It’s New Year’s Eve. Another year is about to pass, and a new one filled with happiness and fortune is about to begin, well, for some, at least.

“Dammit, it's so cold,” Paul muttered, shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself. He took a quick look at the cracked thermostat on the wall and shook his head as he stared at the pile of bills sitting on the counter, some stamped as paid, others still looming over him. Heat, he thought, wasn’t a priority, electricity kept his meager amount of food from spoiling, and that was all that mattered.

‘Electricity’s more important anyway,’ he thought, pacing his tiny, windowless, one-room flat. It wasn’t all too bad. He had a kitchen, a hallway, and even a bathroom with a shower, no less, though warm water would have been nice. Still, for someone in the poor district, it wasn’t the worst. Not that the middle or upper district folks would call it livable. The nobles? They’d laugh until their chest hurt.

That’s just how life was for the manaless. No magic, no gods, no opportunities. Who would even want such a person? He could not follow a serious career with little to no mana and could not be part of any church without a birth blessing. Only the lowly positions could fit him.

And a lowly position it was, working during the day at a facility for ten hours. Paul was unsure what exactly the facility produced or what its purpose was. They never told him, and he never asked. He only knew he needed to operate the heavy machinery, break his back carrying stuff, mop the floors, and other jobs. It was far cheaper to employ a human for peanuts than pay for golems. Keep your head down, work hard, that was the survival mantra. And during the night, for another four hours, he worked as a cashier. For the rest of his day, he would just train and read the books left by his family.

Paul never really knew what his family was up to. They were just as poor, but with a slightly better and larger apartment to accommodate everyone: his mother, father, older brother, and grandfather. From what he knew, they worked ordinary jobs, but that never really clicked. While Paul went to get his basic education, his father and grandfather always trained him in his free time for some reason. At first, it was just running, lifting weights, and doing various exercises, increasing his strength, stamina, reflexes, dexterity, and whatever else he could train.

On the bookshelf, a picture of his family, five streaks of lines etched into the wood, and next to it, a small red candle. Inside the bookshelf was an ungodly amount of books: magic, gods, recipes, training, notes, diaries. Of course, Paul could guess his family’s background wasn’t so simple, and perhaps he was just too young back then to let him know.

On the ground next to the bookshelf, a bright pillow, blue as lilies. It was long dry at this point, but there were markings where some liquid used to fall often, though the source of the liquid had been long dry by this point.

Now, at the ripe age of nineteen, he had read and trained in everything, memorizing and perfecting it by heart. Realistically, he realized his own value. He could become a valued guard or a soldier in the military. But it didn’t sit right with him to become the underdog of someone else using the legacy of his family. He may not have much right now, but at least he was in control. Though work was hard and tiring, everything felt fulfilling, and he was proud of himself.

The clock now read 2300, just a little time left until the new year. It was time for him to go out. Though he didn’t have friends to celebrate with, he wanted to walk around, take in the not-so-fresh air, and maybe visit the cemetery and light some candles so the goodness of death could light up the path for the deceased on the other side. The night was young, and the year was going to be a long one.

He started to get dressed: a simple pair of jeans, a worn-out pair of boots, an unironed white shirt, and a cheap winter jacket. And a mask. Everyone from the Garden District, the poor folks, needed to wear a mask. It was like a token of poverty, so everyone knew about your origins. More like a token of shame. You could be severely punished for going out without a mask. Only those from the Amber Quarter, the so-called middle district, and above could avoid the shame of wearing the mask.

It was a carnival mask, quartz white in color, with golden painted streaks, a wide smile, a jade lion on the forehead, and five appendices of material sprouting from the top, all having a small plastic pearl. The first four had a bell connected to the pearl, but the fifth bell was missing.

This mask was worn by his grandfather, father, and brother when they were young, and then it was passed down to Paul. It was said that the mask had been passed down for generations. It did look a bit used, but you could fool someone into thinking it was brand new.

He put a small pendant around his neck. The chain was made out of severely low-quality gold, and it had a wooden cross. This was a gift from his mother at birth. She said it was an artifact that could save his life. The method of activation was a bit weird, and he never believed her. An artifact of that magnitude could have raised them to the Amber Quarter temporarily just by selling it. Nonetheless, it may have been worthless, but it was a gift from his mother, and he treated it as a lucky rabbit’s foot.

