Arc#4 Prologue: Filth (Patreon)

"Filth! Get over here!"

'What the hell is it now...?'

Too unbothered to hide his grimace, Filth unhurriedly got up from the corner of the cargo hold he'd been trying — and failing — to find some semblance of peace. The godforsaken ship certainly wasn't helping with that, doing its very best to toss him around like the rest of the contraband his owner was trying to smuggle into Aizen through his supposed friends in high places. With all that said, Filth had spent the majority of his life on a crappy ship so it wasn't so bad.

'I've seen worse.'

He took a moment to roll his shoulders, loosening them up in case he had to pull some athletic stunt. The owner of the voice screeching his name was far from the most benevolent master a slave like Filth had ever encountered after all. Dodging was out of the question since it was one way to encourage one's masters to take another swing at you, but there were ways to mitigate the damage if one knew how to roll with the punches — basically, he just had to jerk back smoothly, right in tune with his master's cane.

Well, it only rarely worked out in the many years he'd been a slave. But rare was better than never. Perhaps he'd get lucky and only be beaten moderately today.

"Filth! I said get the fuck over here!"

'I heard you the first time...'

Even though he really didn't want to cut down his already pitiful sleeping time, Filth didn't want the slave collar on his neck to kill him yet. With heavy steps, he swerved left and right, dancing around crates filled with legally procured — but illegally transported — goods. It had already been repeatedly shouted into his brain that each crate contained items that were individually more valuable than a thousand of him. To avoid any trouble, he avoided even touching them at all costs.

Not that his new master would care for his excuses. Despite the special talents Filth possessed, it still wouldn't be enough to stay in the hands of people who simply didn't care about the lives of those they considered beneath them.

Still, Filth wanted to have the excuse that he'd done what was asked of him when he entered the afterlife. If he died because he disobeyed, that would be the dumbest slave death in the history of slave deaths. Maybe ever. Filth didn't think anyone was keeping track of how every slave died, but he also didn't want to die knowing he had been the dumbest slave alive.

Hence, obedience.

Along the way to the boss's cabin, Filth slid past numerous other roughnecks who were all either scary-looking or ugly-looking. They all had a mouth full of crap too, which they were utilizing to great effect in spewing all sorts of useless words that Filth didn't care about. He wished they were a bit more creative with their insults though. But inwardly, he was glad he didn't speak all five languages of Pentagoria — which was where most of these idiots came from.

'Hah. They never get tired of it, do they?'

Soon, he was forced to heave a quiet sigh of exasperation. There was a limit to how many times you could have a go at someone's name — especially when Filth hadn't been responsible for choosing his own.

His mother had simply been lucky to survive nine months of pregnancy and give birth to him, only to die in some cesspool somewhere in Arkhan's many cities.

And when a thug had walked by and seen a breathing baby atop a pile of shit, perhaps that thug found it funny to name the baby "Filth" — the English word for something dirty and disgusting — and then sell him for a beer at the nearest pub.

Once he was older, Filth had been quite shocked by the story of his origins — some broke thug in the backstreets of a republic town actually knew an English word.

All jokes aside, Filth knew that he was more than what his name declared him to be. He would prove it to the world when he eventually broke free of his chains. Now, though? Well, all he had to say was you had to bend your knees and lower yourself before you could jump as high as you could.

Filth had just figuratively bent his knees a little too much and accidentally fell into hell. That's why he lived all his miserable life as a slave.

But he would get out of it. He was sure of it. Or rather, he couldn't find the heart to carry on if he didn't convince himself that his destiny was greater than what it appeared.

'Oh. So she died too, huh...?'

Amongst the whispered jeering that he was barely even listening to, he managed to catch something mildly interesting. A few of the many ugly bastards he passed by said something about how they'd raped the slave he'd been getting along with. They had apparently passed her around until she stopped breathing. They'd probably point him toward where the corpse was too if they knew where it actually was.

'Unfortunate.'

