The underground bar stank of stale beer and dirt.
Flickering oil lamps cast long shadows across scarred wooden tables where people hunched over their drinks, eyes darting every time towards any new arrival.
In the corner, a man picked a melancholy tune on a battered guitar, the strings slightly out of tune. Nobody seemed to care though.
Damon's hat obscured his eyes as he leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't like this. That contract... the terms were too vague."
Viktor took a long drag of his cigarette, its ember glowing brightly in the dim light. His red hair caught the lamplight, looking almost like flames licking at his scalp.
Smoke curled from his lips as he spoke. "Too late for regrets, my friend. The blood's already dried. Besides, you were the one eager to sign it. Stop complaining."
"Who exactly is this guy we're now working for?" Damon removed his overcoat, draping it over the back of his chair. His fingers drummed against the wooden tabletop, betraying his anxiety.
Viktor's eyes narrowed. "They call him the black king. He controls almost the entire black market in the region. Almost….Some say he's a rival of the Seventh Prince himself."
"And you didn't think to mention this before I signed?"
Viktor sighed deeply.
"Would it have changed your mind?" He flicked ash onto the floor. "Besides, you needed the gold."
Damon's mouth tightened into a thin line. He knew Viktor was right. He needs the gold.
"You've dealt with him before?"
"Once." Viktor's eyes clouded with memory. "Most people either regret signing his contracts or are too dead to regret anything."
"Fantastic," Damon muttered. "What did you steal from him?"
Viktor did not say anything.
A burly man at the next table rose suddenly, swaying slightly. "Put that damned smoke out," he growled, pointing at Viktor's cigarette. "Some of us are trying to enjoy our drinks without breathing in your filth."
Viktor gave him a lazy smile and deliberately took another drag. "Public establishment, friend. Find another corner if it bothers you."
The man lurched forward, grabbing Viktor by the collar and lifting him halfway out of his seat. "What did you say to me, you red-headed prick? I could bash your…"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a smooth, cold voice from behind.
The man turned, still gripping Viktor's shirt.
A woman stood there, her brown skin glowing in the low light. Her right eye was a piercing blue, her left a burning red. It was like day and night captured in a single gaze.
She looked young. About the same age as Damon and Viktor.
She pressed several gold coins into the man's free hand.
"For your troubles," she said.
The man stared at the coins, then back at her unusual eyes.
His grip on Viktor loosened slightly. "Maybe I need more compensation than this," he slurred, reaching toward her.
In a blur of movement, a second woman appeared beside him, olive-skinned with a perpetual scowl etched into her features.
She gripped the man's outstretched arm and twisted.
The crack of breaking bone echoed through the suddenly silent bar, followed by the man's agonized scream.
"My mistress was being generous," the woman said, her voice flat and emotionless. "Now leave."
Clutching his broken arm, the man staggered toward the exit, knocking over chairs in his haste to escape.
"Bloody freaks!" He muttered fearfully.
The conversation in the bar slowly resumed as the woman with mismatched eyes slid into the seat across from Damon and Viktor.
Her companion remained standing, vigilant eyes scanning the room.
"Men," the seated woman grumbled, signaling the bartender for a drink. "So pathetic and predictable."
Damon straightened, affronted. "I don't think you have met a lot of men."
"A few trees don't change the entire shape of the forest," she replied, accepting a glass of amber liquid from a wary server.
She took a sip, her scarlet eye seeming to glow in the dim light.
"Though I'm hoping you two might be exceptions in the forest."
Viktor leaned forward, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers as he stared at her.
"I know you," he said slowly. "We saw you entering the temple yesterday."
Recognition dawned on Damon's face. "That was you? The one who felt…"
"Goosebumps crawling up your spine? A whisper of dread?"
She smiled, revealing teeth that seemed almost too white, too perfect. "That happens sometimes when I'm around. A gift from my father's side."
"And your father is the black king?" Damon asked cautiously.
