Mina blinked rapidly, digging her fingernails desperately into the material beneath her hands as she braced for another skull-crushing toll of the cathedral bell.
Yet the blast never came.
Instead of metallic resonance, the room was filled only with the steady, hypnotic ticking of a pendulum clock.
For several seconds, she kept her left hand raised before her face, as if still trying to shield her eyes from the blinding crimson light that had erupted from her television screen.
Beneath the fingers of her right hand, however, she felt something entirely foreign - a cool, hard, intricately carved armrest of solid wood.
This was definitely not the plush, upholstered couch in her living room.
Holding her breath, Mina slowly lowered her hand.
The room she found herself in bore zero resemblance to her modest rented apartment.
Heavy, dark oak crossbeams spanned a towering ceiling. Against a side wall stood a grandfather clock with an ornate pendulum, while through massive, nearly floor-to-ceiling French doors, she could see a lush conservatory bathed in afternoon sunlight, teeming with exotic flora.
A rich blend of scents hung in the air: expensive beeswax, furniture lacquer, and the dying embers of firewood smoldering in a marble hearth.
It looked like a private study merged with an art gallery, belonging to someone obscenely wealthy.
Her primal instinct was to locate an exit.
Snapping her head to the left, she froze instantly.
Hanging between two arched windows was a colossal full-length mirror set in a gilded frame carved with intertwined branches. The glass stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling beams, and in its crystal surface reflected not only the lavish study, but four men standing motionless.
Only then did the reflection drive home just how tight a corner she was boxed into.
Two guards flanked the heavy entrance doors, while the other two loomed directly behind the high back of her armchair. Broad-shouldered and imposing, all four wore matching doublets of thick, dark wool with heavy cleavers hanging from leather belts.
None of them looked remotely surprised by her presence, and the guard closest to her right shoulder bored his gaze into the nape of her neck with such cold vigilance that Mina instantly abandoned any thought of sudden movements.
A heartbeat later, her eyes snapped to the figure seated in the armchair.
Staring back from the mirror’s surface was a young woman with porcelain skin and shimmering, pale blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in soft waves.
Instead of an oversized, threadbare tank top, she was draped in an immaculate, stately habit: thick, midnight-blue wool tailored to ceremonial perfection, a stiff white collar, delicate gold embroidery lining the cuffs, and an intricately hammered gold brooch depicting a radiant sun resting squarely over her sternum.
The vestments were cut with extraordinary precision, cinching her waist and clinging to her body with an elegance far too noble and costly for an ordinary nun.
Instinctively, Mina lifted a hand to touch her cheek.
The woman in the glass mirrored the motion in lockstep.
Her trembling fingers traced a lock of blonde hair, the silky texture of the unfamiliar strands soft beneath her pads, before she glanced down at her hand. Her skin was tender and fair, devoid of the annoying paper cut she had picked up at the office that afternoon. Everything she touched yielded with tangible, undeniable physical reality.
A sudden, electrifying jolt of memory struck her - the cover art she had held in her hands mere minutes ago.
The facial features were an uncanny match... Though the pious figure on the box had sported a vastly larger bust, practically spilling out from the habit's slit.
The stray thought darted through her mind like an absurd reflex, but right on its heels crashed the icy, ruthless truth:
I'm looking at the heroine from the game?!
“Miss Mina. I am still waiting for an answer.”
A calm, chilling voice sliced through the silence of the study.
Mina flinched, only now directing her gaze across the massive wooden desk.
A man sat behind it, his cadence making it abundantly clear that this conversation had been well underway before her consciousness was ever shoved into this vessel.
Edmund Ashcroft… the name surfaced in her thoughts almost instinctively, dredged up from the hazy recesses of foreign memories that refused to cohere no matter how hard she probed.
The Viscount was a slender gentleman of delicate aristocratic features, impeccably parted light brown hair, and manicured hands. His dark green tailcoat didn't scream with ostentatious gold embroidery, but the rich weave and sheer quality of the silk spoke of a fortune that made her former firm’s annual turnover look like pocket change.
He lazily twirled a silver fountain pen tipped with white gold between his fingers. A polite, rehearsed smile grazed his lips, though his gray eyes were void of even a flicker of warmth.
