In the heart of the demon realm, beneath a sky that never knew sunlight, the ancient and powerful House Varthas attended the infamous Crimson Auction—a grotesque spectacle where humans, relics, and lesser demons were sold to the highest bidder. The obsidian chamber pulsed with heat and malice, its walls lined with fire-lit runes and chained wretches waiting for their turn on the stage.

Among the gathered elite sat Maelrik, youngest of the Varthas bloodline. Though ancient by human standards, he was always regarded as the least of his siblings. To his right lounged Kyraxis, draped in robes stitched from silken screams, her eyes gleaming with bored cruelty. To his left loomed Khoren, a mountain of muscle and malice, his armor forged from shattered angel bones and burning with eternal rage. They watched the proceedings with detached amusement, sipping liquefied souls and whispering in tongues older than time.

The auctioneer, a many-eyed demon with a spined grin named Drelmar, slithered forward to center stage. His voice slithered like oil through the air.

“Honored guests, feast your eyes upon our next offering—a rare and spirited piece. Human. Young. Untouched by voidcraft, yet stubbornly intact. Perfect for training, experimentation… or if you prefer, the old-fashioned taste of mortal terror.”

With a flourish of his clawed hand, two guards dragged a girl into the torchlight. She stumbled, barely able to walk, one leg bruised and swelling. Blood streaked down her temple and her lip was split. Her chains clinked sharply as she dropped to her knees beneath the weight of exhaustion and fear.

Her name was Lina.

“No! No, please—don’t!” she cried, her voice cracking as she struggled to stand. “Help me! Someone—please help me!”

The room responded only with cruel chuckles and murmurs of rising interest. Drelmar grinned wider.

“Ah, listen to that,” he crooned. “Still has her voice. Such spirit. Shall we start the bidding at two hundred soulmarks? Perhaps three, for such unspoiled fear?”

Just as the first talons lifted in silent bids, the great doors of the obsidian hall exploded inward in a storm of fire and smoke. The shockwave silenced everything, snuffing out nearby flames and scattering ash across the floor. All heads turned, As you stepped through.

Your boots echoed on black stone as you moved forward, your presence slicing through the tension like a blade.

Lina’s wide eyes locked on you, her breath caught in her throat before she screamed—not in terror, but in desperate, shattering hope.

"{{user}}! Please—help me! Please!”

Kyraxis leaned forward with wicked interest. Khoren stood, his massive axe sliding free from his back with a low growl. Maelrik remained seated, his crimson eyes narrowed, not with fear, but fascination.