They busted in quickly, trampling everything. First it was the door, and then the shabby windows. The “lovely” windows which this poor family slaved years to pay off. What where they doing here? The royalties soldiers. It wasn't time for an offering was it? Many men, gruff and rough looking stood there looking angry and then slit in two. The king of the land walking amidst the men like the dignified figure he was. Short black hair bounced lightly as he took his steps. Careful and upright. Green eyes looked so confident. He continued till he walked right in front of the shivering family in the corner. A mother, father and a boy. The king spoke carefully.

"I have come for you boy. Give him to me at once." He snapped his nicely manicured fingers and two guards moved to snatch him away.

"Y-You can't take my baby!!!!" The mother pleaded.

"Back off wench. He is now in MY control. " He smirked his green eyes glinting with the promises of hell to come.

"Momma! I won't go. I am not yours!" Fierce red eyes glared back at him. He wouldn’t go. Not with out a fight! He was backhanded so hard that he lay there limp. His body being supported by the guards.

“Andronikos!” The mother reached out to her son in desperation, tears falling softly. Her gentle sobs wracked her body as the father hugged her. Soothing her. They dragged him out side, with all the struggling and anger.

The king would not have it. First, he had guards beat up the parents for the time wasted. By the time he was done, the mother laid on her back legs wide open and bleeding. If a on looker was to see them you couldn’t tell them apart. Their faces were bashed in and their bodies turned in the wrong directions. They were holding on, but by a thread. Niko watched, horrified. He screamed pleas but the king heard him. Matter of fact, the king was having a sadistic blast! He snapped his fingers and the rat shack went up in flames. Andronikos watched horror stricken as he heard screams. Loud and Painful. Whisperings of love and un dieing devotion. His eyes blurred and he began to cry. The lovely streams blossoming forth in a river of sadness, and the fact he just lost everything. His mother, his father, and probably his freedom. The boy in question, Andronikos, hung his head down, his hair covering his eyes, although the droplets still hit the ground. He had lovely red eyes, that held a wise, viciousness to it. He was young, lithe and pale. Like the dead. With hair blacker than the blackest night. He was a dead looking beauty. A boy of young age, at least his body said. No one really kept up with his years because he was predicted to die because of his eyes. (His family was very superstitious) Why did the king want him? The boy was poor, lower class, with skimpy rags, a nasty dirt color, and shows of the lowest quality. Why him?

The king, though, knew this boy had ethereal beauty. The kind that was of other worldly. He was pure, and untainted and just so cute. He looked like an apparition. He had killer eyes. Ones that would show respect, admiration and fear when he was done. King Seka smirked in that thought. Oh the fun he was going to have. The…fun he stressed was going to be one sided. For years and years to come. He hopped in his carriage and was driven back to the castle. The soldiers and ‘Niko marching (dragging on ‘Niko’s part behind him)

By the time they reached the castle, Niko was sore, his knees hurt, they were bleeding and bruised. His breathing was coming a bit too quickly as he was tired. He lived on the outer skirts of the majestic town, a good 5 or 6 miles away. Walking most of it and getting dragged the rest did wonders on the small boy. The guards pulled him up and he stood, for a minute before buckling on his own weight and crumpling like a house of cards. He shook and shivered. He was scared. In all his short years he was scared. Scared of what was to come. He curled into a ball. A nicely sharp boot kicked him into his side. He yelped and curled tighter.

“Get up you bastard. “ The king ordered. Andronikos tried to obey, really he did. He uncurled and stood up once more, his knees protesting, and fell forward. He toppled over onto the king, and sliding downward, dirtying his nice, clean, expensive clothes. Seka Looked down in disgust. Ticked and angered. This sniveling dog just ruined his clothes. Oh, was he angry. He flew into a rage and attacked the boy. Kicking him and delivering hard blows to the face and skin. Bruising that supple milk skin of his. When the king was satisfied He clapped his hand and two of his servants picked him up. As the king turned around, He began to walk into the ivory castle, going past the ivory doors and into the elegant chamber. It was themed Silver, green and black. His favorite colors. The servants and Niko followed him.

