Trevor's Sex Dungeon
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You're not you when you're hungry." — Snickers
I leaned back in my chair, genuinely curious.
"Trevor," I began, my tone almost philosophical. "How does one master the dao of shamelessness to your degree? Truly, I wish to know. The ass-crack chloroform rag. The fake lost child routine. The audacity of it all." I gestured vaguely at him. "Is it something you're born with? Can it be learned? I'm genuinely asking."
Trevor opted for a live demonstration of said shamelessness.
He completely ignored my question. No acknowledgment. No shame. No self-awareness whatsoever. Now that the ball gag was out and he had the opportunity to speak freely, he apparently had priorities.
"Do you have any idea," he hissed, voice trembling with barely contained rage, "who you're fucking with? He said inbetween sobs.
I blinked.
Was this man hogtied, stapled shut, with a giant purple dildo staring him down trying to intimidate me?
"I was THIS close!" He thrashed against the restraints, spittle flying from his lips. "THIS CLOSE to attaining my fantasy! And yo-you fucking RUINED it! I was so close. SO CLOSE!"
He sounded hysterical. Unhinged. Like a toddler who'd had his favorite toy snatched away mid-tantrum.
I sat there, genuinely confused.
Part of me assumed he was talking about Reze. You know assaulting her, having his way with her, adding another strand of hair to his creepy little collection. The standard predator rage at being interrupted.
But the way he spoke... the venom, the desperation, the sheer intensity, it didn't fit.
This wasn't a man upset about losing a victim. Something else was bothering him.
"What are you talking about, you obese gremlin?" I asked flatly.
Trevor's fury flickered, replaced by something closer to anguish. Tears streamed down his face not from pain this time, but from genuine despair.
"You ruined my plans," he croaked, voice cracking. "I was supposed to ascend. Don't you understand? Kill four characters from the world you wish to reincarnate into. Shower the dagger in their blood." His eyes flicked to the tentacle box on the dresser, longing and loss swimming in his gaze. "I was one away. ONE. And you took it from me."
I stared at him.
Then at the box.
Then back at him.
Blinked once. Twice.
Let the words marinate in my brain for a moment, hoping they'd rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
They didn't.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
My voice came out flat. Hollow. The voice of a man whose faith in humanity had just taken a critical hit.
This perverse fucker.
This sweaty, balding, ass-crack-rag-wielding degenerate had somehow deluded himself into thinking isekai was real. That if he murdered enough cosplayers with a fancy knife and mumbled the right words, he'd wake up in an anime world. Probably with a harem. Maybe as the protagonist and probably still shaped like a damn refrigerator, but with main character energy.
My blood boiled.
I'd seen a lot of killers in my time. A lot. Killers driven by rage, greed, lust. By revenge. Motivations I could understand, even respect on some level.
But this?
This stupid motherfucker had murdered three people, based on those hair samples because he wanted to get isekai'd into Chainsaw Man?
This guy had single handedly brought down humanities collective IQ.
He was clearly unwell. Genuinely, profoundly broken in the head. The kind of delusional that no amount of therapy or medication could fix. The kind of crazy that made you wonder how he'd managed to function in society at all.
A part of me was almost grateful.
Grateful that such weapons grade stupidity walked among us, that the world kept producing these absolute wastes of oxygen for me to hunt. It meant I'd never run out of fresh kills. Never run out of trophies.
Job security, in a sense.
I huffed in exasperation, letting him babble on and further descend into madness. Call it a small break a breather before round two.
Because I was about to get creative.
I reached for the shock collar still fastened around his sweaty neck. Cranked the dial to maximum. Then, with deliberate slowness, I unfastened it from his throat and secured it around a more... sensitive area.
His little hammer. His Vienna sausage. His pathetic excuse for manhood.
Trevor stopped rambling mid-sentence. His eyes drifted downward to his groin, then back up to me. Slow and absent minded. Like his brain was buffering, struggling to process what was about to happen.
And then it clicked.
All hell broke loose. He started thrashing violently, jerking against the restraints, already anticipating the pain before it even arrived. I'd bet my life savings that he could feel the phantom agony his nervous system screaming warnings that his body couldn't escape.
I smiled and pressed the button.
Buzz.
His toes curled. His back arched. His entire body went rigid as electricity surged through the most delicate part of his anatomy.
Oh.
Did I forget to mention? I'd tinkered with the shock collar's components during my earlier visit. I had doubled the voltage and removed the safety limiters.
Heh.
The smell hit me before the screaming stopped.
