The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

Above them, behind black stone teeth, Vordessa’s plague recipe was about to go on sale.

Amra stopped at a narrow grate set into the floor of the passage, just above the upper mouth. Through its iron bars, the team could see the auction floor spread out below them in the lantern light.

The chamber was shaped like a giant open throat, its walls curving inward and down toward a single point. Rows of black seats wrapped around a circular platform at the bottom, climbing upward in tiers so that every buyer had a clear view of the center. At that center floated a glass vessel full of red-gold liquid, and thin black letters drifted inside it like living spice, rising and sinking as though they were breathing.

Vordessa stood beside the vessel.

Her forge body was weaker than it had been at the Bone Cathedral, and the damage showed plainly under the lanterns. Cracks ran across her metal cheek, and one of her arms ended in a ragged red shard instead of a hand. But the fragment hovering over the auction vessel shone bright enough to make every buyer in the chamber lean forward in their seat, drawn toward it despite themselves.

”The recipe,” Vordessa said, her voice carrying easily through the hall, ”is not disease. Disease is clumsy. This is a rule that moves through food, trade, protection, and fear.”

The black letters in the vessel arranged themselves into a single line, holding still for the first time.

HUNGER MUST TAKE.

Amra’s jaw tightened as she read it. ”She made it portable,” she whispered.

Below, the sovereign buyers watched in silence, none of them willing to be the first to speak. The white-spiral court delegate sat near the front. The tooth-crowned reef lord took up nearly two seats on his own. The human merchants wore their black-mouth pins where everyone could see them. A tall figure in a golden mask stood alone at the far end of the seats, its posture far too still for anyone to read what it wanted.

Vessa examined the auction marks carved around the edge of the platform, reading them the way she’d once read battle lines. ”She has not opened bidding yet,” she said. ”If we challenge the lot before the first price is called, the Exchange has to hear the dispute.”

”On what basis?” Rin asked.

”Misrepresentation,” Ceryn said. ”The buyers are being told they are purchasing a tool. In reality, they are being sold a clause that will turn them into distributors of the fever.”

Amra looked down at the red-gold liquid for a long moment. ”The broker procedures are hidden in the upper ledger,” she said. ”I can show you the proof, but it will expose me as your guide.”

”You do not have to,” Austin Veyron said.

Amra gave him an irritated look, as though he’d insulted her by offering a way out. ”I know,” she said. ”I choose to.”

She led them through the grate passage and down a ladder that opened behind a tall stack of auction ledgers, hidden from the chamber’s main floor. Ceryn and Vessa worked together in the cramped space, turning pages quickly and quietly until they found the lot sheet buried beneath several layers of dense trade language designed to bore anyone who tried to read it.

The truth was written at the bottom in small silver letters, easy to miss unless someone was searching for it.

BUYER ACCEPTS DISTRIBUTION DUTY THROUGH ALL FOOD, CREDIT, AND PROTECTION ROUTES UNDER THEIR INFLUENCE.

Ceryn copied it onto the record sheet word for word, careful not to change a single letter.

”Enough,” Vessa said, straightening. ”We go public.”

The midnight bell rang out over the chamber.

Vordessa lifted a black hammer from the platform’s edge and held it high.

”Opening price,” she announced. ”A sovereign buyer receives the recipe, a shard resonance, and the right to name hunger within their claimed territory.”

Austin Veyron stepped out from the service passage and into the auction hall, directly into view of every seat.

”No,” he said.

Every masked face in the chamber turned toward him at once.

Vordessa smiled as though she had expected nothing else from him. ”Devourer,” she said. ”You came to bid after all.”

”We challenge the lot,” Vessa said, walking steadily to the edge of the platform. She held up the copied clause where the whole hall could see it. ”Undisclosed distribution duty. Buyers are not purchasing a recipe. They are purchasing a plague that makes their own routes sick.”

The Exchange brokers rose from their seats in unison, the small carved mouths on their masks all opening at the same moment.

”Proof?” they asked.

Ceryn held up the original ledger page they’d pulled from the stack. ”The lot sheet,” they said. ”Witnessed by a market guide and a court record keeper.”

Amra stepped forward to stand beside them, her ledger chain trembling faintly around her waist. ”I confirm the broker procedures,” she said. ”The clause stays hidden until after the hammer falls.”

The buyers began to murmur among themselves, the silence finally breaking.

The tooth-crowned reef lord rose to his feet, his voice heavy with anger. ”If the recipe infects my routes, then I do not buy leverage,” he said. ”I buy an enemy.”

