I TRADE DESIRES FOR POWER

The Soho acid rain stung his thighs and back. The stench of gutter water mixed with soot and cooling steam settled heavy in his throat. Gavin Calloway spat. Thick and crimson.

"Still breathing, you bastard?" Gavin muttered to himself.

His ribs felt like they were about to puncture his lungs. Inside his chest, the Magic Core once worshipped by the Calloway Clan was reduced to nothing more than sharp shards that pierced his internal organs with every breath.

"I'm sorry, Gavin. Your clan is finished. Besides, Cassian is way more useful in bed than a crippled wizard like you."

Arabella Vane's voice still echoed clearly in his ears. Complete with a spoiled, breathy sigh and Cassian Montgomery’s gleeful chuckle the exact moment that rune-engraved dagger was driven straight into Gavin's chest.

Twenty-four hours ago, he was a noble. Now? Just scrap metal crawling over Soho's cobblestones, slick with cheap synthetic grease.

Gavin groped the brick wall beside him. His hands trembled, torn and shredded, caked in mud. His vision was blurred. At the dead end of the windless alley stood a black wooden door. Short, dull, fitted with a skull carving wrapped in copper chains that had turned a corroded green.

The plaque above the door retained a cracked number: No. 13 Blackfriars Lane.

Gavin leaned his shoulder against the door. It felt ready to collapse. But the moment his blood-soaked palm brushed the dragon-head iron handle, the door vibrated.

BZZZT.

The blood on his hands was absorbed instantly, like a sponge thirsty for water.

CLACK.

The silver bolt spun open on its own from the inside. The thick wooden door swung soundlessly inward. Gavin lost his balance, collapsing flat onto the thick, dust-covered wooden floor.

BAM!

The door slammed shut. The sound of thunder and Soho's street noise vanished instantly. Dead silence. There was only the smell of old paper, rotting incense, and a stinging sweet perfume.

"Hooray. Another broke corpse crawled inside," a raspy voice cut through the air. "Your cheap blood is dirtying my rug, you asshole."

Gavin winced, clutching his chest. He slowly looked up. "Who... are you?"

The voice came from a crystal chandelier hanging crookedly from the high ceiling. The lights were off, but the crystals reflected a pair of transparent red eyes.

"I am Abraxas," said the voice, sharp. "And you smell like a rotting corpse. Get out before I sweep you up with the rest of the black market trash."

Gavin coughed up more blood. "I need... a hiding place."

"A hiding place?" The chandelier laughed harshly. A raspy laugh that grated on the ears. "This is Pawnshop No. 13 Blackfriars, you idiot! Not a halfway house for fugitives! What are you going to pawn? Your clothes already look like an old cleaning rag!"

"I don't have anything left," Gavin whispered, his teeth chattering from the cold.

"You have nothing, yet you still dared to open my door?" Abraxas's voice drew closer, like a cold gust of wind on Gavin's neck. "Your magic core is shattered. Five of your ribs are broken. Your mana pathways are totally shot. In three minutes, your heart stops beating."

"Good," Gavin said flatly. "Let me die."

"Die?" Abraxas growled. "Death is cheap, asshole! Dying is easy! But this old door won't open just to harbor a broke corpse like you. Your blood responded to this place because you carry a grudge that makes your soul boil."

A giant, thick, black-leather-bound book landed heavily on the mahogany desk in the center of the room. BAM! Dust flew everywhere. The pages flipped open on their own, stopping at a clean, blank page.

Gavin stared at the book. "What is this?"

"The Soul-Ledger," Abraxas replied. "This place has been closed for a hundred years. If you want to survive, sign it with your blood. You take over the position of shopkeeper. Your life will be bound to this place. You won't die, but you won't be an ordinary human anymore."

Gavin tried to sit up, suppressing a groan escaping his throat. "What's the price?"