“I had hoped a Daughter of Light would take her obligations a touch more seriously,” the nobleman continued smoothly, resting his forearms against the desk.
Daughter of Light?
The Church of the Holy Sun?!
The puzzle pieces clicked together with horrifying precision. Mina glanced down at the golden sun crest pinned over her chest, then stole another glance toward the mirror out of the corner of her eye.
The nightmare of the game was solidifying into tangible reality.
I need to buy at least a few seconds to gather my thoughts!
I have no damn clue what's going on here...
“What... obligations?” Mina forced out, her voice ringing slightly higher and far more melodious than she remembered from her past life.
Ashcroft let out a sigh of faint disappointment, setting the pen down on a crystal stand. Reaching for a sheet of thick parchment resting at the edge of the desk, he slid it across the polished surface toward her.
Mina cast her eyes down upon the document.
With an accountant's trained reflex, her eyes locked onto the figure calligraphed in the upper right corner, and the blood drained instantly from her face.
Fifty thousand gold coins.
Beneath it lay her current name, a date, dense legal clauses detailing material and personal collateral, and rows of official seals stamped in crimson wax.
Mina stared at the paper as if gazing upon an execution warrant. She had no earthly idea whether the body's previous owner had actually signed this deed or if it had been forged - no convenient package of memories or explanations had been provided regarding this rather critical detail.
Her utter ignorance was a genuine, lethal trap.
Ashcroft interpreted her rigid silence as a simple stall tactic.
“We have already reviewed the sum of the debt, Miss Mina,” he said, a sharper chill creeping into his tone as his brow knit slightly. “I should prefer to move on to a concrete resolution.”
The Viscount raised a hand and snapped his slender fingers.
A smaller side door leading deeper into the manor swung open soundlessly.
Three mature women filed into the study, and the temperature in the room seemed to plummet by several degrees.
All three possessed long silver hair, corpse-pale skin, and scarlet irises glowing with an unnatural luminescence. They were clad in form-fitting, deep crimson corsets and floor-length skirts of heavy velvet.
The first carried an oblong case of polished wood in both hands. The second measured Mina with a piercing, assessing gaze from the threshold, as if appraising merchandise at an auction block. The third closed the door behind them and leaned back against the wall, folding her hands over her stomach.
When the lead woman inclined her head to the Viscount with a quiet murmur of acknowledgement, Mina caught the glint of slender, razor fangs nestled behind her plush lips.
Vampires?
“Securing the services of three ritual experts cost me a considerable amount of effort and influence,” Ashcroft announced with evident satisfaction, gesturing toward the women. “Through them, we can secure our agreement with the Scarlet Brand.”
At the mention of that name, Mina’s stomach twisted into a sickening knot.
The Scarlet Brand.
The exact thing players on the forum had raged about - a glorified promissory note of slavery that stripped away bodily autonomy, warped the senses, and enforced absolute obedience.
And the Viscount sitting before her... was hardly the true master of the seal. The players had made that crystal clear: pulling the strings behind puppets like him was the Third Prince himself.
Noticing the girl’s wide, dilated pupils, Ashcroft mistook her terror for submission. He spread his hands in a falsely magnanimous gesture:
“If you accept the brand as a guarantee of good faith, I shall require interest payments only once per week. Should you manage to settle the full sum of fifty thousand gold coins within the appointed timeframe, the mark shall be automatically nullified and excised. What say you? Sounds fair, does it not?”
Cutting straight through Mina’s panic, years of professional accountant reflexes reared their head.
“And the principal?” she asked, her voice snapping sharper than intended. “These weekly interest payments... do they reduce the underlying balance in any way?”
Ashcroft’s smile stiffened for a split second before returning with redoubled, cloying gentleness:
“Repayment of the principal can, of course, be negotiated at a separate date, once you have demonstrated adequate liquidity.”
A textbook usury trap!
Interest would bleed her dry, while the principal wouldn't decrease by a single copper. It was literally a dead-end snare.
Mina gripped the armrests so hard her knuckles turned white. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin:
“I cannot agree to-- ”
She never finished the sentence. The Viscount merely raised a hand by a single inch.
In that exact fraction of a second, the four guards moved.
Two loomed on either side of her armchair, blotting out the light from the windows, while the other two took up unyielding positions before the exit, hands resting upon the hilts of their weapons.