The white-spiral delegate’s mask tilted slowly toward Vordessa. ”You offered a controllable measure,” it said.

Vordessa’s smile faded for the first time that night.

”Every tool has a cost,” she said.

”A cost is disclosed,” Sable replied. ”A chain hidden inside food is theft.”

The red-gold vessel pulsed hard, as if it had heard the accusation.

Vordessa’s fragment reacted to Nyra’s heart shard beneath her coat, and the two resonances began to pull toward each other across the open hall. Nyra stepped out into the open to meet it, blue-black light rising around the markings at her throat.

”You cannot make hunger inevitable,” she said. ”You can only make people afraid enough to stop looking for another answer.”

The auction vessel cracked.

Red-gold liquid spilled out into the air and spread into a cloud, and from that cloud came hunger-contract collectors. They had sackcloth bodies, black teeth, and ration tags in place of claws, and each tag carried a different version of the recipe written across it.

TAKE NOW.

HOARD FIRST.

PROTECT YOURS.

The collectors attacked all at once.

Rin’s arrows pinned the first wave to the auction walls before it could spread. Veyra cut through two more collectors, but their red tags tore free and flew toward the buyers on their own. Sable’s crown shard erased the words from one tag before it could reach the court delegate. Orena swung her spear in a wide arc and knocked a collector away from Amra just before its hooked tag reached her.

The Exchange chamber erupted into panic around them.

Austin Veyron saw the recipe’s core hanging behind the spreading collectors, and he understood what it was. It was woven into every tag, every route promise, and every buyer’s fear at the same time. DEVOUR wanted to consume all of it. The power would be enormous, and he could end the entire plague network in a single act.

He could also pull every buyer’s own hunger into himself along with it, and that was the part he couldn’t let himself forget.

”Target?” Veyra called out over the noise.

Austin Veyron forced himself to look past the whole of it and find the exact line moving through the cloud.

”Distribution-duty clause,” he said. ”Not the recipe records. Not the buyers. Not the food routes.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable answered.

Austin Veyron drove the white root chain straight into the cloud, and DEVOUR opened.

The clause tasted like a warehouse lock and a merchant smiling at an empty shelf, pleased with a shortage he’d made himself.

BUYER DISTRIBUTES COMPULSION.

He consumed the distribution claim and let the rest of the recipe go.

The red tags lost their direction immediately, drifting without purpose.

The collectors fell from the air as ordinary scraps of paper, fluttering down across the seats. The red-gold vessel cracked further along its side, and the black letters inside it twisted against the glass, no longer able to attach themselves to any food route.

The auction hall fell silent again, but this time the silence felt different.

Vordessa stared at the ruined lot on the platform beside her.

”You keep cutting the bridges,” she said quietly. ”One day, you will find yourself on the wrong side of every road.”

She reached into the broken vessel and pulled out a small vial of red-gold liquid, holding it up to the light. It was only a sample, but it was enough to start another fever somewhere else.

Nyra tried to catch her with a blue-black resonance line, but Vordessa was faster. She threw her red shard fragment toward the ceiling, and it shattered a trader conduit running above the platform.

A tunnel of black smoke opened where the conduit had been.

Vordessa stepped backward into it without hurrying.

”I only need one buyer,” she said. ”And one hungry city.”

The conduit closed behind her, and she was gone.

Then the floor of the Black Mouth Exchange began to move.

The giant throat-shaped chamber, it turned out, had been built around an old living mouth. With the recipe’s auction disturbed, the mouth beneath the market was waking up. Black teeth pushed up through the floorboards one after another. The walls flexed inward like muscle. Lanterns swung wildly on their chains as the whole Exchange drew a single, enormous breath.

Amra looked up in terror at the moving walls.

”The Black Mouth is waking,” she said. ”If it closes, it will swallow every open contract in the market and spit them out through the trade routes.”

The buyers began running for the exits. Some dropped their masks in their haste to escape. Others tried to grab ledgers from the stalls as the floor bucked beneath their feet. The human merchants with black-mouth pins shouted for guards, but the guards were already busy pulling civilians toward the outer gates and had no attention to spare for anyone’s fine coat.

Amra pointed up at the hanging supply bridges strung across the upper market. ”If the mouth closes, those bridges become throat lines,” she said. ”It will pull every warehouse contract into the same current.”

Veyra grabbed Austin Veyron’s arm tightly. ”We need an exit,” she said.

”No,” he said, watching the living teeth rise higher around the platform. ”We need to stop it before it becomes a mouth for the plague.”

The Black Mouth inhaled, drawing air, lantern light, and loose paper toward its throat.

The market began to scream.