Logan now found himself facing the young woman from Aria's tribe, who stood with her back to him in a beautiful gold-and-white outfit that accentuated her figure. The young woman finally turned toward Logan as he entered; she gave him a look, then rose and moved toward him with a smooth, sensual gait. As she approached, she undressed little by little, revealing a small, shapely chest, until she was completely naked by the time she reached him. Their faces were now close, each feeling the other's breath.
She took Logan by the hand and gently pushed him onto the bed before straddling him, slightly unsettled by the intensity of their locked gazes.
"You're very handsome, and your eyes are magnificent they shine with a beautiful glow," she said, caressing Logan's face.
She gently took Logan's hand, guiding it with a certain tenderness to rest on her chest, its texture both plush and surprisingly soft to the touch. For Logan, this was an entirely new experience; it was the first time he had found himself faced with a completely naked woman like this, and the intensity of the moment hit him full force especially when he felt the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers.
The sensation was both surprising and intoxicating. Nevertheless, despite the tension and his own arousal, Logan did nothing, remaining silent and semi-impassive though his face couldn't help but react, flushing red in places.
"You don't seem thrilled. Do I not excite you enough, or are you afraid?" she asked, seeing how little he reacted.
"I'm not here for that, Lissia," he replied, withdrawing his hand from her chest.
"Then why are you here?"
"To free you."
"To free me… no, I don't want to be freed!" she suddenly cried.
Thrown by her outburst, Logan froze for a moment before asking the question burning on his lips: "Why?"
Her eyes gleaming with a feverish light, Lissia flared up again, her voice full of frustration and a strange determination: "Because I'm an obedient girl! I don't want to leave! I want to stay here! I will never disobey you, I promise!"
In a matter of moments, fear spread through her gaze, transforming her into a terrified child. She left the bed and huddled in one corner of the room, curled in on herself and trembling like a leaf. Logan, completely taken aback by the situation, no longer understood what was happening; a mix of confusion and concern showed on his face. He stood slowly, trying to approach her, to understand what had triggered such a reaction. But he had barely taken a few steps when she sprang to her feet, recoiling even more violently against the wall, her eyes full of terror. Her hands lifted instinctively in defensive motions, as though trying to fend off an invisible threat.
"No, don't come near me! Don't come near me!" she screamed, her voice broken and panicked.
The young woman, petrified with fear, froze the instant Logan drew closer, her body taut as a bowstring about to snap. Her eyes, brimming with terror, seemed to see nothing but the imminent threat she imagined, expecting to be struck at any moment. Short of breath, she braced for blows but to her surprise, none came. Instead, she felt a gentle, reassuring hand slowly brush her face. It was an almost unknown gesture, devoid of violence, and it sparked a faint calm in her troubled mind.
"I will never hurt you, Lissia, because Aria is the one who sent me."
Logan's voice was calm and steady, like a soothing balm on an open wound.
She lifted her head, startled, her eyes flicking to his hand still grazing her cheek, before meeting his gaze with doubt.
"Aria?" she murmured, her voice fragile.
"Yes, I saved her," Logan answered with a slight smile, a sincere light in his eyes. "And I want to save you, too."
He rose slowly, extending a compassionate hand toward her.
She hesitated for a moment, eyes darting away, then gently took the hand he offered. Logan gave her a tender, reassuring smile, though his gaze involuntarily dipped toward the young woman's still-bare chest. A flicker of turmoil crossed his face; he couldn't help reacting like any man faced with such a sight.
"C-could you put your clothes back on? I… I'm still a man, you know…" he asked, voice tinged with embarrassment, a persistent flush coloring his cheeks.
"Ah, yes, sorry!" Lissia replied, a little embarrassed herself.
She hurried to dress again, her quick movements betraying her own nervousness. Once clothed, the two of them sat on the bed, more at ease and finally ready to talk.
"Why were you so afraid?" Logan asked, still shaken by her violent reaction from moments before.
Lissia drew a shaky breath, searching for words, then lowered her eyes as if to retreat from her own memories.
"You know… when I arrived here and it wasn't just me many men would come to us. They said they wanted to help, that they would save us. But it was all a trap, a way to make us hope so they could break our will, to kill any thought of escape inside us. If one of us responded positively, or even just hesitated, they beat her until she bled… and then they raped her, without an ounce of mercy. While they committed their atrocities, they forced us to repeat the same sentence over and over: 'I am a slave, and I will never leave this place.'"
