The market square of the 7th Floor was chaos incarnate. Imagine if a stock exchange, a black market, and a carnival had an unholy baby—and then fed it three gallons of caffeine. That was the scene I found myself walking into. Stalls dripped with artifacts that hummed unnaturally, potions bubbled in defiance of gravity, and shady figures exchanged whispers thick with scheming.

  I adjusted the collar of my jacket, suppressing a grin. This was my kind of playground.

  "Welcome to the Black Auction, stranger," a merchant with mechanical eyes greeted me, his smile too wide to be sincere. "You look like a man of peculiar tastes. Perhaps... cursed relics? Forbidden scrolls? Or—" His eyes flickered, zooming in with a soft mechanical whir—"a mask that whispers forgotten truths?"

  My interest piqued, but my face remained indifferent. Rule number one in places like these: never show eagerness. They'll skin you alive, metaphorically and sometimes literally.

  "Just browsing," I muttered, slipping past him deeper into the bazaar.

  Behind me, my companion Katana vibrated in her sheath, her voice slithering into my mind.

  “I don’t trust any of this. You shouldn’t either.”

  “Oh, relax,” I thought back. “We’re just looking. Doesn’t mean we’re buying our own doom.”

  “You’ve already bought worse.”

  Fair point.

  The deeper I walked, the stranger the items became. Bottled screams. Chains forged from regrets. Even a miniature black hole, carefully caged in shimmering runes. And then—there it was.

  An unassuming stall, almost swallowed by its extravagant neighbors. On a ragged black cloth sat a single object: a cracked porcelain mask, stark white with jagged red lines spreading from its hollow eye sockets. Around it, reality shimmered unnaturally, as if it barely tolerated the mask’s presence.

  The merchant here was no ordinary peddler. Draped in layered silk, face veiled by shadow, their gloved hands caressed the mask with reverence.

  “You feel it too, don’t you?” The voice was genderless, melodious and unsettling at once.

  I didn’t answer. I stepped closer.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The mask twitched.

  Yes, twitched—like it was alive. Like it was breathing, waiting.

  Katana hissed. “Don’t even think about it—”

  But I was already thinking about it.

  “How much?” I asked, casually flipping a gold coin in the air.

  The merchant tilted their head. “This is no ordinary relic. It does not follow the rules of currency. It demands… an equivalent exchange. A trade of madness for madness.”

  Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it?

  Still… Something about the mask gnawed at my instincts. It was wrong, sure. Dangerous? Definitely. But it felt right. Like it belonged with me. Like everything up to this point had been pushing me toward it.

  “Name your price,” I challenged.

  The merchant extended a hand. “A memory. A true one. One you cherish, one that anchors you. Give it to the mask, and it will give you power beyond comprehension.”

  Katana roared in protest. “Don’t you dare! Memories are the only thing keeping you sane!”

  But sanity was overrated. Survival wasn’t.

  I exhaled slowly, letting my mind wander through old scars. Faces I barely recalled anymore. Laughter long faded. I reached deep, farther than I should have, and plucked a single memory:

  A boy. Me. Laughing in a dusty alley with someone I once called a friend. Before betrayal. Before the Tower. Before all this.

  I clenched my fist, the memory sharp and clear—and then, without hesitation, I opened my palm and let it go.

  The merchant snatched the invisible offering and pressed it into the mask.

  A ripple tore through the air. The bazaar dimmed. Whispers exploded into my skull as the mask floated upwards, twisting midair. It spun faster and faster, before suddenly halting—snapping to face me.

  “Accepted,” the merchant intoned.

  The mask shot toward me like a bullet.

  I didn’t dodge.

  It slammed into my face, cold as death, searing as fire.

  And then... silence.

  Darkness swallowed me.

  For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the void.

  Then—

  “Ah… Finally. A host worth the gamble.”

  The voice slithered directly into my soul. Ancient, mischievous, and sharp as broken glass.

  My eyes snapped open.

  I stood exactly where I’d been—but everything looked clearer. Crisper. The edges of reality shimmered, like I could peel them back if I tried.

  In my mind, the voice chuckled.

  “Name’s Veyrith. And you… you just made the smartest stupid decision of your life.”

  Katana was silent. That was rare.

  I touched the mask. It had melded perfectly to my face. No straps, no weight—like it had always been a part of me.

  The merchant bowed deeply. “The contract is sealed. Use it wisely… or don’t. Either way, you’ll be fun to watch.”

  I exhaled, feeling a grin stretch beneath the porcelain.

  Oh yeah.

  This?

  This was going to be fun.