206

Outside one of the biggest, filthiest buildings of Cascoid Street—where rats crawled freely through alleys, and flies swarmed over scraps of rotten meat—stood several rough-looking guards. They leaned against the moldy wooden walls, tired and bored.

One of them yawned, scratching his chest.

"Ahh... I wonder why all the top dogs gathered here outta nowhere."

Another one grunted, arms crossed. "Yeah, somethin's off. They usually never all meet together unless there's trouble."

"I'm thirsty... dammit, I wanna die already," the third muttered, wiping sweat from his greasy forehead.

But suddenly, all their chatter stopped.

A heavy pressure filled the air. It was cold—unlike anything they had ever felt before.

Their spines stiffened. Their eyes darted towards the entrance as their hands reached for weapons.