"Name's Joseph. Used to be a peasant's son, if you can believe it. Now he's got the ear of the Duke and half the city under his thumb." The merchant glanced around nervously before continuing.
"There's a tale... about his pact with mammon. The greed itself, I think. That devil is the reason Joseph has that much power. Some even say Joseph had a hand in his mother's death."
Zellrid grunted noncommittally, tossing the merchant a coin. "Any truth to these rumors?"
The merchant pocketed the coin with practiced ease. "Hard to say. But I'll tell you this - ever since Joseph rose to power, things have changed. And not for the better."
Zellrid nodded, absorbing the information without visible reaction. He continued his inquiries, making his way to a weaponsmith's stall nearby.
"What do you know of Joseph?" Zellrid asked, his voice low.
The smith's eyes widened in fear. "I don't talk about the Duke's affairs," he mumbled, averting his gaze.
Zellrid's eye narrowed. "I'm not asking about the Duke. Joseph. The right hand of the duke."
A flicker of recognition passed over the smith's face, quickly replaced by suspicion. "Why's a Nightstalker asking about him?"
"Information has value," Zellrid replied coolly, sliding a coin across the counter.
The smith hesitated, then pocketed the coin. "They say he's a demon in human skin. Rose from nothing to become the Duke's most trusted advisor. Cruel as they come."
Zellrid grunted noncommittally at the blacksmith's words, "Hmm. Anything else?"
The smith hesitated, then spoke even lower. "There's... whispers. About the girls he takes to his bed. They say... they say he eats 'em. Like some kind of cannibal."
"Fuck," Zellrid muttered, tossing the smith another coin before turning away.
As he strode through the marketplace, a flash of movement caught his eye. A small figure darted between stalls, clutching something to its chest. Moments later, an enraged merchant's voice rang out: "Thief! Stop that boy!"
Zellrid's eye narrowed. Ordinarily, he'd ignore such petty crimes. But something about the kid's desperate dash struck a chord. With a resigned sigh, he set off in pursuit.
The chase led him through winding alleys and over rickety fences. The boy was quick, but Zellrid's enhanced senses gave him an edge. He cornered the child in a dead-end alley, looming over the trembling figure.
"Quite the runner," Zellrid growled, his voice gravelly. "Now, hand over the purse."
The boy, no more than ten, looked up with defiant eyes. "Can't. Need it for the boss."
Zellrid raised an eyebrow. "Boss, eh? And who might that be?"
The child's lip quivered, but he remained silent. Zellrid sighed, crouching down to eye level. "Look, kid. I'm not here to hurt you. But theft? That's a dangerous game."
"You don't understand!" the boy blurted out. "The boss, she... she's needing coins to fight against him. The monster in the castle."
Zellrid's interest piqued. "Joseph?"
The boy's eyes widened in fear at the name. He nodded frantically.
"Hmm," Zellrid mused. "Alright, how about this? You take me to your boss, and I forget about the purse. Deal?"
The child hesitated, then nodded. "This way," he whispered, leading Zellrid deeper into the warren of alleys.
They arrived at a nondescript building, its windows boarded up. The boy knocked in a complex pattern, and a hidden door swung open. Inside, Zellrid found himself in a bustling hideout, filled with street children and rough-looking adults.
At the center of it all stood a young woman, her face scarred and her eyes burning with determination. She eyed Zellrid warily.
"Who's this, Pip?" she asked the boy.
"Says he wants to talk, boss," Pip replied. "About... about him."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Joseph? What's your interest, stranger?"
Zellrid met her gaze steadily. "Let's just say we have a mutual... acquaintance. One I'm looking to pay a visit to."
A tense silence fell over the room. The woman studied Zellrid intently, taking in his mismatched hair, his eyepatch, the black sword at his hip.
"You're a Nightstalker," she said finally. It wasn't a question.
Zellrid nodded once. "Zellrid."
The woman's lips curved into a grim smile. "Well, Zellrid, it seems we might have some business to discuss." She gestured to a side room. "Shall we?"
The woman gestured for Zellrid to sit at a rickety table in the cramped room. She remained standing, her posture tense and alert.
"Clara," she said curtly, by way of introduction. "Now, what's your business with Joseph?"
Zellrid studied her for a moment, noting the hardness in her eyes that belied her youth. "I have a contract," he rumbled. "To end his reign of terror."
Clara's laugh was bitter. "Good fucking luck with that. The bastard's untouchable."
"Hmm," Zellrid grunted. "No one's untouchable. Tell me what you know."
Clara's eyes flashed with pain and rage. "What I know? I know he's a monster wearing human skin. I know he killed my mother, cut her open like a pig and laughed while he did it. I know he impaled my father on a spike and left him to die slowly in the town square."
Zellrid's face remained impassive, but his fist clenched involuntarily. "How old were you?"
"Fourteen," Clara spat. "Five years ago. I've been building this network ever since, waiting for the day I can put that fucker's head on a spike."
Zellrid nodded slowly. "What else can you tell me about him? His habits, his... powers."
Clara's eyes narrowed. "Powers? Yeah, he's got those in spades. They say he made a deal with Mammon himself. Gluttony, greed, cruelty - Joseph embodies them all."
She began to pace, her words tumbling out in a frenzied rush. "Every full moon, he hosts these... feasts. Invites the city's elite. But the food..." She shuddered. "Let's just say, a lot of street kids go missing those nights."
Zellrid's eye widened slightly. "Cannibalism?"
Clara nodded grimly. "And that's not the worst of it. He collects people's fears, feeds on them somehow. The more terror he causes, the stronger he gets. Those public executions every Sunday? It's not just about control. It's a fucking buffet for him."
"Hmm," Zellrid mused, piecing together the information. "Sounds like more than just a pact. Could he be..."
"An avatar of Mammon?" Clara finished. "That's what some whisper. Would explain a lot."
Zellrid stood, his decision made. "I need to get into the duke's palace. Meet Joseph face to face."
Clara barked out a laugh. "You're either brave or insane. Probably both."
"Maybe," Zellrid conceded. "But I made a contract, and I intend to see it through. Can you help me get in?"
Clara studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I can. But you should know - Joseph, he's not just cruel. He's... unpredictable. One moment he's all charm and wit, the next he's tearing someone apart with his bare hands. He finds everything amusing, especially pain and suffering."
Zellrid grunted in acknowledgment. "Sounds delightful."
"There's more," Clara continued, her voice dropping. "They say he can see into your mind, find your deepest fears and desires. He'll use them against you, twist you until you don't know what's real anymore."
"Good thing I'm not much for deep thoughts then," Zellrid quipped dryly.
Clara didn't smile. "This isn't a joke, Nightstalker. Joseph... he's like a disease. He infects everything he touches. Half the city's in his thrall, and the other half's too terrified to move against him."
Zellrid's face hardened. "All the more reason to end this. Now, about getting into that palace..."