The Newspaper District was only a few blocks away.
As we moved, we stopped by several old-fashioned shops, picking up clothes to disguise ourselves.
I chose a long black coat with a hood that shadowed my face.
Tink slipped into a worn, grayish-brown cloak, giving him the look of a wandering traveler.
Everywhere we went, we whispered one name.
Poison Eye.
And every reaction told me we were on the right track.
Some people pretended not to hear.
Others stammered a few words before rushing away.
The rest?
They just muttered about his cunning. His cruelty.
That only made me more certain—
Poison Eye was the man we needed.
Tink nudged my sleeve. Time to move.
As we slipped into an alley to change, he murmured under his breath:
"Feels like we're hunting a viper."
I chuckled, adjusting my hood.
"A viper that knows too many secrets."
From the moment we stepped in, the air changed.
This place wasn't like the rest of the city.
It was alive—but not in the way a market bustled with trade.
This was a den of whispers, a labyrinth of hidden knowledge.
The streets were lined with newsstands and small shops, their wooden signs worn by time and ink-stained hands.
Papers, flyers, announcements— they covered the walls like a second layer of skin.
Wanted posters fluttered in the wind.
Murder reports, political scandals, forbidden secrets— all up for sale.
Men in tailored coats stood with calculating gazes.
Women with sharp eyes and sharper words watched every passerby.
Even children—small, dirty, quick-footed—darted through the alleys, slipping between legs like shadows.
I didn't doubt for a second that they were pickpockets.
Or worse—news thieves.
Everything here was for sale.
Even the truth had a price.
Tink's voice was barely above a whisper.
"How do we find him?"
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let my eyes wander.
The Poison Eye…
If he was the top informant here, then we didn't need to look for him.
He'd find us first.
I approached a small, rickety newsstand.
Behind it, an old man with a bald head was flipping through a yellowed page, his fingers stained with ink.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a coin, and set it on the table.
"I'm looking for someone."
The old man barely glanced up.
With a slow, practiced motion, he took the coin and pocketed it.
"Who?"
I smiled.
Then, I said the name.
"Poison Eye."
The reaction was immediate.
Conversations died down.
The air itself tensed, like the city had just taken a sharp breath.
I felt the weight of new eyes on me—watching, measuring.
The old man's eyebrow arched, but his expression stayed neutral.
Then, he shrugged.
"He doesn't meet just anyone."
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough.
"Everything has a price. And I think he'll be very interested in what I know about Ratmor."
For the first time, the old man paused.
His gaze lingered on me a second too long.
Then, he let out a dry chuckle.
"You've got guts."
He stood up, dusted off his coat, and walked away without another word.
Tink edged closer.
"Are you sure he'll come?"
I didn't take my eyes off the street.
I could feel it now—the shift, the weight, the attention.
Poison Eye was already watching.
I smirked.
"Oh, he'll come."
Because if there was one thing a man like him couldn't resist…
It was new information.
Especially when it was about a monster that should have been dead.
I was right.
A thin drizzle swept across the narrow, rotting streets, soaking the cracked pavement in a shimmering film of water. The flickering oil lamps overhead cast long, wavering shadows across the stone walls, their glow barely reaching the damp alleys choked with the smell of rust, decay, and rotting garbage.
In the darkness, rats and insects scuttled through the filth, vanishing into crevices like silent witnesses to the city's secrets.
Tink and I moved cautiously, our backs nearly touching.
Our gazes swept across the shifting crowd, lingering on figures that lurked too long in the gloom.
Everyone here walked with purpose—but never too fast, like prey hoping not to draw the attention of a predator.
And yet, every face we passed wore the same expression.
Furtive. Watchful. As if they were running from something.
Or someone.
Tink exhaled slowly.
"We're being followed."
I barely moved. My fingers twitched toward the hilt of my knife.
"I know."
The sensation crept up my spine, ice-cold, like a venomous serpent waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Then—he appeared.
Poison Eye – The Man Who Sees Everything
He leaned lazily against the crumbling wall of a tavern, the flickering light from an old oil lamp casting jagged shadows across his scarred face.
One yellow eye gleamed in the dimness, watching us. Calculating.
And he smiled.
Not the warm, amused kind.
The kind a snake makes before it strikes.
Poison Eye.
