The Underbelly of the Abyss

John couldn’t move. His body refused to respond to any commands as his mind took in details that surrounded him. His hometown, Springfield, was home to a slavery ring. People being trafficked and sold, treated like nothing but desirable collectables, rights be damned for anything other than the rights of those buying them. The evils of slavery were alive and well, and John just found himself in the heart of this cruelty.

John knew what cruelties could be brought about by slavery. When he was in middle school, one of his teachers had decided to traumatize the class by showing photos and retellings of what American slavery was like. How **** owners would treat their fellow man as nothing but beasts of burden or animal labor. How **** women were kept as brood mothers, how children would be torn from their mothers’ arms for a few coins, how men would be beaten to the brink of **** just to send a message to other slaves what happens if they were to ever dare to speak out. He had been told that what was given to slaves was barely enough to survive on, and food that was given to slaves was food not fit enough for the white folk of the south. That some slaves would go to eat rotten carcasses of animals due to sheer starvation.

And John was now standing in a den that continued that horrid legacy.

Finally John’s legs decided to move, and John began to tour this citadel of sin. Had it not been a place whose business was cruelty and misery, John would actually find it to be rather charming in terms of layout. It seemed like the atmosphere of an old speakeasy from the 1920s, and John could only imagine where the fight cage now sat could have once been a dance floor for couples celebrating an escape from prohibition. The soft lighting made the whole place look cozy, and the soft red velvet couches looked like seats you could sink into and forget all your worries. But every glance in a direction would remind John of the evil that seeped into the foundation of this building. Slaves of every type seemed to fill the room, though notably none of them were human. John saw plenty of demi-humans, but the only humans he saw were free of collars and clearly in positions of domination and command. Slaves would always remain standing or kneeled, never sitting, and would keep their head bowed unless addressed or being inspected.

A waitress passed John by, making a bee line for a table. And in her case, the “bee” part of that statement was quite true as she looked like a cross between a human and a honeybee. Her body was human shaped, with her arms and legs thankfully taking more after the human part than the bee part. But her skin was entirely yellow, and a tuft of what looked like either black fur or hair surrounded her neck. Though it was matted down due to the collar around her neck. She had short blond hair, and from the brief look John got, bright blue eyes. After that though, her more insectile features took over. She had two antennae sprouting from the top of her head, and a massive abdomen with a stinger meeting right at the base of her spine but above her ass. Her legs and arms had a black and yellow striped pattern, though that could have been stockings or leggings rather than actual coloration. Finally, two iridescent pairs of wings sprouted from her back, shimming softly in the light. Oh, and despite John trying not to actively notice it, it was quite obvious this bee girl was DUMMY THICC. Breasts that could smother a man mixed with an ass that could make her a star in gangster rap videos, this bee girl was hard to keep John’s eyes off of.

But this raw sexuality did not distract from the immediate red flags that John noticed. Across her back were dozens of scars, long jagged lines brought about from what John assumed were whippings. While her top pair of wings were intact, her bottom wings were heavily damaged. Additionally, her stinger was not sharp, but looked like it had the tip violently broken away. This all combined with the manacles on her wrists and ankles, as well as the collar around her neck. While she smiled as she passed John, the smile did not reach her eyes. They instead seemed to stare out into nothingness, as if there was no soul truly behind them any longer. She quickly averted her gaze and walked straight ahead, delivering a serving tray of drinks to a party of men. One of them was quick to slap her on the ass while another gave her tits a grope, and she gave them an empty smile and thanked them.

She THANKED them! Thanked those disgusting examples of humanity for sexually harassing her. A woman clearly beaten and abused and-

John felt his knuckles pop as his fist tightened. He needed to stop. He was in no position to throw hands here and now, and doing so would get him in far more trouble. But he did take a moment to memorize those men's faces, as he would not hesitate to deliver justice if he saw them out and about.

John backed away from the group of men, and when he turned around to see where he was going, he found himself staring down into the fighting pit in the center of the room. Around the pit were about a dozen or so men cheering or jeering the fighters. Speaking of, the two fighters were a cyclops and a lamia, and they seemed to be locked in a **** match based on how hard each one was trying to hurt the other. The cyclops was male, standing at about 9 or so feet tall. His singular yellow eye was bloodshot, with cuts covering his slightly pudgy face. His torso was bare save a necklace with a variety of skulls on it, and of course the collar around his neck. His muscular arms were busy trying to hit his serpentine opponent, and his weapon of choice was a large club that looked more like the trunk of a tree than a proper weapon. His only true clothing was a brown loin cloth that, thankfully, covered any unmentionable bits from view.

