Sekka stood in front of the Palace gates and simply stared. The gates were huge, black iron wrought in an intricate design. They were at least twice his height, and it wasn't as if he was particularly short.

Two security guards stood impassively on the inside of the gates, one at either pillar. Dressed in black, each with a mike in one ear, and a weapon at one hip.

"Are you here to sight-see, or are you actually coming in?" One of them asked sarcastically, as Sekka stood and gaped.

He attempted to collect himself. "Yeah. Yeah, I have a key. I mean, to a room." Sekka shut his mouth abruptly, realised he was babbling like an idiot. He set his bag down at his feet and pulled out the box.

Carefully he lifted the lid and drew back the blue-velvet flap, then reversed it to show them, hoping they wouldn't notice the state of the lock. One of them peered at it, and then looked back at Sekka with a slightly incredulous glance. Sekka found himself holding his breath. Could Wilks' death have become common knowledge, in such a short amount of time?

But the guard just shrugged and nodded to his partner, who pressed the button, and Sekka breathed again. The gates swung slowly inwards. They were quite wide enough for a car; in fact, Sekka realised, most of the Palace's customers probably drove in through the gates, and up the road to the Palace itself. No wonder he was getting such odd looks, being on foot.

But they weren't going to stop him, and that was all he cared about. He bundled the key back up and tucked the box in one hand against his hip, and then headed off down the driveway.

It wasn't really a Palace, he decided, once he was actually standing in front of it. It was a huge, sprawling, old-European mansion, set on a massive, wooded estate. He'd thought it looked big from outside the front gates, but he realised now that the grounds must go back at least a few acres.

The building itself was enormous. Three stories high at the front, made of massive slabs of stone and heavy, dark wood. He wondered how such a building could exist in a place like this, without anybody being aware of it. If it was a hotel, where were all the goggling flocks of tourists and honeymooners that should be hanging around?

Upon reflection, however, it occurred to him that unless you knew where to look, it wasn't exactly something you were going to stumble across. Must be pretty exclusive clientele - a well-kept secret of the privileged few. The thought irritated him like a rash.

The pebbled driveway that he had followed curved around in a loop past the front steps, with a huge, gushing fountain in the centre. The steps led up to an arched entranceway, on either side of which stood an attendant in uniform.

He approached with what he hoped was a confident air.

"Good evening, Sir," one attendant greeted him, with a short bow. Sekka had to conceal a moment of uncertainty, the 'Sir' had thrown him. This was far outside of his realm of experience, and he didn't particularly want to advertise the fact.

"Yeah, thanks. Ok if I just... go on in?" He asked.

"Certainly, Sir. There will be somebody at the front desk to attend you. We hope you enjoy your stay here at the Palace."

Sekka nodded mutely in reply, figuring that the less he said, the less stupid he'd look, and stepped through the door that was being held open for him.

He found himself in a foyer with high ceilings, rich carpet, and expensive-looking paintings on the walls. There was a long desk with a marble benchtop that ran along one wall. Upon the desk sat a small silver bell, and behind it, sat a bespectacled middle-aged man.

Sekka stepped up to the desk, and tried to look casual, though he felt extremely out of place.

"Welcome to the Palace. Can I help you, Sir?" The receptionist looked up and greeted him with a polite, inquiring look.

"I have a key," he said, clutching the box tightly, trying to look casual. "That gets me a room, right?"

The desk clerk looked at him and blinked. "Yes, of course, Sir. Every Key has his own set of rooms, which are yours to use, for as long as you stay with us."

Sekka paused. Again the reference to the key as a 'he', as if it were a person. His vague suspicion that there was a lot more going on here than he first thought was becoming more and more likely. The desk clerk, meanwhile, appeared to be waiting patiently for him to say or do something else.

"I have the Ice Angel key," he said carefully, setting the box down upon the counter.

The desk clerk suddenly regarded him with a new degree of respect. "Yes, Sir. Might I say, you're very lucky. Ice Angel is our most sought-after Key."

Ice Angel. As if it was a name. As if it was a person. "I'll bet he is." Sekka bluffed, hoping he had put the pieces together correctly. When the clerk seemed to find nothing strange in this comment, he added: "Wilks babbled on a whole lot about him. But he did so much babbling, I'm not sure I caught all the details. You wanna fill me in, just in case I missed anything important?"

The desk clerk smirked in a way that indicated he'd met Wilks before, and had been inflicted with the man's flood of nervous words. "Certainly, Sir. The Ice Angel Key is our finest submissive. He particularly enjoys a Master who will enforce both physical and mental dominance. He's quite remarkable, really. No matter what is done to him, he's healed by the next morning."

Submissive? That was definitely a term that he knew. What the hell was this place - a glorified whorehouse? And then, as his brain caught up with the last few words, Sekka felt a chill sweep through him. "No matter what's done to him...?"

The desk clerk nodded. "That's correct. You can do absolutely anything you like to him. Up to and including killing him."

"What??" Sekka simply failed to comprehend this statement. It was difficult enough to believe in magical healing powers, but rising from the dead? It couldn't be possible. Could it?

