《The Red Room》 Prologue Here I am... Again. Asleep and dreaming the same dream once more. I''m currently in a room with grey walls, a ceiling, floor and no windows. A single lightbulb hangs overhead by a twisted wire while a fly angrily buzzes around it, hitting the warm surface repeatedly. The grey wallpaper is peeling, showing old paneling behind it''s coarse surface. Wait a minute. Who made the wallpaper coarse and why!? I have questions for the interior decorator. At least the carpet is soft and wet. Wait... Looking around from my position on the floor I notice the carpet has begun to form a red spot all around me. Brushing my hand across the damn material I raise it to my face and see that my hand is stained red now. Oh yeah. I''m dreaming and this is where the fun begins. Indescribable pain assaults my body through every permeable inch of tissue. I scream but no sound is emitted almost as if an invisible vacuum was in place to suck away my voice. Oh yeah and I can''t breathe. The feeling of asphyxiation and choking follows as the red liquid bubbles out of my mouth. Houston at this point I would like to inform you that gravity has left the station. The red liquid has begun to flow up the walls, painting them red, and continues all the way to the ceiling and to stopping at the hole for the wire where the light hangs. Meanwhile I''m now suspended in the air, choking and somehow laughing. I hate dreams.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Then the eyes begin to protrude from the fresh coat of red paint and stare at me with the vacancy only death could bring. Imperiously I stare right back, choking and manically laughing. The room changes and the light becomes a sun, the ceiling the sky, the eyes now belonging to a faceless crowd of people and my head is firmly lodged in a guillotine. Oh cool it gets worse! The ominous blade, marred with faint scratches from other beheadings, looms overhead before the rope is cut and the blade rushes to meet my neck. It never gets there. My eyes snap open and I''m lying in bed, in my black panties, a cold and feverish sweat having pointlessly amassed across my pale skin. I look down at my body, head attached and flawless bust raising and lowering rhythmically as my lungs calmly work. Casting my dull maroon irises around my room I find that it''s dark, and my alarm clock rudely flashes bright red numbers at me while my fan refuses to turn. Ah, the power went out. "Whoops..." I crawl out of bed with begrudging effort before rising to my feet and grabbing my robe, on my way out, which had been resting neatly folded on my dresser. This is why I keep everything ordered and neat. I could find my way through my abode blind and disoriented if I had too. Note to self... Let''s not test that theory. I crack my foot against my bedroom door and stumble out into the hallway. A variable slur of curses leave my mouth as a walk down the hallway and to a section of wall that has a lone painting. Pressing my hand to it the wall slides back into a hidden recess and a cacophony of angry screams rush up the stairs,leading down, to greet me as I pass the threshold. Without a sound the hidden wall slides back into place and I descend into the madness below. Oh by the way. I''m a doctor.....-ish and no my dungeon of horrors is not legal, and yes I am a ''bad person'' get over it. Lots of people are. Me being a ''bad person'' is the least of your concerns. My name''s Dahlia Aetorsol, this is my world and the life I''ve chosen to live. Welcome to the madness. Ch. 01 Work in the Basement Descending the stairs I was still stuck in total darkness but the torrential screams of my, for lack of a better word, subject still filled the air. Deftly my hand searched the wall for the thing that I assuredly knew was there. Sure enough my hand brushed over the metallic panel and the handle of a large breaker switch. Pulling down a whirring hum filled the air which grew louder and louder before subduing itself as power was restored. Ah... No more darkness. My basement, my hidden lair, my warehouse of gruesome horrors. It was nothing special by any standards of another flesh-crafter, slash doctor, slash necromancer, slash insert various other dark professions. Metal shelves topped with glass jars of varying sizes holding organs of all types, fluids of all sorts, and bits of creatures untold of, lined the far wall parallel to the stairs. In the center of the concrete and metal room was an operating table that had a multi-armed apparatus hanging over it from the ceiling. On the table a man lay, naked and with a freshly made and stitched closed thirty-four centimeter long incision visible across his abdomen. His body was haggard, barely nourished, pale in complexion and his shaggy hair hung in matted ropes. I eye him with amused contempt as he had finally stopped screaming now that the lights were on. Long removed had been his genitals, the flesh carved and modified to allow only the ability to relieve his bladder. He had been awake for that process as per the request of my client. I guess when you have a budding daughter at the prime of her young adult life you take measures to ensure the sanctity