Villain Hiring: Help! Author Wants Me Dead

The old alley hadn't changed.

The bricks still crumbled in odd places, as if time itself was afraid to fix what lay hidden between those walls.

The shop sat at the far end, same as before—tucked away like a forgotten nightmare someone had locked in a drawer and left to rot.

The crooked wooden sign above the door was still too faded to read clearly, but I recognised it.

An unknown symbol, etched in some language I couldn't understand…it was the only proof this place even existed.

Ding.

The same shrill bell rang above my head the moment I pushed the door open, its sound too sharp for something so old.

It sent a ripple through the thick air of the shop, like I'd just disturbed something that liked being left alone.

Dust and metal. That was the scent. Same as last time.

Dusty wood and a faint metallic tang that reminded me of dried blood on cold steel.

The place was dim, lit by rustic hanging lanterns and candles that seemed to burn without flames.

The walls were lined with shelves, each one stacked to the top with strange, eerie trinkets. There were no price tags.

No signs.

Just artefacts that dared you to come closer.

I stepped in cautiously, and my eyes immediately found some familiar horrors.

The jar of eyeballs still rested on its shelf, and yes, one blinked at me.

Next to it, the hand mirror that reflected not my face, but a swirling dark void, making me glance away quickly.

The monkey paw was still there too, resting on that same velvet cushion, each finger slightly curled like it had just moved.

"Still not brave enough to pick that one, are ya?" came the same dry, raspy voice that had haunted me last time.

I turned sharply.

There he was.

The old man.

Hunched over behind the counter, wrapped in layers of thick, tattered robes.

His skin was wheatish and paper-thin, clinging to sharp bones like a stretched rag. His eyes, milky grey with pupils that didn't move, stared straight through me.

Some of his teeth were missing, and when he smiled, it looked more like a threat than a welcome.

"I remember you," the old man continued. "The boy who'd bought that cube? I presume?"

I stiffened. "Yes…I came to buy again.

This time…with a list."

He chuckled. It was dry and slow, like sand pouring into a coffin, I thought, looking at him strangely.

Even though I was pretty sure that all of this weakness this old grouch was showing was just a feint, Damien putting so much stress on it so I don't accidentally offend him still confused me.

'He couldn't be greater than the Romero House…now could he?"

"Of course you did." The old man answered my previous question with a glint in his eyes.

I didn't answer; instead, reaching into my coat pocket, I unfolded a crumpled piece of paper.

[Buy that Dagger which feeds on souls and answers any question.]

That was the only thing on the list. But I already knew this was just the first step.

I glanced around the shop, and this time, took my time exploring.

One shelf held a skull, small and cracked, with runes etched deep into its surface.

As I moved closer, I swore I could hear whispers leaking from it. A language I couldn't understand but somehow felt in my bones.

Another had a sword—a long, curved blade completely black, except for the tip that bled crimson smoke. The tag read in scratched ink: "Cuts lies. Bleeds truths."

I didn't touch it.

Further down, I spotted a box filled with necklaces—each one holding a vial of something different.

One had molten lava swirling inside. Another had what looked like tears that turned to ice the moment I blinked.

An ornate clock hung by itself on a far wall. Its hands moved counter-clockwise. Underneath it was a label: "Time owed."

Creepy, I thought, continuing past a shelf with a cracked phonograph. It played no music, but when I passed, it whispered something about my past—something I'd never told anyone.

I shivered and hurried away.

Eventually, I found it.

The dagger.

It rested inside a case made of obsidian glass. The blade itself was thin and black, with veins of blue running through it like lightning frozen in metal.

Its handle was made of bone, and from the way the air felt around it, I could tell it was alive.

Barely.

"This," the old man wheezed, appearing beside me like he had done the last time we had been here, "is the Dagger of Asking. It answers, yes. But not for free."

"How does it work?" I asked, curious about its mechanism since Damien hadn't really had the time to explain it to me.

And as the man leaned close, I smelled dust, rust, and something worse.

"It eats a soul," he continued. "You prick yourself—ask a question. The deeper the cut, the clearer the answer. But if you regularly feed it someone else's soul…it's said that if such a case does happen, you can never get a wrong answer."

I stared at the blade, my heart beating a little too loudly as I realised that Damien had asked me to buy this for a reason.

We needed a hell lotta answers.

Not hesitating even a little bit, I quipped.

"I'll take it."

The old man handed me a black velvet pouch, and I placed the dagger carefully inside. As soon as it touched the cloth, the pouch trembled slightly, like it was shrinking.

"It's a storage device," the man said, as the thing shrivelled down to a ring.

It was a simple silver ring, glowing faintly.

"Put it on if you want, it's on the house."

I slid the ring onto my middle finger and did as told, feeling quite happy about the fact that now I had my own space ring.

Previously, when Sylvie Ma had been injured, I had used her space ring to get the healing potion out, but after we had returned back here, I'd given it back to her.

Now that the most important item was acquired, I let myself roam freely. I didn't want to rush.

Damien was gone now—hibernating or something.

'It might be a while before I return to this place,' I thought.

And as a few more items caught my eye, I couldn't help but think...

Why don't we go on a little shopping spree?

***