I woke up feeling like I'd gone ten rounds with a particurly grumpy ogre. My head throbbed, my mouth tasted like ash, and a general sense of ick clung to me like a bad smell. Groaning, I rolled over and squinted at the sliver of light creeping through the gap in my curtains. The previous night… Jesus, the previous night felt like some fever dream of blood and chanting, a nightmare fuelled by too much cheap wine and a whole lot of hate.

  My eyes flickered to my wrist, to the damn soulmark. There it was, that bck, jagged brand that felt permanently etched into my very being. It throbbed faintly, a grim reminder that no, it *wasn't* a dream. I really bloody well *did* sell my soul.

  Great.

  Pushing myself up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, instantly regretting it as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I sat there for a minute, head in my hands, trying to will myself back to something resembling baseline functioning. A deep breath, another, then another. Slowly, the world stopped spinning.

  Right. Time to face the music. Or, more accurately, the city.

  I dressed in my usual garb – dark trousers, a simple tunic, and a hooded cloak to keep the morning chill at bay. I needed to blend in, to be another face in the crowd. Because, let's face it, the fewer people who connected me to what happened st night, the better.

  Stepping out of my room, I immediately noticed something was… off. The air hummed with a low, almost frantic energy. People were talking, their voices hushed and urgent. I caught snatches of conversations as I walked towards the stairs.

  "...didn't even see it coming..."

  "...heard it was something unnatural..."

  "...Kael, of all people..."

  Kael. My stomach clenched.

  As I descended the stairs and stepped out into the street, the change was even more palpable. The city was buzzing. Normally, the morning market was a symphony of cheerful bartering and boisterous greetings. Today, it was subdued, the air thick with a strange mix of morbid curiosity and fear.

  Merchants spoke in hushed tones, their faces grim. Marketgoers huddled in small groups, whispering behind cupped hands. Even the street urchins, usually so quick to demand a spare coin, seemed subdued, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

  I needed to know. What exactly were they saying?

  I edged closer to a group of women huddled around a fruit stall, pretending to examine a basket of apples.

  "Poor Kael," one of them murmured, shaking her head. "So young, so full of life. To be struck down like that… It's just not right."

  "They say it was… something unnatural," another whispered, gncing around nervously. "Some dark magic, maybe. That’s what my husband told me..."

  "Don't say such things!" the first woman hissed, but her eyes betrayed her fear. "It's probably just gossip."

  Just gossip? Unlikely. I had a pretty good idea of what had struck Kael down, and it definitely wasn't a mild case of the sniffles.

  Moving on, I strolled toward the tavern where Kael used to frequent. The Rusty Fgon. A pce full of drunkards and whores. A pce Kael use to visit regurly enough, for a proper schor. The air was heavy with a subdued atmosphere, a far cry from the usual raucous din. The music was muted, the ughter absent, and the usual aroma of stale beer and cheap ale mingled with a strange, almost metallic tang.

  I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The chatter died down immediately, all eyes turning to me. I held my breath, steeling myself for accusations or questions. But none came. Just wary gnces and hushed whispers that resumed as soon as I looked away. It was like walking into a wake. Or rather, like walking into the *edge* of a wake, being close enough to smell the despair, but to remain distanced enough from it to not directly see it.

  I sidled up to the bar, trying to appear nonchant, and fgged down the barkeep, a burly man with a perpetually grumpy expression who, for some odd reason, always seemed to have a soft spot for me.

  "Ale," I said, keeping my voice low. "And what's with the gloom, Barnaby? Someone kick your dog?"

  Barnaby sighed, wiping down the already spotless counter with a rag. He gave me a look that could curdle milk, but a hint of something else flickered in his eyes – sadness?

  "Didn't you hear, Elias?" he said, his voice unusually quiet. "Kael's dead."

  "Dead?" I feigned surprise, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Kael? What happened?"

  Barnaby shook his head, his gaze drifting to a dark corner of the tavern. "No one knows for sure. Found him in his room this morning. Cold as ice. The guards are saying it was some sort of seizure, but… well, everyone knows Kael was healthy as a horse of his age. Some are murmuring other things." He paused, looking pointedly at me “Things you may had an interest in."

  "Other things?" I pressed, fishing for information.

  "Dark magic," he whispered, leaning closer. "They say there was… a strange energy in the room. Something… unnatural."

  I nodded slowly, pretending to absorb the information. "Unnatural," I echoed, letting the word hang in the air. "Well, that's certainly… unsettling."

  I took a long swig of my ale, trying to process everything I'd heard. Kael's death was big news. People were scared. And some, like Barnaby, were starting to suspect something more sinister was at py. And, most important for me, they didn't directly bme me. Not yet, at the very least.

  As I wandered aimlessly through the city, the narrative of Kael's death piecing itself together in my mind, a dangerous sense of satisfaction began to bubble up inside me. It was a dark, twisted feeling, a perverse pleasure born of pain and vengeance.

  I, for the first time in months, got what I wanted.

