"My hand isn't that bad either!"
The two butchers, cleavers in hand, glared at each other, murder flashing in their eyes. On the table between them, a mountain of golden Sea Serpent coins shimmered temptingly, fraying their nerves like a taut string ready to snap.
With Tahm Kench subtly amplifying their inner greed, the two had already slipped into a hysterical frenzy.
"Hand over your money!"
The butcher gripping a straight flush bared his teeth, forcing each word out between clenched jaws.
"For old times' sake, lend me your chips! If I win, I'll pay you back with interest!"
"Give. It. To. Me!"
The other butcher growled low, staring greedily at the golden pile on the table. His grip on the cleaver tightened, veins bulging across the back of his hand as he took a trembling step forward.
"No! Absolutely not! I'm about to win too! Why should I give you my money?"
The second man was just as unwilling to back down. He roared, flecks of spit flying, "This money's mine! Don't you dare think you're getting even a single coin!"
Tahm Kench chuckled merrily, watching the scene unfold like a gourmet surveying the kitchen. He toyed with people's greed, seasoned it with despair, and then feasted.
"Give it to me!"
One butcher suddenly swung his cleaver,
The other retaliated with equal fury.
At the doorway of the slaughterhouse, Duke stood quietly, idly rolling the Vision granted by the gods between his fingers, not a ripple in his gaze.
The moment those two sat at Tahm Kench's gambling table, their fates were sealed. Couldn't they see how Tahm was practically salivating, watching them tear each other apart?
For Tahm, the perfect meal was watching someone endlessly crave more, driven by their greed, until they were cornered with no way out, and then, in that moment of ultimate despair, he would devour them.
And ever since Duke had shown up, Tahm had definitely set his sights on him too. Even if Duke turned and left now, the gluttonous demon, disguised or not, would eventually come for him.
So why not take a chance now, and see if his plan would work? If it did... he'd score big.
Few ever escaped Tahm once he had his eye on them.
Unless they could smother their greed in the final moment... and run.
But very few could resist that sliver of hope, the delusion that this time, maybe I'll win, and those who tried always ended up in Tahm's gaping maw.
Duke had considered a more... aggressive method to help those targeted by Tahm escape.
Slice their frontal lobe, or shut it down. Permanently or temporarily cut off their emotional responses, reducing them to something just slightly more functional than a vegetable.
To Tahm, such people were like dry, unseasoned bread: flavorless and unappetizing.
Even if Tahm could stir people's emotions, if their brain couldn't generate those emotions to begin with, what could he do?
Of course, it was just a theoretical idea.
While Duke was spacing out, the butcher holding the straight flush managed to kill his partner. Covered in blood and gasping for breath, he dropped into the chair, too overwhelmed to even set down his cleaver.
He greedily pulled all the chips into his corner.
Clang!
The blade sank into the table. Shoving his chips forward, the butcher flung down his final card.
"Straight flush! I don't believe you can beat this!"
"Mmm…"
Tahm frowned, eyeing his hand with mock regret. "A straight flush, now that's a powerful hand."
Hearing this, the butcher's expression bloomed with wild joy, his chest swelling with triumph.
"But unfortunately," Tahm squinted his beady eyes and gently laid his cards on the table with a gentleman's flair, "I still win."
"Three of a kind. All jokers."
"Clean sweep."
"Ha ha ha…"
The butcher's eyes bulged. His mouth gaped like a fish gasping on land, emitting a high-pitched rasp as red veins spidered across the whites of his eyes.
His joy collapsed into cold, crushing despair in an instant.
"This isn't possible… There's no way…"
Staring at Tahm's cards, the butcher slammed both hands on the table, his nails digging in so hard they bled.
"You cheated!"
He screamed, but Tahm just swept the pile of gold into his hands, letting the coins cascade like sand between his fingers.
"I understand how you feel, but I'm afraid…" Tahm's mouth cracked impossibly wide, revealing a row of jagged, rotting teeth. "You still lost."
"No way!"
The butcher staggered backward, knocking over his chair. As he looked around the blood-soaked slaughterhouse, corpses strewn everywhere, he pointed a trembling, furious finger at Tahm's disguised form.
"It was you! All of it was you!"
"Wrong," Tahm said, pointing right back.
"It was your greed that brought you here."
"No… No…!" the butcher shook his head wildly and let out one final, broken scream. "NO!"
