The long day of hard work in the mines finally came to an end when the overseers started shouting their usual rough orders to gather all the slaves together and march them back through the winding tunnels. Velrith walked in the middle of the slow-moving line, her feet dragging a little on the rough stone ground because her legs felt so heavy from all the lifting and pulling she had done for hours.
Thick layers of red dust from the ore covered her entire body, sticking to the sweat on her pale skin and turning it into a muddy grey color in many spots. The iron chains around her wrists made a constant clinking sound every time she moved her arms, and the same happened with the ones on her ankles, restricting her steps to short shuffles.
The places where the metal had rubbed against her skin all day were now raw and sore, with small patches of dried blood that looked like rust marks running down her legs and arms. The other slaves in the line looked just as worn out as she felt, with their heads hanging low and their shoulders drooped forward, everyone focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other without falling over the loose rocks scattered on the floor.
As they walked deeper into the cooler parts of the tunnel system, away from the hot and dusty mining sections, a new set of smells began to fill the air around them. It was the strong scent of hot metal being shaped, mixed with the sharp bite of burning coal and thick smoke that made eyes water and throats itch even more than they already did from the dust. Thin trails of smoke drifted out from openings in the walls ahead, curling up toward the ceiling like lazy snakes. The guards pushed the group forward into a much larger chamber that had been carved out of the solid rock many years ago, with walls smoothed down from constant use and a high ceiling held up by several thick stone pillars placed evenly across the space. These pillars threw long, dark shadows across the floor because of the bright light coming from the many forges built right into the side walls. Each forge was a deep pit filled with piles of glowing coals that burned with a vibrant orange color, and the flames jumped and danced every time a slave working the bellows pumped air into them with strong, steady pulls on the handles.
The blacksmiths in this chamber were big, powerful demons with muscles built up from years of swinging heavy hammers all day long. They wore thick aprons made from tough animal hide that was scarred and blackened from sparks and heat. They stood at large anvils made of solid iron blocks, pounding away at pieces of metal to turn them into chains, tools, weapons, or whatever the mine needed. The whole place was alive with noise—the loud clang of hammers hitting hot iron over and over, the whooshing sound of air rushing from the bellows to make the fires burn hotter, and the sharp crackle of sparks flying in every direction whenever a blow landed just right. A group of slaves waiting off to one side kept completely quiet most of the time, but when a guard turned his back for a moment, a few of them leaned close and whispered to each other in low voices. A female slave with her horns cut short from some old punishment said softly to the male standing next to her, "I heard that all the new ones like us are getting the permanent marks put on today, the ones that never come off no matter what." The male swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up and down in his dry throat, and he rubbed the side of his neck nervously with one chained hand as he replied, "Yeah, that's what they told me too when they brought me down here last week. It is going to hurt a lot, but you have to stay still or they make it worse."
This big forging chamber was located in one of the deepest parts of the entire Kravesh underground network, a huge system of caves and tunnels controlled by the most powerful demon lords and arena masters who lived high above on the surface in their grand cities made of black stone and surrounded by rivers of fire. Those lords fought brutal battles in massive arenas to gain more wealth and respect, and everything they needed came from down here—the ore mined by slaves, the metal forged into armor and blades, and even the fighters themselves trained in hidden pits. Arena Master Volgath was one of the strongest among them, owning thousands upon thousands of slaves that he divided into different groups based on how useful they were. There were the skilled fighters who entertained in the big arenas, the steady workers who kept the mines running day after day, and then the expendable ones like the new batch, who got sent to the most dangerous jobs where many did not last long. Putting on these iron collars was the last step to make ownership official and permanent, welding the metal right onto the skin so it could only be removed by cutting off the head. The overseers in the chamber showed clear respect for the head blacksmiths, stepping out of their way quickly when one moved with hot tools and even nodding in approval at good work, because without their skills, the whole operation would stop.
The guards herded the line of around thirty slaves, including Velrith, right into the center of the chamber where a long row of low benches made from rough stone blocks had been set up for them to sit on. Strong hands pushed down on shoulders to make everyone sit, and the chains connecting small groups of slaves together rattled loudly as bodies dropped onto the hard seats. The heat rolling out from all the nearby forges made the air feel thick and heavy, like breathing in steam from a pot, and sweat started pouring from every pore on their bodies almost right away. Velrith ended up squeezed between two male slaves on her bench—one was a younger demon with fresh purple bruises all over his arms and face from a beating he must have gotten earlier that day, and the other was an older one with streaks of grey mixed into his crimson hair and deep lines etched into his forehead from years of worry. The young male could not sit still; his knee kept bouncing up and down against the stone bench, making a soft tapping sound, and he whispered under his breath to anyone who would listen, "They say the burning feels worse than getting whipped a hundred times, and it never really stops aching afterward." The older slave next to him let out a low grunt and shifted his weight a little, his voice coming out rough and tired as he answered back, "It does hurt bad, that is true, but you have to breathe through it and hold your body steady. If you fight or move too much, the guards just hold you down harder and the blacksmith takes his time to make sure it sticks even more. I have seen it happen before—better to take the pain quick and get it over with."
