A little boy made his way quietly through the damp streets, keeping his head down and doing his absolute best not to draw attention to himself.
Lykon adjusted his grip on his oversized, threadbare coat, his eyes darting nervously left and right as he navigated the crowded thoroughfares of the town. The air here was always heavy, thick with the smell of stagnant sewage, cheap alcohol, and the faint, bitter tang of sulfur.
All around him, devils filled the streets. Some drank openly outside rowdy bars, their loud, slurred laughter echoing off. Others boasted aggressively about petty accomplishments, their chests puffed out as they brandished cheap, low-grade magical items, flickering gems, and amulets bought from sketchy black markets.
Shouting matches and brief, violent scuffles broke out every few minutes, only to resolve into drunken chuckles.
Devils, Lykon had learned early, were creatures of instinct. No matter their social standing, whether rich or poor, powerful or weak, they would always find a way to revel in their personal sins. It was written into their very biology, a constant itch to indulge in wrath, greed, lust, gluttony, sloth, envy, or pride.
But most of the devils Lykon passed in this forgotten, run-down town weren't anyone of importance. They were the dregs of the Underworld. Weak, impoverished, and entirely forgotten. Many of them were hundreds of years old, yet they had failed to rise beyond the lowest ranks of devil society. Devoid of the talent, magical reserves, or political backing needed to climb the hierarchy of the Underworld, they had drifted to the lawless, rural outskirts.
They settled in places like this town, close to the border of Fallen Angel territory, where the Great Clans and the high-ranking devils rarely bothered to look. It was a place where desperate people came to fade away, a garbage heap for the discarded souls of the underworld, and where a cold body in an alley rarely merited a second glance from anyone.
The boy slipped through a narrow gap between two buildings, his heart hammering against his ribs. The destination he was heading toward was a place he'd only heard about in hushed, fearful whispers over the past two weeks.
The local urchins and even the drunken brawlers had spoken of a strange establishment. Lykon didn't know if the rumors were real, but he was at the absolute end of his rope. He was starving, his body was covered in half-healed bruises, and the chill was settling into his bones.
He had to check it out at least.
It didn't take him long to find it.
The building was large, though not excessively so, it looked remarkably clean and well-maintained compared to the rotting, soot-covered structures around it. It looked like a bar, though from what Lykon had gathered from the streets, the alcohol was merely a front for its primary, far more lucrative purpose.
He stood in front of the door for a long, agonizing moment, staring at the sign hanging above the entrance before looking at the door where there were writings on it, bright and bold.
He steeled his resolve after reading it, took a deep, shaky breath, and pushed the heavy door open, stepping inside.
The interior of the shop was surprisingly quiet. The air was clean and fresh, instantly driving away the foul stench of the streets outside. A few patrons sat in the corners, speaking in low, hushed tones, while others examined various items displayed on the wooden shelves. A few eyes turned to evaluate him as the door chime rang, but they immediately dismissed him as nothing more than a starving street kid looking for scraps, not like he was anything but that.
Lykon kept his head down, ignoring their dismissive glares, and walked directly to the front counter. Behind it, a few customers were seated on high stools, laughing and talking while an old devil poured them drinks with practiced, fluid movements.
"Excuse me," Lykon said, his voice small and cracking slightly under the weight of his nerves.
The old devil paused, setting a polished glass down, and looked over. A warm, incredibly friendly smile spread across his wrinkled face, crinkling the corners of his calm eyes.
"Ah. Lykon, right?" the old man said, his green eyes sparkling with warmth.
The boy froze, his breath catching in his throat, his entire body tensing up. "Ahh... yes"
The old devil chuckled, a cheerful, rumbling sound that seemed to put not just him but the other patrons at ease too. "I was waiting for you, kid. To be honest, I didn't think you'd actually come."
Lykon stared at the old man, taking in his appearance. It wasn't rare to see elderly devils in the Underworld, but aging was a peculiar, highly telling concept for their kind.
