The informant is not an informant because he knows everything. The informant is an informant because he also knows where to look for what he does not know.
I knew they wouldn't kill the Weasel right away. No, he'd be tortured first, broken down for whatever scraps of information he might have. And despite how idiotic the Weasel often seemed, he had enough instinct to play his part well. He understood that his mage friend would come to rescue him, and he knew he needed to buy time to make it out alive.
As I observed the mage's face contorted with pain, a hint of remorse should have flickered within me, but let's face it: monsters don't have much of a conscience. My focus was on what I needed to know—how much the vampires knew and any information about the thief. I had to find him for Alistair.
Alistair would've shaken his head if he knew my plan, but he'd soon realize it was necessary. This was the quickest, most efficient way to get what I needed. And as a bonus, from now on, the mage was my debtor—a nice little two-for-one deal.
I followed the map, my steps slow and deliberate, until I found myself near a set of crumbling buildings. It was a desolate place, and I didn't like it. Vampires are drawn to abandoned places like moths to flame.
I sifted through the wreckage of a few buildings, my eyes scanning for the trapdoor I knew had to be there. The whispers I'd overheard hinted that the vampire nest was underground, hidden away. Rumor had it that the latest 'White Demon' kept his bloody little toys down there.
Behind the trapdoor, a staircase led deep below. I descended quietly, not wanting to make unnecessary noise. The guards didn't have time to react before I beheaded most of them with a sharp, quick strike. I didn't bother hiding the bodies; that would waste more time than it was worth.
The tunnel twisted on, leading me to a large room where monsters fought in a cage. One of them might have been a werewolf, though I couldn't be sure; I only saw him for a second before the vampire tore him apart. Blood sprayed over the hungry crowd, the air thick with the scent of death. The audience went wild. I glanced up at the metal cubicles where the high-ranking observers sat and then shifted my attention back to the chaos below.
I continued through the twisting tunnels, taking sharp turns and following the faint scent of the Weasel. I passed cages and dungeons, some holding monsters who were slated for sacrifice. I could have freed them, but that would have exposed me, and I wasn't in the mood for a fight. I pressed on.
I pulled my mask over my face; I didn't want anyone seeing me, not yet.
The further I went, the more vampires I encountered. I knew I was closing in on my destination. And then, I heard the Weasel's cry—a desperate, sharp sound that made me grin beneath my mask.
The Weasel fell to the ground panting. I think he wasn't able to move anymore. He was barely able to move. A vampire grabbed him by the hair and yanked him to his feet.
"Talk," the vampire growled. "If you talk, I'll end your suffering."
"How gracious," the Weasel spat, his voice rough but defiant.
"This is your last chance," the vampire snarled, baring his fangs.
The Weasel chuckled hoarsely, looking up into the vampire's blood-red eyes. He smiled, but the sound of his laughter was drowned by the growls and snarls of the other creatures. The vampire lifted his head and saw me.
He saw the snow-white bone mask, its red, blood-curdling smile grotesquely painted across it—a symbol of a cruel demon, who does not bring forgiveness, does not bring peace and does not bring absolution. He only brings death and never shows mercy. I grinned under my mask.
I grinned beneath my mask.
"Good evening," I greeted softly, my voice a calm contrast to the chaos.
The vampire, perhaps sensing the impending danger, let go of the Weasel. He collapsed weakly onto the ground.
"Not so fast," I said, stepping over the Weasel's fallen form. In an instant, I appeared before the vampire.
He swung at me with ferocity, but I dodged the blow effortlessly, my blade sinking deep into his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. The vampire snarled in pain, his eyes burning with fury.
"I told you not to play with the 'White Demon,' didn't I?" I remarked, amusement dancing in my voice.
"You!" The realization hit him like a lightning strike. "You're not the informant... you're the demon himself!"
"Obviously," I responded flatly.
The vampire's lips tightened into a thin line, a desperate calculation behind his crimson gaze. "How... how can I redeem my life?"
I chuckled softly. "You're a clever one. I want information about the thief."
His eyes widened. "How—"
"Who are you chasing?" I interrupted.
"A shapeshifter," he muttered, almost reluctant to speak. "A child."
A grin tugged at my lips. A kid had robbed the emerging king.
