It was already ten o’clock in the evening, and an unsettling scene played out in the dim, cramped room. The air was heavy and stale, laced with the acrid scent of sweat and lingering tension. A group of large, unkempt men crowded around a single figure in their midst—James.
Bruised and battered, he slumped against the wall, his clothes disheveled, his face swollen and streaked with blood. The rough handling had left him in a state that bordered on unrecognizable, his usual pride and confidence nowhere to be seen. But what was most obvious was how James was practically covered with dried come all over his body.
The men around him looked equally drained, breathing heavily as they exchanged satisfied, dark glances. The room bore all the signs of a recent struggle—the overturned chair in the corner, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to stretch menacingly toward James.
The pungent smell in the air hinted at everything that had unfolded, the bitter remnants of the evening’s violence. Yet, despite their exhaustion, each man’s gaze occasionally shifted back to James, lingering with a twisted sense of accomplishment.
James’s head lolled forward, and he let out a faint, ragged breath, barely aware of his surroundings. His skin was clammy, his energy utterly sapped from the prolonged ordeal.
He couldn’t move without feeling a sharp pang of pain radiate through his bruised body, a painful reminder of every blow he had received. His mind was clouded, the details of what had happened already beginning to blur, as though his mind wanted to forget.
The scene in the room was disturbing, a haunting tableau of cruelty and exhaustion, and yet to the men surrounding him, it was just another night’s work.
In the past, these men had subjected countless women to similar brutal treatment, each time with the same cold indifference, using their strength to dominate and instill fear. They were used to preying upon the vulnerable, showing no remorse as they left a trail of broken spirits behind them.
But tonight was different—their target had been a man rather than a woman, a deviation from their usual routine, yet their cruelty remained the same.
The change in victim did nothing to temper their malice; if anything, it seemed to fuel their twisted sense of power, reveling in the degradation and helplessness of anyone unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.
For James, however, it was a nightmare, one that felt as though it would never end. And as the dim light cast its shadows, the room held onto its grim, ugly silence, echoing with the remnants of the night’s brutal events.
"So��� James, how did it go?" Ross asked casually from the corner of the room, seated comfortably with an expensive wine bottle in hand. The evening had dragged on, and he took his time to indulge in the luxurious amenities of this place, savoring the rich flavor of the wine as he waited for an answer.
James remained silent, his expression blank and vacant, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded around him. The bruises on his skin and the dirt smeared across his face told a story of his suffering, but his eyes betrayed nothing, reflecting only the numbing realization of his predicament.
"I bet you realize now how your victims have felt in the past," Ross continued, a cruel smirk forming on his lips as he relished the moment. "And once you tire of them, these animals you call servants will fuck that woman to death. You’re all just a bunch of trash." He took another long sip from his glass, relishing the bitterness of his words as they hung in the air like a dark cloud.
The silence that followed was palpable, with James’s lack of response only reinforcing the futility of Ross’s taunts. Not that he had expected any answer; the man was clearly lost in his own thoughts, grappling with the gravity of his actions and the harrowing realization of what he had become.
"Well, you lot enjoy yourselves. There’s enough food and supplies here to last for months," Ross said with a dismissive wave of his hand, the contempt in his voice evident.
"But I doubt any of you will last that long." With that, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he strode out of the room, leaving James to face the grim reality of his situation.
The big, hairy men would continue their brutal indulgence until his strength faded and he was nothing more than a husk, a mere shell of the man he once was.
All of them would ultimately die, fucking one another to death—a fitting end for the scum of the earth.
***
Once Ross reappeared, he returned to the solitude of his opulent home, Ross’s mind began to race with new thoughts and ideas.
"Hmm… I need a puppet," he mused to himself, pacing the floor as he contemplated his next move. "It wouldn’t do to have people around my wives mysteriously disabled or dying all of a sudden; that would be far too obvious."
With a flick of his wrist, the ground trembled beneath him, responding to his will as if it were an extension of his own power. From the soil emerged a figure that bore a striking resemblance to James, its form initially made of mud and earth before flesh covered its innards, giving it a lifelike appearance that could easily deceive anyone.
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"Be James and act perfectly like him. But this time, do it right and put an end to his vice of kidnapping women left and right," Ross commanded, his voice authoritative and unyielding, each word laced with the weight of his expectations.
"I hear and obey, master," the puppet replied, its voice eerily similar to James’s, echoing the tone and cadence that Ross had come to associate with his former rival.
It nodded obediently, a grotesque parody of the man it was meant to replace. Then, as if sinking into the very earth from which it had come, it vanished from sight, ready to take on its new role.