After walking down fifteen flights of stairs, Paul was finally outside. The Garden District was sprawled with tall buildings all around. The designated area for the poor district was rather small so as not to take precious space from the good, productive people of society, so each city’s Garden District was tightly packed with buildings 20 to 35 floors high, with each floor filled with an unbelievably large number of flats, ranging from extremely small to decently small. You had to make do with what you’re given.

There were no trees or any kind of greenery, really. Only tall buildings, streetlights, concrete roads, and a bunch of little narrow streets in between buildings that you could use to get to your destination faster, as long as you knew your way. Otherwise, you’d be entering a maze. And as long as you didn’t mind the pickpockets and bandits, though they may have only used rusty knives, used syringes, or just bare hands, it wasn’t a problem for Paul.

It had been about half an hour, and Paul was just walking around the streets, taking in the unpleasant cold air. The scenery was grim and uninviting, but to Paul, it was nothing but home.

The Garden District was pretty much empty at this time. Some were at home, drinking and trying to forget their sorrows. Some went out to festivals, and others saved a little more money to visit the Amber Quarter. The streets were quiet.

Not that much could happen. The buildings and the roads in the Garden District had special stones hidden inside them that would strengthen the buildings against magic and spells. This was another reason why this district was so packed. These devices were not easy or cheap to make, but they prevented most mana-related disruptions. Not that most people could even use mana in this place anyway, but there were other reasons for this fortification.

That’s why, when Paul heard some strange noises coming from deeper inside the twisted paths, he got curious. The noise was strangely muffled. You couldn’t hear much of it, but it was there, especially to a trained ear. It was also as if you could strangely feel it. The air was thick with danger, yet Paul felt a thrill at the prospect of risk.

As he got closer, though, there was another sensation. A reverberation resonated inside the jade lion of the mask. It was a strange feeling he hadn’t experienced before. It felt like a shock, an impact. This sensation, combined with his knowledge, allowed him to quickly come to a conclusion.

‘Magic!’ The power of mana and its properties could be felt by the jade. This only reinforced the theories he had about his family. It was his first time getting a chance to take a quick look. Even if he got spotted, he was confident he could get away. An occasion like this didn’t come often in the Garden District.

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He swiftly maneuvered through the labyrinthine paths. Initially, the source of the sensation seemed to move, but now it appeared to have settled in one place.

He crept closer, the walls closing in around him, the source of the sensation just beyond the next turn. He had to be careful because of the bells. As he approached, he checked his pockets. He had always been told to be prepared. Nothing much, just some needles laced with albajar oil, two small throwing knives, and a pair of brass knuckles.

He took out the brass knuckles and placed them on his right hand. He was sticking to the left wall. He knew the path, the only way to go was a left turn, and the sensation felt like it was coming from right around the corner. The jade was vibrating more and more, to the point it might even ring the bells on his mask.

Arriving at the corner, there it was. A wall!

‘A wall?’ Paul simply knew this couldn’t before knew the path like the back of his hand. There must be some trickery happening here. ‘An illusion,’ some sort of magic that prevented prying eyes, probably why there was no noise heard until now.

Touching the ‘wall’ confirmed his suspicion. It was nothing but air, certainly nothing solid. All he could do now was poke his head through and take a peek.

Beyond the imaginary a young man and a young woman lay on the ground. Their faces were covered in dirt and scratches; their clothes were torn and stained. The man’s left leg bled through a ragged tear in his pants, and the woman’s nose bled, ‘looks like mana abuse,’ Taught Paul. Despite their battered state, they held onto each other, their bodies trembling from exhaustion and the cold.

A few steps away, a man in a clean four-piece suit stood with a menacing air. His neatly combed black hair, tall stature, and perfectly twirled mustache gave him an unsettling calm. One hand rested behind his back, his other idly gesturing as magical energy swirled faintly around him. He grinned as he noticed Paul, as if welcoming him.

Paul didn’t even hesitate, and with a burst of speed, he dashed toward the magician, using the narrow walls to propel himself forward. The suited man’s grin widened as he raised two fingers to his lips. His pupils turned white as chalk as wind crackled to life around him.

