London, the great capital that connected the world just a few centuries ago, is now a reflection of a decadent cultural richness belonging to a bygone era. You might cross the iconic Tower Bridge, spanning the sewage known as the Thames, or pause to gaze at Big Ben, located in the Elizabeth Tower. Everything was built with Anston limestone and other materials reminiscent of the Victorian age. London evokes the past, a city that has survived wars, attracted ambitions, and awakened desires around the globe. Above all, London remains a symbol of the decline of an era.
' What is left for the children of the glorious? ' thought Vincent as he walked through puddles pooling on the cobblestone street. He was in the guise of a tall, ordinary man, with straight black hair concealed beneath a cozy felt trilby hat. He wore a midnight blue slim-fit three-piece suit and held an antique gold pocket watch in his hand, checking the time. Clearly, he was not dressed for the place he was walking through: the alleys.
Hungry eyes, marked skin, exposed bones; some weren't even alive. He had seen it all here, although he didn't feel in danger; after all, they were just muggles. Oddly enough, he felt perfectly at home in this place, reminiscent of his life as a university student, when he lived in the alleys to save on living costs. It was a strange nostalgia, recognizing at the same time that he never wanted to live like that again. He murmured to himself, 'Maybe what I'm offering these people is for the best; after all, people can live without a soul, but not without prosperity.'
Vincent approached his target somewhere within Spitalfields Alley, stopping in front of what could only be described as a house. Connected brick walls, some broken, graffiti, no windows, just a metal roll-up door, a minimal cubicle measuring no more than ten square meters. From within, he could hear a heated argument: a woman and a man exchanging insults and hatred amid the sound of furniture and dishes breaking. Noticing that things weren't escalating too seriously, he decided to wait outside, listening and watching with interest the life of this young couple.
Helena Voyfrir (POV)
"Damn it, Jhonatan, look at you! Look at this miserable place we're living in! The last time I had a meal was three days ago, and it was leftovers found in the trash. You don't work, you do nothing; you're just a useless drunk." The skinny woman shouted with the last remnants of strength she had, accusing her husband of turning her life into hell.
This made her think of Volak, the demon who would come to claim her soul. She complained like this, but it wasn't about her own suffering; after all, she would definitely die soon. Yet her husband's condition left her feeling helpless to help him. Still, she had no regrets about the deal she had made.
" Shut up, bitch. Leave me alone! " he attempted to say, barely aware of how drunk he was.
She could take it no longer and shouted through her tears, "Fuck you, Jhon! I hate you!" She threw the last dish she was washing in his direction. Then she fled to the door, sat on the pavement, hugged her knees, and began to cry, pouring out all her frustration in tears.
Passersby who observed her, some not even bothering to hide their ill intentions, and strangely she noticed, across the street, a well-dressed, charming figure watching her, though she could not discern their intentions. This reminded her of a certain demon with whom she had made a contract, and that her days were numbered. Realizing this certainly made her feel insecure, even angrier, and especially sad that she couldn't enjoy her final days the way she had dreamed. There was nothing she could do but drown in her own emotions and self-loathing; perhaps dying and going to hell wouldn't be so bad after all.
Vincent (POV)
The first thing he noticed about her was her emaciation, and he ordered one of his illusions to prepare a feast for her. He felt no emotional attachment to this woman; though she certainly left an impression on him, seeing such a beautiful and sad girl, perhaps that was the only reason he helped her, subsequently finding any logical explanation unnecessary to justify his actions. She wasn't the most suitable, nor the prettiest, nor did she seem particularly talented, yet still, she was interesting in her own way, and her loyalty to her useless husband surprised him. He even pondered whether he should take her away from here to pursue his plans or leave her be, but it was clear that her husband didn't deserve her. So he would take her away without any remorse.
He was just a few meters away, watching her cry, feeling disgusted by the onlookers, and he could sense their emotions, their base desires, their murderous impulses, hunters waiting for a chance to devour any fragile prey. What angered him the most was one man's intention: a primal, wild sexual lust. As he observed more closely, he understood this beggar's intentions and felt furious. They wanted to take something that was his, and that was unacceptable.
His eyes, previously disguised under a light brown hue, transformed into two purple fluorite gems. And beneath them, a sinister glint dulled the warmth of his emotions until they turned cold. Like a symphony of death, he acted, channeling his demonic energy and unleashing his wrath.
