The morning after the collar welding started with the usual loud banging on the heavy iron gate of the holding cave, where all the newly marked slaves had spent a restless night trying to sleep on the damp straw-covered floor. Velrith woke up slowly, her body stiff from lying on the hard stone underneath the thin layer of old straw that smelled strongly of mold and old sweat from countless others before her.
The new iron collar around her neck felt even heavier than it had the night before, pulling down on her burned skin with every small movement and sending fresh waves of throbbing pain through the blistered areas where the hot metal had seared in permanently. She sat up carefully, one hand reaching up to touch the raised engraving on the front—Property of Arena Master Volgath—Expendable Class—and the rough edges scraped against her fingertips as she traced the letters again, reminding herself of the new reality stamped onto her body.
Around her in the dim light filtering through the gate bars from the torches outside, the other slaves stirred one by one, some groaning softly as they shifted positions and felt the same constant ache in their necks, others rubbing at the raw spots where chains had chafed during the night. A young male slave near the back of the cave curled up with his knees pulled to his chest, whispering to himself in a shaky voice, "It still burns like fire, does not let you forget even in sleep," and an older female sitting close by reached over with a chained hand to pat his arm gently, saying back in a calm but tired tone, "The worst of the heat is gone now, just breathe slow and it will turn into a dull pull soon enough, we all have to carry it the same."
The overseers unlocked the gate with a series of loud clanks from the heavy keys turning in the lock, and then they swung it open wide, the metal hinges creaking from the weight as several guards stepped inside the cave with their boots thudding on the straw. They carried long whips coiled at their belts and short clubs in their hands, shouting orders in their rough demon language to get everyone up and moving right away. "On your feet, marked meat, line up single file and no slow steps or you feel the club," one guard barked, cracking his whip in the air for emphasis with a sharp snapping sound that made a few slaves jump to their feet faster. Velrith pushed herself up from the floor, her legs wobbling a little at first from the stiffness in her joints and the lingering weakness from days of little food, but she forced her body to straighten and join the forming line without drawing attention. The cool damp air of the cave brushed against her completely nude skin, raising small bumps all over her arms and legs, and the exposure made her feel even more vulnerable with the new collar weighing down her neck. Her large chest shifted with every breath, the soft weight of it pulling forward and making her balance feel off in this unfamiliar demon body that she still had not fully adjusted to walking in properly.
The line of slaves shuffled out of the holding cave and into the wider tunnel beyond, where the air felt a bit warmer from distant forges but still carried that underground chill that seeped into bones. Velrith walked carefully, her steps short because of the ankle chains that clinked with each movement, and she had to concentrate hard to keep her balance with the way her body was shaped now. The curves were pronounced and heavy—the big chest bounced slightly no matter how she tried to hold still, drawing unwanted stares from guards and even some slaves, and she could feel a strange weight pulling at her back and hips that told her without needing to see that her ass was large and rounded, adding to the sway in her walk that felt both awkward and risky in a place full of predators. The burned skin around her collar throbbed steadily, and the cold air made her shiver all over, her pale white skin turning even paler in spots from the chill. Pain shot through her raw wrists and ankles from the chains rubbing again, but she kept her face blank and her eyes down, focusing on the feet of the slave ahead to avoid stumbling on the uneven tunnel floor scattered with small rocks and puddles from ceiling drips.
They marched for what felt like a long time through connecting tunnels that sloped gently upward, the walls getting rougher with natural rock formations and fewer tool marks, until the group emerged into a much larger open area that served as a sorting yard deep inside the Kravesh complex. This yard was a wide circular space with high walls reinforced by iron bars in sections, and the floor was packed dirt mixed with gravel that crunched under bare feet. Torches lined the walls in metal holders, burning with steady flames that cast a warm but harsh light over everything, and in the center stood several wooden platforms raised a few feet off the ground where overseers could stand to oversee the selections. The air here smelled of dirt, smoke, and the sharp tang of many bodies packed close, with a faint undercurrent of blood from past events in this same yard. This was one of the key points in the slave system of Kravesh, where captured demons from raids or born slaves were divided up by scouts sent from the powerful arena masters and mine lords high above. The strongest went to fight or breed, the weak to endless labor in remote camps, and the expendables like this group to whatever dangerous task needed filling fast. Arena Master Volgath's representatives came here often, their banners with a red claw mark hanging from poles to show ownership claims.
A new group of demons entered the yard from the opposite side— the arena scouts, a team of six tough-looking figures dressed in lighter leather armor reinforced with metal plates on shoulders and chests, each carrying clipboards made from thin wood slabs and ink quills for marking notes. They moved with confidence, talking among themselves in clear voices that carried over the yard. The lead scout, a broad male with a scarred face and a gold band around one horn showing his rank under Volgath, pointed at the line of slaves and said to his team, "Start with the fresh collared ones, check every detail like we do for the beasts before a big fight, no mistakes or the master docks our pay." His assistants nodded and spread out, two staying with him while the others fanned to the sides. Overseers herded the slaves into a loose semi-circle facing the platforms, shoving with boots or club ends to make them stand straight and still.
The examination began right away, the scouts moving down the line like farmers inspecting livestock at a market. They grabbed jaws to force mouths open and check teeth for strength and health, ran hands over arms and legs to feel muscle tone under the skin, lifted arms to see scars or weaknesses, and even turned bodies around to inspect backs and hips. One scout handling a thin older male slave yanked his head back by the new collar, peering into his mouth and saying loudly, "Teeth yellow and one missing, muscles soft like old dough, send him left for the camps." Guards dragged the male away immediately to a growing group on the left side of the yard, where chains were linked to longer ropes for transport to labor outposts far from the main complex. The old male did not fight, just shuffled with head down, but a younger female nearby being checked at the same time whispered to the slave next to her, "They took my brother left last time, said he was too slow now, hope the camps are not as bad as the pits." The slave beside her, a male with fresh whip marks, replied softly, "Camps mean hard rock breaking all day, but at least no beasts eating you if you fall."