He spun and ran, bursting through the curtain. Duke calmly stepped aside and watched him vanish into the night.
"You're not going to chase him?"
Glancing toward the slaughterhouse doors, Duke addressed Tahm behind the table, "That guy ran off. Looks like you won't be collecting your debt."
"No rush," Tahm said, stroking his mustache. Still disguised as a fat man, he squinted his tiny eyes at Duke and smiled slyly, "The river remembers everything."
"Sometimes you have to give them time. Who knows, maybe they'll come back for a rematch."
"Now then," he tilted his head, "how about you? Care for a game?"
Tahm's stubby little arms gathered the cards, shuffling and cutting them with impressive flair, even doing a few fancy flourishes.
"I'm not interested in any of that."
Duke carefully stepped around the blood and bodies. He'd just changed clothes and didn't want to dirty them.
"Dice? Pai Gow? Something else?"
"Whatever you want, I've got it all!"
"None of that interests me."
Duke glanced at a filthy stool, then remained standing. Without hesitation, he stretched out his hand toward Tahm.
"If we're going to play, I'll set the rules."
"But of course. That's my favorite kind of game."
Ignoring the pile of gold on the table, Tahm hopped down from his stool. He waddled over, hands rubbing his massive belly, and only then did Duke realize just how grotesquely bloated the demon really was.
Where most people stood tall and proud, Tahm thrust out his gut and tilted his head back like a cartoon character. His two stubby hands stroked his belly, giving him a comical, almost endearing appearance,
But anyone who knew him understood: never be fooled by how silly he looked.
"We shake hands. First one to make the other sneeze within ten minutes wins."
"The loser signs their name for the winner."
Duke grinned and held out his hand.
"What do you think?"
The moment he made physical contact, he could begin transferring his magical energy, laced with fragments of his soul, into Tahm.
Eventually, he would force the demon to sign an unequal pact... without Tahm even realizing it.
If Duke lost, he had backup plans:
Cut off emotional response, flee with frontal-lobe masking...
And if all else failed, he still had the Drunken God's Gene!
"What a fun little wager,"
Tahm studied Duke's smiling face, then tipped his ever-present gentleman's hat.
"Very well. I accept."
"Shall we begin?"
"Let's."
As they clasped hands, Duke instantly felt as if he'd grabbed a wet, slimy catfish with bare hands.
And that made sense. Tahm was a fat catfish,
But even in disguise, Duke hadn't expected him to feel so disgustingly real.
Suppressing his revulsion, Duke began to silently channel his magic into Tahm. The demon narrowed his beady eyes and smiled warmly, showing no sign of noticing anything.
But behind that warm grin and twitching mustache, his eyes glimmered with something darker: greed and cunning.
Duke kept his magic subtle and steady, watching Tahm's face for any flicker of reaction.
So far, nothing.
Tahm simply gripped his hand with the same calm composure.
"How far can my magic go?"
Duke's mind buzzed with curiosity. His magic had made Pyke wary. It had silently infected Neeko.
And now, it was infiltrating a demon like Tahm.
How far could his power reach?
Time ticked by. Still Duke steadily channeled his energy.
Meanwhile, Tahm was carefully reading Duke's emotions.
As a demon born from negative feelings, Tahm could perceive, influence, even feast on others' emotional states.
But… something was wrong.
Duke's emotional state felt blurry, like trying to read words through fogged glass.
That shouldn't be possible.
Tahm had never failed to perceive someone's emotional fluctuations.
But this boy, this calm, unwavering boy, was unreadable. Seven minutes had passed.
Still, the kid just stood there, smiling faintly, holding his hand.
Could it be the handshake itself?
Tahm probed with his senses but found nothing unusual.
"So strange…"
He was still puzzled, but couldn't look away.
This boy was unlike any other.
So calm. So steady.
When someone like this finally did fall into despair, the flavor would be exquisite.
Just as Tahm began to savor the thought of Duke's future collapse, his mustache twitched.
His breathing hitched.
His nose tingled.
His body reacted before his mind could stop it,
"Achoo!"
Tahm blinked, stunned.
He was a demon. He had perfect control.
Why did he sneeze?
"Hey."
Duke leaned in, grinning.
"You lost."
"In every sense."
He added that last part silently to himself.
End of chapter...
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