As she spoke, her voice fractured, and her entire body began to tremble. Logan felt his heart clench at the depth of her suffering.
"That was their method, their strategy: to destroy us from within, so the idea of escape or rebellion would never take root in us again. Those who refused to yield, who kept hoping anyway, were killed… or expelled."
"Expelled?"
Lissia nodded, her gaze empty. "They're sent to other places: mines, dungeons, or used as test subjects for experiments. Sometimes they're simply killed, as an example. Beyond the violence, they branded our bodies with a slave seal, to mark us forever."
She turned, revealing on her back a stark, unsettling black mark depicting a bird locked in a cage. With a trembling hand, she rummaged in the bedside drawer and pulled out a small violet vial, holding it like something precious.
"What is that?" Logan asked, nodding toward the violet vial.
"It's another form of enslavement… the drug. They force us to take it until we become dependent. Once the withdrawal sets in, they hold us by blackmail, forcing us to obey to get our dose."
Logan looked at her, genuine worry in his voice:
"Are you dependent too?"
She nodded, resigned.
"Yes… like all the girls here. It's one of the only things that lets us endure any of this. Every day, men rape us, beat us, treat us like mere objects belongings. Many haven't survived, you know. Some chose to end their own lives rather than keep enduring this horror… Several of my friends died that way. The drug offers us just a moment of oblivion, an illusion of well-being, but it's only another trap a vicious, endless circle…" she sobbed, her voice breaking, her teeth clenched.
Logan's heart tightened at such suffering. Without hesitation, he drew her into his arms, holding her firmly yet gently, as if to shield her from all this evil.
"I promise you, we'll get you out of here. But you and the others will need to hold on a little longer."
Lissia's defenses collapsed, and overwhelmed by the weight of her memories, she burst into tears. All the pain, the loss of her friends, the violence, the shame, the dependency—everything surged to the surface. Until this moment, she had known only horror and humiliation, convinced nothing would ever change and that a miserable death was all that awaited her.
After a long silence broken only by her sobs, Logan looked her in the eyes.
"Listen, I'll need your help. Tell me everything you know about this place. Every detail can help me."
Nodding, the young woman began to recount everything she had seen and understood since her arrival: guard schedules, secret passages, punishments, rules—everything she could remember. Their conversation went on for many minutes.
Suddenly, sharp knocks sounded at the door.
"Sir, the product you ordered is now available," announced the receptionist's voice from the other side.
Logan rose from the bed, ready to leave. But in a sudden gesture, Lissia grabbed his wrist. Her gaze locked onto his, intense, filled with a fragile glimmer of hope. Through the window, the reflections of the stars and the moon were visible—like a silent reminder that hope can survive even in the darkest nights.
"Promise me you'll come back to save us," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Logan answered without hesitation, carving the promise into his heart.
"I swear it. I'll come back for you for all of you."
He left the room, greeted by the same receptionist he had met earlier. Together, they walked the corridors, Logan noting every detail, every door, every corner of the building, already shaping his plan. They climbed two more floors before arriving at the room where Aria's mother awaited him.
Logan entered the room and saw, lying on the bed, a woman motionless and inert, like an abandoned doll. He approached carefully and slowly sat on the edge of the mattress. The woman wore the same kind of clothing as Lissia, but her build was sturdier, her features etched with fatigue and resignation.
"Do whatever you want with me," she murmured in a monotone, without even turning her head toward him.
Her words sounded like an automatic mechanism, emptied of all will. Logan sensed at once that the woman was no longer truly present: her gaze was vacant, her eyes dull, and her face betrayed no emotion. She had long since accepted her condition as an object, surrendered any notion of a future or of hope.
He noticed multiple bruises on her skin, especially around her neck and arms. Here, the girls were treated during the day just enough to be "presentable" for work. But at night, they were left defenseless to the worst abuses of clients, without the slightest protection. Most of their lives had been shattered, plunging them into a state of lethargy and apathy where even fear eventually faded.
But everything changed when Logan spoke a few words simple, yet essential to a mother deprived of all:
"Aria is alive, and safe."
The moment the words left his lips, the woman jerked upright as if waking from a nightmare. A glimmer fragile but real suddenly shone in her eyes.
"What did you say?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"I've taken your daughter under my protection. We're preparing your liberation all of you together."
Élie immediately brought her hands to her mouth, emotion overtaking her weary features. Her eyes, dull only moments before, filled with tears and slowly regained their former light. After years of anguish and silence, hope returned timid but tenacious.
"Thank you… thank you!" she sobbed, unable to say more.
