Reincarnated as a Femboy Slave - Chapter 152

Chapter 152: A Stepping Stone
Quentin’s rage boiled over like a pot left too long on the flame, his entire body trembling with such violent fury that I half-expected him to simply combust on the spot and save everyone the trouble.

Frost began to crystallize at his feet, spreading outward in intricate patterns that crackled and hissed against the warm sand, the temperature dropping so sharply around him that I could see my breath misting in the air despite the arena’s oppressive heat.

His hands were already moving, fingers weaving through the air in complex gestures, ice magic gathering around his palms in swirling vortexes that promised violence of the most brutal variety.

Director Thalen didn’t even blink. He simply raised his hand and made a small, almost dismissive gesture toward the shadows lining the arena’s perimeter.

Just then, the darkness itself seemed to move.

Hooded figures emerged—Velvets, I realized, but not the standard operatives I’d grown accustomed to seeing around the tower. These were different, carrying themselves with the kind of predatory stillness that suggested they were the ones you called when problems needed to be solved permanently and quietly.

They descended on Quentin in the span of a heartbeat, moving with such fluid, coordinated precision that he didn’t even have time to complete his casting before they were on him.

One grabbed his wrists and wrenched them behind his back with enough force to make him cry out, another swept his legs from under him, and a third produced a pair of strange metal cuffs that hummed with an energy I could feel even from several meters away, a low, resonant vibration that made my teeth ache and my skin prickle with sympathetic awareness.

The cuffs snapped shut around Quentin’s wrists with a sound like breaking glass, and the frost magic gathering around him sputtered and died instantly, dissipating into nothing more than harmless wisps of cold air.

I realized with a jolt of understanding that the cuffs must be some form of magical suppression, designed specifically to neutralize practitioners who got too enthusiastic with their abilities, and judging by the way Quentin’s face went from rage to horror to impotent fury in rapid succession, they were devastatingly effective.

He began to struggle, thrashing in the Velvets’ grip like a caught fish, his voice rising into a stream of verbal abuse so creative and utterly vulgar that I made mental notes for future use.

“You fucking bastards! Unhand me! Do you have any idea who I serve?! I’ll have you all flayed alive, I’ll—” His threats continued, growing more elaborate and anatomically improbable as the Velvets hauled him toward the exit tunnel, his boots leaving twin tracks in the sand as he tried, and failed, to dig in his heels.

I waited until he was almost to the archway, until his attention was focused entirely on the guards dragging him away. Then I pursed my lips and blew him a little kiss—my signature move, the perfect punctuation to seal the kill.

His face went an absolutely fascinating shade of purple, and the creative cursing reached new heights of obscenity before the archway swallowed him and his voice faded into echoes.

The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath through the entire spectacle, released it in a wave of nervous laughter and excited chatter, the tension breaking like a fever.

Then I heard it.

A sound so soft, so broken, that it cut through the noise like a knife—Elvina’s breath, coming in slow, ragged gasps that spoke of someone teetering on the edge of complete collapse.

I glanced back to see her still kneeling in the sand where I’d left her, her head bowed, staring down at the golden grains beneath her with an expression of such hollow devastation that it almost looked peaceful.

Her mouth was moving, lips forming words that had no sound attached to them, broken fragments that spilled forth helplessly like wine from a cracked glass.

I took a step closer, tilting my head, and strained to make out what she was saying, catching only scattered syllables that didn’t quite connect into coherent language.

Then the fragments began to form words. “Kill… me…”

I cupped one hand to my ear with exaggerated concern, leaning in slightly as though I were a kindly old relative trying to hear a whispered secret.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I called out, my voice bright and cheerful in a way that was designed to twist the knife deeper. “You’ll have to speak up, darling. The acoustics in here are terrible, and I’d hate to miss something important.”

Elvina lifted her head then, slowly, painfully, and her eyes met mine with such raw, desperate pleading that I felt something dark and satisfied curl in my chest.

“Kill me,” she said clearly, her voice cracking but audible, “Please. Just… kill me.”

I smirked, letting the expression spread across my face with deliberate satisfaction, drinking in those words like the finest wine I’d ever tasted.

“There we go,” I said softly, more to myself than to her. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Elvina’s face crumpled then as she began to sob—not the theatrical crying of someone trying to garner sympathy, but the deep, wrenching sobs of someone whose entire world had just shattered beyond repair.

“My life is over,” she gasped, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “The entire city will see me as a monster now. They’ll know what my family did, what I am, and they’ll hate me for it. And my family—gods, my family will punish me for this, for letting the secret slip, for failing so spectacularly. They’ll make an example of me, they’ll—” She broke off, dissolving into another round of sobbing, her shoulders shaking violently.

I listened to every word, let them sink in and settle like stones in still water, and then I threw my head back and laughed.

