Chapter 2: Fat Fuck’s Morning Rounds

Viktor slammed the dining hall door behind him so hard the hinges groaned in protest. His massive gut jiggled with every angry, heavy step as he waddled down the hallway, the fine silk of his shirt already growing damp with sweat. The throbbing in his head had intensified with the morning's insults, and his mood was foul enough to poison a well.

“Fucking cunts,” he muttered, his breath hitching as he navigated a slight incline in the marble floor. “The whole goddamn family looks at me like I’m a walking pile of shit. Well, news flash, assholes—I am the pile of shit now, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of it.”

He paused to adjust the straining leather belt that bit into the soft flesh under his belly. His new body was a prison of lard, but it was a prison that held all the keys to the manor. He licked his lips, the metallic taste of his own gluttony lingering on his tongue. Lila. That little trembling bitch had escaped his grasp earlier thanks to that gray-haired vulture, Elara. He wasn't about to let her hide for long.

“Oi! You there!” he barked.

A passing maid, carrying a stack of fresh linens, nearly leapt out of her skin. She was young—maybe seventeen—with a face full of freckles and a chest that strained against her modest apron. She wasn't Lila, but she’d do for a appetizer.

The girl froze, her knuckles white as she gripped the laundry. “M-my lord? I apologize, I didn't see you—”

Viktor lumbered over, his shadow looming over her like a gathering storm. He snatched the stack of linens out of her hands, tossing them carelessly onto the dusty floor. “Where is Lila? Answer me quickly, girl, before I decide your tits need a thorough inspection to ensure you aren't stealing the silver.”

“She… she’s in the East Wing, my lord,” the maid stammered, backing away until her spine hit the cold stone wall. “Cleaning the guest rooms for the visitors...”

“Good girl.” Viktor reached out, his meaty hand moving with surprising speed to give her backside a hard, bruising squeeze. He let out a wet chuckle as she let out a sharp yelp of pain. “Tell her if she hides from me again, I’ll have her father’s debt tripled by sunset. Now fuck off and pick up your mess.”

He left her trembling and tearful on the floor, continuing his slow, rhythmic trek toward the East Wing. Servants scattered like roaches when they saw the Baron’s bloated silhouette approaching. A young footman nearly tripped over his own feet, a tray of silverware clattering dangerously as he dove into an alcove to avoid being trampled.

“Pathetic,” Viktor laughed, the sound bubbling up from his throat like mud. “Yeah, run, you little shits. This fat pervert owns every inch of this manor—and every hole in it.”

He found Lila in the third guest room. She was on her knees, scrubbing the floor with a rhythmic, desperate energy. Her uniform had ridden up just enough to reveal the pale, soft curve of her thighs. It was a view that made the original Viktor’s blood boil and the new Viktor’s mind fill with filth.

“Well, well, well,” Viktor drawled, his massive bulk filling the doorway and blocking out the morning light. “There’s my favorite little mouse.”

Lila’s head snapped up. She scrambled to her feet, the scrub brush clutched in her hands like a pathetic, wooden shield. “My lord! I-I finished the dining hall and came straight here as Madame Elara ordered—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut. The heavy click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. “You think you can run to that dried-up bitch Elara every time I want a taste? You think she can protect you from the man who pays for the very air you breathe?”

Lila backed toward the open window, the sheer drop to the courtyard below her only other exit. “Please, my lord… I have duties… the guests arrive soon—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about the guests.” Viktor advanced, his breathing coming in heavy, ragged wheezes. His face was flushed crimson with excitement and the sheer exertion of walking. “You belong to me, Lila. Every inch. Every sob. Now drop the fucking brush and get on the bed.”

He lunged, catching her by the upper arm and yanking her toward him. His free hand immediately began pawing at her chest, his fingers digging into her skin through the fabric. The scent of her fear—sharp and metallic—mixed with the smell of cheap lye soap, sent a jolt of electricity through his bloated frame.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, pressing his sweaty weight against her, pinning her toward the mattress. “Cry a little more. I love the way your voice breaks. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to—”

The door didn't just open; it exploded inward, the lock splintering under a heavy blow.

“Viktor, you disgusting, bloated pig!”

Sophia von Grell stood in the doorway, a vision of aristocratic fury. She was dressed in her riding leathers, a silver-tipped riding crop gripped in her gloved hand. Her face, usually a mask of cold indifference, was twisted into a snarl of pure hatred.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off her right now!”

Viktor didn’t release his grip immediately. Instead, he gave Lila’s breast one final, agonizing squeeze, relishing her cry of pain before turning to his sister. “Stay out of this, Sophia. Go play with your horses and leave the grown-up business to me.”

Sophia didn't argue. She reached for a heavy brass candlestick on a nearby side table and hurled it with lethal accuracy. It struck Viktor’s shoulder with a meaty thud, the weight of it nearly knocking him off balance.

“Ow! You crazy bitch!” Viktor roared, finally releasing Lila. The maid didn't hesitate; she bolted past Sophia, disappearing into the hallway like a ghost.