His opponent, the lamia, was more normal sized than him, at least in terms of height. If John had to guess, she stood at about his height, excluding the massive snake tail behind her, which easily doubled her potential height. Or rather, length. Her human top half was quite attractive, with short cut blond hair that reached just to her neck. Her skin was rather pale though the amount of scaring and cuts made it clear she was not a stranger to physical ****. She was clad in what could be best described as rags, with a binding over her larger breasts that barely preserved her modesty and a loincloth that was barely big enough to be a table napkin, let alone a proper covering. It did allow John to see that her body shifted into a serpentine tail a bit later than he would have expected. Rather than shifting into a snake at her hips, it instead shifted a bit lower giving her a bit of human thigh before becoming a snake tail.

Speaking of, her snake tail was a bright green with dull scales that were currently matted with blood and sand, as well as a white underbelly. Her wrists also had green scales that reached a bit down her arms and up onto her hands. Her bright green eyes had slitted pupils, and when she snarled at the cyclops, John could see pointed fangs that intermixed with her human teeth. She wielded a rather large and ornate looking scimitar, though her focus seemed to be more on dodging the cyclops’ attacks rather than dealing all that much damage.

‘A fighter after my own heart,’ John thought. Though there was still no question of her enslavement, as manacles on her wrists and neck as well as the scars of whippings made it clear she had suffered in the place as much as the bee girl from before. John watched as the fight progressed, with the cyclops making huge sweeping blows to try and fling the lamia into the walls only to have her slither out of the way at the last moment. Every mistake that the cyclops made would usually be met with a slash from the lamia’s blade, getting a roar of anger from the cyclops before he would start the process all over again.

“You cannot seriously tell me you expect your cyclops to win this,” a man said not too far from John. He was talking with another one of the **** owners and was looking rather cocky. “He can’t even hit her! Not exactly going to win a fight when he can’t throw a fucking punch.”

“Patience, Elliot," the older owner said with a dismissive wave. “Your lamia may be quick, but she won’t last a single hit from Barbarynos. One landed strike and she’ll be out of the game.”

“Well, first that one-eyed freak is going to have to hit her,” Elliot replied. John threw out a couple of Observes to get an idea of these two men while they talked. First the younger man, then the older one.

-

Elliot Adkins

Class: Rogue, **** Owner

Level: 11

RP: 0

-

Samuel Greensburn

Class: Mage, **** Owner

Level: 16

RP: 0

-

“HAH! Did you see that hit, old man?!” Elliot shouted, grabbing the older owner’s shoulder and pushing him closer to the cage. “Nearly sliced his hand off with that one! You should head down and go get those kobolds ready for me! Save us both the trouble,” Elliot shouted, his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes for a moment before he pushed it back. “Plus, it will save your **** any more pain and disappointment.”

“Young man, need I remind you of the rules?” Samuel said with a threatening glare. “We don’t back out till the fight is finished. Besides, we both agreed for a nonlethal fight. Barbarynos has nothing to-”

At that moment, Barbarynos had thrown out another punch, aiming straight for the lamia. This time, rather than dodging to the left or right, the lamia darted forward, slashing her blades towards the face of the cyclops. But both Barbarynos and the lamia had misjudged a few things, causing a catastrophic result of one attack. The lamia had not expected to move as fast or as far as she had, so a flourish of her blades was instead going to make a slash across Barbarynos’ face rather than just getting her ready for a jab. Barbarynos, on the other hand, reacted to the snake crawling up his arm by pulling back, but he pulled his head up in an attempt to avoid her strike. So rather than her attack hitting his eyes or nose, it instead landed right onto his throat.

A deluge of blood spurted from his near-decapitation, soaking the lamia as both she and the cyclops stayed deathly still for a moment. Slowly the cyclops fell forward, with the lamia moving out of the way only at the last moment. Barbarynos was dead, and the lamia looked so very confused and scared.

“It… appears that Elliot Adkins’ **** has won!” a voice rang out from some hidden speakers. The crowd went ballistic at this, chanting and yelling and pounding against the cage. Though John could not be sure if it was in anger or support. Samuel, meanwhile, looked like he was absolutely BOILING with rage, while Elliot was clearly surprised and apologetic.

“Sam, I’m so SO sor-”

“Cut the shit, Adkins,” Samuel said in a low whisper, and John had to lean a bit closer to hear what they were saying. “That cyclops cost over double what we had on the line for this little fight. You should have had that **** trained properly to make sure she didn’t do anything like this.”