"Nothing's free in Soho, kid," Abraxas chuckled cynically. "The price? Your right to die in peace. And you must serve anyone who steps through that door—demons, succubi, spell-harlots, rotten nobles. You take their souls, magic, and bodies as collateral."

Gavin stared at his blood-stained hands. Arabella's face flashed across his mind again. The way she smiled while wearing his mother's Emerald Ring. The way Cassian crushed his head into the dirt.

"If I accept... can I get revenge?" Gavin asked. His voice changed, the weak tone completely gone. There was only pure hatred left.

"Revenge takes capital," Abraxas said. "This shop is the capital. You take someone else's, you use it to fix your own body. Well? Or do you want to die here and let Arabella screw Cassian on top of your clan's pile of wealth?"

"You bastard," Gavin hissed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Abraxas chuckled. "Press your blood there. Now."

Gavin crawled two steps forward. Every movement felt like needles severing his nerve endings. Without a moment's hesitation, he slammed his bloody palm right into the center of the Soul-Ledger's parchment page.

WHOOSH!

Black fire erupted from the book.

"AGHHH, DAMMIT!" Gavin screamed.

Pitch-black magical chains shot out from the paper, plunging straight into his chest. They forcefully re-stitched his shattered Magic Core. The sensation wasn't healing; it felt like his soul was being flayed and then sewn back together with barbed wire.

"Hang in there, you moron!" Abraxas shouted from above. "Don't pass out now! I hate cleaning up your vomit!"

Gavin gripped the edge of the mahogany desk until his fingernails snapped. Black blood poured from his nose and eyes. His body arched rigidly before the black chains fully entered his chest and vanished.

Gavin's chest rose and fell. His breathing was heavy. The lethal pain abruptly vanished, replaced by an odd, chilling sensation. His heart began to beat again—slow, heavy, and rhythmic like the ticking of an old grandfather clock.

"Still alive?" Abraxas asked.

Gavin wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve. He stood up slowly, straightening his back. His hands weren't trembling anymore. Beneath the skin of his arms, faint black runes crawled slowly.

"Your breath is rented now," Abraxas said from the chandelier. "This shop supplies mana to keep your heart beating. But every day you need 'interest' from transactions. If this shop stays empty, it will consume your own organs."

Gavin looked around. In his vision, lines of red text floated in the air every time he looked at an item in the shop.

"I can see the aura of the items," Gavin muttered.

"That's the Appraisal Eye," Abraxas replied. "A basic feature of the shopkeeper. You can see soul values, magical weaknesses, and the dirtiest secrets of anyone standing in front of that desk."

Gavin walked behind the mahogany desk, seating himself in the carved wooden chair. "Good. So how does this work?"

"Simple," Abraxas chuckled softly. "You sit pretty. Wait for them to come. Show no mercy. Here, you're not a hero. You are a soul loan shark."

CLING!

The silver bell above the main door chimed loudly.

The thick wooden door pushed open. Thick Soho fog billowed in, carrying the scent of night wind mixed with the stinging fragrance of rose perfume and the smell of fresh blood.

A woman burst inside. Her red evening gown was torn at the thigh, revealing smooth skin scratched deeply. Her black hair was messy, and from between her plump lips, two tiny, elongated fangs quivered.

The woman's eyes were wild, her breathing ragged with fear.

Red text instantly floated above the woman's head in Gavin's vision:

[Name: Vespera Nightshade ] [Race: Pureblood Succubus (Rank 3) ] [Problem: Contagion Mana Poisoning - Requires Instant Body Union ] [Status: Division 9 Scotland Yard Fugitive ]

Vespera slammed both hands onto Gavin's cash desk. Her mouth trembled, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Does this shop... still accept pawned items?" Vespera's voice was raspy, heavy with wild pheromones that suddenly made the air in the room scorching hot.

Gavin leaned his back against the chair. His fingers tapped against the cold mahogany desk. He stared at the woman in front of him without blinking.

"Depends," Gavin said coldly. "What do you have, and just how desperate are you tonight?"