“Get out, Lila,” Sophia commanded, her eyes never leaving her brother. “Tell Madame Elara to lock the East Wing. If this fat sack of shit wants to act like an animal, he can stay in the stables.”

Now it was just the two of them. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

“You really are the lowest creature alive,” Sophia spat, stepping into the room. Her riding boots clicked sharply on the wood. “Mother cries herself to sleep wondering what sin she committed to birth a monster like you. Father pretends you’re a ghost. And I… I fucking hate you, Viktor. With every fiber of my being.”

Viktor wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and smirked, though his shoulder throbbed where the brass had hit him. “Big words for a stuck-up little cunt who still eats the food I provide. What’s the matter, Sophia? Jealous I’m playing with the staff instead of you?”

Sophia’s eyes flashed with a murderous light.

She moved faster than Viktor’s alcohol-soaked brain could process.

The riding crop cracked across his face with a vicious, stinging snap. Viktor howled, staggering back as a bright red welt bloomed across his cheek.

“You fat, worthless, perverted piece of shit!” she screamed.

Crack! The crop caught him across the forearm as he tried to shield his face.

“Every time you touch a girl in this house, I want you to feel this!”

Crack! This time it caught him across the belly, the sting slicing through his silk shirt. The crop wasn't heavy, but Sophia was an expert rider, and she knew exactly how to make it bite. Viktor’s body was soft, untrained, and hyper-sensitive to pain.

“Fuck! Stop! I’ll have you whipped for this!” he yelled, his voice cracking. He tried to lung at her, but his feet tangled in his own heavy robes. He crashed backward onto the freshly scrubbed floor with a tremendous, bone-shaking thud.

Sophia didn't let up. She stepped over him, kicking him hard in the ribs—once, twice—then brought her boot down hard on his thigh.

“You make me sick!” she shouted, tears of rage glistening in her eyes. “The way you look at children. The way you laugh while they beg. I wish the gods would just strike you dead so we could breathe again!”

Viktor curled into a ball as best his massive frame allowed, gasping for air. “You… you whore! I’m the Baron! I’ll throw you in the dungeons!”

Sophia laughed, a cold, brittle sound. She brought the crop down across his back three more times in rapid succession, the thwack of leather on flesh echoing in the room.

“Baron? You’re a joke. A disgusting, drooling, overweight punchline. If it weren’t for our name, the peasants would have hung you from the gates years ago. And one day, Viktor…” She leaned down, her voice a low, trembling promise of violence. “One day, someone is going to put a knife in that bloated gut of yours while you’re busy ruining some poor girl's life. And I will drink to their health over your rotting corpse.”

She straightened up, chest heaving, and spat directly onto his reddened face.

Viktor lay there on the floor, his cheek burning, his back a map of fire. For the first time since his soul had entered this body, a sliver of genuine fear pierced through his ego. This body was weak. It was slow. And his own sister was more than willing to kill him.

Sophia turned on her heel, her cape swirling behind her. “If I catch you harassing the servants again today, I’ll go to Father. I’ll tell him exactly what you tried to do to Lila. Maybe then he’ll finally find the courage to disown your sorry ass.”

She slammed the door, and a painting of a former Grell ancestor fell from the wall, the glass shattering over Viktor’s head.

He stayed on the floor for a long time, his chest heaving like a dying bellows.

“Fuuuuuck…” he wheezed. His pride was in tatters, but underneath the pain, a dark, oily resolve began to solidify.

“That little bitch… thinks she’s won?” He let out a wet, ragged chuckle. “Fine. Play your hero games, Sophia. But I’ve read the script. I know the plot twists you don’t. I know which 'loyal' guards are taking bribes and which 'noble' neighbors are plotting a coup.”

He rolled onto his side with a groan, the movement sending sparks of pain through his ribs. It took three tries and a string of curses to push his bulk off the floor. Sweat poured down his face, stinging the welt on his cheek.

A terrified young male servant peeked through the broken door a minute later.

“M-my lord…? Shall I call the physician?”

Viktor glared at him with pure, unadulterated venom. “Get me a bottle of the strongest wine in the cellar. The Northern vintage. Now.”

The servant nodded frantically, turning to run.

“And!” Viktor roared, stopping the boy in his tracks. “Tell Madame Elara that if she interferes with my business again, I’ll sell every young maid in this house to the Shadow Syndicate slave-traders by the week’s end. Tell her I’ll start with Lila.”

He touched the burning welt on his face and winced.

“Time to stop playing nice,” he whispered to the empty, ruined guest room. “These people want a villain? I’ll give them a monster that makes the Hero look like a saint. I’ll break Sophia first, then I’ll see what the rest of this kingdom has to offer.”

Viktor limped toward the door, his mind already spinning a web of blackmail and corruption. The Hero hadn’t appeared yet, and the world was ripe for the taking.

He had plenty of time to turn this manor into his own private hell.