The underground tunnels stretched endlessly before Damien, a maze of dark, damp pathways carved deep beneath the surface.
The flickering blue light of his (Essence Scan) illuminated the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that twisted and stretched with every step.
He had been thorough.
Every path, every chamber, every door.
Checked. Scanned. Cleared.
And yet, there was nothing.
No trace of the ones who had fled. No footprints left in the dust, no sound of hurried breathing, no fading energy signatures from hastily cast spells.
Damien’s brow furrowed. This didn’t make sense. They couldn’t have just disappeared.
The Stray Hounds—one of the largest and most organized trafficking rings in the underworld—had been using these tunnels for years. There had to be a secret escape route somewhere. But where?
Damien let out a slow breath, forcing himself to think. Step by step. Eliminate the impossible.
If they had used one of these doors, he would have noticed.
He had scanned every single one, and they had all been untouched for hours. The dust near the hinges was undisturbed, and the seals—both magical and physical—hadn’t been broken.
‘If they had used teleportation, I would have sensed it.’ Even the most precise Teleportation Arrays left behind residual Essence traces—tiny disturbances in the natural flow of energy.
The air in the tunnels would feel slightly displaced, the balance of magic momentarily disrupted.
But here?
The air was still. Completely undisturbed.
That meant only one thing:
“They’re still here.” Damien muttered to himself. “They couldn’t have gone far without teleporting.”
But where?
Damien sighed, running a hand through his silver hair, his blue eyes narrowing in frustration. “This is a waste of time.”
Lizella and the victims were still back at the starting point, waiting for him. The more he stalled, the more time he was giving the Stray Hounds to reorganize elsewhere. Time that they couldn’t afford to waste.
“Think, Damien,” he muttered under his breath. “If they’re still here, then I’m missing something obvious.”
His eyes swept across the chamber one last time.
Rough stone walls. A few scattered crates and discarded tools.
A low-hanging ceiling lined with jagged rock formations—
Wait.
Damien froze.
Something felt… off.
There was a presence here. A faint shift in the air, so subtle that it barely registered.
His instincts flared.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze upward.
And there it was.
A door.
Not on the ground. Not along the walls. But built seamlessly into the ceiling.
A hidden exit.
A slow grin spread across Damien’s lips.
“Well, well… there you are.”
Whoever had designed this base was smart. They had created a network of tunnels to mislead intruders, ensuring that even if someone broke in, they’d never find the real escape route.
He reached up, pressing his palm against the metal surface of the door. It was cold, unnaturally so, the steel laced with a faint magical reinforcement.
He pushed—
Click.
A soft mechanical sound echoed through the chamber.
The door swung inward.
A rush of stale air greeted him, thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and something even worse—decay.
Damien didn’t hesitate. He pulled himself up, climbing through the opening.
And then—he froze.
His silver eyes widened as he took in the scene before him.
The hidden passage led into a massive underground complex—far larger than anything he had anticipated.
Metal walkways stretched out over deep pits filled with cages, their rusted iron bars barely holding together. Faint, muffled cries and the occasional rattle of chains echoed through the cavernous space.
Damien’s stomach twisted.
It was a prison.
Hundreds of people were locked inside those cages—men, women, even children. Some were motionless, either unconscious or too weak to move. Others huddled in corners, eyes wide with fear and despair.
Overhead, torchlight flickered, illuminating rows of crates stacked against the far walls, each marked with symbols that he recognized immediately.
These weren’t just captives. They were products.
Slaves. Test subjects. People who had been bought and sold like cattle.
A low growl rumbled in Damien’s throat.
The Stray Hounds weren’t just another crime syndicate. They were worse.
They didn’t just traffic people. They experimented on them. Broke them. Turned them into weapons or sacrifices for the highest bidder.
His fists clenched at his sides, his Essence flaring involuntarily.
For a moment, the underground chamber was bathed in a faint silver glow—his rage threatening to spill over.
A few of the prisoners stirred, their hollow eyes lifting toward him, expressions shifting from terror to something else.
Hope.
Damien’s expression darkened.
These people had been trapped in this nightmare for who knew how long
He was going to end it.
All of it.
Damien exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
The Stray Hounds thought they had escaped.
They were wrong.
He unsheathed his sword and the hunt was on.
The moment Damien melted into the shadows, the slaughter began.
He moved with silent precision, his steps soundless against the cold steel walkways that overlooked the Stray Hounds’ underground base.
Below him, dozens of prisoners lay crammed inside rusted cages, their eyes hollow, their bodies emaciated from weeks—perhaps months—of captivity.
The air reeked of sweat, blood, and death.
Damien ignored it.
His focus was on the hunt.