Over at the main anvil in the very center of the chamber, the blacksmiths were busy getting the collars ready for the whole group. Each collar was a wide band of thick iron metal, heavy enough to feel like a constant weight around the neck once it was on, with a simple hinge on one side to open it up and matching slots on the other side where a fat rivet would be pounded in to lock it forever. They heated these open bands deep in the forge coals until the metal turned a bright red color all the way through, glowing vibrant with the intense heat trapped inside. All the tools they needed lay out on a nearby table—heavy hammers with long handles for striking, tongs with grips that could hold the hot metal without slipping, and sharp chisels for carving words into the surface after it cooled a bit. The captain of the overseers, a demon who stood much taller than the others and had shiny gold spikes attached to his armor as a sign of his higher rank, walked back and forth in front of the line, his boots thudding heavily on the stone. He pointed one thick finger at the very first slave waiting—a strong female demon with arms thick from carrying loads—and barked an order that made two guards jump forward right away to grab her by the elbows and drag her up to the anvil area.
That female slave did not try to pull away or fight back at all, but Velrith could see her whole body starting to shake as they forced her down onto her knees in front of the hot forge, her knees hitting the stone with a dull smack that must have hurt on top of everything else. The head blacksmith used his long tongs to carefully pull the glowing collar out from the bed of coals, and a shower of orange sparks flew everywhere, some landing on the floor and sizzling out quickly. He carried it over to the anvil without rushing, the heat making the air around it wave and distort like looking through hot summer air. The two guards holding her worked together—one wrapped his strong fingers around her horns and yanked her head back a little to keep it perfectly still, while the other knelt down behind her and locked his arms around her upper body in a tight hold that pinned her shoulders and arms against her sides. The blacksmith opened the hinge wide and slipped the hot band around her neck, positioning it so the red ends overlapped just right. Even before the final closing, the closeness of the metal made her skin turn pink from the radiating heat, and she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Then came the hammering. The blacksmith lifted his big hammer high and brought it down with a powerful swing—the first strike landed on the rivet with a loud clang that rang out through the whole chamber like a bell, driving the pin through the holes and forcing the hot overlap to press hard against her skin. A loud sizzling sound started immediately as the metal burned into her flesh, thick smoke rising up in a grey cloud that smelled just like meat cooking over an open fire but in the worst way possible. The female's face screwed up tight in agony, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth opening wide, but she managed to hold back any noise for the first two blows. On the third hammer strike, though, a deep, guttural cry ripped out of her throat, raw and full of pain that made a few slaves in the line flinch even though they tried not to show it. The blacksmith kept going until the rivet was flattened completely, sealing the collar shut forever with the burned skin fused right to the metal in places where it had touched.
Slaves all along the benches watched the whole thing without saying a word out loud, but some turned their heads just a little to get a better look while others stared hard at the floor to avoid seeing the smoke and hearing the sizzle. Small conflicts broke out here and there in the waiting line without anything to do with Velrith directly. For example, after a few more slaves had gone through the same process and come back with their new collars smoking and their faces pale from the shock, the young male sitting next to Velrith started to lose control as he realized his turn was getting closer. His breathing came faster and faster, chest rising and falling in quick gasps, and when the guards finally came over to pull him up from the bench, he suddenly tried to stand on his own and shuffle backward, his chains yanking tight against the others connected to him. "Please, not me yet, I am not ready for this," he muttered in a panicked voice that cracked halfway through. One of the guards reacted instantly, swinging a big fist that connected solidly with the side of the young male's jaw in a meaty thud that sent him stumbling to the side. Blood trickled from his split lip right away, bright red against his dusty skin. The captain overseer strode over with long steps, his gold spikes catching the forge light, and he placed one heavy boot right on top of the slave's chained hand, pressing down slowly until there was a clear cracking sound of bones giving way under the pressure. "You will hold still and take what is coming, you worthless piece of meat, or I will make sure the blacksmith heats it twice as long," the captain said in a low, threatening voice that carried easily over the forge noises. The young male nodded over and over, tears mixing with the blood on his face, and he let the guards drag him forward without any more struggle, showing complete respect for the higher power that could end him in a second.