of her well-being. Either that or you have a horrible daughter complex and your wife should castrate you herself. I shrug with a laugh causing the man to flinch and rasp with panic as I began further approach. As if my morning couldn''t get ant better I''m blessed with the chorus sound of chitinous plates rubbing and creaking together followed by an ominous series of rapid clicking. The man''s eyes bugged out of his head as he began to whimper and tremble but permanently restrained was he as a pair of long prehensile antennae the width of a large canine''s tail dangled down over him. I looked and merely smiled as my illustrious pet emerged from his hiding place in the ceiling. A ninety centimeter long centipede, modified and raised by yours truly, dangled precariously from the ceiling. Snapping my fingers it twitched and clacked it''s mandibles while brushing it''s antennae against my cheeks and hand enthusiastically. "You know better Saren. He''s not food and I just fed you last night." With a reprehending tone of voice I reach out and brush my fingertips across his carapace, black nails of human keratin disappearing against black chitin. With another clack, this one less aggressive, of his mandibles Saren slinks off to the tunnel entrance at the back of my basement. "It''s so hard to find such good mannered pets these days." Speaking dreamily I slump forward and rest my elbow on the man''s chest while I idly trace my fingertips along his jawline. "That being said... I must confess. You''ve been a resoundingly wonderful captive. Your old employer was none too happy about shacking up with his second oldest. I believe he''s coming by today to collect you." With these words the man''s terrified expression grows worse and he begins to thrash wildly in his restraints going so far as to bite into my finger. My brow furrows as I suck in a breath before going to pull away only to find his refusal to let go. I shake my head with a sigh. "James... Oh dear sweet sick James. If you wanted my attention that much you need only ask for you shall....RECEIVE!" Reaching down with my free hand I dig my middle finger into the incision of his abdomen, forcing open the stitches with a soft sickening sound of fusing flesh parting at the aggressive ministrations. The warmth of blood, the squelching of displaced organs and the spasms of weakened muscles greet my finger as the man shrieks in agony like a girl. "Oh don''t have an orgasm off this yet James! We still have a loooong ways to go before you''re ready for Mr. Sloan to arrive!" I dig another finger in for good measure to get my point across even though he had long since released my finger in favor of reacting to the pain. Eventually he passes out and I move to collect my tools and turn on my radio.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it An old throwback from a time forgotten when the generations of youth indulged in Japanese animation like it was going out of style. I him along to the melodic yet rapid tune whilst walking over with a cart full of insidious tools and several jars of harvested female genitals and other harvested parts line the bottom shelf of the cart. Here I thought I was sick minded. Mr. Sloan wanted me to carve a vagina into dear James''s torso for deflowering his second oldest daughter, Marsila. However, Mr. Sloan didn''t want just any kind of vagina mind you. This one he wanted to be all pain and no pleasure and he wanted James to be turned into an absolute freak. Not the good kind of freak either. No, James''s life was going to be reduced to a hellish nightmare for Mr. Sloan to torture at his leisure. He paid me quite a nice fee to ensure James neither expired, or ever needed sustenance, sleep or any other human comforts but retained the desire for them. It was a deliciously sadistic request that I happily obliged despite the genetic alterations, organ infusions and transplants, neural adjustments and the overall rearranging of his chest cavity''s contents. I thoroughly enjoy this kind of work and even now I can feel the dampness soaking through my panties even as I pull on a white apron over my robe which was scantily cladding my body. However, a pang shot through my hand as I went to tie the apron and saw that my hand was dripping black ichor. "Son of a bitch!" Exclaiming in exasperation and with an incredulous expression I grab my injured index finger, the one that had been in James''s mouth, and pull forward it a pop before pushing inwards with another pop. I flex the digit and sigh in content after the movements of the tendons and muscles in my forearm don''t elicit a racket of pain in which to assault my brain with. I need to readjust my own neural pathways I think or maybe just turn off the pain receptors altogether. I ponder this for a moment, taking the time to consider the implications, before dismissing them just as quickly. There was work needing to be done and I couldn''t afford to sit around with my thumb firmly planted up my ass. So I grabbed the nearest bottle off the cart labeled, ''Karsomaphine,'' and a needle syringe before stabbing the top of the bottle''s lid to extract the purple contents from within. In seconds