Velrith stood in her spot, heart beating faster inside her chest as the scouts got closer, the terror building despite her efforts to stay calm with Velrith's cold logic. She knew her body looked weak from the bruises and thin frame after days of torture and little food, but the demon physiology hidden under the surface was deceptively strong—muscles coiled tight with natural power, bones denser than they appeared, and an athletic build that could surprise if tested. The sexy curves—the large chest that rose and fell with her nervous breaths, the wide hips and big ass that shifted weight when she stood—made her feel exposed and targeted, especially nude in the open yard with cold air raising chills across her skin. A guard walking behind the line to keep order noticed her slight sway and reached out suddenly, his large hand slapping hard against her bare ass with a loud smack that echoed a little in the yard. The impact stung sharply on her cold skin, sending a jolt of pain up her back, but mixed in was a strange new feeling—a slight warmth spreading from the spot, an arousal that tingled unexpectedly in this female demon body she was still learning. Velrith's face flushed hot, cheeks turning red under the dirt, and she bit her lip to hide any reaction, keeping her eyes forward as the guard chuckled low and said to another nearby, "This one has some fire in the curves, might make good fodder for the crowd."
The lead scout reached Velrith next, his scarred hand grabbing her chin roughly to tilt her head up and force her mouth open wide. He peered at her teeth, running a thumb over them to check for cracks, then nodded approvingly. "Good bite, strong and clean, no rot." He moved to her arms, squeezing the biceps and forearms hard enough to make her wince from the bruises, feeling the muscle tense under his grip. "Slim but wired tight, demon blood shows through the weakness." He turned her around by the shoulder, inspecting her back and the curve of her hips, slapping her ass himself this time but lighter, more to test firmness. "Athletic build hidden under the pretty shape, chest and rear built for distraction but legs and core solid, she will hold in a fight." Velrith stood still through it all, terror gripping her insides at the thought of the arena—blood, crowds, death—but her body did not shake outwardly. The scout made a mark on his wood slab with the quill, scratching quick notes, and shouted to the guards, "Right side, arena fodder, Volgath will like this one for the lower pits."
Guards grabbed her arms right away and pulled her toward the right side of the yard, where a smaller group of stronger-looking slaves was forming. She stumbled a bit in the walk over, the big chest bouncing uncomfortably and pulling her off balance, the weight of her ass swaying with each chained step, the slap mark still stinging warm. Pain from the collar and chains mixed with the cold air on her nude body, making every part feel raw, but the slight arousal lingered confusingly, a new sensation in this form that she pushed down hard. Other slaves went through similar checks—a broad male with thick horns got pulled right after flexing his arms proudly when asked, saying to a guard, "I can crush skulls, put me in the ring," and the guard laughed but dragged him over anyway. A sickly female coughing blood into her hand was yanked left without a second look, her weak protests ignored as she pleaded, "I can still carry, please not the deep camps."
The selection finished quickly once all thirty from the collared group were divided—about ten to the left for labor camps, chained together in long lines with extra ropes around waists for the journey to remote mining outposts where work never stopped and food was scarce. The twenty pulled right, including Velrith, were the ones deemed fit enough for arena use—fodder meant thrown into fights against beasts or each other for training or low-stakes entertainment, expendable lives to test weapons or warm up crowds before big matches. Guards herded the right group toward a row of large cage-wagons waiting at the yard's edge, massive wooden carts with iron bars on all sides like mobile prisons, pulled by teams of four horned draft beasts that snorted and pawed the ground impatiently.
Loading started with rough shoves—guards opened the back gates of the wagons, wide enough for two slaves at a time, and pushed the selected ones inside. Velrith was near the middle of her group, so she watched the first ten cram in, bodies pressing close in the tight space, chains tangling as they tried to find room to stand or sit on the dirty straw floor inside. The smell hit even from outside—a thick mix of old blood, animal waste, and the sharp odor of fear-sweat from previous loads. When her turn came, guards grabbed her collar chain and yanked her forward, one boosting her up with a hand on her ass again, squeezing this time before letting go. She climbed in awkwardly, the big chest getting in the way as she ducked under the low bar, her large ass brushing against the slave behind her. The wagon was built to hold fifty at most, but they packed all twenty from the selection plus others from different yards until it was over fifty cramped bodies squeezed together, standing room only with barely space to shift weight.
The gate slammed shut with a loud clang, locked by heavy chains from outside. Inside, the air turned stifling right away—hot from so many bodies, reeking of fear-sweat that poured from everyone as the reality of arena fodder sank in. Velrith stood pressed between a tall male whose elbow dug into her side and a female whose breath puffed hot on her shoulder. The wagon lurched forward when the draft beasts started pulling, wheels rumbling over the gravel, jostling everyone and making chains rattle constantly. Whispers started among the crammed slaves—a male near the front said loudly enough for others to hear, "Lower pits mean fighting rats first, then maybe up if you win," and a female replied back, voice shaking, "Or dead in the first round, Volgath does not care about expendables." Velrith stayed silent, body aching from the press and the cold turning to sticky heat, her nude skin slick with shared sweat. The big chest heaved with each bump, risky in the tight space where hands brushed accidentally or not, and the weight of her curves made standing hard. Terror filled her at the unknown arena ahead, but Velrith's mind planned: observe fights, build strength, survive to rise.
The cage-wagon rolled out of the yard into a long tunnel leading upward, the sounds of hooves and wheels echoing, fifty slaves crammed in fear and stench, headed for Volgath's domain where expendable meant short but possibly useful lives.