In one of the mines of the Kingdom of Orcus, there was a slave. He had no name. He was tall, skinny, with dark hair falling to his shoulders, and eyes as dull as a dead fish's. He carried bluish stones with trembling arms, his bare feet sinking into the putrid mud on the mine floor.
While working silently, he overheard two orcs arguing. They were the twins Magni and Mogni, known for their brutality and stubbornness. The only difference between them was skin color: Magni had a dark purple tone, while Mogni displayed a grotesque, shiny pink.
"These useless humans are too much trouble for my taste," Mogni growled, spitting next to a half-buried corpse in the mud.
"Calm down, brother. We've got bigger problems… especially the smell," Magni replied, covering his nose with a disgusted expression.
The stench in the mine was unbearable—a mix of abyssal mole feces and rotting human corpses. With every breath, the slave's stomach turned, but he had grown used to it. Or almost. The pain was constant, but familiar.
The slave didn't know why he was there. Or maybe he just didn't remember. His mind was a foggy blur, as if someone had ripped parts of his memory away. All that remained was a letter—V. He didn't know if it was the initial of his name or just a fragment of who he once was.
"Hey, V! Come here, quick. There's a new load, and we need help!"
Another slave called out—a man just as worn out, with fresh scars covering his arms and face.
V tried to answer, but his throat was too dry.
"Y-yeah… coming," he murmured with difficulty. Every word was an effort. In the world of Gaia, humans were treated like trash—inferior, disposable. Beings without rights, without power, without a voice.
He dragged himself to the group, his shoulders hunched from exhaustion and chains. Behind one of the ore carts, he saw something that made him stop for a moment. It wasn't a blue stone, nor a corpse. It was a symbol carved into the rock—ancient, nearly faded—but it stirred something inside him. His heart sped up for a second, and an image flashed before his eyes: a burning tower… a woman screaming his name… V…
The pain of a whip across his back snapped him back to reality.
"Move, worm!" Mogni shouted, raising his arm for another strike.
But V didn't scream. Didn't react. He just walked, eyes still fixed on that symbol. Something inside him was starting to stir. Something old. Something forgotten.
Dusk fell heavily over the mine, tinting the sky a dirty orange that barely pierced the constant dust of the labor. Torches were lit one by one, casting long shadows through the cold tunnels.
That's when Magni appeared, his iron hammer striking the ground. His deep, disdainful voice echoed through the walls like a whip:
"Alright, worms! Back to the hole. Line up and move fast!"
The "hole" was what they called the slave shelter—a crude cave system where they slept crammed together, breathing the same damp, stale air. It was a miserable place, constantly at risk of collapse. Sometimes, one or two died during the night. Sometimes, they just lost limbs. But none of that mattered to V. His exhausted body barely responded, but his mind clung to a single thought: the symbol. Always the symbol. Branded in his memories like hot iron in his soul.
As he entered the hole, he tripped over something soft. A body. Still warm, freshly dead. Not unusual. Those who couldn't endure the labor simply collapsed, and no one removed them until morning.
Then, a figure approached, stepping gently between other bodies like a curious shadow.
"You gonna eat that one?" a rough, casual female voice asked. "Those orc bastards forgot to feed us again."
V slowly lifted his head, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. He recognized the girl. She was one of the few who still had a glimmer in her eyes—not hope, but rage. A different kind of fire.
"No… you can eat that one…" he murmured, voice weak.
"Okay." she replied simply and knelt beside the corpse. Her thin, dirty fingers gripped the man's arm with a natural coldness, like someone picking up a crust of stale bread. There was no ceremony, no sorrow. Just survival.
She was young, but marked by the brutality of life in the mine. Her red hair, thick like extinguished flames, was braided practically and fell over her thin shoulders. The cave's faint light reflected off her strands like dying embers. Her pale face was freckled and crossed by a deep scar over her right eye—now milky and blind. The skin around it looked burnt, twisted by some ancient, perhaps magical, wound. Her other eye, though, was still alive. Intense. A gray-green that watched everything with dangerous calm.
