The Destruction of Kirill
Born in the workhouse and moulded into an obedient slave, Kirill expected life to be simple: serve his wealthy owners until they grew bored and sold him, repeating the process again and again until the day he died. He never wanted his master's precious only son to take an unhealthy interest in him, and he didn't expect one single horrifying summer's day to plunge his life into ruin.
Now he has to adjust to another kind of life: one with a man who never wanted to own a slave and has no use for the one he now possesses. But just when Kirill thinks he's finally found normality it all comes crashing down again—and worse, this time it's all his own fault.
Hauled into a world of chaos and destruction by a charming stranger, Kirill struggles to manoeuvre his way without letting both his past and his grief overwhelm him, but is his rescuer all that he seems, or has Kirill walked from one hell straight into another?
Genre: Steampunk
Page Count: 175 pages
Content Warnings
Violence, sexual content, dubcon, noncon.Excerpt
Kirill jerked upright with a gasp that dragged dusty air into his burning lungs, clinging to unfamiliar, unclean sheets. In a bed, in a room; not his bed, not his room. This house, Niko’s manor—
A hand pressed to his sore shoulder, firm and insistent. An unfamiliar voice said, “not so fast there.”
No, it wasn’t—it couldn’t be, but it was so familiar— Panicked, he clung desperately to the hand.
A second carefully caught his wrist and pulled it clear, fingers tight around the joint. “That won’t help. Take a deep breath, calm down.”
Unable to move, Kirill obediently froze until his throbbing head was able to form a single coherent thought. “You’re not Niko.”
The owner of the hands peered down at him, a narrow, angelic face topped with a wild mop of curly brown hair. He appeared to be around the same age as Kirill. “Not last time I checked, no. Pretty sure I’ve always been me.” Once he was sure Kirill would behave he relinquished his hold, flopping back into a rickety wooden chair beside the bed. “I pulled you out the rubble, don’t I get a thanks?”
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