Before a mansion that sprawled across a territory taking up more than ten percent of the Underworld beneath Steeferce City, a noble carriage drawn by a beastlike variant of a horse came to a stop.
When the door opened, a woman in an alluring dress stepped out. A slave unrolled himself from beneath the carriage and waited for her to use him as a step.
She placed her heel on the small of his back, letting her weight linger as if testing a step, then drifted down the last inches with a languid roll of her hips. The slave behind her moaned and drooled, happiness written across his face. He looked like a gladiator from a famous movie—thick, well‑carved muscles—but even such a man ranked below a dog to the Blood Mistress.