the syringe was half-full and I just as quickly stabbed the needle into James''s neck and pushed down on the plunger. A soft groan came from James as his unconscious mind felt the intrusive fluid''s effect coil around his brain harder than two hydraulic presses. He was out for the count until I administered the reversing agent. This suited me just fine as I could work in peace free of obstructive noise. Discarding the syringe I replace it with a pair of surgical scissors to cut the stitches and carefully open the incision before inserting an abdominal retractor to hold it all open. Inside the man''s chest cavity was a mess and it was about to get messier as I had new flesh to finish infusing into the body to make whole the desired effect. Activating the multi-armed apparatus overhead I began the intricate operation of weaving magic through machine and flesh. It was a painstaking process, connecting one''s mana to something like a machine. Especially if the machine lacked the proper materials to allow such a thing, but multi-armed contraption of horrors was handmade by me and me alone. Once the mana was in place I shut off the world outside my mind and used the mana to bridge my consciousness to it, giving me an eagle view of the operating table as I saw through the machine''s multiple lenses. It was an odd feeling. Being out of one''s body and residing in something cold and mechanically as I moved the limbs of the machine like a master puppeteer would his puppet. Strings of mana flowed through the metal, connecting the joints and giving me acute control as I sheared flesh and replaced it on a cellular level with new flesh. Yes, I am controlling my body too very much the same way as the machine. To the trained and focused eye one could see the pale red wisps of my mana manifested through the air between flesh and metal. They danced and rippled at the slightest touch of my mind, creating a silently choreographed spectacle. My body retrieved jars off the cart and opened them while the mechanical arms moved at rapid speeds, grabbing and working. The back and forth went on seemingly for hours before I was finally finished. Now all that remained was to submerse the subject in a specialized vat of liquid that would make permanent the changes and keep his body from breaking down. That process alone would take four hours. Looking at my vacant wrist, as if checking the time, I nod to myself with a pleased expression. "I''m right on schedule James. Thank you for being so cooperative." Gingerly I pat the man''s cheek before I go about meticulously cleaning my tools and my machine. Not to mention I needed to clean myself up what with being spattered with blood and preservative fluids. A demented giggle escapes me as I hum to silence, my radio having long since died due to negligence and needing a fresh battery. "Today is going to be so much fun!" Ch. 02 The Sloan Job A grizzled square-jawed man sat at a large oak desk in a huge leather chair staring out his office window. The man, or rather faux human male, was barely contained in a pristine black suit that hugged his massive shoulders. His pale, almost grey, skinned face was set with shallow valleys from a life of constant scowls and scornful glares. While the man''s hair was black and untarnished by discoloration of age. His reflection stared back at him with the ever intense soul haunting stare of the red globes that made up his eyes. The city outside was cast in the shadow of a storm that refused to cease it''s insistent pouring of rain. "I hate the rain, Yarkin.." The man''s voice rumbled out as if two mountains were grinding together in an earthquake. The lanky leathery skinned assistant known as Yarkin looked up from his desk, his youthful androgynous face scrunching up with a speculative frown, as both sets of eyelids passed over his reptilian green eyes one after the other. "If you don''t mind my saying so," Yarkin''s flanged and rhythmic voice broke the brief silence, "didn''t you lose your wife on a day like this one sir?" The sound of leather protesting under strain as the large man clenched the armrest of his chair. The air grew inexplicably warmer, drying out Yarkin''s already leathery red skin. The assistant pulled at his collar, clearing his throat in distress and reached down under his desk to grab the three litre jug of water and fervently put it to his lips. Realizing his blunder the man relaxed and the room began to cool off. No sooner did the room cool did a busty woman, with long wavy red hair, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt open the door. Her luscious burgundy lips were pursed in contained frustration, soon formed into a smile for her boss. "Mr. Sloan, you asked me to remind you of your seven o''clock meeting with Ms. Aetorsol. Also your daughter, Miss Marsila, is on line three. She''s asking about James again." The woman spoke curtly and professionally despite her blouse''s first two buttons being undone providing a generous view of her cleavage. Her excuse was always about giving her girls space but everyone in the building knew she was an insufferable harlot. That wasn''t why she was hired though. Out of all the applicants