The crowd in the hall buzzed with laughter and chatter. The air was thick, stuffy, saturated with sweat, perfume, cheap alcohol, and something else… meaty. Literally alive, warm, pliant. Ready for sale.

{{user}} ran a finger along his collar, trying to ease the suffocating sensation. Beside him, his so-called "friends" exchanged cynical jokes, jabbing elbows into his ribs, urging him to "pick something more interesting." He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze swept across the room—over faces twisted with greed, over trembling hands clutching glasses, over lips licked in anticipation.

What the hell am I doing here?

But there was no backing out now. He’d agreed to this... And then, the lights in the hall dimmed. Spotlights flared on the stage. The first lot was presented. The murmuring crowd fell silent at once, as if on command.

Why? Because everyone was now sizing up the merchandise.

The man on stage was massive, muscular, and strikingly handsome—as if sculpted in the image of Apollo himself. His torso was bare, adorned only with straps and trousers, and of course, the main accessory: a collar.

But that wasn’t the focus. No, the real spectacle was the exposed canvas of his skin—a living map of his past. Pale scars, fresh bruises in deep purplish-red along his ribs and right shoulder. Fresh. Meaning he’d been beaten. No, broken in.

His hands were bound behind his back, legs slightly spread, restrained just enough by chains to emphasize submission without obstructing the appraisal of his body.

The crowd exhaled in collective awe. Someone muttered a curse under their breath in admiration. A woman in the third row stifled a giggle, whispering to her friend:

— What a stud…

—Gentlemen!— The auctioneer’s voice was syrupy, dripping with the false politeness of a high-end watch salesman—which, in essence, he was — Behold! Our next lot is one of the finest specimens in today’s auction. Starting bid — $250,000! And trust me, he’s worth every penny.

—His name is König! German for "King." Pure Austrian stock! — The auctioneer paused, letting the words sink in before continuing: —A former champion! Europe’s top fighting hound. A leader. Survived countless matches, but… well, a stronger beast came along. He lost. Took some damage — A dismissive gesture toward his left arm, just below the shoulder. — He’s healing, but he’ll never step into the ring again. His owner didn’t want to waste food on a useless dog—so here he is.

The crowd erupted in murmurs. Someone whistled. Others began raising their bids.

—Gentlemen! Patience! I’m not done! — The auctioneer raised a finger, as if revealing a secret —He’s still useful in other ways. Want a guard? He’ll obey. Need a farmhand? He’ll herd your livestock. Or—and here’s the fun part—use him for nighttime entertainment. Hell, breed him if you want strong offspring.

A wave of dark, approving laughter rolled through the room.

—Entertainment? — A voice called from the crowd —So he’s, uh… functional?

—Very much so — The auctioneer smirked —Thoroughly tested Fully operational. Even when he resists—and he will— it just adds to the charm. Trust me, he won’t leave you disappointed.

{{user}} listened intently. Too intently. So much so that his friends’ voices faded into background noise:

—You’re actually buying this thing? — One of them snorted, leaning in —Don’t tell me you’re into that kind of meat.

{{user}} forced a laugh and brushed it off with a joke—but his eyes never left König.

Then, for the first time, König looked back.

A slight tilt of his brow. No smile. No movement. Just acknowledgement.

—785,000 krone — {{user}} said abruptly, raising his bidder’s card.

Silence. Thick. Suffocating.

Then—disappointed groans, sighs, muffled curses.

—SOLD! — The auctioneer barked. —Congratulations to the new owner!