The man to her right planted a heavy, iron-plated gauntlet directly onto the chair’s backrest, inches from her ear.
The message was unmistakable: refusal was not an available dialogue option.
“Miss Mina,” Ashcroft said, any lingering pretense of courtesy dissolving into a dry, flat cadence. “If we fail to reach an understanding in this study, you shall be detained on the spot on charges of embezzling temple assets, and the matter of your debt will be settled in our specialized dungeons tailored for a woman as lovely as yourself. I assure you, their debt recovery methods are... considerably less comfortable.”
Mina stared at the surface of the desk, feeling cold sweat run down her spine.
Choice was an absolute illusion.
Her options were to become a plaything in a dungeon or surrender her freedom inch by inch under a cursed brand.
In an instant, the memory of her little apartment flooded her mind. Barely minutes ago, she had been standing in her kitchen, drinking ice-cold beer straight from the can and putting off laundry until tomorrow. Just moments before, thirty minutes of unpaid overtime had felt like the pinnacle of cosmic injustice.
A scalding surge of tears welled in her throat, but she clenched her teeth, biting back the sob.
“Fine,” she choked out through a tight throat, giving a stiff nod. “But I want a written copy of the agreement’s terms.”
“Of course. A nobleman's word,” Ashcroft replied with a smile, as if they had merely settled a mundane bargain over a sack of grain.
At the Viscount’s nod, the vampires glided toward the armchair.
The woman who had been scrutinizing her earlier laid a hand upon Mina’s shoulder. Her fingers were unnaturally long, cold as marble, and infused with predatory, inhuman strength.
The grip wasn't overtly brutal; it felt more like handling a precious, fragile vessel whose blood could be drained at a whim. The chill of her flesh seeped through the wool of the habit, sending a wave of goosebumps rippling down Mina’s neck.
“Rise,” came the curt, icy command.
Mina stood on trembling legs. She was steered toward the far wall, where a vast, gold-framed map of the House of Ashcroft's estates was mounted. The lead vampire pressed a brass rivet concealed in the lower corner of the frame.
With the faint hiss of disengaging counterweights, a section of the wood paneling receded into the masonry, unveiling a narrow, steep corridor.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the secret passage snapped shut behind them with a heavy click.
The outside world vanished in an instant, leaving only the rhythmic clack of the vampires’ heels against cold flagstones and the faint rustle of Mina’s habit. Embedded in the corridor walls were narrow basalt tiles inscribed with sound-dampening runes glowing with a faint blue luster.
“Where... where are you taking me?” Mina asked, her breath turning shallow.
The vampire holding her arm didn't even spare her a glance.
“To the prepared chamber.”
After several dozen paces, the passage opened into a circular, windowless room.
There were no dungeon cells or iron chains hanging from the walls. Instead, the space resembled a sterile, clinical laboratory prepped for an intricate medical procedure. In the center stood a reclining chair upholstered in dark leather, complete with molded armrests and an adjustable back. Beside it sat a metal tray table lined with glass vials, while etched into the stone floor around the chair were the complex geometric patterns of a ritual circle.
Everything was meticulously sanitized, prepared, and bore the hallmarks of frequent use. It seemed this manor had witnessed dozens of identical procedures.
The silver-haired women immediately divided their tasks, moving with clinical, ruthless efficiency.
The third vampire shut the heavy, iron-reinforced door and brushed the handle, activating a runic boundary that choked off any sound from leaking outside. The second dropped to her knees at the perimeter of the circle, tracing her fingers along the carved grooves to ensure an unbroken flow of mana. The first opened the polished ebony case resting on the metal table.
Resting against the black velvet lining inside was an elongated crimson crystal with sharp facets, cradled in an ornate silver setting resembling intertwined talons.
“Sit,” the vampire guiding Mina commanded, nudging her toward the chair.
Mina sank onto the leather cushion. The backrest immediately tilted under her weight into a semi-reclined angle, forcing her legs into a vulnerable, outstretched posture.
Before she could voice a protest, icy hands reached for her waist. Deftly unbuckling the habit's broad sash with its solar clasp, the vampire hoisted the heavy folds of dark wool, hitching them high above her hips.
Mina’s smooth, pale lower abdomen was laid bare, down to the delicate lace waistband of her white panties.
