But there are things that matter far more than fumigating a bar.
I barely cared about mosquitoes. What harm could they do if they were wiped out completely?
What I really cared about—deals being broken.
Amidst the happy jazz music that concealed the massacre that had occurred, a voice rose above the clink of glasses.
I glanced up from my wine.
A man at the bar—blue hair, pale skin, grey hoodie.
I knew that face.
Pierre.
A mage who had managed to evade me for far too long.
Moments like these reminded me I bought the right place.
"What do you mean Virenzo doesn't work here anymore?" Pierre asked the bartender—my bartender.
"But Virenzo is the boss of this place," he insisted.
"Not anymore," the bartender replied coolly.
"Then who is it now?" Pierre snapped.
The bartender pointed at me.
Pierre's face dropped.
"Hello, Pierre. Nice to see you too," I said, sipping my red wine with a smirk.
He had been tasked with a simple mission: locate the Baltimorean Emerald.
And yet, here he was, looking like he was the one on borrowed time.
"Gac…can…nagh," he muttered, voice trembling.
I finished my drink. The glass settled with a quiet click as I gestured for him to follow.
I stood, letting the weight of the moment press down on both of us, and led him out of the bar.
Outside. Dim alley. Cold air.
"Where's the Baltimorean Emerald?" I asked, voice deliberate, stripped of warmth.
Pierre hesitated, his face paling.
"About that…" he murmured, eyes darting around the alley.
"I don't have it."
I stopped walking, my gaze cutting through him.
"Then you've wasted my time. Five years, to be precise."
He bolted—spilling his drink—and made for the door.
But I was already there.
"You're a difficult man to spot, Pierre," I said calmly. "And you're slipping away already?"
He backed away, hands up, pleading. "I don't want the deal anymore. You can take back the healing… I can live with my cancer."
I let out a dry laugh. My smile was sharp and hollow.
"You think you can back out now?"
"You came to me, Pierre. You begged for healing. Claimed your skills lay in locating lost artifacts and magical weapons."
I took a step closer.
"I obliged. Transferred your cancer to a criminal."
A beat.
"He died, of course."
Pierre's face turned sheet-white.
"He… he died?"
"Yes," I said, savoring it. "Magic is about balance. Life and death. Cause and effect. You don't get to take without paying."
He started trembling. The weight of his regret was almost a physical thing.
"Please, Gacanagh, I didn't know what it was. I didn't know about the stone. It can alter reality. This is wrong, please—"
I raised an eyebrow, cutting him off.
"You didn't know?" I said flatly.
I reached into my coat and pulled out the silver contract he'd signed.
The parchment shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
"This was your choice. You should've read the fine print before you signed."
I held the contract up between us.
"Deals are forged with powers older than the world itself," I said. "Once made, they cannot be undone. You signed, Pierre. Your only option is to fulfill it."
I lowered the contract.
"Or else."
Silence stretched between us like a noose.
Pierre's breathing turned shallow. Ragged.
"No… I won't… It's too much," he said, trembling.
I sighed.
"Fine print," I murmured.
"Your move. You broke the deal."
That's when he screamed.
It began in his chest.
A low crack—then a tremor rippling outward, like glass fracturing beneath the surface.
His hands clawed at his ribs as if he could hold himself together.
But magic isn't kind.
His flesh flickered, warped—bubbling like wax, bones jerking out of sync.
Skin peeled back from phantom fire.
The ancient spell devoured him from within, unraveling him thread by thread.
"Please! No!" he howled, voice raw.
But no one noticed.
Pedestrians passed the alley without a glance, wrapped in warm scarves and trivial thoughts.
I nearly laughed at the irony.
Here was a man being erased from existence—and to the world, he was nothing.
Just another shadow flickering in the mist.
Pierre's form melted away—like fire burning in reverse.
Gone.
Not a trace left.
Just the faint echo of a scream and the chill of old magic that lingered in the air.
The silver contract fizzled into soot, dissipating in the wind.
I slid my hand back into my coat pocket and sighed.
Now, to find that damn emerald.
With Pierre gone, the Baltimorean Emerald still remained missing.
I felt irritation rise—low and sharp.
I had not planned for this inconvenience.
And yet, here I was, again, stalled by an unforeseen complication.
The emerald was the cornerstone.
It could rewrite reality itself.
It was what this whole game was for.
And now, once again, I was back to where I started.
I should've chosen someone else to find that damn emerald.
And next time, I will.