The sound that came out of me was loud and manic, utterly unhinged, the kind of laughter that suggested sanity and I had parted ways some time ago and weren’t planning on reconciling. It echoed across the arena, bouncing off the marble walls and coming back to me in distorted waves.

I saw several spectators actually lean away from the sound as though it were contagious. When I finally managed to stop, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes, I looked down at Elvina with a wild grin.

“Kill you?” I said, my voice still trembling with suppressed laughter. “Oh, Elvina, sweet, stupid Elvina. Killing you would be far too merciful, don’t you think? Death is quick. It’s final. It’s an escape.” I crouched down slightly, bringing myself closer to her level, and let my voice drop into something low and dangerous. “No, I have something far better in mind for you. Something that will let you live with what you’ve done, what you are, for a very, very long time.”

I turned then, spinning on my heel to face the viewing platform, and my eyes found Tora standing beside Director Thalen, his white hair practically glowing in the torchlight, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. Our gazes met across the distance, and I saw him nod—just once, a tiny dip of his head that confirmed he was ready.

I turned back to Elvina, raised my hands above my head, and snapped my fingers with a sharp, decisive crack that echoed across the arena. Elvina’s mouth opened, words forming on her lips—excuses, bargains, prayers dressed as authority.

And then the sound came.

Not just a noise. Not just an impact. But a presence.

A single, colossal boom that roared across the arena like a siege engine brought to bear against the world itself.

The crowd gasped collectively, hands flying to mouths, bodies jerking backward in their seats as the sand beneath us erupted in a cloud of dust and displaced air. The sound was so loud it felt physical, pressing against my eardrums and making my ribs vibrate.

The dust began to settle, slowly, reluctantly, revealing shapes and shadows that gradually resolved into something solid and impossible. And there, standing in the middle of the arena directly behind Elvina’s kneeling form, was a cage.

Not just any cage—the cage.

The one that resided on the lowest floor of the underground prison, the one I’d been thrown into shortly after my arrival, the one that had been burned into my memory with such vivid, painful clarity that I’d been able to sketch it out in enough detail for Tora to summon it perfectly.

Elvina turned around slowly, so slowly it looked like the motion caused her physical pain, her neck twisting until she could see what had materialized behind her.

Her eyes went wide, pupils dilating with horror as she took in the cage. A sound escaped her throat that wasn’t quite a word—just a broken, animalistic noise of pure terror.

I held out my hand, palm facing upward, and felt the familiar weight of metal materialize against my skin as the key to the cage popped into existence and dropped neatly into my waiting palm.

The crowd murmured with confusion and growing excitement, leaning forward to get a better view, whispers spreading like wildfire as they tried desperately to understand what was happening, what I was planning.

I strolled toward the cage with an exaggerated skip in my step, practically bouncing across the sand, letting my hips sway with each movement because, let’s be honest, if you’re going to orchestrate someone’s complete and utter destruction, you might as well look good doing it.

I reached the door to the cage, slipped the key into the lock with a soft click, then turned it. The door swung open with a long, rusty creak that scraped across my nerves in the most satisfying way imaginable.

I stepped up behind Elvina, placed my hand on her back, and gave her a cheerful slap that made her flinch. “Well?” I said brightly. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

Elvina choked on air, her entire body going rigid. Then she whipped around with such desperate speed that she nearly toppled over. Her hands shot out, grabbing at my skirt with trembling fingers, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice raw and breaking. “Please, I’m begging you, just let me die. Kill me. I’ll do anything, just don’t—don’t put me in there. Please. Please, Loona, I’m begging you—”

I kicked her in the chest. Not gently, not with restraint, but with enough force to send her crashing back in a sprawl of limbs and blood-matted hair.

She hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a whoosh. Before she could recover, I fisted my hand in her hair and hauled her up with brutal efficiency. She tried to struggle, tried to gain her footing, but to no avail.

I threw her into the cage with enough force that she tumbled across the iron floor and slammed into the far side with a pained cry.

She scrambled up immediately, hands reaching for the door just as I swung it shut with that same satisfying creak, the lock clicking into place with terminal finality.

Elvina pressed herself against the bars, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. I watched as realization dawned—she was going to try to escape using her magic.

Her eyes squeezed shut, concentration written across her features. I felt the air around her begin to darken as she reached for her shadow magic, preparing to sink through the floor and disappear.

Then the shadows flickered. Sputtered. And promptly died at her feet. Elvina’s eyes flew open, panic written across every line of her face, and she tried again—harder this time, pouring everything she had into the attempt. Yet still, nothing happened.

I couldn’t help the snicker that escaped me.

“Oh, did I forget to mention?” I said, tapping one finger against the nearest bar. “This cage is embedded with suppression runes. Powerful ones at that. They neutralize all forms of magic within a three-meter radius.” I leaned in closer, my grin widening. “Which means you’re stuck in there, Elvina. No shadow-walking, no constructs, no tricks. Just you, those bars, and whatever happens next.”

