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curiosity
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2024-11-08 12:25:01The shattered glass lay scattered across the polished floor, glistening among the deep forest-green liquid that had spilled with it. Sherry Rain froze in the spot, her heart started pounding in her chest like a thunderous drum, a sound reminiscent of the tales from her old neighborhood where such drums marked the coming of a big trouble. But this time, it wasn't to the neighborhood people. Here, she was certain she'd be tossed to the mercy of the sea through the huge window behind her by Dallion Cross for tampering with something forbidden, something she had no business opening.
Standing in the doorway, Dallion’s face was unreadable. His usual mocking smirk was gone, it was replaced instead with an icy glare that made Sherry brace herself. She knew he wasn’t a man of idle threats, especially not when it came to the Cross Empire. Before he could open his mouth, Sherry quickly dipped her head in a deep bow, speaking before her courage failed heRelated chapters
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Dallion shifted his gaze from her to the now-sealed box. “These black doctors, they’re raising an army, almost like the renegade mafias do, they are currently converting people who serve them mindlessly. Not unlike how we mafias tried creating armies by transforming innocents people into enforcers. Only this time, the doctors are finding ways to make innocent people forget about their humanity. Their bitterness fuels them, especially those who are orphans and desperate ,” he explained, with an intensity that made her uneasy. Sherry knew all this explanation was leading up to something. This wasn’t the first time he’d cornered her with a sly punishment in mind. “If you don’t mind, I can clean up the glass and make the room spotless,” she offered, desperately hoping it might save her from whatever punishment he was cooking up. Dallion raised a bored eyebrow. “You think a littl
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Sherry bit back a sigh. This was new territory. She’d spent her teenage days playing tricks in the market to survive, she had also beaten some clever people who tried to harm her in the streets, other times she would sit at her aunt's kiosk watching from the sidelines as others took the spotlight by staging war at the streets. And now, he wanted her to play Clara, a role she’d once refused in her highschool for its over-the-top melodrama. Still, she continued to flip to the next page, feeling the weight of Dallion’s gaze as she continued her act. “Do you need me to take that book from you, and ask you to play just like it's written Sherry without reading it?” Dallion taunted, feigning boredom. But Sherry caught the underlying edge, his attention sharp, almost predatory. Clearing her throat, she started pacing, allowing herself to slip into character again. “Where is Mr. Cruise?” Her voice rang out, and for a second, she felt the thrill of the street life return. Just as she began t
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Sherryl’s thoughts drifted back to Dallion’s words, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between them. Mr. Cruise, spineless and shallow, was like a thorn in her memory. She found herself almost angry at how easy it was for men like him to walk away from promises and shatter hearts without a second thought. A spark of resolve flickered in her eyes as she glanced at Dallion, who was still watching her, that rare softness still lingering. She wondered, fleetingly, what secrets lay hidden behind his mask of iron—was he, too, a man capable of breaking hearts and walking away, or was he different?Dallion’s eyes met hers, his lips quirking upward as though reading her mind. “You’re wondering if I’m like him,” he remarked, his voice low. It wasn’t a question. Sherryl blinked, feeling her cheeks flush. Was she that transparent?“Would it be wrong to wonder?” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.His laughter was quiet, a mere huff of air, but it carri
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"Not a thing," Dallion smirked, his gaze intense. "You doubt me too much, Sherryl. Maybe it's time you had a little faith in me." His smile was charming, yet chilling, a silent promise that made her wonder if he’d already planned a convenient place to bury her on the way to Cross empire's theater. Sherryl used the pause and the silence between them to apologize, tilting her head slightly, offering a gesture of sincerity. Her submission caught Dallion’s interest, his expression unreadable. "Sorry about the glass tube," she said quietly, careful with her tone. "I’ll be more cautious. I won’t touch anything here again." "Good to hear it. But know this, Sherryl," his voice softened, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Break anything that belongs to the council, and we’ll both find ourselves under Cross’s scrutiny. They’d make you wish you hadn’t acted so carelessly." He leaned back, studying her with an amused glint.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. That's the one
It had been too long since she last set foot here. Since her mother’s death, Sherryl Rain hadn’t returned. With her mother gone, there was nothing left to come back for. The few essential items that remained in the house had been sold in the street market by her aunt May and uncle Larry, she had known the items had passed through hands until they landed with someone who could sell them further. The money Sherryl had gained was carefully stashed away, safe—or so she had thought—in a nearby place where her aunt and uncle lived, though it was miles from this place. Nostalgia washed over Sherryl as she returned to this forgotten corner of her past, a place abandoned and hollow. The door was locked, a small mercy to keep what was left hidden from prying eyes. After she had left, the area magistrate had taken over the place, storing it under his department until they could demolish it for some new project. But for a neglected human street like this one, developme
