He was dying.
Or something close to it.
The cold floor under Seo-Yun's cheek wasn't Seoul asphalt—it was wet stone, slick and smelling faintly of iron. His eyes fluttered open to see a flickering light overhead, not fluorescent, but torchlight. Fire? He sat up too quickly, dizzy, his heart skipping as he stared down at his body.
This wasn't his body.
Slim, pale, fragile. A collar around his neck. No pants, just a thin tunic barely hanging off his shoulder. And there—he touched his abdomen, a strange sensation pulsing deep in his core. Warmth. Wrongness.
And scent.
Sweet, cloying, floral. Not his. Not human.
Then the door opened.
Metal. Heavy. A guard stepped inside, face obscured by a helm, and gestured. "On your feet, Omega."
Omega.
It crashed into him like a truck. The book. The Crimson Moon Chronicles. That ridiculous webnovel he'd binge-read out of boredom. A brutal omegaverse where Omegas were bred like livestock. Caged, owned, broken.
And one character—the passive, nameless extra—had been passed between four Alphas until he died during childbirth in Chapter 27. An afterthought.
That character's name was Ciel.
Seo-Yun tried to back away, feet sliding uselessly on the stone. "No—there's been a mistake. I'm not—"
The guard didn't care. A blow to the stomach knocked the breath from his lungs. He coughed blood.
"Kaelith wants to see what his new purchase looks like standing," the guard growled.
Dragged.
Half-limping, half-stumbling, Seo-Yun was thrown into a lavish chamber that reeked of leather, musk, and dominance. The moment he hit the floor, he knew he was in their territory.
The Alpha den.
There were four of them.
And all of them looked at him like they were inspecting a new weapon. Or a new pet.
Kaelith, the one in red-black military leathers, strode forward. Towering. Harsh jaw, golden eyes. "So this is the Omega who screamed for three hours straight during transit." His voice was dry. "Thin. Too pale. But… ripe."
He reached down, gripped Seo-Yun's chin, forced it up. "Eyes. Good. Spine?"
Another Alpha, Dren, stepped forward. Silent. Gripped Seo-Yun's shoulder. Yanked.
CRACK.
Seo-Yun screamed.
"Left shoulder. Dislocated." Dren's voice was blank, dispassionate. "Fixable."
"Don't bother," Kaelith muttered. "Let him adjust naturally. Pain is a teacher."
Torin, the third, smiled lazily from the couch. Silver rings along his knuckles glinted. "He still has some fight in him. Can we break it tonight?"
Kaelith waved a hand. "We'll test how long he lasts before heat sets in. Saren—inject him."
The last Alpha, Saren, approached with a cold syringe. "Induced cycle. If his body doesn't produce enough pheromones, we terminate him early and get another."
Seo-Yun flailed, but it was weak. His shoulder screamed. Saren didn't blink as he stabbed the needle into his thigh.
"There," Saren said. "Ten minutes until he goes into heat. Five until the pain starts."
They left him on the floor, shivering, broken, shoulder dislocated, muscles locking in.
Then the heat hit.
Seo-Yun screamed again—this time not from the shoulder, but from his core, something alien pulsing and tearing through him. His scent thickened the air. Sweet. Sharp. Claustrophobic.
They came closer.
Kaelith stood over him, unbuckling his belt. "Lesson one," he said, voice like a blade. "You don't own your body here."
Darkness took Seo-Yun before the rest could happen.