"Be careful on the road," Hailey had said, her voice soft but oddly weighted, just before Luther stepped out.
As he walked down the narrow, silent street, those words echoed in his mind. Hailey never fussed over him, never cautioned him like that, and the strangeness of her sudden concern gnawed at him. The sun hadn't decided to rise from the west today, so what had gotten into her?
He squinted up at the sky, feeling an unexpected chill prickling his spine as he recalled the look she'd given him; a strange, searching gaze, almost as if she were trying to say something else but couldn't. Goosebumps crept up his arms. Had that fever scrambled her brains? Or had something wormed its way into her thoughts while he was gone?
He smirked to himself, half in jest and half serious, muttering under his breath, "I'll have to check her head when I get back."
Today marked the twentieth day since the blood plague had begun tearing through the town. Luther headed toward the blacksmith shop on East Street, once a lively area. But since Old Thor's death, and the ghastly incident that followed, ghouls chasing down the living in broad daylight, most residents had abandoned the streets. Shops that had once been bustling now stood silent and shuttered. Those left behind had fortified their homes, hammering wooden boards over windows and doors. They'd sealed themselves in, hoarding what food they could find, hoping to outlast the plague.
But survival was a gamble here. For many, those makeshift barricades hadn't held, and Luther had been back time and time again to deal with the undead, neighbors and friends who had been twisted into hollow, hungry creatures.
The fish shop next door to the blacksmith was one of the few places he hadn't looked into yet. From the outside, it seemed unremarkable; a closed door, dusty windows. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, he'd passed by it countless times without a second thought. It was hard to believe anything could be hiding in a place so ordinary.
Knock. Knock.
He rapped his knuckles on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet, stale air. But there was no reply. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.
Luther glanced around, then sighed and braced himself. With a quick shove, he broke the door open, the wood splintering under his weight. A pungent wave of stench assaulted him, the unmistakable scent of canned herring gone rancid. He grimaced but pushed through, his steps cautious yet steady. He'd dealt with worse; far worse and smelled things far fouler, many of them his younger brothers' attempts at cooking.
The interior was cramped and dim, cluttered with fishing nets, a cracked lantern, and a pile of frayed ropes. The whole place felt frozen in time, as if the fisherman who lived here had simply vanished one day, leaving everything as it was.
With his dagger gripped firmly, Luther began his search. He moved carefully, checking under loose floorboards, behind dusty shelves, and finally, at the bedside table, he found what he'd come for: ancient Greek manuscripts, neatly bound but clearly aged, their edges fraying.
Just as he tucked the materials into his pack, he heard it; a faint, but insistent, knocking sound, coming from beneath the floor.
Luther stilled, his ears pricking as he tried to pinpoint the noise. He stamped his foot experimentally, feeling the slight hollowness beneath him. So, there was a space below. A basement, perhaps, or a hidden chamber.
The knocking came again, louder this time, but it had shifted slightly. He followed the sound, his gaze sweeping the floor until it landed on a patch of worn gray fabric, so close in color to the floorboards that it was easy to miss. The blanket lay rumpled and out of place, covering something just big enough to raise suspicion.
Kneeling, Luther tugged the blanket aside, revealing a trapdoor with a small metal ring set into it. Someone had hidden it well, but not well enough.
The trapdoor was locked, a thick padlock securing it in place. Luther's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, and his gaze fell back on the bedside table. Sure enough, a small, silver key lay half-hidden in the shadows, as if waiting for him.
With a click, the lock snapped open. Luther hesitated, taking a steadying breath. He shifted his dagger to his left hand, keeping it ready, and gripped the trapdoor's ring with his right, bracing himself for whatever might lie below. The silence in the room thickened, every creak and breath amplified.
Slowly, he began to pull the door open, a chill of anticipation creeping over him. What, or who, was waiting in that dark space beneath his feet?
Luther positioned himself beside the trapdoor, his muscles coiled, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. If anything monstrous emerged, he'd have the upper hand, poised to deliver a killing blow.