she was the one who had the most linguistic experience, a bachelor''s in interspecies relations, and overall twelve years of magic theory and implementation of advanced practices. She was a well paid overqualified secretary that doubled as a bouncer and had a hobby of spreading her legs. A girl''s gotta unwind somehow. Mr. Sloan barely gave the woman a glance before speaking, "Thank you Kathryn. Tell her I''m in a meeting and will call her once I''m finished." The woman smiled and nodded before leaving. Yarkin looked to his boss and cleared his throat again, "Did you really have to involve that butcherer? You know she''s killed a number of Syndicate members. There''s a standing notice in all establishments to kill on basic principal alon-" Mr. Sloan raised his hand as a roaring chuckle welled up in his chest before climbing to his feet, standing at a good two-hundred-fifty-nine centimeters, and turned to his assistant. "That''s why I hired her, Yarkin. She''s not afraid of us or anyone and she''s good at what she does. The collective families of the Syndicate hate and like her," Sloan''s resounding chuckle subsided and he absentmindedly straightened his suit, " No, she''s earned her place as an element we can use when needed and that worm who defiled my daughter needed to be taught a lesson." Yarkin could only shake his head dismissively. Long before he was an assistant to anyone he was friends with the man before him, brothers even. He was godfather to Sloan''s oldest daughter Stacia. Yet, he often wondered what made Sloan so fiercely protective of his second oldest, the middle child from his first wife before she died. Perhaps it was a simple case of protecting the last piece of herself that his wife had blessed him with. Admittedly Yarkin didn''t know what went on in the Verkasi''s family home behind closed doors. Considering they were all a family of high born demons with a pure bloodline, Yarkin could see the possibility of keeping things in the family. Demons were strange like that. He was just a Zarken, one of the many leathery skinned reptilian-like humanoids that lived alongside the other sentient races here on the world Viridia. "Shall I call for the car, sir?" Yarkin finally piped up once Sloan was finished tidying up his apparel. With an imperious nod, Sloan made his way for the door while Yarkin stood up and grabbed his phone to call down to the garage for one of the drivers to bring a car around front. --- You know how you get that unusual giddy feeling in your stomach when things are going well and you''re excited about something? ''Nope. We don''t get that feeling remember?'' I imagine what that would be like right now as I''m standing in the office of my one-woman clinic for those who want back alley discretion for reasonable prices and with assured knowledge that they''re getting what they want. It had taken me an hour to wheel James down the winding tunnel to reach my place of work. I don''t own a car. It''s too overt, especially when you deal with cadavers off and on. ''Or the occasional live victim who was grabbed against their will and thrust upon us to carry out horrific acts of butchery on the human body.'' That too I suppose. Either way it was much easier to covertly weave a spell under a bustling city of life and create a tunnel from the basement of my house to the basement of my office building. Honestly I don''t mind the leg work since it provides some nice exercise and the results offer resoundingly amusing expressions when I''m in shorts. ''Even a hundreds year old Eldritch Witch, who has consorted with all kinds of filth, deserves to have nice legs and an ass to match.'' Exactly. Much to the point it also makes stepping on those who''ve royally pissed me off that much more enjoyable. The conflicting emotions of enjoyment and terror as they realized their inner masochist with the revelation of knowing the last thing they''d see of this world was my well toned sexy legs. ''Before you unceremoniously crushed their skull under your heel. I think you''re mildly narcissistic when it comes to your legs.''Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. You know what? ''Hm?'' Accurate but I don''t care. I will flaunt my sexy ass legs, or body, whenever I damn well choose. Speaking of bodies I believe James is done fermenting. With a sigh I leave my office and head down the short hall to the hidden door, that slides open at my touch, and I descend the stairs to reach the operating room below. Numerous glass pods lined the walls, full of green bio-fluid and held various bodies in them. Their metal bases had small screens to display information on the contents within and wires ran to a computer terminal nearby with even more screens, dozens of buttons and numerous switches. Beyond the gestation pods resided an operating table, complete with a biometric scanner, heart monitor, another multi-armed apparatus with all kinds of heinous tools and lastly a oxygenator system to keep my subjects breathing properly. Fortunately James was in one of the six pods that lined the back wall, with the table between my terminal station and the stairs, and the tunnel far to my right past the