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AND
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"Now, before we begin the show," the host announced, his voice echoing across the underground theater, "I'd like you all to know that the Item you've all been craving… has truly arrived. And yes! It will be auctioned today."A cheer rippled through the crowd."But!" he raised a finger dramatically, "under strict rules from Lady Ishtar, the Item cannot be owned. Only… used."
The crowd erupted in excited whispers. The host bowed and stepped offstage.
Immediately the woman in black to Damien's right, the atmosphere was already heavy with vice. A woman clad in sleek, funereal black cupped the full breasts of the nearly nude woman beside her, her fingers possessively kneading the soft flesh. "Ophelia... I think we will finally have our own Renard," she breathed, her voice husky. "I heard Ishtar shall offer us trials with her. Maybe we can't own her... but we will absolutely fuck her silly! Right, love?"
The girl named Ophelia a vision of taut, Amazonian muscle barely restrained by strategic strips of leather and lace moaned, arching into the touch. "Indeed... Ahh... How I have yearned for her. To finally break her apart... to see what kind of a sexy face she can make.... Oh... My pussy is already wet for her.... God, I want to be fucked right now!"
Seemingly remembering their neighbor, the woman in black turned her predatory gaze toward Damien. "Well... Good Sir," she purred, her eyes cataloging him. "As many of us are here for, you're clearly going for the Renard, right? I am Verena Ashteris of the Holy Flame, and this darling next to me is Ophelia, my sex-friend and lover. We enjoy quite the fun time." She gestured dismissively at Ophelia's state of undress. "Would you be so kind as to finger my darling here? Also, excuse the clothing choices. Her Amazonian nature compels her to show all people her... pretty pussy."
As if to demonstrate, Verena casually hooked a finger into the side of Ophelia's garment—a pair of cut-out panties that served more as a frame than coverage—and spread the fabric, offering Damien an unabashed view.
Damien did not glance down. His voice, when it came, was flat and cold, cutting through the humid tension. "No, thank you. Not interested in whatever the fuck you two have going on." He finally turned his head, his visible gaze sweeping over Ophelia with utter, icy disdain. "And would you mind not acting out your sexual deviances here? You're making the show boring for me."
Ophelia's eyes flew open wide, lust instantly morphing into incandescent rage. "What did you say!? How dare you! I am the daughter of the Telskyura War Lady, Shamira!"
Before she could lunge, Verena's hand shot out. With practiced ease, she slid two fingers inside Ophelia's wetness, gathered the slick evidence of her arousal, and then forced those same fingers into the sputtering Amazon's mouth. "Now, now, love... Don't be mad at him," Verena cooed, though her own eyes had hardened on Damien. She withdrew her glistening fingers and brought them to her own lips, tasting them with a slow, deliberate lick. "This sexy, pretty boy is clearly inexperienced in how things go around here... Is this your first time, cutie?" Her gaze dropped pointedly to the mask that still concealed the top half of his face. "I see you're the only one still masked. Is that because you're shy? If you have scars to hide... I love scars on a man."
Damien simply turned his head back toward the empty stage, a wall of dismissive silence.
To his left, a flamboyantly dressed man with delicate features leaned in, speaking in a conspiratorial tone meant to mediate. "I see you are being misunderstood... Ahh, Lady Verena, dear Ophelia, I think our lovely gentleman here... is a man-lover only. So, I hope you understand..."
Verena, seeking to reassert her dominance, slid her fingers inside Ophelia once more, this time licking them clean herself with a loud, theatrical moan. "I see... Lord Darson may be right. That would make sense, wouldn't it? I mean... no one could resist this taste..."
That was the final thread.
Damien turned his head just enough for them to see the glacial fury in his eyes. "No. I am not into men. I am a healthy man into healthy women." His voice dropped, each word a shard of ice. "It's just that, to me... you are a disgusting duo. And don't go around flexing your titles and names like they mean something to me. You are in Orario. So know your place, trash. Keep getting on my nerves, and you might not walk out of here with your lives."
