Blood Market

Chapter 2: Blood Market

I stood at the entrance of the underground chamber, taking my time to survey what lay ahead. Chandeliers cast weak light across the vast space. The air was cold. Damp. People moved around slowly, speaking in hushed tones.

I adjusted the collar of my borrowed coat and stepped forward. My boots made no sound on the stone floor.

Peasants sat at long tables arranged in rows. Each one had chains around their wrists. Their arms were extended, needles inserted into veins. Blood flowed through thin tubes into crystal vials. They didn't look up as I passed.

"First time at the market?" A man approached me. His clothes marked him as a merchant.

"Yes," I said. "I've heard good things."

"Allow me to show you our inventory." He gestured toward a section where vials were displayed on velvet cloth.

I followed him, walking slowly. A noble couple examined merchandise nearby. The woman held a vial to the light, turning it in her fingers.

"The quality varies based on age and health of the source," the merchant explained. He pointed to different shelves. "These are standard grade. Those are premium."

I nodded, pretending to be interested. My eyes moved across the room, noting the positions of guards. Four at the main entrance. Two at each side exit. All armed.

The steady drip of blood into vials created a rhythm in the background. Across the room, a child sobbed as a guard pressed a hot brand to their arm. The smell of burned flesh reached me.

"And this," the merchant said, "is our finest product." He lifted a vial containing iridescent liquid. "White Chord. Very rare. Very expensive."

I examined it with feigned interest. "How does one use it?"

Before he could answer, a noblewoman approached. Her dress was silk, her fingers covered in rings.

"I'll take that one," she said, pointing to the vial in the merchant's hand.

He bowed slightly. "Of course, Lady Caldwell."

She paid without haggling, then uncorked the vial. She drank the contents in one swift motion. For a moment, nothing happened. Then her face changed. The wrinkles around her eyes smoothed. Her gray hair darkened at the roots. Her posture straightened.

"Exquisite," she said. Her voice sounded younger. "I'll need more by month's end."

The merchant bowed again. "As you wish."

I moved away, circling the room slowly. The nobles gathered at the far end where fresh merchandise was being brought in. New peasants, chained and frightened.

I approached a table where vials stood unattended. The merchant had moved to serve the incoming customers. Guards watched the entrance, not the product.

I reached out and took a vial, then another. I slipped them into my pocket. No one noticed.

More nobles arrived. They laughed and talked, comparing purchases. I took the opportunity to steal more vials while they were distracted.

A soft cracking sound came from above. At first, no one reacted. The sound came again, louder. People looked up.

The ceiling had begun to crack. Thin lines of ice spread across the stone, forming intricate patterns. The temperature dropped. My breath became visible.

"What's happening?" someone asked.

The nobles stopped laughing. They stood still, looking up at the spreading ice. A mist began to form near the floor, swirling around their ankles.

No one moved. The mist grew thicker, rising higher. It filled the room slowly, obscuring the tables and the chained peasants.

I backed toward the nearest exit, hand on the vials in my pocket. The guards had drawn their weapons but remained at their posts.

From within the mist, shapes began to emerge. Tall figures, covered in what looked like armor made of ice. They rose up silently, their eyes glowing blue in the fog.

"The market is under attack!" A guard finally shouted.

People began to move then, pushing toward the exits. The nobles showed unexpected speed, shoving past each other. The merchants tried to gather their merchandise.

I turned and walked down a corridor, keeping my pace measured. Running would attract attention. The vials clinked softly in my pocket.

The corridor grew colder as I moved. Ice formed on the walls, spreading like living frost. I heard screams behind me, then heavy footsteps.

I looked back. One of the ice figures had followed me. It moved with purpose, its steps slow but steady. Its eyes fixed on me.

I increased my pace, turning down another corridor, then another. The footsteps followed. Always the same speed. Never hurrying, never slowing.

The corridor ended at a locked door. I turned to face the creature as it approached. Its armor glistened in the dim light. Ice and something else—something alive beneath the frozen surface.

It reached for me. I stepped back, but not quickly enough. Its hand struck my side, connecting with my pocket. The sound of breaking glass filled the corridor as the vials shattered.

White Chord spilled onto the floor, mixing with fragments of crystal. Only one vial remained intact. I pulled it out, uncorked it with my teeth.

The creature advanced. I waited until it was close, then drove the end of the vial into a gap in its chest armor. I pushed the White Chord into its core.

For a moment, nothing happened. The creature stood motionless. Then cracks appeared across its surface. Light spilled through, growing brighter. The cracks spread, widening.

I backed away as pieces of ice began to fall from its body. The light intensified, then suddenly dimmed as the creature collapsed into a pile of melting fragments.

Movement caught my eye. A noblewoman stood at the end of the corridor, partially encased in ice. It had crept up her legs, reached her waist. It continued to spread even as she struggled.

Her eyes found mine. Recognition dawned.

"You... thief..." she said, her voice barely audible.

The ice covered her throat, then her face. She became a statue, frozen in place.

I turned away and continued down the corridor, finding an unlocked service door. It led to a narrow tunnel. I followed it until I reached a ladder, then climbed up to a street-level grate.

The night air felt warm after the ice-filled market. I had failed to retrieve the White Chord—all but one vial destroyed in the confrontation. But I had learned something valuable: the Hollowed were real, and White Chord could destroy them.

I walked through empty streets, putting distance between myself and the market. The screams had stopped. Whatever had happened beneath the city, it was over now.

Tomorrow, I would have to report back. We would need a new plan. But tonight, I needed rest. The weight of what I'd witnessed settled on my shoulders like a physical burden.

The memory of those chained peasants would haunt me. The child with the brand. The dripping blood. The market would open again elsewhere. It always did.

But now we knew how to fight the Hollowed. That was something.