Logan leaned toward her slightly, determined. "You'll have to hold on if you want to see her again."
Élie lifted her head, eyes brimming but animated by a newfound strength.
"I'll do anything to see her anything it takes."
A faint smile formed on Logan's face, satisfied to see a mother's fighting spirit rekindled.
"That's the right mindset. Remember: without a fight, there is no victory," he said, rising from the bed.
Logan headed for the door, casting one last look at Élie as he continued speaking:
"Do you have a message for Aria?" he asked, his voice gentle yet resolute.
Élie trembled slightly, then breathed:
"Tell her… that her mother loves her more than anything."
"I won't forget," Logan replied, already at the threshold, ready to slip into the hallway.
A surge of worry stopped her, and she called out hastily: "Wait! I don't even know your name…"
He paused for a second and allowed himself a thin smile.
"It's Logan," he said, before leaving the room and gently closing the door behind him.
He descended the floors with growing vigilance, his mind roiling with ideas and contained fury. Through the walls, the muffled cries and sobs of dozens of girls rose—witnesses to the perpetual nightmare ruling this cursed place. He was moving down a dim corridor when a cry, more wrenching than the others, suddenly split the air. A door slammed against the wall.
A young woman with a feline appearance collapsed at his feet. Her striped fur was streaked with burn marks, her entire back reddened and blackened. Logan crouched at once to try to help her.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing, you slut? Get up immediately!" a man's voice bellowed—dripping with contempt and authority.
A man appeared in the doorway: Raphaël, the prince of Sigma.
"Thanks for catching that bitch," he tossed to Logan with a cold smile, as if handing him a lost animal.
With a brutal motion, he tried to seize the young woman by the hair but his hand was flung back, as if stopped by an invisible wall. He staggered, stunned.
"What…?" he breathed, bewildered.
Logan rose to his full height and met his eyes head-on. His voice, calm and cutting, rang down the corridor:
"Tell me what's the point of doing this to her?"
Thrown by the unseen repulse, Raphaël lost his smile and ignored the question, choosing instead to accuse:
"Was that you who just did that?"
But Logan didn't flinch, his tone unyielding: "Answer my question."
Silence, heavy with tension, settled for an instant as their gazes clashed.
"Why? What a stupid question…" he sneered, lips curling with disdain. "Simply because I can, that's all. They're nothing but common objects playthings I enjoy using as I please."
He drove his hard stare into Logan's.
"Now it's your turn to answer the question I asked you!"
Logan held his gaze without blinking.
"Yes, I'm the one who did it," he said calm, but razor-sharp.
A twist of surprise then anger crossed the prince's face.
"Do you know who you're talking to?" he growled, jaw tight.
"Who you are doesn't matter," Logan replied, implacable.
The prince's features hardened, a vein throbbing at his temple.
"I am the prince of this kingdom!" he thundered, his voice rumbling with pride and frustration.
But Logan didn't budge, his composure disconcerting.
"And you really think I'm going to bow to you?"
Exasperated by such insolence, Raphaël clenched his fists.
"Why must adventurers always be so arrogant?" he hissed, before suddenly thrusting his hand toward Logan.
A jet of flame burst from his palm, streaking toward Logan with a menacing hiss… But in that instant, everything shifted…
"Sir, whatever are you doing?" cried one of the receptionists, rushing into the corridor, drawn by the commotion.
Logan turned nonchalantly, breaking the tension:
"Nothing serious the prince and I were just having a little conversation," he replied, patting the prince's shoulder, as if to seal the moment with a casual gesture.
He walked away calmly, leaving a charged silence in his wake. A few people, alerted by the ruckus, watched the scene, curious and anxious.
"My prince, are you all right? My prince?" the puzzled receptionist asked.
Raphaël stood rooted to the spot, staring at the floor, his breath short. Eyes wide, beads of sweat slid down his cheek.
He was the only one who understood what had just happened. Yes, he had launched his attack, but his flames had died out in the air, snuffed out like a match in the rain. Worse, he had felt a bloodlust of terrifying intensity that had frozen him in place.
In the space of a lightning flash, he had seen Logan's arm rush for his throat at an unimaginable speed so swift he hadn't had the slightest chance to react. A thin cut had even appeared on his skin, undeniable proof of what might have occurred.
He knew it: without the receptionist's sudden intervention, his head could no, should have rolled across the floor. But above all, he realized that Logan had spared him on purpose. It was a warning, and the only thing that had saved him that night was his title of prince nothing else.
--
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