A shard of metal jutted out from the top of one of the buildings; the metal then acquired a purple sheen as it detached. Beneath the rain-soaked streets, a filthy twenty-something stumbled obliviously while stealing glances at the weeping girl on the sidewalk, marking her as prey. He took a step, then another, and then another; then he glanced back once more, discreetly, before taking six steps. On the seventh, he heard a metallic sound sliding across a surface and looked up. Before he could process it, a piece of metal nearly a meter long impaled him through the throat; oddly, the metal followed a delineated path, avoiding any organs that would cause instant death, exiting in the groin area while simultaneously decapitating the rest. Yes, he would die; the metal pierced his stomach and intestines, but it wouldn't be quick.
Similar phenomena continued to occur with each wretch who displayed ill intent toward the girl. A nineteen-year-old woman lost a leg; an old man slipped and hit his neck on the ground. The intensity of the punishment was measured and delivered in a way he deemed fair. For a brief moment, he felt remorse; he could have used more practical methods, devouring them slowly. That wasn't a solution; by consuming souls directly, it always comes at a cost: the loss of oneself.
As he finished, he transformed into butterflies, appearing instantaneously in front of the crying girl. The sound of a bell chimed, drawing her attention to him. "Helena Voyfrir, I have come for you, as per our contract."
She completely lost her mind as she heard the screams of the wretches and simply let out a loud laugh, asking, "HAHaha.. Are you going to kill me now?"
He paid no heed to the girl's small mental collapse and spoke in a calm, hypnotic manner, as if he were explaining something to her: "Yes, I have come to take you; a deal is a deal. I gave your husband a life in exchange; you owe me yours. Take my hand; we are leaving."
She offered no resistance; all she did was cast a meaningful glance at her husband. "Wait a moment, please." Vincent observed her and nodded. "Be quick."
Then Helena walked over to the drunken man, unconscious in a drunken stupor, and kissed him on the forehead, uttering her final words: "I love you, idiot; I hope you find happiness." She finally stepped away without looking back, holding back tears, anticipating what kind of death awaited her. When she got close to him again, he offered his hand, and she grasped it firmly.
Both transformed into butterflies, and their swarm entered the realms of dreams, traveling hundreds of kilometers in an instant, only to return to reality and transfigure back into humans. Helena fell to her knees, dizzy; she would likely have vomited if she had anything to expel. She felt shaken, stretched, constrained, and crushed in ways the human body should not endure. He simply observed, checking to see if she was alright without saying a word.
He pulled a gold watch from his pocket. It appeared to be made of rough gears, unrefined edges, and sharp borders; the pendulums were exaggerated simplifications, as if it were a prototype of the first watch ever invented, giving it a peculiar charm. After checking the time, he swapped the watch for a key and approached a wall. Upon touching it, a door materialized and opened.
He then turned to the young woman and said, "Please, come in. This is my apothecary." He didn't wait for her response, stepping into the space without even checking if she would follow.
Helena silently agreed and followed him. The place was well-lit, adorned with a set of simple yet luxurious chandeliers. The walls were white, with golden streaks marking intricate patterns. It was a spacious area, clearly structured like a shop; there was a reception counter and shelves lined with small and large vials containing liquids of various colors, some even glowing. The packaging was beautiful and exquisite, appearing to be made of crystal rather than glass, as she had imagined.
She trailed behind him, passing through the area and entering another connected room. This room, unlike the previous one, was simple, well-ventilated by a window with blinds and illuminated by square-shaped lanterns attached to the wall. In the center was a polished mahogany table, suitable for eight chairs. What impressed her most was the banquet laid out, featuring all kinds of food she recognized as well as some she did not. She stood still while she watched him take a seat at one end of the table. Then, she heard him say, "Miss Voyfrir, please take a seat and join me for this dinner."
She was literally starving, having survived on water for three days, but it felt strange to accept such a dinner. For a moment, she stood frozen, watching his graceful gestures as he deftly sliced a piece of beef Wellington with elegance. She had no idea about the etiquette of the nobility.
"Make yourself comfortable… You're embarrassing me by making me eat alone."
After that prompt, she finally sat down and began to eat. A potato and lamb soup looked especially appetizing. She served herself without ceremony, sitting at the opposite end of the table. The aroma of everything was so delightful that she couldn't resist. At the first touch of food on her tongue, she couldn't help but feel she was tasting the best meal in the world; probably, her hunger heightened this sensation, and a tear slipped down her cheek as she thought of her husband, who would likely be eating only a piece of old pizza from three days ago. She noticed a slight smile from the man as he watched her eat, and she felt embarrassed, attributing it to her lack of proper table manners.
They continued to eat in silence, with the only notable sounds coming from the clinking of spoons, plates, and bowls.