An underworld broker, a whisperer of forbidden truths.
They said he could sell you any secret—for the right price.
And if the price was high enough, he'd sell you out too.
His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.
"Michel. Tink."
He didn't ask. He knew.
Like he'd been waiting for us all along.
I didn't hesitate. My fingers curled around my knife's hilt.
"How do you know us?"
His smirk widened—mocking, knowing.
"Not only do I know who you are…" he said, his voice like silk over steel, "…I know why you're here."
Tink stepped forward, eyes sharp.
"Then say it. What do you want?"
Poison Eye's coat swept the wet pavement as he stepped out of the darkness, his slow, measured movements deliberate.
For a long moment, he simply watched us.
Like a merchant weighing the worth of two rare artifacts.
Or a hunter deciding if his prey was worth the chase.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"I can give you information on Moskov."
Each word deliberate. Drawn out. Testing us.
But then… his smirk turned razor-sharp.
"But first… I have a bet with a rat."
A Name That Should Have Stayed Dead
The moment the word left his mouth, Tink and I both tensed.
"A rat?" I echoed, feeling something coil tight in my gut.
A name crawled through my mind like a whisper of a nightmare.
A name that should not have returned.
Poison Eye's expression was one of pure amusement.
"Oh? You figured it out quickly."
Tink's fists clenched. "…Ratmor."
Poison Eye chuckled.
The sound was slow, deliberate—as if savoring our reaction.
"That's right."
He took another step forward, his voice dropping into a whisper, low and insidious.
"But you know… Ratmor is no longer a beastman."
My breath stilled.
A cold dread settled in my bones.
"…What do you mean?"
His lone, yellow eye gleamed in the dim light.
And for the first time, I saw it—
True amusement.
Poison Eye lived for this.
For the moment when a secret unraveled.
For the second when knowledge became power.
"He made a pact," he said softly.
"…with one of the Demon Kings."
My heart raced.
"Those people—when they die, they don't truly die." He tilted his head, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that seemed to savor my reaction. "They come back. And when they do, they must kill the one who killed them."
A cold weight settled in my chest.
"You mean..." I stammered.
Poison Eye nodded, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
"He's coming for you, Michel."
The air between us thickened.
A chill crept down my spine—not from the weather, but from an overwhelming sense of impending doom.
Poison Eye flicked his chin toward the dark alley behind him. "If you win, come find me. I'll give you the information you need."
He turned and vanished into the shadows, but not before letting out a dry laugh—a laugh that felt like the first note of a nightmare, one that was about to unfold.
I stood frozen.
Tink's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Michel... is this true?"
I swallowed hard. "I don't know."
But then, something shifted in the air.
A sudden chill pressed against my skin, like invisible claws raking across my flesh.
We remained motionless in the middle of the empty street. And then, I felt it—something was terribly wrong.
It wasn't just a vague feeling.
It was happening.
A sudden cold swept over me, the air thickening as though it had turned to ice. Each breath I took grew labored, my exhale turning into fog.
Snow.
Flakes began to fall from nowhere.
It couldn't be. This city had never seen snow.
Something unnatural was approaching.
And then, in the silent night, a sound broke through.
Squeak.
The squeak of a mouse.
Squeak. Squeak.
The sound grew louder.
Squeak! Squeak!
It wasn't just one mouse. It was a whole swarm.
The screeching of tiny feet scraping against the walls. The scratching of claws against the ground. The gnashing of sharp teeth.
Tink and I backed away, our eyes frantically searching for the source of the noise.
But then—
All at once, the sounds stopped.
The world fell into an eerie silence.
BOOM!!!
The ground cracked open.
A massive shadow swooped down from above, landing with a thunderous crash in front of us.
Dust billowed into the air.
And then, the figure emerged.
A towering figure, nearly twice the height of a normal human.
His skin had shed its gray fur, now replaced by cold, black scales. His eyes—glowing red like embers burning in the dark.
And the tail.
A giant tail slammed into the ground, sending cracks racing down the road.
He grinned.
A hoarse, broken voice echoed, rough like rotting wood.
"Remember me?"
Then he laughed.
It was the laugh of a monster returning from hell.
Tink squeezed my hand. "This is bad, Michel."
I drew my sword, steadying myself for the inevitable.
This time, I wouldn't let him rise again.