“Sam, I swear she’s been-”

“Shut UP, Adkins. You owe me big. So what are you going to do, or am I going to have to go to the boss?”

Elliot’s eyes went wide. “No! No need to bring him in! Look, me and Jakob are in a bit of a financial issue right now, but I swear we can get your money! Just… keep the slaves, and-”

“And the lamia?”

“She’s our last ****,” Elliot admitted. “We have the cash to pay for some of what we owe. Just give us a couple weeks and we can come up with either the extra money or a **** to settle our debts. I swear!”

Samuel looked over Elliot, and John wondered if the older man was about to punch Elliot’s lights out. But then he relaxed, turning away from the other **** owner. “Fine. But I swear, one more stunt like this and I’ll have both you and that violent animal you call a partner thrown out of here and into the nearest Order establishment. See how well you do behind bars, Adkins.”

At this point, John had decided to stop paying attention to the conversation, instead taking a look at the two slaves in the pit. Or rather, **** and corpse. The lamia was still standing there pretty shocked, with a man coming out and grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her away angrily. He seemed to be shouting something, but John couldn’t make out what he said over the hubbub of the rest of the room. The cyclops, meanwhile, was being dragged out by a few larger slaves. No other cyclopes, but there was a minotaur and a couple larger humanoids with horns and colorful skin. A few humans also came out to look at the body, and they were also shouting various things but, again, John had no idea what they were talking about.

‘Seems there’s a basement,’ John thought, and after looking around his current food for a moment or two, he noticed a couple of stairs going downstairs. ‘Maybe there’s an emergency exit or garage door-thing they are going to take the cyclops through. Might be a good way of sneaking some slaves out of here if I wanna save some people.’ So John pushed his way past a few of the various people standing around the ring, walked over towards the stairs, and made his way even deeper into this hellhole.

Downstairs was a far cry from the warm atmosphere of the previous floor. What was once rich red velvet and dark wood illuminated by soft light shifted to cold stone floors and metal walls lit by cold uncaring hanging lights. It reminded John of a warehouse, a comparison that was further strengthened by huge crates creating halls and passages that twisted and winded with no rhyme or reason.

No, those weren't crates. They were cages.

John could make out the black iron bars, with shadowy figures hiding just out of view inside the miniature prison cells. As John walked closer, his nose was filled with the smells of hay, blood, and shit. This wasn’t even a prison, not really. It was more akin to a mixture of circus and smuggling operation, with all the slaves being treated like abusable animals rather than people.

A twinge of doubt passed through John’s mind as he walked past a few cages. Perhaps they were more animalistic than he thought. He had yet to meet an actual non-human yet, so maybe they were more savage and monstrous than John knew. After all, myths of cyclopes and other monstrosities eating humans weren’t unheard of. Maybe they truly were cannibalistic creatures to be feared and avoided.

No. John refused to believe that. He saw those slaves up top and in the fighting ring. They weren’t monsters. They were people. Different looking people, but people nonetheless. Even if they were more violent than John thought, he could not imagine anything would deserve this level of **** and degradation. John peered into one of the cages, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the bad lighting. He could see what looked to be a half man and half goat huddled in the corner with blood matting his furry bottom half. A half empty bowl sat next to the satyr, with rotten turnips sitting in dirty water. When the satyr looked up towards John, he could see one of the goatman’s eyes was scarred over and potentially not even there. John recoiled a bit in horror only to bump into something tall and hairy.

“Oh! Pardon me, sir! My apologies! I should not have been in your way.” John turned around and stood face to chest with a rather tall minotaur. Surprisingly enough, the minotaur was in a suit and looked more like one of the **** owners upstairs than the slaves surrounding the two of them. However, the metal collar around his neck and manacles on his wrists betrayed his status as a ****. Outside of that, the minotaur had brown fur that shifted from light brown on his skin to dark brown where people’s hair would usually be. Two white cow horns emerged from the top of his head, which also resembled a cow quite a lot with a snout and large bovine ears. He was dressed in a white and black suit with a maroon tie, and while his hands had fewer fingers than humans at only 2, he still did have a thumb and was currently holding a clipboard and pen.

“Um, who are you?” John asked.

The minotaur bowed deeply, which despite his height put him well below John’s chin. “I am Jerimiah, dear master. Forgive this lowly cow, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you looking to purchase a **** from Master Beauregard?”