  I knew it wasn't right. I knew that revenge was a hollow victory, a fleeting moment of triumph that quickly faded into a lingering ache of regret. But, damn it, right now, in this moment, it felt *good*. It felt… justified.

  I remembered the moment Kael betrayed me. Remembered the shock, the disbelief, the crushing weight of betrayal as the man I trusted most plunged a knife into my back – metaphorically, of course. He never was a violent d, much more a scheming and subtle one.

  We had been close, Kael and I. Brothers in all but blood. We had shared secrets, dreams, and countless hours poring over ancient texts in the dusty depths of the academy library. We had supported each other through thick and thin, through failed experiments and scathing criticism. We thought we were bounded for life, by respect, but most of all, by our common goal for perfection and knowledge.

  And then, he'd thrown it all away. For what? Power? Greed? I still didn't know the full extent of his treachery, but the *result* was that I had found myself humiliated, disgraced, and exiled from the only life I had ever known.

  The reason didn't matter. It would never matter. What mattered was that he betrayed me, and I could not bear it.

  Now, as I imagined Kael's final moments, the terror in his eyes, the realization that his carefully id pns had come crashing down around him, I couldn't help but feel a perverse sense of glee. He had paid the price for his betrayal. He had suffered. And that, at least for now, was enough.

  I allowed myself a moment of triumph, savoring the dark satisfaction. I pictured him, gasping for breath, the life draining from his eyes as the demonic energy consumed him. I imagined his fear, his regret, his desperate pleas for mercy.

  Did he think of me at the end? Did he remember the bond we once shared? Did he realize the magnitude of his mistake?

  I hoped so.

  I mentally justified my actions, convincing myself that Kael deserved his fate. He had betrayed me, he had destroyed my life, and he had left me with no other choice. Revenge was the only path forward. Satisfaction, the only way to go.

  Was it twisted? Absolutely. Was it morally reprehensible? Probably. Did I care? Not in the slightest.

  For a brief, glorious moment, I felt a sense of closure. The anger and resentment that had consumed me for so long began to subside, repced by a strange sense of emptiness. It was like a festering wound had finally been nced, the pus and infection drained away, leaving behind a raw, throbbing void.

  But even as I basked in the fleeting warmth of satisfaction, a nagging doubt crept into my mind. Was this all there was? Had I truly achieved anything of value? Or had I simply traded one form of pain for another? Did I even felt something? Because all I feel is emptiness.

  Despite the surge of fleeting satisfaction, a prickling unease began to creep into the back of my mind. It wasn't just the guilt, or the knowledge of my impending doom. It was something else, something more… visceral. I felt like I was being watched.

  And I wasn’t talking about the usual feeling of been watched while walking around a city. No, this was different. Much more invasive.

  It felt like a pair of eyes boring into my soul, cold and calcuting. I knew it wasn't just paranoia fuelled by the city's whispers about Kael's death. This felt… deliberate.

  During my aimless wanderings through the crowded streets, I kept catching glimpses of a cloaked figure lurking in the shadows. At first, I dismissed it as coincidence, a trick of the light, or simply my overactive imagination running wild. But the figure kept appearing, always at the edge of my vision, always just out of reach.

  Once, I saw it standing across the street, partially obscured by the awning of a shop. The figure was tall and slender, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak that completely concealed its face. It stood motionless, its posture rigid and unnervingly still, as if carved from stone. Its gaze felt heavy and penetrating, even from that distance. It was as if it was a demon trying to get my soul early?

  Another time, I spotted the figure lurking in a dark alleyway, its shadowy form barely visible against the grimy brick walls. It seemed to be watching me, waiting for something. I tried to get a better look, but it melted back into the darkness before I could get close.

  Each time I saw it, the feeling of unease intensified. A shiver ran down my spine, a primal sense of dread washing over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being hunted.

  I attempted to identify the figure, scanning the faces in the crowd, trying to discern any distinguishing features that might give it away. But it was no use. The streets were teeming with people, their faces a blur of anonymity. The cloaked figure could be anyone.

  I tried to follow the figure's path, retracing my steps, peering down alleyways, and scanning the faces of passersby. But it was like chasing a ghost. The figure always seemed to be one step ahead of me, vanishing into the byrinthine streets before I could get close.

  The paranoia was starting to get to me. I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, flinching at sudden noises, and jumping at shadows. The city, once a familiar and comforting backdrop to my life, now felt like a hostile and menacing ndscape.

  I cursed myself for being so reckless. For letting my desire for revenge blind me to the potential consequences. I had made a pact with a demon, and now, it seemed, that pact was coming back to haunt me in more ways than one.

  Turning a corner, I froze.

  Standing directly in front of me, bathed in the flickering light of a nearby streetmp, was the cloaked figure. It was closer than ever before, close enough for me to make out the details of its clothing, the texture of its cloak, the faint glimmer of metal beneath the hood.

  My heart pounded in my chest. My breath hitched in my throat. I was trapped.

  But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the figure vanished. It simply faded away, as if it had never been there at all. Disappeared behind other people passing by as if it was part of the wind.