Burning flesh, the unmistakable, acrid stench of skin blistering and cooking under sustained electrical current. It wafted up to my nose, thick and nauseating though I'd long since grown desensitized to such things.
Trevor's muffled screams filled the dingy room, bouncing off the plastic-wrapped walls.
I reached for my trusty bottle of brake fluid, truly the gift that kept on giving, and poured it generously over the fresh blisters forming around the burn marks.
The screaming intensified
A satisfied smile beginning to form on my face. Ah, music to my ears, if only I could save the audio until the end of time.
Rinse and repeat.
This continued for several minutes. For me, it was a pleasant way to pass the time. For Trevor? It probably felt like an eternity. Each shock followed by chemical fire. Each respite just long enough for hope to flicker before being snuffed out again.
Eventually, I grew bored.
His earlier remarks echoed in my mind. The ritual, the dagger, his delusional fantasy of isekai-ing into Chainsaw Man.
I glanced at the box on the dresser. The tentacle carvings seemed to writhe in the dim light, the countless eyes on its surface watching me with something that felt like anticipation.
A grin spread across my face.
I walked over, opened the creepy thing, and lifted the intricate dagger from its velvet bed. The blade really was impossibly black, dare I say even darker than a burnt tortilla. It seemed to drink the light around it.
I turned and walked toward Trevor, the weapon gleaming in my grip.
It was time to bring the star of our show to his final curtain call.
I stared at Trevor's broken figure one last time. The dark glint he'd held earlier that venomous defiance, that delusional conviction was gone. Replaced by the hollow, vacant eyes of a man who had suffered through the unthinkable. He still twitched involuntarily, no doubt feeling phantom shocks rippling through his nervous system.
I brought the dagger over his heart, lowered myself to his ear.
And whispered: "Uwu. Say hi to Makima for me." One last jab at the gremlin.
I plunged the blade into his chest.
I wasnt prepared for what came next
The world came to a stop. Trevor's body began levitating off the bed, glowing bright golden, ascending toward the ceiling as divine light poured from his wounds. The ritual was complete. Impossible! He had achieved his dream. He was finally going to be isekai'd…
Just kidding.
He lay there clearly dead. Blood pooling beneath him, dripping off the plastic-covered mattress onto the floor in thick, lazy streams.
I straightened up and looked around the room. Sighed.
Time to clean up.
But before I could even reach for the bone saw or begin the tedious work of dismembering Trevor's corpse something happened.
The box started vibrating.
It shook with an absurd, violent intensity, rattling against the dresser as if something inside was trying to claw its way out.
And then it stopped.
Dead silence.
I stared at it.
Every eye carved into the box's surface dozens of them, maybe hundreds began to glow. Bright, blood red pulsing like heartbeats.
And then darkness spewed forth.
It poured from the box like smoke and ink, something alive. It spread across the ceiling, crawled down the walls, swallowed the light wherever it touched. The temperature in the room plummeted.
I stood frozen, dagger still dripping in my hand, watching the shadows coalesce into something vast and incomprehensible.
Pandora's box had nothing on this.
A hand emerged from the box.
Grotesque doesn't begin to describe it. It was wrong in ways that made my eyes water, too many joints, skin that shifted between scales and flesh and something gelatinous, fingers that bent in directions fingers shouldn't bend.
…
Hmm.
There was only one logical response to this situation.
Fuck this shit, I'm out.
My hand moved on pure instinct, years of survival reflexes kicking in, and grabbed the first thing in my pocket.
A Snickers bar.
Don't ask me why I had a Snickers bar. Don't ask me why my fight-or-flight response decided throwing chocolate at an eldritch abomination was a valid survival strategy.
I didn't have answers. I only had commitment.
I hurled that candy bar with everything I had. With major league form.
"You're not you when you're hungry, bitch!"
The Snickers sailed through the air in a beautiful arc…
Then the hand snatched me by the collar before I could see if it landed.
And pulled.
The world blurred. My body moved at speeds that should have snapped my neck, my spine, every bone in my miserable existence. Reality folded in on itself the hotel room, the corpse, the plastic sheeting all of it collapsed into a pinprick of light and then...
Nothing.
I blinked.
Looked down.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
A sea of souls churned beneath my feet. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. Writhing, screaming, clawing over each other in an endless tide of torment. Their faces were twisted in agony, mouths stretched wide in silent howls, hands reaching upward toward me, with singular, desperate intent.
They wanted to drag me down. Into whatever hell they'd crawled out of. Into whatever suffering they endured.
I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
Madness crept into my mind like water through cracks, filling every crevice, drowning rational thought. My vision swam and my sanity buckled.