Unlike Demon from what he'd heard of, devils weren't really immortal, at least as far as anyone knew. The physical signs of aging in a devil were determined by two distinct factors.
The first was raw power, a devil's magical reserves naturally sustained their body, keeping them pristine. If a devil was weak and lacked power, the visible decay of age would inevitably catch up to them after a few centuries, forcing them to look their age or closer to their age.
The second factor was choice. Once a devil achieved a certain high tier of power, usually around the high-class rankings, they could physically manipulate their biology to look however they pleased, maintaining eternal youth or adopting a weathered, wise appearance on a whim.
To the desperate eyes of this town, the old man behind the counter, who went by the name of Karma, looked like a classic example of the former. He seemed to be a weak, elderly, low-class devil nearing the very end of a natural lifespan. He had deep, weathered wrinkles, thin, blue-blonde hair, and green eyes.
Most people in this town had assumed he was weak when he first came, and most of those people were now buried in shallow, unmarked graves.
Karma had appeared in this small town exactly a year ago, quietly buying up the property, setting up shop, and doing business without asking permission from the local devils. Naturally, in a lawless town filled with desperate thugs and greedy sharks, several groups had tried to rob the old newcomer within his first week.
Those attempts had stopped abruptly. Nobody knew the exact details of what had happened to the thugs, only that they had entered Karma's Exchange with weapons drawn... and had never been seen again.
After that, the town learned to treat the old man with a healthy dose of respect. Of course, there was always the occasional fool now and then.
"So, kid," Karma asked, leaning his elbows on the polished counter and tilting his head. "Have you decided to take me up on my offer?"
"I... I will," Lykon answered, his hands clenching into tight fists. He was hesitant, yes, and every survival instinct he possessed was screaming at him to run back to his alleyway, but he had absolutely nothing else. No family left, no shelter, and no future.
He was not going to curl up and die like a stray dog in some forgotten alley. He wanted to survive. He wanted to go out into the wider world one day, climb out of this dirt, and make a name for himself. He wanted the Underworld, the arrogant nobles, the great clans, all of them to actually know the name Lykon.
But he wasn't stupid enough to think he'd be able to do anything like he was now. He didn't have anything, and if he didn't try to do anything about that, then he'd die without anything to his life and name.
As someone who was only 10 years old and had been on the streets as far as he could remember, he didn't fancy his chances of a future if he continued living as he was, he'd already lost his mother a few years back and only survived as long as he had thanks to luck, but luck was running out.
He had met Karma a few days ago under the worst possible circumstances. Lykon had been beaten half to death when he crossed paths with a servant of a noble clan who had taken offence to him and left him to bleed out in a dark, freezing alley.
In a town where other devils would gladly step over a dying child to avoid getting mud or blood on their boots, the old man had simply walked up, hummed a strange, cheerful tune to himself, and knelt in the grime.
He had treated Lykon's deep wounds and offered him a job.
"Come by my shop if you want to earn something, kid," the old man had said with a gentle pat on his shoulder before walking away into the fog.
Even a child devil had to work to survive, and with nothing left to lose, Lykon had taken the leap.
"Good, good," Karma said, his smile widening, his eyes shining with a bit of warmth that he felt a bit uncomfortable with, though there was a sharp, calculating glint deep within them that made him more wary.
He walked out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a clean apron, and began to show the boy around the establishment.
The building was a marvel. People came from the surrounding sectors to buy rare items, potions, or information about anything and everything. If it had it, it would sell it.
But more than that, Karma's Exchange was a place of loans. You could purchase or borrow almost anything, and you didn't just pay with standard money. Karma accepted items of equal value, relics, favors, information, or even a literal portion of one's own life force or demonic power, so long as the buyer was willing to deal.
After the shop officially closed for the evening, the remaining patrons filtered out into the street. Karma led Lykon into the back office.