She wore a tattered tunic, dark as the cave itself. Around her neck hung a bronze pendant, simple but carefully clean. It was her only intact belonging, as if it meant too much to let filth touch it.
V watched her for a moment. Seeing her bite into the corpse's arm with indifference, without any trace of disgust or guilt, he felt something strange. Not revulsion. Not pity. It was… familiarity.
He had done that too—feeding on the dead. And unlike the others, he didn't vomit, didn't tremble, didn't cry. When he drank warm blood, he felt vigor returning. His near-dead body pulsed again. As if something inside him—something ancient and forgotten—fed not just on flesh, but on the very essence of life.
At that moment, while the girl ripped a chunk from the corpse's shoulder with her teeth, V felt the strange sense that she, like him, wasn't just another slave. She was something more. Something he didn't understand, but definitely not normal.
After some time observing her, the girl finally broke the heavy silence that hung in the foul air, thick with feces, blood, and decomposing bodies. In a mocking tone, she spoke:
"So... what are you staring at?"
V, still lost in thought, came back a bit to reality. He murmured, almost voiceless:
"S-sorry. I didn't mean to bother you..."
The girl raised an eyebrow and continued, seemingly unfazed by his reply:
"Your name's V, right?"
He nodded silently.
"You're older than me, but don't look as old as most in this hole. What are you, eighteen?"
V didn't answer right away. His legs felt weak, his body nearly failing. Finally, he let himself sit on the hard, damp floor. After so many hours of forced labor, his endurance was spent. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, and his vision blurred. When he looked at one of the nearby corpses, he noticed the blood still fresh, trickling from its right leg.
And then it came back—that thirst. Not for water or any drink. It was an instinctive, visceral need. Something that burned inside and consumed him every time human blood hit his nostrils. As if the crimson liquid called to him, whispering promises of relief, strength... life.
Unable to resist, he crawled to the corpse and, eyes wide, fingers trembling, sank his teeth into the soft flesh of the leg. The first bite was like an explosion of pleasure and despair. The taste of blood flooded his mouth, hot and metallic, sliding down his throat like a forbidden elixir. With every gulp, something inside him ignited—a power reconnecting him to the world, pushing back exhaustion, numbness, and emptiness.
The blood was delicious.
The flesh melted between his teeth, and the blood gushed with intensity, as if the dead body still fought to nourish him. It was grotesque, animalistic, but V couldn't stop. His entire body trembled—not with weakness, but with ecstasy. He was feeding on what he had long known to be his true need.
As he devoured the corpse with ferocity, the girl watched with a curious, almost amused look. Then she chuckled.
"Mysterious and a liar, huh? At least it's getting a little more interesting around here... So tell me, what are you, huh?"
V, still overcome by hunger, barely heard the question. With blood on his mouth and eyes staring into space, he answered automatically, disjointed:
"W-what?"
The girl finally introduced herself:
"Oh! Sorry, I never told you my name. Well... wait, let me fix my voice."
She adjusted her tone, trying to sound more feminine.
"I'm Yloria Korven, a nob... an ex-noble from House Korven. I'm 16, and my type is... tall, pale guys with blue eyes," she finished with a sarcastic tone, trying to hide her embarrassment.
V wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and introduced himself:
"I'm V. Just… V."
He looked at Yloria with a calm, slightly provocative gaze.
"I've seen a few 'nobles' around here, but most don't last a day. They're either killed by the orc brothers or by miners hunting anything of value. And honestly, that bronze pendant of yours… Doesn't look worth much."
Yloria, slightly offended, crossed her arms and snapped back:
"Well… well… It's true I almost died to an abyssal mole when I got here… But I survived, okay?!"