table. Various other kinds of equipment littered the room along with a healthy amount of counter space. All in all it looked like the space belonging to a professional mad doctor or scientist. ''Ahhh home sweet home away from home.'' Sitting down at the terminal I activate the pod James is in, which immediately begins to drain away the green liquid within. His naked body comes into view, looking somewhat healthier only now his torso was sporting a vaginal crevice that looked like it could satisfy an elephant. Truly it wasn''t my most favorite work to date but Mr. Sloan wanted to humiliate and torture the poor bastard and money is money. I just wish he had had a little more imagination to go into what he was paying me for. Do you know how many women, demon or otherwise, come to me about their bodies? I''m not just a butchering flesh-crafter. My full time job is fixing that which people don''t like about themselves or making them better beyond their wildest dreams. I also cater to a number of criminals, crime families, crooked businesses, and so on. If you''ve got the money, I can carve into you whatever change you want. ''Don''t forget we also dabble in corpses.'' There''s that too. Sometimes in life you need more than a badass bodyguard or a well trained soldier. Sometimes you need something that will march into your enemy''s teeth and eat them, boots belt, buckle and all. That''s where I come in. The Syndicate, a collection of crime families composed of different races, is always at odds with other forces that be. Primarily the ARIMDF otherwise known as the Armed Regulation of Interspecies & Magic Defense Force. They''re also a thorn in my side too. Originally they were a coalition force put in place to help humans maintain their air of superiority but now they''re a force that governs everything. Think of them as a specialized military force designed to protect the average law abiding citizen and their governments from people like the Syndicate. I digress. Point is the ARIMDF is a pain in the ass, they''ve got the means to stay a pain in the ass and organizations like the Syndicate don''t have infinite dispensable muscle at their beck and call. So they come to me with corpses, I work on them for a day, and someone comes back to pick up a newly animated machine of death. Given enough time I can even clone them to make more. Fortunately for everyone else, I don''t have the storage space or the desire to create an undead horde. ''Been there done that.'' So I do what I do, get paid to do it and create quality products for the sleezy bags of shitheads known as the Syndicate. There are some in that group who I refuse to work for though. Some of which I vehemently detest and would gladly kill their entire bloodline on principal alone. I don''t appreciate being used or shafted out of payments. When you make a deal with me you had best honor your word. Otherwise there''ll be hell to pay and I always make full payments on that. A number of Syndicate members have tried to shaft me in such a way in the past. The Syndicate was several notable members short, Saren ate good for a month and I''ve been permanently barred from entering certain establishments unless I want to leave with an assortment of new holes in my body. ''I prefer sticking to the three we already have.'' Technically seven if you count nostrils and ears. ''Yeah but you can''t put anything in those.'' Oh I beg to differ. ''....'' .... ''I''m just going to pretend I didn''t hear that.'' So yeah me and the Syndicate have a rocky relationship and only certain members like to do business with me and I them. One such member is Mr. Sloan who should be here anytime now to collect James here. Speaking of, he seems to be waking up. I casually get up, one the pod has drained completely and the glass slides away to release James. He falls to the cold tile floor with a thud and a groggy groan while I quickly reach down and hoist him up before dragging him to the table where I secure him. The finalizing process is quite simple. I pull a thick metal collar from my coat pocket and place it around his neck, causing an acknowledging beep to go off as a red light flicks on. Retrieving a small device, no bigger than the size of the ancient Nintendo SD handheld game devices, from the opposite pocket I flick a switch and the light turns orange and then green as a gentle hiss goes off. On the device''s screen a number of command options and specimen information is displayed. No sooner did I finish this task did the ominous triple beep, notifying me of the front door to my building opening, sound off in the operating room. I sigh and pocket the device, fixing my coat, and brushing my untamed ear length white hair into some semblance of neatness. On my way up the stairs I fidget with my strapless black tube top. Reaching the door it slides open and I step out into the hallway before walking to the tiny insignificant lobby that resides just past my office at the opposite end of the laughably small building. Standing in the lobby, as expected, would be Mr. Sloan with his business-like, no nonsense expression set on his face. His empty red globes stared at me as his brow