The Scumbags Guide to Enslaving Demon's

The market began to scream.

The Black Mouth inhaled again.

Hanging supply bridges bent toward the open throat below the Exchange floor. Contract ledgers tore free from stalls and flew through the air in black spirals. Traders clung to railings while tooth-contract constructs climbed from the rising gaps between the boards.

”Evacuate the outer lanes!” Amra shouted.

The Exchange workers looked at her. She was only a ledger runner. No crown. No army. But she knew the service routes, the warehouse keys, and which bridges could still hold weight.

”North bridge goes to the salt gate,” she continued. ”West lane to the water docks. Do not carry ledgers unless they belong to a food store. People first.”

The workers moved.

Some argued. Some froze. But enough chose the routes that the evacuation began to gather shape.

Vessa grabbed Austin Veyron’s sleeve. ”The mouth is pulling open contracts into itself. If it finishes, every food agreement on the trade roads becomes one shared throat. Vordessa can seed the plague through every shipment.”

”Can you close the contracts?”

”Not all of them. Some are real supply records. Close everything, and cities lose food they need.”

Ceryn climbed onto a broken auction bench, record sheets spread around their knees. ”We separate food facts from hunger claims. Count, origin, destination, condition. Anything that says who deserves more is suspect.”

Nyra stood near the widening mouth with the heart shard raised. Blue-black light spread across the nearest ledgers, holding their pages still long enough for Ceryn to read them.

The tooth-contract constructs attacked.

They came from the market floor with paper bodies and mouths filled with red tags. Each one carried a price line across its chest.

**FOOD TO THE WORTHY.**

**RATIONS FOR THE STRONG.**

**HUNGER PROVES NEED.**

Rin’s arrows pinned the first three to a support beam. Veyra cut through two more, but the red tags sprang toward a crate of grain near the north bridge.

Orena drove her spear into the crate’s path and caught the tags on the shaft. ”These are trying to mark supplies, not people.”

”Same result,” Sable said. She pressed the broken crown shard to the tags. The words turned gray and fell away.

The Black Mouth pulled harder.

Austin Veyron felt its hunger rising through the floor. It was ancient and blind. It did not care about Vordessa, plague recipes, or freeholds. It wanted every open exchange to become food.

DEVOUR roared in answer.

He could feel the mouth’s core below the boards. He could devour it. One enormous bite. The Exchange would collapse, but the mouth would be gone.

The thought was clean. Too clean.

Veyra appeared in front of him.

”Target?”

Austin Veyron looked at the bridges full of fleeing workers. At the legitimate food ledgers Ceryn was sorting. At the tooth constructs claiming every sack and barrel as a weapon.

”Plague-distribution claim in the mouth. Not the mouth. Not the trade network. Not the food records.”

”Witnessed,” Veyra said.

”Witnessed,” Sable added.

Austin Veyron stepped to the edge of the opening.

The Black Mouth looked up at him from beneath the market. It had no eyes, only rows of wet teeth and a darkness deeper than the gap should have held.

**DEVOURER,** it whispered. **EAT ME. BECOME THE EXCHANGE.**

The dark mark on Austin Veyron’s wrist flared.

He nearly smiled at the offer. Not because he wanted it, but because it was so obvious. Every enemy eventually proposed the same crown with a different shape.

”No,” he said.

He drove the white root chain down between the teeth.

DEVOUR opened.

The plague-distribution claim struck him in a flood: trade routes turning red, food sacks carrying fear, merchants selling safety at the cost of someone else’s hunger. The mouth had been designed to make every contract a road for Vordessa’s fever.

**SPREAD THROUGH ALL OPEN TERMS.**

Austin Veyron consumed the spread.

The Black Mouth convulsed.

Above, the flying ledgers stopped pulling toward the hole. Some fell into the water docks. Others landed on bridges. Nyra’s blue-black light caught the food records and held them in place.

Ceryn shouted out the clean route facts. ”Grain from north farms to south shelter. Water filters to coast wards. Broth powder to Blackhook Camp.”

Amra repeated them to the workers, who began carrying the marked crates toward the salt gate instead of abandoning them.

The tooth-contract constructs lost their direction.

Veyra cut the last one apart. Rin’s arrow struck the red core inside its chest. Orena kicked the empty paper body into the Black Mouth just before the teeth snapped shut.

The mouth tried to inhale again.

Nothing came.

The blue-black light from Nyra’s heart shard spread across the floorboards, sealing the worst gaps with a thin layer of dark glass. The Black Mouth did not die. It sank back beneath the Exchange in a dormant state, teeth closed around the plague-distribution claim Austin Veyron had removed.

The market shook for a few more breaths, then went still.

The salt-gate bridge had taken damage. Amra sent two workers to inspect it, but they refused to go alone. A third volunteered to keep the count of who crossed. Another brought rope from a salvage stall. Small decisions replaced the panic the mouth had tried to amplify.

Ceryn separated the auction papers into three piles: clean food routes, disputed contracts, and plague clauses. Vessa read the disputed ones aloud to their holders instead of sealing them away. Several merchants tore up agreements that had hidden future control inside food credit. Others asked for time to review their records with witnesses.

No one cheered.

Workers stood among broken stalls and scattered ledgers, breathing hard. Some held food crates. Some held each other. The Exchange had not become good. But it had not become a plague mouth either.

Amra climbed onto the auction platform, her ledger chain hanging loose around her waist.

”We need a new open count,” she said. ”Every food record. Every store. No sealed debt terms.”

A few workers nodded. Then more.

Vessa looked at Austin Veyron. ”That will make her enemies.”

”She already had them,” he said.

Ceryn searched the shattered auction ledger pile and found a strip of red-black paper hidden beneath the plague lot sheet.

”Vordessa’s buyer route,” they said.

The paper showed a map east of the Black Mouth Exchange. The red sample vial had been promised to an Ember Marches warlord named Kharvek, whose camps sat between refugee cities and the eastern grain roads.

”Ember Marches,” Orena said. ”Two days by fast coast current, then a hard road inland.”

Nyra touched the map. ”The red sample is still active. If Kharvek opens it in his camps, the plague becomes an army weapon.”

Veyra looked toward the market gate. ”Then we move before he can use it.”

Austin Veyron looked at the workers beginning their open count behind Amra. The Black Mouth was dormant, but Vordessa had already carried one small piece of the fever onward.

The hunger map was getting larger. It would keep growing wherever fear turned food into a weapon, unless people answered together.

”Gather the team,” he said. ”We go to the Ember Marches before the sample reaches Kharvek’s camps, and we take the open-count safeguards with us.”