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Dallion Noticing her absence, he quickly turned around, a sly smirk playing on his lips as his head cocked to one side. “Stay put if you want, little mouse, but I want you to retrieve the keys to your old home.” Keys? She frowned, puzzled. What could he possibly want with those? Before she could respond, he was already heading toward the magistrate’s door, his steps deliberate, his presence imposing against the quiet town backdrop. Inside, the magistrate lounged in an oversized leather chair that looked more worn than it was likely worth. His small, pointed mustache twitched as he counted through a stack of marked bills on his desk. The scent of stale cigars clung to the air, mixing with the faint dampness that the nearby canal brought. His corpulent figure pressed against the chair's armrests, his pudgy fingers splayed over a ledger detailing the villagers' taxes—taxes he’d skimmed, inflated, and rerouted to suit his whims and his wif
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If the magistrate had thought everything was over and Dallion was just another busy body who had come by to cause ruckus, he was wrong.It was just seconds ago he'd stepped out, but it was also the same seconds he'd used to walk back in.This time Sheryl had walked in with him.After all they were here for the keys to her house.The dim, bluish glow from the neon lights outside was barely able to seep through the windows, shadowing the narrow office. The charged lamp on the desk flickered weakly, its flame dying out as if it too refused to illuminate the grim faces within the room. Dallion glanced at the man before him. whose round belly pressed against his too-tight belt, each movement slightly straining the fabric of his trousers. His thick, fur-lined coat draped over him in an attempt to stave off the creeping cold. It wasn’t the first time Dallion encountered a power-abusing official who grew fat off the backs of struggling communities.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You've lost that privilege
Hearing the crack and pop sound made Sherryl's eyes snap from looking at the man’s finger, which he now cradled as he collapsed to the floor, his back pressed against the table, whining and grimacing in agony. Sherryl’s gaze shifted from the magistrate to Dallion, who maintained an unnervingly calm demeanor as if he hadn't just inflicted excruciating pain to someone. It seemed that Dallion took particular pleasure in tormenting people's fingers; the sound resonated in the now dim room, where the atmosphere had turned dark and cold. Her heart raced, but it wasn't fear that fueled the rhythm, this time round it was sheer disbelief. With the way Rose had contorted and twisted her arm a week ago, Sherryl had always known that Dark mafias were strong and merciless, but to crush a human's bone with just a few fingers was another matter entirely. It had seemed impossible before, but witnessing it firsthand made her body tremble slightly a
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The Cross Empire Sherryl’s curiosity got the better of her, despite the fear curling in her stomach. "What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Dallion leaned closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "The eternal vow. A bond that ties your very existence to mine. A mark that cannot be undone, binding you to me forever. Body, mind, and soul." Dallion, instead of giving her a direct answer, raised his hand, placing a finger on his lips in a motion to silence her. "It's a secret, little mouse. One that's not to be spoken of," he said with a teasing smirk that didn’t quite reach his cold, calculating eyes. Then, with the same intensity, he added, "Tell me, Sherryl. What do you think you’ll receive today?" Sherryl Rain fought the urge to roll her eyes but instead replied with cautious neutrality, “How would I know, Master Dallion?”
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Body mind and soul
Sherryl’s heart sank like a stone. The word collar clawed at her dignity, and she stiffened, her voice breaking slightly as she replied, "I am not an animal, Dallion." "Then the mark it is," he declared without hesitation. Her widening eyes didn’t faze him. "What? No!" she stepped back, her pulse quickening. But with every step she took, Dallion's gaze grew colder, cutting through her resistance like frost slicing through fragile glass. "Do not test me, Sherryl Rain," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I’ve told you before, I don’t tolerate defiance. If we were in someone else’s home tonight, you'd be in far worse trouble. Not all men are as... considerate as I am." The weight of his words pressed down on her. Her stomach churned, but her mind couldn’t resist the urge to retort. "Then don’t take me to t
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"Good evening, Mr. Dallion," greeted the man, his tone formal but laced with an undercurrent of tension. He inclined his head slightly, his well-groomed blonde hair shifting momentarily before settling back into place. "Evening, Jerry Locks," Dallion replied, his casual smile betraying nothing. Sherryl instinctively shifted closer to Dallion, her movements subtle but unmistakable, like a bird seeking shelter from a brewing storm. "Is this your so-called captive?" Jerry Locks asked, his lips curving into a thin, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You should be careful about parading her around without a proper tag. It sends the wrong message, like she’s available for... anyone’s attention." Sherryl stiffened at his words, her gut twisting with disgust. She tried to mask her emotions, but the slight curl of her lips betrayed her thoughts. It didn’t matter, though. Jerry Locks noticed. He was the man Dallion'