"What's he look like?" I pressed.
He fell silent, and in response, I drove the dagger deeper into his shoulder.
"I don't know! I haven't seen him yet, I swear!" he whimpered. "This is all I know! I... I'm just following orders!"
"Oh really?" I said, my voice dripping with skepticism. "And what exactly is your job?"
"I gather newborns," he stammered, "and provide humans for the Fifth King."
"The Fifth, huh?" I mused, my mind processing the information.
The vampire nodded slowly, his face pale with fear.
"How many humans are you sending him?" I asked.
"Eight or ten a week," he answered quickly, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
"I see," I said thoughtfully, "Then I think we're done here."
The vampire's face drained of color as he realized his fate was sealed.
"Wait!" he cried out, desperation in his voice. "I... I have more information!"
I tilted my head, intrigued.
"I used your name on purpose," he said hurriedly. "The Fifth King is obsessed with half-bloods. I was gathering information about you, too."
My fingers tightened around the dagger, my hand trembling with barely contained rage. The Weasel wasn't the one who betrayed me about my origins—he was too clever for that, even if he hid it well. But that didn't matter now. The fury inside me surged, threatening to consume everything in its path.
The vampire, sensing his mistake too late, moaned, his voice cracking. "Please... please..."
If there's one thing life teaches you as a monster, it's that you're part of a food chain. This hierarchy cannot be altered, only accepted. You are classified the moment you're born, and that classification determines how others will treat you. At the top of the ladder are the apex predators. You get various privileges when you rise to the top. You can show mercy or you can kill.
And as an informant, you learn that there are some who know too much to be allowed to live.
The Weasel seemed barely aware of what had just transpired. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd passed out from the pain or shock. But when I lifted him, he mustered the strength to glance up.
"What took you so long?" he asked, his voice weak but laced with that familiar, infuriating edge.
I muttered something under my breath, more annoyed than anything else. Without a hint of tenderness, I hoisted him onto my shoulder and began walking away.
Once I emerged from the tunnel system, I paused long enough to drop a small, inconspicuous ball into the hole. Then, with a swift motion, I slammed the trapdoor shut before the smoke could leak out.
(...)
The mage immediately began to stabilize the Weasel's condition, and I asked if I could use the bathroom. He nodded without hesitation, his attention clearly consumed by the complex spells at work. If I'd asked if I could blow up his kitchen at that moment, I was certain he would have nodded just the same. I wasn't really affected by their misery, so I took a quick shower.
Already in the bathroom, I could smell the scent of unusually strong black coffee drifting in from the kitchen. The apprentice mage was sitting at the table, sipping his coffee with a quiet intensity. Hm, this must've been the first time he almost lost someone. Poor little mage.
On the other chair, clothes carelessly tossed aside carried the unmistakable scent of vampire blood. But it wasn't those that seemed to catch the mage's eye. His gaze was fixed, frozen on the silver daggers and the snow-white bone mask laid on the table.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was trying to figure out where I'd gotten them. Wondering how many hunters I'd slaughtered to collect my little arsenal. What did I look like to him? A bloodthirsty madman, slaughtering innocent people for his own entertainment?
He reached for the mask, but something held him back halfway. The temptation to look, to know more, was almost palpable. His fingers trembled as they hovered closer, the mask face-down on the table.
"If I were you," I said coldly, my voice slicing through the quiet. He jerked his hand back as if burned.
"I wouldn't touch it."
He looked at me alarmed, like a small child caught in mischief. "I didn't mean to be ungrateful," he apologized.
I sighed heavily, walked over, and picked up the mask. He hesitated for a moment before glancing at it again. Recognition flickered in his eyes. He knew it. That blood-curdling smile. It was known as the Devil's Mask.
"You can ask anything now," I said. "From here on, I have no reason to lie."
"Where did you get this equipment from, Shay?"
I smiled thinly, a shadow of the past flashing behind my eyes. "I used to be a hunter."
The mage's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?"
"I was a hunter, mage," I said softly, my voice tinged with the weight of forgotten memories. "I hunted monsters."
"I see..." he murmured, though his confusion was far from gone. "So, this is how it is."
"You can keep it a secret, right?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous.
He nodded immediately, perhaps sensing the unspoken threat.
