Part 3: Ash and Chains
The closer he got, the louder it got.
Not just the crackling of fire or the occasional panicked scream—but the wet slap of fists on flesh, chains dragging through dirt, the sharp bark of orders yelled in a language he didn't understand but instinctively hated.
Yuji crouched behind a burnt-out fence near the edge of the village. His skin was smeared with ash and his mana throbbed hot under his ribs, ready to ignite at the lightest flex. He spotted maybe twelve men, wearing mismatched armor and wielding weapons that had seen better centuries. A slaver syndicate. Mercs by the look of them. Professional trash.
They were rounding up survivors, mostly beastfolk. Cat-eared children. A rabbit-woman with a bloody lip. An old man with scales down his spine.
All chained.
All terrified.
Yuji's jaw tightened.
A slaver grunted something and backhanded one of the children, sending the small figure crumpling into the dirt. The man laughed. Another kicked the child toward a wagon. The others followed suit.
Yuji felt it again.
That pulse.
It didn't feel righteous. It didn't feel heroic.
It felt like pressure in his skull. Like lust—but for destruction. Like hunger—but for dominance.
He picked up a rock. Just to test range.
He stood up, aimed at a guard's head, and—
WHUMP.
—launched it like a cannonball with a surge of magic-enhanced strength. The rock hit the slaver so hard his skull caved inward, and his body crumpled without sound.
Silence.
Then chaos.
"UP THERE!"
"Shit! Mage! Mage!"
Three slavers broke formation and charged up the hill toward him. Yuji didn't run. He raised his hand.
One spell. Just one.
He visualized fire. Simple, focused. The flame of punishment.
Mana surged—too much, again—but he didn't fight it.
"Burn."
A pulse of heat roared from his palm, and a narrow beam of flame shot forward like a cutting torch. It struck the lead slaver's chest, then exploded, sending all three flying like rag dolls lit with fireworks.
One of them hit a tree. He didn't move after.
Yuji blinked. He was breathing hard. Not from fear, but from euphoria.
His magic core throbbed in approval.
This world is cruel.
He gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
"Good," he muttered. "So am I."
At the base of the hill, the remaining slavers scrambled for position. One shouted something about reinforcements. Two others were dragging their prisoners behind wagons as makeshift cover. One drew a crossbow and fired.
Yuji didn't dodge.
The bolt hit him—ripped a line of pain across his ribs—but the magic already saturating his body absorbed the worst of it.
He pointed both hands.
"Scatter."
Twin blasts of raw wind magic burst from his palms, hurling slavers across the square like paper dolls in a typhoon.
The rest broke.
The survivors dropped their chains and ran into the burning village like rats on fire.
Yuji staggered forward, bleeding slightly, panting, chest glowing with faint golden runes.
The villagers—what was left of them—watched him like he'd descended from the gods.
Which, in a way, he had.
A rabbit-eared woman crawled to her feet and whispered, "What… are you?"
Yuji didn't answer.
He looked down at his hands. Still shaking.
He'd just killed five men. Burned three. Blew one's head in with a rock. He should've felt guilt. Or fear.
But all he felt was—
"…Power," he said quietly.
And then—movement.
A sound behind the wagons. Chains rattling.
Yuji's eyes narrowed. He stepped around the last burning cart.
And saw her.
She was curled in a cage, low and narrow like an animal pen, bent awkwardly to fit. Her skin was pale as snow, bloodied in places, and her hair silver-white, matted with soot. But it was the ears that struck him first.
Wolven. Furred. Perked up at his scent.
She looked up.
Eyes like ice.
A collar clinked softly as she moved.
She bared her teeth. Not in fear. Not in rage.
Recognition.
"...Alpha," she rasped.
Yuji froze.
The Fertility core in his chest pulsed.
Not with power. Not with lust.
But with connection.
Something just clicked.
Part 4: Kill or Be Sold
Yuji stared into those frost-colored eyes through the bars.
They weren't begging. They weren't pleading.
They were accepting. As if she already knew who he was. As if something inside her had recognized him on a level deeper than memory.
She didn't move, just sniffed the air once and said again, hoarser this time:
"Alpha."
His core reacted immediately.
Mana coiled in his gut—heavy, slow, throbbing. Not just arousal. Resonance. His Fertility magic had pinged like a sonar. Somehow, she was compatible. Perfectly. Like they'd been tuned to the same frequency.
Her silver tail flicked once behind her, wary, weak. Her arms were cut, legs bruised, fur on her ears singed.
Yuji knelt beside the cage, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "Can you move?"
She blinked, confused. "You… smell like spring. But fire. And..."
Heavy boots crunched behind him.
Yuji turned slowly.
Two men. Bigger than the others. Heavily armored. Not the kind to run when magic flies.
One had a man-catcher polearm already drawn. The other was holding enchanted shackles.
"Look at this," the first one growled, eyes raking over Yuji's glowing skin. "Mana scars. Runes are still fresh. This one's new. Untamed."
The second one sneered. "He's naked, glowing, and just fried ten men. That's not a mage. That's an awakened."
Awakened?
"Bet the boss'll pay triple for this one," the first muttered. "Male demi-mages are rare. Especially ones with that much juice. Look at his core."
The man reached for the shackles.
Yuji exhaled once. "Touch me and lose the hand."
They both froze.
Then the one with the man-catcher lunged.
The pole hooked around Yuji's neck. The barbs dug in—not into skin, but into mana. The enchanted weapon siphoned magical flow like a sponge, and Yuji staggered.
The second one moved fast, swinging the shackles toward Yuji's wrists.
"NO—"
SNAP.
The Fertility core detonated.
There was no spell this time. No incantation. Just raw, uncontrolled reaction.
A burst of magical pheromones exploded outward like a tidal wave—thick, heavy, cloying with primal force.
The slavers gasped, choked, eyes wide as their bodies convulsed. Their strength failed. Knees buckled. One dropped the polearm, clutching his chest.
"What the—what the FUCK is this?!"
Yuji's eyes burned gold.
He grabbed the man-catcher and ripped it in half, the steel melting like butter in his grip. The metal hissed as divine heat coursed through his palm.
He stepped forward once.
Then again.
The second slaver tried to run.
Yuji grabbed his head with one hand and slammed it into the side of the burning wagon. Bone cracked. The man slid down, unconscious or dead.
The first slaver was crawling. His body convulsed, not from pain, but from magical overload. His mana system was shorting out, reacting violently to Yuji's proximity.
"Wh-what are you?" he hissed, foam at his lips.
Yuji leaned in close.
"Fertile," he said softly.
And crushed his throat.
The clearing went still again.
Yuji stood panting, steam curling off his shoulders. The divine runes along his spine pulsed once, then dimmed.
He looked down at his hands.
No hesitation. No trembling.
Only focus.
He turned back to the cage.
The wolf-girl was still watching. Unblinking.
She didn't look shocked.
She looked... content.
He knelt again. "I'm going to get you out."
"No need," she murmured. "You already did."
She lifted one arm, and with a click, the iron bars bent outward. Magic swirled faintly around her palm. Her body trembled, but she forced herself upright, swaying on one leg.
Yuji blinked. "You were never fully bound, were you?"
"I was waiting."
"For whom?"
She smiled, fangs barely peeking. "For the one who smelled like power. Like heat. Like spring."
She stepped forward, unsteady, and collapsed against him.
Her head rested on his chest.
"Name's Sylvia," she whispered. "I'm yours now."