Filth had already gotten over that whole affair though — at least, he'd like to believe so. Certainly, it wasn't the first time he'd gotten close to one of his boss' sex slaves. And it certainly wouldn't be the last time he'd find them as a heavily bruised corpse in the corner, naked as the day they were born into slavery.

There was something poetic about how the people who would do that to them were also slaves.

'You'd have thunk that people who suffer the same fate would lick each other's wounds and band together. But nope.'

Experience had taught him that such joyful outcomes were reserved for the pages of fairy tale books. If he possessed a bit more education, perhaps he could have written one of those elegant poems to channel the fury coursing through his veins.

'Just goes to show that the rich pricks who buy and sell slaves aren't the only evils in the world.'

The poor and downtrodden could be just as bad, if not even worse.

A few more jeers were thrown at him, but Filth ignored them just like how he ignored a whole lot of things about life in general. It made him feel dead inside, yes. But ironically, that was the best way to carry on when his life was just boundlessly shitty. Sure, lots of people were probably having worse lives than him. He didn't even want to think about how quickly his life would have ended if he was a sex slave with average to below-average looks. Only the pretty ones lasted longer than a season. And even then, whether they were better off alive than dead was up for debate.

Still, that didn't change the fact that he was so miserable that he would have killed himself before he even reached adulthood if he wasn't so afraid of death.

It wasn't even the void he was afraid of — it was becoming just a pile of rotten meat on the ground that others would probably piss on and throw in a ditch somewhere.

Useless. Dirty. Disgusting.

Filthy.

And something that everyone would forget after a night or two. Just a cold, lifeless echo of what he once was as a person.

Growing up, he'd seen a lot of people end up like that. And Filth didn't want to follow in their footsteps.

He would get out of this life.

Again and again, he repeated this statement in his mind so he could keep himself whole. Maybe it would happen in his thirties. Maybe in his forties. Or fifties, even. Filth would hold on until whatever gods above finally got to work — until they finally gave him a chance to turn things around. He would hold on until that blessed day.

After all, one could never catch a golden hare if one never stepped into the woods to hunt for it.

'Who said that, again...?'

Filth racked his brain as his footfalls rhythmically echoed in the background of his thoughts. His master had shouted for him a few more times but he ignored it. He'd get beaten for not answering, but he'd also get beaten for answering back loud enough for his master to hear him from so far away — bottom line, he'd get beaten anyway, so he may as well save his stamina as best as he could.

After a short minute of walking, Filth finally made it to his master's cabin. It was the only one above deck on the small cargo ship. The only reason Filth could hear the man's voice from so far away was that the floors had terrible soundproofing — which then made it obvious when the boss was fucking his sex slaves. Also, his master's voice, even when talking to someone close by, was louder than most people expected.

Filth, at least, was confident that his hearing grew permanently worse with every conversation. It had degraded more in the past two weeks than it did in the past twenty-three years of his miserable existence.

"Master." Filth called out impassively in a voice that wasn't too loud or too soft. Then he gave the gnarled wooden door a knock before calling out again. "I'm here."

"Took you long enough. Get in here."

"Yes... Master."

Filth internally sighed at the thought that his hearing would grow worse again. But being deaf may have been better than being fish monster food. They had been attacked by those little shits a couple of times while going through the waters between the Pentagoria continent and Arkhan — plenty of people had died in the effort to keep the ship afloat. If Filth hadn't been lucky enough, maybe he would already be one of them.

Even now, seeing tentacles and humanoid gremlins with octopus heads still sent a shiver down his spine.

As soon as Filth opened the door, the distinct smell of drugs, booze, and sex invaded his nostrils. Actually, he'd smelled it even before he opened the damned door, but he hadn't expected it to be this atrocious once he went inside. Even after years as a bottomfeeder in the darkness of the republic and the five principalities of Pentagoria, this was something he would never truly acquire immunity to.

At best, he could keep a straight face and resist the urge to wretch.

"Fucking hell, it stinks in here..." Desporton seemed to find the stench horrible too, despite being the primary cause of it, since he had a twisted grimace on his face as when he murmured in annoyance — much to Filth's surprise, since in the two months the gang boss owned Filth, the fat tub of lard had never said anything below shouting volume.