  Leaving me standing alone in the street, my mind reeling, my nerves frayed, and my sense of dread amplified tenfold. Why was it following me? What did it want? And, more importantly, how could I make it stop?

  Returning home was no refuge. If anything, the feeling of unease intensified as I stepped into my familiar surroundings.

  I lived in a modest apartment in a retively quiet part of the city. It wasn't much, but it was mine. A pce where I could retreat from the world, lose myself in my books, and pretend, for a little while at least, that everything was normal.

  But today, even my apartment felt tainted. The air was heavy with a subtle tension, a sense of unspoken judgment that hung in the air like a shroud.

  As I walked through the building, I noticed subtle changes in the way my neighbors and acquaintances interacted with me. Some, like Mrs. Abernathy, the kindly old woman who lived next door, were hesitant, their usual warm greetings repced by guarded nods and averted gazes. It probably didn't help that she always knew all the gossip that went on in the building.

  Others, like Thomas, the butcher from across the street, were openly suspicious, their friendly banter repced by curt acknowledgments and thinly veiled hostility. It probably didn't help that he was Kael′s cousin.

  The atmosphere around me felt subtly tainted, as if I were now marked, branded with some invisible stain that everyone could see but me.

  I attempted to engage in conversation with my neighbors, trying to gauge their reactions and dispel any suspicions. But it was like trying to break through a wall of ice. Their responses were guarded and evasive, their eyes darting nervously as if they were afraid of being seen talking to me.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Abernathy," I said, forcing a smile as I passed her in the hallway. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

  She jumped slightly, startled by my greeting. "Oh, uh, good morning, Elias," she stammered, her eyes widening slightly. "Yes, yes, lovely weather indeed."

  She hurried past me, clutching her shopping basket tightly, without meeting my gaze.

  I overheard hushed whispers as I passed, catching fragments of conversations about Kael's death. "…something unnatural…" "...poor Kael…" "...stay away from him…"

  It was subtle, but unmistakable. They were talking about me. They were afraid of me.

  The feeling of isotion grew stronger with each passing moment. It was like a wall had been erected between me and the rest of the world, a barrier of fear and suspicion that I couldn't penetrate.

  I felt like an outcast, a pariah, a leper. And the worst part was, I knew I deserved it. How could I not?

  I had embraced the darkness, I had sought out revenge, and I had paid the ultimate price. Now, I was reaping the consequences of my actions. And the harvest was bitter indeed.

  Back in my study, surrounded by the familiar comfort of my books and artifacts, the temporary satisfaction I’d managed to scrape together had vanished completely. Now, all its felt was the gnawing emptiness of guilt and the chilling certainty of my impending doom.

  The four weeks felt so tight. How could so much happen in so little time?

  The flickering mplight cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, turning my sanctuary into a haunted chamber filled with specters of regret. The memories of Kael, of his ughter and his friendship, haunted me relentlessly, mocking my justification for what I’d done.

  I was haunted by the image of Azazel looming over me, his eyes burning with infernal fire. The knowledge that my soul now belonged to that ancient and malevolent entity was a constant, suffocating weight on my chest.

  I tried to distract myself, to lose myself in my studies, but it was no use. The demonic brand on my wrist pulsed with a faint, throbbing pain, a constant reminder of the pact I had made. It felt like my very blood was burning from the inside out.

  I knew that the price for vengeance was far steeper than I had imagined. Far, far steeper than anything I have ever had to pay for before. I had traded my soul for a moment of fleeting satisfaction, and now, I was facing the consequences as the clock ticked relentless to that fateful day where that thing comes to take what’s his.

  I poured myself a gss of wine, a rich, dark vintage that I usually reserved for special occasions. But tonight, it tasted like ash in my mouth. The alcohol did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves or quiet the voices in my head. After all, what would wine do but dey what comes?

  I stared at the gss for a long time, swirling the crimson liquid, watching the light dance across its surface. A dark thought flickered through my mind.

  *End it all.*

  Just swallow it all now. Outsmart Azazel. Deny him his prize.

  The idea was tempting, a quick and easy solution to all my problems. It was a cowardly escape, I knew, but perhaps it was the only option left to me.

  But then, a surge of anger and defiance coursed through me – “Pathetic for even me.” That was my only thought. And I was not exactly the moral compass in this country.

  No. I wouldn't give up. I wouldn't let Azazel win. So he wants a challenge, *I will provide it.*

  There had to be a way out of this mess. A loophole in the contract, a forgotten ritual, a hidden secret that could save my soul. I was a mage, damn it! I had the power, I was going to figure this out, to survive, and to make things right.

  If I could only find the strength to fight.

  I smmed the gss down on the table, the wine sloshing over the rim and staining the surface. I stood up, my resolve hardening.

  No more wallowing in self-pity. No more succumbing to despair. No more booze.

  It was time to fight back. Starting tomorrow, I will look. Deeply and properly. Maybe with that, I can find a pce for this soul of mine.

  The city was not going to beat Elias the Mage without a fight.