Chapter Text
Electricity sizzled in the air. He felt the shift and his heart leaped at the thought of what was to come - of what he would create.
Soon. The inclination of a new dawn burned behind his eyes. Not long, and his people would be safe.
The alchemist cracked his neck and lowered his instruments. One by one, he stretched his aching limbs, as for tonight his work was done.
***
Baron Draxum dove through the dense mayhem that was the Hidden City Bazaar. The small shops with their candles and colorful collections of fabrics and trinkets bustled with activity. It was easy to get lost in the trivia of the small-minded crowd, easy to forget between laughter and happy smiles. It was also easy to stay hidden. Among the vendor’s shouts, praising fruit and bread and what else they had to sell, he was invisible. Still, he pulled his cloak deeper over his face as he moved on.
He knew the path. The way to the back alley was a familiar one.
The surrounding light wavered and with each step, the stores grew shadier. The air around was thick with secrets. Stolen weapons. Forbidden goods. Dubious offers. He waded further into the shadows. A sign stated in big, bold letters: ‘Murder Shop - Poison Doesn't Kill People, People Kill People’.
The goat man rolled his eyes.
He kicked an empty flask on the ground, ignoring the matching drunkard in the corner. The sound triggered a cascade of wails and screeches. He smiled. His journey was nigh.
Gradually, the smell of rotten fish flooded his nose. It mixed with the pungent stench of ammonia and death as rows of cages expanded in front of him. All kinds of mystical creatures crawled within them, and yet his eyes were fixed on one stall only. He had found what he was looking for.
Draxum cleared his throat.
A merchant turned, and his eyes lit in recognition. They had history together, which was important in business. The bond between customer and salesman was sacred. There was also a vague notion of helping the economy by supporting the local market. It was basically organic.
“If it isn’t my least favorite customer?” The Weasel-Yokai smirked, showing his sharp fangs. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I need something special,” Draxum announced, disregarding a variety of bunnies, squirrels, and a rather large otter, gnawing at the metal bars.
“More special than Moonbow?”
Ah, The Pony.
“Or last week’s Komainu? Or the Wendigo?” The vendor raised a brow. By now, the sheep must own nothing short of a petting zoo.
“Children. I just can’t say no when they look at me with their big sad eyes.”
“Right.” Something about a niece or a nephew - the yokai didn’t care much about another man’s lies. “What can I do for you then?”
“I need surface creatures. Preferably sturdy ones. Something that can take a hit.”
“How rough exactly are these kids of yours planning to play?” The weasel joked.
“Very rough.”
The merchant gulped at the flat tone. “The little ones can be quite a lot,” he agreed, laughing despite the chill that ran along his spine. He struggled not to ask.
“Well?” The alchemist inquired.
“How about a crawling nightmare? It's an all-time classic - a favorite of young and old.” He lifted the lid of a plastic container, revealing a fearsome-looking scorpion. The little freak of nature awkwardly spun around while poking itself on the head with its own stinger. Evolution didn’t have a plan. It made frequent and catastrophic mistakes. This was one of them.
“It seems rather dull,” Draxum retorted unimpressed.
Fair enough. “Perhaps Mademoiselle Fuzzy-Fluff is more to your liking?” He twisted and shoved a ball composed of eight hairy legs into the goat's face.
“No. Spiders.”
“Okay, okay,” he assuaged the blank stare of his client. Picky bastard.
Hm. The weasel stroked his chin as he watched the other yokai’s eyes linger on the reptiles. Snakes, salamanders, bearded dragons - all one's heart could desire. But this was the problem, wasn’t it? The guy was a snob on principle. Nothing would ever be good enough. He licked his lips. He got this. He knew how to play his cards. It wasn’t the merchant's first rodeo, and soon the fool would utter the magic words his heart oh so desperately longed for since he was 9 years old and had to share a room with his five siblings.
“You might be in luck,” he said before his customer went out of patience. “Did you ever hear of turtles? Beasts as old and mighty as dinosaurs. Built for survival and defense.“
The Baron motioned him to continue, granting him his undivided attention. A questionable pleasure.
“Their design prevailed over millions of years.” He paused to add a pinch of theatrical flair. “They also come with armor.”
“I suppose that will suffice." Draxum nodded with greedy eyes. "I take three of your most vicious turtles then.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
“Hahaha, good one! They are impossible to come by. Incredible rare.”
What separated the novice from the master was how to reel the fish in. And what a big fish he had lured.
“There is something I can do.” He looked around cautiously, glancing over first one shoulder and then over the other, peering into the dark as though someone might be listening. “A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but it’s a rather pricey affair.”
“Of course it is.” Draxum snorted, however, he didn’t seem deterred. “Show me.”
“Just a moment.”
The merchant disappeared under the large table that acted as a line assigning the roles of this particular transaction. A spotted brown tablecloth covered its sides, reaching all the way down to the floor. In the absence of the Baron’s cold, piercing eyes, he allowed a sly smile to slip on his lips before rummaging through the junk which piled up underneath. He pushed some garbage aside until he located a worn-out cardboard box.
“Hey! Shoo!”
A rat crouched on top of it. The critter jumped up, its prey held tightly between crooked, yellow teeth as it fled in the opposite direction.
With one egg gone, two more remained. The first was cracked. Carton absorbed the spilled yolk which had dried a long time ago, however, the other seemed fine.
Perfect. He picked it up and rubbed it on his pant leg, cleaning the grim and dirt off. All that was missing was the right amount of drama. Where was - Ah! He rushed over to his stack of Fancy Boxes. The opulent cobalt case embossed with golden patterns and the midnight blue satin interior would do the trick. The weasel placed the egg inside and emerged.
“I’ll guarantee it’s one of a kind,” he said, presenting his treasure with a somber expression and utmost care.
The lid opened and Draxum’s eyes grew wide in awe.
“Excellent!” The Baron exclaimed thrilled. “I want it!”
“Everyone wants it, but can you affor-”
“Money is no object.”
There they were. For a split second, the merchant's eyes fluttered shut as a pleasant wave of warmth filled his whole being. In your face, ‘dad’!
“How do I hatch it?” Draxum asked after a second thought.
“With love, an incubator, and lots of patience.”
“Very well.”
Coins were exchanged, and the deed was done. The Weasel grinned, pleased with the heavy bulk secured inside his pocket.
“Remember, no take-backs,” he yelled after the goat man.