The screaming had stopped hours ago.
The Demon Lord—he'd abandoned his birth name millennia's ago—stood before the obsidian mirror in his chamber, adjusting the silver chains that decorated his black robes. His crimson eyes studied his reflection with clinical detachment. Same ageless face. Same pale skin traced with faint corruption marks. Ten thousand years, and the only thing that changed was the depth of his power.
And his collection, of course.
"Master." Celeste's voice drifted from the doorway, soft as silk and empty as void. "Your morning meal is prepared."
He turned. She stood with perfect posture in her white robes—a mockery of the saint's vestments she'd once worn with such pride. Thirty-five years of captivity had transformed the once-brilliant gold of her eyes into pale silver, the color of complete submission. She smiled serenely, and that emptiness behind it satisfied him more than any defiance ever could.
"The new acquisition?" he asked.
"Kira is... adjusting." Celeste's smile never wavered. "She attempted to breach the binding again last night. The backlash left her unconscious for three hours."
"Good."
He walked past her, and she fell into step behind him without being commanded. Perfect obedience, trained over decades. The marble corridors of Tartarus stretched before him, black stone veined with crimson that pulsed faintly with his power. Torches burned with corrupted flames that cast no warmth.
Fifty years, he thought, descending the grand staircase toward his throne room. Fifty years since I discovered the technique that changed everything.
Before Soul Subjugation, he'd been powerful but stagnant. Level 206, plateaued for nearly a millennium. Killing made him stronger, yes, but the returns had diminished to nothing. He'd slaughtered armies and felt barely a flicker of growth.
Then he'd found the Codex of Eternal Dominion in ruins older than gods.
Binding instead of killing. Corruption instead of destruction. Taking everything—levels, knowledge, abilities—while keeping the source alive and useful. The technique required patience, precision, and a willingness to break minds as thoroughly as he broke bodies.
He excelled at all three.
The throne room doors swung open at his approach. Inside, three of his collection waited.
Aria Stormwind stood rigid near the window, silver-white hair catching the dim light. Her dull blue eyes—once bright electric—tracked his movement with barely contained hatred. Fifteen years enslaved, seventy-two percent submission, and she still fought him in every way that didn't trigger the binding's punishment. Her jaw was set, fists clenched at her sides.
My prize, he thought. The one who resisted longest.
Valeria von Eisenhart occupied her usual position near the tactical map table, reviewing intelligence reports with the same cold efficiency she'd once used to rule an empire. Eight years of captivity had taught her that pragmatic obedience hurt less than pointless defiance. She didn't look up as he entered—she'd learned her place.
And in the corner, chained more heavily than the others, Kira crouched like a wounded predator.
The youngest acquisition. Three years enslaved, but her submission had only recently crossed the threshold. Fifty-two percent—just barely past the point where the binding became unbreakable. Her short black hair with red highlights was disheveled, and fresh bruises marked her pale skin from last night's failed escape attempt.
"Master." Valeria inclined her head with imperial grace, then returned to her reports. Professional. Detached.
Aria said nothing, but her body obeyed the binding's compulsion to bow. She straightened immediately after, glaring at him with impotent fury.
Kira just stared at him with those dark red eyes, breathing hard. Blood trickled from her nose—backlash damage from fighting the chains.
"Still trying to escape," he observed.
"Fuck you." Her voice was hoarse, trembling.
He walked toward her slowly, studying the way she tensed. Still so much fight, he thought with satisfaction. Breaking her will be... educational.
"The binding won't break," he said. "You crossed fifty percent. The chains are permanent now."
"I don't care." She spat blood at his feet. "I'll find a way. I'll kill you. I'll—"
The collar around her neck flared with dark energy. Kira convulsed, a strangled scream tearing from her throat as corruption magic flooded her nervous system. Not enough to cause lasting damage—he was careful with his property—but sufficient to remind her of reality.
He waited until the screaming faded to whimpers before speaking.
"Your clan is dead. Your freedom is gone. You belong to me." He crouched to her eye level, studying the tears streaking her face. "The sooner you accept this, the less you'll suffer."