Velrith observed every single detail of the collaring for the ten or so slaves who went before her in the line, noting how the guards always held the head by the horns to keep it from moving even a little, how the glowing metal reflected in the wide, scared eyes just before it closed around the neck, and how the quick series of hammer blows always ended with the rivet smashed flat and the collar locked for life. Some slaves passed out cold from the intense pain, their bodies going limp in the guards' arms, and those ones got dragged off to the side unceremoniously until they woke up later with blisters bubbling around their necks. The head blacksmith stayed focused and efficient the whole time, pausing only to wipe thick beads of sweat from his forehead with a dirty rag he kept tucked in his apron belt, and he drank from a large mug of water between each collar to keep his strength up. The guards standing around found amusement in the different reactions, pointing and laughing in their fast demonic language whenever someone jerked too hard or let out a particularly loud scream. One guard even mimicked a high-pitched wail from an earlier slave, cupping his hands around his mouth and making the sound exaggerated, which set off a round of rough chuckles from his friends.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting on the hot bench with the forge heat baking her skin and the smells of burning flesh making her stomach turn, the guards came for Velrith's small group and started processing them one at a time. She was near the end of her row, so she had to watch two more go through it up close—the way their bodies tensed up the moment the tongs lifted the glowing collar, the exact second the sizzle began and smoke poured out. When the guards grabbed her by the arms at last, their grips like iron clamps digging into her bruised muscles, Velrith did not put up any fight at all. Her legs were shaky from the long day and lack of food, but the cold survival part of her mind kept everything under control, telling her body to stay loose and obedient to avoid extra punishment. They marched her forward and forced her down onto her knees right in front of the anvil, the stone feeling extra hard and unforgiving against her bone-weary joints. The wave of heat from the open forge hit her face like a slap, making her blink rapidly and sweat even more.
The blacksmith plunged his tongs back into the coals and pulled out a fresh collar for her, the metal ends glowing a fierce red that lit up the area around it with an orange shine. He handled it carefully, opening the hinge with a creaky sound from the expanding hot iron, and then positioned the band around her exposed neck while the guards got into place. One guard stationed himself in front and locked his thick fingers around her twin black horns, twisting them just enough to pull her head back and keep it immobilized, the pressure sending a dull ache through her scalp. The other guard dropped down behind her on one knee and wrapped his muscular arms all the way around her upper body in a bear hug that pinned her arms to her sides and pressed her back against his chest plate, his hot breath puffing against the side of her ear with every exhale. Velrith could feel the rapid beat of her own heart thumping hard inside her chest as the collar closed loosely at first, the hinged side still cool against one part of her skin but the overlapping end already radiating waves of heat that made the air shimmer and her neck prickle in warning.
The moment of contact came when the blacksmith pushed the ends together for the rivet—the scorching hot metal pressed directly into her flesh with firm pressure, and the searing burn exploded all at once. A loud, angry sizzle filled her ears as skin cooked and blistered instantly, thick plumes of acrid smoke rising straight up into her face and making her eyes water uncontrollably. The pain was beyond anything she had felt before, a white-hot fire that spread from her neck out to every nerve in her body, making her muscles lock up tight. Velrith's mouth flew open wide and a piercing scream tore out of her throat, high and full of raw agony that echoed off the chamber walls and mixed with the hammer clangs. The blacksmith raised his hammer and brought it down in the first powerful strike—clang!—driving the rivet deeper and forcing more of the glowing overlap to sink into her burning skin. Fresh sizzle, more smoke, and her scream turned even louder, her body trying to jerk away instinctively but held firm by the guards' iron grips. Her legs kicked out against the short ankle chains, heels scraping uselessly on the stone, and her chained hands balled into tight fists with knuckles turning white.
The second hammer blow landed just as hard—clang!—and the pain doubled, waves of it crashing through her head and making spots dance in front of her eyes. She screamed again, voice starting to crack from the strain on her raw throat, tears streaming down her cheeks in hot rivers that cut clean lines through the dust on her face. The guards holding her laughed right in her ears, their voices rough and mocking in the demonic language she could not understand fully but could tell was full of contempt. One of them said something like, "Listen to the little pretty one sing for us, higher than the last one," and the other guards nearby joined in with deep belly laughs, slapping each other on the back. Even the captain overseer standing off to the side watched with his arms folded across his chest and a small, satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, giving a slight nod to the blacksmith as if to say the work was good and precise. The third and final hammer strike came down—clang!—flattening the rivet completely and locking the collar in place for the rest of her life, the burned sections of metal now stuck fast to her seared skin where it had melted in.
