The darkness, which had been Joseph's entire world, suddenly broke. The absolute black was violently pushed back by a sudden, harsh splash of dim orange light. The source was a primitive torch, violently yanked from a wall sconce just outside the unseen door. The oil-soaked rag on the end of the metal stick hissed as it combusted, casting an unsteady, smoky flicker that immediately assaulted Joseph's eyes, which had grown accustomed to the nullity.
The light brought the surrounding environment into agonizing, low-resolution clarity. The world was no longer boundless; it was small, brutal, and made of stone cell walls. The entire chamber was claustrophobic, measuring maybe eight feet by six feet, built entirely of rough, unevenly carved blocks. There was no window, no bed—only the cold, wet floor where he lay. The walls were stained dark with ancient moisture and something else—a heavy, reddish-brown patina that his mind immediately, sickeningly, registered as dried blood.
His attention was immediately drawn away from the walls by a sudden, metallic, working sound from the doorway. The heavy, unseen door was unlatched and pulled open with a scraping sound of iron against stone. A tall, bulky figure stepped into the light, casting a massive, terrifying silhouette that stretched and danced across the ceiling.
This was his first look at a native of this world. The figure was clearly a demon slave overseer. It was powerfully built, with thick, muscled arms and legs covered in coarse, dark leather armor. Its head was covered by a heavy, spiked helm, but two thick, pointed teeth—fangs—protruded slightly over its lower lip, catching the dim orange light with a wet, dangerous sheen. This being carried a heavy, blunt metal truncheon, not for delicate work, but for brute force. The figure radiated pure, cold contempt and power. In this moment, Joseph instinctively understood the primary rule of this new existence: respect who is more powerful. The difference in strength was absolute, and he was currently nothing.
The overseer paused, examining the soiled, chained figure on the floor. The light, though dim, now allowed Joseph to see the full, agonizing reality of his new body for the first time.
He forced his head to tilt down, the movement causing a sharp, stinging pain in his neck muscles and pulling taut the chains around his wrists..
The sight was devastating.
The skin covering his body was an impossibly pale, nearly translucent White snow skin, startlingly contrasted by the heavy, black iron chains. The color was entirely unnatural, alien, and terribly fragile-looking.
His hair, currently matted and dirty from the ordeal, was a vivid, shocking crimson. The color was intense, almost glowing in the torchlight, cascading over his shoulders.
Then came the physical confirmation of his transformation, now visible and undeniable. He saw the gentle, horrifying slope of his chest. His breasts were rising, full and prominent, pressing heavily against the cold, rough stone when he shifted. His mind, still operating with the hard-coded logic of a male body, struggled to accept the sheer size. Even though the body was clearly that of a young girl, perhaps no older than eighteen, her chest was startlingly, impossibly developed, clearly a large size, almost D-cup. The fullness was emphasized by the way they lay heavy and soft against the hard surface, a feature that was supposed to be a source of feminine pride but was, to Joseph, a massive, aching source of shame and severe dysphoria.
He followed the curve down. The body possessed a starkly curved, seductive body—a deep indentation at the waist flaring out to rounded hips and long, slender legs. He was completely naked, and the terrible, intimate sight of the woman organs was fully visible. The realization was complete: the male identity of Joseph was not just gone, it was overwritten by this object of raw, exposed vulnerability. His mind, however, was in such deep psychological shock that it immediately filed this visual information under "Threat: High Priority" without processing the adult themes of exposure. It was simply another layer of deep, humiliating vulnerability that added to his cold hate.
The overseer, having finished its brief, contemptuous inspection, moved. The action was swift and brutal.
A heavy, leather-clad boot swung out with massive force and landed squarely in Joseph's exposed ribs. The impact was not just physical; it was a loud, sickening thwack that echoed in the small stone room.
The Pain was instantaneous, paralyzing, and absolute. It was a blinding sheet of agony that ripped through his side, leaving him gasping for air he could not fully draw. The force of the kick lifted his torso an inch off the ground before it slammed back down onto the chains.
The brutal, shocking physical pain was so intense that it immediately triggered a violent physiological response. His stomach, empty save for the burning bile and traces of his own internal mess, spasmed violently. He felt the liquid surge up his throat, but the heavy gag was still locked in place. The vomit, thick and acrid, was forced outward, saturating the already-soaked gag. The taste was vile, the physical sensation of the gagging and choking on his own vomit through the gag was overwhelming, and the residual physical shock from the kick left him whimpering, silent and paralyzed.
