Chapter 835 - 834- A Dark Elf

Chapter 835: Chapter 834- A Dark Elf

He lifted one leg. Hooking it over his hip. His cock, hard and ready, pressed against her pussy. The head, finding the entrance, pushed. She was wet. Still wet. The night’s fluids, still inside her, served as lube.

Her pussy, already a gaping slit, was open. Well enough. The lips, swollen and loose, parted for him. He slid in. She moaned.

"Not... not my pussy," she gasped. "It is too..."

He chuckled. Leaned. Kissed her shoulder. The kiss, gentle and warm, was a contrast to the cock inside her.

"I want you to give me permission to enter the level three library," he said. The words, spoken into her skin, were muffled but clear.

She stared. The request, delivered mid-fuck, mid-morning, mid-breakdown, was so absurd that her brain couldn’t process it.

"You have everything," she said. Her voice, breathless and broken, came in gasps. "Just take it."

She raised her hand. The gesture, weak and unsteady, was accompanied by a shimmer of mana. The energy, raw and unfocused, materialized into a shape. A card. Small, rectangular, glowing with a faint blue light. The card, bearing the seal of the Royal Academy, was the key to the level three library. The restricted section. The archive that contained knowledge accessible only to the headmistress and those she authorized.

He took it. His fingers, closing around the card, felt the mana within. The enchantment, powerful and secure, was now his.

He pulled out. His cock, slick and wet, emerged. She gasped at the sudden emptiness. Her pussy, gaping and leaking, dripped.

He stepped back. Looked at her. At her body, naked and marked and dripping. At her face, flushed and tear-streaked and beautiful. At the woman who was his wife and his headmistress and his vessel.

"Then we will meet at the academy," he said. The words, casual and final, were a dismissal.

He turned. Walked toward the door. His clothes, picked up from the floor, were put on with efficient movements. Shirt. Trousers. Coat. The transformation, from the naked beast to the composed nobleman, took thirty seconds.

She trembled. "Where are you going?" she said. The words, called after him, were weak.

"Just to find an assistant," he said. The words, thrown over his shoulder, were casual.

"Assistant?" she repeated. "What?"

He left. The door closed behind him. The sound, quiet and final, was the end of the night.

She fell onto the bed. Her hips, lifted and raised, were the last part of her to move. The cum, leaking from her pussy and her anal, ran down her thighs. The white fluid, thick and visible, dripped onto the sheets.

"How would I be able to even manage him?" she whispered. The words, directed at the ceiling, at the empty room, at the universe that had put her in this situation, were a lament.

She closed her eyes.

The black market ran beneath the capital like veins beneath skin.

The entrance, hidden in the wall of a butcher’s shop, led down a staircase that spiraled into darkness. The air, thick with the smell of blood and unwashed bodies and cheap ale, grew heavier with each step. The sounds, muffled at first, became clearer. Voices. Shouting. The clang of metal. The crack of a whip. The scream of something that was not entirely human.

Viktor descended. His boots, finding each step with practiced ease, made no sound. His coat, dark and unremarkable, blended with the shadows. His mask, the half-mask from the night before, was in place. His violet eyes, behind it, glowed faintly.

The market opened before him.

A cavern, vast and torchlit, stretched in every direction. Stalls, crude and wooden, lined the walls. Cages, iron and rusted, were stacked in rows. The floor, packed earth, was covered in straw and filth. The torches, mounted on the walls, cast flickering shadows that made the space feel alive.

Slaves.

They were everywhere. In cages. On platforms. On leashes. Men, women, children. Of every race. Human. Elven. Beast-folk. Mixed breeds that defied classification. Some stood, silent and vacant. Some wept. Some raged. Some had stopped doing anything at all.

The merchants, fat and greedy, moved between the stalls. Their voices, loud and aggressive, hawked their wares. Prices were shouted. Inspections were conducted. Bargains were struck.

At one stall, a thick man, masked and well-dressed, was fucking a slave.

The woman, young and elven, was bent over a platform. Her clothes, torn and inadequate, hung from her body. Her ass, bare and red, was raised. The man, behind her, thrust. His cock, thick and hard, drove into her pussy. She screamed. The sound, raw and pained, echoed through the cavern.

"It hurts!" she cried. "Please! It hurts!"

The man, ignoring her pleas, grabbed her hair. Pulled. Her head snapped back. He thrust harder. His hips, slamming forward, drove his cock deeper.

"Shut up," he said. His voice was bored. The voice of a man who had done this many times and found the screaming tedious.

He reached for a stick. Wooden, long, and thick. He brought it down on her ass. The crack, sharp and loud, echoed through the cavern. The woman screamed. The welt, red and raised, appeared on her cheek.

"Behave," he said. "Or I will sell you to the mines."

He continued to fuck her. His thrusts, mechanical and uncaring, drove her body across the platform. The crowd, passing by, glanced and moved on. The sight was common. Unremarkable. A man fucking his purchase in public.

Viktor walked through the market. His eyes, behind the mask, swept the stalls. The cages. The platforms. He was looking for something. Someone.

He passed a cage where a group of beast-folk, feline and canine, huddled. Their eyes, yellow and fearful, watched him pass. He passed a platform where a human woman, heavy with child, sat in chains. Her belly, swollen, was a sign of the breeding program that the market ran. He passed a stall where a young boy, no more than twelve, was being auctioned.

He kept walking.

The deeper sections of the market were worse. The stalls, smaller and darker, held the rejects. The slaves who were too old, too sick, too damaged, too difficult to sell. The prices, lower here, reflected the quality. The merchants, thinner and more desperate, hawked their wares with the enthusiasm of men who knew their stock was inferior.

The smell, in this section, was worse. The straw, filthy and unchanged, reeked of urine and feces and rot. The slaves, in their cages, lay in their own waste. Their bodies, thin and marked, were testaments to neglect.

Viktor stopped.

Before a cage, at the end of the row, he halted. The cage, smaller than the others, was tucked against the wall. The bars, rusted and bent, were thick. Inside, a figure lay.

A woman. Dark-skinned. Dark elf. Her hair, white and long, was matted and tangled. Her body, thin and malnourished, was covered in bruises and welts. Her eyes, green and fierce, glared through the bars.

"I finally found you," Viktor said. The words, quiet and warm, were accompanied by a grin that spread behind the mask.

The dark elf, hearing the voice, stirred. Her green eyes, bright and defiant despite her condition, found his. She tried to stand. Her legs, weak and damaged, buckled. She fell back. Her jaw, clenched, was the only part of her that remained strong.

"Who are you?" she said. Her voice, hoarse and raw, was the voice of a woman who had been screaming for days. "What do you want?"