A loud roar echoed as razor-sharp wind blades erupted toward Paul, slicing through the confined airspace. Paul twisted his body, narrowly dodging the barrage as he planted a foot against the wall for leverage. He hurled himself forward again, drawing a single knife from his pockets, one of the few weapons he had on him.

The magician’s expression flickered with mild surprise as Paul closed the distance. Paul hurled both knives in a precise, intersecting trajectory designed to cover the narrow alleyway. The magician dodged the first knife with a quick step to the side, but the second knife forced his hand.

Muttering something under his breath, and flicking his hand in an upwards motion, keeping his back straight, in an elegant manner, he conjured a wall of wind, thick and fast enough to deflect the blade.

However, Paul hadn’t shown his full speed before and managed to instantly surprise and catch up to the man, whose vision was now obstructed.

The momentary defense gave Paul the opening he needed. He surged forward, a right punch with his full power followed, his fist driving toward the magician’s face.

But, at the last second, the suited man sidestepped, avoiding the full force of the blow, unlucky for him Paul followed up with a another quick jab to keep him off balance.

In the moment the enemy was staggered, Paul’s other hand revealed a small set of needles coated with albajar oil, a rare toxin effective even against advanced mages, its recipe known by few. With practiced precision, he threw them toward the magician. The confined space left little room to maneuver, and while some needles missed or grazed his suit, a few embedded themselves into the man’s side.

The fiend hurt and confused, one hand clutched his abdomen as he glared at Paul. His pristine suit was stained with blood, and his confidence faltered. Paul used the opportunity to deliver a kick to the man’s abdomen, driving the needles further, and forcing him back several steps but failing to knock him down completely.

Paul quickly retreated a few steps back toward the injured pair, never turning his back on the magician. With a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, he could easily tell. They were clearly in no condition to move, let alone run.

The suited man straightened slowly, holding his abdomen as his purple blood and the coating on the needles draped on his hands. He examined them briefly before saying, “Albajar oil,” he talked with disdain as the mana holders in his purple blood cells started to break down. “It’s so rare I haven’t had the pleasure to experience it myself.” His grin returned, but his steps were less certain as he tried advanced.

Paul didn’t respond, and instead he straightened his back and quickly put his left hand in front of the two. He wasn’t exactly sure why he chose to protect them. It just felt like something his family would do, and what he trained for. And It also was the thrill of the fight. It felt like instinct to jump in, exhilaration and excitement surging through him. He was reminded of his days with his father and brother. But the man in front of him was simply far less skilled. Slower, weaker, predictable.  

“You won’t be able to use any of precious magic, at least for now,” Paul kept his pristine stance, keeping the illusion that he was the one in control. In reality though, he didn’t have anything else hidden on him. It would be best to finish things here, “How about I take these two to a safe place, and you get to leave with your teeth intact, hmm?”

“I’m afraid I must bring those two with me, alive, but I don’t mind digging your grave while I’m at it,”

“Run away, mister, this man killed our guards,” the girl’s voice trembled.

‘Guards? They must be someone important…’ though Paul, ‘Though they might’ve either been trash or they got ambushed’

The other twin, defiant despite their condition, spoke up. “We can protect ourselves. Go!”

“Can you now? Somehow, I can’t seem to trust that,” Paul couldn’t help but jest.

“We’re serious!” said the young man, “He’s a high-ranking member of the Church of Curses,” continued his sister

Paul was ready to crack another joke. But as he opened his lips, he could only mutter, “Ah…” The corner of Paul’s lip quivered as he fully comprehended the words of the young girl.

‘We’re completely fucked,’ his mind raced as he quickly jumped into action, and he made a pitiful attempt to grab the twins by their clothes and drag them away if needed.

But before he could even take a few steps, a sharp, grotesque, sickening crack filled the air. The sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking followed, raw and wet. A low groan followed after, making the air feel colder, heavier.

And not only the air felt heavier, so did his body. Paul’s legs felt like they simply disappeared. He dropped to the ground like a log. The twins fell in the same manner, like dropped weights.

Every muscle in his body was either fully paralyzed or weakened to the point of uselessness. His chest felt like it was being squished between two rocks as he desperately tried to swallow every bit of air he could manage to get. Though his arms were somewhat spared, they were too weak to lift himself back up but just enough to cushion his impact.

