L*st and Death

Siron muttered, genuinely troubled.

“What the hell does he want from me? Love? If that were the case, he’d at least try to seduce me.”

Isaac, who was disassembling a shotgun at the table and wiping down each part with a dry cloth, gently set down the piece in his hand and spoke.

“Six, nine.”

“...What?”

“The numbers at the section you pointed to with your index finger. Six, nine.”

“Of all things, six and nine?”

“You seemed stuck.”

At Isaac’s comment, Siron nodded awkwardly, expression sour.

Contrary to Siron’s worries—or maybe his hopes—Isaac had no intention of making him a sex slave, and certainly no desire to fall in love with him. The only reason he wasn’t having sex with Yoon Siron was because he was concerned about potential damage to the test subject.

Everyone Isaac had ever had sex with had ended up ruined, without exception. Their anuses were torn beyond repair, sometimes herniated from destroyed muscle tissue. And right now, Yoon Siron’s internal gland development was still immature and too vulnerable to stimulation. But once his body matured, Isaac fully intended to imprint him—without hesitation.

Imprinting.

Isaac released his pheromones while thinking about the imprinting process that always left him feeling uneasy. Invisible particles saturated the air heavily around the two of them. As he oiled a spring part of the gun with a small brush, Isaac asked offhandedly,

“Do you feel anything?”

Siron scratched the back of his neck and lifted his head to meet Isaac’s gaze. After thinking seriously for a while, he answered,

“Um... hunger?”

“Haha, hunger?”

“It kind of tingles, I guess. But that’s probably just an allergy. I’ve got sensitive skin.”

Even though he was now exposed to a level of pheromones that would make any other alpha gag and clutch their nose, Yoon Siron remained perfectly calm. Feeling a bit mischievous, Isaac spoke with a sly smile.

“My parents imprinted on each other.”

“Imprinted?”

“It’s like a permanent contract between an alpha and an omega.”

Siron’s eyes gradually lost focus, as though a long-winded lore dump had begun.

“So your parents were alpha and omega too. Wow, real aristocrats of the alpha-omega line, huh.”

Isaac had begun to enjoy Siron’s sarcastic reactions. He got up and walked over to him. Sitting on the edge of the table across from Siron, he slid one foot between Siron’s legs, resting it on the edge of the chair.

It didn’t quite touch Siron’s groin, but just the smallest shift would have made contact with his inner thigh. Dressed in a ridiculous one-piece with no underwear underneath, Siron visibly flinched at the exposure of bare skin.

“Imprinting is essentially a one-sided agreement via pheromones. It forces the omega to interact only with the alpha who left the imprint. Because once imprinted, an omega’s pheromones can only be detected by that specific alpha.”

Siron stiffened and asked,

“How... do you do that?”

Yuri Berek had written his research log for documentation purposes, but hadn’t described every process in detail. Even a madman who had transformed himself into an omega probably didn’t feel comfortable recording every intimate detail of his sexual practices. So, the log included only one sentence: ‘Imprinting occurs when the alpha damages the pheromone gland of an omega in heat through both physical and chemical means.’

Unlike alphas, whose pheromone glands develop in the subcutaneous layer, omegas also develop pheromone glands internally—in their reproductive organs. No known mammal secretes pheromones directly from its genitals, but omegas were an exception to that rule.

Isaac suspected that imprinting occurred when an alpha knotted inside an omega during their heat cycle. But he had no intention of telling Siron that directly.

“They say it happens when an alpha leaves a mark on the omega’s nape during heat.”

“Like a hickey?”

“Something like that.”

“So you’re telling me a single hickey chains you to one person for life?”

Siron stared at Isaac, dumbfounded. After a long pause, he hesitantly asked,

“Is sex okay though?”

The unexpected question made Isaac burst out laughing. He leaned toward Siron, voice full of interest.

“Oh? You do want to have sex with me, then?”

Siron glanced at Isaac’s lower half, then jerked his head away like he’d just heard something disgusting.

“I’m not going to imprint. No way. And why the hell is imprinting even necessary?”

“It’s alpha possessiveness. There are plenty of alphas in the world—but no omegas.”

“Then shouldn’t it be the other way around? Omegas should get to choose their alpha!”

Siron’s rebellious retort made Isaac laugh bitterly.

