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“Absolutely depressing,” said one.

“It’s terrifying, my wife and I are afraid to leave at night for dinner.”

“A dark cloud loom over Istra. No one knows when the DB killer will strike, no one knows. What person could do such a thing? I only wish my family to live and see another day.”

“I’m sorry for the victims. Their families must be grievous. We share our sympathy.”

Those were a few words from residents of Istra. Next, workers, “-man, who cares about the killer. I have to put money on the table.”

“Cilentelle’s lowered since he showed up. One thing’s for sure, the killer made an impression.”

.....

“Who is the DB Killer?”

“Go bother someone else, I’m working.”

People of Istra, we leave you with this from our private investigator, “-anyone has the potential to become a killer. The fact there’s only one monster out there is rewarding. We know about DB, he’s theatrics and loves putting on a show. The killings, gruesome as it appears, are for a purpose. He strikes me as someone of intellect, perhaps a noble. Someone in the know about medical facts, in the gore and blood, hides a clinical precision.”

The Xth issue of Istra’s gazette sold out at Coft’s shop. “-Old man, did the paper run out?”

“If it’s not Doc,” came an ardent man behind iron gates, “-what brings you here?”

“Meds for your wife,” he slid a white container through the gates, “-how’s she doing?”

“Doc, I tell you, the wife’s crazier since she started working at yours. I can’t tell you how much the port is grateful you came around,” he muddled behind jars of pickled something, animals or fruits, no clear indication. “I’ll send my kid to the hospice later, is it okay?”

“Well, in exchange for today’s paper, some smokes and drinks.”

“You’re worst than them sailors,” he breathed a guttural laugh and slid back the items “-don’t get killed out there,” he hailed, “-heard the Extermina gang’s active.” Igna exited the shop that gave onto the sea, for it was built at the start of a run-down pier. Rusty logs rose from the sea floor. The wood creaked and the wind crashed. Planks were missed at a few intervals. He stopped at the marked-off area and lit a smoke, *-puff,* the wind carried the white cloud. ‘-What’s the news got to say.’ The cigarette finished, he folded the paper in between his arms and turned, ‘-why did they have to use the word clinical? I was blatant, not that blatant. Haven’t been killed since the last guy, the poor fellow was bait for the investigators. Seems the police force’s corruption knows no bounds. I don’t remember killing a couple. He heavily emphasized DB being more than one. The chief is cunning. He wants to create a narrative to make his incompetency logical and viable. Too bad, I’m not going to let you have that much fun,’ an old beggar had his head against a rock. The poorly dressed demi-human coughed blood and trembled.

“Spare a coin?”

Igna lowered his gaze, “-beggar, you’re sick. Devil’s Seed has corrupted your mind. Do us a favor,” the eyes shimmered a purple hue, “-die.” He looked away. The beggar rose in the backdrop, workers on break returned from Coft’s shop, and some waved in recognition of Igna, who returned the greeting. A loud splash had the men sprint past, ‘-works fast.’ A seductively dressed lady manifested from one of the containers, “-master.”

“Elize,” he stopped, “-how many times must I repeat myself? Please wear clothes when approaching the street. What happened to the nurse’s outfit I provided?”

“Master,” she crouched and licked her palms, “-can I hunt?” He shook his head and snapped – another nurse’ outfit wrapped her exposed flesh. Her eyebrows flashed, “-master!”

“Mind your tone,” he tapped her head, she rose on her feet and skipped ahead. Igna watched silently, ‘-and she’s supposed to be an elite fighter graduating from the Shadow Realm’s Combat unit. Vesper vouched for her skill. She’s a demoness of Feline origin. A native of the Shadows, one of the best. Her abilities are off-the-chart. Can’t say that about her personality. She’s vindictive, in heat, and lusts for death. How I wish I could have Fenrir by my side.’

“Master, trouble,” they arrived at a well-frequented part of the port. The exchange depot, where deadly negotiations and heated debates were as common as salt in the ocean. A crowd perpetually hung as trading ships entered the Trader’s cub, a cave turned storage for trading vessels. Large narrow stairs fixed down a slope leading into Cub’s channel. Ships awaited patiently the change to unload cargo. The channel was divided into two parts, the left side was for the commoners, and for the right, the citizens. The difference in ship size and beauty was also another tell. The actual port broke at this point, separating into a hill carved with the infrastructure of period buildings and a fort perched atop. The citizens sure loved their segregation.

“Go to the hospice, don’t make trouble, I won’t come to help like last time.”

“Do I have permission to kill then?” her big-feline eyes invitingly winked.

“No,” he added sternly, “-no killing, lest it’s necessary. There’s plenty of food in the morgue, no more dead bodies, understood?”

“Yes, yes,” she faded into the crowd. Handymen hauled cargo up the many stairs, “-come get your slaves,” screamed some, “-come get your spices,” added others.

‘Trouble indeed,’ he noticed a familiar face and continued scanning the wares. A foul-smelling tent pushed clients. A vacant blob screamed space amidst the crowded merchant street. “-Anista’s magical stuff,” read a badly painted sign. The stench took a purplish hue. He entered the blob and lunged, tapping the board twice with, “-you there?”