The first guard stood near the walkway railing, his arms crossed, oblivious to the death approaching from behind.
Damien didn’t hesitate.
With a single swift motion, he moved, the silver gleam reflecting faint torchlight.
He struck.
A clean cut across the throat.
“Gahh…” The man let out a wet gasp, his hands flying up to clutch his neck, but there was no stopping it. Blood poured from the wound, soaking into his uniform as his knees buckled.
Before he could collapse, Damien caught him and dragged him backward into the shadows.
One down.
No sound. No alarm.
The second guard was stationed near a stack of crates filled with black market goods—likely magical contraband and stolen weapons. He leaned lazily against the pile, tapping a dagger against his thigh, unaware of the predator stalking him.
Damien moved like a shadow, his steps light, his breath controlled.
He closed the distance in seconds.
The dagger in the guard’s hand barely lifted before Damien struck.
A stab to the spine.
The blade slid in effortlessly, severing nerves before the man could even register the pain. His mouth opened—to scream, to curse, to pray—but no sound came.
Damien twisted the blade deeper, then yanked it free. The body crumpled, lifeless, onto the ground.
Two down.
Still no sound.
Further ahead, two guards stood together, their conversation low and casual. One of them was laughing, nudging the other.
“Bet you the boss got triple for the noble girl,” one of them chuckled. “The sickos love ’em young.”
Damien froze mid-step.
His grip on his blade tightened. “These bastards are dead.”
He adjusted his approach, slipping into the shadows along the wall. His blue eyes flicked over their weapons—one had a sword on his hip, the other carried a crossbow slung over his back.
Damien’s plan was already forming.
The crossbow first.
He moved in fast, reaching from behind and yanking the crossbow backward, twisting it toward its owner’s throat. One brutal pull.
Crack!
The man’s neck snapped instantly, his body going limp. His partner barely had time to register the movement before Damien’s blade punctured his heart.
Puuuuck!!
Both bodies hit the floor together.
Still no sound.
Four dead.
And the hunt continued.
Deeper into the base, a lone guard was checking on the slave inventory.
He was flipping through a ledger, making notes.
“Fifty-four in stock,” he muttered to himself. “Three scheduled for transport tomorrow.”
Damien approached from behind, stepping close enough to hear the man’s breath.
Then—
He stabbed downward, driving his sword through the man’s back.
The blade punctured both lungs, ensuring no scream would escape. The guard twitched violently, his body convulsing as he bled out.
Damien withdrew the sword and let the man drop, stepping over the corpse like it was nothing.
Five down.
The rest would soon follow.
Two more guards patrolled near the holding cells, their backs to one another. They were alert.
Not enough.
Damien hurled a dagger from the shadows—straight into the eye socket of the first man.
The second guard turned—only to see his partner collapse, twitching violently.
“What the hell—?”
Damien was already on him.
His sword cleaved through the man’s midsection, cutting him clean in half before the last word left his lips.
Seven dead.
Now someone would notice.
A door creaked open in the distance.
A new guard stepped into the main hall, his eyes flicking over the now bloodstained floors.
His face paled instantly.
“H-Hey!” He reached for his weapon—
Too late.
Damien moved.
In a blur of motion, he dashed forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Before the guard could even raise his weapon—
Pwaack.
Steel met flesh.
Damien’s blade cut straight through his chest, piercing his heart and exiting through his back.
A faint gasp—then silence.
Eight dead.
And now the bodies were piling up.
More footsteps echoed in the distance.
Another pair of guards had entered from an adjacent tunnel, drawn by the faint sound of movement.
The instant they saw the carnage, one of them bolted for the alarm bell.
Damien’s dagger found his throat before he could take another step.
The second man tried to scream—
But Damien’s blade was already buried in his ribs.
He shoved the dying man aside and pulled his sword free.
Ten dead.
Still not enough.
By now, the remaining guards knew something was wrong.
The underground base had too many bodies missing—too much silence where there should have been noise.
The next two guards entered cautiously, weapons drawn.
“Stay sharp,” one muttered. “We’re not alone.”
They were right.
Damien dropped from the rafters above, landing behind them without a sound.
Before either could react—
His blade slashed across one guard’s throat while his dagger embedded itself in the other’s spine.
Both fell simultaneously.
Twelve dead.
But now, they knew he was here.
The distant sound of metal boots echoed in the tunnels.
More guards.
More prey.
Damien exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
The fun was just getting started.
He moved forward, stepping over the bodies, his blue eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
“I don’t know what exactly you all plan to do to the hundreds of people I saw in those cages but I’m very certain you won’t be able to do it anymore.” Damien swung his blade, ridding it of the blood covering its.solver surface.