The old man explained that Lykon had a choice to make. He could work the front counter, sweep the wooden floors, clean the glasses, and serve drinks for a standard, honest wage.
Or, if he wanted to earn more and climb higher in this brutal world, he could work for Karma in other ways. Karma didn't explicitly explain what "the other job" entailed, but Lykon had already decided what he wanted.
Lykon didn't hesitate. He didn't want a safe, slow life anymore. He needed strength, and he needed opportunity.
Karma nodded, seemingly pleased, and slid a contract across the desk. Lykon reached eagerly for the pen, but Karma's hand suddenly came down as he stopped the boy's wrist.
"Read it first, Lykon," Karma said, his tone turning surprisingly stern, almost offended by the boy's haste. "Only idiots sign contracts without reading the terms. A deal is a sacred thing, you must always know exactly what you are sacrificing and what you are gaining. If you sign blindly, the world will eventually strip you of everything you hold dear."
Lykon blinked in surprise, feeling a sudden chill at the gravity in the old man's voice. He nodded quickly, pulled his hand back, and carefully read through every line of the elegant script.
The terms were generous, even, but the scope of the contract was staggering, he was finally understanding what he was getting into just by the words on the contract and was thankful that he had read it now.
Lykon realized the sheer scale of what he had just signed into. This was basically an entire network of people that spanned three surrounding towns around this one.
Karma was the silent spider sitting at the absolute center of a web of couriers, information brokers, debt collectors, and specialized agents. The old man practically ran the black market of his own, and Lykon had to be very careful about what he said from now on, because if what he read in the contract was even somewhat true, then he didn't want to see what would happen if he broke his side of the deal.
Lykon swallowed hard, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his neck. Maybe he should have just taken the cleaning job. But he knew it was far too late to look back.
The next afternoon, Lykon was quietly sweeping the wooden floorboards near the front entrance, keeping his head down, when the doors were violently slammed open, rattling the brass sign above.
Five adult male devils marched into the establishment. They radiated a hostile, arrogant aura, their faces twisted into aggressive scowls. The leader of the group was a broad, scar-faced devil, who was famous, or rather infamous, around the town. His name was Lexon, a well-known local thug who ran a small-time protection racket around and always made sure people caused trouble for anyone not willing to pay him, regardless of whether they wanted to or not.
"KARMA!" Lexon shouted, his voice booming off the walls and causing the few drinking patrons in the corner to instantly freeze, their glasses hovering halfway to their mouths.
"Ah, Lexon," Karma said, completely unbothered as he leaned casually against the front counter, a polite, cheerful smile on his face. He didn't even look up from the glass he was polishing. "I was beginning to think I'd have to send someone to go look for you. Today is your deadline, after all. And we wouldn't want you to miss your payment, would we? The interest is quite unforgiving."
Lexon growled, stepping closer to the counter, his four thugs flanking him like a wall of muscle. "I'm not paying, old man. Not a single dime. In fact, I think you're going to start paying us for the privilege of running this shop in our territory."
The entire shop went dead silent. The crackle of the hearth fire suddenly sounded incredibly loud.
"What?" Karma whispered.
The old man's voice was incredibly quiet, barely a breath, yet somehow, the sound carried to every single corner of the room like a physical chill. It felt as if the air had suddenly been sucked out of the space, leaving everyone gasping.
Lykon immediately stepped back, his heart leaping into his throat, pressing himself tightly into a dark corner near the shelves. His instincts, honed by years of surviving on the streets, were screaming at him to hide, to shrink, to disappear.
He saw several of the regular patrons cast looks of silent pity toward Lexon, looks that suggested the thugs were already dead men walking.
"I think I misheard you, Lexon," Karma said, his green eyes locking onto the debtor. He set the glass down with a soft, deliberate clink. "Would you mind repeating that for me? My ears aren't what they used to be."
