The Price of a Slave

Ian stood at the center of the chamber, bound by glowing red tendrils that coiled around him like serpents.

The magic ravaged with an unnatural grip, tightening each time he moved. His breath came in short, hitched gasps as he strained against the binds, his mind racing for an escape.

The robed man stood before him, composed yet cold, his gaze sharp with calculation.

At his slightest gesture, the tendrils constricted further, digging into Ian's skin like living chains.

Moments ago, his shadowy ally—the Voidwalker—had been obliterated, its form dissolving under the man's magic. Ian had tried to summon it again, but each attempt was met with the same pale flash of a system notification.

[Holy Magic in vicinity: Voidwalker too weak]

That's when he heared the footsteps echo through the dungeon.

The woman who had visited Ian two days prior stepped into the room, her presence commanding, her expression blank.

Dressed in a cloak, she moved with an air of authority, her sharp gaze taking in the scene.

"Ah, miss," the robed man said smoothly, though his voice carried a faint edge of condescension. "What brings you to such a filthy place? You should have waited in my office. I would have come to you shortly."

He turned back to Ian, his fingers twitching as if preparing to end things. But the woman's voice cut through the tension swiftly.

"No," she said, her tone firm and unwavering. "That's the slave I intend to purchase."

The robed man's lips curled in amusement.

"Oh, what a predicament. You see, this rat just sent a valuable worker of mine to an early grave. I can't simply hand him over."

The woman's face darkened as her patience thinned. She took a step forward.

"Name your price."

The robed man chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "Ten times the original amount."

Her fists clenched, nails pressing into her palms, but she remained silent, weighing her options.

"So," the robed man drawled, his voice mocking, "do we have a deal?"

The woman exhaled sharply, her gaze shifting to Ian. He remained bound, his body rigid, but his eyes—burning with defiance—never left hers. A long, silent moment passed before she spoke.

"Well? Do we?"

Ian hesitated.

He did not fancy this woman, no trust in her motives. But he knew one thing—staying here meant death. Slowly, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

The woman turned back to the robed man.

"Release him. You'll have your payment by nightfall."

His smile widened. "Splendid."

With a flick of his wrist, the red tendrils unraveled, dissolving into nothingness. Ian dropped to the floor, trembling as he caught his breath.

The robed man turned to the waiting guards, who stood frozen, their faces pale. "Fetch another one to die in his place," he said, his voice cold.

They obeyed swiftly, dragging out another slave—a frail, trembling man whose vacant eyes spoke of surrender. Without hesitation, they hauled him away, their footsteps fading into the dungeon's gloom.

The robed man faced the woman once more, his smirk unshaken.

"A pleasure, miss." He gave a slight bow before retreating, his robes trailing behind him.

As he vanished, the woman turned to Ian, her expression srill blank.

"You're not worth this much," she said, her voice quiet but cutting. "Not even a tenth of what I paid."

Ian rubbed his sore wrists where the tendrils had coiled, his eyes narrowing.

"And yet you paid it."

She stepped closer, studying him with piercing scrutiny. "Have you really accepted my offer?" Her voice carried suspicion. "Or do you plan to flee the moment my back is turned?"

Ian straightened. His body was weak, his breathing unsteady, but his resolve was unshaken.

"I accepted."

The woman's eyes flickered, searching for deception. "Why?" she demanded, her tone sharp. "Don't lie to me."

"The last time we met, you asked me what I seek...power, money or even glory. Well, I discovered what I wanted."

Ian held her gaze. A moment of silence stretched between them before he answered, his voice low, simmering with an emotion far darker than desperation.

"Death," he murmured. "I want… no, I need to kill. To slay as many as I can."

The woman studied him, her face unreadable. Then, ever so slightly, she smiled.

"Ah," she mused, almost to herself. "What terrifying eyes."

She turned away, gesturing toward the exit.

"Follow." Her voice hardened. "But try to escape, and I'll tear your heart from your chest before you take your first step."

Ian knew she meant it. There was no bluff, no hesitation.

He nodded, his expression impassive, though his mind spun with possibilities. The dungeon swallowed their figures as they left, its shadows clinging to him.

And in those shadows, the voidwalker awaited it's next command.