The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
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My heart dropped as Lord Byron's words tore through my chest, filled with naked desire and lust. From the cruel twist of his smile to the depraved look in his eye, this lord was anything but magnanimous.
"Slave Hero?" Soltair asked slowly, his eyes narrowing.
The lord smiled, appearing entirely relaxed. "Of course. Word spread soon before the festival started that the final hero had been found. A slave demonkin, by all accounts. As it teased upon some of my favorite pastimes, I paid close attention. Who'd have thought she'd show up at my doorstep!"
"I see. Yes, Xiviyah, the Fate Hero, is currently my slave. But please treat her as a hero."
"Of course," Lord Byron said I a silken voice. "Such a sweet girl deserves only the tenderest care. I could teach you, if you wish. How to train her to fulfil your every fantasy or beg for your affections."
He gave me a playful wink. Bile burned the back of my throat.