The rain was relentless — cold needles piercing his fragile skin as the boy wandered through the alleyway, barefoot, drenched, and trembling. His name was Lily, though it wasn't a name he had chosen. His delicate features — smooth, feminine, almost too perfect — often caused strangers to mistake him for a lost girl.
But tonight, the streets didn't care about gender. The streets were hungry.
He wasn't special. No hero's blood pulsed through his veins. No chosen one. Just a weak, lonely femboy whose only gift was a body designed to tempt, and a soul so easy to break.
A flash of lightning revealed the shadow that had been following him — tall, elegant, and inhumanly still. The stranger stepped out of the dark, a pair of crimson eyes glowing beneath the hood.
"Lost, little thing?"
The voice dripped with mock affection, the kind that paralyzes prey before the killing blow.
Lily froze, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a trapped bird. Before he could run, the figure closed the distance, long fingers trailing along his soaked cheek.
"You smell like despair. Such a lovely scent," the stranger purred, lifting his chin with an unholy tenderness.
From that moment, his fate unraveled — pulled into a world where monsters didn't just hunt for flesh, but for obedience, lust, and the sweet satisfaction of corruption.
---
Days Later...
Lily woke up in a dimly lit room, bound to a velvet chair with silken ropes. His clothes were gone, replaced by thin lace that clung to his frail body like a second skin.
Before him stood a woman — or rather, something wearing the shape of one. Her golden hair flowed like liquid light, her eyes endless pools of divine malice.
Lysandra, The Golden Veil.
A half-goddess who collected broken things like him.
"You'll thank me later," she whispered, tilting his chin up like a puppeteer admiring her doll.
"A weak creature like you won't survive out there alone. But in here..." her hand slid along his thigh, "...you'll be safe. Owned, but safe."
That was the beginning of his descent. One by one, twisted souls gathered around him: demons, hunters, otherworldly creatures — not to save him, but to mold him, devour him, and keep him for themselves.
Each one wanted a piece of the helpless femboy.
And so, the game began.