With a firm grip, he pulled the board up, his eyes narrowing as he braced himself. But instead of claws or fangs lunging from below, a soft, almost sweet voice floated up to him, unexpectedly cheerful.
"Ah, Master Disciple, you've brought the food so early today!" The voice was feminine, lilting, with an odd tinge of reverence.
Luther froze, taken aback, but kept silent, allowing the strange conversation to unfold. Another voice, this one weaker and laced with a curious kind of eagerness, responded, "I was actually hoping you'd grant me another one of your precious children, Master."
He barely had time to process the words when he heard footsteps echoing from below. A woman emerged, pale and frail, cradling a bundle in her arms. She stepped into the dim light, and Luther's face darkened instantly.
In her arms, she held what appeared to be a baby; until he looked closer. The infant's head was grotesquely fish-like, with slimy scales glistening under the faint light. Luther's mouth went dry as horror clawed at his mind.
With a mix of fury and disgust, he stormed over to the woman, his voice rising. "Why… why does the baby have a fish's head? What have you been feeding?" He gestured at the abomination in her arms, barely able to contain his revulsion.
The woman's expression shifted from surprise to terror, realizing that Luther was no "Master Disciple," but an intruder. She recoiled, clutching the creature protectively. "Let go of me, you filthy human!" she spat, her voice laced with contempt and panic. "This is the disciple's offspring! He carries noble blood!"
Her voice climbed to a frantic pitch as she began shouting, "Lyle! Lola! Jesse! Someone is trying to steal the master's child! Help me!"
Her cries snapped Luther out of his stunned state. Without a second thought, he ripped the creature from her arms, its scaly skin slick and nauseating to the touch. Before the woman could react, he drove his dagger into its throat, ending its life in a single, brutal motion. His blood boiled, his face contorted in a mixture of disgust and rage.
The woman let out a shriek of anguish. "No! You killed the master's offspring! Lyle! Lola! Jesse, you fools, get down here!"
Her wails only fueled Luther's anger. With a swift movement, he slapped her across the face, silencing her screams as she slumped, unconscious.
Luther took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his mind was reeling. This woman; a human woman, had been carrying and nurturing the offspring of monsters. His thoughts spiraled into dark places as the reality of it settled over him. Monsters using human women as vessels for their spawn… it was twisted, vile, and it couldn't be allowed to continue.
"This ends now," he muttered, his voice hard as steel. Fury burned in his veins as he drew a short knife from his belt, complementing the dagger he already held. With weapons in hand, he descended into the dark depths below, ready to put an end to whatever horrors lay in wait.
The cave beneath the fish shop was a putrid, damp cavern that reeked of decay and rot. Luther was surprised by the depth and scale of it, concealed so cunningly below a modest shop. As he advanced, he saw three fish-headed corpses sprawled across the ground, each clutching playing cards in their webbed hands. A few wine bottles were scattered around, their contents long since spilled.
It was almost laughable. These monsters had been engrossed in a card game, too distracted to notice Luther's silent approach. Their last expressions, frozen in death, were ones of sheer disbelief; a testament to their careless underestimation of any threat.
"Idiots," he muttered, kicking aside a stray card. He hadn't expected to find such human-like trivialities among monsters, and for a moment, the sight of playing cards in such a setting felt surreal.
His gaze drifted to the far end of the cavern, where a faint, unnatural turquoise glow pulsed from a passage deeper within. Whatever lay in that direction was likely the source of this hideous operation.
Turning back for a moment, Luther climbed the stairs and returned to the shop above. He moved swiftly, barricading the door from the inside, ensuring no one could enter unnoticed. He found a length of hemp rope, bound the unconscious woman tightly, and gagged her with a fishing net. There'd be no more shouting from her if she woke up, and he couldn't risk her alerting others.
Satisfied that his back was covered, Luther descended once more, his steps sure and silent as he ventured deeper into the cave. With each step, his determination grew sharper, his resolve more unyielding.
This was no longer a mission of curiosity; it was a crusade to erase every trace of this monstrous breeding ground from the world.