"All right."
"Monsters keep track of life debts," he ventured cautiously.
"Yes," I replied, my gaze hardening.
"I owe you a life debt," he continued, his voice quieter now.
"Yes."
"How can I redeem my life?" he asked, the weight of the words sinking in.
A devilish smile tugged at my lips. His color drained, and he swallowed hard. For the first time, the realization hit him: he owed the wrong monster. I could see it in his eyes.
"You know the black market for black mages, don't you?" I asked, more statement than question.
He nodded, still processing.
"I want the password," I said, my grin widening. "Not just once, but as many times as it changes."
The shock was clear in his face, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"But Shay," he said urgently, "it's the territory of black mages! It's dangerous for mages, let alone outsiders! And if this gets out—"
"If our little agreement comes to light, they'll hunt you down," I interrupted, my voice cold as stone.
The mage's hands shook under the table. His face was pale, his lips pressed tight as he weighed his options. In my eyes, there was no real choice. The deal was struck. He got his friend back; I got my payment. He had no way out.
"But you don't have to worry," I added, almost kindly. "I won't be caught."
He shot me a look of disbelief. "What makes you so confident?"
I shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't think it'll happen, and I'm rarely wrong."
He hissed, knowing he had no choice but to agree.
"All right," he said finally, his voice resigned.
"Great," I said, the grin never leaving my face. "When you're paying at the pub, pass me the password written on a note with the money."
He nodded in defeat.
"Will you manage alone?"
I asked, already walking toward the door.
He nodded again, his head hanging in exhaustion. Without another word, I walked out.
(...)
When I returned home, Alex wasn't around, but I wasn't particularly concerned this time. I had bigger problems than his latest disappearance. I lay in bed, piecing together the information I'd gathered when I heard the front door click open.
Ah, the idiot's finally home, I thought, but my mind was still focused on the amulet thief. The unmistakable sound of clumsy steps came closer. Maybe I should reach out to some of my vampire acquaintances for intel as well. The footsteps drew nearer, but I was too absorbed in my thoughts to acknowledge Alex's presence.
Suddenly, a loud thump came from the direction of the other bed, followed by a soft scream. Well, that was the moment, I turned on the lamp.
Alex had somehow lost his T-shirt on his way to the room. His face was flushed, a drunken grin plastered on his face as he fumbled under some girl's skirt. When he realized I was in the room, he froze for a moment, then muttered something about me turning toward the wall.
"Are you insane?" I asked automatically, not really expecting an answer because that was the first time, I was a hundred percent sure of this.
"Yeah, you're right. It'd be morbid if you were here," he replied with a drunken grin. "Go for a walk, mate. I swear, I'll be quick!"
I raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a devilish smirk.
"Hell no. If you're going to do it, do it in front of me."
I crossed my arms and leaned back against the bed.
"Oh no!" The chick was dissatisfied, but Alex just laughed indecently.
The girl looked less than pleased, but Alex was unfazed. Eventually, since even Alex wasn't brave enough to take my words seriously, he picked her up and headed toward the bathroom. Finally, some peace.
But not for long. Between their drunken giggles and the sounds of... other things, my hopes for a restful night were dashed. I sighed, closed my eyes, and tried to block it out. The sounds soon turned into gagging. I rolled my eyes. I hoped Alex had the sense to aim for the toilet.
I expected a better performance than that, shame on you, dude—I shook my head, then turned to my other side in satisfaction and closed my eyes.
The next morning, I woke up my uninvited guest as the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the dark horizon, and despite the girl's confusion, I soon handed over her coat and kicked her out of the apartment.
Not long after, Alex wandered into the kitchen, wincing from a terrible headache.
"Uh, man," he groaned.
"I threw out the girl," I said flatly. "Wasn't in the mood to care about her."
"What?" he asked in confusion. "Did I bring someone home?"
"What?" he asked, confused. "Did I bring someone home?"
"As you can see," I replied dryly. "But I don't think she'll be a returning guest."
"What? Why?" Alex demanded indignantly.
"Well," I chuckled, "I was expecting a two-person orgy, but let's just say I had too high expectations."
"I'm sure I was good!" he protested defensively.
I stood up, walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, man," I said, patting him lightly, "not really."