V stared at her more intently, trying to recall something. His eyes lit up in recognition:
"Oh, right! You're the redhead who caused a cave-in on your first day, right? Fell straight into a pile of abyssal mole shit! Man, I laughed so hard when they told me… They even gave you a nickname. What was it again… hmmm…"
Before he could finish, Yloria interrupted with a forced smile, visibly annoyed:
"Don't even think about it. If you say it, I'll fry you and feed you to those damn moles! And I thought you were the quiet type… But you're just another annoying jerk!"
V felt the cold night wind blowing between the rocks and looked at the darkening sky. With a more serious expression, he said:
"It's getting dark… Let's go. We can't stay exposed out here."
He firmly grabbed Yloria's hand and walked deeper into the hole, stopping at a large stone leaning against the wall. V pushed it aside with surprising ease, revealing a hidden passage.
"Get in."
Yloria frowned and glared at him suspiciously:
"Are you planning to rape me? 'Cause if that's it, back off, freak."
V sighed, keeping a straight tone:
"You're more likely to be raped out there than in here. At least this place is safe to sleep."
Yloria crossed her arms, still wary:
"Last time a guy said that, I smashed his head with a rock. He tried, and it didn't go well for him. I'm not risking it."
Without replying, V simply entered the cave. His voice echoed from inside:
"Suit yourself. But I'm going to sleep safe and comfy. Bye bye."
Yloria hesitated, staring at the entrance. Then she saw a small group of men approaching—exhausted, dragging bloodied bodies. Panic set in, and she whispered:
"Okay, okay, okay! I'm coming in!"
V, unbothered, replied:
"Cool. Come on in."
He then pushed the stone back into place with ease. A rock that size would usually require three or four men to move—but V did it like it was a half-filled cart of stones. The sound of the stone settling echoed softly in the cave. Inside, silence surrounded them—safe… for now.
After a while in silence, Yloria broke the tense air with a blunt question:
"Tell me… are you really human?"
V, lying down and staring at the cave ceiling, answered with disdain:
"I am. Why? You think I'm some monster? A mystical creature?"
Yloria crossed her arms, staring at him suspiciously:
"Look… far as I know, it takes about three or four strong men to move that stone. But you did it effortlessly. Not to mention you started devouring a corpse like a starving wolf. That scares me, you know?"
V turned to her with a mocking expression:
"What scares me is your ugly face. But look at you, pointing fingers, saying I'm not normal… and you? You ate a corpse too, didn't you?"
Without thinking, Yloria grabbed a rock and hurled it with precision. It hit V right in the balls. He screamed in agony, writhing:
"AAAAAGGRRRHHH!!! YOU SON OF A— ARGH, WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?! HAD TO BE THE CRIMSON ABYSSAL MOLE!!!"
"I'M NOT UGLY, YOU ABYSSAL MOLE SPAWN!!!" Yloria shouted,
charging at him in fury.
She began punching him repeatedly while yelling:
"SHUT UP! IDIOT! JERK! TAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT!!!"
"P-please... s-stop… hitting me…" V groaned, trying to protect himself.
In a desperate reflex, he struck back and accidentally threw her against the cave wall. She hit the ground with a dull thud and lay still. V's eyes widened, his heart racing.
"Yloria…? You too…?" he whispered, pale. "The god said she didn't die…"
Panicked, he knelt beside her and checked her breathing. Relief: she was still alive. Just unconscious.
"Whew… I didn't want to kill her… not by accident," he muttered.
His eyes fell on her necklace, now partially loose from her neck. Gently, he took it and examined it. Inside, he found a small, detailed painting. It showed Yloria with a family—serene faces, real smiles. She looked happy.
V stared at it for a few seconds, murmuring to himself:
"How did you end up here, Yloria Korven?"
Carefully, he returned the necklace to her neck, arranged her body in a comfortable position, resting her head on a folded piece of cloth, and slowly stood up.
"Good night, Yloria. Sleep well… tomorrow might not be as calm as today."
V lay in a corner of the cave, watching the shadows dance on the walls under the moonlight, feeling the weight of the night settle in.