Night fell. Jason was left alone in his luxurious cell. The moonlight poured through the window, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He heard distant screams—Boa, probably being punished for something trivial. Another night in this hellhole. Saint Charlos hadn't visited him yet.
Hours passed. The screams died down. The estate fell silent. Then, Jason heard footsteps approaching. Heavy, deliberate steps. The door unlocked, and in walked Saint Charlos himself. He was dressed in a silk robe, his face flushed. He locked the door behind him and turned to face Jason.
"The auction was right," Saint Charlos said, his voice dripping with entitlement. "Such a beautiful slave. You must be tired from your journey. Rest well." He walked closer, his eyes raking over Jason's form with a disturbing hunger. "You are... special. I won't let anyone else have you."
Jason's stomach churned. He knew exactly what "special"
(the minute I get a clear escape route I am killing him and dealing with the consequences later.) he thought
Saint Charlos didn't notice Jason's dark resolve. He was too wrapped up in his own arrogance, the way most Celestial Dragons were. He simply nodded, dismissing Jason with a wave of his hand. "Good. The room is at your disposal. Tomorrow, I have a special task for you."
He exited, locking the door behind him. His footsteps faded away.
Jason lay awake long after Saint Charlos left, his mind racing with plans. He needed to find a way out, and soon. The thought of what Saint Charlos had planned for him made his skin crawl. He had to be ready to act the moment an opportunity presented itself. Sleep was impossible tonight.
The next morning, Margarit entered quietly with a tray of breakfast. She avoided eye contact as usual, but Jason noticed her hands were shaking more than yesterday. "Master will come for you soon," she whispered before scurrying out. Hours passed. Noon came and went. Suddenly, the door unlocked again.
In walked a servant girl, not Margarit this time. Young, maybe fourteen or so, eyes downcast. "Master wants to see you in the courtyard. Now." She spoke firmly, her voice trembling slightly.
Jason could feel the collar tightening as if it had detected something—perhaps a hint of resistance.
He followed her quietly, his chains jingling with each step.
The courtyard was a large, opulent space. Flowers bloomed in carefully tended gardens, and a grand fountain stood in the center. Saint Charlos was there, surrounded by other Celestial Dragons and their slaves. They were laughing and chatting, some slaves serving drinks, others being petted or caressed like animals.
Saint Charlos saw them approach and dismissed the servant girl with a wave of his hand. He turned to Jason, a smirk playing on his lips. "There you are. I have a special task for you today." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Jason could hear. "Come here."
Jason hesitated. The task was clearly not something a slave was supposed to witness. He could hear the other Celestial Dragons chatting loudly, their voices carrying across the courtyard. The guards stood at attention around the perimeter, their eyes scanning for any signs of mischief.
"Is it for the other slaves?" Jason asked carefully, keeping his expression neutral.
Saint Charlos's smirk widened.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Saint Charlos replied, his eyes glinting with something dark. "But it's more of a... demonstration. A reminder of who is in charge. You'll see."
Two guards dragged a struggling slave girl into the courtyard. She was young, maybe sixteen, with wild dark hair and frightened eyes. She was fighting and screaming, but the guards easily overpowered her. They forced her to her knees in front of Saint Charlos and his friends.
"This one caused trouble," Saint Charlos announced to the group. "Thought she could run away. Thought she was free." He cackled. "Slaves are property. Property doesn't think. Property doesn't run. Property doesn't *feel.*"
He turned to Jason, pressing a sharp dagger into his palm. "Here. Handle her."
"I'm not going to kill her." He said, looking directly into his eyes.
Saint Charlos's expression shifted dangerously. "I didn't ask you to kill her. I said 'handle her.' You're a strong man—a prize slave. Show these others what happens to disobedient property. Discipline her. Publicly. Make her regret ever thinking of freedom."
The dagger was pressed harder into Jason's hand. The other Celestial Dragons were watching intently.
Jason hesitated, then reluctantly raised the dagger. The girl flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head away. The courtyard fell silent except for her muffled sobs and the Celestial Dragons' eager breaths. Jason's hand trembled slightly as he brought the blade down... but he didn't aim for her vital areas.
The dagger sliced deeply into her upper arm instead of her chest or neck. She screamed in pain, but it was a scream of injury, not death. Blood flowed immediately, dripping onto the courtyard stones. The Celestial Dragons looked surprised rather than satisfied.
"Not deep enough," Saint Charlos growled, clearly displeased. "Do it again. Make it hurt worse this time." The girl was sobbing uncontrollably now, her arm bleeding profusely. Jason's hand was shaking visibly as he raised the dagger again.
Jason's heart was pounding in his ears. He couldn't bring himself to hurt this girl further, but he knew refusing Saint Charlos would mean worse punishment for both of them. So, with a heavy heart, he brought the dagger down again—this time, aiming for her shoulder instead of her arm.
The blade bit deep into her shoulder, eliciting another blood-curdling scream. The girl collapsed forward, blood pooling beneath her. The Celestial Dragons murmured in approval this time, satisfied by the display of pain. Saint Charlos smirked. "Good. That's how you handle disobedient property."
Jason felt sick. The dagger was slick with blood in his hand.
"Now, cut her other arm," Saint Charlos ordered coldly. "Make it even. And make it deep." The girl was barely conscious now, her face pale and clammy. Jason's hands were shaking uncontrollably as he raised the dagger again.
The girl's breathing was ragged, her eyes rolling back. Jason could see her wrist, her forearm—anything but her vital organs. But Saint Charlos was watching, his patience wearing thin. The other Celestial Dragons were whispering, clearly expecting something more brutal.
Jason hesitated, then brought the dagger down on her other arm—this time aiming for her forearm.
The blade sank deep into her forearm, splitting muscle and tendon. It wasn't a killing blow, but it was agonizingly painful. The girl screamed once more before slipping into unconsciousness. Blood was everywhere now—on Jason's hands, on the stones, soaking her clothes.
The courtyard remained silent except for the distant sound of a fountain. Blood dripped slowly from the girl's wounds onto the courtyard floor. The Celestial Dragons murmured in approval, their voices carrying across the courtyard. Saint Charlos clapped his hands together and turned to Jason with a satisfied smile.
"Good. See? That's how you handle disobedient property."Jason was standing in a pool of blood, the coppery scent overwhelming. The girl was unconscious, her arms mutilated. He had never felt more like a monster. Saint Charlos walked over, his boots crunching on the stones.
(how the minute I get out of these chains, he is a dead man)he thought.Saint Charlos smiled coldly, completely unaware of the death mark Jason had just mentally placed on him. He reached out and patted Jason's cheek almost affectionately. "Good boy. You're learning. Maybe you'll be useful after all." He then turned to the other Celestial Dragons.
"Take her away," Saint Charlos ordered dismissively. "Let the healers tend to her wounds. And make sure she understands her place better next time." Two guards stepped forward, grabbing the unconscious girl roughly and dragging her away. Blood trailed behind them, staining the pristine courtyard.
As the girl disappeared from sight, Saint Charlos turned back to Jason with a smirk. "You see, Jason? That's how things work around here. Slaves need to be taught their place, and sometimes it takes a bit of... encouragement." He chuckled coldly.
Saint Charlos walked away, his friends following him. Jason was left standing alone in the blood-stained courtyard, the dagger still clutched tightly in his hand. He stared at the red stains on his hands, feeling a deep sense of shame and hatred boiling inside him.
As the minutes ticked by, Jason's mind raced with dark thoughts. He looked at the chains binding his wrists and ankles, imagining them breaking under his strength once he was free. He swore to himself that when he got out of those chains, Saint Charlos would pay for every drop of blood spilled today.