"I'll never—"
Another pulse. She collapsed, gasping.
Behind him, Aria's fists clenched tighter. Her body remained still—the binding wouldn't allow her to interfere—but he could feel her hatred like heat against his back. She wants to save this one, he mused. Sees herself in Kira's defiance.
That would be useful later.
He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. "Aria. Take Kira to the healing chamber. Celeste, attend to her wounds."
"Yes, Master." Celeste's voice held no emotion.
Aria's jaw worked, but the binding compelled obedience. She moved toward Kira with jerky, reluctant steps, helping the younger woman to her feet. Their eyes met briefly—Aria's filled with bitter understanding, Kira's with desperate hope.
Adorable, he thought. She still thinks rescue is possible.
As they left, Valeria finally looked up from her reports. "The intelligence network confirms movement from Lumina's borders. Saint Meredith is gathering forces."
"Another crusade." He settled into his throne, the obsidian adjusting to his form. "How predictable."
"She's recruiting heavily. Current estimates suggest three hundred paladins, five hundred holy warriors, and at least twenty heroes." Valeria's gray eyes were calculating. "More than the last attempt."
"Still insufficient."
"Agreed." She turned back to the map. "However, there are reports of a new anomaly in the eastern territories. The Phoenix Clan has been unusually active."
He went still. "The Phoenix Matriarch."
"Yes, Master." Valeria traced a finger across the map. "Level 178, five thousand years old, immortal through rebirth. She commands over one hundred phoenixes and controls the Crimson Mountains." A pause. "Her fire affinity is reportedly ninety-two percent. Peak tier."
Ninety-two percent fire affinity, he thought, feeling the first stirring of genuine interest in months. His own fire affinity was eighty-eight percent—excellent, but not peak. And her Law of Fire comprehension would be substantial after five millennia.
More importantly, her unique ability: Immortal Rebirth. True resurrection, unlike the pale imitations most claimed.
"How soon can we move?" he asked.
Valeria consulted her notes. "The clan is preparing for their Sacred Renewal ceremony in three weeks. They'll be vulnerable. I can have detailed tactical plans ready within five days."
"Do it."
She nodded, already making calculations. This was why Valeria was valuable despite her lower submission—she served his goals efficiently because her empire's survival depended on his success. She'd rebuilt herself as his administrator, his strategist, because pragmatism was all she had left.
The doors opened again. General Malakai entered, his heavy boots echoing against marble. The demon general's dark red skin was marked with battle scars, his yellow eyes glowing with barely restrained violence.
"My Lord." He bowed deeply. "The northern border skirmishes have ceased. Lord Azrath has withdrawn his forces."
"Weakness or strategy?"
"Unknown. Our spies report increased activity in his capital." Malakai's expression darkened. "He may be planning something larger."
Of course he was. Azrath, the Infernal Lord, Level 185 and ambitious. He'd challenged the Collector's dominance twice before, failed both times, and clearly hadn't learned his lesson.
Let him plan, the Demon Lord thought. Let him gather allies. When I bind the Phoenix Matriarch, when I push past ninety percent fire affinity and unlock higher comprehension... his territory will make an excellent addition to my domain.
"Maintain surveillance," he ordered. "I want to know if he so much as scratches his ass."
"Yes, my Lord."
As Malakai departed, the Demon Lord felt the familiar pulse of his domain expanding outward—five hundred kilometers of territory where his will was law, where reality itself bent to his corruption. Four collection members anchored his soul across multiple vessels, making him nearly unkillable. Each one a masterpiece of breaking and binding.
Celeste, the Broken Saint. Thirty-five years, ninety-five percent submission. So perfectly empty that sometimes he missed her defiance.
Aria, the Fallen Hero. Fifteen years, seventy-two percent submission. Still fighting, still hating, still his favorite toy.
Valeria, the Chained Empress. Eight years, sixty-eight percent submission. Pragmatic, efficient, and broken in all the ways that mattered.
Kira, the Bloodbound Assassin. Three years, fifty-two percent submission. Fresh, fragile, and teetering on the edge of total collapse.
