Content warning: This arc contains crass humor, mocking of political figures, strong language, violence, implied sexual acts, implied drugs (love potions), Duman, and using cake for negative purposes. Things get weird. Viewer discretion is advised.

Gantlos felt his stomach twist as they approached the castle gates, looming high like silent sentinels against the deepening night. The wrought iron creaked with age, the faint scent of rust mingling with the cool breeze. Every step closer seemed to tighten an invisible chain around his chest. He was bound to the Black Circle—running was a dream for fools.

But it wasn't just that. He couldn't leave Ana behind. Not in that dreadful place. Not with him. Gantlos's mind conjured images of Ana being paraded, abused while under the effects of something that clouded his mind so heavily the only clear thing was the king.

"I am a…….I am a man," the thought hesitated, "I can figure it out," Gantlos told himself. Yet his trembling hands betrayed him, fingers twitching like leaves caught in an autumn gale. His heart beat in a steady rhythm of fear, each pulse louder as the castle's shadow swallowed them whole.

Beside him, Duman walked light as a feather on multicolored cobblestones. His floor length skirt billowed softly, his steps echoing faintly through the quiet courtyard. If fear weighed upon him, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on, big guy," Duman said, his voice a lilt of amusement. "I'm sure the good King Oggie eagerly awaits us."

Gantlos let out a low whine, the sound more instinct than thought. His pulse quickened, eyes flicking toward the looming archway where light flickered like a warning. This was not a joke—not to him. He'd seen how Ogron could tear to shreds the fabric of someone's very sanity. Yet Duman seemed not to care—in fact he seemed to be….testing the king.

Because he was.

The grand hallway stretched before them, vast and gilded, its marble floor polished to a mirrored sheen. The columns rose like ancient trees, their carved surfaces adorned with serpents entwined in dances. Duman muttered at the sight, "This place is a museum of mediocre art."

The air was cold, scented faintly with incense and the lingering warmth of fading candles.

At the far end, a figure paced, the anger palpable, even from a distance.

Ogron.

Just as Duman predicted, the king was there in the grand hallway, his face red with anger as he saw them.

Dumans face held seriousness for a moment, but relaxed before it could be seen.

"You're highness, I must say the brightness of your suit blinds me, are you trying to compete with the sun? Quite the cry for attention," Duman said with a dramatic bow.

"You insolent circus monkey," he snapped before he looked to Gantlos. "And you — you disobedient, pathetic, halfwitted— I'll be sure to be stricter about your obedience, crawl dog."

Gantlos wanted to waiver, to do as the king said

but he didn't.

He stood there, in front of the king. The act alone directly disobeying the orders given. His legs buckled, instincts urging him to obey, but he didn't .

Ogron felt his face twist in rage, but before any action could be made, Duman began speaking once again.

"Aren't you curious as to why we were out?" His voice a playful taunt.

Ogron's eyes narrowed, his fury momentarily interrupted by Duman's question. "Why you were out?" His voice dripped with venom. "I don't care for excuses. I didn't permit him to leave!"

Duman smirked, tilting his head. "No excuses, your highness. Just a revelation. I took Gantlos out for some… exercise." He placed a hand on Gantlos's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Turns out, he's still quite capable of standing tall. Strong legs, steady spine. A real man, wouldn't you agree?"

Gantlos stood straighter, his gaze fixed on Ogron. His body trembled, but he refused to shrink back.

Ogron's fists clenched. "You dare to undermine me?" His voice was low, dangerous. "You think you can undo my work?"

Duman shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "Not at all. I'm just showing you the results of your fine craftsmanship. After all, you've molded him into such an obedient little soldier, haven't you?"

Ogron took a step forward, "Obedient?" he hissed. "This… dog defies me in my own castle. Right here, I can see the disrespect," ogrons eyes bore into gantlos, "and disrespect will not be tolerated."

Gantlos swallowed hard, but Duman's presence beside him gave him a sliver of courage. He met Ogron's gaze, defiance flickering in his eyes.

"Perhaps," Duman said, stepping between them, "obedience isn't the only measure of loyalty. Maybe he's just waiting for a leader worth standing for." His smile was sharp, deliberate. "Isn't that right, Gantlos?"

Gantlos hesitated for a moment, then nodded—a small, but unmistakable act of agreement.

Ogron's face twisted in fury. "Enough!" His voice echoed through the hall. "You forget your place, Duman. You're nothing but a jester here, a relic of a failed era."

Duman chuckled softly. "Ah, but even jesters have their uses. We see things others overlook. And what I see, your majesty…" He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "…is a kingdom slipping through your fingers."

That was it.

Ogron had had enough.

Enough taunts, enough jests, enough of this circus monkey stinking up his halls.

"Guards!" His voice cracked through the air like a lash, sharp enough to make the torch flames flicker. "Throw him into the dungeon! Strip him bare and bind him in the deepest cell—runes on every wall, wards in every corner! Let's see how clever a clown can be when there's no audience to perform for."

