Chapter 2 – The Beggar's Request
The rain had washed the streets of Redhaven clean, leaving them slick with reflections of gas lamps and neon signs. It was not a city tourists came to. Beneath its cracked roads and hollow-eyed citizens lurked something darker — whispers of disappearances, murders unsolved, and things that should not walk in daylight.
Damien Cross adjusted his collar as he stepped into the heart of the district. Though this was the same Redhaven he remembered, it looked younger, rawer. Ten years earlier, the veil had not yet fully torn. Spirits moved subtly. The hunger of demons was still whispered about rather than screamed.
He knew what was coming. The rituals. The gates. The blood.
And this time, he wouldn't waste a second.
As crowds hurried through the square, Damien ignored the street vendors and brothels, heading straight toward a shadowed alley he remembered too well.
The alley reeked of rot and cheap liquor. Beggars swarmed him like starving hounds, their eyes hollow, hands outstretched.
"Food, sir, please! Spare a coin!"
"Help us! Just a crust, just a sip—"
Damien's gaze sharpened. He remembered this place. He remembered what hid here.
"Back away." His voice cracked like a whip.
When he drew the short blade at his side, the crowd recoiled instantly, muttering curses as they scattered back into the shadows.
Only one figure remained.
A gaunt man lay slumped against the wall, his clothes in tatters. Unlike the others, he did not beg. His eyes burned faintly — not with madness, but with unyielding will.
Damien approached him.
"Do you need help, old one?"
The man's lips were dry and cracked. His voice came out as a rasp.
"Five days… no food. No drink."
Damien studied him carefully. In his past life, he remembered this man. Most passed him by, thinking him just another vagrant. But those with sight… those who knew where to look… discovered a different truth.
He smiled faintly.
"I can help you. But nothing comes free. What will you pay?"
For a moment, silence lingered. Then the beggar's eyes locked with Damien's, burning with quiet desperation.
"If I had coin, I would give it. If I had blood, I would spill it. But all I have is a promise. If you grant me strength, I will reward you with a task worthy of your courage. Do you dare accept?"
Damien crouched low.
"What task?"
The beggar's voice dropped to a whisper, trembling with venom.
"Kill Mayor Alaric Voss."
The name sent a ripple of memory through Damien. Voss — the long-standing mayor of Redhaven. Beloved by the press, adored by his citizens. But Damien knew the truth. Behind the smile was rot. Voss was no mere politician; he was a warlock in service to the Dominion, feeding the city's underbelly to something far more sinister.
In his first life, Damien had uncovered the truth too late. By then, Voss had already carved Redhaven into a sacrificial offering.
But now…
"You want me to kill the Mayor of Redhaven?" Damien's lips curled in a dangerous smile.
"Very well. I accept."
The beggar's hollow eyes widened, gleaming with faint, unnatural light.
"Then take this oath. Bring me his insignia — proof of his fall — and I shall give you knowledge the Dominion has long sought to bury."
The air grew heavy, the shadows thickening around them. A whisper stirred through the alley, like the city itself was listening.
Damien nodded without hesitation.
"Consider it done."
He turned, the rain swallowing his footsteps as he made his way toward City Hall — where Alaric Voss sat enthroned in corruption, guarded by killers and occult wards.
The beggar watched him vanish into the dark, a faint grin cutting across his cracked lips.
"The past bends anew," he murmured.
"And the hunter dares to bite the hand of the master."
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