“Wait! Stop!” Mina cried out in sheer panic, instinctively moving to shield her stomach with both hands.
The vampire moved like striking steel. Freezing fingers clamped around Mina's wrists, pinning her arms ruthlessly to the leather armrests.
“Do not struggle during the binding,” came the cool, dispassionate warning.
“What are you doing to me?! What is this brand going to do to me?!” Mina sobbed, the first helpless tears tracking down her cheeks.
The second vampire, still kneeling by the circle, shot her a look of overt annoyance, while the one holding the case leaned over her face. The scent of cloying, heavy perfume mixed with the metallic tang of blood hit Mina’s nostrils.
“If you scream again or try to thrash, I will summon the guards to drive iron hooks through your wrists,” the vampire whispered, her crimson irises flaring with lethal intent. “For your own sake: lie still.”
Mina clamped her mouth shut, biting hard into her lower lip.
The woman lifted the red crystal. The moment it cleared the velvet case, the stone began to throb with a dense, blood-red luminescence, filling the air with a strange, stiflingly sweet fragrance akin to burnt rose petals and heavy musk.
The vampire holding the crystal suddenly furrowed her brow, her breathing quickening ever so slightly.
“The core is unusually volatile... It is difficult to keep one's thoughts clear under such concentration.”
“Reinforce your mental wards and do not yield to its impulses,” the second woman snapped, rising from the floor. “This is succubus essence of the highest purity. It feeds on every emotion in this chamber. Focus on the seal.”
Succubus essence...
Mina felt her heart stop dead.
These creatures had to actively shield their own minds just from the stone’s ambient aura. And this thing was about to be burned directly into her flesh.
The ritual began without another word.
Narrow, towering flames of an unnatural, neon-pink hue ignited with a sharp hiss atop three iron braziers flanking the chair. In the same breath, the geometric lines scored into the stone floor blazed awake, answering the fire's heat.
The lead vampire hovered the crystal directly over Mina's lower belly, chanting a guttural, rhythmic incantation in an ancient tongue to weave the mark's structure. The second held both hands outstretched, channeling the mana flow to anchor the bond between the essence and the girl's soul. The third traced deliberate, intricate glyphs through the air, weaving an outer layer of concealment.
Mina felt the magic take hold before the light even grazed her skin.
A sudden, monstrous pressure seized her lower abdomen, as though an invisible fist had clamped around her womb.
Right behind it tore a scalding wave of heat.
An overpowering, paralyzing warmth flooded straight into her bloodstream, igniting her skin from the inside out. Her ears rang violently, dense pink spots swirling across her vision.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mina clawed her fingernails into the leather armrests. A shudder racked her entire frame, a glistening film of sweat breaking out across her thighs and belly.
Despite her clenched teeth, a muffled, helpless whimper slipped past her lips.
Why?... Why this cursed game of all things?! she screamed internally, tears of sheer helplessness tracking down her temples to soak into her blonde hair.
Why did I have to end up in this hell?!
Why the fuck did I have to land in some degenerate adult game?!
The vampires’ incantation reached its fever pitch.
The trio of pink flames surged toward the vaulted ceiling, and directly above Mina’s bare stomach, an intricate, blindingly brilliant sigil spun into form.
FLASH!
A wash of pinkish-crimson radiance flooded the chamber with such intensity that it scorched through her tightly shut eyelids, searing a sharp, indelible outline against her retinas.
Mina arched off the chair in a taut bow, crying out as the final, binding seal branded itself into her flesh just below her navel.
When the glare finally receded and the vampires lowered their hands, catching their breath, a dead, ringing silence fell over the laboratory.
Mina collapsed limply against the leather padding. Her entire body shivered from exhaustion, her cheeks burning crimson, her breath tearing from her throat in shallow, ragged gasps.
Trembling from head to toe, she slowly tilted her chin down toward her exposed lower abdomen.
Etched into her fair, porcelain skin, resting squarely beneath her belly button, was a freshly branded tattoo.
The crimson lines still pulsed with a dying, rosy heat, forming a sensual, uncompromising crest: a stylized demonic heart tangled in thorns, flanked by curved, predatory succubus wings arching downward toward her groin.
The Scarlet Brand had been placed.