The temperature around them seemed to plummet. The names "Telskyura" and "Holy Flame," which moments before had been wielded like weapons, now felt like childish boasts. It was the cold, utter conviction in his tone, and the specific, dangerous weight he gave to the word Orario that struck them dumb. Influence. No fear. A resident of the dungeon city's brutal hierarchy. The masked face now spoke not of shyness, but of concealed, formidable power. All three Verena, Ophelia, and Lord Darson came to the same, chilling conclusion: the man beside them was either a god or a champion of a powerful Familia, someone for whom their outside-nation status meant nothing.
Ophelia's legs snapped shut. Verena's hand stilled. Lord Darson straightened his robes, offering a tense, shallow nod.
Seeing his bluff had landed with the force of a truth, Damien turned fully back to the theater, the dangerous aura receding but not dissipating. A tense, respectful silence now emanated from the seats on either side of him, just as the first haunting notes of music began to play and the stage lights rose. The show, at last, was beginning.
...
And so the show began.
The first "item" dragged onto the stage was a chienthrope—once a man, now reduced to a spectacle. He was crawled out on all fours with a collar digging into his neck, his tail swaying pathetically as if conditioned to feel pleasure just from degrading orders. The handlers kicked him into position, forcing his head low, whispering commands like he truly was nothing more than a trained animal.
The auctioneer's voice boomed with revolting cheerfulness.
"Behold, our loyal sex hound! Perfect obedience, perfected oral service for ladies, and a heightened stamina! He lives and breathes like a real dog—and performs like no other!"
The bids rose instantly, men and women shouting with excitement, laughing, waving their plates. Varena raised her hand. Darson followed. Their voices blended with dozens more who fought to purchase a man whose name no one cared to know.
Damien sat perfectly still, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Inside, disgust clawed at him, crawling under his skin like a thousand needles. Every cheer, every amused comment, every delighted gasp from the crowd made his fingers twitch with murderous intent. It was the kind of scene that made him want to burn the entire place to ash.
When the next slave stepped forward, the tension inside him worsened.
They paraded out an elf girl, naked, trembling, arms pinned painfully behind her as they forced her to face the audience. The handlers grabbed her thighs and forced them apart, making a show of her shame. The host boasted about her guaranteed virginity, her "purity," and the obedience training she would receive to "ensure satisfaction." Then—almost proudly—they spun her around and forced tools against her rear, demonstrating her "untouched state" with theatrical cruelty.
The bids exploded again. Ophelia nearly jumped out of her seat, screaming numbers like she was buying a new toy, her eyes wild with excitement. Varena egged her on, laughing sweetly in her ear as if this entire nightmare was a charming little show.
Damien felt his heartbeat deepen, every thud echoing with rage. The shadows beneath his seat stirred. It wasn't intentional—just instinct responding to the cruelty he was being forced to witness. But he smothered it, ground his foot over the shifting darkness, forcing it to obey him.
It worked…for a moment.
Then the next slave was dragged forward.
This time it wasn't a man. Nor a woman.
It was a child.
A small cat girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, tiny and malnourished, walking on all fours because they ordered her to. Her ears were pinned flat in terror, her tail shaking violently as the handlers shoved her forward. She was in rags . Cold. Crying without sound, because they had probably beaten her voice out long before she arrived.
The audience went quiet for one heartbeat. Then the first perverted bid rang out—eager, excited, hungry.
And that was when Damien felt something snap.
His shadows—the ones he desperately tried to restrain—were no longer listening. They surged like a living tide, reacting to the absolute, unfiltered hatred exploding from his soul.
They weren't asking for permission anymore.
They wanted blood.
They wanted death.
They wanted to tear this entire place apart in his name.
And He...Wanted the Same
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If you Like this story! Check out my other story ! Sukuna in DC!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !