A land held in thrall by dark magic. A rebel in chains. In the heart of the torture dungeon, more than death awaits him, for the cruel white devil is a master of his craft.
The following content may be disturbing to some readers: sexual acts, excessive violence, self-harm.The erotic acts described in this story are unrealistic and have no pretense of being a correct depiction of BDSM practices. They are for entertainment purposes only and are not intended as a template or inspiration. Furthermore, it should be noted in principle that protagonists are not necessarily to be understood as heroes in the sense of moral role models.
Translated from original german text with the help of deepl translator.
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Chapter one - The Sweetness Of The Enemy
Part one - Rapture
In their nature, are not people always striving for balance? They seek justice as if it promised heaven on earth, and they justify even the cruelest vengeance with the sacred balance of the world. Each of them is convinced that he alone has the authority to decide what defines the balance and what a just world in equilibrium must look like. A power imbalance, as it had arisen in his homeland, seemed to Adion offensive to nature, like a festering thorn in the fabric of the world. He had been nurtured and raised with these beliefs until, full of rage and drive, he joined the rebellion against King Madreas, who had appropriated the Dark Mirror.
Determined to do his part in the tyrant's fall, he had obeyed all the orders of his leaders, with seemingly unshakable conviction that it was just and good and natural to die in war for the righteous cause. Nothing less had his past self expected of him, for nothing less did his fellow soldiers in the rebellion expect, and his heart had beat faster at the thought of honorably giving his life in battle. At that time, it was so easy to expect from others what one had never gone through oneself, so natural to demand that another face death and pain, as long as these things were but abstract ideas to oneself. To Adion, this past idealistic and preposterous self seemed so distant, as if eons had passed since his capture a few hours before and his fear-filled presence.
They had dragged the incautious scout from his hiding place and beaten him up like a dog. Now that they had dragged him into the shadows of Madreas' black castle, only mortal fear, cold and pain existed in his bruised limbs. The heroic speeches and courageous plans of the morning before had become a distant memory, only echoes of a past life. Two men dragged him so roughly between them that he barely managed to find his footing, and instead his knees and ankles grinded painfully across the floor. Orders were barked and the prisoner was dragged down stone corridors and stairs. A third tormentor elbowed him hard in the back, forcing him to sit up. The shadows of several fire bowls danced on the bare walls and red cloaks of a tall, bearded man flanked by servants with strangely distorted yet expressionless faces. King Madreas made a half-hearted motion with his arm and one, who must have taken the hint, bowed curtly and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway. They had to be deep in the dungeons of the castle and Adion was shivering not only with fear but also with cold, for he was still wearing only the light chemise and trowsers of the rebels.