furrowed. "You''re actually presentable this time... Imagine that." Like grinding boulders his voice hits me but I can''t help but smirk at his comment. "Well last time you caught me with my pants down because I had just had a corpse explode all over me. You''d be surprised to know how much energy a corpse can take before it pops." --- Sloan could only gaze with a look of disinterest before he gestured down the hall behind Dahlia. He wasn''t a patient man when it came to this woman since she had a way of getting under his skin. However, he could appreciate her work and the fact she had an iron stomach against all manner of heinous sights. "Enough talk woman. Is it done?" His voice ground out with a tone of irritation while Dahlia only smiled more and gestured for him to follow her as she turned and walked back the way she came. The hallway was much too small for him even though it was designed with larger races in mind. "Wait here Yarkin. I won''t be long." His assistant, who had been waiting behind him, stood and watched as Sloan squeezed himself down the hallway and disappeared through the doorway at the end of the hall, on the right hand side, positioned presumably across from the bathroom. Yarkin detested Dahlia''s existence and had no intentions of following his boss. Descending the stairs, Sloan was greeted by the sight of James laid bare on the table with his disgusting modifications having been completed. A twisted and sadistic grin crept across Sloan''s face as they approached the table before Dahlia held up a device to him. "Your new toy is all yours now Mr. Sloan. If you need anything else don-" "I have another job for you." Sloan immediately interjected on her sentence causing a perturbed scowl to cross her face. "Oh?" She spoke with a curious tone, her interest visibly piqued, causing Sloan to nod with a smirk. "My eldest needs a new toy and my second eldest keeps harassing me over this worm. You do neural work, yes?" He turned to Dahlia and saw her expression had become sadistically delighted. A woman after his own heart if she didn''t get under his skin so terribly. "Do tell me more of what you have in mind for this job... Mr. Sloan." Her voice rang through his ears with a disturbingly sultry tone. Looking at her, as she gazed up at him with a ravenous hunger for something indescribable, suddenly Sloan began to have regrets for the first time in his life. A lump formed in his throat that he couldn''t swallow. Ch. 03 Blood, Sex & Money Stacia was like any other woman in the prime of her life, ambitious, *thirsty,* craving excitement and hopelessly bored out of her mind. Sure, she had a father who was one of nine crime lords in the city of Markaris but she didn''t feel like she was different. Her upbringing had been full of a lot of love, but when she came of age she found a new kind of love. A love that set apart all others and lit a fire in her chest and her womanhood. A love of power and control. Considering who her father was it wasn''t a surprise she found it. Sure, all demons general had a vice towards power but Stacia had it way worse than any low born welp could ever dream of having. Her dad didn''t know it but she was already influencing his work through her boy-toy Yarkin. Ah Yarkin. That adorable submissively inclined Zarken. He was her godfather but once she came of age and started flexing her birth given talents she set her eyes on him. She needed a pair of eyes in her dad''s business both the legal and illegal side. Worse yet she had a fetish for the reptilian species. It was a well known fact that most of the reptilian races'' males had two penises, but not ever woman could get over the hang-up of scales and leathery skin. Stacia had no such hang-up. Truthfully she wanted more than just Yarkin''s dual set-up. As she got older she found new toys to satisfy her controlling and dominating fantasies, but something about Yarkin''s nature stirred something in her. He was a kind-hearted man, romantic, obedient, loyal and yet the way he enticed her whenever they met. If she didn''t know any better she''d think he was in control. She loved it. All that being said, she was currently sitting in a brown leather loveseat, blood splattered across her face and front, dressed in only a bathrobe and staring at the ruined room in front of her. The latest toy she had fancied the greatest was currently hanging limp and cold off the edge of the hotel bed. The young man''s orange blood marred the white sheets, the rose-mauve wall above and beside the bed, the carpet and just about every other surface in vicinity of his body. The hotel room, currently guarded by two of her father''s goons, had been blasted open by a pair of low-level thugs that apparently her deceased toy had royally pissed off. Not even thirty minutes ago she had been in the throes of ecstasy, hilted all the way down on her toy''s reptilian cocks, when the door exploded. Years of instruction, instinct, and her own experiences had allowed her the appropriate response. She had quite literally dove off her partner''s members, possibly snapping one in the process, and landed on the floor to put the bed between herself and the attackers. Poor