The Tower of Sin stood like a monunt to exquisite corruption—seven floors carved from obsidian stone and the blood of bad decisions. A structure so decadent, so grotesquely magnificent, it looked less like it had been built and more like it had seduced itself into existence.
It lood at the city’s edge, wreathed in plus of red fog, guarded like a vault of virgins and secrets. Each floor represented a different sin—Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Lust, Envy, Wrath, and Pride—and each one promised unfiltered indulgence. To ascend to the next floor, you didn’t just survive your vice. You had to overco it, outwit it, or be utterly consud in the process. Naturally, the city’s elite adored it.
Think of it as a spiritual enlightennt course, but sponsored by a sadistic playwright and a few dozen bottles of absinthe.
But entry? Ah. That was the twist.
The Tower of Sin was more heavily guarded than a virginal heir on the night of an arranged marriage. The gates were sealed tighter than a nun’s thighs, and entry was granted only by invitation—delicate, red-scribed cards passed in whispers and bribes among the powerful. Not even the Baron—who owned more brothels than teeth—had managed to snag one in the past five years.
But he did have a lead.
"I suspect," he said while fondling a naked violinist, "that one of the city’s less... reputable businessn ca into possession of a card. Nasty fellow. Human trafficking ring. Operates deep in the slums, past where even rats file tax returns."
And so, here I was. The District of Flesh, as it was called. Trudging through the most foul-slling pit Ventri had to offer with Miko beside , my boots slowly losing the will to live.
The slums here were a masterpiece of misery. Corrugated tal rooftops leaned like drunks against one another. Sludge-filled alleyways whispered threats in the wind. The air tasted like rust and regret, with a faint undertone of piss and cheap incense.
Red lanterns flickered overhead, bathing the streets in a low, sultry glow. Sowhere in the distance, soone scread. No one turned to look.
"Slls like ho," I muttered.
Miko wrinkled his nose. "Your ho needs a better perfur."
We passed stalls stacked with suspicious ats, flickering opium dens, and cages of people being auctioned like exotic pets. And then we saw it.
A noble—fat, florid, and glistening like a lted candle—was waddling down the street with a leash in hand. Attached to it was a boy, slender and barely clothed, with a collar around his neck and a tail swishing behind him in small, anxious motions.
Beastfolk.
Rare, hunted, and sold like silk.
The boy couldn’t have been older than nineteen, if that. He had the long, pointed ears and sleek tail of a wolf, and the tragic beauty of sothing bred for sorrow. His skin was pale beneath gri and bruises. His fra? Feminine, almost ethereal. A courtesan carved for cruelty.
Two n followed behind, groping him between giggles like he was a toy they’d already broken.
I glanced at Miko, who wore the sa frozen look I did. The one where if you blinked, you’d either cry or kill soone.
"We keep moving," I said through clenched teeth. "We’re not here to play savior."
I almost ant it.
Until the fat man laughed and said a na that made my heart twist.
"I hear old bastard Mavus is holed up again," one of the n grunted. "Ringleader my ass. All he does is drink away his sorrows."
Mavus Grey, the ringleader within The District of Flesh.
The one we’d co here to find.
It took a mont to register. My brain—usually quick with sches and scorn—stumbled over itself before snapping to attention.
I turned just in ti to see the beast boy bare his teeth and sink them into one of the n’s hands.
The man scread. The noble roared. Chaos blood like a rotten flower.
"You little mutt!" the fat noble spat, yanking the leash so hard the boy fell to his knees. "Think that was funny?"
The boy whimpered, blood on his lips. Defiant. Beautiful. Terrified.
The noble turned to his companions, cackling. "I need a piss."
And he ant it. Right there. In the middle of the street. He unfastened his trousers and relieved himself on the cobblestone, as casually as if he were comnting on the weather.
Then—just for sport—he knocked the boy down and stomped on his head.
"Clean it up with your tongue, dog."
Laughter. Laughter like knives.
And I snapped.
I stepped forward, no longer hearing Miko behind , no longer thinking at all. Then I placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned just in ti to see .
I smiled.
He looked confused.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Then I simply flicked my wrist, my knuckle landing point blank on his chin.
The sound of his jaw breaking was oddly satisfying. Like cracking a crab leg.
He dropped to the ground in a heap, screaming through wet gurgles. Tears spilled down his jowls.
The others lunged, but Miko moved faster than any prayer could catch. Shadows erupted from beneath his feet, tendrils coiling up like serpents. One man scread as he was flung against the wall. The other collapsed in a pool of his own shadow.
Silence returned to the alley, thick and sharp as a blade.
The beast boy was still on the ground, trembling. His tail curled tightly around him, ears low, eyes filled with stunned disbelief.
I knelt beside the noble and yanked his sweaty face up by the hair.
"You ntioned a na," I said coolly. "Mavus Grey, the man who runs this circus of skin. Where is he?"
"P-please—" he slobbered.
I pressed a boot against his throat. "Don’t beg. You’re ruining my mood."
The second man—alive, barely—wheezed and raised a trembling hand. "The park... amusent park. Abandoned. He drinks there sotis. Alone. No one bothers him."
"Because he’ll kill them?" I asked.
"Because they’re afraid."
Of course they are.
I dropped the fat noble’s head with a grunt and stood, brushing the filth from my coat with deliberate disgust.
Miko hovered near the boy, keeping a respectful distance.
"He’s not speaking," he said softly.
I approached slowly, crouching to the boy’s level. He flinched. Gods, he flinched like I’d raised a whip.
"Hey," I said gently. "It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you."
Nothing.
Just trembling.
"I know what they did," I murmured. "I know you’ve had your voice taken from you again and again. But you bit one of them. You fought. That ans there’s still a fire in you."
His eyes flicked toward , hesitant.
"You don’t have to trust ," I said. "You don’t even have to speak. But if you co with us, I promise I’ll make sure no one touches you like that again."
A long pause. The boy stared at with those wide, uncertain eyes—like I was a storm he wasn’t sure would kiss or kill.
Then he nodded. Just once.
I stood, offering a hand. He took it. His grip was weak, but it was there.
Miko watched this with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Oh don’t look at like that," I sighed.
"Like what?" he said, raising a brow.
"Like you’re about to write a poem titled Cecil Valen, Unexpectedly Noble Bastard."
He smiled faintly. "You’re better than you pretend to be."
I gave a long, theatrical sigh. "Gods, I hope not. I have a reputation to maintain."
We slipped into the shadows of the street, our new companion close behind. The city still burned red around us, lust and blood baked into every brick.
But sowhere ahead, past the filth and fear, past the laughter of monsters and the tears of the forgotten, an amusent park waited. And with it, the next piece of the puzzle. The ringleader. The invitation.
The Tower of Sin lood ever closer.
And I, as always, was ready to climb.
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