Hound you barely know? That's madness."
"It wasn't a joke. I'm serious," he replied immediately, his voice firm. "I studied and trained harder than you can imagine to become a Hunter. I know exactly what I'm doing."
She raised an eyebrow, snorted, and scoffed:
"Hmph... Doesn't look like it. So you're a Hunter? Tsk. The academy is really in decline... Where's your ID?"
The young man rolled his eyes for a moment, as if he had expected this reaction. Without hesitation, he took a cell phone from his pocket and, using his fingerprint, unlocked the device. His complete profile appeared on the screen—name, photo, achievements, successful missions, credits, and Hunter score.
"Hoho... So it's true. You really are a Hunter. An aspiring one, but still..." she said, taking the phone and reading it with increasing attention.
Hunter Aspiring Gregory Gunn. Twenty years old. Blood type AB+. Graduated from the Hunter Preparatory Military Academy in Efflium...
As she read, the lamia's face changed. From skepticism, it turned to interest. Then discomfort. And finally... guilt.
Gregory remained still, watching with fascination each change in her expression. He absorbed everything as if before something sacred. Many would say it was love at first sight. Others, with more skeptical eyes, might see obsession.
"Deep sigh* "... For God's sake..." she murmured, handing back the cell phone with heavy eyes. "Get out of my sight. And don't come back."
"I can't. You still haven't given me your answer."
She rubbed her hand across her forehead, trying to contain the headache that was building.
"The answer is no, boy. I don't want trouble. And you look like a basket full of it to me," she replied irritably. "Find another Hound. Preferably one young and with potential."
"I don't care about your age or potential, Miss Rosen," he said gently. "I'm looking for someone loyal, someone who will help me grow. Someone experienced enough to guide me and patient enough to reap the rewards of a true partnership."
She huffed impatiently.
"Plenty of reasons to refuse. I have no patience. Nor time to guide anyone. Go away."
"On the contrary, Miss Rosen. You're perfect for what I'm looking for. I really want you to accept."
She looked at him disdainfully.
"I don't know if you're brave or simply foolish to choose a Hound based on temperament rather than strength and power."
Her voice grew firm. Her tone hardened. Her aura changed.
"But it doesn't matter. The more you talk, the more obvious it becomes that you're a complete package of problems."
Almost subtly, yet charged with intent, she raised her torso with calculated slowness and puffed out her chest, like a cobra rising to intimidate its enemy, letting her imposing height cover him like a living shadow.
His shoulders widened, his eyes sharpened, and his tail waved behind him with a muffled smack against the floor.
"And trouble, I'll spare. Now, get out of my way before I lose my temper... and run over you."
The air around him grew heavy. A silent, almost suffocating pressure filled the room. Every scale on his tail seemed to glow with aggression, and his forked tongue flicked the air, quick and cold as a silver blade.
But Gregory didn't flinch. He remained exactly where he was. Silent.
His eyes fixed on her, as if he'd just witnessed the most beautiful and terrifying dance he'd ever seen. His expression was one of enchantment—not courage, not defiance. Pure enchantment.
Almost a reverie. There was something insane in the way his lips curved into a restrained half-smile, as if he admired the threat more than he feared it.
As if he were faced with something sacred.
She, on the other hand, didn't interpret it as admiration—but as a challenge.
His silence seemed to mock the threat. Or worse: it seemed to accept it. Like someone facing the end with curiosity.
Rosen frowned. A muscle on the side of her face twitched.
"You repeat that one last time..." he said, lower, with controlled anger. His tail, marked by scars and time, moved a few inches, as if considering a strike.
Gregory didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on hers, and for an instant, she felt something strange. It wasn't courage. It wasn't provocation. It was something more dangerous: desire. A silent, raw, almost animal fascination.
She moved a little forward.
The sound of the scales slowly sliding across the floor became suffocating.
"I told you to get out of my way."
"I heard you," he said finally, his voice low, soft... almost reverent. "And it was the most beautiful thing I've heard today." A flash of disbelief flashed through her eyes.
She had just threatened him, something that could be considered attempted murder, and he was… smiling?