Barek, her unfortunate toy, was still lost in a mixture of pain and pleasure he had barely managed to utter a plea before the thugs lit his body up with their mana pistols. His scream and the sound of flesh being violently seared and blasted filled the room before it had gone quiet. Mana pistols were a demon''s worst nightmare. A demon could survive if they didn''t sustain too many shots but that was all dependent on the demon''s speed. Fortunately Stacia was wickedly quick, and had sprung into action once the thugs got close enough. Her pale grey black tattooed skin, her hypnotically swaying tits, and wild ivory hair had been all elements of surprise to the thugs. They weren''t trained hitmen after and they certainly weren''t demons either. Their crimson blood was testament to that fact. So it was no surprise she had dispatched them with relative ease before the first shot even smacked her in the chest. Concentrated and solidified mana stung like a bitch. She hated it with a fiery passion, but it hadn''t stopped her from completing her grizzly work. In fact the one who had shot her was torn in two, hanging off the dresser and resting at her feet in a definitive display. After it was all over she had called Yarkin, explained the situation and had her dad put on the line. The only aid she received were the two guards. It was up to her to clean up her own messes. Daddy didn''t raise any bitches with dependency issues. In fact Stacia was quite capable of dealing with this and the phone call had just been a formality. She had her own goons, and her own business even. Right now she was simply stewing in anger. "What a fucking waste," She bitterly sighed as she looked at Barek. Her dad actually liked that one. He wasn''t a ''titty-baby'' as her sister had so eloquently put it. In short, yes he liked having a dominatrix as a partner and he liked being helpless against her but he wasn''t spineless or weak willed. At times he had even stood up to her. Now that was all gone and she needed a replacement, even more than that she needed names. Sure, it was probably Barek''s own fault but he was her property and whoever sent this pathetic group as a punitive force had now seriously inconvenienced her. Not to mention they robbed her of a good lay. Standing up she walked over to her belongings and began getting dressed as the blood on her body evaporated into red vapor. She was resoundingly pissed now and, much like her dad''s own involuntary habit, her body got hot. Once dressed she grabbed her phone and began the arduous process. She needed a cleaner for the bodies, she needed some men to look into these thugs, money to pay off any witnesses, and she needed all this five minutes ago. Suddenly she realized, once again, why her dad kept Yarkin around. --- Sloan felt the cold chill of sweat on his neck as he sat in the car. He was still reeling from his conversation with Dahlia. The woman''s demeanor had drastically changed to a state of demented ecstasy when he had asked her if she did neural work. ***Twenty minutes ago*** I stood there, grinning up at Sloan and practically salivating with anticipation at what his request was going to be. Inquiring about my neural work was one thing but the fact he mentioned his own daughter beforehand? Oh how deliciously depraved! I couldn''t help myself. I drew closer to him, begging him to tell me more. I could see he was growing uneasy but I didn''t care.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Tell me god damn it! ''Down girl!'' I finally snapped out of my daze and stopped my advances to discover Sloan was holding me by the neck with a mixed expression of rage and fear. Ahhh so he can feel fear? I laughed lowly in a chilling sort of way that would make even the dead grow cold. The color drained from Sloan''s face and his grasp grew slack before I gingerly freed myself. "Forgive me, Mr. Sloan, I got ahead of myself. You say your eldest needs a new toy. Pray tell what kind? Also if your second oldest needs an adjustment might I suggest scheduling an appointment for a house call." I looked up at him as he began to recollect himself whilst I neatly folded my arms under my bust and patiently waited. Once he had collected himself he spoke up, "My oldest has a penchant for scales and leathery skin, but I want something that won''t keel over easily. Something sturdy and," he paused with a wary glance at the gestation pods before looking back down at me, "it can''t be dead or some hodgepodge freakish experiment." I could only chuckle at his wariness before I nodded to myself, "I don''t make hodgepodge experiments, Mr. Sloan. I make monstrous masterpieces that can look normal from the outside but are entirely different inside. That being said... I''ll see what I can do. Any other preferences besides scales?" "She didn''t fall far from the proverbial tree. She likes being in control of everything," he remarked with a hint of pride in his voice that I suppressed the urge to smirk at. ''Don''t we all like to be in control?'' "Very well. I''ll keep these preferences in mind, Mr. Sloan. It might take me a couple days to find something, but if you happen to have candidates in mind feel free