He lay there, body convulsing slightly, the air refusing to enter his damaged lungs, the taste of metallic bile now mixing with the shame and blood on his lips. The overseer did not react, merely stepping back slightly to avoid the mess. Its lack of emotion was terrifying—this was a routine action, a common correction.
A harsh, low-pitched voice, guttural and metallic, grated through the room, sounding alien and powerful. The language was demonic, but the meaning was clear in the tone of absolute command and cold anger.
"Useless filth. Move."
The overseer then grabbed the heavy chains attached to Joseph's wrists. The cold iron bit deep into his already raw flesh, and the overseer pulled with a sudden, violent, enormous strength.
Joseph's body was dragged by the chains out of the cell. The overseer did not care about the friction of the stone floor against the exposed, naked skin of his back and legs. He felt the rough, cold stone immediately scourging the raw wounds on his ankles and the sensitive skin of his lower back. The pain was secondary to the initial blast from the kick, but it was relentless and continuous—a constant, searing road rash that brought fresh, bloody streaks to the floor.
He tried to push himself up, instinctively wanting to stand and mitigate the damage, but his coordination was non-existent. Because of the new body, he didn't know how to walk—or even crawl—with the unfamiliar distribution of weight and the restrictive chains. He was too weak, too shocked, and too constrained. There was no need for him to try, however, because the overseer pulled him with a casual, massive display of strength.
The dragging continued out of the small cell and into a larger, echoing stone corridor. The torchlight was slightly brighter here, fueled by wall sconces spaced far apart, casting long, menacing shadows. Joseph caught momentary, frantic glimpses of the environment: high, arched ceilings, immense columns carved with disturbing, sharp angles, and the heavy, damp air moving slightly. The stone here was darker, a slick black obsidian, adding to the inherent dark and intimidating atmosphere.
The overseer pulled him for what felt like a hundred meters, ignoring the sickening, scraping sound of the chains and the faint sounds of Joseph's distressed breathing.
The corridor eventually opened into a massive, cavernous space. This chamber was much larger, perhaps fifty meters across, illuminated by numerous, flickering torches along the walls. The central feature was a deep, circular depression in the floor, descending about six feet. This was the communal pit.
The overseer paused at the edge and, with a casual shove, sent Joseph tumbling down the rough, stone slope. The fall was short, but the chains prevented him from catching himself, making him slam heavily onto the dirt and stone floor of the pit. He coughed, the movement driving another painful jolt through his bruised ribs.
He lay still for a moment, trying to process the sounds and sights. The pit was filled with bodies. Around fifty naked demon slaves were huddled together, seeking warmth, comfort, or simply trying to occupy the minimum amount of space possible.
They were demons, like him, but they varied wildly in appearance—some had short, black horns; others had pale skin like his own, but with scales; some had long, powerful tails. They were all thin, starved, and marked by various levels of fresh and healed abuse. Every single one was completely naked, their exposed bodies creating a silent tapestry of humiliation and shared suffering.
When Joseph was thrown in, the sudden noise caused a ripple of movement. Eyes—some yellow, some red, some pure black—turned toward the newcomer. The atmosphere in the pit was thick with silent fear and deep, settled hate. No one spoke. No one offered help. The strong, primal psychological understanding was immediate: Joseph was a burden, a competitor for the scant resources, and a target.
He tried to look around, but his vision was blurring from the pain and dehydration. The gag was heavy, forcing his jaw into an aching spasm. He carefully shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn't press too hard on his aching ribs or the raw wounds on his back.
He forced himself to register the reality: this was not a cell, but a holding pen. This was a logical, working part of the slave operation. He was not a person to them; he was livestock. The realization solidified the last, brittle fragments of his former identity into the cold, sharp core of Velrith.
His mental state was now perfectly clear: total isolation, absolute powerlessness, and a driving need for survival. He would have to learn the rules of this new, terrifying environment, and he would have to learn them now, before the cold, the hunger, or the brutality of his new companions destroyed him completely. His rebirth was finished; the struggle had begun.