Fendrel followed the agent through the upper district's backstreets, his shoulders hunched against the morning chill. Even these smaller paths were well-maintained, with polished cobblestones and decorative planters filled with bright flowers. A far cry from the filthy alleys he was used to skulking through.

His eyes darted between doorways and windows, scanning for threats. A group of merchants crossed their path, their fine clothes marking them as upper district regulars. Fendrel's worn boots and stained clothing stood out like a splash of mud on silk.

The agent moved with purpose, taking seemingly random turns that somehow formed a pattern. Left at the baker's shop, right past the tailor, through a narrow passage between two townhouses. Each turn avoided the main streets while keeping them in sight of other people.

Watching the agent's confident stride, Fendrel felt his anxiety ease slightly. The man clearly knew these streets better then he could ever hope. Each time they approached an intersection, he'd pause for a moment - not long enough to draw attention, but sufficient to check for dangers.

This wasn't random wandering. This was the calculated movement of someone who worked in shadows while walking in daylight. The kind of skill that came from years of practice.

"How do you know so much about me?" Fendrel asked, keeping his voice low as they passed a group of children playing with wooden swords.

The agent's pace didn't falter. "It's my job to know things." He guided them around another corner, his movements fluid and unhurried. "That's why you're still alive."

The words sent a chill down Fendrel's spine, but oddly enough, they also reassured him. This man wasn't some common thug - he was connected, informed. Maybe even high enough to secure the protection.

The cobblestones clicked beneath their boots as they rounded another corner - and Fendrel's heart stopped. Five city guards blocked their path, their polished breastplates gleaming in the morning sun. The lead guard's eyes locked onto Fendrel, recognition flashing across his weathered face.

"That's him - the alchemist who poisoned the garrison." The guard's hand dropped to his sword hilt.

Fendrel's legs turned to stone. The blood drained from his face as his mind spun with half-formed escape plans. "I didn't- what garrison? I don't know what you're talking about!"

The other guards spread out, cutting off the alley's exits. Their boots scraped against the cobblestones as they moved into position.

But before they could close in, the agent stepped forward. His posture shifted, shoulders straightening as authority settled over him like a cloak. With fluid grace, he withdrew a silver cross from beneath his coat.

"You've got the wrong man." His voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "This is an apprentice of the Church of Adria, under my care."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances. Their leader's jaw clenched as he studied the cross, then Fendrel's trembling form.

"This smells like bullshit." The guard captain's fingers drummed against his sword pommel. "That man matches the description perfectly. What other alchemist is there going between slums and upper district?"

"The Church's protection is absolute," the agent replied, putting the cross down. "Unless you wish to explain to your superiors why you accosted a servant of Adria?"

The guards shifted their weight, armor clinking softly. Their eyes darted between their captain and the agent's unwavering gaze. The political implications hung heavy in the air - no guard captain wanted to risk the church's displeasure over a simple arrest.

A sharp sting pierced Fendrel's neck. His hand shot up, fingers brushing against a small metal dart protruding from his flesh. The world tilted sideways as his knees buckled. His vision blurred, colors bleeding together like wet paint.

Through his dimming vision, Fendrel recognized the telltale green tinge spreading across his skin - Xytherium poison, his own creation. The bitter irony might have made him laugh if his throat wasn't already constricting. Now here he was, dropped by a single dart of the stuff.

[EFFECT]: You have been poisoned.

[STATUS]: You neutralized the poisoned effect

[PASSIVE SKILL LEVEL UP]: Poison resistance 7

"Get down!" The agent's voice cut through the haze.

Dark shapes dropped from the rooftops. Three assassins in black leather armor landed in the alley, their movements fluid and precise. One hurled a ball that shattered against the cobblestones. Purple smoke billowed out, while another threw familiar vial of Silkslither Toxin at the lead guard.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Shield up!" A guard shouted.

A blue shimmer rippled through the air as one of the guards raised his sword. The anti-curse field pushed back against the toxin cloud, creating a safe pocket around them.

More vials rained down. Green mist from Xytherium Poison mixed with the yellow of Nightwraith Distillate. The narrow walls of the alley concentrated the deadly cocktail.

"By the light of Adria, strengthen our flesh!" The priest in front of him lifted his holy symbol. Golden light washed over them including the guards, their movements becoming more assured as divine protection settled over them.

[STATUS] You have been blessed by high priest of a minor god.

Fuck, so he is a real priest not with Ironmire Court? Who are these guys then? Fendrel's confusion mounted with each passing moment.

The assassins pressed their advantage. They darted between patches of toxic fog, their blades flashing in the filtered sunlight. One guard went down clutching his side.

Through the toxic haze, an assassin sided to Fendrel. The black-clad figure moved with practiced grace, clearly expecting him to be out, ready for retrieval.