Lexon smirked, marching forward with his hands raised, trying to look as threatening as possible. He was a mid-class devil, low tier, but his physical strength was formidable, and he was the type of person who believed his own hype. "I said, I'm not paying. What are you going to do about it, huh?"
"I see. I see," Karma muttered, slowly walking out from behind the counter to stand directly in front of the five devils. He looked tiny compared to their massive, armored forms, like a sheep standing before a pack of wolves. "So... you are breaking our deal. You are choosing to violate a signed contract with me. Is that what I am hearing?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what you're hearing," Lexon sneered. Suddenly, bright crimson magic circles flared to life on his hand as fire appeared, the heat from his fire-magic warming the air.
The four thugs behind him were calling their own magic circles, the glowing runes casting light across the room, ready to incinerate the old man on the spot.
"No one breaks a deal with me, boy," Karma said softly.
With a simple, casual snap of his fingers, the air seemed to ripple.
Instantly, the glowing crimson magic circles fizzled out and died. The brilliant red light vanished. The five devils stared at their bare hands in absolute, wide-eyed confusion. They tried to channel their demonic power again, but nothing happened.
Karma turned his back to them, calmly reaching up to grab a sword that was hung as a decoration above the counter.
Seeing the old man's back turned, the four thugs snarled, deciding to rely on their physical strength. They rushed forward.
Lykon's eyes could barely track the movements that followed.
Karma didn't even turn around fully. He took a single, fluid step back. The sword in his hand gliding past them, he held the hilt lightly, almost delicately, weaving through their charging forms with a terrifying, effortless grace.
It looked less like a warrior swinging a heavy blade in a life-or-death struggle, and more like a master painter dragging a fine, feather-light brush across a pristine canvas.
He was inflicting small cuts on their bodies as he danced around them, dodging all their attacks before passing the four thugs.
Not paying them any mind, karma moved forward towards Lexon as the four turned back to him, ready to run at him again, only for them to all suddenly seize up. Their weapons clattered to the floor, their knees buckled, shaking a little as black marks appeared on their bodies before they went completely motionless.
They were dead before they even hit the ground.
Lykon stared in shock from his corner, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped his broom. He looked closely at the bodies, he was sure that the cuts weren't that deep, so why. Why were they dead.
He noticed the black marks and couldn't help but wonder what Karma did to them.
Karma slowly turned around, resting the blade casually over his shoulder at the downed bodies, then back to Lexon, who was now sprawling on the floor, his face entirely drained of color, his jaw hanging open.
The devil was shaking in fear, his arrogant act gone, staring at his four dead men. He looked up at the wrinkled, smiling old man standing over him.
"No one," Karma whispered, his calm green eyes practically glowing with a cold, predatory light that made Lykon's blood run cold, "breaks a deal with me."
Lexon fell forward to his knees, frantically clawing at his pockets to pull out a heavy leather pouch of gold coins, his voice cracking into a high-pitched shriek as he begged, wept, and pleaded for his life, throwing the money at the old man's feet.
"Please, please, please, this is all I have," he begged.
Karma looked at the pouch and just clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "You know this isn't even half of what you owe, boy"
"Please. Please," he cried out, but karma was not listening anymore.
"Times up, and it's time to pay up," the old man said as he raised his hand to the devil. Suddenly, Lexon started to wither away as he screamed and pleaded. " Please, please pleaaasseeeeeee" his form swaying and then he dropped by his side, eyes frozen wide open, as he died.
The old man stared at the dead body for a few seconds as he lifted his right hand, a magic circle appeared, and then he set the corpse on fire, burning it to ash.
The entire room was silent, then karma shifted as he turned to the patrons around. "Ah, my apologies, you had to see, sure. How about I make it up to you all. three free drinks for all," he said it so cheerfully that you'd have a hard time matching this same man to just a few seconds ago.
Lykon clenched his broom tightly as he gulped and watched the old man return to the counter, putting the sword back.
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