"What can I do for you, Boss?" Filth asked, trying to focus the conversation on whatever task his master wanted him to do. This way, his master wouldn't be distracted — or accidentally stumble into a topic that would get Filth beaten up. All the while, he willed his eyes not to wander toward the various naked women strewn on the floor.

Desporton didn't like sharing his toys, after all. Even if you were just looking.

Women he'd gotten bored with were a different matter altogether, though. The roughnecks Filth had passed by earlier were champing at the bit to receive their master's leftovers. And then after the men had tired of her, she would likely be fish food, like all the other cheap sex slaves Filth had met these past two weeks. That was a better fate than being people food though, since long voyages at sea often had a tendency to deplete supplies — especially when your boss had a bounty on his head and couldn't stop at normal ports.

Humanity, obviously, was entirely lost to the majority of the people on the ship.

Luckily, Filth hadn't ever been forced into a situation where he had to eat an actual human. Well, honestly, he wasn't sure about that either. There were many times when he was so hungry that he ate whatever his master dropped in front of him. But for the sake of conversation, Filth liked to think that he had never crossed that particular line yet.

Filth wouldn't mind eating Veryon though. Veryon was a piece of shit. He had never grown to hate someone so rapidly in his life.

"Right." Desporton nodded as if remembering something before leaning back against the back of his chair.

The fat gang boss took out a small glass pipe the length of a pinky that was stuffed full of something grass-like. He then lit it using the nearby candle, bit the other end of the pipe, and took a deep puff. A cloud of fragrant smoke was exhaled out of Desporton's nostrils before he stretched his neck and spoke.

"We are almost at our destination," he announced in a relaxed voice that Filth never knew that the gang boss was capable of. "Try to get some proper rest because you will get off the ship and do something for me."

'Are the drugs doing something strange to him...?'

Filth held back a frown at his master's surprisingly considerate statement. "May I ask what it is?"

"You will be traveling ahead of us."

"Traveling ahead..."

"Yes. Through my great charisma, I've managed to land us a partnership with Ouroboros — one of the big boys in the criminal world. In fact, they practically own the underworld right now. Anyway, we can't keep doing what we're doing if we don't get their permission. In particular, the routes between Arkhan and Aizen are under their control. You may have heard of them through other names though. Like snakes. Vipers. Serpents. Fangs. That kind of thing."

'Oh. Shit. Those crazy bastards...?'

It was the first time Filth heard the actual organization's name. But a lot of his previous owners met setbacks after unknowingly stepping into someone's territory. Once upon a time, five men with circular snake-like tattoos barged into the gang's hideout and killed dozens of Filth's crew. Filth's master — and Filth himself, through luckily finding places to use his ability — managed to escape in time. Other times, though, his crew members were just found dead in the streets with the tips of their tongues split with a knife to resemble a snake's.

'So it's them. I didn't know they were such a big deal...'

Truly, being ignorant was scary. Filth didn't know if he had been unlucky to be part of a band of shitheads dumb enough to cross the most powerful organization in the underside of society, or lucky that he survived so many encounters with them.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do, Boss?" Filth asked, still processing new knowledge.

"Once we make landing on some islet nearby, you go ahead of the ship and feel the place out. I need information. Those guys being likened to snakes don't exactly encourage my trust. Go and see if they've set up some kind of trap for us, then come back and report to me."

"I see..." Filth bit his lip, holding back the curses threatening to break out of his mouth.

'Fucking piece of... Why can't this guy just pick and choose? He acts like a dumbass but then he makes smart choices like this...'

Filth wanted to sigh. On one hand, a smart and capable boss would be beneficial to extending Filth's life span since he wouldn't get thrown into stupid situations. On the other hand, he would prolong his life as a slave since Filth couldn't get a decent read on his master.

'I suppose he didn't survive for so long by being a complete idiot...'

