Ciel did not take her golden-violet eyes off the horrific, wiggling, pig-cat-bird abomination tied to the pole, but she did slowly raise a hand and gesture toward it vaguely.

  “Uh…” she started, still trying to process the creature’s many, many unsettling features. “What is it?”

  Gorrug, clearly pleased with himself, stepped forward and crouched beside the beast, giving it a firm, loving pat on the head. The thing snorted, its ears twitching wildly, its stubby legs shuffling in place like it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be afraid or attack.

  “This,” Gorrug declared proudly, “is Skrimp!”

  “That is a name,” Ciel said, rubbing her temples. “That is definitely a name. But what is it?”

  “A companion,” Gorrug explained, grinning. “For the journey! They are very strong. Good eaters. Fearsome when fully grown.”

  Ciel blinked. “Good, uh, eaters?”

  “Yes.”

  “...That means?”

  Gorrug shrugged, as if it were obvious. “They eat anything.”

  As if on cue, Skrimp let out a low, vibrating growl and latched onto the rope tying him to the pole, gnawing aggressively. The sound was deep and wet, teeth scraping against the fibers, and the rope visibly frayed within seconds.

  Ciel took a slow step back. “That’s a war beast, isn’t it?”

  Gorrug nodded eagerly. “Yes! When fully grown, they were once used in orcish battles, sent to tear through enemy lines!” He gestured proudly. “Look at the little warrior! Already strong.”

  Skrimp, clearly done with being restrained, ripped the remaining rope free with a last, savage bite and immediately flopped onto its side, snorting happily.

  Ciel stared.

  Gorrug sighed. “He is still small.”

  Before she could even begin to argue about why the hell he thought bringing a half-grown murder beast was a good idea, the door behind them creaked open.

  “Oh my gods, what is that?!”

  Miri materialized out of the bar, her black-and-silver eyes widening with sheer delight as she practically skipped forward, her bare feet silent against the cracked pavement. She dropped into a crouch in front of Skrimp, cooing softly as she reached out a delicate hand toward it.

  Skrimp sniffed at her fingers, then let out a horrible, rattling chitter, its feathered little wings flapping aggressively.

  Miri clapped her hands. “It’s disgusting! I love him.”

  Ciel groaned, running both hands down her face.

  The door creaked again, and this time, it was Raze, stepping out and immediately freezing at the sight before him.

  He took one long, slow drag from his cigar, staring at Skrimp, at Gorrug, then at Ciel.

  Finally, he exhaled, the smoke drifting lazily into the morning air.

  “I see we’re making responsible choices today.”

  Ciel gestured to the war beast pig-cat-bird. “Yeah. Apparently, we needed this.”

  Raze didn’t argue. He just stared at Skrimp, then back at Gorrug, then back at Skrimp, then took another drag, accepting that this was just reality now.

  Skrimp, for his part, sat there staring blankly into the void, his large, glossy eyes reflecting everything and nothing.

  Before Ciel could fully process her feelings about their new travel companion, the sharp click of boots against the pavement drew her attention toward the approaching figures.

  Sylva.

  And behind her, Veyra, looking as if she had only just rolled out of someone’s bed, her cloak thrown lazily over her shoulders, her auburn hair a mess, the scent of alcohol still clinging to her like perfume.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Sylva, however, looked sharp, awake, and unimpressed.

  Her crimson gaze flicked from the crew to Skrimp, her silver braid swinging over one shoulder as she came to a slow stop.

  A long, heavy pause.

  Then, finally, she sighed.

  “I was gone for seven hours.”

  She looked at Ciel. “And you let this happen?”

  Ciel opened her mouth. Closed it. Then just threw up her hands.

  “This one wasn’t me.”

  Grimm stared at the people standing before him, and for the first time in a long time, he found himself genuinely baffled.

  Why wasn’t he killing them?

  He should.

  By all reasonable logic, they had ruined far more than they were worth—ten times over. They had burned away a job that took months of careful planning, destroyed an artifact so valuable it defied estimation, and had the audacity to stand here alive, breathing, and somehow still getting in his way.

  And now?

  Now they stood here, a ragged, chaotic mess of a crew, waiting for him to hand them a death sentence disguised as an opportunity.

  Maybe that’s why he wasn’t killing them.

  Maybe… this was fun.

  Because they weren’t smart enough to run.

  Grimm exhaled slowly, the faint glow of the candlelit room catching on the sharp angles of his face, his golden eyes narrowing as he took them in, one by one.