The veins along Ogron's neck bulged, his face flushed a furious crimson beneath the flickering torchlight. Marble trembled beneath his boots as if the castle itself braced for his wrath.

Unluckily for Anagan, he stumbled hazily into the hall just as the command was given, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair was tousled, his silk nightshirt slightly askew. His eyes—glassy and unfocused—sought only one thing.

"L-love?" Anagan's voice quivered like a child's. "Why did you leave me behind? I woke up and—"

Ogron's head whipped toward him, teeth bared like a wolf. "I told you to stay in the room!"

The slap came fast and hard, echoing off the marble. Duman's brow arched. Not at the slap—violence was as common as air in this cursed castle—but at the way Anagan groveled. The syrupy, fevered devotion clinging to his words like honey. Anagan didn't flinch—he crumpled like paper, folding onto his knees with a soft, breathless oh. But even through the sting blooming red on his cheek, his gaze was sweet. Loving. Apologetic, as though he'd committed a heinous crime by upsetting the king.

"I'm sorry—sorry! I love you, I love you so much, I—" His words tumbled over each other, breathless, fevered, devotion dripping from every syllable like overripe fruit splitting open. "Please don't leave me again, please! I'll be good, I'll be whatever you want, just don't—don't go away again!"

Duman's smile thinned. "Just how much love potion did they drown him in?"

The guards yanked Duman's arms behind his back, shackles biting cold into his skin, interrupting his thoughts. Still, his smile never faltered. He tossed his head back dramatically, addressing Gantlos like a love-struck bard at a tavern show.

"Oh, do visit me now and then, my sweet Romeo! I shall pine for thee and count the hours until we meet again!" He gave a mock swoon, laughing all the way as the guards dragged him down the hall.

As the guards dragged Duman down the hall, Ogron rounded on Gantlos. Anagan still clung to his boot, fingers curling around fine leather like a child clutching his mother's hand.

With a grunt Ogron kicked him off—hard enough to send Anagan sprawling back onto the cold stone floor.

"You." Ogron's finger stabbed the air at Gantlos. "You think defiance makes you brave? You think standing tall makes you strong?" Ogron's lip curled, something darker flashing behind his eyes. "For every second you stand there, I will burn him." His hand pointed to Anagan, who was already crawling back toward him like a moth drawn to a candle, eyes wide and wet with worship.

"Guards—fetch my—"

But Gantlos dropped to his knees.

Not out of fear for himself. Not out of obedience. But for Anagan. For the one who's mine had been so fogged he couldn't stand up for himself if he wanted to.

The motion made Ogron pause, satisfaction flickering across his face, mistaking it for submission. His anger subsiding, replaced with his slime ridden pride.

"That's more like it," Ogron purred. "Back to your kennel, dog. You'll be fed—maybe—in an hour."

His hand snapped out, fingers tangling in Anagan's hair, dragging him upright like a prize caught in a hunt. Anagan winced, but his smile never faltered, dazed and blissful.

————-

The air in the dungeon clung to Duman's skin like damp cloth, thick with the scent of mold, rusted iron, and something sweeter—old blood, long dried into the cracks of the stone. The flickering torchlight cast strange shadows, dancing mockingly across the walls.

Rough hands seized him, tearing at his clothes without care for fabric or skin.

"Easy there, boys," Duman purred, unbothered by his own nakedness. "There's enough of me for everyone—"

The blow landed hard, a fist driven straight into his gut. The force emptied his lungs, leaving him doubled over, dry-heaving. The guard held his fist a moment longer than necessary, knuckles grinding into Duman's stomach. There was no need for words—silence was the lesson here.

Duman's breath came back in a rasping laugh. "Not my type...but I do love a man with...commitment."

They shoved him against the cold wall, heavy chains fastened around his wrists and ankles. The metal glowed faintly, runes etched into every link, magic pulsing just beneath the surface. Duman could feel it, the way the wards worked their way into his skin, threading through his veins like icy needles. They knew him too well. No teleporting. No charming his way out. No illusions. No tricks.

They left him like that—bare, bound, and alone. The heavy door groaned shut, leaving nothing but silence and the slow drip of water somewhere in the dark.

Duman leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment. The darkness curled around him, tight as a coffin, pressing against his ribs. Images bloomed behind his eyelids, unbidden—the way Ogron had sneered at Gantlos like he was a beast to be broken, the way Anagan groveled, blind devotion pouring from his lips like syrup.

Duman's smile faded. That would not do.

No.

If he had to rot down here, he'd rot plotting.

Because Gantlos was no beast, and Anagan—sweet, drugged, broken Anagan—deserved better than to die with that poison in his veins, worshiping the man who held his leash.

A jester's role was to entertain, but a good jester knew how to turn the whole court upside down while they were too busy laughing to notice.

Duman let his head loll to the side, chains rattling softly. "Alright, boys," he whispered to the empty dark. "Let's see how much mischief I can make from a cage."

The shadows swallowed his grin.