The city never sleeps. And when it does…it dreams in neon and nightmares.
The carnival was a graveyard now, its twisted mirrors shattered and its curses bleeding into memory. But the city of Nocturne? Nocturne moved on fast.
By nightfall, the streets roared back to life. Vice Street throbbed like a living vein, pulsing with light, laughter, and sin. Neon signs flickered and buzzed, advertising everything from cheap drinks to cheaper promises. A city built to forget.
Asher Blackwood limped down the cracked sidewalk, his coat torn, his shirt blood-stained but—miraculously—buttoned. A cigarette drooped from his lips, smoke curling like ghosts around his tired face.
Behind him, Rosa was striding like she'd won a prizefight, stuffing free hotdogs into her jacket like a gremlin let loose in a 7-Eleven.
"You look like hell," she remarked cheerfully between bites.
Asher grunted, exhaling a long drag."I feel like hell. And if I don't get a drink soon, I'm going to start punching pigeons."
Rosa's grin widened, ketchup smeared across her cheek like war paint."I know just the place. Demon-owned, barely legal. Great drinks, terrible life choices."
"Perfect," Asher muttered. "Sign me up."
They turned the corner—and there it was. The Cursed Delight.
The club's front looked like it had been designed during a blackout and a fever dream. Neon pink and toxic green lights blinked erratically over a cracked sign that literally had bite marks in it. An animatronic gargoyle above the door leered, drooling mist that smelled faintly of burnt marshmallows.
Asher stared at it."Subtle."
Rosa just cackled and dragged him inside.
The air hit them like a slap of heat and bass. Inside, the place was packed wall-to-wall with humans and things that looked human if you squinted hard enough. Demon barmaids wove through the chaos, trays piled high with cocktails that hissed and sparked. Flames danced up the straws. The floor thudded with music so deep it rattled bones.
At the far end, a succubus DJ in heart-shaped sunglasses spun tracks so filthy, half the crowd's noses bled just from standing near the speakers.
Asher made a beeline for the bar, boots crunching over broken glass and… was that a shed snakeskin?
He slammed down his revolver like it was just another wallet."Whiskey. Uncursed."
The bartender—a six-foot demon with goat horns, a bowtie, and disturbingly good skin—arched an eyebrow."Sure about that?"
Asher hesitated. His head throbbed, memories flickering like dying bulbs. The mirror-thing's voice still echoed."Actually... make it slightly cursed. Just enough to forget without, y'know, opening a portal."
The bartender's grin was all fangs."One Memory Fader, coming up."
Meanwhile, Rosa was already living her best cursed life. She'd somehow ended up dancing with two demon girls—both with spiked tails, one with eyes that blinked sideways. Rosa threw her head back, laughing wildly, hands raised in pure chaotic bliss.
"WOOOO! TRAUMA PROCESSING THROUGH CLUBBING!" she screamed over the music, hips swinging like her life depended on it.
Asher stared into his drink with the dead-eyed weariness of a man who'd seen too much.
"She's gonna summon something by accident again," he muttered. He downed the shot anyway. The burn was sharp, edged with something cold and slippery—memories already unraveling at the edges.
In the shadowy corner of the club, two figures sat unmoving in a booth, trench coats buttoned tight even though the air was stifling. They watched Asher and Rosa with inhuman stillness.
One flicked a coin. It spun, shimmering—and landed on its side, balancing impossibly.
"Blackwood broke the Mirror Gate," the taller figure rasped, voice hollow and stretched. "Timelines are bleeding. Faster than expected."
The other leaned closer, the shadows swallowing its face."The Serpent's Eye is opening. We should prepare."
They dissolved into the crowd like smoke.
Back at the bar, Rosa slammed something weird and glowing onto the table between them."Asher. Eat this."
He blinked down at it."What the hell is that?"
She grinned like a kid showing off a science experiment."It's an Ecstasy Peach. Mildly illegal in seven realms."
Asher side-eyed her, then the fruit."No. Last time I ate cursed fruit, I woke up in a bathtub full of ink and bad decisions."
Rosa shrugged, still dancing in place."Live a little."
"I live enough," he deadpanned.
Around them, the slice-of-life chaos churned:
A vampire couple argued viciously over who'd drained the last cursed blood pack, each accusing the other of hiding snacks.
A slime girl tripped near the dance floor, spilling half of herself in a gelatinous puddle—unbothered, she waved and told everyone to keep dancing through her.
Imp waiters zipped between tables, balancing towers of drinks and snack trays. Rosa shamelessly stole glowing cherries off one's tray, popping them like candy.
A poster on the far wall fluttered as bodies brushed past:"Midnight Market — Everything For Sale (Even Your Soul!)"
Asher couldn't stop watching the TV over the bar. Between sports highlights and infomercials, the news kept cutting in. Flashing photos of cracks creeping up city landmarks—like spiderwebs of fissures no one could explain. One showed a subway wall splitting with a serpent-shaped fracture, another a church's stained glass window warping from within.
Asher dragged in a breath, exhaling smoke through clenched teeth.
"It's spreading," he muttered."The cracks… they're not just in mirrors anymore."
Rosa plopped down beside him, pink sparks hiccupping off her tongue. Her eyes were glassy but sharp underneath.
"Stop brooding. The city's always cracked." She bumped his shoulder with a crooked grin."We survive. We party. We punch nightmares in the face."
He gave a thin smile, but his eyes stayed on the TV.
"This feels different," he said. "Like the city's… breaking in ways we can't tape back together."
Rosa opened her mouth to argue—then everything changed.
The music glitched.The club's bass dropped into a low, vibrating growl.
Every screen—TVs, neon signs, even the DJ's tablet—flickered violently. The images twisted, pixelated, warped.
And then—an EYE.
Massive. Reptilian. Vertical pupil.It stared out at them from every screen, unblinking.
A voice—wet, slithering—whispered through the bass:
"Soooon… the Serpent feasts."
The screens blinked black.
Silence fell for a beat too long.
Then someone laughed nervously, the DJ cranked the music again, and the club erupted back into chaos as if nothing had happened.
But Asher and Rosa?They knew better.
Their eyes met across the bar, the weight of what they'd just seen settling like lead between them.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
[End of Chapter 56]
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Preview of Next Chapter (57) — Midnight Market Madness:
Asher and Rosa track down the illegal Midnight Market, hunting whispers of relics tied to the serpent cracks. Expect chaotic shopping sprees, cursed bargains, and strange merchant politics—until an old enemy emerges from the shadows, forcing them to face the market's deadliest price yet…