Isaac Witz was no coward. Yet even he trembled while making his way through a series of dark, maze-like tunnels he had stumbled upon. In the streets, he heard a rumor—an unlikely tale of an entrance leading into the notorious Undercity. Being a contractor of some growing reputation, Isaac resolved to investigate.

The entrance lay beneath a bridge, hidden by a rusty manhole that, in theory, granted access to heating and water systems in need of repair. But instead of leading him to a tangle of pipes, the hatch took Isaac into a bizarre, dark tunnel. Glancing up at the ceiling he had just dropped from minutes earlier, he realized the manhole had vanished behind him, leaving only one direction to go: forward, deeper into unknown darkness.

Isaac had come prepared. Predicting a scenario like this, he carried a week’s worth of food, two flashlights, and extra batteries. But soon after descending, he checked his phone—only to find that it had powered off the moment he entered the cavern. The same happened with both flashlights. No matter how he tried to fix them, they remained dead.

He wandered alone in total blackness for three days. Without light or external sound, Isaac’s senses dulled, his mind clouded by the unchanging stone walls around him. Eventually, though, he felt something soft crunch underfoot—moss, and plenty of it. Elation filled him; he hoped this meant an exit from the damned tunnels.

Gradually, faint noises began to register: small tremors, the gurgle of running water, and the distinct echo of human voices. Those tiny hints roused a spark of joy in Isaac, who mustered his last reserves of strength to run, pressing on until, abruptly, the world lit up around him.

Emerging from an old passage, Isaac squinted under the flicker of a malfunctioning lamp—his eyes not yet adjusted to the harsh light. As his vision settled, a mesmerizing view met him: an underground city built atop the skeletal remains of sunken skyscrapers.

He stood there in awe, a tall young man in his early twenties with long brown hair tied in a ponytail, his dyed-blonde tips streaked here and there with neon-green strands. His tan complexion suggested Middle Eastern heritage, and his sharp facial features drew attention. He wore black boots, cargo pants, a black tank top, and a dark-red bomber jacket, while multiple piercings and bits of jewelry caught the artificial glow in glints of reflected light.

“I finally made it,” Isaac thought, gazing upon the sprawling metropolis unfurling before him. As his eyes adapted, he glanced behind to see that he’d emerged from what looked like a metal pipe—yet inside, it had in no way resembled a mere pipe, contradicting the cave-like nightmare he had just endured.

A single, flickering lamppost stood nearby, and perched atop it was a hooded figure. The man wore a ragged black shroud held together by haphazard stitches, revealing a muscular build. A sleek black mask concealed the lower part of his face.

“Yo,” the figure said in a robotic tone, sending a chill along Isaac’s spine.

“Who are you?” Isaac demanded, reflexively shifting into a combative stance.

“They call me,” the figure paused, “Prowler,” he stated, remaining almost entirely motionless.

Isaac instinctively began backing away, inching toward the tunnel behind him. “That’s not gonna work,” Prowler murmured.

“Why?” Isaac asked, pulse quickening.

“I cannot say. But believe me, it won’t,” Prowler replied, clearing his throat before leaping down from the lamppost. Immediately, the lamp kicked back to life in a steady glow. “We best be going,” he said, looking toward the city.

“Where?” Isaac asked, more guarded than ever.

“Where else—before the King,” Prowler answered, locking eyes with Isaac. In that single glance, Isaac sensed how formidable the masked man must be, though he couldn’t put his finger on why Prowler’s presence rattled him so deeply.

“Fine,” Isaac replied, stepping closer.

They set off into the city. Isaac marveled at the bustle of the legendary Undercity, once thought mere rumor. He saw well-lit streets and swarms of buildings, some reconstructed, others integrated with modern floors and makeshift bridges. The entire district pulsed with a gritty life.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Where the hell are we?” Isaac accidentally said aloud.

“District 7, my domain,” Prowler stated flatly.

“What do you mean by that?” Isaac asked.

“In the Undercity, each district has a designated guard. This one is mine,” Prowler explained. “It’s a splendid place run by gangs and corporations. Ever since I rose to power, it’s grown more restless, but time changes everything. Eventually, District 7 will outshine the rest.”

“Yeah, right. How do you plan on doing that?” Isaac taunted with a grin, hoping to provoke the masked figure.

“Oh?” Prowler turned his head. “I’m going to beat every gangster,” he said, smiling with his eyes.

Before long, they arrived at the Contractor King’s chapel. “Bigger on the inside,” Isaac muttered, appearing underwhelmed as they ventured indoors.

