Chapter 29: I Am a Whore
How much time had passed?
Through her hazy consciousness, Luciel felt herself sitting upon Eresael's lap.
His arms were still wrapped around her waist, his calm breath tickling the nape of her neck.
'What... What in the world... did I... just do...!'
Only the remnants of their violent coupling remained, starkly visible in the torn clothing strewn across the bed and the damp sheets stained with their mingled fluids.
As if waking from a horrific nightmare, fragments of the previous night flashed through Luciel's mind, sending goosebumps breaking out across her entire body.
The way she had clung to Eresael, calling herself his "female," weeping and begging for his everything.
As the memories of her humiliating, depraved behavior resurfaced, an unbearable wave of disgust and self-loathing washed over her.
'No...! No! I... I cannot break like this! I won't let myself become his mere plaything! Pull yourself together, Luciel! You were the Emperor!'
Screaming desperately within her mind, she gathered every ounce of her remaining strength to cling to her fading consciousness.
Without moving an inch inside his embrace, she stared blankly into the empty air and barely managed to part her lips.
"Are you... satisfied now, you monstrous bastard?"
Luciel's voice was cracked and thoroughly hoarse from the aftereffects of their intense coupling, yet a faint, unextinguished ember of defiance still lingered within it.
"Satisfied? My lovely Ciel. How could a single feast ever satisfy my hunger? Our pleasure has only just begun."
He chuckled leisurely.
"But if you so desire... I shall open the door for you to leave. Since it is your earnest wish, after all."
Eresael's tone feigned generosity, but his eyes held unmistakable mockery and arrogance.
He looked down at her with the easy confidence of an absolute victor.
At that moment, a faint glimmer of hope sparked in Luciel's chest.
'Finally... I can leave. This hellish room...!'
Yet, her body did not move in the slightest.
She lay limp upon his lap, like a doll with its strings severed.
'My body... won't listen to me. It's because of this cursed crest...!'
She gritted her teeth. She could not give up.
It was as if she were completely bound by his invisible will—or perhaps, her very soul had already been poisoned by the dangerous, sweet allure he exuded.
"What is the matter, my beautiful Ciel? The door is already open. Why do you hesitate instead of leaving? The freedom you so desperately craved is right there, just beyond the threshold.
Or... do you perhaps wish to serve me a little longer? Do you already miss my cock? Well, your depraved body must already remember mine and crave it."
Like a cat playing with a mouse, Eresael looked down at Luciel with cruel amusement.
His eyes held an uncooled desire, alongside a pure malice that took pleasure in her despair.
Luciel bit her lip so hard the metallic taste of blood spread in her mouth.
The door was surely open. Yet she could not move.
Had her body already succumbed to his horrific yet ecstatic dominance, his sweet yet brutal pleasure?
'No...! I... I must walk out that door! I have to end this humiliation, this disgrace! I am the Emperor! I cannot break in a place like this!'
Though she screamed desperately in her heart, her feet remained frozen, as if glued to the floor.
Eresael watched Luciel's struggle with a satisfied smile.
Gently stroking her hair, he whispered in a sweet voice, as if offering an incredibly generous proposal.
"My Ciel, there is no need to suffer so. I shall buy you out of the Feast myself.
You will no longer have to sell your body to nameless men, spending your days without any hope.
You only need to lie in my arms once in a while, pleasing me just as you did now.
Comfort, luxury, and... freedom. I shall give you all of it.
How about it? Escaping this filthy life of a whore to become mine and mine alone.
Think about it. Isn't dealing with me alone far better than being tormented by the hands of different men every single night?"
His offer was sweet, but beneath it lay a dark intent to possess Luciel forever.
What he desired was not merely her flesh. He wanted her soul, her will, her very breath.
Luciel fell silent for a moment. His words were as sweet as a devil's whisper.
The thought of being liberated from the endless humiliation and the revolving door of clients brought a momentary sense of comfort.
But... that would merely be moving to a different cage.
Into a more elaborate, far more brutal prison ruled by the devil named Eresael.
'In the end... he just wants to turn me into his toy.'
An eternal bondage disguised as comfort.
'I... cannot live like this.'
Trapped there, she would live forever as his plaything. Her chance for revenge might vanish entirely.
The moment she found comfort in Eresael's embrace, she would cease to be the Emperor Luciel and degrade into nothing more than his pet.
"...No."
