Astra walked up to the cellar door and opened it, revealing a ladder leading underground.
"Accessing the subterranean chamber," Astra stated.
Alonso and Abigail followed her down the ladder into the cellar. Once inside, they spotted a frightened man quivering in the corner, pointing a wand at them. This man was Simon.
"Stay back! This is the underground cellar where Cotar keeps the most dangerous magic tools! One wrong move, and I'll obliterate all three of you!" Simon stammered.
Alonso smiled at Abigail, his eyes glinting with disdain. "Looks like we've found the rat. Pathetic."
In a flash, Alonso used minor teleportation to appear behind Simon. With a swift chop, he struck Simon at the side of his neck, knocking him out instantly. Simon didn't even see it coming.
Astra stepped forward and lifted Simon into a chair. She placed her hands on his temples. "Initiating neurotransmission. Accessing now. This will work regardless of his consciousness, as long as his brain is functioning."
As Astra searched through Simon's thoughts, she quickly gathered the information she needed—the location of the Vassal suppliers.
Simon slumped, drooling and unconscious in his chair, just like Michael.
"I have obtained the location," Astra said. "It appears one of Nightowl's subordinates consumed excessive alcohol and disclosed critical information to Simon."
Her eyes began to glow as she projected a 3D map of the Great Forest outside Forest Hill City. Abigail stared in surprise; she had never seen such a detailed map before.
"Damn," Abigail said, her tone fierce. "This is exactly what we needed. We'll take them down hard."
Alonso studied the holographic 3D map, his mind racing with plans. A red dot marked the southeastern section—this was where the Vassal supplies were currently located.
A look of impatience and seriousness settled on Alonso's face as he spoke, his voice steady and thoughtful. "Time is of the essence ; the longer we delay, the greater the risk that she will be lost to us. We must act swiftly."
With a deliberate motion, Alonso touched Simon and teleported him into his lab. He then exited Cotar's shop alongside Astra and Abigail.
Turning to Abigail, he inquired, "Are you capable of flight?"
"Who do you think I am?" Abigail shot back, a confident grin spreading across her face.
With a dramatic flourish, she placed her right hand on the ground. In an instant, green flames engulfed the floor in a perfect circle. Within the flames, a skateboard with no wheels rose, shimmering with the same ethereal green as her fire.
"Behold! My magic tool gifted by the Magic Council," she declared, her voice filled with pride. "I call it the Board of Aviation." The skateboard flickered with flames that seemed to dance endlessly, defying the very laws of fire.
Alonso's eyes widened in appreciation at the sight. "Remarkable ingenuity, Abigail. Such a tool must serve you well."
"Ha ha ha! Just wait until you see what it can do!" Abigail laughed, jumping onto her board and floating effortlessly in the air. "What are you waiting for?"
Without hesitation, Alonso and Astra followed suit, taking to the skies.
As they soared toward the Vassal suppliers hideout, a sense of urgency coursed through Alonso. "We must hasten our journey," he urged, his voice firm and resolute. "Every moment is critical."
Cotar gazed up at the sky, watching as the three figures soared into the distance. Lost in thought, he contemplated the journey that had brought him to this moment. A man of the world, Cotar possessed a wealth of knowledge akin to that of the young Alonso.
Years ago, he had been cast out from the Magic Council, a bitter event that left him with a deep-seated disdain for the organization. However, meeting Alonso ignited a spark of intrigue within him; he saw in the youth a glimmer of hope. Cotar believed that aligning himself with Alonso could finally lead him to fulfill his long-held dreams. Resolute in his decision, he vowed to pledge his allegiance to the boy—though that was a tale for another time.
Nightowl's stronghold is a fully operational city, infamously known as Slave City, a dark empire hidden within the underworld's shadows.
Slave City is divided into three grim districts, each reflecting the harsh realities of its inhabitants. The first is the Slave District, a desolate area packed with roughly 400 rundown, decaying buildings. Here, the slaves live in a constant state of exhaustion, barely awake, trapped in a life of endless toil and neglect. The oppressive atmosphere clings to the very air, as they are confined to these crumbling structures like cattle.
Beyond this lies the Members District, the center of Slave City. This district houses the vassal suppliers—those who control and profit from the slave trade. Dominating the landscape is Nightowl's mansion, an imposing fortress at the dead center of the city, dwarfing everything else in both size and influence. It is a symbol of power, control, and the sinister dealings that go on within.
The final district, known as the Visitor or Customer District, is in stark contrast to the others. It's the most luxurious part of Slave City, designed to cater to the whims of high-ranking nobles and royalty who frequent the area. the vassal suppliers nicknamed this place "Pleasure District." Here, anything can be bought—exotic pleasures, brutal death matches, and unspeakable services—for the right price. Beneath its polished façade, the district masks a darker, more perverse world where the slaves' suffering becomes a twisted form of entertainment for the rich and powerful.
Unlike the brutal slavers who reveled in the crack of a whip, Nightowl preferred a far more sinister approach. Using magic tools, he kept his captives in a near-comatose state, barely conscious, only rousing them for brief moments to eat or relieve themselves. It was a method that mirrored his nature—charming on the surface, yet utterly terrifying beneath, playful in cruelty, but always lethally effective.
