"Yesss, Masshter! Yeesss!!"
"Ahhn! Pound me harder! Make me-"
Hold it right there beautiful!
There'll be none of that in Damon's first chapter.
As much as I love culture, there's no way I'm going to sit back and watch Damon's story start off with a threesome. PurpleG roll back the goddamn tape.
I'm the Narrator by the way. LFG…
~~~
2030
{B-Rank Dungeon Mine}
Pick! Pick!! Pick!! Pick!!!
The rhythmic clink of pickaxes echoed through the dim tunnels. Dozens of ragged human slaves swung their tools at glowing veins embedded in the rock walls, chiseling out fist-sized mana crystals under the dim blue light of mana-lamps.
Sweat mixed with dust on their faces; every strike sent sparks and fine crystal dust into the air.
"Put your backs into it, you filthy lot!" barked a tall, muscular old man in black tactical gear as he patrolled the shaft.
The twin spiraling black horns coming out of his head, reminded anyone who saw him that he was a Hellion.
His crimson eyes flicked from one bent back to the next until they locked on a small figure covered in filthy rags.
The miner was barely sixteen, thin as a rail, with matted black hair plastered to her skull by grime and sweat.
Her hands trembled around the haft of her pickaxe the moment she felt the warden's stare. Her breathing turned shallow, eyes wide and glassy with terror.
"You really have some balls on you, kid," the warden chuckled, voice low and dangerous. He stopped directly in front of her.
"Everyone put down your bloody axes!"
Immediately, all the miners in that section of the dungeon stopped mining and turned to the warden.
His telepathic skill enabled him to communicate with all thee workers at the same time. The young girl stood there with her small axe shaking in his grip.
"You humans never cease to annoy me," he said, reaching out and closing his massive hand around the girl's throat. "You know the rules. Yet here we are. Why?"
Everyone just stood and watched as he lifted the young girl from the ground by her neck.
Most had experienced enough to know that interfering was as good as signing your death certificate.
"Why???" the Warden roared, passing glares at the workers around him. Getting no response, his eyes returned to the young girl.
"Bring them out before I rip your throat out of your fucking neck!"
Still struggling to breathe, the young girl managed to scramble through her unkempt hair and pulled out three glowing stones.
Mana crystals.
"Fuck!" hissed a guy from the far end of the mine as the stones fell to the ground.
The young girl had committed a crime from which there was no turning back. She was just a kid, but they all knew the rules.
"I-I-I'm S-s-orrry," the young girl struggled to voice out.
"No you're not," the warden replied coldly. "But you will be.
No one fucking steals from the Agency. We give you animals food, shelter, and clothing."
The more words that came out of his mouth, the tighter his grip on the thief's throat.
"You should be grateful. All we demand in return is your loyalty and service, but apparently, some of you think that's asking too much."
"You treat us worse than shit, old man." A voice cut in from behind him. "We have nothing to be grateful for."
The warden eyes burned red as he turned to see the unfortunate fucker who had spoken up. It was a young man with fiery hair in ragged tank top and shorts that had once been pants.
Damon.
The warden recognized him instantly, but chose to ignore him.
He opened his hand forcing the girl to drop like a sack, hitting the ground hard. The instant her body touched stone, an aura of flames engulfed her.
"Ahhh!!"
"Make it stop!"
"Please!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!!"
Her loud screams of agony echoed across the network of mines. The other workers looked in horror as the young girl got burnt alive.
It wasn't right, but being at the bottom of the Race hierarchy, Humans were used to being treated like trash.
"If you're gonna kill her, do it already," Damon said flatly. "I've got a quota to meet."
"Damon," the warden growled, locking eyes with the only one stupid enough to say those words, "you just earned yourself a spot in a dungeon raid. Drop your bloody axe and go wait for me outside."
For the few months, Damon had been getting on the warden's nerves. Today was the last straw.
The warden wouldn't think twice about punishing or executing any slave that disrespected him, but not Damon.
Damon was one annoying motherfucker but he was one of the truly valuable slaves the agency owned. The warden wasn't authorized to physically harm them.
Damon dragged his pickaxe across the stone until he stood in front of the burning girl. Her screams were already weakening.
"But first,"
He swung the pickaxe in a clean, brutal arc. The sharp edge buried itself in her skull with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed and the screaming stopped.
Flames still licked her corpse, but she was gone.
"She's a human, not a rabbit," Damon muttered, frowning as he let the bloody axe fall to the ground. "You all have fun playing with sticks and stones. I'm out."
He walked toward the exit tunnel without looking back. As he walked out, the other slaves looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
They were used to him disrespecting the warden but this was the first time the warden actually punished him, and it wasn't a merciful one.
Dungeon raids were reserved for awakened hunters for a reason.
No ordinary person among the seven races in the world could survive the dangers of a dungeon, especially not a Human.
The Warden had put him on a path to his death. Damon knew this, so why was he giddy about it?
The warden's fists clenched so hard the leather of his gloves creaked. Veins bulged along his forearms and neck; a low growl vibrated in his chest as his tail lashed once, cracking against the stone wall like a whip.
"The show's over," he snarled. "Get back to work!"
Pickaxes rose again. The clinking resumed as if nothing had happened.
Outside the dungeon portal, Damon leaned against a rock and dragged in his first breath of fresh air in hours.
He knew it wont be long before the warden comes out of the dungeon, but there was no fear in him, not because he was crazy or suicidal.
Eight years earlier, after his father died, his Taurus stepmother had sold him to the Agency at age eleven.
Years of beatings, starvation, and worse had eventually burned the capacity for fear, and most pain, out of him.
Damon's mind simply refused to register pain and the fear of it anymore.
Damon also knew the Agency higher-ups would have the warden's head on a crystal platter if anything happened to their "special" asset without proper procedure.
The thought to make a run for it crossed his mind, but went silent in less than a second.
The dungeon site was covered with security officials and if by some miracle he was able to get pass all of them, there was a chip implanted in his brain that the Agency could track.
There was nothing he could do but wait for the Warden.
After a long while, the portal shimmered. The warden stepped through, blood-coated leather whip coiled in his right hand.
"You're not actually going to make me join a dungeon raid, are you?" Damon asked, one brow arched.
The warden's lip curled.
"You're not the first 'special' slave I've sent on a death mission. Now move!"