The twins were in a similar situation, struggling on the ground as they clutched their chests. They were trying to reach for something inside their clothes. Perhaps they had something to help, but their movements were sluggish. The girl clung to her phone, her grip white-knuckled. Though he doubted it would do much, it was easy to disturb the phone signal.

Paul couldn’t hope for external help. He had to think of something fast.

The man’s rasping voice cut through their futile struggle. He leaned against the wall, his lifeless left arm dangling, two fingers barely hanging by threads of flesh, dripping purple blood. In his right hand, he toyed with one of Paul’s throwing knives, dragging its blade lazily against the wall, the sound out of metal against the cold stone sent shivers down Paul’s back.

“To think I’d have to use my authority,” the mage sneered, his voice a mix of labored breathing and disdain. “I sacrificed my whole arm in the end to bind you lot.,” He coughed wetly, his lips growing from one ear to another on his chalk-like face. “I hope you won’t dream of a painless death. I’ll have my fun with you before I take those two with me.”

“Empty threats, big man,” his voice cracking as he forced the words out. “Keep using that authority, and losing an arm will be the least of your problems,” he said, with shaking fingers, as he reached for the necklace around his neck. He tied the fake golden chain around the wooden cross.

The mage’s laughter rang hollow at the sight of Paul’s necklace, though his amusement barely masked the irritation from Paul’s remark. “And what’s that supposed to do? That powerless toy of yours can’t save you.”

Paul ignored him. He focused entirely on threading the cross through the narrow space under his mask, to his mouth. His fingers fumbled more than once, and his breath quickened as he heard the mage’s uneven footsteps getting closer. Each scrape of the knife against the wall felt louder, sharper.

Finally, Paul wedged the cross into place between two molars. He bit down hard, the rough wood and cold chain pressing against his teeth. ‘Mom, you better not have lied to me,’ he thought desperately, closing his eyes. A miracle was his only way of surviving. He bit again, harder, his jaw trembling from the strain.

The mage’s breath was close now. Paul could feel the knife’s shadow looming over him. One last time, he bit down with all his remaining strength.

This time, something cracked, but it wasn’t the cross. Pain exploded in his mouth as his teeth fractured under the pressure. The sharp taste of blood filled his mouth, dripping onto the cross and chain. Nothing happened, apart from his jaw throbbing with agony, and Paul kept his eyes shut, too drained to open them.

There was no sound anymore. Paul waited, motionless, bracing for the blade to strike.

He braced for the impact that never came. Instead, as Paul opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a boundless void, darker than a starless midnight sky. He was standing over a glass floor that thrummed with a low vibration that echoed through his bones as his shoes touched its surface.

He tried to breathe but could not feel the nice cool sensation of the air traveling through his throat. It felt like he was breathing through a plastic bag, yet strangely enough, he wasn’t asphyxiating.

Confused, and before he could try to explore this weird space, he felt the touch of something... something slithered around him.

Appendages from behind started coiling around his limbs, holding him in place, they were black as tar and oily, but solid like obsidian, their clammy, unnatural texture was revolting, and they also seemed to drain his energy, each second leaving him weaker. He tried to scream, but his voice wouldn’t come out.

From the appendices, something extended in front of him, the formless mass stretched and reassembled itself, and it slowly took the figure of a human, its exterior made from the same tar substance. It looked like it was melting and dissolving into itself, constantly breaking apart and reforming.

Its right eye was red as roses. The other was golden, shining like polished metal with markings on its edges, and a steady, heavy ticking sound, reminiscent of an old clock, emanated from the golden eye.

This… thing was only inches away from Paul’s face. Its unusually white and clear teeth were a stark contrast to the tar-like substance that made up the rest of its body. Five horn-like protrusions jutted from its head, resembling those on Paul’s carnival mask.

It stared directly at him, its breathing labored, each exhale creating a faint mist while its grin stretched unnaturally wide, starting at the outer corner of its left eye and extending all the way to the right.

More appendages sprouted from its body, merging with the ones keeping Paul in place and creating more in the process, slithering toward Paul’s face. They gripped him tightly, forcing him to lock eyes with the creature, as it asked, its voice an unnatural blend of tones that sounded both human and inhuman, each letter spoken between a whisper and a scream, “Ready to make a deal?”