There, perched upon a golden throne in the center of the room, the Contractor King reclined in a slouched pose. “Your posture doesn’t suit a king,” Zeke remarked while entering, removing his mask. Isaac’s face twitched with unease—he hadn’t expected the Prowler to reveal himself so casually.

“I’m only a king by name,” the Contractor King answered. “If people weren’t so obsessed with royalty, I might have called myself something else,” he continued with a faint smile.

“Hard to imagine you as something like ‘contractor boss’ or ‘contract dealer,’” Zeke quipped, drawing nearer. “I salute you, King,” he said, bending one knee.

“Good! Looks like you’ve finally picked up on protocol,” the King chuckled, leaning forward to rest his chin on his right hand.

“Condescending prick,” Zeke muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” the King asked in amused tones.

Zeke rose, ignoring the query. “I brought you the trespasser like you wanted. May I leave now?” he asked with a resigned sigh.

“Oh, you’d abandon me here without a guard? How heartless,” the King teased.

Turning his attention to Isaac, the King said, “And you—what led you to the Undercity?” He sounded lethargic, though there was a commanding edge beneath.

Isaac, without hesitation, stepped forward and dropped to one knee. “I greet the King.”

“How courteous,” the King responded, his smirk broadening. “Now answer me,” he demanded, voice tinged with a sharper authority.

“I came because I want power,” Isaac stated, his head bowed.

“Seems you could learn from him,” the King told Zeke, mockingly.

“You say bark, I bark,” Zeke replied, voice taut with annoyance. “What else do you want?”

“Nothing! You’re far more entertaining this way,” the King sneered.

“What’s your name?” the King asked Isaac.

“Isaac Witz,” he said.

“Well, Isaac Witz, how do you suppose your little escapade will end?” the King asked, lacing his fingers in front of his face.

“You’ll either fulfill my request, for something in return. Or…” Isaac paused.

“Or what?” the King prompted.

“Or you’ll have Prowler kill me,” Isaac admitted, eyes fixed on Zeke.

“Smart kid,” the King mused, standing up. “How about this: if you can hold your own against Prowler, I’ll make you one of my faceless,” he announced, pacing calmly.

“A faceless?” Isaac echoed, slowly rising to his feet.

“They’re my personal corps,” the King elaborated. “Men and women who show up here willingly, surrendering their identities by wearing white masks. Most are ordinary humans, but some are contractors, like you. They serve me for three years; if they survive, I grant them a contract. A few of my guardians once served as faceless.” He paused. “What do you think?”

“I don’t have to win, right?” Isaac asked, casting a wary look at Zeke.

“No, and Zeke won’t be using magic. You just have to hold out,” the King replied with a crooked grin.

“Fine,” Isaac said, steeling himself.

Suddenly, with no warning, Isaac went hurtling face-first into the chapel wall. Gasping for breath, blood trickling from his nose and eyes, he realized Zeke had attacked him in the blink of an eye. The echo of Zeke’s footfalls approached him in the background.

“To even try this,” Zeke murmured, replacing his mask so that his voice took on a robotic cast, “when facing an unknown foe is beyond stupid.”

Isaac wiped at his nose, shrugged off his jacket, and hurled himself at Zeke in desperation, mustering all his might. But Zeke barely hesitated, landing a blow across Isaac’s face to disorient him and then sweeping his legs, causing him to crash to the floor.

“Enjoying this? Is he holding his own?” Zeke asked the King, frustration simmering.

“He’s doing fairly well,” the King remarked, smirking as he watched.

“Blade,” Isaac whispered hoarsely, trying to summon magic.

Sensing the tactic, Zeke ducked as a sonic clap reverberated, a razor-sharp blade of water swishing over Zeke’s head, slicing off a single hair.

“Sly,” the King commented, eyeing Isaac, who lay collapsed and bloodied.

“And you still didn’t secure a retreat,” Zeke said, stepping closer. “You’re a novice.”

“Bring him here,” the King demanded, conjuring a golden chain from his palm.

Zeke looked at Isaac, making note of his terrified expression, his breath shallow and fast, his heart marched like a macabre drum beckoning the end of his life.

“How about you give him a chance?” Zeke signed, peering deep into the king’s cold, sadistic gaze.

image [https://i.postimg.cc/gjpy1XsX/Name-Alias-X-Species-Demon-Age-80-Height-182cm-Affiliation-Knights-Rank-Special-grade-investigator.png]

image [https://i.postimg.cc/wMk5zq4W/Name-Alias-X-Species-Demon-Age-80-Height-182cm-Affiliation-Knights-Rank-Special-grade-investigator.png]