Captivated by the Ruler of the Underworld
Chapter 33 Michael's Memories

Lela turned to look at Sylvester as she watched his tall figure gradually disappear, her lips pressed together tightly.

Michael walked over and looked concerned as he saw his friend hurrying off to wash up, ignoring even Miss Lela. He quickly said to Lela, "Miss Lela, don't blame Mr. Gomez. He just has a germaphobia." And it was a very severe germaphobia at that. Lela pretended to understand, nodded, and stopped Michael, tilting her head as she continued to gaze at him with a strong desire for knowledge. Michael didn't want to bring up the past again, as that period of time was too dark. However, Sylvester's actions today made him unable to resist the recollection.

Sylvester had only been only ten years old when he was taken. His parents had given birth to his younger brother three years prior, but the baby had died. Then, due to the negligence of various extended family members, he was kidnapped by human traffickers.

The place he was taken was seen as a dark zone, one where the self-defense forces of the northern region were stationed. Arms trading and the sex trade were common occurrences there. Those men...

After experiencing a bloody battle and massacre, the men often needed to vent their inner desires. Under extreme excitement, they displayed a terrifying state of mind. Tearing, beating, satisfying desires...

Their targets were often kidnapped women.

But as time went on, ordinary women no longer satisfied them. Curiosity nurtures the most corrupt flower of evil. Gradually, many young boys began to appear in the area.

There, they were treated worse than livestock and became tools for others to vent their frustrations on.

The boys became like broken dolls, no hope for redemption in their souls. Thus, an unprecedentedly disgusting sin had been born.

Michael and many others arrived together. They were drugged along the way, rendering their bodies powerless, and their mouths were tightly sealed with strong adhesive tape. They slept in the bottom of an oxygen-deprived truck container. The closer they got to the border, the steeper the road became.

Lying at the bottom of the truck, they were sometimes awoken by the shifting ground beneath them, but more often blurry and completely unaware of their surroundings.

When they woke up again, they found themselves all locked in a dark wooden house. The air emitted a rotting and stuffy smell. Inside the wooden house, the oldest was fourteen, and the youngest was six. One was crying, their voice fragile. The youngest six-year-old boy had not yet woken up. At that time, Michael was only seven years old. Seeing the unfamiliar environment, he cried, crying so intensely that his throat became hoarse. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms pulled him over.

Those long hands patted his back one stroke after the other, while a young and clear voice came from above his head, "Stop crying."

Amazingly, Michael stopped crying at that moment. He looked up at the big brother and was stunned by his handsome appearance.

His fair skin, prominent nose, with one side of his face disappearing into the darkness, and the other side etched in his mind like a knife, half-light, half-dark, like a deity.

Michael would never forget that scene.

He gradually felt at ease because he had this big brother with him.

He didn't know how long passed before the door was smashed open from the outside. Flashlights shone on their faces one by one. A group of dark-skinned men with bare arms walked in, their eyes murky and disgusting, emitting a ghastly green glow, like a corpse from hell.

"Look, so many new goods have arrived. We'll have a few days of joy."

"Hahaha, they don't even give us time to sleep. They want us to fight against the government's army. I'm so annoyed. I wanted to have some fun and satisfy my desires." A man called Jonas immediately noticed Sylvester, his noble appearance resembling a lion and his wildness resembling a wolf. It made his blood boil to see a child looking so proud.

"Jonas, don't mess around, or you might end up with a bullet in your head. Let Stan choose first, and then we'll have the chance to pick."

Children were being selected and chosen without the slightest bit of dignity.

In the wooden house, there were a total of twenty young boys. They were brought out with their hands bound, one by one kneeling on the muddy ground. Wooden houses surrounded them on all sides and dim but sufficient lighting spread from the bright bulbs. On the fence behind them, there were sharp shards of glass deeply embedded.

Escaping was practically impossible for them.

Stan was the leader of this militia. He led this group of people in underground transactions and defied the government's army.

Anything that couldn't be traded openly could be found here: private transactions, smuggled weapons, slaves, and everything else someone could possibly want.

Although they had knives hanging around their necks, having such a variety of illegal goods greatly improved their standard of living.

They believed that Stan was practically a deity, and no one dared to slack off.

Near sunset, Stan walked out of the largest house with his muscular body on display. His left eye was missing, leaving an empty socket that looked ferocious and sinister. As he emerged, all the boys but Sylvester began crying.

He looked contentedly at this group of young boys, and desire glinted in his eyes. Instead of feeling annoyed by the crying, it only excited him further.

"Stan, this batch is indeed of good quality. Look at their smooth skin."

Disgusting. The older boy's expressions turned ugly upon hearing this.

Sylvester lowered his head, tightly gripping the hands behind his back, his gaze as cold as ice.

"Hahaha, indeed excellent. Yoko, you've done well."

Michael knelt beside Sylvester, trembling all over, tears streaming down his face. He bit his lips tightly, not allowing himself to cry out loud.

His stubborn appearance piqued Stan's interest. He walked over and forced Michael to raise his head, thinking that he looked quite handsome.

With a repulsive odor emanating from his mouth, Stan said, "Little guy, don't cry now. You'll be in a much worse situation later, when crying will really be deserved."

Saying that, he lifted Michael and started heading towards the wooden house. Michael couldn't hold back anymore and burst into tears, screaming for help.

A clear voice with a hint of youthfulness rang out. "I think I'm more skilled than him."