The map cube flickered awake between my fingers as I stepped out of the aley
Quill had left me vanishing into the neon crowd with the smug confidence of someone who would absolutely profit from whatever I was about to do.
Alastor chuckled in my mind.
"Well, boy… time to see what you'll make of this 'map.' Try not to walk into an ambush."
I'll try, I muttered.
The cube projected a small holographic grid a twisting web of alleys, dead-ends, pulsating color-coded sectors. A single blue line blinked, pointing me deeper into the city's underbelly.
I followed it.
The deeper I walked, the more Lust Ring changed:
Bright neon → became dimmer
Crowds → thinned out
Music → replaced by distant humming
By the time the path stopped blinking, I stood before a rusted metal door halfway hidden behind peeling posters and dead neon tubing.
Above it, a cracked sign glowed weakly:
S I N R O U G E
Sin Rouge.
Alastor hummed approvingly.
"Well… THIS has personality."
I pushed the door open.
The hinges screamed, dust falling around me like ash.
Inside, the club was a grave:
Collapsed bar
Broken mirrors
Dead lights
Dust thicker than fog
But the stage
The stage dominated everything.
Wide.
Raised.
Cracked.
Silent.
But not dead.
My Ring vibrated the moment I stepped onto it faint but undeniable.
I let out a slow breath.
"This is the place."
Alastor purred.
"Excellent choice."
The Past Owner
I walked the perimeter of the stage, letting the room settle into my senses.
Old posters on the walls.
Scratches in the floorboards.
Dried stains of fights long forgotten.
A simple life.
A violent end.
Quill said the previous owner died because of debt
not magic, not curses, not illusions
just Lust Ring's brutal economy.
Alastor's voice sharpened:
"Desperation is the deadliest currency in this world."
I nodded.
No mysteries. No supernatural threats. Just a man who made the wrong loans.
"And you…" Alastor continued,
"…are already smarter than he ever was simply by standing here."
The compliment felt strange.
Real.
I turned toward the back corridors.
Layers of dust.
Broken wiring.
Fallen lights.
The Office Above
I found the manager's office upstairs
a cracked observation room overlooking the stage.
A broken desk.
A torn velvet chair.
Old paperwork scattered like dead leaves.
I brushed dust from the desk, feeling how natural it felt to stand here.
How many people know this place is empty? I wondered aloud.
Alastor answered:
"Enough to be dangerous. But none who care enough to fight for it."
I exhaled.
That was good.
This place wasn't guarded.
It wasn't wanted.
It wasn't loved.
Which made it perfect.
Claiming the Stage
When I stepped back onto the stage, the Rings reacted again more strongly this time.
Almost eager.
And I knew.
This was where the future would root itself.
Footsteps echoed through the main room.
I turned.
Quill stood at the door, goggles pushed up onto his hair, breathing slightly too fast.
"Okay," he said, "I told myself I wasn't coming back. But then I realized something."
What?
He pointed at me.
"You're absolutely going to do something stupid. And I want front-row seats."
Alastor cackled.
"He's perfect."
Quill scanned the stage, the ceiling, the broken bar, the shadows.
"So? You claiming it?"
Yes.
"Congratulations!" he announced.
"You now own a massive, rotting building full of structural damage, rats, and unpaid bills from a dead idiot!"
…Good, I said simply.
Quill blinked.
"…You're serious."
Yes.
He sighed dramatically.
"Fine. I'll help a little. Only because I'm bored."
Alastor purred in satisfaction.
"You have your first follower."
Quill seemed to hear him instinctively
"I'm NOT a follower. I'm an opportunist. If you die, I loot the place."
Fair, I said.
He looked at me.
Then at the stage.
Then back at me.
"…You're going to change this place, aren't you?"
Yes.
He smirked.
"Then let's get started .