After a long silence, a firm rejection slipped from Luciel's dry lips.
Though she was currently draped helplessly over his lap, the light in her eyes had not yet died.
Eresael's brow arched slightly.
He looked at Luciel as if he had received an unexpected answer, or perhaps as if he had discovered an intriguing new toy.
The smile playing on his lips deepened.
"Oh? A rejection. It seems my proposal does not please you, my Ciel. May I ask why? Do you desire better terms? Or have you still not discarded your pathetic imperial pride? You, a mere whore of the Feast."
His voice carried a sneer, mixed with a genuine curiosity as if he truly could not comprehend her choice.
"I... am a whore."
Luciel spoke with difficulty, yet clearly. Instead of shame, a strange sense of pride resonated in her voice.
'Yes, I am a whore. But that is my choice. I don't need your pity.'
"I am Ciel, a whore of the Feast. You merely purchased a whore for a single night—nothing more, nothing less. I have absolutely no intention of becoming your possession."
It was the final remnant of her pride. Even if she had fallen to the absolute lowest depths as a whore, she was still Luciel von Artina, the Emperor who had once ruled the empire.
And an emperor could never belong to anyone. Even if that person was the very devil who had ruined her.
This title of "whore" was a thorny path of vengeance she had chosen for herself.
"I will pay off all my debts with my own strength here, and I will walk out on my own two feet. And... one day, without fail, I will repay you for this humiliation. I have no need for your disgusting pity."
Luciel's eyes shone cold and resolute once more.
Within them, an unquenchable flame of vengeance burned fiercely.
Eresael stared at her in silence, momentarily speechless at her audacious declaration.
For the first time, the smile vanished from his face.
Then, he burst into a fit of laughter, as if he could no longer hold it in.
The laughter was loud and jovial enough to shake the room, filled with a chilling, mad delight.
"Bwahahaha! That is my Ciel indeed! Yes, that arrogant, unyielding spirit! That is the real you I loved! Very well, I shall accept your admirable challenge. Let us see if you can escape this hell on your own. Or will you ultimately kneel at my feet again, begging through your tears?"
He laughed merrily, as if on the verge of clapping his hands.
"This will be an incredibly exciting game. I look forward to it, my beautiful, brave whore. It will be a pleasure just to watch how long your futile hope can endure...!"
Eresael stood up and pulled her up roughly.
His touch was crude, yet carried a trace of lingering reluctance.
Luciel stood up slowly, very slowly, without a single tremor. Summoning every last drop of her strength, she spoke quietly, yet with absolute resolve.
"Never show your face before me again, Eresael. Looking at your disgusting, hideous face makes me want to vomit."
She walked toward the door. She staggered, but she did not fall.
She did not look back at his face, leaving behind no trace of regret or emotion.
'The moment I step through this door, I will start anew. I will use this humiliation as fuel, without fail.'
Only her cold, steady footsteps seemed to speak for the tiny shred of pride she had left.
Just as Luciel was about to cross the threshold.
Eresael's languid, seductive, yet piercing voice drifted quietly but chillingly from behind her.
His voice was softer and more gentlemanly than before, but the words he spoke pierced Luciel's heart.
"Then... next time, I shall visit you as a client, my beautiful Ciel. At the Feast. Formally, with proper etiquette. After all, you are just a whore."
Luciel's steps faltered, ever so slightly.
She felt the blood in her veins run cold once more. His polite, gentlemanly tone felt like an even greater threat.
"Do not worry, I shall pay you handsomely. I will not be 'purchasing' you again; I am merely politely borrowing a bit of your precious time.
To enjoy our ecstatic night... with a bit more dignity. I shall look forward to it, my noble Emperor.
Or rather, my lovely whore, Ciel. In the end, you will never escape my grasp."
Though Eresael's voice still held a playful note, a cold, irresistible threat and a sticky, possessive desire coiled within it like a serpent.
His final words crushed Luciel's pride once again.
Luciel did not look back. She did not answer.
Instead, she carved his final words—that chilling, cruel promise—deep into the recesses of her mind.
'I will have my revenge, no matter what.'
His hypocritical gentlemanly act was the very thing she needed to guard against most.
If he truly came seeking her again, then—and only then—she would bring an absolute end to all of this.
To this tedious, horrific ill fate, and to his filthy, wretched life.
Luciel's hollow eyes flared once more with the cold, resolute fire of vengeance.
The battle was not yet over. Not yet.