But Fendrel's body reacted before his mind could stop him. His arm shot out, fingernails elongating into razor-sharp claws dripping with venom. The assassin's eyes widened behind his mask as Fendrel's transformed hand sunk into his chest, tearing through leather armor and flesh alike.

The assassin staggered back, dropping his blade. His body convulsed as Fendrel's enhanced toxins flooded his system. He collapsed to the cobblestones, limbs twitching violently before going still.

Fendrel stared at his hand as the claws retracted, leaving only dirt-stained fingernails behind. The guards and remaining assassins were still locked in combat around him, but their attention would turn to him soon enough. He'd just killed a man with abilities no normal human should possess. The guards would execute him once they realize what happened, and the assassins...well, they'd want to know how he'd done it. Neither option appealed to him.

Fendrel felt power building in his chest, spreading outward like roots through soil. He let it flow, and a sickly mist began seeping from his pores.

The fungal spores spread quickly in the confined space, adding to the chaos of the poison clouds. Guards and assassins alike began coughing, their movements becoming erratic as the spores took hold. Though weaker here than in the damp environments it preferred, the fungal aura still filled the alley with an otherworldly haze.

Fendrel didn't waste the opportunity. He pressed himself against the wall and slipped between two distracted combatants, letting the various mists conceal his escape. Neither side noticed as he disappeared down a side passage, leaving the sounds of combat behind.

Fendrel's boots splashed through puddles as he fled deeper into the maze of alleys. His lungs burned with each ragged breath, the lingering effects of his own toxins making his throat raw. The shouts behind him grew fainter, but he didn't slow down.

[PARASITE STATUS]: Agitation level low. Next dose required in 6 hours

The notification flashed in his vision, a reminder of his predicament being far from over. He ducked under a low-hanging clothesline and squeezed through a gap between buildings, emerging onto a wider street.

The change hit his senses like a wall. Gone were the grimy walls and refuse-filled gutters. Instead, glass lanterns cast red and purple light across the cobblestones. Sweet incense mixed with perfume filled the air. Music drifted from open windows, along with laughter and provocative calls.

Fendrel stumbled to a stop, realizing he'd wandered into the Brothel District. "This wasn't how I imagined my first time here."

Crowds of well-dressed patrons meandered between the establishments, few wearing masks to hide their identities. Workers in revealing outfits lounged in doorways or leaned from balconies, calling out to potential customers.

His heart still hammering, Fendrel forced himself to walk at a measured pace. The press of bodies around him provided cover, but also made him acutely aware of how exposed he was. Any of these faces could belong to another assassin.

A solid wooden door caught his eye, belonging to a three-story establishment called "The Velvet Rose." Without hesitation, he pulled out his last vial of Xytherium and spilled it on the brass handle. The deep green liquid spread invisible across the metal.

Fendrel slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The sudden hum felt surreal after the chaos outside. Plush carpets muffled his footsteps. The air was thick with sweet-smelling smoke and fruits.

Women in silk reclined on velvet couches, some entertaining clients while others chatted amongst themselves. The whole scene felt disconnected from reality - as if he hadn't just killed a man and fled through half the city.

Fendrel's boots sank into the plush carpet as he made his way toward the counter. Two burly men in fitted vests tracked his movement, their hands resting near concealed weapons. Their eyes narrowed at his disheveled appearance and the way sweat plastered his hair to his forehead.

The perfumed air felt thick in his lungs, making each breath a struggle to keep steady. His fingers twitched, and he forced them still.

Behind a polished wooden counter, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard counted coins into neat stacks. He didn't look up as Fendrel approached. "This really isn't place for you, friend."

"I..." Fendrel cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly as dry. "My first time, so I'm a little nervous. Who do I talk to about... services?"

The owner's hands stilled, coins clicking against the polished wood. He raised his head, pale eyes scanning Fendrel from head to toe with the calculated precision of a merchant appraising questionable goods. "We only serve people on recommendation. Got one?"

Movement behind caught Fendrel's attention - the guards had closed in, their leather boots silent against the thick carpet. His pulse quickened, blood rushing in his ears, and he felt the familiar burn of toxins gathering beneath his nails. Purple and green discoloration spread across his fingertips like watercolors bleeding through parchment.

He pressed his palm to his chest, letting the owner catch sight of his transformed nails. "I would really rather not do this. Priest Valton recommended me to get some rest and relax after all the work. If you know what I mean."

The tension in the room shifted like a sudden change in wind. The owner's face went slack, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple to disappear into his trimmed beard. The guards exchanged glances, taking half steps back.

"Priest Valton?" The owner's voice cracked, high and brittle as thin ice. He dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief, the expensive fabric trembling in his grip.