Velrith's screams kept coming even after the hammering stopped, turning hoarse and broken as her voice gave out from the effort, reducing to gasping coughs that rattled in her chest. Her whole body shook violently, tremors running from her neck down to her toes, and the new collar felt impossibly heavy and tight, every swallow pulling on the blistered flesh and sending fresh stabs of pain. The blacksmith was not quite finished with her yet; he set the big hammer aside and picked up a narrower chisel along with a smaller tapping hammer, positioning the sharp point against the front of the still-warm collar to carve in the ownership words. Each light tap of the chisel sent tiny vibrations through the metal and into her burned neck, making her wince and bite down on her lip hard enough to taste blood, but the engraving went quickly. Sparks flew with every strike, and the letters took shape in the raised demon script across the front: Property of Arena Master Volgath—Expendable Class. This mark meant she was now officially owned by one of the most feared and powerful lords in all of Kravesh, the one who ran the bloodiest fighting arenas and threw away slaves like trash when they were no longer useful. Being labeled expendable put her in the lowest group, destined for jobs where death came quick—cleaning out beast cages full of hungry monsters, testing sharp new blades on themselves, or being forced into small practice fights with no training or armor.
As soon as the last chisel tap finished, the guards let go of their holds and gave her a rough shove forward so she could crawl or stumble back to the line on her own. Velrith collapsed onto her hands and knees right there on the hot stone floor, the impact jarring her sore joints and making the collar shift slightly against the fresh burns, which drew out a weak whimper from her cracked throat. Cool drafts from the chamber vents brushed over the blistered skin around the metal, offering a tiny bit of relief mixed with stinging, and thin wisps of smoke still curled up from the seared spots. She gasped for air in big, shaky breaths, her vision blurry from all the tears, and the weight of the collar made her head feel like it was being pulled down constantly. The intense pain from the welding locked her mind completely into this new demon body, pushing away any last faint whispers from Joseph's old life under the overwhelming fire that consumed everything else.
The processing continued without pause for the remaining slaves in the line. The very next one after Velrith, a skinny male with trembling legs, started screaming even before the hot collar touched him, thrashing his head side to side until one guard grew angry and drove a knee into his side with a solid thump that knocked the air out of him. "Stay still or I will burn your whole face next," the guard snarled close to his ear, and the slave went limp after that, taking the pain in silence except for muffled grunts. The blacksmith moved on efficiently, heating, placing, hammering, and engraving each one with the same steady rhythm, his arms never tiring.
Once the entire group had their collars welded on and engraved, the guards yanked them all to their feet by the new chains attached to the metal bands and marched them out of the forging chamber into a connected holding cave that was smaller and darker. The walls here were damp from water seeping through cracks high up, leaving wet streaks that glistened in the low torchlight, and the floor was covered in a thin layer of old straw that smelled musty and rotten from years of use by countless slaves. Everyone found a spot to sit or lie down carefully, many touching the edges of their new collars with hesitant fingers to feel the raised letters or wincing when the metal shifted against blisters. Quiet whispers spread through the group as the pain settled in—one slave said to another nearby, "Volgath's mark means we are headed to the arena pits soon, either to fight or to clean up after the fights." Another replied softly, "Expendable class does not last long up there, but maybe if we show strength, they move us up." An older female slave reached over to pat the shoulder of a young one who was crying silently, her voice kind but tired as she said, "Try to breathe slow and steady, child—the worst burn fades after a day or two, and then it is just a heavy reminder to keep working." There were no arguments or fights in this holding area; everyone understood the shared weight of the collars and respected the power that had just been stamped onto their bodies forever.
The overseers locked the heavy iron gate at the entrance to the holding cave with a loud clanging sound, leaving only a few torches burning outside in the tunnel to cast faint glowing lines through the bars. The heat trapped in the collars from the forging slowly started to cool in the damp air of the cave, but the throbbing pain in the burned skin kept going strong, making sleep hard to find. Velrith leaned her back against the rough wall, her fingers tracing the engraved words on the front of her collar over and over, feeling the rough edges where the chisel had cut in. The constant ache spread up into her jaw and down into her shoulders, sharpening her thoughts even through the exhaustion. This permanent mark changed her path completely—she was now official property in the lowest class, owned by a lord known for throwing lives away without a second thought. But inside the cold core of Velrith's mind, plans began to form slowly: endure the burn and the weight, watch how the system worked in the arenas, find ways to prove usefulness and climb out of expendable status.
As the deep night settled over the underground levels, the distant sounds of hammers and forges faded away into quiet, leaving only the soft winces of pain from collared slaves and the occasional shift of chains on straw. The torches outside the gate burned lower, their light throwing long shadows that danced across the damp walls. Velrith closed her eyes at last, forcing herself to breathe through the throbbing agony, her mind already working on strategies to turn this mark of ownership into a step toward real power. Arena Master Volgath sat high in his world of blood and glory; she started at the very bottom with a burned neck and iron weight, but the climb would begin one calculated move at a time, no matter how much it hurt.