Hubertus strolled through the market, his steps echoing with a mix of confidence and caution. He scanned the stalls around him, each teeming with oddities and strange wares. The bustling crowd of demons, twisted beings, and curious spirits didn't faze him. He had grown used to the chaotic hum of the Abyssal marketplace—it had a certain rhythm, a pulse of life that was almost comforting in its twisted way.
The vendor he was looking for was nearby. Hubertus felt his steps slow as he approached the spot Carl had described. The mention of a dark alley made him frown. Dark alleys were never a good sign, even in Hell. Especially in Hell, Hubertus corrected himself, giving the gloomy side street a long, appraising look. It was narrow, the edges of the buildings leaning in as if trying to whisper secrets to one another—secrets Hubertus wasn't keen on discovering.
Carl had been clear, though. The alley was the way to the vendor, and the vendor had something Carl needed. Hubertus couldn't afford to back down from something as trivial as an unsettling alley. He was, after all, a fledgling demon trying to prove himself—and if he got mucked, well, that would just be another day in the Abyss.
He sighed, adjusting the small soul pouch Carl had given him, its leathery surface brushing against his side as he shifted. Hubertus hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Being mucked sounded both dirty and inconvenient. He'd prefer to keep his horns intact and his dignity somewhat unscathed.
Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and started down the alley, each step echoing faintly against the cobblestones. The further he walked, the more the noise of the market faded, replaced by a different kind of quiet—a watchful silence that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Let's just get this over with," Hubertus muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the shadows. He had faced demons, deception, and even piano men with glassy eyes. A dark alley shouldn’t be the thing that made him nervous.
As the dim light dwindled to almost nothing, Hubertus caught sight of a flickering lantern hanging above a rickety stall. This had to be it. The vendor’s silhouette was barely visible, hunched over something Hubertus couldn't make out from a distance.
"I hope this is worth it," he whispered under his breath, his footsteps echoing through the dark alley as he approached the shadowy figure.
"You have a packet for Carl?" he asked. The figure nodded. No words were spoken, and the man shoved a strange looking figurine towards Hubertus. Hubertus handed over the pouch with the souls, and the man took them out, inspecting them briefly before nodding in approval.
"You can keep the pouch," the man said, his voice raspy and low.
Oh nice, Hubertus thought, a new item for his collection. He chuckled. Carl won‘t miss it.
He took the figurine, tucking it carefully under his arm. The exchange had been quicker and smoother than he anticipated. Now all he needed to do was get back to Carl without getting into any more trouble. Easier said than done in a place like this.
Hubertus approached Carl’s spire, his steps echoing faintly in the desolate courtyard. The figurine was safely stowed in his pouch, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The job had gone smoothly, with no mucking or strange encounters—just the way he liked it.
As he entered the spire, the first thing he noticed was the quiet—a stillness that felt unusual compared to Carl’s usual activities. Hubertus paused, frowning slightly, and then continued down the darkened hallway, the ornate obsidian walls gleaming faintly under the glowing sigils carved into them.
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It wasn’t until he reached the main hall that he realized why. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Carl was there, standing in the middle of the chamber, but he wasn’t alone. Three other demons stood around him—each one visibly different from the typical Abyss denizen. They radiated an aura of authority and power that made Hubertus instinctively tense.
The first was tall and skeletal, with elongated limbs and a crown of twisted antlers. Its eyes glowed with a deep crimson, and it exuded an air of cold detachment. The second demon was broad-shouldered, with scales of deep blue and horns that curled backward, giving it a regal appearance. The third was less imposing but even more unnerving—a thin figure draped in what appeared to be a living cloak, tendrils shifting beneath the fabric like restless serpents.
Carl caught sight of Hubertus and, without breaking stride, subtly raised a brow—a silent message. Play it cool.
Hubertus took a deep breath, straightened his back, and forced a grin onto his face. He sauntered forward, attempting to exude the confidence he definitely didn’t feel. He could practically hear his own heartbeat as the three demons turned their eyes to him, assessing, dissecting.
“Ah, Hubertus!” Carl called, his tone cheerful but with an underlying edge. “Just the fledgling I wanted to see. Did you get what I asked for?”
Hubertus nodded, his eyes flicking to the other demons briefly before focusing on Carl. He reached into his pouch and pulled out the figurine, holding it up as if it were nothing more than a mundane trinket.
“Right here,” he said, his voice casual. “It was exactly where you said it would be.”
The skeletal demon’s eyes narrowed, its gaze shifting to the figurine. “So this is it?” it said, its voice a dry whisper, like wind rustling through dead leaves. “The relic you spoke of?”
Carl gave a noncommittal smile, extending a hand to take the figurine from Hubertus. “Indeed, Lord Serekh. Just a little something I’ve acquired.” He held the figurine up, as if admiring it. “Hubertus here has proven himself quite useful.”
Hubertus bowed slightly, hiding his confusion under a mask of smugness. Lord Serekh? Carl had definitely left that part out.
The broad-shouldered demon with the curling horns snorted, its deep voice reverberating through the hall. “A fledgling tasked with retrieving something of this value? Brave, or foolish.”
Hubertus didn’t miss a beat, flashing a grin that he hoped looked confident. “Why not both?” he quipped, hoping a bit of humor might defuse the tension. “Besides, I was due for some excitement.”
The cloaked demon, the tendrils under its robe shifting restlessly, tilted its head slightly. “He’s amusing,” it said, its voice like a hissed whisper, almost snake-like. “And he’s still intact. Perhaps there’s potential in him yet.”
Carl gave Hubertus a sharp look—one that spoke of caution and danger. “Hubertus,” he said, his tone still light but with an unmistakable edge, “why don’t you stay for a moment and observe? There’s much to learn from our esteemed guests.”
Hubertus swallowed, giving a nod, though every instinct told him to leave. He stepped back, keeping himself in the background but close enough to follow what was happening.
Carl turned his attention back to the three demons, his tone turning more serious. “Now, about our arrangement,” he began, his voice lowering, the cheeriness fading. Whatever they were here to discuss, it was clearly important—important enough that Hubertus needed to be careful not to overstep.
Hubertus watched, keenly aware of the tension in the room. He could feel the figurine pulsing slightly, almost as if reacting to the presence of the three demons. The air was thick with power plays and hidden agendas—this was politics at its purest in the Abyss. It was clear to Hubertus that whatever was being negotiated, it was far above his fledgling rank. Yet, if he played his cards right, this was also an opportunity—a chance to prove himself, or at least to learn where he stood in the grand scheme of things.
The conversation drifted to topics Hubertus couldn’t quite follow—references to “shifts in the Abyssal Court” and “concessions owed.” But Hubertus listened intently, trying to gather whatever fragments of understanding he could. He could see now why Carl had told him to play it cool. This wasn’t just an exchange—it was a game of shadows and whispered threats.
And somehow, he was part of it.