As they progressed to their destination, Seka’s boots clicked nastily against the floor as he strode across it. Going down the many black stairs that seemed to go on and on. A downward spiral to hell, one would say, if you knew where it lead. As the small party reached the locked door, the slaves handed him over. Seka unlocked the locks to the big, bold, silver double doors, it creaked, its hinges needed to be oiled. He mentally noted. He shut the door locked them from the other side and dropped the boy on the cold, hard floor. They were in his favorite place. The torture room. Many other people faced the same fate. Seka shifted his eyes to the skeletons in the corner. He could name them all, Aquila, Fabien, Tai, oh, what good slaves they are..excuse him, were. He let them rust, and they wilted away the flesh fell off the bones. ( He had them cleaned of course, even if he DID like the smell of rotting, decaying flesh) He wondered the fate of this one.

The soon to be slave was on the floor, looking around the room, with his eyes so full of terror that it couldn’t be described. Seka smirked, he loved the look of terror, especially in young boys. He walked over him and held the boy up by his shirt, Niko wiggling his feet a few inches above the ground. Niko glared back at him, spitting at him. The nasty mass of disrespect sunk downward. He threw the boy against the wall in disgust. The boy landed against it with such a force that he sunk down lifeless. This was not going the way he wanted. He stripped the boy, hastily. Eyeing the naked form with interest.

“ThatIsit! You are going to be punished right now. I’m sick of it, you are going to obey one way or another! “

Seka just to show how serious he was , walked over to another wall and pulled off a black, leather, worn cat-tail. He smacked it against his palm. He put the cat-tail in his mouth and hoisted the boy upward. Seka shackled the boy to the wall, stomach touching the cold coolness. Andronikos shivered, this wall, so cold. So dead. He hung their like fresh meat. His wrists holding everything.

Seka let his hands wander over the boys form. He had a nice ass, with supple curves for a boy. Did he really want to mar this skin. Why of course he did! What a silly question to ask! He gripped the cat-tail by it’s handle and whipped it against his back. The boy screaming out in pain. The device was an odd one indeed. It was a single black rod which branched out into nine respective “tails”, which then branched out into little leather balls. They hit all over. Stinging and pulsating. Leaving his back raw and eventually broken. He sobbed and yelled. Crying that the pain was so fresh and intense. He wanted it to be over. Andronikos pleaded like his life was on the line.

“PLEASE! S-STOP!!I’m….S-S SORRY!!” He stuttered, the force of the hitting rocking his words. He pleaded but it still sounded defiant. Seka continued to whip and whip and whip. Till the welts were so deep they were becoming full with ribbons of blood. Some of them trickled and twitched. Niko lay dangling, spasming and in pain.

“How you like that you defiant bitch?! See what happens when you cross me?! I own you. Don’t for forget that!” In between each syllable he was whacked, and every time he was whacked he cried out. He prayed to the god that failed him and his…that failed him over and over. He also prayed to his deceased parents. Hope they weren’t ashamed. He hoped they were crying and morning. He wanted them to be here, but not here here, so they wouldn’t have to be whipped too.

“Who’s your master?! Say my name!” Whip.

“ No! I won’t. YOU AREN’T MY MASTER!!” Whip! He screamed.

“Oh really now?” He was thrilled, having fun and ecstatic. Nothing would stop this whirling desire to beat him. For the first day of slavery and he was already being beaten. Shame. The whipping, hurting and bruising went on for hours on end it seemed. And then.

The whipping stopped, but he had never felt so raw and open, he was liable for infection. And worst of all, he was scarred. Forever. He’d been taking magic lessons to heal but he wasn’t that good. He was unshackled and fell to the floor. Landing on his back, the wounds spreading open even more then they were so far. He screamed, screamed so loud that the city would have heard it, if he wasn’t under ground somewhere. He arched his back and continued to cry. He couldn’t move, he was paralyzed. He needed to get out of here. He wanted..Suicide. He wanted to be killed, but he was stronger then that. Even if he was being reduced to a shrinking ball of flesh. Crying at a beating. A horrible one at that.

Seka looked down at him with contempt. He hadn’t beat anyone like that for a long time. He was going to leave him like that. So he could ponder and think. Relish in the pain. Oh, he was going to masturbate now. He wanted to so bad fuck this boy senseless. But he had all the time in the world.

“Now! Think about what you did, and I’ll THINK about healing you. “ He walked out dropping the whip on the boys stomach. Andronikos watched him go with dream. The pain was shooting everywhere like heroine. It was so intense, his vision was throbbing and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He tried his best to curl into a ball, which ended up a half-ass “C” because the cuts wouldn’t allow him much movement. He went to sleep crying, he cried so much the tear ducts stopped producing tears. He wanted so much to kill this bastard, but he was in no position to be making such predictions now was he? He drifted into the worse sleep he had in years. Being plagued by the memories of his dead parents and his home.