"He doesn't like me to call him that but yes, he's my father." She extended a hand. "My name is Lava. This is Yasimin, my maid and protector."
Viktor took her hand, lingering slightly longer than necessary. "I'm Viktor. This sour fellow is Damon."
"I know who you are," Lava said, withdrawing her hand. "You're the fools who just signed your services to the black king."
Damon's eyes narrowed. "You seem well-informed. Guess you really are his demigod daughter."
"Information is a currency in this world. Only a fool would lack it."
Lava took another sip of her drink. "I'm human, by the way. Like my Ethiopian mother. I'm more gifted than most full-blooded humans but not really different at all."
"A flaw in my otherwise perfect self. My father prayed for a demigod and got... me instead."
"Your mother?" Viktor asked." Is she.."
"Is dead," Lava cut him off. "I always pray for the dead. They have so few advocates among the living."
Something in her tone suggested the conversation on that topic was closed.
The standing woman, Yasimin shifted impatiently. Lava glanced up at her, then back to the men.
"I didn't seek you out to discuss my parentage," Lava said. "I need your help."
"Our help?" Damon raised an eyebrow. "We just met."
"Familiarity is overrated. Understanding is what we need."
Lava reached into her garment and produced a sealed envelope. "I need this delivered to someone within the Sons of Prometheus."
Viktor nearly choked on his drink. "The Sons of Prometheus? The terrorist group that's been bombing temples across the region? That Sons of Prometheus?"
"Besides the rebellion, they're the primary rivals to my father's...well, organization?" Lava said carefully.
"I have a contact among them. A spy who's been feeding me information."
"And why would we help you with this suicidal errand?" Damon asked."The last son of Prometheus I met could summon a million spears. He was above sixty!"
Lava leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Because in exchange, I can provide you with information about the human rebellion. Information that would be very valuable to your new employer. My father."
"The rebellion?" Viktor frowned. "What would you know about that?"
"More than most," Lava said grimly. "I believe they've targeted me as a way to get to my father. They've been following me for weeks."
She glanced at Yasimin. "We've had to... discourage several of them already. Not only would I happily play bait. I have spies in the rebellion."
Yasimin's scowl deepened, her hand moving to what Damon suspected was a concealed weapon.
"So you want us to deliver a letter to a terrorist organization," Damon summarized, "and in exchange, you'll tell us about rebels who are hunting you and help catch them?"
"Precisely," Lava said. "A simple transaction."
Viktor and Damon exchanged glances. Before either could respond, the ground beneath them shuddered. Glasses rattled on tables. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.
A distant boom reverberated through the bar, followed by another, a tremor that sent several people stumbling.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted.
"The rebellion!" a woman cried. "They're attacking the city!"
"No," argued another patron, rising to his feet. "That's the sound of demigod weaponry. They must be here, hunting for the last son of Apophis!"
The bar erupted into chaos. People began rushing toward the exit, shoving each other aside in their panic.
Lava remained seated, calmly finishing her drink as the room emptied around them. "Well," she said, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "It seems our time here is lapsed."
Yasimin moved closer to her mistress, hand now openly resting on the hilt of a curved blade at her hip.
"We have to leave!" She whispered urgently.
"What do you know about this?" Damon demanded, remaining in his seat as Viktor stood up nervously.
"That depends," Lava said, sliding the sealed letter across the table. "Are you in, or out?"
Another explosion rocked the building, closer this time. Dust and small debris rained down from the ceiling. In the distance, screams could be heard.
Viktor looked at Damon, then at the mysterious woman with the mismatched eyes.
"We really should leave. Now!"
Damon hesitated, then reached for the letter. As his fingers touched the envelope, Lava's hand caught his wrist.
Her touch was surprisingly cold.
"Once you take this," she said quietly, "there's no turning back."
"After that contract, we signed earlier today," Damon replied with a grim frown, "I think we passed the point of no return a long time ago."
He slipped the letter into his coat pocket as another explosion rocked the city.