The Tapestry of the End

The dirty city's streets had long been enveloped by the embrace of night, covering the already dark alleys in almost impenetrable darkness. A light rain fell from the slightly cloudy sky, gradually turning the dusty streets into a swamp-like mess. Most people had already taken refuge in their homes or taverns, waiting for the start of a new, routine-filled day. Suddenly, the soothing sound of the rain was pierced by the loud creak of the "Noisy Barkas" door. A tall man in a worn tricorn hat and a coat-cloak appeared in the doorway. After walking a few meters, he abruptly stopped, looking at the bright orange moon, partially covered by clouds.

"Tsk... three more days until the new moon. How long..."

The man's words disappeared into the night, leaving behind a series of grim thoughts. He stood there for a few more minutes, ignoring the cold drizzle and sinking deeper into the abyss of his dark memories. Slowly exhaling, the man began to walk down the street at a measured pace. Occasionally, people passed by, hiding in their clothes and clearly hurrying home. Glancing quickly at the shining moon in the sky, the man habitually cracked his knuckles and slipped his gloved hand into the left pocket of his coat-cloak. Quickly pulling out an intricate cigarette case, he opened it. On the hinged lid was an engraving of a slender girl, her face half-hidden by a hood. Clasping her small hands in a prayerful pose, blood-red tears, depicted with small red stones, rolled down her face. Running his finger over the engraving, the man slowly opened the cigarette case, took out a cigar, and cut its end with a guillotine, having first removed the cigarette holder. He brought the cigar to his lips, slowly lighting it with a silver lighter. The light smell of tobacco smoke quickly mixed with the damp night air. The first inhale brought long-awaited relief, freeing him from the burden of oppressive memories.

The cigar crackled in his fingers, and the smoke, swirling in the air, slowly disappeared, blending with the night mist. The man took another inhale and continued on his way, paying no attention to anyone. The back streets of the city were empty, and only the occasional footsteps echoed in the silence.

"I wonder who that kid is? He's clearly not a vagrant, and he doesn't look like a thief. And his accent... it stands out too much. He may not notice it, but he clearly speaks like the residents of the upper districts. Like an aristocrat or bourgeoisie. But he doesn't know his name... or is he pretending? There's no reason for someone from the upper districts to reveal their name in the lower district. And if he's not lying? After all, no clothes, no shoes. And he looked like he genuinely didn't know his name. Maybe his memories were altered? No, that's nonsense. In the entire empire, people who can alter memories can be counted on one hand. Someone like them wouldn't lift a finger for a low-ranking noble or a potential heir to a small company, and in that case, they would just kill and burn him. And he can't be a high-ranking noble. Their appearance is too well-known, and he doesn't look like any of them. This is all so strange..."

The man took another slow inhale, listening to the night's silence. The light rain finally stopped. Taking one last drag, he extinguished the nearly smoked cigar against the nearest wall and threw it aside.

After twenty minutes of measured walking, the man reached a small bridge connecting the two banks of a narrow canal. Crossing the canal and descending a vertical ladder, he approached a rusty grated door under the bridge, blocking the way into the dark catacombs of the sewer. The man stopped in front of it, taking his time and carefully examining the passage. A light breeze rising from the canal rustled his cloak and brought with it the smell of sewage mixed with the scent of mold and dampness. He stepped closer, running his hand over the iron door as if testing its strength. The foul smell grew even stronger. The man covered his face with the cloth, trying to block the stench, and pushed the door. It opened with a horrible screech.

The man stepped into the dark passage, closing the door behind him. Now he was surrounded by darkness. Stepping deeper, he took out his lighter. A second later, a click followed, and the dim light of the flame illuminated the nearest path.

He walked down the narrow corridor, running his left hand along the wall. The damp walls were covered with overgrown lichen. The dim light reflected off the droplets trickling down the stone walls, creating the illusion of living water in these underground catacombs.

After about ten minutes of wandering, he saw a dim orange light in the depths of the dark tunnel. Reaching it and turning the corner, he found himself in front of numerous makeshift dwellings stretching along the wide corridor. Despite the stench, dampness, and dirt, life was in full swing here. Some were sitting and cooking food over a small fire, others were crafting something while chatting with their fellow unfortunates. Some were sleeping, wrapped in dirty blankets.

The man slowed his pace, carefully making his way between the shacks and trying not to attract attention. He looked around carefully, choosing a path that led to the center of this underground village. Huge pipes and rusty beams crossed the ceiling and walls like the vessels and bones of a colossal amorphous creature. He moved forward cautiously, avoiding attention and occasionally noticing eyes watching him from the shadows.

The man passed several shacks and finally reached a semblance of a small square, if this place could even be called that. It was a vast room about six or seven meters high and stretching about fifty meters into the distance. This place, like the heart of a giant organism, was the point where many tunnels intertwining the entire city converged.

Many people bustled between the improvised houses, going about their business. Looking around, the man headed to one of the larger shacks. The worn wooden door opened with a slight creak. Inside was a makeshift bar, cobbled together from old boards. In front of it stood several dozen tables. The interior was lit by candles, whose scent successfully masked the faint stench of the sewer. People sat everywhere, chatting animatedly, playing cards, dice, or just drinking.

The man carefully pressed the tricorn hat to his head, trying to hide his face as much as possible. Calmly approaching the bar counter, he sat on a high stool. A slightly overweight man of about forty, standing behind the counter, gave him a quick glance.

"Günter?"

"You guessed it," the man said, pulling the cloth from his face and smirking.

"You know, they say greeting is a common courtesy when meeting a familiar person."

"Come on, Hugh, don't nag."

"Why are you here?"

"Has anything strange happened lately?"

In response to this question, Hugh just shrugged and replied:

"How should I know? I'm just an old bartender."

"Well, an old bartender might not know everything, but if I buy a couple of drinks, he might tell me a few rumors that drunkards, trying to escape the horrors of life by drowning in alcohol, have spilled..." Günter chuckled quietly, removing his tricorn hat.

He leaned his elbows on the counter and watched as Hugh took a bottle from under the bar shelf and began pouring.

"I've heard something," Hugh said, continuing to pour the drink.

"So what did you hear?" Günter asked, looking up and wrapping his fingers around the glass.

"They say people have started disappearing in the fifth district."

"Let me guess, the found bodies were torn to shreds, organs partially missing, and there was surprisingly little blood at the scenes."

"Right, the same crap that happened about a month ago in the seventh district."

"Who disappeared?"

"Mostly sewer dwellers, but they say a couple of surface residents too."

"Damn, this thing's appetite is growing."

"What is it anyway?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, you're the hunter."

"No idea, I was handed this case just a week ago, and this creature had been inactive for about a month by then."

"I see... but do you have any guesses?"

"Probably some kind of ghoul."

"Is there any way to protect against it? Like lighting candles, using herbs."

"No need, just don't go alone."

"Alright, but know this, if I die, I'll come back and take you with me."

"Great. Anything else?"

"Yes, a scientist was killed in the sixth district."

"Seriously? Maybe a robbery?"

"No, nothing was stolen. He was strangled right in his lab. The operating table was partially destroyed, and there was blood everywhere, clearly not the scientist's, and many potion vials were on the floor."

"Failed human experiment?"

"Possibly. They say some nobles are involved."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, as soon as this case surfaced, it was immediately hushed up. Someone pressured the police."

"Things are getting worse every day..."

Slowly exhaling, Günter took a sip of porter.

"Cough... Why does alcohol taste so strange lately?"