And then…
"Cease."
The voice was fragmented, a thousand tongues speaking in fractured unison, each syllable echoing across dimensions.
Cease? Cease what? Cease to exist?
My question was promptly answered.
The sea of souls didn't retreat or disperse. They simply... sizzled. Like water droplets on a hot pan, they evaporated into nothing, screams cutting off mid wail, grasping hands dissolving into smoke.
In seconds, the writhing ocean was gone.
What remained was a desolate wasteland. Empty, barren, devoid of life, of color, of anything resembling hope. The ground beneath me was cracked and gray, stretching endlessly in every direction under a sky that wasn't a sky just an oppressive void of swirling darkness.
The voice had come from above.
I craned my neck upward.
And immediately regretted every decision that had led me to this moment.
The thing staring back at me and defied comprehension. It shifted, constantly, endlessly. One second, an impossibly massive octopus, tentacles the size of skyscrapers, eyes like burning suns. The next, a giant humanoid figure wearing a smooth, featureless mask twisted into an eternal smile. Then a cube of pulsating flesh covered in thousands of blinking eyes, each one focused directly on me. Faintly reminding me of a certain scene…
My attention snapped back to the present.
I was dealing with a damn shapeshifter. An ugly, sanity-shredding thing that made Trevor's tentacle box look like a children's toy.
I could feel my mind cracking. Splintering at the edges. The human brain wasn't designed to process something like this it was like trying to run a supercomputer program on a potato.
Finally, mercifully, it settled on a form. A hybrid vaguely humanoid, but with tentacles coiling where limbs should be, a face that was almost handsome if you ignored the too wide smile and the eyes that held galaxies of dark amusement.
It spoke, as if hearing my thoughts
"You know, I had my eye on the fat one. Trevor." The name dripped from its mouth like honey mixed with venom. "Such conviction and faith. He spent months preparing that ritual, agonizing over every detail, murdering those poor costumed children with absolute certainty that he would be my chosen vessel." A tentacle gestured dismissively. "And then you waltz in, gut him like a pig, and steal his prize without even realizing what you'd done."
A laugh rippled through the void ancient, mocking, the kind of sound that made reality itself flinch.
"But I have to admit," it continued, a tentacle tapping where a chin might be . "I'm impressed. In ten thousand years of mortals fumbling through that ritual, zealots , cultists, madmen who devoted their entire lives to earning my favor not one has completed it while whispering 'uwu' into their victim's ear."
The smile widened too wide. Freakishly wide. Rows of teeth that shouldn't exist gleamed in the non-light of this dead dimension.
"You're either the bravest human I've ever encountered, or the most profoundly unhinged." Its eyes galaxies swirling with amusement fixed on me with unsettling intensity. "Either way... I'm interested."
…
I knew it. I fucking knew it.
This eldritch abomination was after my cheeks. Metaphorical cheeks. Probably. Hopefully.
Lazy writing, honestly. I could already see where this was going. Some cosmic horror plucks an unsuspecting mortal from their world and delivers the classic pitch: Become my agent of chaos! Spread fear in my name! Serve as my vessel and I shall grant you power beyond imagination!
Blah, blah, blah.
Its smile stretched wider.
Apparently, it could read minds. Wonderful. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed, a telepathic Lovecraftian nightmare rifling through my brain.
I found myself wondering, briefly, if this thing could feel pain. Because I was pretty fucking annoyed. I had a good thing going back home. A system, and you know a hobby that brought me genuine joy. And this discount Nyarlathotep wanted to complicate things? Wanted to drag me into some cosmic bullshit I never signed up for?
The audacity.
Wait.
My brain caught up to my eyes.
Why did its smile widen at "discount Nyarlathotep"?
...
Shit.
I clamped down on my thoughts. Hard. Slammed every mental door I could find, shoved my inner monologue into a box, and prayed this thing hadn't heard…
Its grin told me it had heard everything.
It finally decided to speak. Actually speak and not just mock me but pitch me.
"Dmitry Cole." My name echoed through the void like a death knell. "Kill count: one hundred and sixty seven.
Stalk. Hunt. Kill.
Rinse and repeat." A tentacle waved lazily in the air. "You're familiar with how the story goes, I presume."
I said nothing. Kept my mind as blank as possible.
"I'm doing you a favor, you know." Its tone shifted conversational now, similar to a car salesman buttering up a reluctant customer with vaseline on the side. "Don't you wish to hunt bigger prey? Do you not yearn for the thrill of the chase? Tell me, little predator when was the last time you truly felt the exhilaration of the unpredictable?"
