The chamber was hot.
Not the natural warmth of fire, but the oppressive heat of corruption magic burning at the edges of reality. Crimson flames danced along the walls without consuming them, casting writhing shadows across ancient symbols carved into black stone.
Kira stood frozen in the center, every instinct screaming at her to run. But her body wouldn't obey. The binding held her in place like invisible chains, forcing her to watch as the Demon Lord circled her slowly.
"Strip."
The single word hit her like a physical blow. Her hands moved before her mind could process the command, trembling fingers reaching for the clasps of her clothing.
No, she thought desperately. No, no, no—
But her body betrayed her. It always did now. The binding at fifty-two percent meant automatic obedience, even when her mind screamed resistance.
Her clothes fell to the floor.
Shame burned hotter than the corrupted flames. She tried to cover herself, but her arms remained rigid at her sides. He hadn't given her permission to move.
"Good." He stopped in front of her, crimson eyes studying her like she was an insect under glass. "You're learning."
"Fuck you," she spat, the only defiance she could still manage.
His smile was clinical. "The Phoenix Matriarch will resist harder than you did. She's five thousand years old, Level 178, and utterly convinced of her own invincibility." He walked to a table against the wall, where implements of torture gleamed in the firelight. "I need to perfect my technique before I take her."
Kira's blood went cold. "You're... you're using me as practice?"
"Obviously."
He selected something from the table—a collar similar to the one she already wore, but etched with different symbols. More complex. Sharper.
"This is a prototype," he explained, approaching her again. "It amplifies submission gains during breaking sessions. If it works on you, I'll use it on her." He held it up to the light, examining the runes. "The theory is sound. But theory and practice often differ."
"I won't—" The words died as he fastened the collar around her neck.
The effect was immediate and unsettling.
Her existing binding flared to life, but different now. Sharper. More invasive. She could feel it crawling deeper into her mind, finding cracks in her resistance and widening them.
Just submit, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Obey. It hurts less when you obey.
"No," she gasped, fighting the foreign thoughts. "That's not me, that's not—"
"Tell me your name."
"Kira Shadowstep," she answered automatically, hating herself for it.
"Who do you belong to?"
Her mouth opened. Closed. The new collar burned against her skin, and the binding twisted something inside her mind.
"You," she whispered, the word torn from her throat like a confession. "I belong to you."
"Good." He stepped back, watching her with that same clinical interest. "The collar's working. Your resistance is weakening. Can you feel it?"
She could. Something inside her was shifting, bending. The collar made the binding feel heavier, more present, harder to fight against.
No, please, stop—
"Now," he said calmly. "We'll test pain tolerance."
He raised his hand, and corruption magic lanced through her body.
Kira screamed.
It wasn't like the punishment shocks from her collar. This was deeper, more invasive, burning through her nerves like acid. She collapsed to her knees, gasping, tears streaming down her face.
"The collar amplifies everything," he observed, as if discussing the weather. "Pain, shame, the binding's grip on your mind. Fascinating."
He let the pain fade, and she slumped forward, shaking.
"Please," she heard herself beg. "Please, I'll do anything, just stop—"
"You'll do anything regardless." He crouched beside her, forcing her to meet his eyes. "That's what the binding means. But I appreciate the begging. It shows progress."
He stood again, returning to the table. "Now we'll test psychological breaking. I want to see how quickly shame accelerates submission with the new collar."
Her stomach twisted with dread. "What are you going to do?"
"You'll see."
He moved to the chamber door and opened it. Kira's heart stopped as she realized what he intended.
"No," she whispered. "No, please, not that—"
Celeste entered first, serene and empty-eyed. Then Aria, her face carefully blank but jaw clenched tight. Finally, Valeria, cold and professional as always.
The three collection members stood in a line, watching her naked and trembling on the floor.
Kira wanted to die.
"Watch," the Demon Lord commanded them. "Learn what happens to those who resist."
"Master, please," Aria said quietly, pain in her voice. "She's already broken. You don't need to—"
"Silence."
Aria's mouth snapped shut, tears forming in her eyes.
The Demon Lord walked back to Kira, grabbed her hair, and forced her head up so she had to look at the others.
"They'll witness everything I do to you tonight," he said. "And tomorrow, when the Phoenix Matriarch is captured, she'll suffer the same. In front of her entire clan."
The shame was eating her alive. She could feel the binding tightening, her resistance eroding bit by bit.
"Now," he said, releasing her hair. "Beg me to hurt you."
"I won't—"
Pain exploded through the new collar, ten times worse than before. She screamed again, body convulsing.
"Beg," he repeated calmly.
The binding twisted, and words spilled from her mouth against her will: "Please hurt me, Master, please, I deserve it, I need it—"
That's not me, she thought desperately. That's the binding, not me—
But even her internal voice sounded less certain now. The collar was working. She could feel herself at fifty-four percent now. Two percent gained from shame and pain alone.
If he goes further... if he violates me in front of them...
She knew it would jump higher. Much higher.
Aria turned away, unable to watch. Valeria's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her gray eyes. Even Celeste's empty smile seemed sadder somehow.
"Excellent," the Demon Lord said. "The collar's working as designed. Two percent from psychological torture alone." He looked at the others. "This is what awaits the Phoenix Matriarch. Public degradation. Forced submission. Her ancient pride shattered before those she's sworn to protect."
He turned back to Kira, and she saw something terrifying in his eyes.
Satisfaction.
"Now we'll test the final component," he said. "Pain combined with violation. This should push you up another three to five percent—the real breakthrough data I need."
Kira's mind fractured with panic. "No, please, not in front of them, please—"
But he was already reaching for her.
The door burst open.
Everyone froze.
General Malakai stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his yellow eyes wild with urgency.
"My Lord," he gasped. "We have a crisis. The Phoenix Clan—they're attacking. Now. The entire clan is marching on Tartarus with an army at their back."
The Demon Lord's expression didn't change. "Interesting. They're attacking first."
"Someone warned them." Malakai's voice was grim. "They know about your plans for the Sacred Renewal ceremony. We have maybe an hour before they reach the fortress. Level 178 Phoenix Matriarch leading them personally. All one hundred phoenixes. And they've allied with Lord Azrath's forces."
For the first time, Kira saw something like surprise cross the Demon Lord's face.
Then his crimson eyes narrowed.
"How?"