[Current Identity: Drexel MalFoy.]
[Condition: Malnourished / Vital Signs Weak.]
The text flickered against the back of his eyelids like a glitching neon sign, pulsing in the darkness while the phantom sensation of cold well-water still burned in the back of his throat.
[Current Status: Processing — Circle VII Territory.]
[Welcome to 2065, Drexel.]
Drex stared at the name 'Drexel' until the letters burned into his retinas.
He didn't know the name, and he sure as hell didn't know why the world had jumped forty years ahead while he was drowning.
He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt heavy and stuck, as if they were still filled with the stagnant liquid that had swallowed him whole.
He remembered the weight of the water and the image of Sawyer's face disappearing as he sank into the black, and for a heartbeat, he thought the red letters were just a final hallucination before the end.
[Warning: Vital signs critical. Energy depletion at 96%.]
[Current Status: Livestock (Circle VII)]
Drex opened his eyes and realized the darkness of the well was gone, replaced by a gilded hall that smelled of copper and a perfume so sweet it made his head spin.
He didn't move or gasp, he simply lay still on the cold floor of a cage and waited for his vision to clear while he calculated the reality of the bars pressing against his skin.
His mind was racing with questions about how he was still breathing or where the hell he had landed, but he forced the confusion down and focused on the ache in his muscles that felt far too real to be a dream.
He wasn't dead, or if he was, the afterlife was a gilded prison designed by someone who enjoyed the smell of blood.
In the center of the hall, a rhythmic thrumming echoed off the stone walls.
Beneath that sound, a woman's soft moaning drifted through the air, sounding like a song that carried an edge of pure agony.
Drex shifted his gaze and saw the altar. A devastatingly beautiful woman was draped over a fragile man. Her figure was poured into a revealing, silken dress that left nothing to the imagination.
Her breasts were out and full, the pink nipples hard and standing up as she rode the man.
Her hand lifted up, cupping her big boob, squeezing the soft flesh while her fingers pinched and twisted the bud, making it even more erect.
She gripped him tight with her pussy, glistening with white slick that coated his shaft as she slid up and down in a steady rhythm that made her boobs jiggle with every thrust.
She moaned low and throaty, her head thrown back in a mockery of ecstasy, even though her eyes stayed cold and focused.
She looked like a goddess of lust until Drex saw her fingers digging into the man's shoulders like needles. He realized the man beneath her wasn't moving at all. He just lay there, his junk hard inside her as she used him.
The man's eyes were wide, glazed with a terrifying mix of pleasure and pure, hollowed-out shock.
She continued to move, her pussy gripping the man's cock like a vice, while her boobs bounced harder, clashing against each other.
She let go of her breast and slid her hand down to her clit, rubbing it in firm circles that made her slick drip more.
As she moved, her translucent skin began to glow. That silver mist didn't just rise. It was being pulled from the man's chest and mouth, flowing into her skin like she was breathing him in through her very pores.
She moaned louder with each pull, her body rocking faster.
With every bounce, the man's face started to cave in, his skin stretching bone-tight over his skull. His muscles didn't just go limp, they shriveled up right under her.
It was sex, but there was no heat in it. She was just moving fast, draining him like a machine.
Then, she gave one final, sharp inhale, her pussy clenching tight one last time as she moaned deep.
The silver mist surged into her in a blinding flash, and the man beneath her went rigid.
He froze as his skin turned deathly pale, sinking into his frame until he stayed locked in that final, arched position. He looked like nothing more than a hollowed-out statue of meat and bone.
Drex stared at the hollowed-out shell on the altar, his stomach turning as he realized she hadn't just taken his life, but whatever spark made him a man.
He didn't understand why she used sex to do it, but one thing was certain: she wasn't human.
The Feeder let out a soft, satisfied hum as she inhaled the last of him. On the side of her neck, the Roman numeral 'VII' began to pulse with a predatory crimson light.
Drex felt a sharp pressure flare behind his eyes as the red text updated itself.
[Target Identified: Predator (Circle VII Feeder)]
[Power Gap: Immense]
Drex felt a vein throb in his temple. He'd spent years making 'immense' men scream for mercy in the ring. To see it written out as a mathematical fact felt like a spit in the face.
[Survival Rate: 0.02%]
Drex's jaw tightened as a cold irritation began to replace the confusion in his chest.
As he shifted to his side, his eyes caught a glimpse of a polished silver tray left near the bars of his cage. He froze, staring at the reflection in the metal.
The face looking back wasn't the face of Ace Lester. There were no scars from the ring, no crooked set to the nose from a poorly timed clinch, but it wasn't soft either.
The jawline was a sharp edge of bone, and the brow was heavy, casting a shadow over eyes that held a piercing, unfamiliar blue shade.
It was a face built for violence. Even without the old scars, he looked like a man who had been carved out of granite, cold, hard, and naturally dangerous.
The build was even more imposing than his old one; the shoulders were broad, and the neck was thick with corded muscle that suggested a brutal, raw power.
He didn't look like a victim. He looked like a predator that hadn't been fed in weeks.
He was Drexel MalFoy now.
He looked past the altar and realized the hall was lined with other cages, rows of shadows filled with men who had reached their breaking point long ago.
In the cage to his left, a younger man gripped the bars with white knuckles, his face streaked with tears as he watched the harvest.
[Subject 1: Survival Chance: 1%]
Further down the line, a middle-aged man was curled into a ball, his voice a hushed whisper as he prayed to a god that wasn't listening.
The Feeder on the altar pulled away. She stood up, tall and curvaceous, wiping a drop of silver from her lip.