"Oh, Wilks 'forgot' to mention that part, did he?" The desk clerk gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I rather think he likes to keep that little trick all to himself. Well, you don't have to go that far, if it's not your thing. But whatever your kink, Ice Angel will take anything you want to do to him, and beg for more."

The information went in his ears, but refused to be absorbed. "Is he a Newtype, or what?" Sekka had only heard rumours about the strange abilities that had started appearing in some people over last few years. Mutations, some claimed. Others sneered that the stories were spread deliberately by the Government to keep the focus off the more horrendous abnormalities that had been springing up since science had been let well and truly out of its box.

The clerk shrugged and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I honestly don't know. Nobody seems to know a thing about him, except what he can do."

What he could do. Heal, and resurrect himself from the dead. Who was this guy, Jesus fucking Christ??

"And he'll do _anything_ I say?"

"Naturally, Sir. He is your Slave, from the time you arrive to the time you leave, and every minute in between. We do not tolerate disobedience. If it should occur, you are free - and indeed, encouraged - to take whatever disciplinary measures you feel adequate."

A sexual slave ordered to obey his every whim? Disciplinary measures? This was just getting more freaky by the second. He needed time to absorb all this, without this four-eyed twerp sitting there so primly staring at him.

"Right. Is there anything else I should know, before I go on up?"

"Not that I can think of, Sir. Meals are served three times a day, but the dining hall is always open, and if you have a sudden craving, the pages can be sent down to fetch whatever it is you desire."

"Great. Food. Key." Sekka hovered nervously, hoping he didn't look quite as overwhelmed as he felt. "Got it."

"Very good, Sir." The clerk rang the silver bell, and a presence materialised at the side of the desk. The figure was somewhat shorter than him, and stood with her head bowed in subservience. At least, he figured it was a she; though he couldn’t see her face, she was wearing a long skirt and had a braid flowing from behind each ear.

"This is your guide. She will take you to the suite of the Ice Angel Key."

"Thanks." Sekka nodded again, and headed around the desk to follow the girl, who was already leading him towards the elevator at the back of the room. He wondered if she had a name, but the clerk hadn't introduced her, and this didn’t exactly seem like the place for nametags.

The girl didn't speak during the trip up, and Sekka was too distracted to attempt idle chatter with her.

A Palace full of sex-slaves. The thought kept whirling around inside his head. And the key entitled him to one of his very own. A slave, who would fulfil his ever desire. A slave who couldn't be hurt. It seemed too incredible to be true, and yet, he was here, and this was just too elaborate a setup to be a hoax.

He was quickly lost as they took a corner, and then another. This place must be huge, he thought. There didn't seem to be many people about though, which he found a little strange. And then, with a smirk to himself, it occurred to him that with never-ending room service and a built-in pleasure slave, he wouldn't bother leaving his room, either!

"This is the Ice Angel Key's door." The girl's voice broke into his musings, and he stopped abruptly.

His bag threatened to slip off his shoulder, and he shifted it to his opposite arm. It still ached vaguely, and he felt the familiar resentment burning inside of him. He'd been treated like a nothing for all of his pathetic life so far, as nothing more than something to be used. Well, the tables had turned now, he thought with some kind of satisfaction.

Now he'd be the one in control. It was a heady thought, and he revelled in it.

But as he stood and prepared himself, he frowned slightly, having the vague feeling that he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of something small and dark flitting in the shadows. By the time he had turned, the shape had disappeared down a side-passageway.

"Did you see that?" He asked the girl, slightly disconcerted.

"See what, Sir?" She asked, with absolutely no inflection in her tone whatsoever. "Are you ready to go in now?"

Sekka blinked at her, wondering if all the people here were so peculiar. Well, serving girls and strange shadows didn't concern him now. From here on, there was nothing but his room, his Key, and his revenge on everybody who had ever thought they were better than him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready." A grin spread across his face, but there was less mirth in it than a kind of predatory anticipation.

The girl pulled a small cord to one side of the door, and Sekka could hear a bell ringing somewhere inside, muffled by the thickness of the walls and wood. From within the folds of her dress, she then produced a key, unlocking the door neatly.

She turned back to hand Sekka the key. It was a smaller, metallic replica of the crystal version he had nestled safely in his bag.

"Thanks."

The girl nodded, her eyes still fixed upon the floor. "If you need anything, just ring the bell."

Then, like a wraith, she too melted into the shadows and was gone. Sekka looked both ways down the hallway, and found that he was utterly alone.

He slipped the key into his pocket, went through the door, and closed and locked it behind him.

Inside the door, to his surprise, was a small room which contained absolutely nothing but a large spiral staircase, leading upwards. The stairs were of white marble, and the banisters were painted gold, winding their way around a large roman pillar that stretched up through the middle. Sekka looked to both sides, but there was nothing but white walls, painted with old-fashioned angels, frolicking amongst the clouds.

There was nowhere to go but up. And so, he put his foot upon the first step, took a deep breath, and headed up.