“I… uh… I’m new,” John said, scratching the back of his neck. “I was just exploring and saw that cyclops get killed and-”

“Ah, of course! You must have been wanting to place some bids on the parts!” Jerimiah backed up, never lifting his head higher so that he was always below John’s head at the highest. “Please, allow this lesser to lead you there. Pull you away from those who have not earned your gaze.”

“Is that guy okay?” John asked, pointing to the satyr.

Jerimiah glanced over there with a look of disgust. “He is currently learning a lesson. He dared to speak ill of one of the masters up top, and must be reminded of his place. I am sure after a day or two he will remember our place, and be put back to work.” The minotaur then spun around, and began to walk through the makeshift halls. “Please, young master. Follow me to where you were trying to go.”

John slowly followed, his eyes darting to each of the cages surrounding them. Goblins, bee girls, kobolds, lamias, bunny girls, even what looked to be a dryad. All sorts of non-human slaves surrounded them, all in various states of anguish and hopelessness. All of them looked to be tortured, all of them looked to be in **** pain at the very best.

And all of them fueled the fire of abolition in John’s chest more and more. He had to figure something out to get these people out. He wouldn’t stand for anything else.

“You stupid fucking slit-eyes!” someone yelled off to John’s left. John stopped, walked back a few steps, and peered down a hall made of crates. He could see the lamia from earlier with her hands clasped in front of her, her head low in a short bow, and tears streaming down her still blood covered face. In front of her was a very angry taller man. This wasn’t the guy from earlier, Elliot. But this guy looked far angrier and had what looked like a spiked belt in his hand. “Do you know what your mistake cost us?!”

“Sir, it was a mistake! I didn’t mean to hurt Ba-” The man cracked the belt across her face, sending her tumbling to the ground as blood poured out from her ripped up cheeks.

“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH, EGG SUCKER!” The man took a few steps closer to the lamia, wrapping the belt around his fist. “That cyclops was worth double what we were trying to win! I swear if you weren’t our only ****, I would kill you here and now. But since we need you alive,” the man raised his hand, the belt ready to strike again, “I’m just gonna make sure you learned your lesson.”

However, the man’s arm didn’t finish the movement. He couldn’t as John had this abuser’s arm locked in a **** grip. The man slowly turned, his blue eyes meeting John’s brown ones. “What do you-”

“The lady made a mistake. She learned her lesson. Drop the belt,” John said with a threatening low tone to his voice.

The man pulled his arm away, stepping away from John. His face was a mask of confusion as he looked at the lamia and back to John. “She’s my ****, dickwaffle. If I wanna beat her, I will do so. You can’t tell me nothing about how I treat my greasy scaleback.”

“Wrong. I can tell you that you are wrong. And that you WILL not hit her again, or I swear I will-”

-20 HP!

“Or you’ll what?” the man said, pulling his arm back. He had smacked John across the face with the spiked belt whip thing, and despite John’s Gamer’s Body properly tanking the hit to cause him to not get scarred, he could taste blood. “Back off, jackoff. Or next hit I’ll actually-”

Counterpuncher Activated!

John didn’t give him a moment to finish his thought. Instead, John dashed forward, his fist meeting the man’s cheek with as much **** as John could put behind his hit.

10 Dmg!

But John didn’t wait for him to recover, nor did John stop to pontificate and monologue like this guy did. Instead he pulled his fist back and struck with his left. And then his right. And his left. And his right. Over and over and over, John pummeled the man, pushing him against a random cage as he threw punch after punch after punch into this slightly intoxicated man

6 Dmg!

8 Dmg!

6 Dmg!

7 Dmg!

5 Dmg!

9 Dmg!

8 Dmg!

10 Dmg!

10 Dmg!

6 Dmg!

That last hit managed to hit the man right on the side of his head, and also was delivered with enough **** that this drunk abuser fell to the side, coughing blood and groaning in pain. John stepped back, his fists stinging ever so slightly. “You were saying?”

“He was probably saying that it is against the rules to start any fights between masters in the club,” another new, deeply old southern voice chimed in. John spun around, and his blood ran cold. Standing behind John was Elliot from earlier, looking quite surprised and slightly angry. But he wasn’t the one who spoke. No, the one who spoke was flanked by two minotaurs, one of them being the minotaur from earlier as well as one that looked much more like a brawler than his more bookish cousin. The man who spoke up also had a harpy dressed in barely nothing on his arm looking up at him with absolute devotion.

The man who spoke up was older, dressed in a fine suit, and carried the air of someone in charge.