  Then, his gaze finally settled on the orc.

  And the thing he was holding.

  Grimm’s expression did not change, but something in his posture stiffened just slightly.

  “What,” he said slowly, “the fuck is that?”

  Gorrug, looking pleased as ever, lifted the horrible pig-cat-bird creature as if presenting a gift to a warlord.

  “This,” he declared proudly, “is Skrimp.”

  Skrimp, in return, let out a noise that should not have existed in this world. It was part screech, part snort, part gurgle, as if a dying bird was trying to impersonate a warthog.

  It also violently wriggled in Gorrug’s grip, tiny useless wings flapping, attempting to escape whatever fate had befallen it.

  Grimm just… stared.

  A long, dead stare.

  Then he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “You know what?” he muttered. “I don’t even care. I don’t even want to know.” He gestured vaguely toward the horrifying, struggling creature. “If that thing turns out to be some ancient world-ending entity, just… don’t bring it back here.”

  Ciel, half-smirking, rocked back on her heels. “No promises.”

  Grimm opened his eyes, slowly, fixing her with a flat, unreadable look.

  Then he sighed and leaned back against his desk, finally getting to the point.

  "The Sunken Quarter.” His voice was low, steady, weighted with something just shy of a warning. “No one knows exactly where it starts. It’s not a place you just… walk into. It doesn’t exist on a map. No one comes back. No one knows how deep it really goes.”

  He paused, scanning their faces.

  Then he smiled. Sharp. Amused. Like a wolf deciding how long to play with its food.

  “But there is one way down. If you’re stupid enough to take it.”

  Silence.

  Then, Raze, arms crossed, grunted. “Figures.”

  Grimm continued, his voice calm, measured, like he was describing a funeral march.

  “You’ve heard of the sewers, obviously. People think they’re just the city’s underbelly, where the filth collects, where the dead get thrown, where old magic twists into things best left alone.”

  He let that linger.

  Then, leaning forward slightly, he murmured, “They’re wrong.”

  Miri, looking entirely too excited, tilted her head. “Oh? What are they really?”

  Grimm’s golden eyes gleamed.

  “The first defense.”

  Silence.

  The air in the room shifted, something heavy settling between them.

  Ciel’s brows furrowed slightly. “A defense against what?”

  Grimm smirked. “The first layers of the city.”

  He straightened, pushing off the desk, stepping toward them with slow, measured steps.

  “Think of it like this. The Lost Angeles you know? It’s built on ruins, like every city after the Collapse. But below us? There’s another city. And beneath that? Another. And another.”

  He let them process that.

  Ciel’s smirk faltered.

  Sylva’s crimson gaze darkened.

  Miri murmured something in an old tongue, her silver eyes narrowing in quiet fascination.

  Grimm continued, circling them slowly.

  “The deeper you go, the less real the rules become. History doesn’t just rot down there. It festers. Grows into something else.”

  Veyra scoffed. “Sounds like bullshit.”

  Grimm chuckled. “Then don’t go.”

  Veyra fell silent.

  Grimm came to a stop again, turning back to Ciel, gaze sharp.

  “The sewers aren’t there because of old magic. They aren’t there because it’s where the bodies are dumped. It’s a living barrier. A defense meant to keep people out.”

  He shrugged. “Which means, if you want to get to the Sunken Quarter, you have to get past it.”

  Raze exhaled sharply through his nose. “And beyond that?”

  Grimm’s smile turned cold.

  “Beyond that?” He spread his hands. “You’re on your own.”

  Silence stretched, long and thin.

  Then Ciel sighed, tilting her head. “Sounds like a terrible fucking plan.”

  Grimm chuckled. “It is.”

  There was nothing more to say.

  They knew what they had to do.

  Grimm watched as they turned, heading for the door, already preparing for their descent into madness.

  Miri, naturally, was grinning. Gorrug had Skrimp hoisted under one arm like a wriggling sack of death. Raze looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

  And Ciel?

  For the first time since stepping into his office, her usual smirk had faded slightly.

  Good.

  Grimm watched them leave, exhaling slowly, and for a brief moment, he actually regretted this.

  Not because he cared about them.

  But because… this was cruel.

  They were going to die down there.

  Horribly. Painfully. Torn apart by things that weren’t meant to be seen, let alone survived.

  Maybe… maybe he should have just killed them here.

  Spared them the misery.

  He tapped a clawed finger against the desk, debating it, just for a moment.

  Then, finally, he smirked.

  “Nah.”