“Would be nice if alphas were that civilized. But when their lives are on the line? Do you really think they’d give an omega a choice? If they can’t have you, they’ll rape you, butcher you, and leave you to rot. For an omega to survive, they have to imprint with someone.”

Up until now, Siron had only pretended to accept what Isaac said, never really believing him. But this time, the shock on his face looked real. He gave a bitter laugh, as if the absurdity of it all had broken something in him.

“Let’s say that twisted lore is real. Why the hell did you make me an omega?”

Isaac burst out laughing, like it was the most idiotic, predictable question in the world. And yet—bizarrely—it stirred something emotional in him. But he didn’t intend to let Siron see that.

“Because you can’t die yet.”

Something visibly snapped in Siron’s eyes. His face twisted, the slow swell of rage overtaking him. He looked at Isaac with hatred—as though he genuinely wished for the extinction of all alphas. But he didn’t voice the anger rising in him. To rage against a lunatic wasn’t worth it. His emotions cooled rapidly, hardening like frost.

“I’m tired. I need... to rest.”

Isaac calmly removed his foot from between Siron’s thighs. Siron immediately stood and headed for the small room that led to the basement.

Compared to the countless men he had insulted and killed, Isaac hadn’t even been particularly cruel this time. But Yoon Siron had clearly taken a hit. And watching that reaction made something inside Isaac feel scraped and raw. He followed Siron with a stiff expression.

“Wait.”

“...What now?”

Siron flinched and turned around.

“You need your restraints removed.”

“Oh... right.”

Isaac knelt on one knee in front of Siron and pulled a key from the chest pocket of his shirt.

He took a steadying breath and inserted it into the padlock of the iron shackles. With a click, the rusted, heavy cuffs loosened. Siron carefully slid his foot out of the gap.

His ankle, now free, was mottled with scabs and pus, marked with the repeated trauma of blistered, burst skin from where the rough metal had chafed him.

To Isaac, who was numb to pain, it didn’t even register as a real injury. But if healing this minor wound was a way to care for his omega, he saw no reason to hold back treatment.

“Wait here. I’ll need to disinfect that.”

Just as he stood, Isaac suddenly felt a crushing weight descend onto his head.

“...Shit.”

His vision blurred, and the world began to spin. He tried to steady himself with a hand on Siron’s shoulder—but grasped only air. Unable to endure the sudden, intense pain, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“W-whoa? Isaac!”

A wave of weakness flooded through his body. He lost his balance like someone stepping into thin air. Before his reflexes could catch up, his head slammed into the ground—and he slowly lost consciousness.

Siron stood frozen, staring down at him like a log.

A sickening crack echoed as Isaac’s head struck the floor. A chilling silence followed.

“...What the hell. What’s going on?”

Standing a few steps away, Siron watched with terror, then cautiously stepped closer. He poked Isaac’s back with the tip of his finger—no response. He tried shaking his shoulder more forcefully, but again, nothing.

“Why’s he so still...?”

Maybe he’d hit his head badly on the way down. Siron strained to flip Isaac onto his back and pressed his ear near his mouth and nose. Thankfully, he could feel the faint flow of breath.

Should I splash him with cold water? Siron hesitated—then a realization hit him like lightning.

This might be his only chance to escape from a psychotic kidnapper.

No time to hesitate. Act now.

Siron moved at once. Still wearing the ridiculous one-piece, no underwear, he had no time to change. He slipped his hands under Isaac’s armpits and dragged his limp body toward the entrance.

Carefully, he propped Isaac up against the wall beside the door and rifled through his pockets.

“Shit—!”

Siron bit his lip hard, stopping himself from screaming. As soon as his hand slipped into the left pants pocket, he was greeted by a soft, squishy sensation—and learned the unwanted information that Isaac stored his junk on the left side.

In the right pocket and chest pocket were cable ties, a metal chain, a folding knife, and a few ten-dollar bills. Siron grabbed all the cash and raised Isaac’s hand to the biometric lock. The system let out error beeps with each failed scan, making Siron’s heart drop like a rock every time.

Finally, after several tries, the [N O V E L I G H T] door unlocked. A rush of fresh forest air hit Siron’s face.

Freedom.

Adrenaline surged through his veins like wildfire. Siron ran outside, euphoric. He had to get as far away as possible—before Isaac woke up. Somewhere the bastard’s hands could never reach again.

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