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As Dallion finished his drink, Alexander's remarks continued to play in his mind, “Changing a captive's mindset after what they endure is no easy task.” His voice carried the weight of experience, as someone deeply familiar with the workings of underground organizations. Though the Cross empire didn’t house its operations near the City, but in the shadows of Bone lake and it's neighbors, Alexander as one of the four strong Mafias, ensured he knew every breath and whisper that echoed through the cities. Dallion inclined his head slightly, understanding the layers of Alexander's words. The torment inflicted to captives in those places didn’t just break bodies—it shattered wills, molding captives into submissive beings who clung to their captors for survival. The fear of rebellion, fueled by the knowledge of inevitable punishment, kept them compliant. Anyone who entered those gates rarely emerged unchanged. The few who resisted either
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Sherry stood silently behind Dallion, her head tilted slightly downward, avoiding the scrutinizing gazes of the mafia elites. Her presence, while unnoticed by some, still drew lingering whispers among those who couldn’t understand why the Cross Empire’s most feared don had brought along someone so out of place. Meanwhile, Dallion entertained a small group of sycophants, his sharp tongue delivering sarcastic barbs that left no room for retorts. "Mr. Cross, you should consider visiting our new penthouse. Father had it refurbished just last month. Would you be interested in an exclusive tour?" proposed one of the women, her voice laced with obvious admiration. "Why not? Perhaps the next business meeting could be hosted there," Dallion replied smoothly, his smirk disarming yet dripping with mockery. He cast a questioning glance at the others. "What do you all think?" A murmur of agreement ripple
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"I have no idea what you’re talking about, Master Dallion,” Sherry replied, her voice steady, while her heart beat against her chest like a warning bell. She fought to keep her pulse hidden from his sharp eyes, knowing well how closely he was observing her. Dallion’s smile remained unmoved, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes that made her wary of his intentions. He took a step forward, closer than she liked, murmuring, “Shall we retrace the moment that made those cheeks of yours go crimson? You're quite the little mouse, aren’t you? Oh, excuse me, my bad. Big mouse,” he added, his tone mockingly apologetic. “I'm a kind master, after all. Who else would tailor a name specifically for their captive, hmm?” “Could you please avoid calling me that?” She gave a slight frown, finding his words unnervingly odd yet infuriating. She knew he was playing with her, trying to get under her skin. “But didn’t you protest when I called y
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Sherry shrugged, feigning indifference. “People in power are all the same, they take what they can, whenever they can.” “True,” he murmured, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “But remember, even those who think they’re untouchable always have someone above them, a bigger fish ready to devour them when they get out of line.” He took another long puff, letting the smoke curl through the cold air. “Master Dallion…” Sherry hesitated before finally asking, “Why did you... why did you decide to buy me?” The question had haunted her since the day she had asked him the very same question, the enigmatic mafia boss with a reputation for ruthlessness. She couldn’t shake the words she'd overheard about his supposed hatred for captives, especially after what had happened to a close friend of his. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching her as though weighing his response.
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. Hand on the wall
Sherryl had never done anything to provoke them, yet the resentment seemed to have deep roots, tangled and hidden in her past. Ever since she was a child, her mere presence was treated like a bad omen. After her father’s abrupt disappearance, she and her mother had been ostracized, left to fend for themselves. All she had wanted back then was to fit in, to be like the other kids, to have friends. But over time, she learned to avoid the stones hurled at her and the cruel words thrown even more viciously. That’s when she stopped trying to be accepted, resigning herself to being an outcast alongside her mother, unwanted and unseen. A faint shuffle drew her attention back inside, where Dallion was standing by the door, his gaze fixed on something in the night sky. "Clearer skies here compared to the city. Must be the lack of traffic and noise," he murmured, his voice soft yet unmistak
The Devil's Claim... His little mouse. You've lost that privilege
Hearing the crack and pop sound made Sherryl's eyes snap from looking at the man’s finger, which he now cradled as he collapsed to the floor, his back pressed against the table, whining and grimacing in agony. Sherryl’s gaze shifted from the magistrate to Dallion, who maintained an unnervingly calm demeanor as if he hadn't just inflicted excruciating pain to someone. It seemed that Dallion took particular pleasure in tormenting people's fingers; the sound resonated in the now dim room, where the atmosphere had turned dark and cold. Her heart raced, but it wasn't fear that fueled the rhythm, this time round it was sheer disbelief. With the way Rose had contorted and twisted her arm a week ago, Sherryl had always known that Dark mafias were strong and merciless, but to crush a human's bone with just a few fingers was another matter entirely. It had seemed impossible before, but witnessing it firsthand made her body tremble slightly a