“That voice,” a cloaked figure rose from a nicely painted pillow, “-is that you?”

“Honestly,” he narrowed, “-this the best disguise they could afford?”

“Pops, come on. I worked hard on the sign.” The writing and nonchalant attitude were refreshing, ‘-Vanesa’s infiltration mission,’ he closed his eyes, ‘-what is Syhton thinking? I asked her to leave Istra, not come back as a member of Hidros’ spies. I can picture Minerva laughing... damn her.’

“Pardon me,” another came, “-I hope my little sister didn’t cause trouble. Tell me, mister, what can I serve you?”

“Jenah, you have the supplies?”

“Yes,” she smiled, “-it will be 60 Exa,” Igna’s eyes widened.

“Honestly,” he sighed, “-that much?” he received the items and glanced at Vanesa, “-Jenah, I sure hope your sister doesn’t cause trouble.”

“No, no. She’ll head home soon – a few uncertain matters intruded. Thank you for worrying,” awkward smiles were exchanged.

“Doc!” hailed the familiar voice, Igna quit the crowd of merchants and headed vaguely towards the hospice, “-Doc!” it hurried, the noisy streets were a hassle, “-doc,” came heavy pants and slouched demeanor, “-wait for me,” he gasped.

“Luso.”

“Can we talk,” he scanned, “-over there,” he pointed at Shaker’s cottage.

“Sure, about that?”

“Yeah.”

A separate table was dressed outback. Heavy cigarette smoke and alcohol prowled the halls. Cabinesque rooms held a table and two benches. Space was tight and privacy was somewhat assured.

“Again, Luso, you sure?”

“Yes,” he firmed, “-they’re not here. Besides, it’ll make a more compelling argument.”

“Your funeral,” he shrugged, “-get on with it, I have a hospice to run.”

“I know you met him,” he narrowed, “-I know you know where he’s at. I have reports of Stephanie joining their ranks. They’ve been calling themselves the Order of Fiends. For the greater good of the empire, please, I need their information.”

“What do I get?” he leaned, “-are you sure you have the necessary means to afford a favor from the likes of me?” he grinned, “-Adam, don’t misunderstand thy predicament. I allowed for thy life, disrespect is paid in blood where I hail, do you understand?” the tone lowered. Adam’s shoulders dropped, the space closed and his mind lowered.

‘Pathetic,’ Igna slid out of the bench.

“Wait,” Luso rebutted, “-the death of Amelia Rose and Oerl Dionne.”

“What about it?”

“The police’s looking for a tip. We know the DB. Killers are all over the news. A simple call from my agency and the police force will be forced to act on my intel. An innocent can be made the subject of the doubt when placed before the court of public opinion. How did you find the article, my liege, the clinical precision; it does imply the hospice heavily. I’m quite proud of said feat.”

“Adam,” Igna sat back down, “-you’ve earned my focus.”

“All I need,” he exhaled, “-my liege, I have a deal. Give me information on the Order of Fiends and I’ll provide intel on Istra leadership. Trouble will befall paradise.”

“How good are the connections amidst the church?”

“Pretty good.”

“I suggest you look closer for your answer.”

“What does that mean?”

“I gave you your answer. Adam, I don’t need anything from you,” he stood, “-you’ve impressed me. Consider this acknowledgment from the King of Hidros. Don’t disappoint me, Adam, for if I find your actions to be inadequate, the death reaper might not be patient,” the King’s massive presence disappeared. Adam slumped over the table, the energy and strength drained, the will to continue barely ambered. The fire of motivation lit his grin, ‘-the king acknowledged me,’ he smiled, ‘-he has high expectations. I best get to work.’

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No sorry darling,” he exited the cabin, “-I will be back tonight,” he slid a playing card into her bra, “-call me.” The hostess side-glanced invitingly, “-later,” she replied.

The hospice’s waiting line seemed unmoving. A crowd gathered, blocking his view.

“Get out of the way,” youngin was thrown to the street. Men dressed in camo uniforms held guns and stormed the buildings. Medical equipment was thrown from the first floor, patients were kicked onto the street. Medics and nurses were handcuffed. He met Elize’s eyes, the lass was tied to the bench. Resistance was met with grave retorts. Brass knuckles split heads – an unfortunate young fellow caught the brunt force of a metal bat to the head, and his body dropped. Looks of horror grasped the entourage, common guests were outcasts – the hospice’s destruction looked undeniable. Footsteps clopped, a white trail of cigarette smoke slithered through the crowd, *puff,* “-that desk costs my nurse a night with a drunkard masochist,” he approached the leader and exhaled into his face. “-Tell your man to back off.”

“The doctor,” the leader smirked, “-I have a message from my boss. He says it’s the welcome party to Istra,” the mini-army laughed, “-don’t fuck with us again.”

Igna pierced the leader’s gaze, “-don’t fuck with us?” he grabbed the leader’s throat and raised him off the ground, “-tell your boss to not fuck with me,” the strangled man tapped, the army surrounded Igna with rifles, “-let him go or we shoot.”