As she began to walk down the row of cages, the glowing mark on her neck slowly flickered twice, before erasing itself, leaving her neck bare.
Drex squinted, his thoughts jumbling around. He could have sworn he saw VII etched to her neck just a second ago.
He watched in silent disbelief as lines began to bleed together on her neck, shifting into a crisp VI.
[Target Identified: High-Tier Predator (Ex-Circle VII Feeder)]
[Status Shift: Power Increase Detected — Circle VI]
[Action: Do not engage. Death is certain.]
He wasn't hallucinating. The system was reacting to her getting stronger from the kill. If he only had a 0.02 percent chance against a VII, his mind didn't even want to calculate what a VI would do to him.
She stopped at the cage of the trembling boy beside Drex. She reached out, her manicured nail clicking against the metal.
"Such a waste of a heartbeat," she murmured, seductively. "You're vibrating with so much terror that you're going to spoil the flavor before I even get a taste. Be a good little pet and settle down."
The boy's grip tightened, then his arms went limp as if her voice had physically drained the strength from his bones.
"This one is prime," she purred to a guard. "The fear has thinned his blood. Bring him to my private quarters."
The guard stepped forward, his skin a mottled green and his eyes hidden behind a dark visor.
He didn't speak, he simply unlatched the cage and dragged the boy out by the hair, ignoring the screams as he delivered a heavy blow to the boy's stomach.
The Feeder finally turned her gaze toward Drex, her eyes glowing with a terrifying hunger.
Drex didn't flinch, he studied her the same way he studied an opponent in the ring, looking for the center of gravity and the distance he would need to cover to snap her neck.
She tilted her head, a small smile touching her bold red-colored lips.
"This one," she whispered, her finger pointing toward Drex before gesturing to the praying man behind him. "And those two. They are too dense, filled with too much muscle and pride. The essence will taste like old sweat."
She turned her back on him and walked away, her dismissal feeling like an insult.
"Take them to the Pits and let the shadows tenderize them," she drawled. "I want my meat broken before I bother with a harvest."
The guard returned with two others, moving with a practiced boredom that suggested they didn't treat Drex like a threat, but a chore.
The cage door swung open with a heavy groan, and Drex felt the urge to lunge forward to wrap his arms around the guard's waist, wanting to drive him into the stone until the air left his lungs.
His muscles tensed, ready to explode, before a jagged line of red light cut across his vision.
[Warning: Energy levels insufficient.]
[Penalty: Immediate Extermination.]
The word 'Extermination' flashed with a violent pulse. Drex sucked in a breath, his lungs screaming as he forced his muscles to unlock.
He was being treated like a broken machine, a piece of equipment that wasn't worth the power to turn on.
He was a wrestler, he knew when to push and when to give. Right now he was starving, his lungs felt like they were coated in well-water, and he had no leverage to make a move.
He stepped out of the cage on his own, his bare feet silent on the stone. The guards herded him along with the praying man and the wiry one who had been in the third cage.
They were marched down a long, sloping corridor that smelled of damp earth and old blood.
Drex kept his head up, memorizing every turn they took and treating every guard they passed as a data point.
They reached a set of massive iron doors that vibrated with a low, constant roar. It wasn't the sound of machinery, it was the sound of thousands of voices blending into a single, hungry noise.
The guards shoved them forward without a word, prodding Drex in the small of the back with a glowing baton.
Drex didn't stumble. He absorbed the shove and kept his balance, his eyes narrowing as the doors groaned open to reveal a blinding glare.
The light hit him first, making his eyes water, followed by a heat that felt dry and dusty. He stepped out into the arena and immediately began scanning the perimeter.
High above the red-stained sand, a gilded podium sat perched on the arena wall where only three Circle VII Feeders sat.
They looked down with the lazy, bored expressions of aristocrats watching a play.
Below them, the rest of the stands were packed with grotesque, misshapen human beings, creatures that looked like they had been stitched together from spare parts.
They let out a deafening roar of cheers and whistles at the sight of the three men.
A guard tossed three rusted gladius blades into the dirt. They hit the ground with a dull clatter, poorly balanced and heavy, meant for a desperate struggle rather than a clean kill.
Drex walked forward and picked one up, testing the weight in his palm. It was garbage, but it was an extension of his arm.
"Livestock of the Seventh Circle!" A voice boomed from the high boxes, amplified by the stone walls.
"The Seasoning begins. Prove your worth. The one who falls is meat for the pit. The one who survives becomes a meal for the Altar."
The gates on the opposite side of the pit began to grind open, the sound like bone scraping on bone.
A deep, guttural snarl echoed from the dark tunnel, and a second later, a massive shape began to emerge.
Its skin was the color of bruised meat, stretched tight over a frame that was far too large for the tunnel it had crawled out of.
The middle-aged man dropped to his knees, his prayer turning into a shriek. The wiry man backed away until his spine hit the stone wall, his hands shaking as he held his blade.
Drex didn't back up and he didn't pray. He dropped his center of gravity, digging his feet into the hot sand until he felt stable.
He ignored the roaring crowd and watched the creature emerge, his heart slamming against his ribs.
He felt the cold realization of his own mortality sinking in, but he forced his feet to stay planted.
The creature roared, its crimson eyes locking onto the three men in the center of the pit. It wasn't a fair fight, it was a slaughter, and Drex knew he was the next course.
He tightened his grip on the rusted hilt, his eyes fixed on the beast as it prepared to lunge.
In the corner of his eye, the red light flickered one last time, jagged and cold.
[Survival Chance: 4%]