Chains of Fate (MxM Sci-fi Omegaverse)

V

Upon the release of my breath, a low, almost guttural sound rumbles from the man's throat, primal and unsettling. It was as if my very presence is too much for him to bear. A fiendish growl escapes his lips, sending a shudder through the thick air as he jerks violently against his restraints, the chains groaning under the strain. My heart pounding so fiercely I am certain he can hear it, feel it. My gaze, despite my better judgment, drifts lower, where the heavy chains seemed to pull his muscles taut. His well-endowed chest and biceps bulged against the metal, every ripple of his body a testament to the raw power beneath the surface.

The creature—no, the Vers—was kneeling, arms spread wide, yanked so far apart that his shoulders looked as though they might dislocate at any moment. His position, restrained and yet brimming with barely contained violence, should have repulsed me. Instead, it captivated me in a way that left my skin burning and my thoughts a confused blur.

I felt my head spinning, consumed by too many thoughts at once—none of them productive. The longer I let my mind chase itself in circles, the greater the risk of being discovered before I accomplished what I came for. My body moved before I could second-guess myself, driven by something more primal than logic. Despite the overwhelming fear, I stepped forward, into his cell.

Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Though it seemed laughable to think an Alpha like this—chained so completely—could ever break free from such restraints, the open door still struck me as a dangerous invitation.

And yet, I couldn't stop myself.

As I crossed the threshold into his domain, I felt his eyes on me. It didn't matter that he wore a blindfold; somehow, he knew where I was, tracking my every step with a terrifying accuracy. The weight of that awareness caused my insides to twist with nervous energy. I hated it—the feeling of being under his silent scrutiny.

But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the layers of fear and uncertainty, there was something that relished it. Something that loved the dark intensity of his presence and the undeniable magnetism drawing me closer.

When I finally force myself to kneel before him, the oppressive air of the cell seems to thicken, wrapping around us like a heavy shroud. My eyes, now adjusting to the dim light, take in the full extent of his condition. He is completely exposed, utterly filthy, his skin marked by the brutal evidence of neglect and cruelty. Thick, heavy sores mar his wrists, where the chains have rubbed his flesh raw, and calluses form hard ridges along the edges of the wounds.

A cold metal collar sits ominously around his neck, heavy and unforgiving, weighing him down further, while the muzzle strapped to his face is sharp and jagged, more a tool of torment than a simple restraint. Each subtle movement he makes—every jerk, every twitch—causes the metal to press into his skin, slicing and pinching, as if the thing was meant to remind him of his captivity with every breath.

His eyes are hidden from me beneath a thick, black band, obscuring his gaze and adding another layer of distance between us. Yet, despite the blindfold, there's no mistaking that he knows I'm here. He doesn't need his sight to feel my presence, my attribute is thick in the air all around us.

The proximity to his raw, exposed form is both terrifying and electrifying. His form—though buried under layers of filth and grime—calls to something deep inside me. The sores, the scars, the open wounds tell stories of suffering and brutality, yet even in his degraded state, the power that radiates from him is undeniable. It makes my skin prickle, a mix of revulsion and desire warring within me.

Every thick, corded muscle of his body seems to shudder as my hand hesitantly reaches toward him. The chains groan where they're anchored into the stone, as though they might give way under the strain of his raw power. The tension in the air is palpable, electric, and I can feel my pulse thrumming through my fingertips.