As nightowl lounged on his lavish bed, a woman clad in red lingerie lay peacefully beside him, Nightowl's fingers idly traced the edges of a magical communication device known as Reflection. It was a specially crafted mirror, a conduit for clandestine conversations that blurred the lines between the real and the arcane.
The reflection shimmered to life, revealing the imposing figure of Warmonger, whose presence seemed to suffocate the air around them. Shadows danced ominously behind him, accentuating his dark demeanor. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, each word laced with an undercurrent of menace.
"This time, I want everything you've got. Do you understand? Absolutely everything."
Nightowl's heart raced, a chill crawling up his spine. He forced a smile, masking the fear gnawing at him. "I understand, sir, but our total inventory exceeds five thousand. Are you certain you have enough funds—"
Warmonger's glare pierced through the screen, cutting him off with chilling authority. "You dare suggest I cannot afford to buy your slaves?"
The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating Nightowl's feeble bravado. "Don't forget, Nightowl, you are alive because I allow it. If I chose to, I could kill you and take your slaves by force. You'd be powerless to stop me. The only reason I conduct business with you is that I need a steady supply of slaves, and you've proven yourself... capable."
Nightowl's skin glistened with sweat, panic settling into the pit of his stomach. "I understand, sir, but this is a business. I cannot sell all my stock at once. No matter how much money you offer, how about... half of all my inventory?"
The implication was clear; Nightowl was attempting to negotiate, though his fear of Warmonger loomed large in his mind. He believed that by proposing a limited sale, he could protect himself from being cheated. The dark lord, however, was not easily fooled.
Warmonger's lips curled into a sinister smile, the glint in his eyes like cold steel. "So, even if I were to offer you a dragon heart, would you still consider this trade unfair?"
Nightowl fell silent, momentarily stunned. He struggled to regain his composure, finally stammering, "If that is the case... I cannot complain. I thank you for your generosity. All slaves shall be yours. I will prepare them immediately."
Warmonger leaned closer, his presence almost overwhelming. "Good. I will be sending Rahab on a flying ship to collect all the slaves. Ensure they are ready by the time he arrives."
As the magical Reflection flickered and faded, Nightowl was left in the dim light of his room, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The gravity of the transaction with Warmonger weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of the precarious balance of power in their twisted dealings.
Beside him, the ancient vampire Elizabeth stirred, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a raven's wing. Her piercing green eyes blinked open, filled with warmth and mischief. Dressed in a long black gown adorned with intricate red rose embroidery that hugged her voluptuous figure, she exuded a seductive confidence.
"Ah, my love, I must take my leave now," Elizabeth said, her voice smooth and affectionate as she began to fasten her dress. Her every movement was graceful, a dance of elegance that captivated Nightowl's gaze. She pulled the fabric over her curves, accentuating her beauty, and glanced at him with a playful smile, her lips slightly parted.
Nightowl felt a pang of longing. "Must you? I wish I could keep you here forever, my twilight. When shall I see you again?" He leaned forward, his fingers brushing against hers, a touch that sent a thrill through him.
Elizabeth sighed, a hint of sorrow crossing her features. "I cannot say, love. You know how my father feels about my little escapades." She turned her back to him for a moment, adjusting the neckline of her dress. "If he finds out I've snuck away again, I dread to think what might become of me." She glanced over her shoulder, her expression half-mocking, half-concerned.
"By the heavens, I wish I could be the one to impress your family," Nightowl lamented, frustration evident in his tone. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room as he fought the urge to pull her back into his embrace. "But alas, I am but a petty criminal in their eyes."
"What you are matters not," Elizabeth replied, stepping closer, her gaze locking onto his, her lips curling into a playful smirk. She reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "My love for you is what truly counts."
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Elizabeth's expression turned serious, and she leaned in, her voice low and urgent. "But be careful, my dear. Dealing with fallen angels is a perilous endeavor." She took his hands in hers, her grip firm yet gentle, grounding him. "Warmonger is hunted by the very heavens, and you know well their power far exceeds your own. Once your deal is struck, you must sever all ties."
Nightowl's pulse quickened, and he held her gaze, searching for reassurance. "I will be cautious, Elizabeth. You know me better than anyone."
With a sudden intensity, Elizabeth stepped back, her hands falling to her sides as her demeanor shifted from intimate to defensive. "If an angel comes for you and I am not there to shield you…" Her voice trailed off, filled with unspoken fear.
"Don't fret, my love," Nightowl said, stepping toward her, his hands resting on her waist. He leaned in closer, their foreheads almost touching, his breath mingling with hers.
With a final, lingering gaze, Elizabeth gently pulled away, a soft smile gracing her lips. "I must go now. Be safe, my love."
In an instant, she transformed into a puff of black mist, swirling elegantly around him before disappearing entirely. The room felt colder without her, and Nightowl was left alone, the weight of her absence sinking in as he braced for whatever awaited him beyond.