Suppressing a sigh, Filth hesitantly spoke out his thoughts, ready to dodge a retaliatory hit for speaking back. "Sorry to say this, master, but I think you're overestimating my abilities here..."

'How the hell does this piece of shit think I can even do that?'

Filth had a special gift that allowed him to turn invisible and generally unnoticeable as long as he was shrouded in darkness. It was a stupid-sounding ability when one heard it like that though. After all, why would you need to hide when it was already as dark as the insides of his asshole?

But it had saved his skin more than he could ever count.

Desporton took a puff of his pipe and exhaled a steady stream of smoke as his face slackened visibly. "And why do you think so?"

"Well..." Filth hesitated, poking the insides of his cheek with his tongue. After a few seconds, he spoke before his master's patience broke. "I do not know how to swim..."

"That will not be a problem." Desporton waved it off as if it was no big deal. "You can just build a raft or something. Also, you learned a bit of English, right?"

"Yes... Uh, then... what about the monsters, master? The waters close to the republic are relatively safer, but..."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something. You're very witty, after all."

Filth bit his lip and the curses that wanted to burst out of his mouth.

Now was the time his master chose to be a moron. Or maybe he was just being an asshole? Filth wasn't sure anymore. Maybe it was both.

'Yeah, it's definitely both. FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DROP DEAD!'

"Filth..." Desporton didn't seem to notice the grimace on Filth's face as he continued reveling in the effects of whatever he was smoking. "You are a very talented slave and I am very happy with your service."

"... I am glad to hear that, Master."

'Then why did you beat me so much, you asshole. I hope you fucking die from a heart attack with how fat you are. You can't even see your little willy. Mine was bigger than yours before I even had hair growing down there.'

Filth chanted expletives to calm himself down, his face serene. At least in his mind, he was the master.

"Filth. You are so talented, in fact..."

Desporton placed his pipe down and looked into Filth's eyes. His thick disgusting lips which seemed like caterpillars that eat other caterpillars slowly formed a languid smile.

"That I think I must reward you."

Filth unknowingly clenched his fists as he stared deeply into the fat man's eyes. Even his breathing, he noticed, was gradually growing quicker.

'Don't fall for it... Don't fall for it... Don't fall for it again, Filth...!'

"What is it you desire, Filth? I can give it to you."

Desporton nudged the lady on the floor that he'd been stepping on since a while ago.

"Women?"

Then the fat man picked up the small glass pipe and rolled it in his palm.

"Drugs?"

Desporton yawned before he bent down and pushed the glass pipe's hot end into the woman's back. Despite the sounds of searing flesh, the woman did not move. And when Filth finally noticed it, the woman's eyes told him that she was either dead or about to be.

"Power? Or is it..."

With a sinister smile, Desporton took out a metal ring with numerous keys hanging from it. Even demons would have flinched at the face the fat man was making.

"Freedom?"

Filth's chest rose as he mentally struggled with himself. He knew it was a trick. Experience told him that this was just a scam. No matter their masters' words, slaves had no rights — they didn't even have the right to cry if their master didn't fulfill a promise made only verbally.

In all of Filth's years as a slave for many different masters, he had experienced this many times.

Personally.

Repeatedly.

But even then, he could barely resist it. All his life, he had never had much of a choice for how his life turned out. At least, he thought, his mind was his. Though small and restricted by his lacking experiences, his mind was his own kingdom. And in there, his word was law.

'I... Fell for it...'

But once again, he was proven wrong. Once again, he was made to realize that even his mind was ultimately in his master's control.

"I..." Filth hung his head and stared at his feet.

Hatred at Desporton. Hatred at the thugs he saw earlier. Hatred for all of his past masters.

Hatred at his mother for giving birth to him.

And Hatred at himself for being the way that he was.

"I will do as you command, master."

Filth couldn't even think anymore. His mind was just a swirling mess of hatred.

"Wonderful. I expect good news."

And as Desporton's calm voice snaked into his ears, Filth lamented.

He despaired over the fact that he didn't even have the freedom to end it all.