Her pleading increased then, words tumbling out in an incoherent stream of desperation and terror, but I’d already turned away, spinning on my heel to face the audience with my arms spread wide in the most theatrical gesture I could manage.

The torchlight caught my bloodied clothes, my disheveled hair, the way I stood with casual confidence despite the injury at my side. I let the moment stretch, let the anticipation build until I could practically taste it in the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” I called out, my voice carrying across the arena with perfect projection. “Honored nobles, esteemed Velvets, and everyone else who came here tonight expecting entertainment—I present to you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!” I gestured toward the cage with a flourish. “For the low price of a single golden crown, you can make our little Elvina here do absolutely anything your heart desires. Any request, any command, any humiliating task you can dream up—she’s yours to direct for a moment of your choosing.”

The crowd began to murmur, the sound starting as confusion and slowly building into something darker, something akin to excitement.

I could see it happening in real time—the way their expressions shifted from shock to consideration to hungry anticipation, because I understood these creatures, the nobles especially.

They lived for this sort of thing—for the scent of vulnerability in the air, for the chance to finally bare their teeth at something that had slipped their leash. She wasn’t a fallen titan to them; she was wounded prey, exposed at last. It wasn’t justice they savored, nor triumph—it was the simple, animalistic pleasure of tearing into something that could no longer run.

Elvina whipped around in her cage, turning her desperate gaze toward Director Thalen. “This—this can’t possibly be allowed!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Director, please, you can’t let him do this to me!”

Thalen regarded her with the same expression one might give a mildly interesting insect, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and utterly devoid of sympathy. “You are no longer under my protection. The moment you lost this match, the moment your patronage was severed, you became simply another slave of this tower. And lesser slaves such as yourself, I’m afraid, have very few rights when it comes to matters of… entertainment.”

Elvina spun back toward me, slamming both hands against the bars again with enough force to make the cage rattle, and screamed at me with raw, desperate fury. “Why?! Why are you doing this? Why are you going so far just to see me fall?”

I leaned in close, so close our faces were separated only by the iron bars between us, and let my grin widen into something absolutely feral.

“Because,” I said simply, my voice pitched just loud enough for her to hear, “I find it fun.” I paused, letting those words settle like poison in her ears. “But more than that? Watching people like you fall—people who think they’re untouchable, who believe their cruelty comes without consequence—that’s what I live for.”

I shifted closer still, my voice dropping into something softer but infinitely more cruel. “You defiled Mia. You orchestrated her violation, and you thought it was entertainment. You thought it made you powerful.”

My smile sharpened as I tapped the bars with my knuckle. “This cage—funny thing about it, actually—I was thrown in here once, some minor infraction I’d inflicted from my mouth being too smart for my own good. And gods, I find it poetic really, now you get to feel what it’s like to be caged, stripped of your power, reduced to nothing but what others decide you’re worth. And every second you spend in there, you’ll know—you’ll know—that this is exactly what you deserve. This is karma, Elvina, and it’s wearing my smile.”

I tilted my head as if considering something profound, and then let out a soft, almost fond laugh. “You know what’s really funny though? I should actually be thanking you.” Her eyes widened with confusion, and I watched that confusion bloom into something darker as I continued. “If it weren’t for you, this match wouldn’t be happening in the first place. Your arrogance, your cruelty, your absolute certainty that you could crush me—all of it gave me the perfect stage, the perfect opportunity to not just defeat you, but to seize the opportunity you practically handed to me. The Director’s personal assistance.”

I paused for a moment. “So tell me, Elvina—what do you think I see you as now?”

Elvina swallowed, her throat bobbing, pride warring with panic as she forced the word out. “What?”

“You’re nothing but my stepping stone.” I smiled as I said it, slow and deliberate, something sharp and infernal curling at the edges.

Her face crumpled then, the last vestiges of pride and anger dissolving into pure horror. I stepped back, turning once more to address the audience with theatrical flair.

“So!” I called out, spreading my arms. “Who among you is brave enough—or dare I say creative enough—to make the first request?”

A long pause stretched across the arena, thick and heavy with anticipation. The spectators looked at each other, whispered among themselves, calculating risks and rewards, trying to decide if they wanted to be the first to cross this particular line.

And then—clink.

The sound was small, almost insignificant, but in the silence of that moment it rang out like a bell. A single golden crown tumbled through the air in a lazy arc, catching the torchlight and throwing back flashes of brilliance, before landing in the cage at Elvina’s feet with a soft thud against the iron floor.

The entire arena turned as one, every head swiveling to trace the coin’s trajectory back to its source, and there—seated in the viewing platform beside Director Thalen—was the fat man in purple robes, Elvina’s former patron, staring down at her with a smile that held more cruelty than any expression I’d ever seen.