It leaned closer, galaxies swirling in its eyes.
"What I'm offering you is novelty. A new world. Bigger prey. And powers to match, abilities beyond your wildest imagination, tools to complement whatever your beautifully demented mind can conjure." The smile returned, razor-sharp and knowing. "The price? Tributes made in my name. Hardly a difficult task for someone of your... talents."
It continued rambling. Weaving a poetic tale about chaos and fear and the glorious symphony of suffering I could conduct in its honor.
I wasn't really listening anymore.
Because the thing was... it wasn't wrong.
I hated to admit it, but the creature had a point. Somewhere along the way, the hunt had lost its luster. The kills had become routine, mechanical in nature. I'd grown complacent. Tired, even. When had I last felt that electric thrill? That heart pounding uncertainty of stalking prey that could actually fight back?
Triple digits will do that to you, I suppose.
And Chainsaw Man...
The world this thing was offering wasn't some generic fantasy realm. It was a suffering made incarnate. Devils that embodied humanity's deepest fears. Fiends, hybrids, government conspiracies. A red haired control freak who could make you kill yourself with a smile.
It was a world full of demented fuckers that needed punishment.
I could envision it already, new hunting grounds,techniques and schemes I could dismantle with some effort. My expression darkened, monsters I could make suffer.
I'd watched the Chainsaw Man anime just days ago, I watched the whole thing in one sitting, I even caught the new movie that just dropped, still fresh in my mind.
Wait.
…
My brain caught up to the implications.
Days ago.
I'd watched it days ago. Right before the client called about Trevor, before I discovered his obsession with the same anime, and before I found the dagger meant to send someone to that exact world.
The sequence of events clicked together, puzzle pieces I hadn't realized I was holding.
The anonymous tip about Trevor delivered to my inbox out of nowhere, no client name attached, payment already deposited.
The sudden urge to binge an anime I'd never shown interest in before when I've only ever watched slice of life and sport anime's.
The convention happening in the same city I was already traveling to for "work."
Trevor's hotel being ten minutes from my own.
The fact that I'd arrived on the day of the final sacrifice.
Coincidence?
Bullshit.
My eyes snapped back to the eldritch abomination floating before me.
"You," I said slowly, the pieces finally falling into place. "You orchestrated this. All of it."
Its smile stretched even wider.
"Oh, now he gets it."
…
I was mildly pissed.
Don't get me wrong I liked where this conversation was going. New world and victims. Powers beyond imagination? All very appealing to a man of my particular tastes.
But I also didn't appreciate being led around by a cosmic fucking leash.
Every step I'd taken, every decision I'd made it had all been choreographed by this tentacled puppet master. I wasn't the hunter in this scenario I was just a tool.
Bigger prey, it had said.
Yeah. Someday, maybe that bigger prey would be you, you eldritch bastard.
Its smile twitched. It had definitely heard that.
I didn't care.
Thankfully, before I could dig my mental grave any deeper, it spoke again.
"I will give you a few options," it announced, almost gleefully. "But to make things interesting..."
It snapped a tentacle.
Poof.
A massive wheel materialized in the void before me. Glowing and spinning, covered
in names and icons.
A gacha roll.
This motherfucker was giving me a gacha roll.
My eyes scanned the options as the wheel slowly rotated, and my heart nearly stopped.
Penance Stare .
Blacklight Virus .
Punisher on Steroids.
Kratos Template .
Four names. Four beautiful, overpowered, absolutely broken options scattered among dozens of trash-tier picks. I spotted "Enhanced Accounting Skills" and "Slightly Better Cardio" wedged between them for filler purposes.
The thing spoke again, clearly enjoying my reaction.
"Don't get too excited." Its voice dripped with amusement. "Any overpowered abilities will be appropriately... toned down. Balanced for your new environment. Can't have you breaking my favorite playground on day one."
I barely heard it.
I was too busy staring at that wheel.
Now, I'm an atheist by nature. Always have been. Even with this incomprehensible horror floating before me living proof that something existed beyond human understanding my fundamental skepticism remained intact.
But in that moment?
I started praying.
To every god and deity and any cosmic force that might be listening.
Jesus. Buddha. Allah. Vishnu. Odin. The Flying Spaghetti Monster. That one weird cat statue from the Japanese restaurant down the street.
Please. Please let it land on one of the four. Any of the four. I promise I'll never kill again.
...
Okay, I'll never kill anyone who doesn't deserve it.
...
Okay, I'll feel slightly bad about it afterward. For at least ten seconds. Maybe five.
The wheel began to slow.