And soon, he thought, crimson eyes focusing on the distant Crimson Mountains visible through the throne room's massive windows, the Phoenix Matriarch will join them.
Level 178. Five thousand years of cultivation. Peak fire affinity. Immortal rebirth.
She would resist. They always did. The proud ones fought hardest, clung longest to the delusion that they could escape.
But they all broke eventually.
The screaming would start again soon enough.
He smiled.
***
In the healing chamber deep within Tartarus, Aria pressed a damp cloth to Kira's forehead. The younger woman had stopped trembling, but her dark red eyes were wide and glassy with shock.
"He won't kill you," Aria said quietly. Her voice was bitter, but not unkind. "That's the worst part. He needs us alive."
"I can't..." Kira's voice cracked. "I can't do this anymore. I can't serve him, can't pretend this is normal, can't—"
"You will." Aria's jaw tightened. "Your body will obey even when your mind screams. That's what the binding does. That's what crossing fifty percent means."
Celeste glided into the room carrying healing supplies, her movements serene and graceful. She smiled at Kira with empty warmth. "It becomes easier, child. Resistance only brings pain. Acceptance brings peace."
"I don't want peace." Kira's hands shook. "I want freedom."
"There is no freedom anymore," Celeste said softly, beginning to tend to the wounds with practiced efficiency. "Only service. Only him. Once you understand that—truly understand—the suffering ends."
Aria looked away, fists clenched. This is what we become, she thought, staring at Celeste's serene emptiness. This is the future he's building for all of us.
Fifteen years, and her body had learned perfect obedience while her mind remained caged in hatred. She could feel it sometimes—the slow erosion of her will, the whisper that said just submit, just accept, just let go.
She'd watched it happen to Celeste. She was watching it begin in Kira.
How long until it happens to me?
"There's no escape," Aria said finally, hating every word. "But there's survival if you're smart about it. Learn to obey when it matters, save your strength for when it might actually help, and don't waste energy fighting the binding—it only hurts worse."
"You sound like her," Kira whispered, gesturing weakly at Celeste.
"I'm not." Aria's voice hardened. "I'll never be her. But I'm also not stupid enough to keep throwing myself against chains that can't break."
Not anymore.
She'd tried. For the first six months, she'd tried everything. Escape attempts, assassination tries, even attempting suicide to deny him his prize. The binding had thwarted all of it, and the punishments...
Aria closed her eyes against the memories.
"He's going after someone new," she said instead. "I heard him talking to Valeria. The Phoenix Matriarch."
Kira's eyes widened. "Level 178? She's... she's one of the strongest beings in the region."
"Won't matter." Aria's voice was hollow. "He'll study her for months. Learn her patterns, her weaknesses, her fears. Then he'll strike when she's most vulnerable." She met Kira's gaze. "And he'll win. He always wins."
"Then we warn her—"
"How?" Aria gestured at the collar around her neck. "We can't leave his domain without permission, we can't contact anyone outside, and the binding won't allow any action that might harm him."
She'd tried that too. Years ago, when a group of heroes had infiltrated the fortress. She'd wanted to help them, to guide them, to fight alongside them.
Her body had defended him instead.
She'd killed three of them herself while her mind screamed in horror.
"This is our reality," Aria said quietly. "We serve him, we obey him, and we help him capture others to join our hell." Her voice broke. "And there's nothing we can do about it."
Celeste finished bandaging Kira's wounds, still smiling that empty smile. "Rest now, child. Tomorrow will be easier. Each day becomes easier, until one day you realize you can't remember why you ever resisted."
After she left, Kira stared at the ceiling, tears running down her temples.
"I had him marked," she whispered. "Death Mark. My clan's technique. One guaranteed kill, and I put it on him three years ago." She laughed bitterly. "The blood curse won't let me use it. I could end this nightmare, could kill him and free us all, but my own body won't obey."
Aria said nothing. What was there to say?
In the darkness of Tartarus, surrounded by corruption and chains, two broken women sat in silence while their master planned his next acquisition.
The Phoenix Matriarch had weeks before her world ended.
She just didn't know it yet.