Aaaahhhh!!

There was a loud bang as the bullet flew out of Ivan's pistol.

Romeo grabbed his head like a kid and crouched in the fetal position on the bed. He waited for the darkness to set in. To die. But he did not.

The bullet hit the wall behind him, spewing bits of concrete as it lodged itself in the wall.

All the courage he had mustered seconds earlier had melted away in an instant. He was now clearly in a submissive position. His ears were ringing. He must have burst an eardrum. He was sure of that.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me," he whispered when he finally found his voice. Shame burned in his throat. A minute ago, he had stood his ground, ready to face death. Now he was curled up, waiting for mercy.

"Oh, you will be," Ivan growled as he called for Rigor into the hallway.

Moments later, Rigor showed up, walking with a limp but still looking menacing. Nothing could make this man not look scary. It was in him.

"Take him to the chambers," he ordered.

As much as he was enraged, deep down he was intrigued. This was the first time someone had ever stood up to him. That wasn't something small, coming from a man who had spent his life making others tremble. And Romeo—this boy—could make the devil sweat.

But Ivan wasn't done with him yet. Not by a long shot.

There was something delicious about this. The way Romeo resisted, how his fire flickered even under fear. He had no intention of forcing himself on the boy. That would be too easy. Too crude. No, he wanted something else—submission, yes, but not through fear alone. He wanted Romeo to crave him, to fight him and lose. To let Ivan win. The image of Romeo, bare and vulnerable, still haunted him. It was too soon to end his life. He was worth more than that.

Rigor gave Romeo a hand signal to follow him.

A shaky Romeo got up and followed Rigor without protest. For some reason, despite everything, he didn't fear Rigor as much as he should have.

Maybe it was that half-eaten chicken leftover he had fed him right after the auction. Romeo could not put a finger on it, but he knew he was beginning to trust more than fear Rigor.

The two walked downstairs, past some dusty garage, before coming to a door leading down a hidden set of stairs that led straight down into the ground.

Flashbacks of Satoshi's dungeon torture sessions began to creep into Romeo's mind. He could almost feel the sting of the whip, the cold bite of steel against his skin. His breath hitched. Those memories belonged in a vault, locked away forever. But they clawed their way back, unrelenting.

There was a lingering pungent stench the whole way down—rotting wood, damp stone, and something metallic beneath it.

They finally came to a stop in front of medieval-looking gates with a large rusty padlock that looked like it had been ripped right out of a Harry Potter movie.

Rigor took out a large key, shoved it into the keyhole, and turned it. The door unlocked with a loud clank of metal. Rigor motioned for Romeo to step into the dark room, which he did. He then closed the door behind and turned to leave.

He took two steps, then turned to face Romeo.

A look of concern crossed Rigor's face for a split second before he quickly wiped the emotion off and said, "Should I send for your food to be brought down here?"

"No. But some… some light, please?" Romeo managed to squeak.

"If I were you, I'd prefer the darkness." With that, Rigor flicked a switch, turning on a dim bulb revealing a ceiling lined with moss and too high for any mortal man to reach. He then walked out.

Romeo watched Rigor leave. He stood there staring for a few minutes before turning to scan his surroundings so he could plan his escape. Back to silly ideas.

No sooner had he turned than his stomach suddenly twisted. If he had eaten anything recently, he would have puked it out. But at this moment, nothing came out as he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He thought he had seen horrors in his life. But nothing had prepared him for the scene before him.

Bodies.

At least five of them, strung up against the walls like grotesque puppets. The dim light cast eerie shadows over their contorted faces—mouths frozen mid-scream, skin waxy and pale. Some had been stripped down to nothing but bone, their flesh gnawed away by something—rats? Or something worse?

Blood had dried in thick, ugly streaks along the floor, pooling in the uneven stone crevices like a sickening mosaic. The scent of decay was thick enough to taste.

He stumbled back, his back slamming against the cold iron of the cell door. His clothes drenched in sweat, his mouth agape.

"Aaaaahhhhhh!" He finally let out a loud scream like a little girl.