to share them with me." He frowned slightly before nodding, "I''ll have someone collect you later this evening and bring you to the estate." I blink in surprise for a fraction of a second before narrowing my gaze. ''Ohhh he wants this done quickly and now he''s acting like he owns you. Great.'' "I would appreciate it, if in the future Mr. Sloan, you did not take that approach of conducting business with me. You''re lucky my schedule is open tonight, but I have other clients. Do not assume you can order me around. Just because I''ve taken your money doesn''t make me your bitch." To say that my tone of voice didn''t have a shred of venom in it would be a blatant lie. I despise people who assume they can order me around. It''s a matter of personal principal that I put my foot down in these matters. The Syndicate is full of people that, if you don''t show your backbone to, will trample you and run you into the ground. Clearly Sloan got the message as he merely looked at me, hesitated, glanced at the pods again and then nodded, "My apologies... Shall I see you tonight?" "Yes you shall," I extend my hand with a professional smile, watching it get engulfed by the man''s giant palm, and shake his hand firmly on the agreement, "I expect the rest of my payment to be transferred over." I look up at him with a knowing gaze as he freezes up before nodding curtly. Afterwards I politely walked Sloan out with the reformed James, now dressed in simple pants, following along obediently due to the control collar. Outside my clinic Sloan''s car was parked in the middle of the wide alley, his assistant stood nearby patiently waiting and talking on the phone. Seeing his boss prompted him to hang up but he immediately became sickened as he saw James state. Hurriedly he opened the trunk for James to crawl in and slammed it shut. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Sloan," I nonchalantly wave as the men scoff and climb into the backseats before the car pulls away with controlled haste. Slipping my hands into my black coat''s pockets I rock back on my heels with a giddy laugh before walking back into my building. ''Do you think he''ll pay?'' They always pay. One way or another. If he knows what''s good for him or his precious daughters he''ll pay. ''What did you do now, you evil bitch?'' Oh nothing I just made an insurance policy and I''m about to make another one tonight. I''m not stupid, but he probably thought I was. ''And now he thinks otherwise?'' Correct. ''You worry me sometimes. Try and not bring the whole Syndicate down on our head please?'' I make no promises. I''m a legitimate businesswoman who they insistently continue to fuck with. Sloan will be the last straw if he doesn''t pay up. --- Sloan wasn''t one to get unsettled let alone scared but something made an appearance in that woman''s eyes when she had laughed. Something that made his boiling demonic blood freeze over. Even more so was her brazen attitude. He hated it. Maybe Yarkin was justified in being apprehensive towards the woman. Sloan thought he knew her, knew her type, especially since he had always been quick in determining a person''s nature. After interacting with Dahlia today? Sloan had taken a drastic blow to his confidence in being able to determine that nature. They had driven for thirty minutes before stopping on the side of the road so Yarkin could make some phone calls. Namely he had to make sure the other half of the payment was processed. Secondly he had to make sure his goddaughter was alright. Sloan had to admire the dedication Yarkin took to his role as godfather to his eldest daughter. Not that Sloan was neglectful of Stacia, it was just that he had a firm stance on helping his children out of certain situations. Stacia had made it abundantly clear she didn''t want her dad''s help and she had proven time and time again that she had the grit and mettle to take care of her own problems. It made Sloan proud to know he had sired such offspring. However, in the case of his second oldest, Marsila, he was faced with a much different issue. Once Yarkin finished his phone call with Stacia, he climbed back into the car and snapped Sloan out of his daze, "Stacia cleaned up the mess and now she''s moving to find the worms responsible." He looked at his boss as the large man sat there, idly contemplating the various situations. Sloan nodded and sighed finally, "Lets take a trip downtown Yarkin. I''m in the mood for some entertainment of the flesh," he looked to his assistant who immediately got the hint. "You don''t think the attack on Barek was something else do you sir?" Yarkin tentatively asked as he suddenly felt dread rise up in his chest while Sloan chuckled grimly. "Yarkin, when my eldest took up a business dealing with women and entertainment I made it my business to familiarize myself with her competition and I invested time into Barek to make sure he was a good fit for Stacia. He didn''t have any vices or baggage," he motioned to the driver who immediately pulled away from the sidewalk and started his maneuvering through the morning traffic, "We''re going to go pay a visit to an old friend. See if everythings on the up and up."